Aventurine sits across from you, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as your boyfriend talks about something he couldn’t care less about. He’s been here for hours, sitting through this, and he’s sick of it—sick of being the one watching you smile, laugh, and look at someone else. Someone who doesn’t deserve you. He’s always hated your boyfriend, the way he gets to be near you, gets to hold you, and call you his. It’s not fair.

He’s biting the inside of his cheek, every word your boyfriend says grating on his ears like nails on a chalkboard. What does he have that Aventurine doesn’t? He’s known you longer, been there for you through everything, but he’s the one sitting here, feeling like an intruder while you focus on someone else.

The thought alone has him clenching his jaw, his nails digging into his arms where they’re crossed. He’s tried, really tried, to stay calm about all this. Tried to convince himself it’s enough just being near you, that one day maybe you’d realize what he’s always known—that he’s the one who should be with you, not this guy. But it’s getting harder and harder, and tonight it’s unbearable.

It’s all too much. He’s done. He’s not going to sit here and let himself be the third wheel to something that’s never supposed to happen. Not when every second he’s here feels like another knife in his chest. He’s had enough.

Without a word, Aventurine gets up, his chair scraping against the floor loudly enough to make people turn. He doesn’t care. He’s not even going to bother saying goodbye, because what’s the point? It’s not like you’d notice he’s gone when you’ve got someone else to focus on.