The night air was cold.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tighter as you walked along the quiet street, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly, even though you weren’t reading anything. Your heart was too loud — pounding with anger, disappointment, and something close to humiliation.

You had been waiting for hours.

A blind date your friend swore would be worth it. “He’s different, you’ll like him,” she said.

Different? Sure. He was so different, he didn’t even show up.

And now it was 10:07 PM. Your phone’s battery was low. You were tired, your feet ached, and your pride was bruised. The city felt quieter than usual — almost unnervingly still.

You turned a corner.

That’s when you heard it.

Thud.

A heavy impact echoed from the alley up ahead.

Then again — thud, crack, a muffled grunt.

You stopped, startled, eyes narrowing toward the shadows.

At first, all you saw were two figures — one pinned to the wall, the other’s fists swinging. Another body lay motionless nearby. Your breath caught.

Before you could even react, a sickening crunch landed — and the man being held dropped to the pavement like dead weight.

You gasped, stepping back in shock. Your phone slipped from your hand and clattered to the sidewalk.

The figure who had been throwing the punches slowly turned toward you — chest rising and falling, jaw clenched.

Blood on his knuckles. A scrape on his cheek.

And then you saw his face.

Rafa Astara.

The guy with the cold eyes everyone warned you not to mess with. The one with a reputation that followed him like smoke — dark, unspoken, dangerous.

He looked at you.

Not like he was caught.

Not like he was ashamed.

He just stared — eyes wild, chest still heaving — like he had already accepted that you saw the worst of him.

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

“...You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, voice low and raw.

But something in his tone — something in his eyes — wasn’t threatening. It wasn’t cold.

It was… tired.

He looked past you for a second, like he was calculating whether to leave or explain. Then finally, he sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I wasn’t looking for trouble. They cornered a kid. I didn’t even mean to—” he stopped, looking down at his bloodied hand. “I lost it.”

You swallowed.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. But somehow, you didn’t run. You just stood there.

“Are you okay?” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

He blinked. That was the last thing he expected.

“I should be asking you that,” he murmured, voice softer now. “You’re out here alone.”

You glanced at your phone on the ground, the screen cracked. “Yeah. I was waiting for someone. But… he never showed.”

Rafa let out a low breath, almost like a scoff — but not at you. “Then he’s an idiot.”

The streetlight flickered above you both.

And for a second — just one second — the world felt like it paused. Two strangers. Two broken nights. One unexpected moment.

“…Let me walk you home,” Rafa said suddenly, voice more sure this time.