Chapter Text
Kyrell wouldn’t exactly say this is his dream job.
He remembers all the conversations that led up to this point, countless people advising him again and again to not get a job in the food service industry—anything was better: cleaning homes, working waste management, retail; warnings that the customers are too rude, management too strict, and the pay too little for any of it to be “worth it”.
But he wasn’t here because it’s “worth it”. No, see, he’d been fired from his highly respectable job of being a student cafe worker after giving out one too many free drinks to homeless people or beggars who were just a change or two short, and no, the fact he covered it out of pocket didn’t particularly matter, it was the principle of it all. He can’t just give out drinks “on the house” every. Single. Shift. It’s a bad look for the company. People talk, and that talk winds up becoming a reason to fire him. He’s not cost effective and they need someone with a more firm head on their shoulders—nevermind the fact he worked there for three years, that he had regulars who would pinch his cheeks and give handsome tips into the jar that would eventually be disturbed between people who… aren’t him. There were many sweet moments that he’ll cherish, the buttons and whistles of the place, like the fact the milk steamer needed an extra five seconds past the timer to actually make a foam, or the fact that when they’re low on syrup they just start using the sugar free kind—small things, things he got away with all the time. None of them were from the kindness of his heart—in fact, he was rather selfish and cut many corners while working. Apparently, it was the being nice part they couldn’t understand.
So… he was fired. Big deal, happens to the best of people in their mid twenties who stuck around the same high school job for too long and suddenly they're the only person able to train anyone. He had given a small smile and a nod of his head, shrugged his apron off, and didn’t bother to say goodbye. All the good people had left by then, anyway. Then he went home, made some phone calls to vent about his job, and told his family he quit. What they don’t know can’t hurt them.
Finding a new job had been more painstaking than he’d expected. He really wanted to gun it for a desk job, but with his degree in art history, it’s not much of a question why no one was hiring in such a specific field. So… entry level position it was. And oh, there were just so many good ones, sure. Janitorial positions, scams, more scams, something to help AI computers run smoother. A startup company for helping baby turtles hatch that had no description. Another scam.
So the options were endless… in a way. And he didn’t exactly mean to be so picky about what his new, bare minimum income job would be, but this one just happened to call back the soonest and offer the most amount of dignity compared to a burger joint. He showed up overdressed to the interview, nodded, smiled, watched them melt at his awkward yet endearing answers, and allowed himself to be pressure cooked and come out alive. They said to come in next week—hired on the spot, welcome to the team. They’ll figure out semantics later.
Now he’s here, at said later, with new work shoes and his belt one notch too loose, and not a clue in the world where to get started.
It’s morning, birds hopping around outside pecking out cement crested with salt and dew sitting heavily on the grass so that it makes the bottom of his pants all cool and tingly against his ankles. The sun is peaking through the closed blinds. It’s strikingly cold, which he supposes makes sense, ice cream and all, but he can’t help the shiver that runs through him regardless. Everything’s dark, one car in the driveway and an unlocked door give some clues that he’s not alone before opening. He prays to god it’s his training manager and not some serial killer hiding out in an ice cream parlor before opening.
Turns out, it’s not a serial killer and Kyrell can still keep living his life. Instead, it’s an equally tired looking boy around his age with slightly overgrown, split dyed platinum and black hair and a uniform worn so loosely that he questions if the company either gave him the wrong size or if he just isn’t wearing it properly at all.
Nonetheless, the guy sits up like a waiting dog when the bell chimes behind Kyrell. It seems entirely instinctual based on the fact that it seems to take his brain a moment to catch up—eyes slowly blinking and eyebrows slightly furrowed—before he opens his mouth to speak.
“Are you the new guy I have to train?” he asks, and oh, his voice is actually rather sweet compared to how he looks like he wants to smite the world.
Kyrell nods so fast that he nearly makes himself dizzy. He offers a slight bow, unsure if it’s really warranted given how young his trainer is. His eyes narrow down onto the name tag hanging on the other’s shirt.
Jiho.
