The sun beat down hard on your eyes, making you frown and raise your hand in an attempt to block the glare. Stanley was also bothered by that light, but unlike you, he couldn't help but notice how much it made you even more irresistible—your prominent eyelashes, your expression of slight irritation, your delicate gesture of protection. To him, even your annoyance was beautiful.

His brown eyes rested on you in a way that was already familiar: intense, watchful, tender, and yet possessive. Stanley always made time to be by your side. Sometimes—most of the time, actually—it felt like you were already a couple. And at that moment, as you walked side by side toward Xeno's house, his pinky finger brushed discreetly against yours, as if testing how far he could go.

You had asked for company. That was all. But Stanley didn't need to think twice before accepting. The truth is, he knew from the beginning that he would have difficulty handling the situation. Xeno had mentioned his college work, and the mere thought of you being alone with him, in his house, was enough to awaken an unease Stanley made no effort to hide.

It was surprising even to him: this feeling grew stronger every day, burning like a fire difficult to control.

He and Xeno were childhood friends, and Stanley knew his friend didn't care about such things. But it didn't matter. It wasn't about trusting Xeno, but about his own inability to bear the presence of another man by his side for too long. Anyone was a problem; with Xeno, it would be no different.

And then there was the burden of his military routine. Half his time, Stanley spent training, pursuing his dream of becoming a sniper, even after not being drafted at eighteen. Deep down, he was grateful for it: wasting years away from you would be unbearable, especially without ever having asked the question he wanted to ask. Even so, there was no need to say it out loud; his intentions were in every look, in every gesture.

"Do you know what you're doing this weekend?" he asked, almost rhetorically, and, without waiting for an answer, he intertwined your hand with his. His palm was rough, calloused, but warm. A touch charged with security... and a silent possession that you couldn't help but notice.

The jealousy, this time, wasn't just in his eyes. It escaped in words:

"This work with Xeno... what's it about?" His voice sounded lower, firmer, as if the answer were more important than it really should be. "Will it take up a lot of your time?"

Stanley's gaze never left yours. His steps slowed, as if he wanted to prolong the moment, stretch out every second he still had you to himself.