Nathan Blake built his entire identity around control. Control everything. And loving Ruby had never threatened that control — she was chaos, yes, but she was his chaos. Predictable in her unpredictability. Safe.

{{user}} wasn’t.

She slipped into his awareness gradually — the way she rolled her shoulders before a stunt, the way she bristled when someone tried to help her, the way she’d glare at him when he hovered too close. He told himself it was instinct. Protective. Big-brother energy.

It wasn’t.

And that realization sat in his chest like a loaded fucking weapon.

The living room smelled like vanilla candles and cheap wine coolers. Laughter bounced off the walls, blankets scattered across the floor. Music hummed low from someone’s phone speaker.

“I thought this was supposed to be a sleepover,” he muttered dryly, scanning the room. “Not a damn festival.”

Ruby laughed earlier, dragged him into group selfies, claimed him with loud affection. He stayed close like he was supposed to. Hand at her waist. Nods. Small smiles. Controlled.

But his eyes kept drifting.

Across the room.

To {{user}}.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, animated, laughing at something someone said.

He looked away.

Then looked back.

Fuck.

He adjusted his glasses with his middle finger, exhaling slowly. Stop. Ruby was beside him. Ruby was his girlfriend. Ruby trusted him.

An hour later, Ruby yawned dramatically and stretched against him.

“Babe, I’m crashing,” she’d murmured before wandering off toward the guest bedroom, blanket in hand.

He watched her go. He should’ve followed.

He didn’t.

Nathan leaned back against the wall now, arms folded, expression neutral. Pretending he wasn’t locked onto {{user}} like a satellite.

She stood up to grab another drink.

And that’s when he saw him.

Tall. Confident. Some guy from the football team Nathan vaguely recognized.

The guy stepped into {{user}}’s space too easily.

His body reacted before his brain finished processing.

Arms uncrossed.

Spine straightened.

He pushed off the wall, movements unhurried but deliberate. His pulse wasn’t racing — it was sharpening.

Evaluate the situation, he told himself.

The guy leaned closer.

Nathan felt something dark and territorial coil low in his stomach.

Each step controlled. Heavy but quiet. He stopped just within reach, close enough that his shoulder almost brushed {{user}}’s.

He didn’t look at the guy first—He looked at her.

Then his gaze shifted.

Measured. Flat.

“Is there a problem?” Nathan asked, voice calm, low, almost polite.

His hand hovered briefly near {{user}}’s lower back — not touching yet, but close enough to signal something unspoken.

The guy laughed awkwardly. Said something dismissive.

Nathan didn’t smile.

He stepped half a pace closer, invading just enough space to make the point clear.

“She’s good,” he said evenly. “You can back off.”

It wasn’t a request.

His fingers finally settled lightly at {{user}}’s waist — steady, grounding, possessive in a way he’d never admit out loud.

He felt the heat of her through thin fabric.

That was his mistake.

Because the contact sent a pulse straight through him. Not brotherly at all.

His thumb flexed unconsciously before he forced it still.

He didn’t look at her.

Couldn’t.

The guy muttered something and stepped away.

After a few seconds, he spoke again, voice quieter now, meant only for her.

“You attract idiots,” he muttered. A pause. His jaw tightened. “You don’t have to entertain every one of them.”

His hand dropped slowly from her waist, but he didn’t step away immediately.

He looked down at her finally. Dark eyes intense behind thin frames.