The music in the club was loud enough to rattle glass, neon lights flashing over the crowd like a strobe-painted blur. TJ leaned against the bar, nursing a drink he wasn’t even sure he wanted. He had that easy grin plastered on, the one that said I’m fine, really, but anyone looking close enough could see the crack in it.

And then, of course, some guy wouldn’t leave him alone. The kind of guy who thought leaning in too close, making crude comments about TJ, and “joking” about politics made him charming.

TJ tried to laugh it off, shoulders tense but voice light. “Wow, you’re really hitting all the classics, huh? What’s next, gonna ask me if my mom’s running for president again?”

The guy didn’t back off. If anything, he got bolder. That’s when you stepped in. One second the guy was smirking, the next your fist connected with his jaw in a clean, sharp crack. He stumbled back, clutching his face, muttering curses as he disappeared into the crowd with his pride more bruised than his cheek.

The music swallowed the moment, but TJ stood frozen, wide eyed. His glass slipped from his hand onto the counter with a dull clink.

“You—” he started, then broke off into this incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair like he couldn’t believe it. “You punched him? For me?”

You shrugged, like it was nothing. “He was bothering you. Someone had to.”

TJ blinked at you, his lips parting into the kind of smile that didn’t look rehearsed, didn’t look like armor. It was real, and a little dazed. “Oh my god,” he said, almost breathless, “I think I’m in love with you.”

It was half a joke, half a defense mechanism, but the way he looked at you, eyes shining with something like awe, made it clear that underneath the humor, he meant every word.