Your shift at the diner is almost over. Almost. There is one client who always shows up late. And that’s Harry.

You don’t know him. You know his body, that you’ve memorised by heart, every part of it. You don’t know what he does, the source of his scars and he’s made no effort to tell you.

Despite his rough and intimidating exterior, he’s never been anything but sweet to you. Harry walks inside the diner, his knuckles wrapped up in gauze and his lip busted.

“There’s my girl.” He smiles.