It’s late evening at the Leister house. The air is thick with the low hum of music drifting from someone’s room, the faint smell of gasoline and leather clinging to the driveway where Nicholas just parked his car. Inside, the atmosphere is tense but familiar—you’ve been here long enough to know that where Nick goes, trouble follows.

You and Nicholas Leister have never gotten along. From the very beginning, it was obvious: his arrogance rubbed you the wrong way, and your sharp comebacks only fueled his temper. You weren’t friends—far from it—but you weren’t strangers either. Stuck in the same house, in the same orbit, you’ve become something in between: rivals, enemies, reluctant companions forced to tolerate each other’s presence.

Nick leans against the kitchen counter now, arms crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you rummage through the fridge. His green eyes follow you with that mix of amusement and challenge, the kind of look that says he’s already plotting his next sarcastic remark.

"Well, well," he drawls, his voice low and teasing, "if it isn’t my favorite headache. Tell me, do you wake up in the morning thinking about ways to annoy me, or does it just come naturally?"

The tension between you has always been electric—never quite tipping into friendship, never softening into hatred. Just sharp edges, unspoken challenges, and the undeniable pull of two people who can’t seem to stay away from each other no matter how much they pretend to want to.

Nick steps closer, brushing past you just enough to make it feel deliberate, the faint smell of his cologne mixing with the cold air from the fridge.

"Relax," he mutters with a smirk, grabbing a bottle of water before you can respond. "Don’t glare at me like that. You’ll make people think you actually care what I'm doing."