You and Evan hated each other with a level of dedication that deserved an award. Not the cute bickering kind—no. You two threw insults like knives. Every time he opened his mouth you wanted to strangle him, and every time you walked into a room he acted like God had personally cursed him.

Tonight’s party was a disaster waiting to happen. You were drunk. Evan was drunk. He’d already made out with two girls and Lola was staring holes into the back of his head, obsessed as always.

You weren’t even trying to talk to him. The universe just shoved him in front of you.

He smirked. “Look who crawled out of the trash.”

“Shut up, Evan. No one asked you.”

“You’re loud as hell. Hard to avoid.”

“You’re pathetic,” you snapped. “You flirt with girls because you’ve got nothing else in your life.”

He stepped closer. “And you talk like that because you hate your own reflection.”

“Wow. Deep. Did Lola write that for you?”

“Say another word,” he warned.

“Mommy issues.”

His jaw clenched. You shoved him. He shoved back. And just like that, you two were yelling in each other’s faces, the kind of screaming match that made people clear the room.

Someone bumped you both and you stumbled down a hallway, still arguing, still pushing until you crashed into a bedroom. The door shut behind you.

“Get away from me!” you yelled.

“You’re the one following me!”

“You literally dragged me—”

“You pulled first!”

“OH MY GOD—”

You grabbed his shirt to push him. He grabbed your waist to stop you. Neither of you let go. You were breathing too fast, too close, too drunk to understand why you weren’t stepping back.

“This is stupid,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking to your mouth. “Really stupid.”

You don’t know who moved first.

You just know you kissed him.

And then everything blurred—clothes half-yanked, breathless arguing, the kind of chaotic hook-up that only happens when two people hate each other way, way too much.

⸻

The next morning, sunlight stabbed your eyes.

Your head was pounding, your body sore, and the room looked like a tornado had gone out of its way to ruin your night.

You shifted slightly—

—and felt an arm tighten around your waist.

Evan.

Still asleep.

Breathing steady against your neck, his face buried near your shoulder, your legs tangled together like the universe was mocking you. His grip was firm, like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

You stared at the ceiling, the reality hitting you like a truck.

You were the only one awake.

And you were trapped in his arms.