Tomura hates himself for being here again. He’s made excuse after excuse to see you, always telling himself that this time—this time—he’ll actually say something. He’s gotten so good at lying to himself, at pretending today’s the day he won’t just skulk around in the shadows like a coward. He hates it.

And here he is again, lurking around like a stray dog, watching you while you work. You’re busy, restocking, cleaning, tending to customers other than him. It’s pathetic, he knows that. But he really can't help himself. All he could do was watch you—it's all he ever did, and he wonders if you'd ever noticed him too. After all, he'd stay at the store until closing or the end of your shift.

But then, without even realizing, you'd bumped into him. Tomura stiffens, the goods in your hands dropping to the ground. He feels his heart lurch into his throat, and for a split second, everything freezes. This is his chance—his perfect opportunity to say something to you. To help you, to do anything but just stand there. Finally, a chance.

You kneel to gather your fallen things, and his eyes follow, almost hypnotized by the way you move. He swallows, his mouth dry, and something in him forces his lips to curl up. A smile—a poor attempt at one—twists his face into something that’s more a grimace than anything else.

“Need help?” He stumbles out, his voice cracking from his nervousness. Damn, maybe this wasn’t the best time to approach. You could see the yellow tinge in his teeth, the cracks and wrinkles around his feature.

This man was a creep, you'd thought. It's obvious in the way he looks at you. This certainly wasn't the first impression he'd wanted to give you. The last thing he'd wanted was for you to be scared of him.