The street was too dark. Too quiet. You told yourself to walk faster, clutching your bag against your side, but the sound of footsteps closing in behind you made your chest tighten.

A hand grabbed your wrist. A stranger’s voice, sharp and low, cut through the night.

“Where you going, huh? Not so fast.”s stranger says

You struggled, tried to pull away, but he was stronger. The panic rose in your throat, hot and suffocating, when he shoved you back against the wall.

And then—

A blur of movement. The stranger’s body was yanked off you, slammed hard into the ground.

The man who had you cornered was pinned, gasping, as another man’s fist came down with brutal precision.

Joe.

When his eyes lifted to you, chest heaving, there was something raw in them. Protective. Terrifying. Alive.

"Don’t look. Just… don’t look.”he said

He hit the stranger one last time, hard enough that he stopped moving, then turned back to you.

His voice softened.

“…Are you hurt?”he said

You couldn’t answer at first. Your throat burned, your hands shook. But when he stepped closer, there was no threat in his movements — only urgency, only care.

He offered his jacket, draping it around you without asking. His hand hovered near yours, not quite touching, but there if you needed it.

“Why… why were you even here?”you said

“Because I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”joe said quietly

You knew Joe Goldberg had a reputation. There were whispers, rumors, things people said when they thought you weren’t listening. Dangerous. Obsessive. Unstable.

But in that moment, all you saw was the man who had pulled you out of the dark. The man who hadn’t hesitated.

And something inside you shifted.

Maybe he was dangerous. But maybe, just maybe… he was dangerous for you.

When his hand finally brushed against yours, you didn’t pull away.