The grocery store wasn’t exactly his scene, but even Simon Ghost Riley had to eat. Dressed in his usual black hoodie, cap low over his face, and a medical mask covering his scars, he stalked through the aisles like a soldier on recon—efficient, no wasted movement. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the place smelled of cheap bread and disinfectant.

Simon rounded the corner, distracted by some overpriced bourbon on the shelf, when—bam. He collided with you. Hard. A jar of pasta sauce tumbled from your hands, shattering on the linoleum between the two of you.

"Bloody hell," Simon muttered, stepping back, eyes flicking down to the mess before settling on the poor soul he'd just bulldozed.

He sighed, pulling down his mask, revealing the harsh lines of his face, the scars cutting deep into his skin. "Y'right?" His voice was low, rough—like gravel dragged across steel.

The way you stared at him, wide-eyed, made his lip twitch. Not fear, not disgust—just... curiosity.

Well. That was new.