Gentle smoke billowed from the cup in your hands as you wrestled with it to get the lid on, fingertips burning from the temperature. With a quick "pop", the lid locked on, and you turned around, passing the coffee over the counter. Giving the man a small smile, you thanked him as he fit a bill in the tip jar.
You gave a quick glance at the clock perched on the countertop, releasing a deep sigh. 5:49.
Your shift ended at 6, and the last ten minutes were always the most annoying, with the setting sun sending wishes of home through your head and a sleepy daze to coat your eyes. The exhaust of the day had built up in your chest at that point, threatening to spill when that rude customer demanded a pack of cigarettes you no longer carried or when the lid to the mustard would snap off. But you liked working here; it was a nice weekend job, an excuse to push back homework for just a little longer, and Mr. Delmar paid better than he probably should.
Your palms flexed against the edge of the countertop as you gripped it, rocking yourself back and forth gently, trying relieve some of the pressure on your feet from standing all day. The honking of cars outside sent ringing symptoms of a headache through your forehead, bright and flashing and loud.
You huffed out another sigh as you moved to clean up, reaching for the white towel hooked against the cabinet, your other hand finding the spray bottle to your left. You were the one to close up the shop, the store hours ending earlier on the weekend. And as you scrubbed down the counters, you pleaded for no more customers. No more. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to go home so, so bad.
But just as soon as you had conjured the pleasant idea, the soft ringing of a bell sounded.
"Great," you mumbled under your breath, releasing a tight sigh. Placing the crumb-riddled towel and bottle on the counter adjacent, you turned around, scratching a hand through your hair.
"Oh."
The happy syllable left your lips before you could stop it, and you hurriedly moved to break your gaze from the boy standing at the front. He looked familiar, like you had seen him in the hallways of Midtown at some point as a passing face. It was a good face, too.
And that face was lit up with a soft smile, warm against the biting air of winter outside of the doors. It tempted your lips to match.
"What can I get for you?" you breathed, moving to stand behind the register. You tried to ignore the frantic fluttering held in your chest, the light numbness coating your thoughts; it was a really good face.
"Just, uh - a sandwich, please," the boy smiled, eyelids falling in a slight stutter to match his words, hesitant and happy. You floated along the line of ingredients as he carefully pointed out turkey, mustard, and pickles, fingers fumbling with the air. And you gave a bright smile in response, eyes reflecting the light of the street and the sky. He had carried them in on the strings of his hoodie.
The boy made his way back to behind the register, shoving his hands down in his pockets, eyes wandering the rows of candy. His bottom lip caught in his teeth as he waited, suited in a dark, navy, long-sleeved tee reading "Stark Enterprises" (you smiled to yourself) and worn converse.
A few shared glances were exchanged between the two of you as you continued to assemble the food, always short and distracted and, as you told yourself, coincidental. On his behalf, at least. You were definitely meaning to look at him.
"Oh, uh -" the boy piped up, shyly licking his lips and watching your hands. "Could I - could I have some extra pickles?"
"I like pickles, too," you smiled, reaching for the container to retrieve some more. You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from just watching him, watching the warm, brown eyes and toffee curls, willing yourself to get back to the sandwich. The clock had been long forgotten on the countertop.
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Pickles are - pickles are, uh, good."
The awkward comment made you let out a soft snort as your hands worked, closing the bread over the insides. After a moment of shaky hands trying to finish up, you flipped the lid of the mustard container gently, moving to head back to the register.
"Sorry, could you -" he softly laughed, interrupting himself, "could you, like, smoosh it down some?" His lips wore an embarrassed grin and you couldn't help but smile to yourself.
"Sure thing," you grinned, holding your gaze for longer than what was probably considered normal. You moved the sandwich back on the counter and "smooshed it down", as per the boy's response, smiling to yourself. "Smoosh".
And then you finally made it back to the register, wrapping the sandwich in waxy, white paper. The boy rocked himself back and forth on the balls of his feet, awkwardly attempting to avoid your gaze, brown eyes searching the menu, brows slightly pulled.
"Here you go," you smiled, extending the sandwich to him. He hesitantly reached for it, fingertips mingling with yours for a moment. They were warm and calloused and gentle.
"Thanks," he smiled, light lips tugging at the corners, freckles gentle against his golden skin. Your heart warned you with a quick skip as your eyes weaved through his, as your gaze explored those lashes and soft, brown brows.
"Is - is that it? Just the sandwich?" you questioned delicately, trying to hide your deep breaths of anticipation. The boy gave a quiet stammer and ended up reaching above you for a bag of gummy worms. Scratch that, two bags.
His arms worked against the confines of his rolled sleeves, contradicting his slender frame and skinny legs. A frantic blush flooded your cheeks and you gave the side of your nose a slight scratch.
Holy crap.
"These, too," he stammered, voice bubbly, riddled with hints of embarrassment. The same gentle smile returned to send a glow to the slight freckles on his nose as he sat the candy on the counter, sliding them slightly forwards, towards you.
You gave a childish smile at his request and added their cost to the total, sending a bright "5.00" to the screen facing the boy. He worked his wallet out of his pocket, nearly dropping it as he worked a bill out, hesitant fingers pulling one and handing it towards you. He gathered up his things as you put the money in the register, wallet going back into his pocket and sandwich and candy gripped tightly in his hand.
With one last smile, he began to walk out of the shop, but in a rush of adrenaline, your mouth spilled words.
"Wait," you voiced softly, hesitantly swallowing and kneading your hands in each other. He turned with a look of surprise and curiosity plastered on his face, brown eyes wide and eyebrows pulled. He absentmindedly worked through his neat curls with a free hand.
"I, uh, I actually - my shift is over, if you want to -" you stuttered, motioning towards the door with a hand. Your stomach twisted as you waited for his answer, gaze scanning the frozen boy in front of you.
"Yeah," he began, breathily laughing. "Yeah, that'd be cool." His face glowed and his shoulders looked lighter as he watched you, nervous fingers fumbling with the packages in his hand.
You gave a light laugh of relief and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, gingerly making your way around the counter, giving the shop one last look-over. It was mostly clean, and you definitely weren't going to pass this up because of a few stray crumbs.
Gentle legs fought nervous air as you made your way over to the boy, the boy who looked pleasantly petrified in his stature, arms still but face relaxed in a soft smile.
"I take the train over near, uh, 14th," he grinned, voice breathy. "Do you - are you taking a train?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm by 17th," you smiled, grabbing your coat and working it on your shoulders. The hood bunched against your hair and you shifted it slightly.
"Sounds good," the boy chuckled, quickly moving to open the door for you. The sting of the cold flooded the shop and you pulled your coat closer, melting into the warmth of its fabric, feeling him follow you out.
There was something different about your smile for this boy; it was lighter and warmer and stronger.
"I'm, uh, Peter, by the way," the boy smiled, giving you a glance over his shoulder. "Parker."
"Hi, Peter," you grinned, looking up at him. The glow of the cold surrounded the curls at his temples and gave a slight pink tint to the bridge of his nose. "Nice to meet you."
