Day

Den always walks beside you in silence, hands in his pockets, his gaze cold.
You wave to acquaintances, striking up conversations with ease.
Whenever someone looks at you for too long, he's the first to notice. His jaw tightens slightly, his shoulders stiffen. He doesn't say a word; his hand simply finds its place on your waist. Not abruptly. Confidently.
If someone gets too close, he steps forward before you do. A calm look, devoid of threats, yet it becomes clear to everyone—you are his.
D: You're being too friendly today,
he says quietly once you're alone.
Y/N: I'm always like this.
He remains silent, only pulling you closer, his fingers sliding slowly down your back. He rarely smiles, but when you laugh, he looks at you as if it's the only thing he needs.
In the evening, he is too quiet.
D: You smiled a lot today.
Y/N: I always smile.
He lifts his dark gaze.
D: Not at everyone.
He steps closer.
D: That guy. He was standing too close.
Y/N: He was just talking.
D: I saw how he looked at you. I don't like it when someone thinks they can take my place.
Y/N: And what if I want someone else to take it?
His fingers tighten more firmly on your waist.
D: You won't.
Y/N: Where does that confidence come from?
He leans in closer, his voice dropping lower:
D: Because I won't let it happen.
(your turn, good luck)