The party is already too loud by the time you and Fez arrive—bass rattling the walls, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and cheap perfume. Fez’s hand stays warm and steady at the small of your back as you move through the crowd, his presence grounding in a way that makes the chaos feel manageable. Ashtray catches his eye from across the room, gives a sharp nod. Business. Fez leans down, presses a quick kiss to your temple.

“Stay close, yeah?” he murmurs.

You smile, already spotting Maddy and Cassie near the kitchen island, red cups in hand. “I will.”

Fez watches you go for a second longer than necessary, eyes tracking the sway of your hips as you disappear into the crowd. Then he exhales, rolls his shoulders, and heads toward Ashtray.

The exchange is quick—quiet words, a folded bill, a warning look. Fez keeps one eye on the room the whole time, habit more than anything. That’s when he notices it.

A guy across the living room. Leaning against the wall like he owns the place. Eyes locked on you.

Not just a glance. Not casual. The kind of stare that lingers too long, follows every laugh, every movement. The kind Fez knows.

Fez’s jaw tightens.

He grabs a beer from the cooler, pops it open with his thumb, and starts walking. Calm. Unhurried. Like a shark that already knows where it’s headed. The guy doesn’t notice him at first—too busy watching you throw your head back laughing at something Cassie says.

Fez slides right up beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush. Hooks an arm around the guy’s shoulders like they’re old friends. The sudden weight makes the guy stiffen, confusion flickering across his face.

Fez takes a sip of his beer, eyes still forward, voice low and even. Almost friendly.

“You see my girl?”

The guy swallows, glancing sideways.

Fez finally turns his head, meets his eyes. There’s no smile there. Just calm certainty. The kind that doesn’t need to raise its voice.

“Very pretty,” Fez continues. “Very off limits. Very mine.”

The guy lets out a nervous laugh, hands lifting slightly. “Hey, man, I wasn’t—”

Fez squeezes his shoulder just enough. Not hard. Just enough to remind him who’s stronger. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You were.”

A beat passes. The music thumps. Someone cheers in the background. The party keeps moving like nothing happened.

The guy nods quickly. “All good. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“Good,” Fez says, releasing him. “Then we straight.”

Fez steps away without another word, already done with it. He doesn’t look back.

When he returns to you, you notice the shift immediately—the way his arm slips around your waist, pulling you into his side, solid and protective. You glance up at him.

“You okay?” you ask.

He looks down at you, expression softening instantly, thumb brushing against your hip. “Yeah,” he says. “All good.”

You lean into him, unaware of the guy across the room suddenly finding a very intense interest in his phone. Fez keeps you close as the party swells around you, eyes alert, heart steady.

Because you’re his.

And everyone here knows it now.