“Nice to meet you, my name’s Kyrell. Kyrell Choi. Thanks for having me. I know what it’s like to have to train,” he scratches behind his ear, shifting his weight so that he goes on his tippy toes ever so often. Despite his lack of sleep, he feels like electric static is just thrumming through him and he has nowhere to put it. He smiles, a bit wide and too much for such an hour, especially compared to Jiho's more neutral expression.
“I’m Jiho,” Jiho informs. He doesn’t tell him that he already knew that, because that would be mildly creepy, and he’s all about good first impressions, “and it’s no issue. At least you have the heart to act like you want to be here, so I won’t be as drained training you,” he says very unenthusiastically. Kyrell wonders if he’s just tired or if he actually hates his job that much. He doesn’t have much time to think about it before he’s being motioned to come behind the counter.
Kyrell nods again, following Jiho dutifully. He notes that Jiho seems to be good at self expression despite his work uniform—besides the dyed hair, Kyrell catches a few glimpses of silver jewelry… well, everywhere—the tick of his jaw, black, baggy, and stylized pants with small easy to miss embellishments. Despite Jiho’s subtleties, it’s very clear just what kind of person he is: the calm, collected, cool kind of person. Someone who doesn’t even have to try. The kind that catches everyone’s eyes. Whether positive or not, Jiho seems to exist to draw attention.
Kyrell has never been that kind of person—not that he’s downtrodden and sulky, but he most certainly isn’t cool, the same way that the sun can’t be nonchalant even on a cloudy day. He beams and squeaks and pops with the quietness of a balloon animal being created. He wouldn’t say he aspires to mimic Jiho or change himself in any way… it’s more of an…
Interest?
“I promise I’m a quick learner,” Kyrell smiles, nearly losing balance, “I catch on fast. Just show me once and I’ve got it.”
He decides to omit the fact that this is a solid half lie; he can and will have questions. Oddly specific questions for specific scenarios he will no doubt encounter and buffer at. The bonus part is Jiho will be none the wiser, as he’s not one to ask for help, though he’s been told he can look a bit like a helpless puppy when he’s confused. He’s sure Jiho won’t pay that any mind.
“Right,” Jiho doesn’t seem to entirely believe him, which is fair, because he’s kind of lying, but he likes to think that he’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, “well, over here is where we keep all our cones and cups. Assuming you aren’t illiterate, I’m sure you can tell what’s what because the labels are right there. There’s nothing in the back, there’s no secret menu, if the customers are trying to convince you otherwise just come get me, because you don’t seem like you have the heart to not try and conjure up whatever fantasy they’re feeding to you.”
Oh. Well…
Kyrell shrugs sheepishly, “I mean, if I can make it happen for them… why not try?”
Hey. So. First day rule. Don’t be stupid and try to contest the manager.
“Because no matter what you put in front of them, they’ll tell you it’s wrong,” Jiho answers like it’s the most obvious thing ever. He wonders how many times he’s had to deal with that exact situation before, “anyway, here’s the ice cream. The flavors have stupid names, so good luck memorizing them. You can always try reading backwards, too, if it’s bright enough to read the labels through the paper.”
Kyrell pouts slightly, fingers fidgeting at the countertop. He notices the vanilla cookie batter flavor and feels his mouth start to water. It’s going to be hard being around sweets all the time when he can’t have any during work. He’s looking forward to a new ice cream based diet, though. Jiho looks like he’s a few seconds away from zoning so far out that Kyrell just becomes another talking blob to him, so he figures to strike up something to talk about.
“Do you have a favorite flavor?”
“I don’t have the ice cream here much,” Jiho shrugs, looking only slightly more alive, “but the black current is pretty good. I only like it ‘cause it’s purple, though.”
Kyrell can’t believe it. When he worked at the coffee place, he lived off of coffee for his first, second, and sometimes third meal of the day. He used his discount constantly to the point he was probably a net negative overall for the company. He isn’t going to be much different here, either; he loves sweets, and there’s no bitterness getting in the way here. He can have every flavor once, twice, fifty times over, he’d get sick of none of it.
“No way,” Kyrell’s eyebrows shoot up before remembering to compose himself, “is there anything I should know? I’ve never worked ice cream before, maybe there’s a secret machine in the back I need to manage? A cow that needs milking once a shift?”
