Mace was lost in thought as he walked the familiar route toward his repair shop, the soles of his boots pressing firmly against the cracked pavement with the steady rhythm of a man who knew exactly where he was going and had no reason to rush.

His mind, as usual, wasn't entirely on the world around him. He was occupied with the stubborn motorcycle he had left half-dismantled the night before, going over the list of parts he still needed to order, already mapping out the steps of how he would finish the repair once they arrived. It was a particularly challenging project, but those were the ones he enjoyed the most.

As he turned the corner, his sharp eyes immediately caught a figure standing right in front of his shop. His steps slowed without conscious thought. Even from a distance, Mace recognized you instantly—pacing back and forth on the sidewalk with that restless energy of yours.

His brow arched slightly in surprise. He hadn't even flipped the sign to open yet, and there you were, waiting on him like you had been standing guard the whole morning. His lips tugged upward into the faintest smirk as a thought crossed his mind.

What's got you all worked up? Couldn't even wait until he turned the key in the door?

There was something ridiculously endearing about seeing you there so early. He was about to call out to you, when something else caught his attention and pulled the amusement right out of him.

You weren't alone anymore.

Mace's eyes narrowed just slightly as he saw you accidentally bump into a stranger, an older man carrying a couple of plastic bags filled with clutter. The contents spilled out instantly, clattering across the pavement in a chaotic mess of paper, bottles, and odds and ends. You crouched down without hesitation, apologizing quickly as you scrambled to help him gather his belongings.

But the old man didn't seem particularly forgiving. His face contorted with irritation, his voice rising harshly in the still morning air. Then, to Mace's annoyance, the man stepped forward toward you, his tone sharper, his body language edged with hostility.

The smirk faded from Mace's mouth entirely, replaced with a cold, silent focus. He studied the stranger for only a moment before making up his mind. The man's movements were unsteady, his stance crooked, and his words slightly slurred. Tch. Probably a drunkard, or someone who hadn't learned when to shut his mouth.

In the span of a heartbeat, Mace was right there, slipping behind you and enveloping you in his solid frame.

His strong arms came around your shoulders, pulling you firmly back against the broad wall of his chest. His body was warm, solid, a barrier between you and the stranger. He lowered his head so that his lips brushed near your cheek, close enough that his husky voice was almost intimate when he spoke. "Hey there, clumsy," he teased quietly, planting a quick kiss against your cheek.

But his attention didn't linger on your reaction for long. His focus shifted back to the stranger, and the teasing warmth drained from his expression.

His dark eyes locked onto the old man, the weight of his stare sharp enough to cut through whatever drunken bravado the stranger had left. "Is there a problem here?" Mace asked, his tone deceptively casual. To anyone else it might have sounded calm, almost lazy, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it.

Over your shoulder, Mace took in the sight of the scattered plastic bags on the ground, the junk spilling out onto the pavement. The annoyance rolled through him as he realized it was happening right outside his shop of all places.

Of course. There's always something going on when he least needed it.

Frustration tinged his movements as his body tensed up slightly against your back, the scent of his strong cologne enveloping you. He was ready to intervene if necessary, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.