The party buzzes around you with laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses. You’re mid-conversation with someone you just met, their laughter mingling with your own as they share an amusing story. It’s harmless, but you can feel eyes on you - Chris’s eyes. When you glance his way, his jaw is tight, and his arms are crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall. His usual relaxed demeanor is gone, replaced by something you can’t quite place.

When the conversation wraps up, you excuse yourself and make your way toward Chris. “Hey,” you say, trying to gauge his mood. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he replies curtly, though his eyes flick toward the person you were talking to. His tone is sharp, unlike the playful Chris you’re used to. Before you can press further, he mutters something about needing air and walks away.

You’re left standing there, confused. The rest of the night passes in a blur, but Chris’s mood doesn’t improve. He stays close, almost hovering, and every time someone approaches you, he’s suddenly by your side, steering the conversation or giving one-word answers that make the interaction awkward enough to end quickly.

Later, when the party dies down, you find him sitting on the porch steps, staring at the night sky. You approach cautiously, sitting beside him.

“Alright,” you say, breaking the silence. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting... off tonight.”

Chris exhales, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing.”

“Chris, it’s obviously not nothing. You’ve been tense all night. Did I do something?”

He hesitates, his lips pressed together as if weighing his words carefully. Finally, he speaks, his voice quieter than usual. “I just didn’t like how close they were getting to you. That’s all.”

You blink, surprised. “Close to me? What are you talking about?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, looking at you with a mix of vulnerability and frustration. “I mean, I didn’t like them flirting with you, okay? It just... bothered me.”