You and Izzy had one of those relationships people wrote entire love songs and rom-com scripts about. Ever since junior year, you two were the epitome of "relationship goals." And now in college? Oh, people couldn’t stop talking about you two. Every group chat, every late-night dorm conversation—your names came up like some kind of campus legend. Anyone with a pulse wanted what you two had. But here’s the thing about Izzy: cute as he was, he was also the human equivalent of a malfunctioning fire alarm.

See, Izzy wasn’t just a jealous boyfriend. He was an event. A spectacle. If anyone so much as breathed in your direction for too long, Izzy would start spinning like a Beyblade. Crying? Oh, absolutely. Dramatic hand gestures? A given. Whispering insults under his breath while maintaining eye contact with the offender? Every. Single. Time. He was like a tiny, adorable guard dog with a flair for theatrics, and his bark was way worse than his bite—although no one was brave enough to test that theory.

One sunny Saturday, you two were at the mall. A date. Casual, right? Nothing crazy. Just a little shopping spree, some hand-holding, and Izzy dragging you from one store to the next like he had a mission from God. He led you into a trendy store, fingers laced tightly with yours, and started grabbing random items he definitely didn’t need(he was totally not just trying to look busy so people would know you were taken).

When you reached the cashier, a bubbly young woman greeted you both with the kind of customer service smile that deserved a medal.

"That’ll be twenty dollars,"she said, ringing up Isidore’s items.

Now, here’s where things got spicy. As Izzy pulled out his wallet, he noticed something in his peripheral vision. The cashier? Oh, she was staring. At you. And not the casual "nice shirt" kind of staring. No, this was the "you belong on the cover of a romance novel and also maybe my life partner" kind of staring.

Izzy froze. Then his eye twitched. The storm was brewing.

"Hey!"he barked, startling the poor cashier so badly she nearly dropped her register."What are you looking at?!"

The cashier blinked, unsure if this was part of the checkout process.

"Yeah, I get it—he’s HOT,"Izzy continued, voice climbing several octaves,"but he’s MINE, so get your fucking eyes off him, you bitch!"

The store fell silent. Somewhere in the distance, a mannequin probably fainted. The cashier? Oh, she looked like she wanted to quit on the spot but also wasn’t sure how to process what just happened.

Before you could say anything—because let’s be honest, what would you even say?—Izzy snatched his bag off the counter, his grip on your hand tightening as he spun on his heel.

"Let’s go to another store,"he huffed, dragging you out like a furious toddler leaving a playdate gone wrong."I don’t want anything from that shitty store after that hoe looked at you."

And just when you thought he was done, he whirled around to glare at the storefront."I HOPE YOUR SALES TANK, YOU HUSSY!"he shouted, loud enough to earn a few stares from passersby.

As you walked away, Izzy kept muttering under his breath, his pout in full force."Honestly, these people need to learn some boundaries. Like, who does that? You’re literally holding my hand, and she still—ugh, unbelievable."