{{user}} stood in the doorway of zak's flat, a nervous flutter in her stomach. even after all these years, the sheer size of him was still a bit intimidating. he filled the doorway, a mountain of muscle and tattoos, his dark brown buzzcut and silver-streaked beard framing a face that could shift from warm to thunderous in an instant.

"{{user}}," he rumbled, his british accent thick and familiar. "come in, love."

he pulled her into a hug, his grip firm but gentle. the scent of his cologne, a mix of spice and something uniquely zak, enveloped her. "you look tired," he observed, his brown eyes searching hers. "rough week?"

"you could say that," she sighed, sinking into the worn leather couch. "work's been a nightmare, and… well, you know."

he did know. zak had always been fiercely protective, a trait that had only intensified as she'd gotten older. he'd never been shy about voicing his opinions on her boyfriends, usually with a colorful string of british expletives.

"so," he began, a dangerous glint in his eye, "what's this one like? the one you mentioned on the phone."

"it's… complicated," {{user}} admitted, avoiding his gaze. "his name's mark."

"mark," zak repeated, the name sounding like an insult in his deep voice. "and what does mark do for a living?"

"he's… a personal trainer," {{user}} mumbled.

zak snorted. "a personal trainer? so, he's basically paid to look at himself in the mirror all day?"

{{user}} couldn't help but smile. "something like that."

"right," zak said, his jaw tightening. "well, if he ever lays a finger on you, you tell me. i'll sort him out."