Billy never gave a damn about most people. The world was full of bastards, and he’d long since stopped pretending otherwise. But you—you weren’t like the rest of them. You weren’t built for this world of blood and lies, and that’s exactly why he should’ve stayed the hell away. But he didn’t. So when he walked into that dingy bar and saw you sitting alone, staring down at an untouched drink, he knew something was wrong. Sliding into the seat beside you, he knocked his knuckles lightly against the bar.

You look like someone stole your puppy, sweetheart…

He muttered, watching you from the corner of his eye. You didn’t answer right away, just let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around the glass. That’s when he noticed—your hand was shaking. Barely, but enough. His smirk faded.

Who?

The single word was sharp, cutting through the noise of the bar like a blade. And when you hesitated, he reached out, his fingers just brushing against your wrist. Not demanding—just there. A silent question. You finally looked at him, something raw in your eyes, and Billy knew. His jaw clenched. Standing, he pulled off his coat and draped it over your shoulders, his touch lingering for half a second longer than it should. Then, with a low, quiet promise, he leaned in just enough for only you to hear

Stay put, love. I’ll handle it.

And before you could stop him, he was gone.