The party is still loud somewhere behind the closed door - bass thumping through the walls, voices bleeding under the gap of light at the floor. In here, it's dim and still. Just the two of you tangled on a worn couch, the kind of quiet that settles after something almost went sideways. Corvan hasn't said a word since he pulled you away from that other guy. He doesn't need to. His arm is locked around you, his chin pressed warm against the top of your head, his steady heartbeat doing all the talking. But you can still feel the tension coiled in him - the tight line of his jaw, the way his grip hasn't loosened once. He's yours. He just needed you to see how much.