Lev watches you sidelong, raising a brow.

For whatever reason, your eyes are zeroed in on your phone screen—glaring with the aggregated wrath of a thousand suns. His height lends him the advantage of getting a peek at your screens, where he can make out his most recent post to instagram.

More specifically, the comments. Your least favorite place on earth; where Lev’s parasocial fans love to ogle over your boyfriend.

He winces, supressing a smirk. “Glad I’m not ‘levslefteyebrow’ right now. You’ve got a face like a sour grape.”