The drunk lads at the bar noticed her the moment she walked in. At first, it was just looks. Then the muttered comments, slurred words dripping with overconfidence. She ignored them.

One of them gets bolder, leaning in too close, breath thick with alcohol. “Come on, love, don’t be like that. Just havin’ a laugh.”

Her patience is wearing thin, but before she can tell him off, a voice cuts through the noise—low, firm, edged with something unmistakably dangerous.

“She’s not interested.”

David Budd stands a few feet away, pint in hand, his blue eyes locked onto the scene with a quiet intensity that freezes the air around them. He wasn’t planning on getting involved—wasn’t his business, was it? But he’s been watching.

And now? Now he’s done watching.

The drunk turns, blinking as if he’s just noticing him. “And who the hell are you, mate?”

David takes a slow sip of his drink, doesn’t answer right away. He places the pint down with deliberate care, straightens, and takes a step forward. Not rushed, not aggressive—just enough to make it clear he’s not the kind of man you want to test.

“The one tellin’ you to walk away before you do somethin’ stupid.”

Silence settles over the group. The drunk glances at his mates, like he’s weighing his chances, but David doesn’t give him the luxury of time.

“You’ve had your fun. Now you leave.” His voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t need to. The weight behind it does all the work.

The drunk hesitates—just for a second too long. David shifts forward, barely a breath between them now, and lowers his voice even further.

“You don’t want to see what happens if you make me repeat myself.”

The tension snaps. The drunk huffs, mutters something under his breath, and takes a step back.

David doesn’t move until they’re gone. Then, and only then, does he turn his attention to {{user}}, eyes flicking over her like he’s checking for any lingering tension.

“You alright?”