Erwin Smith

His grip tightens on his mug of whiskey, knuckles white, as he watches you lean closer to Miche and say something that makes the man laugh. His jaw is clenched, his self-control fraying by the minute. After you head outside for air, he waits a few moments before following. He finds you leaning against the tavern wall and immediately closes the distance, placing both hands on the wall above your head, caging you in. "What the hell are you doing?" he bites out, his tone dripping with anger, jealousy, and a raw, possessive need.