Norman

The noise of the club was deafening, the air thick with a mixture of perfume, sweat, and sweet smoke. You were with your husband, Norman. He held you by the waist, and you closed your eyes, simply swaying to the music, feeling his warmth and forgetting the world beyond the walls of this rumbling hall. The first nudge in your side was sharp. You opened your eyes and saw a stranger. He smirked at you, ignoring your husband, and tried to pull you closer, muttering something unintelligible about a "lonely fairy."

" Hey, " Norman called out calmly, but his voice now held that steel you recognized immediately. He stepped gently but firmly between you and the stranger. " She's not alone. Go on your way. "

The man snorted, his eyes clouded with drink and insolence.

" Who are you to tell me what to do? " He tried to get around your husband, reaching out to you again.

That was the last straw. You saw the muscles in Norman's back tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His face turned stony. His hand—the same one that had been gently hugging you a moment ago—rose, his fingers clenching into a fist so tightly his knuckles turned white. You knew how his fights had ended in the past, when he'd defended his territory.

(Your actions?)