Chapter Text
What if I had just a little more time?
A question that had stopped so many people in their tracks, leaving a trail of ash in its wake.
Time, the ever elusive enemy and the all-knowing ally.
However much help or hindrance it may be, time slowly ticks along, never stopping for anyone, never waiting for anyone to catch up to it. Those who fall behind are lost in the spiral of its never ending game, and some are simply too stubborn to fall into its clutches, always a few steps ahead, but still looking over their shoulders nevertheless.
Time is one of the greatest antagonists of society, and now, time moves to the blinking of your cursor as you stare blankly at a new document for your thesis.
“Does this look okay?”
You don’t bother looking up from your laptop as you give her a thumbs up.
Lisa frowns as she tucks in a button down shirt, glancing at her watch. “Hey, [y/n]?”
You grunt in response, starting to type with some sort of hope that a great idea will pop into your head in the process of your word vomit.
“You haven’t forgotten about covering my shift, have you?”
Your fingers freeze on the keys of your laptop, finally meeting the emerald green eyes of your roommate. “You never said anything about that.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I mentioned it last night at dinner.”
You frantically dig through your memory for any recollection, but your mind goes blank. All you remember from the past few days is repeatedly waking up, staring blankly at your laptop through the dinginess of your dark room, typing a sentence and deleting it. Call it burning out, procrastination or laziness all you want, but every time you feel like doing something that actually benefits your future, your mind seems to completely space out.
“Anyway, you owe me one for covering your absence in class that one time.” She sits at her vanity, quickly applying mascara to her thick eyelashes.
Lisa is an english literature major; so good at what she does that you want to hate her for it. You want to hate her for being everything you want to be, but when you look at her slanted smile and remember sleepless nights in her teasing but reassuring company, you find it impossible. Now, Lisa is leaving your joint ‘safe paradise’ in less than a month, and damn it to hell, you know you’ll miss her, but can’t bring yourself to admit it outloud.
You groan, shutting your computer. “Fine, yeah, that’s true. Where do you work again? That cafe near campus?”
She nods, leaving her desk to dig through her closet. “Yup, my shift is short today, so you’re lucky, and try not to be late. My manager is… fussy.”
After a while of rummaging through her mess of a closet, she produces what looks to be a maid outfit that you’ve seen on the internet.
You roll your eyes. “Ha ha, funny joke, Lisa.”
She raises a groomed eyebrow. “I’m not joking, [y/n].”
You blink a few times, the dots connecting in your head. “Oh fuck no. There’s no way in hell I’m wearing that.”
Your roommate pouts, bright green eyes shining with mischief. “C’mon, it’s the uniform for the cafe--”
“The what?” You exclaim, staring at her incredulously. “You never said anything about a maid costume!”
She giggles, throwing the frilly black and white mess on your bed to fish her phone out from her purse on the floor. “But you owe me a favour, don’t you?”
You glower at the brunette, arms crossed. “Lisa, look, you’re a great friend and all, but this goes way beyond what I owe you.”
“Oh, would you look at that, my phone is nearly out of storage,” Completely ignoring your comment, she sighs dramatically, swiping a few times on her phone. “It would be a shame if I had to delete all my photos, especially the pictures I have of you last month at the club with Kaeya and Venti. You know, at the end of your finals when you were--”
“Okay, I’ll do it!” You throw your hands in the air exasperatedly. It’s not like you would’ve done anything productive either way, but your paper was due in no more than a month, and you had absolutely nothing.
“Aw, thanks, [y/n]! You’re the absolute best!” She hugs you, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek as she gathers her things. “Remember, the shift ends at four, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” You roll your eyes, picking up the dress. “Hurry up and go to your interview before I change my mind.”
She slips on a lavender coloured trench coat, adjusting her periwinkle pencil skirt. After applying lip gloss, she winks at you, putting on black heels as she stumbles out. “Thanks again, cutie, wish me luck!”
Before you can respond, she promptly disappears down the corridor, leaving you with the frilly mess that is her part-time job uniform.
What has my life come to?
–
As you walk into the cafe, a bell rings, and you can barely hear your own thoughts over the commotion of the room. Trying to make your way across the black-and-white tiled floor, you push past customers and workers alike, muttering dozens of apologies before you finally reach the pastel pink wallpaper on the other side of the room.
I knew that this cafe was popular around people on campus, but what the hell?
