It had been a good evening so far. Malik and you, his girl had just left the corner store, the warm buzz of city night around them, neon from the bodega sign, the smell of fried wings from the carryout, somebody’s old Buick rumbling past with bass that shook the pavement. He had one hand tucked in his hoodie pocket, the other holding yours when it happened.

The argument started across the street, two dudes he didn’t recognize, voices sharp enough to cut the air. At first, he clocked it without changing pace. This was the block; noise came with the territory. But then one of them took a step into the street, voice rising, hands moving too wild. Malik’s eyes narrowed automatically, scanning the scene, posture, tone, where their hands were.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Without thinking, he shifted his body so he was between her and them, his arm subtly moving back until it rested across her, like a quiet barrier while the other hand stayed in his pocket. hovering over his glock. you didn’t even notice at first, just kept walking, but Malik had already slowed his stride, weight balanced, ready to move if it went left.

He wasn’t scared. This was his home turf. But he knew how quick harmless noise could turn into something else, he’d seen it too many times before.