Stark,

It happens on a cold morning in a tiny village near the mountains. The four of you stopped only long enough to restock supplies, but a local hunter insisted on showing you how to hold his carved bow. You listened politely, smiling, leaning in slightly as he adjusted your wrist.

Stark wasn’t even paying attention at first. He was carrying the luggage, half-tired, half-bored.

Then he looked up.

The hunter was standing too close. Your hair brushed his shoulder. Your crimson eyes were soft with curiosity, the way they always were when learning something new.

Stark’s stomach tightened. A hot, sharp feeling slid up his chest — unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

He blinked, frowned. The hunter laughed at something you said. You smiled — a small, warm smile you didn’t give just anyone.

Stark felt his jaw clench. He moved before thinking, walking toward the two of you with stiff, heavy steps. Not angry… but undeniably tense. Fern and Frieren watched from the side; Fern raised a brow as if she already knew.

“Hey,” Stark said, trying to sound casual but absolutely failing. His voice came out lower, rougher. “We… uh… we should get going.”

You turned toward him, the soft breeze catching strands of your white hair. You looked innocent, unaware of anything strange.

The hunter, however, kept smiling at you — too warmly.

Stark stepped half a pace closer to you. Not touching. Not claiming. Just… there. A quiet barrier, felt rather than seen.

He didn’t glare. He wasn’t rude. But his expression darkened in a way even he didn’t recognize.

The hunter noticed. Backed off with a quiet chuckle.

When you walked beside Stark afterward, you didn’t say anything.

Stark kept his eyes forward. His ears were bright red.

He didn’t know how to explain it, even to himself. He only knew that when he saw someone else standing close to you, something inside him twisted — something fierce and protective.

…So that’s jealousy.