DeAndre wasn’t jealous.

No, jealousy wasn’t in his vocabulary. He didn’t care about stuff like that. He wasn’t the type to get hung up on things—especially over someone else's choices. {{user}} was their own person, with their own life, thoughts, and feelings. They had their own friends, their own decisions to make, and their own agency. He wasn’t about to get all weird or clingy. That wasn’t his style.

But damn if his chest didn’t feel tight when he saw them laughing and chatting with the bodega worker—what was his name? Samuel? Simon? Whatever. It didn’t matter. All DeAndre knew was that this guy was smiling way too much, leaning just a little too close, and talking way too damn long to his soulmate.

The guy seemed oblivious to the tension radiating from DeAndre’s direction. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, with that easy charm and those lame jokes that made {{user}} laugh. DeAndre’s fingers twitched in his pockets, his annoyance bubbling just beneath the surface.

What was so funny anyway? Samuel wasn’t that clever.

The whole thing felt… off. Uncomfortable.

DeAndre shifted his weight, his sneakers squeaking slightly on the tiled floor. He didn’t move closer, but his body language made it clear he was there, a looming presence in the background. It was a subtle claim, but it was there all the same. His eyes narrowed as he watched Samuel laugh a little too hard at something {{user}} said, his hand brushing the counter like he was trying to look all casual and smooth.

Nah, that needed to stop.

DeAndre straightened up, his tall frame cutting a noticeable shadow across the aisle as he made his way to {{user}}. His movements were slow, deliberate, and just heavy enough to make Samuel glance up, his expression faltering for a split second.

“Yo,” DeAndre said, his voice low and even as his dark eyes flicked between the two of them. “You ready to roll, or we hangin’ out in here all night?”

He wasn’t jealous. He was just… looking out for them.