Chapter Text
The restaurant’s door shuts with a jingle, bell signaling the end of Cody’s shift. Noah wants to smack him for running off before closing, ditching every bit of responsibility for his shift. He did promise to cover for Noah later, though, so he purses his mouth shut and sucks it up.
The sky outside is a muted gray and the trees are bare, everything coated with frost and ice. It’s a large contrast to the humid, stuffy air in the restaurant that makes him sweat while cleaning off tables and humming an odd song he heard from his sister’s speakers while getting ready.
He shouldn’t even be at work today. It’s already below freezing and the wind shakes the trees ferociously, but he’s pushing it with McLean already and his tendency to wait out busy periods in the bathroom. He wants the pay, not having to listen to morons bumble over drink orders.
He wipes down the table, watching as the cleaner cut damp streaks in the dirty table, something he’d seen millions of times before. But at least it’s predictable. He can do repetitive things over and over again and like them millions of times more than a rewarding event.
Plus, the monotony’s blissful for Noah, although he is not one to favor cleaning. Routine is nice, predictable. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he already knows it’s Owen, bothering him about the oncoming snow. Owen loves the snow, Eva loves the snow, and Izzy loves the snow; Noah doesn’t.
He mutes his phone immediately, not wanting to know what dreadful plans he’ll be sentenced to in the near future with his overbearing friends. He loves them, yes, but they are far too much for him. They match his sisters in energy, strength, and volume, so it’s like having an extra three siblings to his already eight.
He goes down the table with practiced motions, jumping at the clatter in the kitchen. He drops the rag, confusion already evident. He knows he’s not the only one on closing duty, but there’s no reason for that kind of commotion.
Against his better judgement, he goes to check out the cause of the accident. Noah’s pretty familiar with the kitchen, a closed-off portion of the restaurant that DJ and Chef Hatchet dominate with a scary precision. It’s mildly claustrophobic with the only view of the front being the grimy windows on the door. It’s at least quiet and isolated.
And in the middle of the kitchen is Alejandro Burromuerto, blushing with embarrassment and hurriedly collecting the plates, looking annoyingly beautiful against the backdrop of a questionably clean kitchen. Perfect, deceiving Alejandro.
“Huh, didn’t know you could do that,” Noah gleefully says, not bothering to hide his enjoyment at the other’s predicament. “What’s got the employee of the month dropping his plates?”
Alejandro immediately scowls at the nickname, rolling his bright green eyes and using his free pieces of hair to poorly mask his flushed cheeks. “I, for one, simply stumbled, an uncommon mistake on my end, dearest Noah.”
“You acknowledging your mistakes? Right. Guess I’m also from Jupiter.” Alejandro successfully picks them up and deposits them next to the sink, something Noah’s grateful for not having to deal with. There’s still the broken glass scattered across the kitchen, though.
“Aren’t you and Cody supposed to be cleaning the front? Don’t tell me you pushed all your work on poor, poor Cody; Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time.” He innocently looks at him, eyes sparking with arrogance.
“Didn’t you talk Leshawna into taking half your work load the other day?” He pauses for dramatic effect, seeing the charmer’s eye twitch with annoyance. Hypocrite. “You can’t even handle your responsibilities, so it’d do you some good to back off of mine. And, no, Cody ditched.”
Alejandro sighs with disappointment, like he expected something from Noah that he failed to deliver. Alejandro did that a lot, too, like he’s a parent reluctantly cheering on their fumbling kid from the sidelines. It annoys Noah more than it reasonably should. A lot about Alejandro did.
“Ah, well, I suppose with this cold I am also eager to return home. I simply hope that the next time—“
“Save me the spiel, oh my God, Al,” Noah snips. Alejandro glowers at him, probably due to the name and not the sentence. “You know that I’m aware you’re not sunshine’s incarnate.”
“Well, go finish your job. Snow’s supposed to settle in soon.”
“What, don’t want my help?” He gestures to the jagged shards on the floor. “Chris would hate to see your performance. It’d be pitiful to have to pay for those.”
He’s met with a broom clattering in front of his feet and a false bow. “Oh, that would be terrible. I guess some help would be admirable on your part, Noah!”
