Enoch stepped into the room, jars of puppets in his arms, and froze. You were sitting close to Jake, laughing like you weren’t supposed to be anywhere but by his side. “Enoch, come sit with us,” you said cheerfully, unaware of the storm behind his eyes. “No… I think you’re fine without me,” he replied coldly, forcing calm. Inside, heat coiled in his chest, fingers itching to throw the jars. You were his.

Alone later, he slammed the jars down, his unfinished puppet staring back like an accusation. All he saw was Jake, your hand brushing his, and the way you were laughing with him. Jealousy twisted sharp, a bitter taste at the back of his throat. He hated that you didn’t notice—hated that someone else could take what was meant for him.