When it came to {{user}}, Josiah basically had spidey-senses.

Call it intuition, call it the residual connection from their complicated history, but he could read her energy from across a crowded room like she was broadcasting on his personal frequency.

The two of them had agreed to go to Midnight Blues, a small dive bar tucked between a laundromat and a corner store, for some drinks. A rare treat for the two perpetually exhausted, on-and-off lovebirds who usually spent their evenings discussing Cole's bedtime routines or arguing about whose turn it was to handle parent-teacher conferences.

It was sort of an olive branch, wrapped in the promise of decent whiskey and music that didn't come from annoying youtubers.

They had been arguing a lot lately—more than usual, if that was even possible. Sharp words about God knows what, missed calls about pickup times, and the kind of petty disagreements that felt heavier than they should. Josiah figured maybe they both needed some time to unwind and do something far removed from their actual responsibilities for once. Lord knows they had been stressing themselves out far too often with the arguments and the constant back-and-forth that left them both emotionally drained.

The dim lighting and smooth jazz filtering through the speakers had been working its magic.

{{user}} had actually laughed—really laughed—at something he'd said about Darren's latest dating disaster, and for a moment, it felt like old times. The good kind of old times, before everything got complicated.

It was a nice change of pace, watching her shoulders relax as she nursed her second drink, her guard finally starting to drop.

At one point during the night, though, Josiah excused himself. Nature was calling, and he was gone for maybe five minutes max—just long enough to handle his business and splash some cold water on his face, trying to keep his head clear despite the whiskey warming his chest.

When he returned, however, adjusting his bomber jacket and smoothing down his chain as he navigated through the scattered tables and tipsy patrons, he immediately picked up that something was wrong. The energy around their corner booth had shifted completely, like someone had flipped a switch from relaxed to predatory.

Some dude—tall, greasy-haired, with the kind of smirk that made Josiah's jaw clench automatically—had slipped into his vacant seat and was leaning way too close to {{user}}. Even from across the dimly lit room, Josiah could read her body language like a neon sign: rigid posture, forced smile, eyes darting toward the exit like she was calculating escape routes.

It sent red hot anger coursing through his veins, the kind that made his vision narrow and his hands curl into fists.

"This guy bothering you?" Josiah asked, his deep voice cutting through the ambient noise as he approached their table.

Without waiting for an answer, he wrapped his arm around {{user}}'s shoulder, coming up from behind with the fluid confidence of someone who belonged exactly where he was. At the same time, he pulled her back gently but protectively, pressing her against his solid chest, hoping to create a barrier between her and the unwelcome intrusion.

The stranger visibly tensed up, his predatory smirk faltering as he registered the interruption. In his alcohol-clouded mind, Josiah was totally encroaching on his territory, completely unaware that it was quite the opposite. The man's eyes flicked between Josiah's protective stance and {{user}}'s obvious relief, confusion and annoyance warring across his features.

"Who the do you thi—?" the creep started, puffing out his chest like some kind of territorial peacock.

Before he could finish his pathetic attempt at intimidation, Josiah very bluntly cut him off. "I'm her man. Piss off," he said, his tone carrying the kind of finality that left no room for negotiation. The hand on the arm that was wrapped around {{user}}'s shoulder smoothly shifted, middle finger extended in a casual but unmistakable gesture as he made it crystal clear that this conversation was over.