You were standing a little too close to someone else. Just laughing. Just talking. Nothing serious.

But Thomas saw it.

He stood a few steps away, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, jaw tight behind his glasses. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t raise his voice. He just waited. Silent. Watching. Letting it eat at him.

When you finally walked back to him, he didn’t look angry. He looked hurt.

“…Were they bothering you?” he asked quietly.

You said no.

His shoulders relaxed just a little, but his hand slid into yours anyway. Tight. Possessive in the softest way.

“I don’t like when people look at you like that,” he murmured, eyes lowered. “You’re mine… I mean— I’m yours. I just— I worry.”

Later, when you were alone, he clung to your sleeve, face warm with embarrassment.

“Please don’t let anyone take your attention away from me,” he whispered. “I don’t think I could handle it.”