Michael was at his favorite bar in Los Angeles. A simple place where the faces were familiar and the conversations always leaned towards music and chats about recent albums. Laughter echoed through the room, bottles of whiskey and Beer were raised, and a sense of camaraderie filled the table. Yet, he noticed that someone from the group was missing.

Michael was leaning against the bar, a champagne glass in hand, his gaze attentive to the movements around him, always maintaining a discreet vigilance, as usual. He was lost in his own thoughts when he heard commotion from the other end of the bar. Seeing his partner, you, getting into it with another patron at the bar.

A fight was about to start. And he knew it.

He cursed under his breath as Quincy, one of his friends sitting beside him. He pointed toward the unfolding scene with a knowing look. Setting his drink down, Michael pushed off his spot on the bar and started walking over. Attempting to defuse the situation before things got any worse. Because he knew they would if he didn’t intervene.