You were sat at noisy New York bar. Alternative music and talking voices echoing through the room. 

Your messy haired boyfriend, chivalrous as always, was stood by the crowded bar getting the both of you drinks. You smile as you notice him shake his head rejecting what seemed to be the twentieth wine he tried.

You see a familiar pair of blue eyes across the room. It takes a minute, then clicks- an old school friend. 

You make eye contact, his eyes smile at you, then so do his lips. Classic. Flirty as always. As if on cue he walks over. 

“Y/n!” he exclaims wrapping his arms around you.

“James! its been ages, how are you?” you respond, returning his hug.

“I’m doing fine, you don’t look so bad yourself,” he smirks sitting down on the bar stool opposite you.

The two of you get talking -playful banter- teasing each other about the people you used to be back in high school. He’s sitting a little too close to you, and keeps reaching over to touch your arm. 

Its no big deal, you thought. He’s always been like this. Its never meant anything, it doesn't mean anything.

Just that moment you feel a familiar arm around your waist, you look up to see your boyfriend, Timothee, studying the man sat opposite you. 

“Here’s your drink, sorry I took forever couldn’t decide what kind of ing wine I wanted,” he chuckles kissing your forehead as he hands you a glass.

“Who’s this?” Timothee asks, raising an eyebrow in referral to James.

“James, and you are?” asks James, evidently amused.

“The boyfriend,” says Timothee with a sharp edge in his voice you hadn't heard before.

What the hell had gotten into him? He was never like this. Jealousy isn’t his thing.

You don’t realise whats wrong until you’re back home stood in the dressing room.

“You seem to have had fun tonight,” he scoffs running his long fingers through his hair.

“Yes, did you?,” you say kissing his the side of his jaw.

“Is that really a question? I just watched some guy flirt with my girlfriend like its nobody's business,” he snaps, his eyes dark.

“ing hell. Are you jealous?” you ask laughing softly.

He places his cold hands on your waist pressing you up against the wardrobe. 

“Why would I be?” he says, his voice low and raspy.

“You seem to be,” you state.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, his lips make their way to your jaw peppering kisses down to your collarbone. Quick, rushed, and angry. Yet somehow enough to send chills down your spine. Your breath hitches and you roll your head backwards. 

“Can he do this to you?” he says he hisses between kisses. 

“No,” you whisper. 

His hands grasp onto the small of your back as you wrap your legs around his waste. 

“I thought so,” he replies, smirking as he urges you toward the bed.