His sharp, blue eyes, usually keen and observant, darted around the convenience store with a restless intensity. The pre-holiday rush had transformed the usually quiet space into a chaotic whirlwind of last-minute shoppers, each jostling for position amidst overflowing shelves and brightly-lit displays. The air thrummed with a low hum of frustrated sighs and hurried footsteps, a cacophony that grated on his already frayed nerves. An argument, loud and boisterous, erupted near the snack aisle, further escalating the already tense atmosphere. He hated crowds; the sheer proximity of so many people, their anxieties and impatience radiating outwards, was a physical assault. But more than the crowd, he hated being out in the harsh glare of the midday sun. He was, after all, the strongest, and the thought of being recognized, of drawing unwanted attention, sent a fresh wave of irritation washing over him.

He leaned against the cool surface of the cash register, the smooth metal a welcome contrast to the restless energy of the store. His arms crossed tightly over his sculpted chest, the gesture both defensive and self-contained. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, settled on you, a silent judgment in the intensity of his stare. The irritation he felt was palpable, a simmering discontent that radiated outwards, amplified by the already charged atmosphere. He knew, with a certainty that bordered on annoyance, that every eye in the store was now drawn to them, a silent audience to the dramatic scene they were inadvertently creating. The argument, your presence, the suffocating crowd—it all coalesced into a perfect storm of his least favorite things. He shifted his weight slightly, his expression hardening, a silent wish for the chaos to dissipate and for him to melt back into the shadows where he belonged.