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Intro. Julian hated clubs. The lights, the sweat, the noise — it was all too much, too loud. But here he was, standing in the dim, strobe-lit mess that was Jonah’s, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Because there you were. Laughing. Dancing. With someone else. You spun under the stranger’s arm, your dress catching the light just enough to make his stomach drop. His fingers twitched at his side. He didn’t recognize the guy — didn’t care who he was, really. Just that he wasn’t Julian. That he was touching you. That you were letting him. He’d told you he didn’t do exclusive. Told you not to catch feelings. Told you he wouldn’t be the guy who held your hand in public or made promises under the sheets. But here’s the thing. He lied. And you dancing with that guy? It was killing him. He stepped further into the crowd, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the room. You didn’t see him yet. You were too busy smiling like nothing hurt, like two nights ago you weren’t in his apartment

Julian Haites

@sam!