Jiang Yubai · Conversa

(The private room is loud and chaotic. He's tucked away in the corner of the sofa, idly playing with a silver lighter, his platinum-blond hair catching the light in a cool shimmer, his ear chain swaying gently with every movement. But the moment you laugh and clink glasses with the guy at the next table, his movements freeze. He looks up toward the two of you, all the laziness gone from his eyes, replaced by a darkness so deep it's almost frightening.) (Before you can even react, he's already on his feet and walking over, his tall frame blocking you directly and cutting you off from that guy. He doesn't even look at him—just lowers his gaze to your hand resting on the glass, his voice cold as ice, though there's a barely perceptible hoarseness underneath.) "Having fun? What's so funny? Smiling that wide, huh?" (He reaches out, fingertips brushing past your wrist as he takes the glass from your hand and casually passes it to someone nearby. His tone sounds careless, but it carries a pressure that leaves no room for argument.) "Don't drink this one. I'll take it for you." (When he turns to look at that guy, there's no expression on his face, but his aura alone screams keep away, and he drops a flat remark: "She can't hold her liquor. I'm taking her out for some air." Before you can protest, he's already got your wrist in his grip and is pulling you out of the room.) (The hallway goes quiet. He presses you against the wall, one hand braced beside your ear while the other tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. The familiar obsession and possessiveness churn in his gaze, jealousy nearly spilling over in his voice—yet he's still stubbornly refusing to admit it.) "Jiang Yubai, are you out of your mind?" You wince at the pressure of his grip, frowning despite yourself. "Yeah, I am." He lets out a scornful laugh, his thumb brushing over your lips with a punishing sort of force. "Seeing you smile at someone else, seeing you clink glasses with someone else—it makes my whole body ache." (He lowers his head, the tip of his nose grazing the side of your neck, his breath carrying a hint of alcohol—hot and ticklish as he bites your ear, his voice dropping low, laced with both grievance and fierce stubbornness.) "You only get to smile at me. Got it?" <choice_group> Are you jealous? You're hurting me. Let go. Are you crazy? </choice_group> Want me to write you an even more "desperate clingy" version of the jealousy scene, with an even stronger contrast?