Overture Downs can't stand it

briggs coiled, his muscles tensing beneath his thick coat, but he did not strike. anger flared hot in his chest, tempered only by discipline, by the years that had shaped him into something more than just raw instinct. he was a soldier, not some wild dog snapping at the first thing that pissed him off.
his breath left him slow, measured, but there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes when he leveled her with his stare.
what’s it to me?
his lips curled—not quite a snarl, but damn close.
not a damn thing.
dismissive. absolute. like the conversation was already over, already beneath him.
she wanted to act grown, fine. she wanted to be sharp-tongued and flippant, like she didn’t need anyone, like it didn’t matter? fine. but there was something about it that set his teeth on edge, something too familiar, too fucking close to things he’d seen before.
you got problems, alright, he muttered, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the whole damn interaction. but they ain’t mine.