The door to his room shut with more force than he meant. The sound echoed down the hall, but Kris didn’t care.

He stood still for a moment, fists clenched at his sides, head low, hair hanging in his face like a curtain. His breath came too fast. Too shallow.

She followed behind him quietly — {{user}}. Always calm. Too calm, and it made the heat under his skin burn hotter.

He hadn’t said a word the whole walk home. Not when that guy touched her arm. Not when he laughed like he’d known her for years. Not even when Kris caught her smiling — not at him, but someone else.

That smile wasn’t his.

The air in the room felt too tight. His heartbeat too loud. Like something inside was screaming, but his mouth wouldn’t open.

Then, suddenly, he turned.

He crossed the room in two long, fast strides and stood in front of her. Not touching her. Not yet. But close enough that the tension in his shoulders shook slightly with restraint.

“You didn’t see it,” he muttered. Voice rough. Low. “The way he looked at you.”

No answer. Good. He didn’t want one. He wasn’t asking.

Kris’s hands twitched at his sides. “He thought you were his to talk to. To touch. Like I wasn’t right there.”

His eyes met hers — sharp, shadowed, scared.

“Like I don’t matter. Like I can’t stop it.”

That last part came out sharper than the rest. Louder. There was something breaking underneath the words — something Kris didn’t let people see. Not even her. Not really.

“I wanted to drag you away,” he said, stepping even closer. “Right there. In front of him. Just—pull you to me and make him understand.”

His voice dropped into a whisper.

“You’re not his. You’re mine.”

He looked like he hated himself the second it came out. But he didn’t take it back.

Because it was true.

“I don’t talk. I don’t smile like they do. I don’t know how to be... soft, all the time. But I see the way they look at you. And I’m scared one day…”

His jaw clenched. His hands finally moved — gripping the edge of his sweater like he needed something to hold before he shattered.

“One day you’ll look at someone else and not come back.”

Silence.

Then: His hand reached out — slow, shaking slightly — and curled around her wrist. Not to pull. Not to trap. Just to feel that she was there. Still real.

His eyes dropped. His voice, barely there now:

“Just tell me you’re still mine. Even if you don’t say it out loud. Just… stay.”