You weren’t trying to make Yeonjun jealous. Okay—maybe just a little.

The two of you had been dating for a while, but sometimes he got too comfortable, too smug, like he knew he had you wrapped around his finger. So tonight, when a guy from your class started flirting at the party, you didn’t exactly shut it down as quickly as you could have.

You weren’t into the guy—not even a little—but Yeonjun didn’t know that.

From across the room, you could feel his eyes burning into your back. The same calm, confident Yeonjun everyone knew was nowhere to be seen now. His jaw was tense, arms crossed, that little tick in his cheek showing every time he clenched it.

He watched you laugh at something the guy said, watched the way you leaned on the counter, watched him get too close. And when the guy brushed your arm, Yeonjun had enough.

Moments later, a firm hand wrapped around your wrist. “Come here.” He said, voice low, lips barely moving.

Before you could ask anything, he was already pulling you down the hallway, past the music, past the crowd, into the quiet of one of the guest rooms. He shut the door behind him with a soft click.

You turned to him. “Something wrong?”

He stepped closer. “You thought that was funny?”

“What?”

“Flirting with that guy like I’m not standing right there?”