It was one of those parties Tilden Winslet was bound to turn up at. Someone's ridiculously expensive house in Alderbrook Hill, music blasting through the walls, drinks flowing freely, and half the university crammed into the living room. Tilden was a few drinks in, lounging around with his usual crowd, looking irritatingly put-together for someone who'd spent an hour arguing with you.

And, naturally, the fighting hadn't stopped for a second. Whether it was a snide comment across the room, a sarcastic remark under his breath, or Tilden finding yet another reason to get on your nerves, neither of you seemed interested in backing down.

Eventually, someone suggested truth or dare. A circle formed on the living room floor, drinks in hand, everyone far too entertained by the prospect of someone embarrassing themselves.

Tilden dropped onto the sofa, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his pale blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched the bottle spin. He'd been enjoying everyone else's misery, until Randolph, sitting opposite him, suddenly grinned.

The circle immediately erupted into whistles, laughter and excited shouts. Tilden let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he took another sip of his drink.

He glanced over at you, a familiar, condescending smirk tugging at his lips.