[ There's something primitively satisfying about landing his kick, the feeling of flesh under his boot and adrenaline replacing reason. And his hand stays firmly locked around his wrist, feeling the other teen's pulse between his fingers when he gets dragged across the dirt, fingers in his hair and nails dragging across his scalp. He lets out a guttural snarl by Jean's cheek as they're far too close again.
And for a second he stays there, the purple beginnings of a bruise on his cheek and eyes narrowed as he breathes out in low, heavy breaths. ]
No. You weren't.
[ He doesn't care that it hurts when he jerks his head, lunging forward to try and get the upper ground over Jean, pinning his arm down and shouting inches from his face. ]
What, are you jealous, Jean—? That you didn't let him down the most!?
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And for a second he stays there, the purple beginnings of a bruise on his cheek and eyes narrowed as he breathes out in low, heavy breaths. ]
No. You weren't.
[ He doesn't care that it hurts when he jerks his head, lunging forward to try and get the upper ground over Jean, pinning his arm down and shouting inches from his face. ]
What, are you jealous, Jean—? That you didn't let him down the most!?