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A sleep-deprived Mike Wheeler stares at the blue and white sailor costume folded neatly on the sales counter of the Scoops Ahoy. "You're telling me I have to wear this?"
Max giggles, though it sounds more like a cackle. "See how it feels now?
Max pats Mike on the back, "Besides, I'm sure you'll look great in this hat…whoah, this hat." She teases.
"Shut up." Mike grumbles, "And I have," Mike gestures back and forth from the uniform to his body, "To wear this?"
Max side-eyes him,"Is that a serious question? You think I'd be wearing this shit if I didn't have to? No. So go put it on, along with your prettiest smile because this is your job now Wheeler."
Mike lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh before reaching for his uniform, "This is gonna be fun." He complains sarcastically.
Mike took the uniform to the restroom and found a stall to change in.
"I look ridiculous." Mike says through gritted teeth,
The mirror disagreed with him by remaining completely silent.
Mike adjusted the stupid little sailor hat.
It somehow looked worse.
He tilted it to the left.
Worse.
To the right.
Even worse.
He pulled it off entirely and stared at it.
"Who designed this?" he asked the empty restroom. "Who woke up one day and thought, 'You know what ice cream needs? The Navy.'"
A kid washing his hands glanced over.
Mike, embarassed, immediately put the hat back on.
He walked back to the food court to find Max serving a customer. Once the customer got their order she turned her attention to him.
"You look fantastic!" Max joked, laughing hysterically.
"It's not funny!" Mike whines.
"It's pretty funny."
"You're wearing the exact same thing!" He yells.
"Yeah, but you look stupider."
Mike rolls his eyes, "Stupider's not a word"
"Whatever- Oh a customer!" She points out, "You know what to do!"
Mike lets out a sigh before going out to the front counter to serve his first customer.
The girl in front of him, who looked about twelve—about the age the Party had been when all the Vecna shit started—gave him a small wave.
Do I know this girl?
Mike put on his best customer-service smile. He hoped it was a warm and and friendly one.
"Hi. What can I get for you today?"
The girl stared up at the menu.
"Ooh, so many options... um, do you know if the mint chocolate chip is spicy?"
Mike's smile twitched.
"Sorry, what?"
Before he could ask if she was serious, Max shoved him aside.
"No, the mint chocolate chip isn't spicy," she said warmly.
How does she do that?
The girl nodded thoughtfully.
"Okay. But mint is, like, a strong flavor, right?"
"Strong?" Mike repeated.
"Like toothpaste."
Max kept smiling.
"It's sweeter than toothpaste."
"Oh." The girl considered this. "So if I don't like toothpaste, I won't like mint chocolate chip?"
"Probably not," Max admitted.
Mike crossed his arms.
"Or you could just try it and find out. Revolutionary concept."
Max punched him in the shoulder.
"Mike!"
"What? I'm helping."
The girl didn't seem bothered.
"Do people usually like it?"
"Some do," Max said.
"Some people are wrong," Mike muttered.
"Ignore him."
The girl giggled.
"What's your favorite?"
"Chocolate," Max answered immediately.
"Coffee," Mike said.
The girl blinked.
"Can kids have coffee ice cream?"
"It's not actual coffee," Mike said.
"It absolutely has coffee in it," Max corrected.
"So I can't have it?"
"You can have it."
"Will I stay awake all night?"
"It's ice cream, not hard drugs."
Another punch to the shoulder.
"Mike!"
"What?!"
The girl looked back up at the menu, somehow even more overwhelmed than before.
"...I'll just take vanilla."
A beat.
"With sprinkles," she added.
Mike already wanted to quit. Holy shit.
Mike scooped the vanilla into a cup, added a handful of sprinkles, and slid it across the counter.
"There you go."
The girl smiled. "Thanks!"
"Yep. Enjoy."
She took her ice cream and disappeared into the crowd.
Mike watched her go before letting his customer-service smile collapse.
"One down," he muttered.
"Only, like, a million more," Max said cheerfully.
Mike groaned.
He leaned against the counter, letting his eyes wander across the mall while Max started wiping down the counter beside him.
The food court was packed. People moved between tables, carrying shopping bags and trays of food, the constant hum of conversations blending together beneath the music playing overhead.
Mike's gaze drifted lazily across the stores.
Then stopped.
Across the mall, tucked between a couple of other food stands, was a familiar red-and-yellow sign.
SURFER BOY PIZZA.
Mike barely paid it any attention at first.
Then he noticed the person standing behind the counter.
His stomach dropped.
Will.
Mike straightened.
For a second, he wondered if he'd imagined him.
But no.
There he was, wearing a Surfer Boy Pizza uniform, talking to one of his coworkers as he stacked pizza boxes behind the counter.
Mike stared.
Will?
He hadn't even known Will was working here.
Something about seeing him so unexpectedly—across the mall, surrounded by strangers, completely unaware Mike was watching him—made Mike forget about the stupid sailor uniform he was wearing.
"Mike?"
He didn't answer.
Max followed his gaze.
"Oh."
Mike swallowed.
Will laughed at something his coworker said.
Even from this far away, Mike recognized the sound.
And for the first time since putting on the ridiculous sailor hat, Mike didn't feel like complaining. He paused.
What the fuck?