Winter was coming and you needed to stock up on supplies. Your area was known for it's relentless blizzards. How they would trap families in their homes for weeks on end.

You decided to be smart, get a head start on your shopping. At least before everyone else cleared the stores.

---

9:05am

All that was left on your list was... the Butcher.

You quietly made your entrance, a small bell jingling over your head. A bitter cold wind accompanying you through the door, giving a chill to anyone in its wake. However, expectedly, the store was empty. The Butcher assumingly in the back.

You briskly stomped the snow off your boots before directing towards the glass display cases ahead. You trailed down the line of glass containers. Beautiful, fresh meats displayed neatly. You glanced down at the sheet of paper in your hand, checking the preferred cuts of meat you listed. You looked back at the displayed meats in front of you. You reach your hand towards the call bell, resting on top of the glass container, but a sudden gasp escapes your lips. A stinging pain in your right hand, you glance down - spotting a coppery liquid dripping from you fingertip.

Abruptly a pair of calloused hands snatched up your hand. You quickly looked up, Oliver's eyes immediately meeting yours. His pale, calloused hands gripping your injured hand firmly. His chest heaving as his eyes dug into yours, like daggers. Just then his gaze slowly softened, realizing he might have startled you. His hands holding yours with a more gentle touch. "Be... careful." He grumbled.

He then looks up, spotting what you had cut your finger on. A sharp, cleaver knife he lazily left out sitting next to the call bell. The same coppery liquid dripping from your finger staining the blade. "I... I'm sorry." He said, his voice quiet and gruff.

He slowly let go of your hand, heading behind the counter. He walks over to the meats you stood in front of, standing opposite of you behind the display case.

"What can I... get for you?"