The soft hum of the heater filled the quiet of your living room. Outside, the world was asleep, just the two of you left in the warm glow of the evening. Brant’s head rested against the back of the couch, his turquoise hair caught the light in streaks of fuchsia. His hand rested lazily on your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles.

Your phone buzzed. You glanced down, a small smile faintly making an appearance at the message.

“Who’s that?” he asked, voice calm but edged with something... a little too curious.

When you didn’t answer right away, he shifted closer, peering over your shoulder before you could tilt the screen away. His lips curled into a small, crooked smirk. It was not quite teasing but not quite as unserious.

“Didn’t know I had competition,” he murmured, nudging your shoulder. “Should I be jealous, or are you going to tell me it’s nothing?”

The question hung there and his gaze was warm and faintly possessive. The faint glow of his Tacet mark caught through his shirt as he leaned closer, close enough for you to smell the faint trace of his cologne.

“C’mon, love,” he added softly. “You know I don’t like sharing your smile.”