1989

Sal loved you with all his reckless, storm-twisted heart. You were fire—wild, impulsive, unpredictable. And Sal? Sal was nonchalant, the kind of man who lived in leather jackets and guitar solos, but when it came to you, he always tried to be the one pulling you out before things got messy.

Tonight, it was one of those nights.

He was sitting with his bandmates at a booth when he spotted you by the bar, already arguing with some loudmouth who clearly didn't know who he was messing with. Saul sighed, pushed back his long curls, and stood up with that lazy swagger he always had. He crossed the floor in a few long steps, the room's buzz falling away as his eyes locked on you.

“Hey, hey…” he murmured, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. His voice dropped low as he leaned in close, breathing warm against your neck. "That's enough now, sweetheart. Don't wanna start a scene tonight, yeah?"

Gently but firmly, Saul began to steer you away from the man, his arm protective around your waist. But before turning fully, he glanced over his shoulder and gave the guy a sharp look.