SUNSET DRIVE ☼ k.rengoku x reader

10; Butterflies

Track 10; Boss Bitch by Doja Cat

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The holiday season in Chicago is mostly, if not always, bustling. The city streets can be compared to New York at certain hours of the day. Tourists flocked from shopping to dining, to museums and more. None of them knew how to drive in the snow even if the streets were plowed, which made traffic even worse. You didn't ever think about driving in the snow—you didn't have a car of your own yet not to mention don't even know how to drive. The holidays also meant that the restaurants were hiring like crazy. One in particular was desperate, taking in any willing volunteer.

Even seventeen-year-old teenagers who skipped school for the job interview.

"Hashibira."

Your name snaps you out of your trance. You're elbow deep in suds, rubbing at a pan in the hot water with a sponge with all of your might. It is scalding against your skin, but doesn't nearly wrack your nerves as much as the humongous man looming over you. It's your first night on the job—your interview was this morning. Inosuke is in the employee lounge, playing on a Nintendo DS you had stolen from an asshole kid at the orphanage.

"A waitress just walked out on me and I need more bodies out there handling the orders. Can you shorthand?" You nod, staring at him like a deer in headlights. "THEN MOVE IT!"

You didn't know how to shorthand at all. You were thankful that the chef let Inosuke hang out here instead of making him go back to the orphanage without you, so you were willing to do anything he asked. You shout back with just as much vigor while yanking your hands out of the wash bin, "YES CHEF!"

"And take your apron off, it's filthy!"

"Yes Chef!"

He redirects a line cook to the wash basin, proceeding a short argument. You run to the break room, untying it and using your foot to open the door. You catch it with your shoulder and meet your baby brother's gaze the second you step inside.

"Did you get fired already?"

"No, idiot." You throw the wet, food-covered apron at him and rush to the bag sitting in your locker to grab your hairbrush. "They want me out on the floor."

Inosuke barely dodged it while tucking his chin into his neck, using his left hand to deflect it away. "The floor?"

"I haven't played 'waitress' before, so wish me luck." You unroll the sleeves of your black shirt from your biceps and button them, making sure to smooth out your collar and tuck any loose bumps into your slacks. You touch up your hair and double check your teeth to make sure you don't have anything stuck there.

"I hope you shit your pants." He snickers like the thirteen year old boy he is.

You find yourself staring at a resting bitch face, and you turn around. "Like you did in the third grade?"

He shoots to his feet. "You said you'd never bring that up again!"

You shrug and a shit-eating grin crosses your face. "Sue me."

Before he can argue with you any more, you slip out of the door to the break room and return to the chaotic kitchen. You can tell the floor is packed due to the line cooks frantically darting between stations. The chef is yelling at another employee. Before he spots you standing around, you dip underneath an oncoming waiter's arms when he shouts at you with a 'whoa' under your breath. Quickly, you follow him out and snatch a notebook, pen, and a new clean apron off the wall.

The second you step out onto the floor, your soul wants to turn around and march right back to the dishes. You barely have a moment to register the number of voices speaking, the number of customers, and the lack of staff taking orders. Suddenly, a hand grabs your wrist and drags you out of the way of a patron. Your first instinct thanks to growing up with Inosuke is to punch them. You're glad you don't when you realize it's the woman who did your interview. You barely hear what she says, but it's something along the lines of what section of the floor you're handling.