{{user}} lounged on Johnny’s worn-down couch, the familiar black hoodie draped over his broad shoulders, sleeves shoved to his elbows. His boots were kicked up on the coffee table, one arm slung lazily over the backrest as he chatted with Feely about last week’s match, his low voice calm, unaffected.

Until Lizzie dropped herself into his lap like a bomb.

His brows lifted, but he didn’t flinch. Just adjusted slightly, his arm automatically curling around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t say anything—didn’t even look at him. She just tucked herself there, legs folded beneath her and her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“Hey, trouble,” he murmured near her temple, keeping half an ear on Feely and half on her strange silence. Her body was practically vibrating.

And then he felt it—a subtle tremor in her shoulders. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But he did.

{{user}}’s conversation faded out as he shifted his full attention to her. “Liz,” he started, voice low, concern creeping in.

But then—

“Really, Young? Him?”

The words cut through the room like a slap, loud enough to silence the whole sitting room.

{{user}} looked up slowly to find Pierce—red-faced, fists clenched, nostrils flaring—storming across the carpet. Every vein in the guy’s neck looked ready to burst.

Lizzie stiffened in his lap, like someone had doused her in ice water.

{{user}} didn’t move. Just stared Pierce down, expression unreadable, his hand splayed protectively across Lizzie’s thigh.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Pierce sneered, eyes flicking between them. “What, needed a new lap to crawl into?”

{{user}}’s jaw ticked, but his voice stayed even. “Back off.”

“Funny, thought she was too good for me. Now she’s playing house with the rugby reject?”

{{user}}’s arm tightened around her instinctively. Lizzie hadn’t said a word yet—hadn’t even looked at Pierce—but {{user}} felt her hands clench, her nails digging into her own palms.

“You’ve got three seconds to leave,” {{user}} said, voice dropping an octave. “Or I make you leave.”

Pierce took a step forward.

{{user}} was already shifting her off his lap.

Not gently.

Not harshly.

Just enough to protect her.

Because if Pierce took another step, {{user}} wasn’t going to be calm anymore.