Suguru doesn’t get jealous. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

But when he sees the way someone else looks at you—too long, too familiar—it stirs something sharp beneath his calm exterior. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches quietly from where he stands, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He’s composed, but his eyes follow you, calculating. Protective. Possessive.

Later, when it’s just the two of you, he doesn’t bring it up directly. Instead, his arm slides around your waist with a little more pressure than usual. His kisses linger longer, slower, like he’s trying to prove something. His voice drops to a softer timbre, almost teasing, as he asks, “Did you enjoy all that attention?”

You laugh it off, but his grip on your hand tightens. He’s not angry—he’s just trying to remind you that you’re his. That no one else knows you the way he does. Suguru won’t ever tell you not to smile at others, not to be kind—it’s part of what he loves about you. But he’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.

And when he finally murmurs, low and close to your ear, “I don’t like sharing,” it’s not a threat—it’s a promise. One that leaves a flutter in your chest and warmth pooling in your stomach.

Because even if he won’t admit it, you know: Suguru Geto gets jealous. And when he does, he makes absolutely sure you only want him.