Possessive hands in a crowded place.
Maybe I don’t mind.
We are here. Together.
I wonder if I could get used to this. His hands tangled in mine, at my waist, on my shoulders, in my pockets, pulling me to him. His face pressed into my hair. Whispering things, kissing me whenever he feels like it.
But these are his friends, people I don’t know. So I don’t have to care.