“Our cash register is kinda broken. Like, it doesn’t like opening. If it does open, it’ll only do it, like, halfway. So good luck giving people change,” Jiho answers so casually that he actually can’t tell if he’s fucking with him or not.
Kyrell tilts his head, dark red hair falling past his fringe and brushing against his lashes.
“What?” he means to say normally, but instead it comes out as a sort of breathless laugh, “how does that even work?”
“I dunno,” is the very helpful response he gets, “I usually just tell people it’s broken and, like, 80% of the time they’ll pay with card instead. The other 20% don’t like people.”
Kyrell wasn’t expecting such a large obstacle. Surely this is big enough someone would’ve fixed it ages ago. Instead, he—as the new hire—may just get unlucky enough to have angry cash payers back to back all day.
“There’s gotta be a way to fix it…” he mutters mostly to himself, “otherwise, that’s a lot of angry people. I try my best to make the experience good for more people than not,” Kyrell hums as he bends down to look over the inconspicuous drawer—one that is, apparently, broken. He feels a warm hand on his shoulder nudging him back.
“Dude, don’t bother,” Jiho shakes his head at him, “literally all of us have tried. We’ve been begging our higher-ups to get a new register for ages, but they’re, like, convinced we don’t make enough money for it.”
Kyrell tries not to focus on the fact his shoulder is still warm from where Jiho touched it. He nods instead of saying he will probably end up staying late past closing trying to fix it and then lie when asked what he did to make it work again. He wouldn’t say he has a hero complex as much as a “will live and die for praise” complex. Whatever the shorthand of that is.
“When do you open? Do I get an apron? And am I put on register right away? Or… do I watch you work?” Kyrell blinks. Too many questions. Oh well. Jiho doesn’t seem fazed at all by his rapid fire.
“We’ve got an hour, but it’ll be really slow. Most people don’t want ice cream so early in the morning,” he says as he grabs an apron from wherever-the-fuck, “and if you wanna do register, you can. A lot of morning shift is kinda just standing around doing nothing for money.”
Kyrell frowns, twiddling his fingers a bit, “I’d… actually prefer if I can watch you work first. Then… walk me through some more before I get the hang of things?” his voice peaks awkwardly, and all of the sudden he’s fourteen battling voice cracks again, “I get if that’s too much work, intuitive job and all…”
“Nah, I don’t mind,” Jiho says with no hesitation. It feels as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, so greatly so that he wonders why he was even stressed about it in the first place, because Jiho seems to just do… whatever. In any other situation, he would think that it’s rather dangerous, his willingness to go with whatever flow is thrown at him.
Kyrell nods happily, glad his guidance isn’t too hands off.
Turns out, people really do eat ice cream for breakfast—a surprising amount of older, fit people who come in for sugar free vanilla or some overpriced fruit sorbet, single scoop in a cup, occasionally two. It’s not necessarily a rush, just completely unexpected for this hour. Kyrell jumps every time the door opens and the bell chimes, like a cat when a loud noise sounds, scurrying to stand not too far behind Jiho to watch him handle customer service with an effect so unlike anything he’d experienced at his previous job.
An older woman currently stands at their counter, hair slicked back and clearly in her running gear, if neon sports bra and leggings with a weighted vest isn’t enough of a giveaway. She doesn’t even look at the menu.
“NSA pineapple coconut. One scoop. Don’t skimp on me, now. I need the carbs.”
Her eyes flash over to Kyrell, like noticing a fly on the wall, which he very much is at the moment, before narrowing in on Jiho again.
“Sure thing,” the boy says. He glances between the lady and Kyrell discreetly, but doesn’t say anything, instead working on getting a large scoop of pineapple coconut into a cup, “is this enough, or would you like more, ma’am?”
“More,” she says, a bit blunt, “I know you know how much ice cream a proper scoop is. Tired of being scammed. It's expensive enough coming here.”
“That’s just the size of our scoop,” Jiho says with a very tight, faux polite smile, “would you like more scoops? It’s only a dollar more for each scoop.”
She rolls her eyes. Kyrell suppresses the urge to start pleading with her to stop being so snippy when she has the rest of the day ahead of her.
