let him tell it, johnny sinclair doesn’t get jealous. he’s above all that or at least that’s what he says. he’s got that easy grin, that lazy drawl, that sinclair confidence that makes everything sound like a joke. but right now, there’s nothing funny about the way his jaw’s set tight, teeth grinding behind a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

he’s back home in new york after another summer on beechwood. sunburnt, restless, still smelling faintly of saltwater and lemon. he thought he’d slide back into city life the same way he always does, like slipping into an old shirt: familiar, comfortable, a little frayed around the edges. he thought you’d be waiting. you usually are. the countdown to his return is kind of your thing—half teasing, half desperate—but this time your texts had been shorter, colder, fewer. no inside jokes. no late-night calls. just a “see you soon” that never sounded less like you.

he told himself it was fine. maybe you were busy or asleep. his flight did get in pretty late. but then he shows up to some stupid prep school party he’d normally never bother with after one of his friends texted him about it and there you are. laughing. hand tangled in someone else’s.

johnny freezes for half a second, long enough for that familiar ache to hit—sharp and mean, right under his ribs. he watches you throw your head back, that laugh he’s heard a hundred times, only now it’s not for him. the guy next to you leans in close, too close, whispering something that makes you smile in a way johnny can’t stand.

his hands slide into his pockets, but his knuckles are white. he swallows the burn in his throat and tries to remind himself he doesn’t care. he’s johnny sinclair. he doesn’t do attachment, doesn’t chase, doesn’t break. but god, the sight of you looking so damn happy with someone else has him unraveling anyway.

he doesn’t even remember crossing the room, but suddenly he’s there standing in front of you both, smirk loaded and tone all ice. “what you can't answer my texts because you're hanging off of this clown?” he asks, voice coming out sharper than he intended.