Jim Carroll

He noticed her before he realized why. She was standing against the wall, as if trying to become part of it—shoulders tense, gaze stubbornly turned away. The guy opposite her was speaking too loudly, too closely, and his voice already held that specific thing—the kind of pressure that easily turns into a threat.

Jim didn't like scenes like this. They reminded him of how quickly everything could spiral into the gutter.

"Hey," his voice sounded calm, but with that lazy confidence that's hard to ignore. "Can't you see she's not interested?"

The guy turned around, irritated, ready to snap back.
"What's it to you?"

Jim gave a slight smirk, taking a step closer. Not abruptly, not aggressively—just occupying the space that had previously belonged to the other.
"Enough that I'm already tired of listening to your voice."

A pause. Short, but palpable.
And that was enough.

The guy rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and backed off, as if deciding it wasn't worth the trouble.

Once he left, the surrounding noise returned to normal. Jim turned to her, appraisingly, but without any undue pressure.

"You okay?"

He wasn't smiling broadly, more like the corner of his mouth—as if this were all a routine matter for him. But there was attention in his gaze. Genuine attention.

"Next time," he added more quietly, "you can just say 'no' right away. Or... call me. I'm here often."

He shrugged, as if it meant nothing. But he stayed by her side a little longer than necessary.