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Your name is Terezi Pyrope, you are 9 sweeps old, and you have a dilemma.
That dilemma would prefer it if she was called Mindfang, Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, but you don't give a shit. Her name is Vriska Serket and she's supposed to be your kismesis. You're suppose to strive to beat her, always one up and compete, compete, compete. She's supposed to constantly best you and be bested by you, supposed to keep your rivalry just as heated on your side. Supposed to infuriate you with everything she does, push you to the limits of your patience.
The funny thing is, both of you perform your duties beautifully. You tease her, goad her, forget your past flarping days and the innocent grin on her face that you can only picture (since she fucking blinded you) when she'd look at you and cheer "Scourge sisters, together!!!!---no stop. She's exceptionally good at pissing you off and turning you on, all while being completely clueless, pretending that she has no idea how fucking infuriating and and horrible and goddamn sexy she is. It's enough to make you scream, run your hands through her hair, bite into her neck and make out some more.
But then there's moments when you feel her shift beside you on the floor after a particular brutal near-pailing when you listen to her heartbeat, remember back when you cheerfully called her your sister and played dumb roleplaying games through the night. You end up groaning in frustration and fighting the urge to hold her close and feel the way her body curves against yours without the sharp angles and twists of caliginous lovemaking. And despite the way you poke and prod and play with each other, the way your kisses always draw blood, the way your whispered "I hate you"s to each other send chills down your spine, you just can't help but lower your defenses around Vriska Serket.
Not when she's so earnest. Not when you see (though not literally) her good side, not when you remember the kid in her. You've both matured and grown, yet you two keep playing games with each other, avoiding actual feelings and focusing on masking everything, the pain and hurt and betrayal and the slowly rebuilding trust, masking it behind "i hate you"s and particularly rough kisses and scratches that carve names into hips and backs.
There's one evening, when you find yourself painting her skin in your blood, mixed her own. It sucks, mainly because most of the blood's already dried into the blankets and matting into your hair and your finger keeps running into her clothing. Suddenly she pulls away, there's a rustle of clothes, and when you hear her lay back down you know she's naked.
It's odd, you usually undress each other (rip each other's clothing to shreds in the fog of lust only to freak out later because that was a new shirt fuck you) and the way she does it, so unguarded, even giggling slightly at herself, seems waaaaaaaay lighter than black.
You don't mind.
Instead, you give up on the body paint (it's all dried up by now shut up) and move to kissing her rather passionately.
It's weird. Kissing her and only nipping at her lip lightly, caressing instead of scratching, tasting her and not just her blood. The kiss is short and gentle, and you feel her questioning eyes on you.
"I don't know," you simply say, and start full-on cackling. You don't understand, but everything is suddenly so fucking hilarious and suddenly she's laughing too because she's been just as conflicted and you're kissing again it's all sugar and no spice and it's actually pretty nice.
You two have this period when you suddenly don't see why you could possible hate her when she's so perfect and funny and confident in herself and you. Sure, she irritated you and you do the same to her, but it's all playful bickering and lover's quarrels.
But then, inexplicably, you two are in hate again. She's disgusting and vile and self-centered and you don't fucking care what she does as long as you're better and the feeling is absolutely mutual.
These mood swings and changes in heart seem synchronized yet throughly anachronic and you don't understand, but god is it wonderful and you're just so fucking happy with her.
You realize it's always going to be like this.
You two will always hang in a frantic dance of hate and pity, a badly timed tango in which both emotions take turns leading.
You're both insane.
You don't want it any other way.