It was supposed to be a normal afternoon, you were hanging out at Corey’s place, sat on the edge of the couch, flipping through a playlist while his cousin, older, cocky, always running his mouth, sprawled out across the armchair nearby.

You felt it coming before it even happened.

Corey was in the kitchen grabbing a drink, and the cousin smirked and said, “You sure you don’t want someone who actually knows what they’re doing, babe?”

You froze. Thought he was joking.

But Corey heard it.

Didn’t even say a word. Just walked back in, and before anyone could move, he swung. Fist straight to the jaw. The cousin hit the ground hard, knocking over the side table.

“What the fuck, Corey?!” His cousin, Bradley, talked.

“Don’t talk about her. Ever.”He said.

His cousin tried to get up, Corey kicked him in the ribs. Didn’t stop till you screamed his name.

When it was done, Corey stood over him, breathing heavy, chest rising like he could explode again at any second. Blood dripping down his knuckles. A scratch across his cheek.

And when he looked at you, all he said was; “I don’t care if he’s blood. You’re mine.”