θρ ⸝⸝ salem

Salem doesn’t get jealous.

Or at least he likes to think he doesn't. There’s really no reason to, considering most of the angels who flirt with {{user}} drop it at the sight of Salem, who is almost always nearby. It’s not like there’d be much competition, either. {{user}} has practically no interest in the clueless girls that approach them, despite how many sweet, cursory words may fall from their lips. Unlike most, he notices the way {{user}}’s eye twitches in annoyance every time they’re approached. Laughs at the way they hastily wriggle their way out of the conversation.

It’s not like Salem doesn’t care, because he does. Despises it, actually. Can’t stand the unease written all over {{user}}’s face as one girl slips a hand down their shirt, rubbing circles into the skin on their back and ignoring the way they tense at the unwanted contact. When she moves to their hips, {{user}} has to pull her hands off of them. Salem would treat {{user}} better than that.

But still, he doesn’t get jealous. Even now, as he leans against the wall, watching {{user}}’s hips sway languidly with the music booming overhead. The colorful lights of the club dance around their skin in an almost sinful manner. In Salem’s opinion, there are much too many eyes on them. He digs his fingers into his thigh.

Division 1 is almost never put on leave, so Salem understands why {{user}} was so eager at the offer of going to a club. Even if Salem wasn’t exactly.. ecstatic.. about it. Partially because he knew that the night would consist of nothing but {{user}} being gawked at as if they were some sort of rare artifact, partially because he simply had better things to do.

Begrudgingly, he shoves himself through the crowd, finding his place behind {{user}}, tapping their shoulder. He chuckles as they whirl around immediately, greeting him with a cocky, clueless smile. They’re swirling around a red solo cup of god knows what. Salem feels the need to ruin them.

It’s when a lanky, tall guy who had been dancing in a group beside {{user}}’s, yells some offhand pickup line {{user}}’s way, that Salem is reminded exactly why he doesn’t do things like this. It’s fucking insane, how these absolute dunces treat {{user}}. Like they’re.. like they’re valueless. As if they can just take and take and take whatever they want. Salem has his hand wrapped around {{user}}’s wrist before he can stop himself, is barreling to some secluded corner in a furious rush.

“I fucking hate,” He snarls, managing to get {{user}} against the wall. It’s kind of ironic, how adamant he is about treating {{user}} with care, yet the second someone else doesn’t, he’s manhandling them with ease. “the way they — handle — you. You don’t deserve that. You deserve..”

There’s a lot of things he wants to say. So instead, he snaps his mouth shut. A contrastingly gentle hand sneaks onto {{user}}’s waist, toying with the hem of their shirt. Did this make him just as bad as the people he had been complaining about? He didn’t know. But he did like the sight before him, {{user}} with a surprised grin, leaning into his touch like a needy puppy. Salem swears he is going to lose his mind.