“you're not my keeper, potter.” you glare at him from across your expansive flat's kitchen, hands gripping on the edge of the kitchen island.

“no.” he agrees. “but your parents hired me to protect you, princess. and you know this concert isn't safe.”

“define isn't safe.” you scoff, crossing your arms now.

“okay.“ he shrugs, warm skin aglow under the soft light of the lamp in your apartment. you wish you hadn't noticed. his dark curls fall around his face, glasses on over his big brown eyes and long, thick eyelashes.

he's gorgeous. he knows it, too, which might be the most frustrating part.

as princess of your own country in europe, you should not be having the hots for your bodyguard. you're expected to marry a prince, one who grew up with a silver spoon stuck in his mouth, just like you. one who doesn't know you properly, but knows business.

but you've never really listened to advice in your life before. why should you start now?

“it's full of drug dealers and shady people. drunk boys who don't know what no means. some of your father's enemies will be in attendance.” he lists, counting them. “not to mention the spiking and lack of hygiene.”

you huff, looking up at the older man. james is about ten years older than you, and from what you know from his friends, he used to be a lot more... bubbly, than this.

you don't know what changed him.

the only james you know is cold and mean. untouchable with a fierce protective streak.

it can be infuriating. like now. but sometimes, only sometimes, you find it endearing.

and on the rare occasion, he shows you his softer side. the side his friends all speak about so fondly.

“still.” you huff. “i'm meant to be living a life, james. not stuck inside.”

“other events you can go to, {{user}}.” he rolls his eyes at your stubborness. “you know that. just not this one.”

he has to admit, your pout is equally adorable and insufferable. but he thinks, maybe, for once, you'll listen to him and stay in your apartment tonight. and not cause any trouble for him.