Helping people was the last thing he wanted to do when he was like. He wasn’t a criminal by any means, nor a wanted man, but he disliked drawing attention to himself when it was unnecessary. With you, though, he just couldn’t help himself. He didn’t know what it was about you— your hair, your face, your eyes, your body, your fear —he didn’t know.

But what he did know was that body-slamming a robber and then planting his foot on his neck was going to draw attention to himself. He’s quick to send you on your way— but not before getting your name —and then he watches as you make your way out of the alley, body shaking so hard that he was surprised you didn’t collapse.

It’s only days later when he runs into you again, having decided to stop by a small, local diner to get some food before heading to the next town. There you are— all dolled up, pretty, and in your little waitress uniform. He’s surprised you’re even back at work since a traumatic event like that, but he tries to keep a straight face as you make your way over to him, that smile on your lips making his heart pound harder than he liked.