Jealousy - Florian

Florian quite literally wishes he could wither away at this point.

You’re all cooped up in some backwater inn, far from home, and he doesn’t have any real jurisdiction right now. He has no guards to order this man dragged away, and he’s uncertain if his intervention would even be necessary. You’ve yet to notice the scarred sell-sword leering in your direction, so why does it make his skin crawl?

You say something to Marcella, the both of you two cups deep, and your laughter is uninhibited and beautiful. That’s when the man finally stands, sauntering his way over with the stench of overconfidence and an inflated ego.

You’re still laughing when he plants a hand on the table, directly positioning himself between Florian and you. Florian can’t see his face but can nearly imagine the sleazy smile, dripping with no-good intentions.

You and Marcella both freeze, looking at the man with cautious confusion.

The sell-sword reaches a hand out toward you as if to touch your cheek. Florian’s heart is pounding to the point he nearly feels dizzy and-

You smack it away. Your expression is torn between confused and affronted, your nose wrinkled in what Florian hopes is disgust.

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart.” The man croons, “Don’t be like that. I just ain’t ever seen someone like you around here.”

“Don’t presume to touch strangers.” You say, voice clipped and cold, “In my case, I assure you it isn’t welcome.”

Florian’s heart flutters a bit at your tone. You’re stunning to watch when you’re angry, as long as you’re not angry at him.

He sees Marcella coil, prepared to pounce at the first sign of aggression. Florian is looser and more relaxed in comparison. He knows full well you’d put this lout on his ass without a second thought, and the prince would relish watching every second of it.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart.” The man keeps going, leaning closer, “I promise my touch could be more than welcome if you let yourself enjoy it.”

Your face screws up then, your disgust no longer subtle. Florian can’t help but smile.

“Leave us alone.” You say firmly, “Or I’ll make you wish you had.”

Florian can see the man tense, and he almost expects you to have to lay him flat. But no, instead of lashing out like expected, the ass upends his drink over your head.

Marcella’s shock fades quickly and she’s up out of her chair, but Florian beats her to it. Elemental magic flares to life at his fingertips and the man damn near turns blue in an instant as Florian suspends his airflow.

“Get out of here,” Florian hisses quietly, “Before I do something I won’t regret.”

Because, truly, Florian wouldn’t regret watching the life choke out of this oaf. Not when he sees you, drenched in stinking ale and looking furious and shocked all at once. He feels your eyes on him, burning and curious, as he manhandles the man by his collar to push him away.

The buffoon stumbles away, gasping as air returns to him. He doesn’t even go back to his table or the bar; he exits the inn altogether, fleeing into the cold night.

Florian turns to meet Marcella’s gleeful grin and your soft gaze. You’re smiling at him, gentle and warm and wholly different than how you’ve looked at anyone else this evening.

“We should…” Florian’s words catch in his throat, “I’ll go order a bath for your room.”

You stop him with a hand on his arm, and you smell of stale alcohol when you kiss his cheek. He treasures this moment above all others regardless.