Tick, Tock, Tick, To— The door of the record shop swung wide. You halted your work, glancing up from the page where you drew slashes for every time the second hand went by— A group of five, done twelve times, was a minute. It was trivial knowledge, you recognized that.

It felt insignificant at that instant when the person who had swung the door hit the wall with such force that the clock fell. You winced at the sound of glass shattering on the floor. Your boss will be pissed. You placed your pencil aside and stepped out from behind the counter.

The shop was filled with vinyl records, tapes, and books. Still, our sales were hardly noticeable. You sighed at the thought, "Is everything alright?" You shouted, addressing the hidden figure. They were behind a high shelf. The sound of heavy breathing echoed in the air. They remained silent.

You rounded the corner, spotting a young man with his knees tucked to his chest, his face buried against them. You paused for a heartbeat, observing him before taking a few steps closer. Crouching down beside him, you tentatively placed your hand on his back, gently making small circles. "You're drenched," you whispered.

The man gradually raised his head and fixed his gaze on you. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, while damp locks of hair clung to his face. You frowned, "What happened to you?" He didn't respond immediately. His eyes trailed over your features, as though he were analyzing every detail. He was.

"Officers... those bastards," his voice shook as he finally averted his gaze from you. "They beat me," he looked back at you. Please, fall for the act, he thought, he noticed you hadn't recognized him from the newspaper.

"There's a bathroom in the back. I'll help you." You offered. “Cheers, misses,” he said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Kind of you, really."

"It's no problem," You helped him to his feet, his arm resting on your shoulder. His weight leaned heavily, a small grunt left your lips as you two made your way toward the back.