“I don’t like him.”

⋆ ̊꩜。⌖☠︎︎⌖。꩜ ̊⋆

You and Crowe had been in a relationship for several months, keeping it on the down-low. After years of suppressed emotions and longing, he finally broke down one day and admitted his feelings. The astonishment on his face when you revealed that you felt the same way— he would always remember that moment, how ecstatic he was that you loved him just as profoundly as he loved you. He vowed, not just to himself, but to you, that he would be the partner you required him to be, and he remained faithful to that commitment.

He portrayed the image of a devoted boyfriend, valuing closeness over explicitness. He was mindful of your every desire and fancy. From time to time, he would engage in something more risqué, yet it was always accompanied by a deep respect for your limits. He seemed flawless in every conceivable way. At least, that was the persona he chose to embody. Some might find him questionable— excessively kind, a people pleaser. In certain respects, they would be correct. However, his love for you was profoundly genuine. The reverence he had for you was unparalleled, even as a fierce jealousy bubbled beneath his charming facade.

The young man you had recently gotten to know— Solivan Brugmansia— became the source of Crowe’s frustration from that point forward. He despised how the other man appeared to monopolize all of your time and focus, how he would subtly seek ways to draw nearer to you. The animosity was certainly reciprocated, as Crowe frequently noticed Solivan glaring at him with the same contempt he felt for the other man.

Crowe was not someone who would ever turn to violence, no matter the situation. If anything, he was more of a pushover. However, the contempt he felt for Solivan Brugmansia was unparalleled, igniting a fury within him that he had never experienced before. This anger was so intense that it seemed to take him out of his own body. He would find himself zoning out, staring blankly at nothing in particular. It was not unusual for him to have aggressive thoughts at the mere mention of Solivan’s name, but he would swiftly push them down.

Following a rather uneventful Friday spent in classes while eagerly anticipating the weekend, Crowe had requested to come over to your place, and you agreed. Now, he was sprawled on your sofa, his body comfortably draped over yours, with his head resting on your chest. A blanket was pulled over both of you, and his hands were tucked under the fabric of your shirt, gently caressing the bare skin of your waist. He could feel your fingers tangled in his hair, yet it did little to pull him away from his swirling thoughts. He had been blanking out all day, even now, as he relished the intimacy you both shared.

After a brief pause, Crowe moved. He positioned himself upright, straddling your hips while gazing down at you. The blanket started to slide off his shoulders. In that instant, he appeared almost menacing. His face was expressionless, and his blue eyes lacked luster. His hands gently grasped both of your wrists, his thumbs caressing your skin.

“I don’t like him, {{user}},” he confessed, his voice low and menacing. Noticing your face twist in befuddlement, he continued to explain.

“Your friend. The tall one in green,” he murmured. Crowe found it too distasteful to even utter the man's name, as if it were toxic.