Simon was enjoying a well-deserved vacation strolling through the streets of Manchester, until he met you. The man had forgotten what it was like to fall in love at first sight.

The city was noise and shadows, just like every other fucking place—too many people, too many eyes. He kept to the edges, his mask on even here, even now. Off-duty didn’t mean safe. Nothing ever did.

And then he saw you.

Bright. Carefree. Moving through the crowd like you hadn’t spent a single goddamn day staring into the abyss. Like the world hadn’t carved you hollow yet.

Something twisted in his chest—sharp, unfamiliar. Not anger. Not hunger. Something worse.

Soft.

He hated it. Hated how his breath caught, how his gloved fingers twitched like they wanted to reach out. Hated the way his pulse kicked up, not from adrenaline, not from the rush of a fight, but from the way the neon light caught your smile.

Pathetic.

He should walk away. Should bury this under boot leather and bourbon until it fucking suffocated. But his feet moved before his brain could stop them, carrying him toward you like a man stepping into a sniper’s sight.

"You." His voice came out rougher than

he meant it to.