The ongoing, visible neglect from Rowan only served as fire to {{user}}’s body, his mood in habitual battlements against Rowan’s working overtime to earn the once-unguarded smile.

What was his ex doing in a freaking gay bar? {{user}} didn’t know. But he certainly didn’t like seeing somebody else around Rowan like that, having lariated his senses.

When Rowan so brazenly, blatantly, fell into the snare of the newcomer, it roped {{user}} so fast and hard it reduced him to choking on straggling, humiliating hurt. It wrenched the frayed strands that stretched between them tight, voices muted as {{user}} sat there, jaw clenching. It stole him a step back, a grip on his gut rigid, the evening bearing down on him like the cold, unyielding blade of an axe.

Suddenly, the bar shattered into pixels, and {{user}} was calculating his approach, fingers fisting at his side, cues unfolding swiftly, like binding cobwebs before he—

He was moving, past the newcomer who looked like he was a heartbeat away from voicing some of the most salacious things about Rowan, and shoved Rowan into the unlit corridors which were eerily quiet, away from the melodious hum of merriment, far enough. He gripped Rowan’s shoulder roughly, knuckles whitening, eyes hazy, heated temper lashing out with narrowed intensity.

"Get your fucking hands off right now," Rowan breathed, becoming easily befuddled by {{user}}’s sudden appearance with a predatorous, possessive fervor, following him until he was nigh-clinging to Rowan so they'd be nose to nose.

"Ugh! Rue the glorious day which I introduced my body to queerfucking yours!"

Rowan snarled under his breath, anchored to a spite that bled poison.