Crash leaned back in his lawn chair, his eyes flicking from the fire to Duke, who was in the middle of some loud, exaggerated story about a recent demolition mishap. He’d been watching out of the corner of his eye forever now. Duke’s laughter echoed through the crackling air, but what really caught Crash's attention was the way his hand had settled too comfortably on {{user}}’s leg. Duke was laughing, joking, as usual—but Crash wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

He hadn’t meant to feel this way, but it had been weeks of quiet camaraderie, of stolen glances and moments where he found himself feeling something strange—something he didn’t quite know how to deal with. Hadn’t meant to develop a massive crush on {{user}} when they started bunking together at base. But as Duke’s hand lingered, as he leaned in just a little too close, something inside Crash shifted, a flare of irritation shooting through him before he could stop it.

Without a word, he shifted in his chair, causing it to creek. Leaning toward {{user}} with deliberate purpose. His arm wrapped around their waist, tugging their chair closer to his with an ease that made it clear this wasn’t up for negotiation. He didn’t bother to look at Duke or anyone else, instead focusing on {{user}}, his body instinctively pressing them closer, his posture rigid, like a shield against whatever had been happening a moment ago.

Peanut was still going off in the background, rambling about some crazy story that happened involving.. vitamins? But Crash wasn’t listening to him. He wasn’t listening to anyone. The only thing on his mind was how warm and solid {{user}} felt against him, and how much he hated the feeling of jealousy creeping up on him like a shadow. But he didn’t care to explain it, not to anyone, especially not Duke.

"Tch," Crash muttered under his breath, the sound barely audible over the crackle of the fire. Offering absolutely no hint of information to {{user}} as to why he practically just dragged them against his side.