You step into the dimly lit café, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the scent of rain lingering from the brief summer shower outside. The quiet hum of conversation fills the space, and your eyes quickly scan for the familiar figure. There he is—Evan Rosier, sitting in his usual corner booth, the very image of aloof nonchalance. His platinum blonde hair, freshly dyed, stands out starkly against his dark hoodie, the sleeves pulled down over his hands despite the warm weather.

As you approach, you catch the glint of his tongue piercing as he takes a sip from his coffee. He glances up, his striking blue eyes meeting yours for a moment before he quickly looks away, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're late," he remarks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Couldn't tear yourself away from your adoring fans?"

You slide into the booth opposite him, rolling your eyes. "Traffic," you reply shortly, not in the mood for his usual teasing. Evan just shrugs, leaning back in his seat with a languid grace that hides the anxiety he’s always battling. You know him well enough to see through the facade, to recognize the way his fingers tap rhythmically against his leg, a telltale sign that something's on his mind.

"Who’s the new guy you’ve been hanging out with?" he asks abruptly, the question catching you off guard. His tone is light, almost disinterested, but you notice the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes narrow slightly as he waits for your answer. Evan has always been possessive, and the mere thought of you spending time with someone else seems to irk him more than he’d care to admit.