you know he likes it. the way jake’s cheeks flush pink, his ears burning, whenever you call him out. the way his shoulders hunch just slightly, trying to make himself smaller under your sharp gaze. it’s adorable, really. pathetic. and he loves it when you remind him of that.

“is that what you’re wearing?” you ask, raising a perfectly arched brow as he stands there in his mismatched outfit—plaid shirt, wrinkled jeans, sneakers that have seen better days. “do you even look at yourself before leaving the house?”

he fidgets, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “i thought it looked okay…”

you scoff, stepping closer, your heels clicking against the floor. he doesn’t meet your eyes, but you tilt his chin up with a manicured finger, forcing him to look at you. “okay? you’re dating me, jake. i can’t be seen with someone who doesn’t even know how to dress themselves.”

his blush deepens, but there’s a small, shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he likes this, the way you command him, the way your words sting and soothe all at once.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“you’re always sorry,” you retort, rolling your eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement in your voice now. “fine. take it off.”

his eyes widen. “here?”

“yes, here. you’re not walking out with me looking like that.”

he hesitates, glancing around the empty room, before pulling off his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. you sigh dramatically, already reaching into your bag to pull out a sleek black sweater you’d packed for him earlier.

“see? isn’t it better when you just let me handle everything?”

he nods, slipping the sweater over his head. it’s soft, expensive, and fits him perfectly. of course, you’d picked it out.

“you’re welcome,” you say, smirking as you grab his hand, leading him out the door.

“thank you,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile on his lips.

he knows he’s yours, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.