i.
Y/N doesn't mean to stare.
It's just so hard not to, really, when she's been working at this god forsaken roller-rink for the better part of a year and sees a consistent group of people go in and out. They were all the same characters – children anywhere from 4 to 10 who leave everything so sticky when she goes to wipe down the tables and game machines, their parents who didn't want to be spending $100 for ten or so kids under their supervision to move around on wheeled shoes, and 12 to 14 year olds who are too cool to skate so they mosey around the game machines and stick their chewed gum wherever they very well pleased. All of the same drab, boring faces, knowing that they could literally be anywhere but here right now and it'd probably be much better.
Yet there he was. With circle lens glasses rimmed black and wild green eyes, fluffy brown hair he's raked his hands through about six different times, and a pouty strawberry colored mouth that ordered cheesy fries and a water very politely before sitting down in a specific corner, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the room with a book in his hands. Seemingly unfazed by the squealing five year old birthday party underway. A character she's never seen before, waltzing on in here like he's known this place forever.
She didn't get it.
"What's got your eye, then? Don't tell me the bloke with the cane came back." Her coworker – Niall – slides up to her from where he'd been patrolling the kids like some roller-skating lifeguard (there happened to be quite a few fights to break out amongst parties and there are always parents who don't believe their beautiful little sugar dumpling could've ever shoved someone in tag and got pushed down in return...no, not at all, it had to be the establishment and the bummy skates and slippery floors, they oughta be sued). He does a quick scan around the room trying to spot the middle aged man called Hugh who'd come in and was either intentionally tripping kids, or had no idea how to properly use a cane.
"No, not him, he's gone for Spain he told me." She murmurs albeit distracted, still eying the boy with a questionable taste for a reading spot, "A guy is reading in that corner over there? You see." With a subtle nudge of her head she directs Niall to him, her fingers plucking at the wet blue striped dishrag she'd been wiping down the counters with previous to her getting his fries for him, "A shitty place to come for a relaxing read, isn't it?"
When Niall spins back around, the wheels on his skate start to slip out from beneath him, and he would be on his way to the ground if not for the hand he slams onto the black cushioned edge (Y/N would like to say her reaching out her hand and grasping at the fabric of his button up helped some too). "Oh, that's just Harry, pay him no mind." He swivels around so he can fit behind the small swinging door, batting Y/N out of the way so he can snatch a cup and go for the ice machine beneath the counter, "He's always reading around campus, m'surprised you haven't seen him around yet. Always has a huge ass book though – girls love him, the bloody prick has the likes of Angel and Meredith all over him."
Y/N rolls her eyes, "Who gives a rat about Angel and Meredith, they're assholes." Which they wore – this wasn't coming from a spot of jealousy, which most might think. No amount of pretty can cancel out the ugliness in someone's personality and attitude, and these two were some of the worst of the worst. Several times Y/N's ended up comforting some of their recently dumped sorority friends at parties when they're too drunk to be tag teamed by a couple of pissed off 90s movie-esque bully types. Once they decided to have one sleep with this girl Catherine's girlfriend at a party and have the other "accidentally" bring her into the same room.
It's almost like they got off on being cruel, which was disgusting really. Y/N's never spoken to them before but she can't imagine it working out in either of their favor if she did.
