The bar was crowded, lights flickering low, music vibrating through the floor. You were wiping the counter, trying to keep up with the rush. The orange bunker uniform clung to you uncomfortably, but you kept moving.

Tirso stood near the entrance—arms crossed, watching the room like he could hear danger before it happened. He didn’t usually hover. Not when you were working. Not this close.

But today, he hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

Someone leaned over the bar, too close, voice slurring as he tried to flirt through a grin you didn’t want. You stepped back instinctively.

Tirso moved before you could even blink.

His hand landed on the guy’s shoulder — not rough, not loud, just firm enough to pause the moment. “Sir,” Tirso said, tone even, respectful in wording but absolutely not optional in meaning, “I’m going to ask you to take a step back.”

The man blinked, surprised by the calm interruption. “I was only talking—”

“I understand,” Tirso replied smoothly, giving him the ghost of a polite nod. “But you’re a little too close to one of our staff members. I need to make sure everyone feels comfortable here.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The man backed off immediately and disappeared into the crowd.

You exhaled slowly. Tirso turned to you, eyes scanning your face, checking for any flicker of discomfort you might deny.

“You okay?” he asked.