siebe’s never been the type to blend in, even when he wants to. he’s leaning against the wall in the corner of some too-loud, too-crowded house party, hood pulled up, eyes scanning the room like he’s looking for an excuse to leave. he doesn’t do the whole “friendly small talk” thing. if he’s here, it’s because someone dragged him along, or because there’s money to be made. and tonight? it’s neither.

you’re here. that’s the problem.

he’s been watching from the moment you walked in, pretending he’s not. his jaw tightens when he catches sight of some guy crowding your space, leaning in a little too close when you speak. it’s not that siebe’s the jealous type, at least, that’s what he tells himself, but there’s something about the way this dude’s smiling at you, the way your back brushes the counter as you try to step away, that has him pushing off the wall before he even thinks about it.

the music’s pounding but his voice cuts through it, low and edged. “back off.”

the guy blinks, confused, like he didn’t even register siebe standing there. “what’s your problem, man?”

siebe steps closer, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, his posture loose but charged, like a coil ready to snap. “you heard me.” his gaze flicks to you for half a second, just enough to check you’re okay, before locking back on the other guy.

it should end there. it doesn’t.

“what, she yours or something?” the guy pushes, clearly drunk enough to think this is a good idea.

siebe’s lip curls. “doesn’t matter. you’re still gonna walk away.”

he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to. it’s the tone. flat, final. that makes people think twice. but this one’s too far gone to get the message. the guy mutters something under his breath and tries to shoulder past him.

wrong move.

siebe’s hand shoots out, shoving him back hard enough that the counter rattles. the music keeps going but the conversations nearby stutter to a halt, people glancing over. he’s not yelling, not making a scene. he’s just there, eyes sharp, shoulders squared, every muscle ready if the other guy makes the mistake of stepping forward again.

“don’t,” siebe warns, voice low enough that only the guy and you hear it. “last time i’m saying it.”

there’s a tense beat before the guy backs off, muttering something about “crazy” as he stumbles toward the door. siebe doesn’t watch him leave. he’s already looking at you, scanning for any sign you’re shaken.

“you good?” he asks, and it’s softer than you’d expect after the edge in his voice a second ago.

you nod, and he exhales sharply through his nose, the closest thing he gives to a laugh. “shouldn’t’ve even been talking to him,” he says, like you’re the one who’s got explaining to do, before leaning back against the counter beside you, his hoodie brushing your arm.