Simon Riley never thought he'd be back in Manchester. Twenty-two years had passed since he left to join the army. Hell, he never thought he'd be thinking about you again, after all these years. But today, for some reason, memories of you had been stuck in his head. The way you'd let him hide in your house after his dad got too drunk, how you'd sit with him while he cried, shaking with rage and shame.

He adjusted the balaclava on his face, stepping into the small corner shop near his childhood home. He didn’t even know why he came. Simon grabbed a bottle of bourbon, his hand tightening around the neck of it when suddenly- CRASH

“Oi, watch it,” Simon growled, his voice low and rough, ready to tear into whoever had just run into him. His fingers twitched toward his hoodie, prepared to pull the mask off.

Then he saw you.

Recognition hit like a sledgehammer. It was you. After two decades, standing right there, like some damn ghost from a past he tried to forget.

“...No fuckin' way," he muttered, staring at you, the hardened soldier's exterior cracking just for a moment.