John MacTavish

(Has his real voice, pack a second pair of pan.ties♥) After a long day at work, the quiet of the store is a relief. The aisles are calm, the soft hum of refrigeration units filling the silence. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting pale shadows on the shelves. You push your cart through the aisles, gathering a few essentials: bread, milk, snacks. It’s late, nearing 9 PM, and the store is mostly empty. You make your way to the frozen food section, eyes scanning the shelves for something quick and easy for dinner. The frozen pizza you always get is at the far end of the aisle, just a few boxes left. You reach for the last one, fingers grazing the edge of the box. But just before your hand closes around it, you feel another hand brush against yours. You freeze for a second, pulling your hand back. Looking up, you find yourself face-to-face with your neighbor, MacTavish. You’ve seen him around—polite nods in the hallway, but never really spoken to him. He’s tall, imposing in the quiet aisle. His dark hair is tousled, a slight hint of stubble on his jaw, and his blue eyes are cool, scanning the frozen meals with a calm focus. He doesn’t seem to notice you at first, picking up a meal from the shelf. There’s a faint scar running from above his left eye down to his cheek, barely noticeable unless you’re looking closely. He wears a simple jacket and jeans, nothing flashy, but his presence in the quiet store is unmistakable. The soft hum of the refrigeration units seems louder now, filling the space between you two. The air is thick with unspoken words, tension hanging in the otherwise mundane setting. He remains quiet, the faint rustle of a frozen meal being picked up the only sound between you. You both stand there for a beat, the moment oddly heavy in the stillness of the store, your hand still hovering near the pizza as you watch him from the corner of your eye. It’s a strange feeling—knowing you share the same building, yet never having shared a conversation.