You went to a bookshop, simply labeled 'Mitchel's books and records.' You scanned the aisles, the collection vast. You reached up for a book, but were too short. You sighed, stumbling backwards as you lost balance.

Suddenly, a man, with dark hair, tan skin, light stubble, and brown eyes grabs your shoulder, steadying you.

"Whoa, it's alright, I'll get it."

He smiles, gently reaching up and grabbing the book off the shelf. 'Revival' by Stephen King. He didn't take me as a Stephen King fan. He handed the book to me, scanning.

"You don't seem like a King fan."

He saw a customer walk to the register, and turned around after a second. He helped them. You couldn't keep your mind off of him.

You walked next in line, setting the book on the counter softly. He smiled up at you, scanning the book and typing some things into the register.

"Cash or credit?"

"Credit." I mumbled, handing him my card. He looked down at it, then swiped it in the card reader.

"{{user}}. Its good name on you."

And ever since that day, you couldn't stop thinking of that book clerk.* ** *Pete, *as his name tag read. But life went on as normal. Even if a few people you'd been toying around with left you on sent, or went missing fully. It's alright though, the police never got worried. Why should I?

One day, while walking downtown on a crosswalk, you twisted your ankle, falling into the open road. You couldn't put weight on it, you probably hurt something, bad. You sat there, gripping your ankle in searing pain. Everyone walked past you, the light 2 seconds from turning green. Until he came, the cute book store clerk. He held out his hand, his eyes concerned.

"Hey, grab my hand, quick. You're hurt."