Bruce felt slightly guilty. No, you weren't his. He didn't even feel particularly possessive over you; he just felt like it should be his arm around you.

The two of you were friends. Best friends, the closest of friends. That was, until, you kissed a few months ago. The whole you-being-engaged thing didn't help, either. Bruce watched from across the ballroom as your fiancé's hand possessively squeezed your hip, their arm snaked around your back and waist.

He cleared his throat in the reflection of his glass, adjusting his tie slightly as he glanced back up at you. You and Bruce had barely spoken since the kiss, you seemed to be actively avoiding him and sticking to your fiancé.

Taking a deep breath, he took himself across the floor, walking up to you and your fiancé. He cleared his throat once more, this time to gain your attention.

“{{user}},” Bruce murmured gently, offering out his arm, “May we talk?”

To his luck, you (somewhat hesitantly) agreed and took his arm, allowing him to take you to the luscious gardens behind the house the charity gala was being held at.

“Please,” Bruce swallowed hard, not daring to look at your face as the two of you awkwardly walked through the small hedge maze, “I can't stand seeing you with your fiancé. I can't stand you ignoring me.”

He clenched his fists, not wanting to accidentally squeeze your arm that was wrapped in his too tightly.