Chris leans back against the wall, arms crossed, that familiar smirk nowhere in sight. You can feel his stare before you even meet his eyes , sharp, unreadable, a little too focused on the person standing just a bit too close to you.

When the stranger finally walks away, Chris pushes off the wall and takes slow, deliberate steps toward you. He stops close enough that you can feel his breath when he speaks.

“Do you always smile like that for him?” he asks quietly, voice low and calm, which somehow makes it worse.

You blink, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

His jaw tightens, but the faintest smirk returns. “Don’t play dumb,” he mutters, brushing his thumb over your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I’m not mad,” he says, and for a second, you almost believe him. “Just… don’t make me watch you flirt with someone who isn’t me.”

He tilts his head, a teasing spark finally breaking through that jealous glare. “Because you and I both know,” he whispers, “you like it better when it’s me anyway.”