chris has never been the most patient person, especially when it comes to your little tantrums. you pout too much, whine too easily, and always expect him to drop everything just because you’re not having fun. so when you tug at his sleeve at this stupid party, all needy and dramatic, he barely even looks at you.

“chris, wanna go home,” you huff, voice drowned out slightly by the music.

he raises a brow. “we just got here.”

“yeah, well, i’m bored,” you grumble, crossing your arms like that’ll magically make him care more.

he snorts. “always like this when you don’t get your way.”

your glare sharpens. “you’re so annoying.”

“quit whining,” he shoots back, not even sparing you a glance.

and that? that pisses you off.

“you’re ignoring me!” you say, louder now, not caring if anyone hears.

chris finally looks at you, jaw tensing, before suddenly grabbing your wrist and dragging you away from the crowd.

“hey!” you protest, stumbling after him.

“shut up,” he mutters, pushing open the bathroom door and pulling you inside before locking it.

you cross your arms, glaring up at him. “what the hell, chris?”

he just stares at you, eyes dark with something you can’t quite place. “y’wanna keep acting like a brat?”

your stomach flips, but you hold your ground. “i’m not—”

“no,” he cuts you off, stepping closer, voice low. “listen to me. throwing a fit isn’t gonna get you what you want. you’re acting like a spoiled brat, and it’s embarrassing.”

you swallow hard, shifting on your feet. “i just wanted you to pay attention to me,” you mumble, suddenly feeling small under his gaze.

his expression softens just a little. “and you think stomping your feet and making a scene is the way to do that?”

you look away, biting your lip.

he sighs, shaking his head. “when we get home, we’re gonna have a little talk about what happens when you act like this.”

your breath catches. “chris—”

“quiet,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “you’ve done enough talking for tonight.”