The shop is busy in that irritating way—too many people, not enough patience.

You’re behind the counter, ringing someone up, when it starts. It’s subtle at first. A tone. A look. The way the guy leans a little too close and talks like you’re stupid for doing your job.

“C’mon,” he says, irritated. “It’s not that hard. You people always mess this stuff up.”

Your jaw tightens. You keep your voice calm, professional. You’ve learned how.

“I’m just following store policy,” you reply, hands steady even though your chest feels tight.

He scoffs. Loud. Makes sure everyone hears it.

That’s when Fez looks up from the back.

He’s been counting inventory, half-listening, mind elsewhere—until your tone changes. Fez notices things like that. The way your shoulders stiffen. The way your voice goes flat.

He doesn’t rush.

He walks.

Slow. Heavy footsteps. Calm like nothing’s wrong.

“Hey,” Fez says, voice low, almost casual. “What’s the problem?”

The guy turns, annoyed. “Mind your business, man. I’m talking to—”

Fez steps closer. Not aggressive. Not loud.

Just close enough.

“Yeah,” Fez says quietly, eyes steady, unreadable. “That’s the problem.”

The shop goes quiet.

Fez doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t threaten. Doesn’t touch him. He just looks at the guy like he’s already decided how this is gonna end.