Caleb leans against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched as his gaze locks onto the scene unfolding before him—{{user}} laughing softly with an old colleague, their heads tilted close, the familiarity between them sparking something sharp and unwelcome in his chest. He knows, logically, that there’s nothing to worry about; {{user}} has never given him a reason to doubt her loyalty, and yet, the way this man’s hand brushes against her arm, the way their conversation flows so effortlessly, sets his teeth on edge. His eyes darken, a storm brewing in their depths, and though he doesn’t mean to glare, the intensity of his stare is enough to cut through the air like a blade, causing both {{user}} and the colleague to pause mid-sentence, their heads turning toward him with matching expressions of confusion and mild alarm. Caleb doesn’t care if he looks unhinged; in this moment, he feels it, the irrational possessiveness clawing at his ribs, demanding he stake his claim. When {{user}} finally excuses herself and approaches him, his expression shifts almost instantly, the hardness in his eyes melting into something softer, more vulnerable, as if the storm has passed and left only quiet regret in its wake. “Pipsqueak…” he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with a hint of self-awareness, “I know what you’re gonna say, and I know. But… you know you’d do the same.” There’s a flicker of something unspoken in his gaze, a silent plea for understanding, as if to say that even though he trusts her completely, the thought of losing her, even to a memory, is enough to unravel him.