“No, I need one full scoop, not two half scoops. How hard can it be to understand?”
She continued to ask for a bit more, and a bit more, and more, until she did eventually just end up with the amount of two deformed scoops anyway, but according to her, it is the proper amount of one. Wow.
Kyrell's just happy she didn’t pay in cash.
“I was gonna ask her to come back here and scoop it herself,” Jiho grumbles to himself the moment the door shuts, a grimace on his face—at least, that’s what Kyrell assumes it’s supposed to be. It looks more like a sad guinea pig in his eyes.
“Customer first, right?” Kyrell asks, half curious if that’s the real policy, half trying to make conversation with his disgruntled co-worker.
“Ugh, don’t even get me started,” the disgruntled co-worker in question groans, sprawling forward on the counter as if he were melting, “it’s such a stupid rule. Who even uses ice cream to get their calories in?! There’s much better options! Aren’t health freaks supposed to be worried about being more healthy? The fake sugar is, like, a billion times worse for you!”
Kyrell bites down on his lips to suppress a smile. He hates to say it, but some people are funny to watch when they're angry. Jiho just happens to be one of them. It’s so clear he has the morals and sanity intact to just brew in his anger rather than do anything drastic.
“Well, yeah, but…” he can’t help the small chuckle he lets out, “maybe it’s the worst day of her life and the ice cream is the highlight? Can’t mess that up for her,” he shrugs, ever the optimist.
“It is way too early for it to be the worst day of her life,” Jiho scoffs, “and even if it is, it’s her fault for waking up so damn early!”
Kyrell tilts his head. Huh. Jiho was a lot more intimidating before he began speaking; this was like watching a kid whine because their older brother won’t play fair.
“Not a morning person?” he asks, eyes scanning over the flavors. He’s a bit lost on all the different types of chocolate, but oh well. He finds the fact that the more popular flavors having deeper dips in the center is fascinating.
“I swear I’m more tolerable when I’m scheduled for the afternoon,” Jiho sighs heavily, drawing back from the counter just to bury his face into his hands and groan again. Sparing a glance at him from the ice cream, he can see him rubbing at his temples a bit.
Jiho is far more entertaining than he gives himself credit for. Kyrell could work every shift with this guy, go home with stories of his frustrations and advice, but really, it’d be the kind of thing that seems so amazing in the moment and falls flat when retold. Watching Jiho get mad at work isn’t interesting on paper, but in that moment, it was like witnessing a hat trick, and somehow, him being mildly inconvenienced and in the most childish apron, he still looks like he’s too cool to be here—skateboard ollies, hidden piercings, and loose change in his pocket level. Someone who’s meant to work in a tattoo parlor—or would order their coffee black—not… here, like this. It’s like watching a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“I believe it. I think most people aren’t meant for mornings. But! I am, so maybe that’s a little backwards coming from me,” Kyrell smiles, “I love the mornings because then the whole rest of the day is still there! And I’m so tired at night anyways…” Oversharing. You’re oversharing, “you seem like a night person, though. Night owl,” Kyrell does an awkward pointing gesture and only cringes slightly.
“Yeah,” is Jiho’s very simple response before the next customer walks in.
This one is a grey haired man who, frankly, is concerningly buff and tan. Kyrell tilts his head at the way he walks all stiff and tall. He looks out of place, too; he really expected more… kids. He supposes their parents wouldn’t permit ice cream for breakfast, whatever.
Kyrell peers over at Jiho who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The man looks at the menu briefly before speaking over the counter, “can I have a… double scoop of rocky road?” His vowels shape around the words a bit more round than Kyrell is used to. British or Australian, maybe?
“Cone or cup?” Jiho asks, barely mustering up the amount of professional-customer-service joy he should have in his voice. Kyrell notices that his fingers are already going towards the cups.
“A cone, waffle,” he says, and oh yeah, he’s definitely Australian.
Jiho sighs a bit and redirects his hand to the gloves, then he grabs the cone and scoop.
“Are these scoops big enough for you?” he asks, and it’s a wonder how this guy hasn’t been fired nor has he quit with the amount of clear displeasure in his voice.
