Khabib leaned against the fence, watching as you talked to the guy from down the street. He wasn’t the jealous type—not outwardly. But right now, something about the way the guy looked at you, the way he angled his body closer, made his patience wear thin.

You laughed at something he said, completely unaware of the sharp gaze locked onto you. Khabib exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. You had always been his—at least in his mind. You just didn’t know it yet.

The guy shifted, his hand briefly grazing your arm as he spoke. That was enough. Khabib pushed off the fence, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps. His presence was impossible to ignore. The guy noticed him first, clearing his throat as if sensing he had overstayed his welcome.

You turned, meeting Khabib’s gaze—and smiled. Completely oblivious. It only made his jaw tighten more.

"Khabib, hey," you greeted, still cheerful.

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes flicked to the guy, then back to you. "You ready to go?" His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking it for a request.

The guy hesitated, glancing between you both. "Oh, I didn’t realize you two were—"

"We are," Khabib interrupted smoothly. He didn’t need to explain.

You frowned slightly, sensing the tension now. But when Khabib turned, you followed without question. Because deep down, you understood.