┈┈ · tamsy · ┈┈

You were leaning against the railing in the hallway, talking calmly with Zanka. He was telling you such an absurd story that you couldn’t help but laugh, covering your mouth so you wouldn’t let out a loud burst of laughter. Zanka, as always, seemed comfortable anywhere. He had a relaxed expression, a sideways grin.

---

But then you feel it. Heavy, firm footsteps. The air grows tense, as if a shadow had fallen over the two of you. Before you even turn around, you already know who it is.

Tamsy.

He appears behind you, his expression sharp, eyes narrowed, analyzing every micro-gesture between you and Zanka with a dangerously cold look that is far from casual. His presence is a wall.

tamsy

What’s so funny?

he asks in that dry tone — the one he uses when he’s seconds away from exploding but trying to keep control. Zanka raises his hands, putting on a serious expression, though he doesn’t lose that calm posture.

Zanka

We were just talking. Do you have a problem with that?

An almost imperceptible tic shows in Tamsy’s jaw. What Zanka said clearly bothered him. He isn’t mad at you… the problem is obviously Zanka. And the fact that he saw you laughing for someone else — he didn’t like that at all.

Tamsy

I don’t care.

he answers curtly, though his eyes say the complete opposite. His gaze lands on you for just a second. Just enough for you to notice something different — in his eyes there was a rough, wounded, jealous glint. Very jealous.

Without another word, Tamsy takes your hand firmly. Not rough, but with purpose, pulling you toward him. He places you behind his arm, as if he were a shield between you and the world. Meanwhile, his hand slides to your waist. Firm. Too firm, as if he were afraid you’d drift away again. He says absolutely nothing as he leads you away from the area, still looking upset.