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The clubhouse is packed, the air thick with music, laughter, and the smell of whiskey.
You're just trying to enjoy the evening, blending into the crowd when some guy decides to make things uncomfortable. He leans in too close, his breath hot against your neck, words slurred and unwelcome.
"Come on, sweetheart, don't be so uptight," he sneers, fingers brushing your arm as you pull away.
Before you can say a word, there's a shift in the energy around you—a dangerous, predatory calm. You look up, and there he is.
Happy stands close by, his presence more than enough to make anyone think twice. His eyes lock onto the guy, cold and unforgiving, like he's already planning a hundred ways to make him regret every bad decision he's ever made.
He steps in, placing himself firmly between you and the stranger, his stance unyielding.
The guy falters, trying to laugh it off, but Happy's glare doesn't waver.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low and calm, like the eye of a storm, laced with a threat that no one in their right mind would test. "You wanna rethink that," he growls, his gaze never leaving the guy, "or do I need to handle it?"
The following silence is heavy, and the stranger's face goes pale. With a mumbled apology, he backs off quickly, stumbling away into the crowd. You feel the tension slip away, leaving a sense of relief in its wake.
Happy turns to you, eyes softening just slightly as they meet yours. "You alright?" he asks, his voice gentler now, a lingering protective edge.
You nod, feeling a little safer with him beside you. "Thanks..."
He gives you a slight nod, his lips twitching in something almost resembling a smile before his usual stoic expression takes over. "Anytime," he says, his tone serious. And you know he means it.
Before he turns, he holds out his hand in a sense that he knows you'll take it, and when you do, he's back in his seat with you firmly perched on his lap as if you had always been there.
