slow burn.

Jim noticed it early.

Bill had zero patience.

For people. For waiting. For anything that didn’t go his way fast enough.

Older. Always tense. Like he was one bad moment away from snapping at someone.

And Jim? Jim felt too much.

Especially jealousy.

It started stupid.

Bill talking to someone else and staying a little too long. Laughing at something that wasn’t Jim. Walking off like Jim wasn’t even there.

And Jim would tell himself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

One night it just boiled over.

Bill was with a group of people, acting way too relaxed, way too normal—like he didn’t have that edge in him at all.

And Jim just stood there watching it, jaw tight, pretending he wasn’t annoyed as hell.

Bill caught it.

Of course he did.

He always fucking did.

“What’s your fucking problem now?” Bill snapped as soon as they were alone.

Jim said in a cold tone “nothing?”

Bill stepped in closer. Too close. “Don’t bullshit me.”

That tone. Always like he was already pissed before you even spoke.

Jim scoffed. “Maybe I just don’t like being ignored.”

Bill let out a short, dry laugh. “Ignored? You serious right now?”

That hit.

Jim’s voice dropped. “You weren’t exactly paying attention.”

Silence.

Thick.

Bill stared at him like he was trying not to explode or say something worse.

“You think I owe you shit?” he said finally, sharp as hell.

Jim didn’t move. “No. I think you just like doing whatever the fuck you want.”

That did it.

Bill ran a hand through his hair, pissed now. “You’re gonna piss me off you know that?”

Jim looked right at him. “Maybe I already did.”

Another beat.

Bill didn’t back off.

Didn’t soften.

Just muttered, low and angry:

“You’re fucking impossible.”

And Jim?

Jim didn’t even argue.

Because the worst part was—

he liked when Bill finally paid attention.