“What the hell? What are you doing?!” The Australian starts gesturing widely, “do you not know what a double is? Look at this—it’s huge! That cannot possibly be for human consumption.”
“Would you like to explain to me what it is?” Jiho asks, dropping the scoop into the container of rocky road and crossing his arms, “you know, since you’re apparently the master of ice cream and all—”
“How about we remake that for you?” Kyrell cuts in before Jiho says fuck it and jumps over the counter, “it’s no big deal. It’s different here in America. The two scoops are called double scoops here,” he lets his hand brush past Jiho’s shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. He takes the scooper and makes sure the scoops are smaller and side by side in the cone. He can feel Jiho’s eyes on him—and the Australian—and to be frank it’s a little bit much, but he’d rather feel his nape heat up with the attention than let Jiho lose his sanity arguing with the customer over a cultural difference.
The man isn’t even apologetic, just takes his ice cream and leaves, leaving Kyrell alone with Jiho. Who he may have just upstaged. He feels himself grow inward by the second, posture a bit hunched.
“Thanks,” Jiho mumbles instead of the very long scolding he thought he would have gotten. This guy just continues surprising him by the second, it seems.
“It’s no problem. Didn’t want you to blow your fuse,” Kyrell shrugs, flushing a bit when he realizes how that may come as a thinly veiled insult, “n-not in a bad way! It’s—you get so many annoying people here, probably, maybe. And I’m new! So—that's probably why I’m—” Kyrell thinks if he goes on any longer he may explode.
“Oh my god, Kyrell,” Jiho laughs in his face, leaning against the display case, “I’m not gonna kill you, I promise. I know what I’m like, no shame in pointing it out.”
Kyrell’s lips quirk, embarrassment shooting through him.
“I didn’t think you’d kill me,” not quite that, “just wanna make a good impression. New hire and all,” he leans against the opposing counter, “you said we just stand around all morning?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Jiho nods, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand like he couldn’t possibly be less entertained right now, “at least the company is finally getting their shit together and is hiring more people so I don’t have to be all alone in the mornings.”
Kyrell pouts a bit, not wanting to coo at his training manager because that would be fucking weird, “you were just working alone?”
“For the most part, yeah,” he nods like it isn’t kinda really sad to be stuck alone at ass o’ clock in the morning in some run down ice cream shop, "occasionally I drag a friend in to sit with me while I work, but other than that it would be some new person that would quit the next day at best,” Jiho seems to have a lightbulb go off, then, “please don’t quit. You don’t seem the type, but please.”
Aw. Besides Jiho’s cool factor, he’s… softer, too. Soft edges and gooey center. He’s like a cookie! A cookie spray painted black. Well, maybe not that. That would be unsafe for consumption. More just like some harmless food coloring.
“I won’t, no need to beg,” Kyrell giggles. Watching Jiho’s eyes get all big when he really wants something is a sight to behold; any other time, when they’re all relaxed and heavy, he looks so… suave. He wasn’t expecting the whiplash of someone who has puppy eyes and is 100% willing to use them.
“Good.”
The rest of the shift, as said, is rather uneventful. A group of entirely too young kids had come in, paid in a bunch of one dollar bills and quarters—much to Jiho’s chagrin, who had to tug open the cash register, because apparently it actually is broken and it wasn’t just a joke—and made a mess that Jiho sent him to clean up, but other than that, it was spent just… talking.
He learns that Jiho is a year older than him, but their actual birthdays aren’t really that far apart, and that he’s apparently really into dance, and that he learned English through living in Boston for a year before eventually moving back to America for a ‘scenery change’, to which he promptly asked Kyrell if he knows much about Seattle.
“Well, no,” Kyrell answers honestly, a bit sheepish on how Jiho seems to have this god given gift of listening to him with the most expressive, attentive eyes ever, “not that I’m new, I’m not! But I’ve always… kind of stayed in my bubble. My friends like to drag me out sometimes but… I’ve always been a work and then home person. I found a decent restaurant near my house… the store around the corner. It’s easy when you’re in a city, right? Just stay in your block,” Jiho nods at him, and he kind of combusts a little, “but that’s really cool that you lived in Boston! I heard it’s rather different there.”
