Work Text:
I hated working so close to Christmas.
For some reason, that's when everyone wants to propose. The end of the year. Which was what the man currently in front of me was doing.
"The reservation for Thomas Agnes, please," the absolutely beautiful man said, leaning his toned arms towards the glass counter and smiling shyly at me.
I raised a brow. Ah...so he's the one who went with the 2 fancy peridot rings...
Pity he's getting married, it makes me feel guilty that I'm eyeing him up and down. I think the girl he's with would be happy about the ring choice; they really are magnificent. I've never seen a man who bought matching peridot rings for himself and his wife, but then again, "Thomas Agnes" doesn't sound like one of those typical men who are all about their "manliness" or whatever.
Minho told me that I was a horrible film partner, the reason being I'd always scoff when the couple kissed, and ruin the whole thing for him.
"It's so cliche, though!" I'd always tell him, dragging my best friend (some BFF, forcing me to watch horribly cheesy films...) out of the theatre.
"That's the point, shank," he'd always snark back.
"Thank you," the soft voice of the beautiful man, Thomas, pulled me out of my thoughts abruptly, causing me to whack my head against the cabinet.
"Are you okay?" Thomas asked his voice an onslaught of concern and shock. "You need to –––"
I rubbed at my sore head, the bump already starting to form. "I'm fine," I bit out sourly, making him jump back, a mask of hurt. "You should go propose to your wife."
"I –––" he started, but he didn't get anything out before I waved at him, still clutching my head.
"Wait, let me get this straight..." Minho started. "Wait, not straight, but –––"
"Are you going to complain about my life with me or what?" I cut him off before he could go off into a tangent.
"Yeah, sure," Minho agreed. "Let's get drunk."
I rolled my eyes at Minho's banter, tipping back a cup of whiskey as I did so. I gagged at the sour taste, but swallowed it down anyway. If it'll would tip away my sorrows, I could willingly drink all of the disgusting substance.
******
After who-knows-how-much time, Minho and I got up and stumbled our way to the apartment, cursing about life on the way.
"Why are the pretty ones always taken?" Minho slurred, stumbling on a rock.
I didn't remember what happened after that.
The next morning, I woke up with a headache pounding from behind my temples, and to the sound of a groaning roommate.
"How much did..." the black haired boy asked from the bathroom, and then paused to retch into the toilet basin. "––– we drink last night?"
I moaned when the action of sitting up caused my head to spin like one of those carnival rides Lizzy loves. "Way too much," I declared, as smartly as I could with the flashing array of stars and the pain that pounded in my head. I raised a hand to take off my shirt, gagging when it came back smelling of sour vomit.
"I'm never going to the bar with you again," Minho said as he came out of our small bathroom, looking green.
"You should take a shower."
Minho rolled his eyes while pointing at my shirt. At first, I didn't understand why, but as I looked down, I noticed the stain of...questionable green chunks of who-knows-what and a few other stains that could have been sweat, tears, or other substances I did not want to think about. Oh, and a whole lot of dirt.
"Yeah, I should probably go take a shower first, shouldn't I?"
It was a rhetorical question that Minho did not bother to answer.
******
The cool water caressing my back felt brilliant.
The refreshing coolness kept me from sweating further, and I could no longer smell the foul mix of liquids on my skin. Instead, I smelt the concentrated fragrance of coconuts, grass, and a sweet smell I couldn't place, thanks to my shampoo and body wash. The glass of the stall was fogged up, and I watched, almost mesmerized as a droplet of water fell onto the floor quietly, melting in with the liquid starting to pool beneath my feet.
"Are you done, shuck-face?" Minho shouted from next door, much too loud.
"Minho, keep it down!" I shouted back, at around the same volume. I winced when my voice hit my sensitive eardrums.
After cocking an ear out for Minho's response and receiving none, I placed a foot on the mat in front of the toilet bowl tentatively, gripping onto the bar situated on the wall. I grabbed a towel and dried my hair, using another to dry my body and wrap around my waist.
"Are you done yet?"
I nodded, and then remembered that he couldn't see me. "Yeah, I'm done."
I came to work again the next Monday, groaning when I saw the beautiful man and the woman who must have been his fiancé, there, as well as a brown-haired woman who held the hand of the blue-eyed woman who wore a peridot ring. I noticed that Thomas did not wear a ring. Who was the other ring for, then?
"Mr Isaacs," the petite, blue-eyed girl started, reading my name tag. It was hard not to be jealous; she was beautiful and looked like Thomas' type. They'd go well together. "I'm Teresa Agnes. I'd like to say thank you for the kind customer service. Brenda said yes, of course."
"Of course I did, hon," the girl, who was apparently named Brenda, chimed in, interlocking her fingers between Teresa's and smiled.
I was sure that I was gaping at that point, and my, was I astounded! (Tommy teased me about it endlessly later on)
"And...Tom here has something to confess to you..." Brenda added slyly, shooting unsubtle looks at the doe-eyed boy.
"Brenda!" The brown-haired boy mumbled, his face and the tip of his ears flushing red.
I cocked my head, inviting him to continue. He flushed further.
"W-Will you go on a date with me?" Thomas murmured under his breath, suddenly finding his shoes interesting. At least, that's what it looked like from the intense gaze he was now directing at the battered blue Converse trainers.
"Call me maybe?" Brenda sang.
We all groaned. I wasn't going to survive for more than a minute in this crazy family.