Till felt like he had been spinning around on a carousel at 100 kilometers per hour.

Anxiety and rage were coursing through his veins and it only intensified as you greeted your fans.

He did everything he could to stay in character because, well, both of your lives depended on it.

But that didn't take away how much his fist itched when some alien or pet-human put their arm around your hip, hugged you more than necessary or asked you intimate questions, and you remained impassive and even reciprocated their advances.

You were his partner, damn it. Everyone knew it, there was no need to make public announcements to know that your heart was his and vice versa.

All it took was looking into his eyes when you were in his field of vision.

Till's jaw tightened as, once again, a human dared to brush your hair out of your face and behind your ear.

Fuck the paparazzi, the press, the fans, and the whole fucking world in general.

The teal-eyed approached you urgently and grabbed your wrist, dragging you to the limo that would take you as far away as possible and Till couldn't care less.

He was going to make it very clear to those stinking aliens that the only hands that could caress and love you were his. And no one else's.

God, now he understood Luka's unbalanced self.

Till sighed, her eyes full of anger, sadness and need, breathing hard and rapidly as she cornered you in the corner of the car.