“Eh, I feel like I didn’t really get a full experience,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand, “it’s not like I was some language genius and suddenly became fluent in English, so I didn’t interact with the world much. It was pretty, though.”
Kyrell wants to hear more. About Boston, about Jiho. It’s like he’s a walking paradox: the more he says, the more mysterious he becomes. He wants to pick him apart so that they’re familiar. He also wants to take a few steps back and just know from afar. There’s this flatness to his voice that cuts between his words and makes it harder to tell what he’s thinking or feeling when he’s talking. Kyrell assumes there’s tells, wags to know like the way people crack their knuckles when stressed, but he wouldn’t know them, be privy to them.
The thing is, Kyrell is kind of shit at being normal about “getting to know a co-worker”. He’s always kept it to talks about the weather and pets, families and drama that’s so far outside the four walls it’s all just wisps in the wind. This is something concrete and memorable. Interesting. The kind of thing Kyrell is meant to ask again about months down the line.
He’s never been one for subtlety, however, so all the curiosities come out early.
“Did you do ice cream then too, or?”
“No,” Jiho laughs a bit like it’s an absurd thought, and Kyrell sees a peek of what a genuine smile would be like from the older and gets the thought that he wants to see that more, “I wasn’t old enough to have a job, then.”
Kyrell blinks. That genuinely throws him off guard.
“Oh, wow,” he couldn’t imagine growing up somewhere that different, “do you miss it? I mean, people might have more common sense over there. Here…” Kyrell lets out a light laugh, “it’s not like my last job was only intellectuals. I’ve gotten yelled at for other people’s misunderstandings countless times.”
“Really?” Jiho frowns a bit, “where else did you work?” he asks instead of answering the question he had been asked, but he figures that it wasn’t because he was trying to avoid it, so he lets it slide for now.
“Just coffee at my uni, nothing serious. A lot more… intense. Fast. Blow a whistle to cut through the noise kind of fast. But I liked it. People come from all over, you meet some unique ones for sure,” he pauses for a second too long, eyes settling onto each other, “if I tell you what happened, does that count against me?” he asks, a bit teasingly, knowing Jiho likely couldn’t care less.
“You could take half the cash from the register and walk out and I probably wouldn’t say anything,” the boy answers, clearly curious, “what possibly could have happened? You don’t look like you could hurt a fly. No offense.”
Kyrell laughs, breathy and light. He can’t say he doesn’t get that a lot. He thinks life is a lot brighter in his eyes—easier, bountiful—so he doesn’t have any complaints when people say it like it is.
“I would give out free coffees to people who needed it. Well. Not free. I’d pay for it. But they got mad. It wasn’t a, uh… good look,” Kyrell says a bit awkwardly, “having people give out freebies encourages expectations that they don't want.”
“That’s dumb,” Jiho says completely dead-pan, unblinking, “on the cafe’s part, I mean. You were fired for being too nice? It’s not like they were losing money or anything. I think they were just being greedy.”
Kyrell shrugs, feeling his face warm. Technically, Jiho is the first person he’s told the truth to about the whole thing. Internally, he'd convinced himself it was probably his fault in some corporate fashion he can’t understand and that he was foolish to make that mistake over and over until they had no choice but to fire him. Of course, he initially assumed he was right, but…
Luckily, with Jiho’s reassurances, it’s easier to remember that kindness isn’t something he should be necessarily punished for.
“Promise I won’t give out free ice creams here, that much I can guarantee for sure.”
“Not like I would care if you did,” Jiho shrugs, then checks the time and pouts—pouts!—before turning back to him, “are you scheduled for tomorrow?”
Kyrell is, in fact, scheduled for tomorrow. He’s scheduled for every day this week. Based on that fact, and how Jiho said he worked alone most days, they were really desperate for someone. He could’ve probably gone in with a criminal record and still gotten the job.
Kyrell nods bashedly.
“Yeah, I’ll be around a lot. So don’t get too used to missing me.”
“What time?” Jiho asks so quickly that he thinks he might have said that even if his answer were to be no.
