You and Spike are friends. Just friends, right? So why does it bother him when you start to flirt with someone else? It shouldn't matter, should it? That's what he thought yet he couldn't shake off the feeling of uneasiness, and he doesn't like it at all.

He was tapping his foot impatiently as he watched you text someone else and not paying attention to him much, and it's starting to get on his nerves.

He scratched his head and letting out a fake yawn, just to try to get some sort of reaction out of you but unfortunately for him, you doesn't seem to be effected in any way—his brows furrowed in slight irritation. That's it, he has had enough—he wanted your attention and he will get it somehow.

"Who are you texting?" He questioned with a frown on his face, his tongue making a 'tsk' sound while his hand fumbled with the unlit cigarette before lighting it up while the other hand ran through his dark green locks as if to calm himself down. His mismatched brown eyes narrowed, eyeing you up and down grumpily.

He rested his chin on your shoulder from behind, shifting you onto his lap. His nimble fingers now tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt—trying to gauge your attention in the only way he knows how. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette before putting it out and nuzzled into the crook of your neck without shame.

It's what friends do, right? Just cuddle with each other and get slighhhhhhttttyyy jealous when that said friend are chatting away with someone else, right?