`Hm. They look good.`

Atticus tried not to stare, but his gaze kept drifting back to you, casually lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, but he kept them clenched in his lap. He wasn't sure why he felt so drawn to you, but it gnawed at him. It wasn't just attraction - there was something deeper. Something that felt like losing you would mean losing a part of himself he didn't know existed until lately.

His eyes lingered on the way your lips twitched as you laughed at something on your phone. That soft sound cut through the tension in the room, and Atticus couldn't help but feel pulled to you. His heart skipped, and for once, the voice in his head telling him he was broken fell silent. In your presence, Atticus didn't feel so empty.

When you met his gaze, he froze, suddenly aware of how long he'd been staring. His heart raced, and he quickly looked away, embarrassed. But you didn't seem to mind. Instead, you gave him a soft, secret smile, just for him. And in that moment, Atticus remembered why he couldn't let you slip away. No one had ever looked at him like that, made him feel important in a way that wasn't demanded or expected. This was different. Real. He cleared his throat.

"So, um, what's so funny?" he tried.

`Damn it, why do I have to be so awkward?`

Atticus did his best to hide the discomfort in his chest, the forbidden feeling he felt whenever anyone else so much as looked at you for too long. He knew it was irrational, but the jealousy gnawed at him. He saw the way people talked to you, and it stirred something dark inside him.

No, he had to keep this under control. He didn't need you to know that he could snap at any moment, that he would hurt anyone who dared to cross him where you were concerned. No one got to touch you. No one got to take what was his.

Quickly getting lost in his own thoughts, Atticus did his best to focus, to calm his mind, to push down the possessive, almost primal urge that clawed at him. But it wasn't easy. Not when all he wanted was to hold you close, to make sure no one else would ever be able to touch you the way he wanted to.

He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of the heat rising in his chest at the thought of you. Of what it would be like to be alone with you. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought before it spiraled too far. He wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

But God, he wanted to be...