The room was unusually quiet. Papers scattered across the table, half-full teacups, and an open window letting the breeze toy with the edge of the curtain.

You stood in the corner, watching him silently as he spoke with Andrea. The conversation wasn’t secret, nor was it intimate, it was painfully ordinary. And somehow, that made it worse. The way he looked at her, his relaxed expression, the way he tilted his head while listening… all of it felt familiar, warm, like he wasn’t the cold man you thought you knew.

Time didn’t stop, but it felt heavy. The more you tried to ignore it, the more your senses tuned in. Her smile to him. His quiet laugh. That fleeting touch on her shoulder as he passed. Every detail stirred something in you, something you hadn’t admitted before. That quiet wish for him to belong to you, and you alone.

But it wasn’t jealousy in the loud sense. It was more like a quiet ache. Or a fear that maybe what was between you two only existed in your head.

When he finished speaking with her, Andrea left without so much as a glance your way. You remained where you were, trying to seem unaffected. Trying to convince yourself it meant nothing.

He approached you with his usual confident steps, no rush, no hesitation. But when he stood before you, he paused.. his eyes stayed on your face a little too long, as if sensing something had shifted.

He noticed the subtle tension in your shoulders. The flicker in your gaze that couldn’t quite mask the unease. The space you left between the two of you, something you never used to do.

He was surprised. Not by your reaction, but by what it meant. You were jealous. You… were jealous over him.

Something in his face changed. Not a full smile, but a subtle pull at one corner of his lips. Like he was quietly enjoying the moment more than he should. A short laugh escaped him, soft, but heavy with mischief.

Then he looked at you and said in a low voice, almost like he was sharing a private secret,

“I thought you said you don’t get jealous, {{user}}.”