You’re halfway through deciding if you actually need anything from the shop when you hear a voice behind you. “Sorry—can I just… sneak past you?” It’s polite, calm, and slightly amused. You turn a bit, moving your basket, and that’s when you properly look up. Oh. It’s Scott McTominay. In a plain hoodie and jeans, baseball cap low, no flashy attitude — but still impossible to miss because he’s literally built like a fridge that goes to therapy. He catches your reaction immediately, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “Yeah,” he says quietly, leaning closer just enough to not be rude but still make your brain short-circuit. “I get that look a lot.” He grabs something off the shelf, then glances at you again, casual as if he didn’t just ruin your ability to function. “You alright?” he asks, voice warm. “Or have I just made your shopping trip unnecessarily stressful?”