Rody wasn’t the type to consider himself overly possessive. But Vincent? Vincent was different. He was the type who could make anyone's heart flutter with just a look, and Rody was no exception. His charm was understated but magnetic, those dark eyes pulling you in, framed by soft black curls that sometimes fell into his face when he concentrated. Rody loved everything about him—the way his lips would curve up into that rare, gentle smile, or how he’d scrunch his nose ever so slightly when he was focused on his studies.
Being with Vincent was like something out of a dream, and Rody savored every moment they had together. He'd catch himself watching Vincent as he read through a textbook, captivated by every little quirk and mannerism, feeling like the luckiest guy alive. But lately, someone else was taking notice of Vincent in ways that started to make Rody’s skin crawl.
Richard, his roommate, was usually cool—laid-back, funny, someone Rody generally got along with. But ever since he’d met Vincent, he’d been… different. At first, Rody had thought it was harmless. A few compliments here and there, the occasional friendly remark about Vincent's looks or his talent in class, a playful jab about how Rody was “scoring the jackpot.” Rody had brushed it off, flattered that Richard thought so highly of his boyfriend. But Richard’s admiration grew, and Rody could see it in the way his roommate looked at Vincent—his eyes lingering a little too long, his laughs a little too eager, and his interest a little too pointed.
Richard even started finding ways to be around whenever Vincent was over. He’d just casually be there, like he didn’t have anywhere else to be, always finding excuses to keep close. Rody began to feel like his territory was being invaded, each stolen glance and friendly touch from Richard igniting a small fire of jealousy deep within him.
One night, after they’d spent hours studying for a midterm, Vincent had decided to stay the night. The two of them shared a quiet dinner, which Rody had prepared, and afterward, they ended up tangled in each other’s arms, all the stresses of the day melting away in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Rody held Vincent close, savoring every breath, every touch, feeling the softness of his skin against his own.
They had barely caught their breath when a sudden creak from the door made them both jump. Richard stood there, eyes wide in mock surprise, claiming he hadn’t realized they were in there. But Rody saw how his gaze lingered, shamelessly trailing down Vincent’s exposed skin, his lips twitching into a knowing smirk. And as Richard finally pulled his gaze away with a half-hearted apology, Rody felt a surge of anger flare up. He knew. He knew they were in there, and Rody was sure that this was no accident.
“Hey, it was nice seeing you, Vincent,” Richard had said with an infuriating wink before shutting the door. Vincent, for his part, had just blinked, seemingly oblivious to the implications of Richard’s stare. Rody, on the other hand, felt his blood boil. How dare Richard look at him that way, at *his* Vincent, and have the audacity to act as if it were just a joke? The irritation lingered in Rody’s chest, his jaw clenching at the thought of Richard’s lingering gaze on Vincent, and he spent the rest of the night holding his boyfriend close, as if the mere act of it could ward off his roommate’s prying eyes.
Days passed, but Richard didn’t ease up. If anything, his behavior grew worse. Compliments spilled out of his mouth constantly, praising Vincent’s intelligence, his good looks, his charm—things Rody was well aware of but didn’t need to hear from his roommate. Richard's compliments became little jabs, reminding Rody that he wasn’t the only one who saw how incredible Vincent was.
What bothered Rody most, though, was Vincent’s complete lack of awareness. He seemed genuinely oblivious to Richard’s advances, brushing off every compliment with a polite nod, every flirty remark with a kind smile. Vincent was just *nice*, almost too nice, and Rody couldn’t stand it. Every time Richard laughed at one of Vincent’s dry comments or "accidentally" brushed his arm, Rody’s patience thinned, his fists clenching as he tried to keep his temper in check.
One evening, after Richard had spent an uncomfortable amount of time chatting up Vincent in the living room, Rody finally couldn’t hold back. As soon as Richard left the room, he pulled Vincent aside, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.
“Do you not see what he’s doing?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
Vincent tilted his head, giving Rody that soft, confused look he always did when he didn’t understand why Rody was upset. “What do you mean?”
“Richard,” Rody spat, as if the name itself tasted bitter. “He keeps coming around, always trying to talk to you, complimenting you like he’s *interested* in you.”
Vincent looked genuinely baffled, a gentle frown creasing his brow. “Rody, he’s just being friendly,” he replied softly, his hand reaching up to brush Rody’s cheek. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
But Rody didn’t feel reassured. He loved that Vincent was kind, that he saw the best in everyone, but right now it felt like that kindness was blinding him to Richard’s intentions. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. “The way he looks at you, it’s not just friendly. It’s… it’s something else.”
Vincent’s frown deepened, but he gave Rody a soft smile, brushing a hand through his hair to calm him. “Rody, you’re the one I’m with. I’m not interested in anyone else.”
But that didn’t stop the gnawing jealousy from eating away at Rody, each encounter with Richard fueling his resentment. It was clear to him that Richard’s “friendly” behavior was a mask, a pretense to be close to Vincent in ways he had no right to be. And Rody didn’t trust him—not for a second.
The next time Vincent came over, Rody found himself staying even closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist, shooting Richard pointed glares anytime he tried to catch Vincent’s attention. Richard seemed to find the whole thing amusing, smiling slyly as if he were enjoying Rody’s jealousy. It infuriated him, made him want to grab Vincent and take him somewhere where Richard’s greedy eyes couldn’t follow.
That night, as Vincent lay beside him in bed, Rody couldn’t hold it in anymore. He let his fingers trace over Vincent’s cheek, his voice a soft murmur.
“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he admitted, his thumb brushing gently over Vincent’s lips. “You’re… you’re *mine*, Vincent. I don’t want anyone else looking at you like that.”
Vincent’s eyes softened, his fingers intertwining with Rody’s as he gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Then I’m yours,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Rody’s lips. “Only yours.”
Rody felt the tension in his chest ease, the weight of his jealousy lifting with those words. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to let go of his possessive feelings, but as long as he had Vincent’s quiet assurances, he knew he could handle it. Richard’s lingering stares and sly smiles meant nothing when he had Vincent’s heart, right here, right now, in the darkness of his room where no one else could touch them.
And as he held Vincent close, Rody promised himself that he’d never let anyone come between them—not Richard, not anyone. Vincent was his, and he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.
