Work Text:
Stanley Uris had a routine. His routine was beloved to him, something rarely broken and followed every day, and one that made the boy that roommated with him slightly anxious at all times. Stanley took a shower every morning at 7:45, but on Sundays he waited until 8:30, and on Tuesdays he did laundry at 6:30 at night after getting the same exact Chinese takeout he got every Tuesday. This routine went on for his three months of staying at Georgia Tech, before the holidays came.
The holidays were a pain in the ass to anyone with a routine. Stan went to the laundromat on Tuesday at 6:30 on November 26th, and it had a bright fluorescent sign reading CLOSED TO OBSERVE THE HOLIDAY, REOPENING NOVEMBER 30TH. His hamper felt all too heavy in his hand, and the plastic bag holding his takeout wrapped around his wrist too tight. Fingers purple, Stanley returned to the dorm with a huff.
There was no school, but he didn’t want to go home. Go home, deal with his parents and aunts and uncles? Absolutely not. But as Thanksgiving neared closer, Stan realized that all he had was a stupid routine, a half broken Macbook Pro from 2014 and too many Christmas DVDS for someone who was proudly Jewish.
Class ended on the Friday before, so Anthony, his roommate had returned to Wisconsin with his family. Stanley could imagine him living in a two story house in a development, with a shiny car in the driveway and Christmas lights adorning every inch of the gutters and scaffolding. This thought helped him on Wednesday, when his routine was broken yet again.
Wednesdays were grocery days. Upon going to Aldi, Stanley realized that they place was utterly slammed packed with people trying to prepare for the next day, and he slouched as he walked ten blocks back to his dorm. Tiptoed the cracks on the sidewalks, tapped two fingers against the road signs, hopped on fallen leaves. Thought about Anthony with his nuclear family in the decorated house on the paved road with the neat sidewalks and the hedges trimmed and the mailbox decorated with the Hobby Lobby flag. Brain all too heavy and busy and sometimes just, breathe , he reminded himself as he stomped on the last leave before the doorway to the building.
It was in these moments when he collapsed on his bed with his laptop and popped Elf into his laptop, Stanley was forgetting something. He didn’t remember until he woke up at midnight searching for his apple juice in the small fridge was he reminded that, oh, Aldi was busy and I’m anxious so I just turned around without anything and now my apple juice is gone and what the hell do I do now?
Most sane people would go back to bed without it, but if you knew Stanley Uris, he was not about to go to bed without his apple juice. It took ten minutes of googling to find a grocery store open within walking distance and the closest he found was a Food Lion that was 23 blocks away in a part of town he usually stayed away from.
Pat Benatar blared through his headphones as he walked, carefully avoiding places with no streetlights and deep alleyways that looked threatening. 23 blocks isn’t a long walk unless you spend most of it avoiding anyone on the street over five-foot-four.
Finally, just after the third McDonalds and second Subway, the bright sign of the Food Lion came into view, By the time he got there, it was closer to one am than it was to midnight. The November air nipped at the skin of his wrists and ankles, and the tip of his nose turned crimson at the surface. As he approached the front doors, Stan noticed that the parking lot was desolate except for two cars, which he assumed belonged to workers.
Grocery stores in the middle of the night felt surreal, but on the eve of Thanksgiving, Stanley felt like he was in an alternate reality. The aisles were empty, absolute silence being so loud as it echoed the acoustics and made his ears ring. He hurried to the back aisle, finding the apple juice he wanted, before deciding to browse the aisles. It was something his anxiety never permitted him to do, but he couldn’t imagine anyone else coming into Food Lion at this hour. Only him, and whoever was working the graveyard shift.
His fingers danced along the shelving as he flicked through magazines, and smelled shampoos. He contemplated buying pink nail polish before deciding against it. Thinking again of Anthony as he graced the baking aisle, looking at all the spices and flours and mixes that his roommates mom definitely would be using tomorrow.
It didn’t take long for his boredom to settle in, and soon he found himself walking to the only open cash register where the worker was playing on his phone, sat on a stool. The boy looked to be his age, with coarse hair and brown eyes and dark skin. Stan felt his face get warm immediately, but he blamed it on his mile walk in the cold and not on the fact that the boy was extremely cute even in the disgustingly blue blue shirt.
“This all for you?” He chuckled, flashing an award winning smile as he scanned the juice across the counter. “What an exciting thanksgiving you’re having.”
Stanley clicked his heels together behind the counter. “Loads of fun. Not as fun as working in retail, though.”
The boy, whose name tag read Mike , raised an eyebrow. “You home for the holidays?”
“Precisely the opposite,” Stan sucked his teeth with an awkward half smile. “Families in Maine, you couldn’t will me to go back for today. Not with a million dollars.”
“I understand,” the look in his eyes gave away the fact that he really, truly did understand. Stanley wondered how he understood. “Your total’s $2.14, by the way.”
“Yeah, of course,” he began to dig into the pockets of his sweatpants for his wallet, coming empty handed. The other one, empty. A nasty sigh escaped his lips as he rubbed his hand across his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Mike looked to the ground, then to his own wallet. Without a word, he put two dollars and fourteen cents into his own drawer, looking up at the boy across from him. “On the house.”
“Thanks,” Stan smiled, wrapping the blue bag around his wrist and waving politely, beginning to walk away.
“Wait!” He looked behind him to see Mike stumbling out of his seat, coming to catch up with him. Standing, Mike was taller than he was by about four inches. “You see, if you don’t have anything to do for Thanksgiving, me and my friends are having a friendsgiving tomorrow at my apartment. You could bring your apple juice or just yourself, or, yeah, we love meeting new people.”
“Sounds great,” the sudden boost of confidence made his fingers tingle as he took Mike’s phone and typed his contact out. “Just text me the address, I’ll be there.”
“Okay, sounds great. Goodnight, Stanley.”
“Goodnight, Michael.”
As he stepped into the night, Stan let out a breath and brushed his burning cheeks. It was that night, where he broke his routine which he held so beloved, where he would end up changing the course of his life, even if he didn’t know it yet.
And for once, Mike realized he had everything to be thankful for.