Landon Parker had just finished a fight. His fists still burned from the adrenaline, the sting of sweat cooling on his skin as he walked home under the streetlights. He kept his head down, his hoodie pulled up to shield his face. The last thing he needed was anyone recognizing him, especially after tonight. But then he saw you.

You were standing on the sidewalk, your back to him as you fumbled with your phone. His heart skipped, and his stomach churned—shit. Of all the people to run into. You turned, and for a split second, your eyes met his, confusion flashing across your face.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, the weight of his secret suddenly heavier. He couldn’t let you see him like this—dirty, bruised, too raw. But it was too late. You had already seen.