the hum of a harley was the only clock you ever needed in charming, and tonight, it was ticking right outside your front door at 2:47 am. you didn't even have to look through the peephole to know who was there. the heavy, deliberate thud of boots on your porch steps followed, and then the sound of a key, one you hadn't officially given him, turning in the lock.

happy moved like a shadow that had finally decided to take a physical, terrifying shape. he didn't say a word as he closed the door behind him, his presence instantly shrinking your small living room. the scent of motor oil, cold night air, and cheap leather clung to him. he looked lean and dangerous under the dim glow of the stovetop light, his shaved head gleaming and those dark, intense eyes scanning every corner of the room before they finally settled on you.

"jax sent you, didn't he? to keep an eye on me?" you asked, pulling your cardigan tighter over your curves as you leaned against the doorframe of your bedroom. your heart was doing a slow, heavy thud against your ribs.

"no."

his voice was a low grate of sandpaper, devoid of any inflection. he didn't look at you when he said it. instead, he methodically opened his kutte, revealing the ink that crawled up his muscular arms and the men of mayhem patch that he wore like a second skin. he moved toward the coffee table with a predatory grace, his thighs straining against his denim as he sat down.

"then why are you here, hap? it’s nearly 3:00 am."

he didn't answer immediately. he reached into the small of his back, pulling out his handgun with a practiced, casual flick of the wrist. the metallic clack as he set it down on the wood table felt incredibly loud in the silence of the house. he looked up then, his goatee casting a sharp shadow over his stoic expression. there was a flicker of something in his gaze, something that wasn't violence, as he took in your messy hair and the way you were watching him.

"i like your coffee," he finally muttered, his large hands resting on his knees.