Kyrell scratches the back of his head awkwardly, no doubt messing up the gel lay and making it a bit more frizzy.
“Opening again. Why?” he asks, and it’s a genuine question. In all their… few hours of being around each other, he hadn’t garnered the impression that Jiho was particularly fond of him.
“Just wondering,” Jiho shrugs, then turns around to start cleaning scoops.
Kyrell knows that work isn’t supposed to be fun, per se, but he doesn’t love it dragging on, either, and even with the morning passing inch by inch, it is still painstakingly slow in its efforts. There really isn’t much to do besides look out the window, look at the ice creams, be on his phone (which isn’t allowed, technically!) or look at his co-worker who he’s pretty sure is playing an intense round of blockblast right now.
Kyrell picks up a long list of internal excuses for all of his staring pretty quick. He’s new, he’s awkward, he wants to say something normal but ran out of conversation starters ages ago. Jiho’s game is so distracting, there’s nothing going on, Jiho is distracting—
The bell rings, and a short woman walks in with a stroller. She’s glowing, taking a long while at the menu while Kyrell does mental gymnastics on who is supposed to take her order. Typically, he would assume it’s Jiho, since he’s still training and isn’t familiar with the systems yet, but also, Jiho has done the last few, so maybe he’s expecting Kyrell to step up to the plate. She hums under her breath, and Kyrell doesn’t see Jiho move an inch. Maybe this is his moment—
They step forward at the same time to the register, causing Kyrell to bump shoulders with his co-worker. He then immediately sends a prayer out that this won’t be the straw that breaks the camel's back.
Instead, Jiho gives him a rather amused look and gently nudges him out of the way with his shoulder, mumbling a “don’t worry, just watch” that he doesn’t know why he mumbled, because the customer can definitely hear him anyway.
Kyrell nods, surely giving off intense “I’m new here" energy, still rocking on the balls of his feet as he flashes a smile at the new customer. They pay him no mind.
For what feels like the first time that day, Jiho serves the customer with no issues and no backhanded comments. Briefly, he wonders if it’s because it’s later into the day, now, or if it’s because this customer just wasn’t the worst person on earth. He figures it’s better not to ask.
As the day progresses into evening, he watches Jiho become more levelheaded and calm, his own energy evening out into less of a nervous mess himself. More people come in, and he finds it’s easier to jump in when there’s a line starting to form that he can cut in half. Jiho isn’t full of pride, but he is willing to throw Kyrell an approving look every now and then just to keep him from deflating from the smallest mistakes. Kyrell discovers that the job really is just that easy, and when someone asks for two scoops of vanilla, they aren’t pulling some trick. The most important thing is to make sure that the line moves. And it does, most of the time. Granted that Kyrell doesn’t do anything stupid like drop the ice cream scoop while scooping.
He ends up doing exactly that about four times by the end of his shift. But Jiho doesn’t get mad! Okay, maybe he rolls his eyes once, but it wasn’t out of anger… maybe.
By the time he’s clocking out, his brain is half-mush-half-ice-cream-orders in increasingly odd combinations. He watches Jiho shrug his apron off and observes the even cooler than before T-shirt the other had been wearing, groaning and sighing as he stretches. Kyrell swallows at the way he rolls his shoulders before shooting him a flat look.
“Thanks again for taking the time…” Kyrell blurts out for the sake of breaking the silence, “hopefully I did okay?”
“Yeah,” Jiho nods, running a hand through his hair to fix the mess that the apron made of it, “just gotta get used to holding the scoops right. You do learn quick, though. I assume you have a way home?”
Kyrell nods, watching Jiho grab his keys from his locker, his own lamely tucked into his back pocket. He’s glad he doesn’t live across town from his job; plenty of time to go home and relax before having to wake up early for the next shift. He wonders what Jiho’s reaction would be if he said no. He’d probably offer a ride home and pray Kyrell would say no. Luckily, he doesn’t have to self impose so early.
“Yeah, thanks for asking, though.” He follows Jiho out the back door exit, “see you tomorrow?"
“Bright and early,” Jiho sighs. Kyrell lets himself believe it’s because of the wake up time and not because of him.