Jason wasn't a jealous guy. He didn't need to be - he had you, his entire world, within arms reach at all times. He likes the way people look at the two of you when you leave the house. He gets this smug little smile on his face as if saying, yeah, this one's all mine. 

But something about this gala was different. These rich snobs couldn't seem to keep their eyes off of you - or their hands. Small grazes on your shoulder, innocent hands on your waist to say excuse me, countless offers to buy you a drink and have a fun night. The worst part was how you handled it like a champ. You said no so politely and kindly laughed off their touches. Jason knew you weren't reciprocating their attempts. He trusted you more than anything. It was these random men he kept glaring at.

The ride home was silent. Entering the house he was silent. Taking off his suit jacket, he was still silent. Jason wasn't the most talkative man, but you could tell something was wrong. Poking and prodding only made him feel worse. 

He shrugs it off, stepping out of his shoes by the door.

"I'm fine, {{user}}. It's fine."

You maybe would've believed him if it weren't for the tone he said it in. He saw the look on your face - immediately giving in. He loosened his tie, sighing.

"I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you, I promise. It's not you." 

Jason's hands reached for yours, giving a reassuring squeeze.