Chapter Text
1.
A new burger place has opened on Fifth Avenue in New York. Online reviews mostly fall into two types:
First, the head chef and the owner both always look pained or poker-faced—oh, except for the guy washing dishes in the back.
Second, the food is insanely good. Good in a weirdly magical way.
2.
8:45 a.m., fifteen minutes before Thunder Burger prep even began, Ava was already struggling not to punch Walker in the face.
“I told you not to change the burger ingredients every single fucking day,” she said without lifting her eyes. The barbecue sauce still needed more apple purée. “Do you even speak English?”
Walker waved his spatula at the air, kicking the spice cabinet shut with his knee. “It’s called surprise, okay? It also makes the chef—oh! which is obviously me—look like a highly creative burger master.”
“If you’re done talking nonsense, put the bacon back in the fri—”
Ding—
The bell on the back door cut Ava off. She turned and saw the part-timer trying to make himself invisible while quietly changing into his work clothes.
“Hey, Bob—wait… did you get a haircut?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. I went a bit shorter yesterday on my day off…”
Bob clearly hadn’t expected that to become small talk. He nodded awkwardly, hesitating over whether he should ask if the haircut suited him, despite the barber repeatedly assuring him that no one ever hated this length of curls.
On the other side of the kitchen, Bucky had already been in the walk-in cooler for a while. He sat on an empty wooden crate, scribbling all kinds of random costs into a leather notebook. He wasn’t sure whether it was the temperature in the room or the numbers on the page that made him feel colder. When he looked up and spotted a plastic container on the shelf labeled “Champion Sauce,” he decided to cancel the weekend-only taco special Walker had suggested at the last meeting.
After Bob finished slicing through two full boxes of red onions with tears in his eyes, already on his seventh beefsteak tomato, a large bag of fresh mushrooms suddenly blocked his view. A noticeably more muscular Alexei removed his tiny sunglasses and proudly scanned the kitchen.
“Today—today is going to be a perfect burger day, everyone!”
The entire kitchen paused. With practiced timing, everyone nodded and gave the dad energy a thumbs-up. Bob quietly set down the eighth tomato in his hand and, out of habit, leaned over to peek behind Alexei, but there were only more mushrooms.
“Where’s Yelena?”
“Still on the phone in the car. Everyone wants to work with us, you know. We’re the best burger team in New York now.”
“Oh…” Bob blinked and glanced out the window, turning on the faucet to wash his hands. “I’ll go check if she needs any help.”
Everyone watched as the part-timer quickly shook his hands dry and scurried away. The moment the door closed, the kitchen fell silent for half a second. Everyone wanted to say something, but no one knew where to start—until their attention was stolen by a figure emerging through the fog like a Terminator stepping out of the freezer.
“…What were you doing in there?”
“Calculating your salary for next month, Walker.”
Bucky calmly confiscated the unopened pack of bacon, then glanced at the lonely tomato on the cutting board, already sliced into two pieces. Just as he looked up and barely opened his mouth, the three people in front of him all pointed toward the back door at the same time.
“Where’s Yelena?”
His brows knit together as he moved on to his second question. As the manager, she couldn’t keep showing up more than half an hour late every day.
The chaotic blare of New York traffic horns spilled into the shop. The three pointing fingers didn’t move.
For a moment, Bucky Barnes couldn’t decide whether it was more appropriate to drag the manager and her part-timer back to work first—or put the bacon back in the fridge.
3.
It was another terrifying lunch rush at peak hour.
The noise in the dining area was so loud that even Alexei’s shouting orders toward the kitchen were drowned out. Ava was practically teleporting food to tables.
The back kitchen was in full chaos too. Walker stood at the grill wearing a homemade headband, glaring at rows of burger patties. Today he was in the Thunder Burger black uniform, sleeves rolled all the way up to his shoulders. With steam rising off him, he looked less like a cook and more like a boxer about to start a fight.
Yelena was scrambling at the prep counter. She had to gather all the greens for the grilled beef platter while using a blowtorch to melt the cheese just right over the crinkle-cut fries.
Melting cheese was supposed to be Bob’s job, but today something was seriously wrong. The moment the blowtorch landed in Bob’s hands, the flame shot out hard enough to burn a corner off the fries’ paper food tray. After the third box fell victim, Yelena calmly and gently sent him back to the dishwashing corner.
He worked skillfully, building up lemon-scented foam on the plates, while watching the chaotic yet somehow harmonious teamwork out of the corner of his eye. He sped up the rinsing, his mind racing for any way he could help. Then Bucky appeared through the back door, pulling a cart, and their eyes met at the same time.
Bucky dragged in a cart loaded with napkins and metal utensils, looking exhausted. The moment he stepped inside, he saw the part-timer in an apron, brown curls dotted with soap bubbles, suddenly straighten his shoulders, his eyes shining with a desperate need to help.
“…” To his own surprise, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse that look. “Bob, if you’re free, could you do me a favor?”
Bob practically flew over, gray-blue eyes wide, standing there obediently and waiting for clear instructions. Bucky patted the top box. “This one’s napkins—take them to the front counter. The rest go to storage.”
Bucky watched him jump into action and was just about to think Ah, youth really is full of energy, when the next second, his left sleeve shifted as a box was pulled away. He didn’t even have time to shout for Bob to stop. Bob didn’t notice anything wrong and put his weight into it—
Rip!
The sound of stitching tearing apart by pure force rang out. The entire kitchen froze. Everyone stared in horror at the accountant with one sleeve missing, then at the part-timer holding the remains of said sleeve.
Bob stood there, stunned, looking down at the neatly torn piece of fabric in his hand.
