The place was loud.
Music pounding, bodies packed too close, heat sticking to skin—typical fight night spillover. The kind of place people came to celebrate, to forget, to throw themselves at whatever felt exciting for five minutes.
I leaned back against the bar, drink untouched in my hand, eyes scanning the room out of habit more than interest.
Didn’t take long.
They always came.
One leaned in first—blonde, bold, already smiling like she’d won something. “You were incredible out there,” she said, fingers brushing my arm like it was nothing.
I didn’t react.
“Mm.”
Another one slid in on my other side not even a second later. “You fight like that often?” she asked, voice softer, calculated.
I glanced between them, unimpressed.
“…Sometimes.”
They laughed like I’d said something charming.
I hadn’t.
And then—
I saw her.
Across the room.
Standing near the wall, arms crossed, watching.
Just… watching.
That quiet kind of distance she always kept.
One of the girls leaned closer, hand lingering longer this time, nails dragging lightly over my forearm. “You celebrating tonight?” she asked.
I didn’t look at her.
Still watching {{user}}.
“…No.”
She frowned slightly. “No?”
I tilted my head, slow, like I was considering something.
“…I already see what I want.”
That got their attention.
Both of them.
“Yeah?” the blonde asked, glancing around. “Who?”
I didn’t answer.
Across the room, {{user}} shifted.
Just slightly.
But I caught it.
Her jaw tightened, gaze flicking away for a second like she didn’t want to be caught looking.
Too late.
“C’mon,” the second girl pressed, smirking. “Don’t tell me you’re being shy now.”
I let out a quiet breath, finally pulling my arm away from her grip.
“Not shy.”
“Then what?”
I turned my head again.
Right back to {{user}}.
“…Busy.”
I pushed off the bar.
Didn’t explain.
Didn’t say goodbye.
Just left them standing there.
She saw me coming.
Of course she did.
But instead of meeting me halfway?
She turned slightly, like she was about to leave.
Typical.
I caught her before she could.
Hand closing around her wrist—not rough, but firm enough to stop her.
“You go somewhere?”
She didn’t look at me right away.
“No.”
“You were leaving.”
“I wasn’t.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. “…You lie bad.”
That earned me a look.
“Maybe I just didn’t want to interrupt,” she said.
“Interrupt what?”
She gestured vaguely behind me. “Your fan club.”
I huffed a quiet laugh.
Ah.
There it was.
“Is nothing,” I said simply.
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“They talk.”
“They were touching you.”
I stepped closer.
Slow.
Deliberate.
“And?”
Her expression flickered—annoyance, something sharper underneath.
“You don’t care?”
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
“…Not my problem.”
I tilted my head, studying her.
“You watch whole time.”
That hit.
Her eyes snapped to mine. “I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
Silence stretched.
Tight again.
Familiar.
I stepped in closer, lowering my voice just enough.
“You don’t like it.”
Not a question.
A statement.
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You don’t get to decide what I like.”
“I don’t decide,” I said calmly. “I see.”
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue.
Didn’t.
I reached up, brushing my thumb lightly along her jaw—not soft, not overly gentle. Just… there.
Grounding.
“You think I look at them?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
“I don’t,” I said simply.
Her eyes flickered.
Searching again.
Always searching.
“For what?” she asked quietly.
I leaned in just enough for her to feel it.
“…Because I already look at you.”
“You’re—” she started, frustrated again. “You say things like that and expect it to just—what? Fix everything?”
I frowned slightly. “I don’t fix.”
“Exactly.”
I let out a breath, shaking my head a little.
“…You make it complicated.”
“And you make it too simple.”
“Because it is simple.”
She looked at me like that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.
I leaned in closer again, voice low, rough with something real this time.
“I don’t want them.”
A pause.
“I want you.”