Chapter Text
There’s a guy who has been visiting the store while you’re on shift. Maybe shoplifting would be a better term for it, but he never looks remotely guilty. He has an impressive amount of sheer self-confidence that is impossible to argue with. Besides, you’re not a damn narc. If he wants to lift chocolate bars every day, let him. At some point you’ve convinced yourself that he doesn’t even know you have to pay for goods.
Your first interaction was pretty lackluster. He stopped by and grabbed a chocolate milk from the fridge, then just walked behind an aisle and left. You didn’t even know he was gone until you got up to close, and… the store was empty. You brushed it off that time, but the next three times (and chocolate smoothies) he definitely was just doing some magic thing and leaving the store. Every exit left this weird fizzy smell, like you sniffed radiation. It’s hard to describe without referencing a really insane energy drink, and all of the erratic shakes that come after it. If that could be a smell.
You got used to it. After a while, it was just another part of your routine. You haven’t told your manager. Not that you’ve seen them in a few weeks, anyway. They just mysteriously send you a schedule every Saturday without a word, and money gets deposited into your bank account on time. As far as you know, you could be running a front for some illicit shit, but hey… as long as your paycheck’s getting cashed, it’s no big deal. You’ve seen the store manager once, and that was for the interview, and even then it was hard to see them. Shifty guy.
After the sixth or seventh times of the cool guy’s disappearing act, you started saying stuff like ‘hi’, ‘welcome back’, and complimenting his clothes. You’ve never seen him without that bright blue scarf. It’s really eye-catching; how solid the color is. After a round of compliments, he always smirks very widely and scoffs, posing here and there and flaunting himself. It’s surprisingly nice to hear how self-assured he is about his appearance, even if it’s a bit goofy.
There’s a sound like audio sped up into a screech, and your skin prickles all over like you’ve been doused in a filter of white noise. It was really unsettling at first, but you’re used to it now.
In your patented customer voice: “Hello! Find what you needed today?”
You flick your pen between your fingers. You’re a champ at this. You’ve been training for the pen twirling Olympics ever since you were a wee child. The skeleton monster looms over the counter even from a respectable distance, tapping his fingers idly on his thigh. He reminds you of a telephone pole, except draped in a big damn coat. He watches you twirl the pen, rather than making eye contact with you. You stare at his chin so you don’t have to tip your head back from your spot. This makes pen twirling harder.
After a pause where the two of you are remarkably silent, the monster makes a non-committal noise. There’s a crackle, like a radio turning on, clearing its throat to speak. “Yeah. I-I-I’ve got it.”
You’ve been pre-emptively taking a monster candy before his appearances (which have become regular) because of the static sound in his typically snarky voice. Your head twinges a bit in pain, complaining about something or other and how the words don’t feel like they should even belong in the plane of reality you exist on. You ignore that with ease. It’s called minding your business.
“Great! If ya ever need help finding something, you can ask me. It’s kinda boring sitting here all day.”
The monster grunts, and he begins to unwrap the chocolate bar he’s snagged from one of the shelves. You spy plenty more of the unpaid treats, one of them hanging out of his pocket. The shiny purple foil glimmers woefully in the dying LED light, captured by an unapologetic, chocolate-devouring force of destruction. The sheer amount of these specific chocolates you’ve seen him put down amazes you. They’re not easy to gobble like that either, you’ve tried. He’s kind of a beast.
You watch him eat with a question poised on your tongue, but decide against it. He just keeps loudly eating in front of you, biting into the foil like it’s an edible part of the product itself. It’s a little mesmerizing, but you don’t want to be rude and stare. You already caught a rush of some rich blue, luminous, deep sea creature-esque appendages before deciding to nope out of that right there before you got too awkward to speak to him. You want to ask so many things right now, but hey, leave a guy to eat in peace.
After that, he just disappears. But not without you asking him one of the questions you had: “Oh hey-! What’s your name?”
He glances over his shoulder, standing a few steps down an aisle in your line of vision. There’s that magic again, it’s horrible now that you’re focusing on it; it feels like fabric violently tearing every time he leaves. It’s loud and eye-catching and savage, and you’re unsure how you even missed it. How you missed this guy just doing that for several days straight. Your body prickles with the abject static in the air.
Your question lingers in the room for a few seconds more than politely necessary, and you figure he’s just going to ignore you. Instead, he glowers at you, and his entire body briefly makes this noise as it glitches in place. You wonder if you made the wrong decision, but the curl of his brow is confused, not angry. (You think. It’s hard to tell.)
Then the chocolate fiend smiles at you. It’s a slow, conscious thing, like scissors cutting open a perfect, crescent hole in the darkness of his face. It is not very friendly. It’s wide and sharp and yellow and crooked. It looks much like he’s about to render you limb from limb like a stuffed animal, and probably would give you a good final shake to loosen your insides. His torso is mid-turn. His shoulders are slightly tense, like he’s going to pounce on something. Probably you. His legs are long enough.
“… Error.” He rasps. You nod stiffly. Hoooh boy, you feel like your head is gonna get popped off your body.
A bit strangled: “Nice to meetcha!”
His smile tilts. “… Sure.” Reminds you of a skewed picture frame.
You brighten a bit at the positive response, though.
“Freak.”
Nevermind. You wilt.
The static rises into a brief screech, and then silences. The air conditioner that blows afterward is too quiet compared to the ambient noise that Error brought with his presence. Your head rings from the change, but you feel stark relief that the air pressure lessens on your skull. You swallow dryly, reaching for your chocolate milkshake.
You look around for your flimsy foam cup, blinking.
How did he swipe that under your nose?