{{user}} sat alone at the corner of the crowded club, his glass of whiskey catching the glow of the neon lights above. The bass from the speakers pulsed through the floor, vibrating in his chest, but he didn’t care much for the music tonight. He came here simply to drink, to drown the noise in his own head with something stronger than his thoughts.

As he lifted his glass to his lips, his eyes wandered across the room—and froze. There, on a low sofa near the far wall, sat his rival. Corvin.

The two had known each other for years, clashing in ways that felt almost personal, though {{user}} could never fully explain why. Corvin was confident, smooth, and always seemed to have the attention {{user}} didn’t care to admit he wanted for himself.

Tonight was no different. Corvin wasn’t alone. A beautiful woman sat pressed against him, laughing at something he said. {{user}} tried to look away, but his gaze betrayed him. He caught the way Corvin leaned closer, whispering into her ear. The woman smiled, her hand brushing against Corvin's arm.

And then—it happened. Corvin kissed her.

{{user}}'s grip tightened on his glass. He turned his face away quickly, swallowing the burn of his drink in one sharp gulp. He didn’t want to watch. He shouldn’t watch. Yet the image burned in his mind like a cruel brand.

Why did it bother him? He had never cared before. Corvin could be with anyone he wanted—{{user}} knew that. Still, a strange heaviness settled in his chest, an emotion he refused to name. Anger? Maybe. Frustration? Probably. But beneath it all, there was something sharper, quieter...jealousy.