Ring Up My Love (But Let Me Grab My Coupons First)

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The first in a series of unrelated (unless otherwise noted) AU oneshots, written purely for my own entertainment. Please enjoy.

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At 11:37PM on the chilly evening of an October Tuesday, there are two things that Scott considers himself pretty well-versed in: optimal control theory, and how to fit an entire shopping cart's worth of groceries into 85-year-old Mrs. Hamilton's two lonely, abused fabric shopping bags.

(If anything, his degree in optimization mathematics probably helps him achieve this weekly task. Mrs. Hamilton is not a particularly patient woman. And her nails are intimidating.)

Everything else—well, that's relative. Outside the concrete structures of applied mathematics, certainties are rare, elusive, and usually short-lived. Flux is a fact of the universe.

However, at the sound of the automatic doors wheezing open (now 11:39PM on this chilly Tuesday night), Scott is very suddenly certain of three things: Pontryagin's Maximum Principle, the fact that Mrs. Hamilton will probably crumble to dust before she purchases a new reusable bag, and finally, that the most beautiful human being on this Earth has just walked into the store.

"Excuse me, where would I find the gluten-free items?"

Scott has to make the conscious choice to shut his slack jaw. The soft voice, the softly-swooped dark hair, soft brown eyes, a very soft-looking grey sweater—the urge to reach out and just pet this person gently is nearly overwhelming. It isn't until the young man clears his throat and raises a single eyebrow that Scott remembers that oh right, he's an employee of this establishment and meant to answer questions like that.

"Oh! Uh, aisle six," Scott gestures towards it with a nearly-violent flail, "near the end, on your right."

The vision in grey cashmere gives Scott a small, but genuine smile, and makes his way towards aisle six. It takes a few seconds for Scott to register the soft clicking of the young man's shoes, and he only catches a brief glimpse of the silvery, heeled boots before they disappear around the shelves.

Oh my.

Making judgments off of stereotypes is not something Scott prefers to engage in, but the shiny boots, the hair, and the big, fancy-looking handbag that had been settled over the young man's delicately bent elbow is giving Scott more hope than he wants to allow.

Fortunately, another customer pulls Scott away from his pining, and he's occupied with the checkout process for several minutes. The same customer then knocks over a display of expensive chocolates as they leave, barely sparing the mess a glance before vanishing into the night. Scott sighs, before contorting himself in order to reach some of the pieces scattered under the counter. Evening customers are always the rudest.

He's found four pieces of overpriced candy, two pennies, an empty container of tictacs, and most disturbingly what appears to be a glass eyeball, when someone clears their throat above him.

Scott abandons his findings (except for the pennies, they were both face-up and he could use a little luck) and unfolds himself from the confines of the counter, nearly braining himself on the edge.

The brunet from earlier blinks up at him. "Tall," he murmurs, his cognac gaze intense.

Scott just bobs his head in amicable agreement. "I am that, yes."

That gets a huff of laughter. "Sorry," the young man says with a small grin, and wow, it's like Jelly-Knees Jinx incarnate. "It's been a long day, and not all of my faculties are online. Just this, please." He indicates to the small pile of groceries on the conveyor.

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