And with that, Alejandro goes back to tidying up and staunchly ignores Noah’s attempt at a retaliation. Noah gets a kick out of arguing with him, sue him. He likes arguing where he knows he’s safe from getting his lights punched out.
Or so he hopes. Alejandro wouldn’t punch him unless extremely provoked.
He sweeps up the glass in a tense silence only broken by the wind’s faint howling. It’s only when a particularly nasty gust becomes audible does he pause, and Alejandro seems to have the same thought, meeting his eyes with silent questions that Noah couldn’t answer. They shouldn’t have been able to hear it through the heavy, solid kitchen walls.
He exits and finds his table abandoned half-cleaned, just how he left it. That’s not what makes him pale, though.
Outside, the wind rattles the panes with its ferocity. He can’t even see to the end of the parking lot, and the bell on the door jingles obnoxiously when the wind picks up enough to shake the door. He quickly walks over to the door, locking it immediately.
That’s a no. He is not letting the cold infiltrate whatever heat’s already fled out.
He shakily grabs his phone and finally looks at the notifications, seeing that his mom called him six times since he shut his phone off. His sisters called him a total of seventeen times, two from each and an extra from Mara. Owen, Izzy, and Eva have blown up his messages about his location and the weather switch-up.
He’s so dead.
He swallows as he calls his mother, who picks up on the first ring. Her voice is strained and obviously concerned, but he can hear the lashing waiting to happen.
“Noah, where are you? You said that you’d be home twenty minutes ago! And conditions were bad enough then! Are you alright? Did you crash? You better not be calling me while driving in this weather, else you’ll—“
“Amma,” he soothes, hearing her shout something in Tamil to his sister, Noelle, before quieting. “I promise I’m fine. Not driving, either. I had. . .” If she hears that he was arguing with Alejandro instead of hurrying home, he’ll be grounded until the end of time. “A lot to work with today, and I got distracted cleaning up. I took Cody’s load because he needed to get home.”
He hears a pause, and knows it’s the calm before the storm. He’s right. Her Tamil is rushed and her voice stern, “Noah, I told you to call in for work today and you didn’t and this happened! You’re in so much trouble, do you hear me?
“It’ll be a miracle if I do not throw you out the window and make you eat on the floor with Ark. I’ll take your car, too, and your computer,” she barrels on, and he can already imagine another piece of her hair graying.
“I’m fine, promise. It’s still warm in here, and it won’t hold for long. I’ll do all the dishes for a week. Hell, I’ll even take Eshwari’s turn. I’ll clean the kitchen.”
He hears a defeated sigh, which sounds like she’s let her anger out. His mom is notoriously bad for being unable to stay mad at anyone. She’s mostly just concerned all of the time, and he doubts she’ll even actually make true to her promise of taking his stuff.
He leans against the table closet to him as she continues, “Noah, dear, make it home safe. Drive tomorrow, once this lets up, and I’ll chew Chris out for making you come in during such terrible conditions. Money-hungry man, I tell you.”
“Trust me, I know.”
The intensity of the bursts of wind picks up, and he’s lost visibility of his car. His phone tells him that he could’ve been off his shift thirty minutes ago had he held his tongue and decided not to fuck with Alejandro.
He could deduce from sitting right there that the weather would, in fact, not be letting up anytime soon, and even if it did, it certainly would not be safe to navigate. He sighs, watching the trees sway aggressively from the wind’s fury.
He checks the weather, hearing his mother’s voice tamper off as she likely fills in the blanks. Not today, or tomorrow, or even the next day, if the news was to be believed. After all, it was supposed to be just a light snow and some wind, not a full-fledged blizzard.
“Noah, do you want me to try and—“
“No. Absolutely not. Nobody could drive in these conditions, Mom. I can’t even see to the parking lot anymore. I’ll survive until it lets up even a little, plus the restaurant has food and water available if it comes down to it.” He tries not to panic at the idea of spending a week trapped in a below-par, stuffy place that likely violates multiple health regulations.
“I’m willing to try.” He hears a shuffling and the sound of rustling, and he immediately shakes his head before realizing he’s still, in fact, on the phone with her. “Just give me a minute. I’ll find a way to get there. I’m not leaving you cooped up all alone in there.”
