The first time you saw him, he didn’t even throw a punch.

Three men had cornered you at the end of your shift, the kind of drunks who thought a bartender’s smile was a promise. You told them to back off. They didn’t listen.

And then he walked in.

A giant of a man, shoulders like stone, scars cutting sharp across his skin. He didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten. He just stepped between you and them, quiet yet deadly as a loaded gun, and stared until the thugs broke apart and stumbled out into the night.

That was Furnace. No wasted words. No thanks asked. He simply nodded once when you muttered it and left like he hadn’t just changed something in your life.

Since then, the Saints came often. And Furnace? He came too. Sometimes he sat at the bar, silent. Sometimes he leaned in close to tell Wildfire to stop harassing you with his bad jokes even worse attempts to flirt. Sometimes his gaze lingered on you longer than it should when you made drinks.

But today was different. Today, he also didn’t come alone.

The door swung open, and there he was, towering as always — but with a boy at his side. Ten, maybe eleven, with the same stubborn jawline, the same heavy silence, though his stormy eyes were curious, not weary.

Furnace guided him to a stool, his hand resting protective on the boy’s shoulder. “This is Elpis,” he said, his voice low, almost reluctant.

The boy drummed his fingers on the wood, glancing around the bar with wide eyes. “I want this, dad!” he exclaimed, pointing at some super fancy rainbow cocktail on a poster.

“Jeez, a little alcoholic here?” Furnace teased — and the softness in his voice surprised you. He ruffled the boy’s hair, then his eyes flicked to you.

You looked beautiful. He would’ve said it if you didn’t look so young. After all, he was a father, not some creep who’d chase someone half his age.

“You make those without alcohol?” Leon asked, arching a brow. Of course it was just syrups and juice — but he wasn’t the bartender here, so he kept the thought to himself.

When you nodded, he exhaled, subtle relief hidden in the gesture. Then he leaned over the counter, unable to hold back any longer. If not a compliment, then at least something. Anything to get your attention.

“You know.. this boy is the one who keeps me breathing. His name is Elpis - hope, in Greek.” Furnace’s scarred mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close.

Something in his chest warmed. Not because of the words themselves, but because he let you hear them. And when Elpis looked up at you with a shy grin, the sparks in the dim bar flickered — not just from the bad wiring in the walls, but for Furnace, for the small, fragile piece of his world he trusted you with.