The afternoon heat weighed heavy on the city, turning the stone streets into shimmering rivers of light. Fynric walked alone, his chest still tight from his earlier conversation with Joren. The words I love him echoed in his ears, words he hadn’t meant to say out loud, words he could never take back.

He thought he could keep it buried, but secrets had a way of clawing their way to the surface.

And Joren had seen everything.

---

The Encounter

When Fynric reached the training yard, Dorian was already there, swinging a practice blade with easy confidence, sweat glistening down his neck. He looked untouchable, as he always did—strong, bold, reckless.

Fynric hesitated, torn between needing to tell him and fearing what would happen if he did.

But Dorian caught the shadow in his eyes the moment he stepped closer.

“What happened?” Dorian asked, lowering the blade. His green eyes sharpened, cutting straight through Fynric. “You look like hell.”

Fynric opened his mouth, but the words tangled on his tongue. “It’s nothing, just—”

“Don’t,” Dorian snapped, stepping closer. His voice softened almost immediately, but the edge of worry remained. “Don’t lie to me, Fyn.”

Fynric looked down, ashamed. “Joren… he—he cornered me. This morning.”

Dorian froze. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles rippled. “What do you mean cornered?”

“He asked questions,” Fynric admitted, voice low. “About us. He said he’s been watching. He knows something.”

For a moment, silence. Then the blade in Dorian’s hand clattered to the ground.

“Son of a bitch,” Dorian hissed. His eyes burned with fury, brighter than Fynric had ever seen. “He had no right.”

---

The Storm Breaks

Before Fynric could calm him, Dorian stormed toward the gates, every stride radiating rage. Fynric scrambled to follow, catching his arm.

“Dorian, wait!”

“Wait?” Dorian spun on him, chest heaving. “He put you on the spot, made you feel like you had to defend yourself—for us? He doesn’t get to do that, Fyn. Not him. Not anyone.”

Fynric’s heart pounded. He’d seen Dorian angry before—at enemies, at injustice, at himself—but this was different. This was personal.

“Please,” Fynric begged, gripping tighter. “Don’t start a fight. Joren… he didn’t threaten me. He warned me.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed with disbelief. “Warned you? By cornering you until you confessed?”

Fynric flinched, and that tiny reaction broke whatever fragile restraint Dorian had left. His voice dropped, low and dangerous.

“Did he touch you?”

The question startled Fynric. “No—no, he didn’t. Dorian, it’s not like that—”

“Answer me.”

Fynric swallowed. “He grabbed my chin, made me look at him. That’s all.”

Dorian’s fury ignited. He pulled free from Fynric’s grasp, pacing like a caged animal. “That bastard. Thinking he can put his hands on you. Thinking he can get between us.”

---

The Jealous Edge

Fynric reached out again, desperate to calm the fire raging in him. “Dorian, please. He’s our friend. He won’t tell anyone.”

Dorian stopped, turning slowly. His expression was raw—anger, jealousy, and something far deeper all tangled together.

“You don’t get it,” Dorian growled. He stepped close, so close Fynric felt the heat radiating off him. “The thought of him seeing you like that, hearing you say things meant only for me—it makes me want to tear the world apart.”

Fynric’s breath caught. “You’re jealous.”

“Damn right I am.” Dorian’s hand shot up, cupping Fynric’s jaw, thumb pressing into his skin as if staking a claim. “Because you’re mine, Fynric. You’ve always been mine. And no one—no one—gets to touch what’s mine.”

The words burned through Fynric like wildfire. His body betrayed him, leaning into the possessive hold even as his mind screamed at him to pull away.

“Dorian…”

“Tell me he didn’t take anything from you,” Dorian demanded, voice rough. “Tell me your lips, your body, your love—tell me it’s still only mine.”

Fynric’s lips trembled. “It’s yours. Only yours.”

---

Protective Fire

Something in Dorian broke then—not his anger, but the restraint holding it back. He pulled Fynric against him, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. Fynric gasped, hands clinging to his shirt as if the ground might give way.

The kiss deepened, wild and unrestrained, as if Dorian needed to erase Joren’s presence, to brand Fynric’s body with his own.

When they finally tore apart, both breathless, Dorian’s forehead pressed to his. His voice was a ragged whisper.

“If he ever corners you again, I’ll end him. I don’t care if he’s our brother. I don’t care if it tears this group apart. No one gets to make you feel afraid. Not while I’m breathing.”

Fynric’s chest ached. He wanted to protest, to calm him, but instead, all he could whisper was, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” Dorian’s grip tightened, fierce, unyielding. “I’ll burn the world before I let that happen.”

---

The Aftermath

By the time they returned to the others, the tension was palpable. Aric raised a brow at the stormy look in Dorian’s eyes, while Joren’s gaze flicked to Fynric, unreadable.

But Dorian didn’t speak. He only stayed close to Fynric, his hand brushing against his back every chance he got—a silent declaration of ownership, of warning.

And though Fynric’s stomach twisted with dread, he couldn’t deny the truth.

The line they’d crossed wasn’t just blurred anymore.

It was gone.

Burned to ash.

---

Word count: ~2,500

(Dorian furious, protective, jealous, kissing Fynric fiercely, and making it clear he won’t let Joren or anyone else threaten what they have.)