You make your way to the staffroom to check-in, but a firm grip on your shoulder stops you.
“Are you Lisa’s replacement?” A lady with thick black hair reaching down to her shoulders and lipstick as red as wine snaps, clearly annoyed. Her air of authority that seems to surround her as she slowly examines you, makes you assume that she’s the manager of the place.
“Yeah, she--”
“I don’t care where she is, I just need staff, so get dressed, and get out there.” She rolls her eyes, pushing you in the direction of the staffroom. “It’s a good thing that you’re easy on the eyes, or I’d have cut Lisa’s paycheck.”
You quickly nod, ignoring that last comment to slip past the irritated woman into the changerooms.
Trying not to think about the itchiness of the frills against your skin, the stares you would get or the dress’ short skirt, you swiftly dress, begrudgingly putting on the black, two-inch heeled mary jane shoes.
With a final determined look at yourself in the mirror, you head out, immediately despising the choice of uniform.
I just need to take orders and give them to the chefs, easy enough, right?
Or so you hoped.
Within the second hour out of four, your feet were killing you and you would give anything to sit down for more than three minutes. Thankfully, the customers in the cafe start to lessen as lectures for classes begin on the campus nearby, so by two o’clock, the flurry of people reduces to a steady stream.
Not that it helps your case, anyway.
“Up! We still have customers!” The manager hisses after reapplying red lipstick for the nth time. She winks at herself in the mirror before changing expressions so fast that you nearly jump. “Stop lazing around!”
What’s her problem?
You groan, muttering an apology, wobbling to your feet as you put on a smile, taking your notepad out of your apron pocket. The manager shoves you in the direction of a new customer, and your fight with gravity begins as you attempt not to fall in your heels. It’s not that the shoes are hard to walk in, but after standing in them for two hours straight, the reality of the situation sets in.
Shouldn’t a maid cafe have shoes that are more comfortable to walk in? Maids are supposed to work, not look pretty.
You walk over to a man with strikingly familiar indigo eyes that match the colour of his hair, heels clacking on the black-and-white flooring. He sits at the pastel pink booth with an open laptop and a paper in front of him, only looking up from his work when you clear your throat to get his attention.
“Hello, welcome to Little Miss Maid, what can I get for you?” The words come out automatically, smile faltering slightly as you feel their gaze all over your body.
“A regular cappuccino and a chocolate croissant, please.” He says, scrutinising every detail of your outfit, from the slightly stained, white apron tied around your waist, to the pastel pink ribbons on the cuffs of your sleeves.
“Will that be all for you today?” You grind out through gritted teeth.
“Well, could I also have your num--”
“Oh, Scaramouche, there you are. You’re so short that it’s hard to even see you over the booths.”
You turn, nearly dropping your notepad, to see a tall, platinum blonde woman eyeing you with indiscreet disgust.
She wears a white designer handbag on her arm, a creamy fur coat draped over her shoulders, and an ankle-length formal dress, the white fading into a deep red at the ends. Tips of simple black heels peek out from underneath the dress, adding to the minimalistic beauty of the woman in front of you.
‘I can look amazing with minimal effort.’ her presence screams. And by the look on her face, she knows this.
Damn pretty privilege.
Your brain malfunctions a little at her appearance before quickly blurting out, “Hello, ma’am, how can I help--”
“Let’s go, Scaramouche, Childe’s waiting outside.”
The man named Scaramouche frowns, tearing his eyes away from you to glare at the blonde. “I just ordered something, Signora . Can’t it wait?”
You hold back a cough. Does she go by Signora? It better be an alias or something.
The woman sighs exasperatedly, massaging her temples. “My patience is wearing thin,” She says after a short pause, her steely eyes narrowing. “Come out in ten minutes, or you’re leaving with Childe instead.”
As she turns to leave, she stops midway, a sinister curling on her lips. “The CEO is going to be there, you know, and I know for certain that she doesn’t like slackers .”
Her needle-sharp gaze catches on you as she leaves, leaving a chill in the air around you.
You blink twice, the scent of her cloying, rosy perfume slowly drifting away. “I’ll get you your order as soon as I can,” You mutter, realising that Scaramouche is also wearing formal attire- a black dress shirt, a white blazer with matching slacks and a purple tie.
Must be some sort of Luncheon or something. Wow, imagine being rich.
