Work Text:
Papa louie threw on his chefs hat, and started to prepare for his day. He was expecting his favorite customer, of course.
That customer was you. He had memorized your order, executed it perfectly, as if it were a science. And that science was chemistry. You were none the wiser to this little crush of his. After all, Papa’s Pizzaria had the best customer service around! You put on some shoes, grabbed your car keys, and headed out to pick up some pizza.
You remember when Roy was working. It was rough when he started, but he eventually got the hang of it. But when Papa came back, the taste was just uncomparable. Papa always had that special spark when creating pizzas. Papa’s Pizzaria had the same opening routine. Have Roy clean up and bus the tables, clean the oven and fire it up, then flip the closed sign to open. Simple, easy.
The customers changed daily, but the routine was the same. It wasn’t difficult, per se, but it could get boring.
Papa was never bored with you around. You had the same order, same cadence, but the way you smiled, the way your eyes would light up when you got your pizza. Papa could experience it hundreds of times over. Your order wasn’t anything special. It was just something to last a few days, a nice treat while you worked. Your lunch breaks were a time of peace, a nice reprieve from the hustle and bustle of daily work life. The texture of the crust, and the taste of the sauce, combined with the fresh toppings from the garden in the back, it all came together like a beautiful dance.
It was a nice late morning. Wally was already in line, but you were patient. You already expected to have to wait a short amount of time, which is why you left a little early. You could smell the umami taste in the air. You could already feel your stomach rumbling.You walked up to the counter. There was the man himself, Papa Louie! You politely greeted him, and gave him your order. You watched as he turned away, going back into the kitchen. It never took long in the Pizzaria, Roy and Louie shockingly swift despite making handmade wood-fired pizza. You checked your phone, mainly just to pass the time. It was 9 AM. Papa couldn’t help but look at you while he made your food. You were just simply too wonderful not to. Besides, you were distracted, and even if you managed to see him watching, he had an excuse.
He watched you smile at your phone, probably watching a funny cat video on TikTok. He made your pizza with the upmost care, putting his expertise to use.
The pizza was in the oven now, watched with a careful eye, while the other eye was looking at you. He loved the way you smiled when you got your food, and he missed you when you left for a few days, probably eating your pizza before you returned. But still, it felt like an eternity without you.
The timer dinged, and he carefully took it out of the oven. He sliced it just the way you liked. (Unknown to him, you had it sliced in such a way where you could have two sliced overbthe course of four days. But he didn’t need to know that.) He pulled your ticket down from the line, and rang you up. He wasn’t as slick as he thought. Why was he looking at you so much? It was one thing to have an occasional glance once or twice, but this was several glances. You felt that prickling sensation on the back of your neck each time he looked at you. It felt…unsettling.
He handed you your pizza. You didn’t have to examine it, you knew it would be perfect as always. You felt his pinky awkwardly brush your hand as he handed you your pizza. Inside, you felt a cold sensation, like you swallowed a cup of ice.
« Mr. Louie? » you parsed, « sorry if this is untoward, but, why were you looking at me? » He felt his arms, a shock ran through him, and if he was a less professional man he would’ve dropped your pizza. But he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t drop it. How? How could you have known? Did you see him? He was certain you didnt see him.
An excuse, right. He had an excuse lined up. Simply talk about your stickers on your phone case! But when he tried to speak, the words stuck to his tongue like melted parmesan. « I…uhm… you.. »
He stumbled over his words, like he was shocked you noticed him staring. Did…did no one ever notice him before? No, that can’t be right. He was a staple in the community, owned a food monopoly. He couldn’t be…lonely.
He set the pizza down, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He looked awkward.
« Well… to be-a completely honest with you…I thought you looked nice today. I like your clothes. » And he smiled, so genuinely, that it threw you off guard. He was such a gentleman. Your outfit was nothing special, just new work clothes, and you did get that new haircut, but no one noticed any of that. To be seen…even little, miniscule details like that…it was terrifying but also relieving, like you existed to someone. He looked at you, not exactly sure what to expect. His face felt like a brick oven. He didn’t want to be so forward, but to lie to you felt wrong.
When Roy’s mother died, it had been Papa’s job to take care of him. In a terrible, awful way…he didn’t feel alone anymore. The loss of his sister was counterbalanced by the gain of his nephew. It ate at his conscience, to feel happy he lost his sister, but Roy was a smart young man, and he had that special spark that made him a great chef and food runner.
« Sorry if I was-a, y’know. Rude. »
He felt like he was going to lose his breakfast. You were his joy, but for some reason confessing that felt like the opposite, like a vivisection of him in public, broadcasting his feelings like that. Truth be told, he never really had a person, only his family, and when his sister passed all he had was Roy. Then suddenly you walked into his life and it felt a little less empty. He worked a little harder when you were there, food tasted a little better with you around. You improved his life with your existence, your presence, but to ask you to stay would be to overstep an unstated relationship of cook and customer, and he couldn’t take the heartache and scandal.