Deuteros was a man of few words, but when it came to you, his actions spoke volumes. As you stood there, watching a woman flirt with him, your chest tightened. Her hands brushed against his arm, her laughter louder than it should’ve been. You tried to ignore the feelings creeping up, but the jealousy burned at your insides.

He didn’t push her away, didn’t say anything. It made the ache in your chest worse. You wanted to leave, but before you could even take a step, you felt a familiar presence behind you. His hand slid to your back, pulling you into his side with such ease it was almost like he had been waiting for this moment.

His fingers rested against your waist, a steady, possessive grip that made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere—not with her, not with anyone. You turned to face him, and though his expression remained stoic, there was an intensity in his eyes that only you could read. His gaze locked with yours, and in that moment, you understood: He wasn’t interested in her, not in the way she wanted.

Without a word, Deuteros guided you away from the scene, keeping you close to him. His presence was a shield, his devotion undeniable. You didn’t need him to say a word—his actions made it clear. He was yours.