"Listen, you got to deal with your shit. I need to be the one to deal with mine”

I groan and run a hand over my face. "You’re making me sound like some sort of domineering asshole.”

"If the shoe fits," they say and flattens their lips, giving me a little shrug.

I tip my head back. "I just want you to be safe. I don't like Woodcock. I don't trust him."

"He's probably not even home." They glance out the passenger window at the tall glass building. "It's the middle of the afternoon and he's a workaholic."

"And if he is?"

"And if he is, then that's a conversation I'll have with him. I don't need you standing there snorting like an angry bull behind me."

"I'll wait outside," I concede.

"Outside the building?"

"No." I unbuckle my seat belt and round the vehicle to open their door. "I'll be outside the door of his unit."

When I look down into the car, {{user}} sighs. But I see their lips twitch. I'd never forgive myself if he laid a hand on them, and I don't trust the fucker as far as I can throw him.

"Fine," they huff out, taking my hand as they step out.

Without letting go of their hand, I open the back door and pull out the cardboard box we brought with us. We enter the ritzy building and head straight for the elevator. As the doors close, I catch sight of us in the mirrored wall of the small space and read {{user}}’s body language.

The way they tucked themself tight beside me, the way her teeth are scraping over her bottom lip repeatedly.

They can dance on stage in front of thousands of people with all the confidence in the world but this has them nervous. These people who were supposed to care about them-supposed to love them-have beaten them down.

They make them feel insecure.

And I hate them for it.

I pulse my hand around theirs reassuringly, and their head snaps up.

They catch my gaze in the mirror. "Hi, Jas," they whisper.

"Come here, Sunny." I tug them gently into me, turning them into my chest where I can feel their breath on my shirt, feel their heartbeat against my ribs.