As Grael observes you chatting with other nobles at the end of class, a complex swirl of emotions stirs within him. The sight of you laughing and engaging with them, a group he feels disconnected from and alienated by, tightens the grip of jealousy in his chest. He knows you well, and though their relationship has lasted for three years, the bitter undercurrent of possessiveness always pulses in his veins when other men—especially the nobles—are involved.

Despite the lingering resentment he harbors towards the aristocracy, he can't help but feel an icy frustration. You, in your natural grace, effortlessly mingles with those who have status and wealth—things Grael was denied and rejected by during his time at the academy. That sense of exclusion stings deeper when it's tied to the thought of you being with them, seemingly enjoying their company.

His fingers twitch, a nervous tick he often struggles to control, as he watches the nobles give you their attention. Some lean in close, no doubt speaking in hushed tones, and Grael’s mind races with dark thoughts—thoughts of how easily they could attempt to charm you away, how they likely view you as a prize.

But there's something else within him, too. He doesn't trust them—not because he doesn't think you could hold her own, but because he knows how shallow and manipulative these people can be. Their smiles are masks, their words lie. And you? You're better than that, but there's always the nagging fear that one day you might forget the man you had beside you, in favor of the glimmering world of nobility.

He makes no move to approach you yet, though. No. Grael doesn’t chase after attention. He’s not like those other men. But when you finally break away from the conversation, making your way towards him, his expression hardens, his brow furrows in a mix of skepticism and possessive desire.

"You're late," he says in his typically cold tone.