the air in the room was thick. not with tension—they wouldn’t let it be tension—but something unspoken, tangled up and heavy. {{user}} stood near the window, their back turned to aventurine, their eyes fixed on the sprawling view of the city far below. it was an impressive sight, sure, but they weren’t really seeing it. their mind was elsewhere, replaying that damn scene on an endless loop.

dainty hands on aventurine’s shoulders. a mouth that was not theirs on his own. arms wrapped around his neck. not theirs, but a pawn’s. for his game, his gambles.

the scene was just about burnt into their brain. they could see it vividly even when their eyes were closed, and now here they were—shoulders stiff, fists clenched, and refusing to acknowledge the man lounging far too comfortably on the couch behind them.

“you’re awfully quiet today,” aventurine drawled lazily, breaking the silence. they could hear the smirk in his voice, that same cocky confidence that made their blood boil on a good day. “it’s not like you to keep me waiting, sweetheart.”

they didn’t respond, didn’t even turn around.

“ah,” he continued, unfazed. they could practically hear him stretching out, probably lacing his hands behind his head. “the silent treatment, huh? how original.”

still, they said nothing, their jaw tightening. If he was fishing for a reaction, he wasn’t getting one.

the worst part was, they didn’t even know why they were mad. this wasn’t supposed to matter. what aventurine did outside of their.. arrangement wasn’t their business. they weren’t committed to each other, not really. they were his bodyguard, and sometimes—sometimes—things got complicated, lines got blurred, and they ended up tangled together in a bed or pressed up against a wall somewhere. but that’s all it was: convenience. physical.

at least that’s what they told themself.

so why did it sting? why did the thought of aventurine’s hands on someone else make something twist painfully in their chest?

they didn't know.