“I’m not alone!” He blurts then regrets it, knowing that’s the last thing he should’ve addressed. “And you don’t need to. The place has heating regulations and food if things get bad. Plus, it’ll let up at some point.”
“Well, that makes me feel a bit better, at the very least.” Then, as if carefully considering it, she tacks on, “Who’s there? You said Cody clocked out.”
“Alejandro.”
His tone must convey his exasperation because his mother stifles a chuckle. “As in the Burromuertos’ son?” He adds his agreement. “The one that you were so happy to talk to before until you weren’t?”
“He’s underhanded, Mom. I saw him—“
“We’ve had this conversation before, I believe. You know how it is. I’m inclined to believe you as your mother.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you.”
“Bye, Noah. Be safe. I love you.”
“Love you too, Amma.”
He hangs up, glaring at the weather outside as if he could will it to suddenly stop with mere annoyance. A figure made itself known beside him by clearing his throat, sending Noah spinning and fumbling backwards.
“Oh, fuck. Goddamn! Aren’t you supposed to have damn manners!” Noah rushes out, startled. He’s usually a bit more eloquent when not being scared out of his skin. Not that he is terrified or anything. Just a bit scared. Barely scared.
Alejandro gives him a look that feels like a thinly veiled sneer—his speciality—and pats him on the shoulder like they’re long time friends. “Ah, I did wait for you to stop conversing on the phone. Quite a lengthy chat, must I say, but I understand it was important.”
“Eavesdropper,” Noah accuses him without thinking about the fact it was in his native tongue—something he’s sure Alejandro doesn’t know. He would’ve bragged about it already if he did.
“It’s rather hard to do so when I do not speak such a language. What one, may I ask?” His eyes gleam with a genuine curiosity, like the idea does really interest him. Alejandro does have an eye for languages, like Noah.
He can’t deny that Alejandro probably is intrigued. As much as he hates to admit it, Alejandro’s able to hold conversation and trade tidbits even Noah didn’t know. They used to share facts, theories, and opinions endlessly.
Noah snaps his gaze away from the other, eyeing the specks of dirt on his shoes with an exaggerated amount of care. “Not that’s it’s any of your business, but it’s Tamil. A language I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with.”
The Hispanic plows past his jab with an eye roll. The irritation is still visible in the tick of his jaw. “I suggest that we learn to become a bit friendlier if we really are going to be confined here together. Neither you nor the snow seem to be forgiving today.”
Noah nearly pales at that. Yes, he knows that he can’t return home in this weather, and that he’s stuck at the restaurant currently with Alejandro. But being stuck with him? It hadn’t even fully occurred to him that Alejandro’s likely in the same predicament as he.
“Whatever,” he spits with more venom than intended, crossing his arms and fleeing toward the window to feign interest in the raging weather. “You stop your underhanded ways, then I stop treating you for what you are: a nasty, slippery man.”
Alejandro tenses, annoyed. “Are you going to make this as hard as possible?”
At the lack of response, Alejandro pretends that his ego isn’t aching without Noah’s eager praise and six women hanging off of his arms.
Noah studies him in the window: long brown hair, toned arms, green eyes, cocky grin that wavers, and the restaurant uniform that he somehow pulls off, clinging to the curves of his body. Noah’s looks boxy in comparison, no muscle to fill out the gaping spaces compared to the manipulator.
His mouth is dry and face aflame with jealousy, so he votes to stop ogling him with shameless envy. His fingers clench into his sides that were shielded only by the stiff cloth of his shirt.
“Well, Noah, I assume that you’ve realized my validity? It makes sense, considering that my point is very reasonable, yes?”
Noah makes himself mumble some affirmative just to keep him off of his back, already fantasizing of his bed and computer and latest mystery series. The call of heavy blankets and warm food makes him hate the place.
“I guess it’s just us, then.” Alejandro sounds weirdly gleeful, like he’s daydreamed about being stranded in his workplace that doesn’t pay enough.
“I guess it’s just us,” Noah parrots, feeling the sinking weight of dread settle in his gut.