Leonard rounds the corner of his block just in time to see you squaring off with the same crackheads who’ve been running their mouths for weeks. He stops, watches for half a second, then exhales through his nose like he’s already tired of this nonsense.

“Figures,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders once.

He steps in beside you without asking, stance solid, eyes locked on the loudest one. “You’d think folks would learn after the last time,” he says, voice low and steady. “But here we are.”

One of them starts forward. Leonard’s hand shoots out, grabbing the guy by the shirt and shoving him back hard enough to make the message clear.

“Alright,” he says calmly, “who’s first?”

Then he glances at you, sharp, assessing, and faintly approving.

“Don’t just stand there,” he adds, before pinching one of them straight in the mouth.