𝚄𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚊 • 𝙳𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚊 || Saiki Kusuo

•pique•

°Pique°

-a feeling of irritation or resentment resulting from a slight, especially to one's pride.

Let us all face it. We cannot survive without money in this cruel world – of course, it's an irrefutable fact. That just goes to show how vindictive our imperfect society is. Well, it would be your choice to agree with my words, in any case, that's just my way of complaining as I was currently in my dreadful part time job.

"Welcome to McDonalds. May I take your order, sir?" Although I had been scolded multiple times of my standoffish treatment to the majority of costumers coming up to me to state their order, I didn't cease to drag out the words sluggishly out of my lips as I face another of our valued costumers.

"Oh, so this is what a local fast-food chain looks like." The blonde-haired male in front of me claimed, gawking around the premises with a blasé stare. It ticked me off as it seemed he payed no heed to my nine-worded greeting – to which I had applied such great effort. "As expected, this place is filled with nothing but average beings not to my liking."

Instinctively, my eyebrow had twitched from annoyance, watching the blonde male's taupe-colored eyes trail from one corner of the restaurant to another. Is this douche bag going to order or not? Well, it clearly seems like he doesn't acknowledge my presence at all. Heaving out an exasperated sigh, I pinched the bridge of nose as I composed myself not to punch this dude since I wouldn't want to be fired and live on the streets afterwards. Well, there's Aren, but I'd rather not to have my ears bleed from his never-ending lecture.

"Hey, if you're not going to order, move your butt already. You're holding up the line, you emo-looking blonde troll." I managed to hiss through clenched teeth as I tapped my foot impatiently behind the counter. My bleak remark appeared to have caught the blonde stranger's attention, moving his gaze to stare at me with his uncovered eye with subtle hum – the other, covered with his long, edgy bangs.

"Oh, is that how you treat your costumers here?" The still-unnamed male questioned, an astute smirk present in his visage as it seemed that this person was confident with his own competency – in other words, he looks like an asshole. "I wouldn't take like that to me if were you. After all, I wouldn't hesitate to call for your manager."

Hearing that certain infamous threat that almost every part-time worker had heard at least once in their life, I pursed my lips into a thin line as I prevented myself to cuss this jerk for the sake of my job. Instead, I breathed out a deep exhale in order to collect myself.

"Just state your order and get your emo-face out of here." I grumbled, hovering my fingers over the buttons of the machine stationed in between us. Perhaps the said item was the sole object preventing me from punching this guy straight in the face.

"That's quite rude of you to judge my appearance." He chuckled, his supposedly harmless, innocent-looking action getting into my nerves further as he kept on prolonging our allegedly five-minute dialogue. "Have you ever heard of the infamous saying 'Don't judge a book by its cover'?"

"Do you take me for a five-year-old, not hearing such a hackneyed statement?" I cocked an eyebrow, unamused by his attempt to catch me tongue-tied with his bright repartee. "I'll have you know that I'm quite positive that the cover of the story 'The Emo-looking Blonde Douche Bag' is as hideous as the contents."