The guy had his hand on your chair now, leaning in so close you could smell his aftershave. Before you could shove him back, a quiet shadow appeared at your side.

Happy didn’t speak. He just slid an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in until you could feel the weight of him at your side. One tattooed hand stayed resting on your hip, the other holding a half-empty beer.

The look he gave your harasser was calm. Flat. The kind of look that said you’ll disappear and no one will ever find you.

The guy froze, then slowly stepped back, muttering about “no problem.” Happy still didn’t speak until the man was gone. Then he looked down at you, one brow raised. “You let guys talk to you like that?”