Liam Hart had always believed jealousy was a weak man's emotion.
He'd watched it in others boys who hovered too close, who demanded explanations, who mistook possession for love. He had sworn he would never be that man. He prided himself on confidence, on knowing who he was, on never needing reassurance.
Yet as he sat in his car outside the campus lot, watching Aria Bennett walk across the courtyard laughing with someone from her department, something dark twisted low in his chest.
He didn't recognize it at first.
It wasn't rage.
It wasn't fear.
It was something quieter.
Something territorial.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he tracked her movements without meaning to. She looked lighter today. Not carefree but steadier. Like someone who had made peace with something private. Her hair caught the sunlight, and the soft confidence in her stride pulled his attention in a way that felt almost painful.
Who made her smile like that?
The question arrived uninvited.
Liam leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. Get it together, he told himself. Aria wasn't his property. She was her own person. He knew that. He respected that.
So why did it bother him that she hadn't texted him first this morning?
Why had it irritated him that she'd said she needed "time" yesterday?
Why did every man who looked at her suddenly feel like a threat?
He watched as she said goodbye to the guy she'd been talking to, her smile polite, distant. She adjusted the strap of her bag and headed toward the building.
Relief loosened his chest briefly.
Then shame followed.
This isn't you, he thought.
But the truth was, he didn't know who he was becoming around her.
Later that afternoon, they met at his place.
Aria arrived quietly, slipping off her shoes near the door like she belonged there like she had already carved out space in his life without asking permission. She wore simple jeans and a loose top, her face bare, her presence calm.
Too calm.
"You okay?" she asked, noticing his silence almost immediately.
Liam forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
She studied him for a second longer than necessary, then nodded. "You've been pushing yourself lately."
He didn't answer.
They sat on opposite ends of the couch at first. The space between them felt heavier than usual, charged with something unspoken. Liam rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
"You didn't come by last night," he said casually. Too casually.
Aria blinked. "I told you my mom came unexpectedly."
"I know." He lifted his gaze. "I just didn't expect you to disappear."
There it was.
Aria's shoulders stiffened. "I didn't disappear."
"You didn't call."
"I was dealing with family stuff, Liam."
He nodded, but the tightness in his jaw didn't ease. "I just worry."
She frowned slightly. "About what?"
He hesitated.
About losing you.
About not being enough.
About someone else realizing how easy it is to want you.
Instead, he said, "About you."
Aria exhaled slowly and shifted closer, closing the space between them. She reached for his hand, her touch warm and grounding.
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I should've communicated better."
The apology hit him harder than he expected.
"You don't have to apologize," he said quickly, even as his chest eased.
"But I want to," she replied. "I know I've been… distant."
He turned to her then, really looked at her. "Have I done something wrong?"
"No," she said immediately. "This isn't about you."
That answer should have comforted him.
Instead, it unsettled him.
"Then what is it about?" he asked.
Aria hesitated, just for a beat. "I'm just trying to get my footing again."
Liam nodded slowly, but his grip on her hand tightened. "You know you don't have to do that alone."
"I know," she said softly. "And I appreciate that."
She leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder. The familiar scent of her clean, subtle wrapped around him, calming something sharp inside his chest.
"I don't want you to think I'm pulling away," she continued. "I just needed a moment to breathe."
He closed his eyes.
This was how it happened.
Not through arguments or ultimatums but through moments like this, where her softness made him feel essential.
"I just don't like the idea of you shutting me out," he admitted quietly.
She tilted her face up toward him. "I'm not."
He searched her eyes, as if looking for proof.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't dramatic. Just a slow, intentional press of lips that said I'm here. Liam responded instantly, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, heat blooming where tension had been.
When they pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.
"I don't want to lose you," he said.
Aria froze for half a second so brief he almost missed it.
"You're not," she said, smoothing her thumb along his jaw. "I'm right here."
The reassurance worked.
He felt it in the way his body relaxed, the way the tight coil in his chest loosened. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her like an anchor.
"I get jealous sometimes," he admitted, his voice low. "I don't mean to. I just… care."
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she sighed softly, her arms slipping around his waist. "I understand."
And just like that, the line blurred.
Her understanding felt like permission.
They stayed like that for a long time, the world quiet around them. Liam kissed her hair, her temple, her cheek each touch a silent claim he didn't yet recognize as dangerous.
Aria let him.
Not because she needed him.
But because she believed she could handle it.
Later, as she prepared to leave, Liam walked her to the door, his hand resting at the small of her back. He lingered there, reluctant.
"Text me when you get home," he said.
She smiled. "I always do."
He kissed her once more slower this time, deliberate.
As she stepped out into the hallway, he watched until the elevator doors closed.
Only then did the quiet return.
And with it, the thought he refused to name:
What if one day, reassurance won't be enough?
Across town, Aria walked back to her apartment with a calm she hadn't expected.
She had soothed him.
She had smoothed the tension, eased the sharp edge of his emotions. It felt like control like strength.
But somewhere deep inside her, a warning stirred.
Not loud enough to stop her.
Just loud enough to remember later.