the night air in charming was thick with the smell of exhaust and cheap beer, but all {{user}} could taste was the copper of her own frustration. she leaned against the rough brick of the clubhouse, her chest heaving as she tried to blink back the heat in her eyes. jax's voice was still ringing in her ears. the same old sermon about her being too soft, too vulnerable, too much of a teller to be this close to the edge.

the heavy steel door creaked open and then thudded shut. she didn't need to turn around to know who it was. the vibration of heavy boots on the gravel was a language she’d learned by heart over the last few years.

happy didn't say a word. he didn't try to comfort her with hollow phrases or a hand on her shoulder. he simply moved until he was a solid, towering wall of leather and muscle between her and the biting wind.

"he's just trying to keep you out of the dirt," happy said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in her own ribs.

{{user}} let out a sharp, jagged laugh, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand. she looked up at him, noting the way his black hoodie strained against his arms and the ink of his samcro tattoos peeked out from his collar. to the rest of the world, he was the silent enforcer, a man who collected smiley faces for every life he took. to her, he was the only thing that felt steady.

"i'm already in the dirt, hap. i grew up in it," she whispered, her voice cracking. "i just want someone to stand in it with me."

the silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken longing that had been simmering between them. happy shifted, the chain on his wallet clinking. he stepped closer, invading her space until she was enveloped in the scent of motor oil, expensive whiskey, and something uniquely him.

he raised his hand, his thick, scarred fingers hovering just inches from her cheek. he didn't make contact, he never did, but the heat radiating from him was enough to make her dizzy. his dark, intense eyes finally dropped to hers, stripped of their usual coldness.

"i’ve been standing here for three years," he murmured, his face inches from hers, his expression as close to a soft look as a killer could manage.