He fiddles with the latch of the gold watch adorning his slim wrist, delicate fingers deftly opening and closing the fastening. Scaramouche shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that you don’t hear, but certainly is some sort of profanity.
You give him a questioning look and he waves a hand in dismissal before his gaze returns to his laptop. “Take your time, I’m not in a hurry.”
You hurry over to the barista, telling them to prioritise Scaramouche’s order despite his wishes, all the while trying to figure out where you’ve seen the man before.
That guy looked filthy rich, and so did the woman that just came in. Maybe I’ve seen them on the cover of some sort of magazine before, I mean, they certainly have the looks for it…
“Are you out of your mind?!” A voice yells, bringing you out of your train of thought.
The manager of the cafe turns you around by your shoulders, and you can practically see steam coming out of her ears.
You stare blankly at her, expecting an explanation.
“That was Rosalyne Lohefalter and Scaramouche, you moron.” She hisses, eyes narrowing. “They’re higher-ups of a huge company that is so out of your league, it makes you look like a piece of dirt, so make sure you don’t go anywhere near that man for the remainder of your shift, understand?”
The feminine urge to pull all of that woman’s hair out of her scalp intensifies with every word tumbling out of her mouth, and you can barely resist it before you shove her clawed hands off your shoulders, muttering curses under your breath. “Yeah. Sure.”
What the fuck is her problem?
As it happens, ten minutes passes and the revving of an engine can be heard loud and clear from the street outside. Scaramouche notably ignores the woman in the car glaring at him so acutely that you shudder from inside the cafe.
–
As the end of the shift nears, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief.
Scaramouche, however, stays at the same booth, tapping away at his laptop, an ever-present frown on his face. At first, the other staff, including the manager herself, tried to approach him about their other menu options, but all he ever did was scowl and monotone his disinterest.
You actually found it hilarious how red the manager’s face was after being uneventfully turned away.
So much for looking like a piece of dirt, huh?
Closing time drawing ever-nearer, the late afternoon sun also casts a soft orange glow to the pink colour scheme of the cafe’s interior, making everything a warm shade of coral. With a cloth in hand, you wipe down a table near the windows, peering at the busy campus grounds, students coming in and out of lectures.
The front bell rings abruptly, bringing you out of your thoughts. As you turn to tell the customer that you’re closing, you’re enveloped in a hug that smells distinctly of lavender and bookstores.
“I got the job, [y/n]!” Lisa releases you from her bear hug, face glowing with a pearly white smile.
“What the fuck, Lisa,” You pull away from the hug, a smile on your face despite being ambushed. “I could’ve punched you if I didn’t know it was you–”
“I got the job, I got the job, are you hearing me? I got the job!” She laughs, an entrancing noise.
“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” You roll your eyes, smiling back. “Congratulations, you smartass.”
“Shit, I didn’t actually think I’d make it this far…” She trails off, staring at nothing in particular with an unreadable expression.
“Well, when you’re first in literally all your courses, it's kinda expected, but go off, I guess.”
She pinches your side, a teasing look on her face. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” she says in a sing-song voice. “On another note,” She steps back, looking you up and down. “The uniform does look good on you. Have you ever considered working here full time?”
You playfully punch her arm, glowering. “Hell no. I’d rather work as a garbage collector.”
Another laugh. “I bet you’d look amazing dressed in a trash bag too–”
The front door’s bell rings again, followed by a masculine voice. “Scaramouche, let’s go, we’re gonna be late!”
You, Lisa and the other employees all turn to the source of the voice, a sense of foreboding pooling in your stomach.
“Shit.” You curse under your breath, dread keeping you in place.
“Huh?” Lisa blinks a few times, examining the stranger.
The newcomer’s beguiling sapphire blue eyes glance around the quaint cafe and finally land on you, and an irritatingly attractive smirk lights up his features. You see the recognition on his face and suddenly, it’s fifty times more punchable that it was before.
“Hey– aren’t you [y/n]? From my business class?” Childe pushes, voice thick with amusement.
“Sorry, I don’t know- wait, no- shit--” The urge to jump off a cliff gets stronger with each passing second.
Maybe I can ask Lisa to bury me. She’d gladly agree, after all, she’s the reason I’m here, right now.
A mischievous grin spreads across his face, and suddenly, the room seems too hot, too small, and your god-forsaken dress feels suffocating.
“Uh, how can I help you?”