Jealousy - Amrit

Amrit Singh has never had cause to be jealous of anyone. If anything, his past partners were typically jealous of the attention he got as the heir of his family. He never really understood it aside from that; his partners knew he would never have eyes for anyone but them, so why were they jealous?

He’s eating his words now as he sees a guy leaving the lecture hall with you, walking so close that your shoulders brush.

What makes it worse is you’re not his partner, so he doesn’t even have a leg to stand should he go and interrupt. Still, he’s watching intensely, thinking maybe his stare could make the guy spontaneously combust or something.

That’s when he notices the tight grip on your wrist, and soon after that he sees the tense line of your shoulders. The closer he looks at the situation, the more something feels off. As an aspiring journalist, he’s quite good at trusting his gut.

So he abandons the picnic table outside the Student Center, leaving his bag and all, and races down the sidewalk to catch up with you both.

“Hey!” He says brightly as he gets closer, “I’ve been looking for you all day!”

You spin around, eyes wide at his sudden appearance. The guy breaks his grasp on you so he can turn as well, and Amri recognizes him almost immediately. Daniel Rhodes, a sorcerer in the same Intro to Alchemy class as him.

“Singh,” Daniel raises an eyebrow as Amri approaches, “What are you doing here?”

Amrit notices you inching away in the corner of his eye. Daniel tries to reach out subtly to grab you again under the guise of reaching for your hand, but you dart away and slide closer to Amri’s side. Your fingers are gripping around your keys like they’re a weapon, and Amri can see the magic sparking behind your eyes.

A surge of pride wells up in his chest; you’d teach this bastard a good lesson if you got the chance. Unfortunately for Daniel, Amri’s going to save you the trouble. This asshole’s life is about to become a whole lot worse and you won’t even need to lift a finger.

He’s quite good at raising hell for a nephilim, after all.

“Oh, just interrupting this friendly chat.” Amrit takes a step closer, brushing a wavy lock of hair from his eyes, “You don’t mind, do you, babes?”

His eyes slide to you, and you startle at the sudden term of endearment. Daniel also sneers, glancing between the two of you like he’s stepped in something particularly disgusting.

“Listen, I’m only angling for a night or two with them. You have nothing to worry about, Singh.” The sorcerer scoffs, “Besides, I don’t think even the Unchosen One deserves to be associated with you. You’re so good at social suicide, you did it for your entire family.”

He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. A night or two? Social suicide? Does this dumbass even know when to quit talking? Amri sneers, stepping closer as his hands radiate a brilliant white light in the fading afternoon sun.

Daniel’s face whitens immediately at the sight; he talks a big game, but Amri isn’t weak by a long shot. It’s clear the sorcerer is aware of that by how he scrambles back, but that’s not enough to save him.

Amri slams his palm straight into Daniel’s chest, sending the sleaze bag back a few steps with the force of the blow, light scattering around them as seraphic magic sizzles hot in the air.

The sorcerer staggers but manages to stay upright. What a pity.

Striding forward, he grips Daniel’s shoulder tightly and leans in. His eyes are glowing with a white ring around his pupil, nearly turning his entire iris a stunning silver. The sorcerer shudders under his grasp, still twitching with the burning sensation of taking so much seraphic magic in a hit.

“Mention my family again and I’ll show you just how little it takes to come up with enough dirt to ruin someone.” Amri says, a deceivingly pleasant smile in place as he delivers his warning, “And if you ever touch them again without their permission, you’ll lose the offending fingers. Understand?”

There’s a heavy pause, and Daniel’s breath is shaking. Amrit realizes too late that he’d let his anger slip; his wings ruffle as flames spark on the very edges of his feathers, creating a halo of fire around him. It’s easy for other supernaturals to forget that not every nephilim family is descended from an archangel.

He shakes his wings, the movement smothering the fire. When he releases Daniel, the sorcerer flees on down the sidewalk and into Robinson Hall, off to find another poor soul to harass.

Amrit huffs slightly, before turning back to you. You’re staring, eyes wide, and he feels heat rushing to his face.

The first thing you ask, because damn his luck, is…

“Why did you call me babes?”

He swallows, giving a sheepish smile, “I thought it might annoy him. I’m sorry if it was unwelcome.”

You don’t give any visible reaction one way or the other to let him know, so he suffers in silence. You step closer, nudging a charred spot on the sidewalk with furrowed brows.

“You…catch fire?” You ask slowly, “I never saw Lu-uh, any other nephilim do that.”

He bites his cheek to keep from chuckling at your slip up.

“The Riveras are descended from an archangel,” He explains your unasked question, “I’m descended from a seraph. Vastly different choirs of angels, you see. Seraphim are known as the burning ones…though, I must say, not enough people take that name as literally as they should.”

“Clearly,” Your lips twitch, amused, “And do you only catch fire when you’re mad? Or does it happen other times, too?”

He just barely stops from cringing in embarrassment. He shakes his smoking wings preemptively, giving you a dry look when you laugh.

You chuckle, “Alright, so it happens other times, too. Noted.”

“No,” Amri shakes his head, “Not noted. Don’t note anything, especially not how to make my wings burst into flames!”

“Too late,” You hum, “I can’t unlearn it.”

Your smile is, frankly, unfair. Amrit has never been this flustered in his life and it’s ridiculous that you can reduce him to schoolboy with his first crush so easily. Regardless, he opts out of wallowing in his own pity for the time being and instead offers you his arm.

“So, pizza?” He asks, “I’ll buy.”

“Well, how can I resist an offer like that?” You shrug slightly, accepting his arm.

He keeps a very tight grip on his emotions as you both walk to the dining hall, but he still sees smoke wafting in the air from the corner of his eye. He would pray that you haven’t seen it, but God has never been particularly fond of him and he can already see your smile growing as you smell a hint of ash in the air.