Bucky’s eyes widened in disbelief. His expression turned complicated as he tried to figure out whether the problem was the poor quality of the clothes—or the fact that their part-timer was a serious physical threat.
Ava was the first to recover. She stepped forward and took the awkwardly dangling sleeve from Bob’s hand. It was like a switch finally flipped back on. Bob launched into guilty apologies, then immediately wilted and retreated back into the dishwashing corner.
8:45 p.m. Fifteen minutes until Thunder Burger closed for the night. A few last customers were waiting for takeout at the counter, while Alexei was chatting with them about war movies from like twenty years ago.
Rubbing her stiff shoulders, Yelena walked into the dark staff locker room. In the darkness, Bob sat hunched on a bench. When the fluorescent light flicked on, Bob instinctively looked up and saw Yelena slowly walk toward him, her uniform stained with tomato sauce she hadn’t had time to wipe off.
“Hey, Yelena.”
“Hey, Bob.”
He tried to keep his voice steady, but the guilt still slipped through. “…I messed things up all day today.”
“When the front of house explodes, things are bound to go wrong.” Yelena gently took hold of his wrist, her voice soft without her realizing it. “I just spilled an entire bottle of ketchup on Walker.”
The staff at Thunder Burger were all wildly independent in their own ways. In a workplace like this, Bob—clumsy but always serious and hardworking—felt to Yelena like a cocoa milkshake topped with colorful sprinkles.
No one could stay cold or mean toward a brown, curly-haired creature who worked hard every day and wore such a soft, gentle smile. At least, she couldn’t.
“Would you…” She lowered her head to catch those wounded gray-blue eyes, then asked quietly, “stay and help me swap out the new tableware later, Bob?”
He tilted his head to meet her calm green-brown gaze, then nodded carefully but firmly. “That sounds nice.”
There was movement at the locker room door. They looked up to see Ava and Walker. Ava carried a cup of Starbucks, while Walker’s uniform was stained with a large splash of tomato sauce that was absolutely impossible to get out. Without a word, they stuffed the drink into Bob’s arms.
Ava pointed at Walker with a tired smile. “He broke another glass just now.”
“Bucky said he’s docking my pay,” the accused chef protested, arms crossed. “Can’t we switch to plastic cups?”
“We talked about this before opening. You agreed that soda tastes better in glass,” Yelena said, spreading her hands. There was no way around it—the money still had to be deducted.
“Don’t forget you still owe me for dry cleaning.”
“Oh, come on! Just have Alexei get you another uniform. There’s a whole box in storage.”
Bob sat on the bench, letting water droplets from the plastic cup slide from his palm and soak into his pants.
He thought that at Thunder Burger, messing things up might not be as scary as it used to be.
4.
Walker had once been ranked by a food magazine as one of the best chefs at searing meat patties. He was always confident in his control of heat, the thickness of the meat, and the exact timing of the flip.
Six months after Thunder Burger opened, he still personally mixed and punched the ground beef every single day. Then, whenever Bucky or Yelena wasn’t looking, he would ignore the twenty-plus takeout orders stacked on the counter and insist on stepping out front to check customer reactions and scroll through online reviews.
Back to the present, he watched the patties sizzling on the grill with focus and satisfaction. Now was the perfect moment to flip—
“You’re in a really good mood today.”
Walker snapped his head around, nearly flinging the spatula out of his hand. “Oh—God!”
Bob was tucked behind the pass counter, his rolled-up sleeves still marked with a ring of water stains.
“We heard you humming.”
“What do you mean, we?”
“You were humming in French.” Ava suddenly popped up from the other side.
Walker took a full step back and this time actually threw the spatula. “Jesus—how long have you been standing there?”
“Is that a song from Ratatouille?”
“I thought you spent your whole childhood in prep classes and had no time for TV.”
“Your patties are smoking, asshole.”
The lunch rush finally eased. Bob carried the slightly burnt patty and sat down in the outdoor dining area. The autumn sun made him feel a little sleepy. He slowly chewed on the now-cold meat while a blue streaming app on his phone played a Parisian rat teaching humans how to cook.
“What are you watching?”
A tired, lazy voice suddenly sounded beside him.
Bob’s shoulders jerked as he snapped his head up. Yelena was standing by the wooden table, bent slightly at the waist, holding two sodas. Her beautiful green-brown eyes were half-squinted at his phone. He quickly hit pause and took the drink from her. She sat on the same side of the bench as him, her shoulder lightly brushing his.
“Ratatouille.” Bob couldn’t help sneaking a few looks at her bun. Yelena’s black hair tie was loose and casual, with a few strands of blond hair sticking out in a cute mess. He really wanted to reach out and tug at it, just like the little rat in the movie, tugging at the chef’s hair to cook.
He did reach out—but only to move the phone closer to her.
“Wow… where do you even apply for a restaurant hygiene license like this?”
“I think he hides in the chef’s hat.”
“Does he get caught in the end?”
“…I have no idea, actually.” Bob glanced at the mouse logo on the streaming app. “But it’s probably a happy ending.”
After taking a big sip of her soda, Yelena leaned in even closer. She seemed genuinely interested. When the little rat started pulling hair to make the chef smell different ingredients, she let out a soft laugh, completely forgetting the hygiene concern she had just raised.
When the dish covered in special sauce was brought out for the first time, both of them leaned forward without realizing it, suddenly nervous about how the customer would react.
It wasn’t until Alexei’s booming voice called out from the front of the restaurant that they reluctantly hit pause.
“…Should we push back service by half an hour tonight?”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes slightly, making Bob lower his head and laugh.