AN: Just a cute little fluffy one-shot that has nothing to do with anything. (:

And speaking of having nothing to do with anything... I watched the premiere of Camp Rock (sue me, I like the Jonas Brothers). It was cute. :D That Demi Lovato chick has got to have Asian in her. She's so adorable, haha.

Anyways, back to preparing for JulNoWriMo.

x

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“Work Schedule”

Karasu 062008

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Summary: (one-shot, mxm) I sucked in a breath as his gunmetal eyes locked with mine. I knew he worked here (the oh-so cool neckband and nametag gave it away), but I had never seen him before.

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“Ummm, excuse me?”

The slight, tousle-haired boy that worked at our local Waldenbooks turned around, blinking behind his black glasses. I sucked in a breath as his gunmetal eyes locked with mine. I knew he worked there (the oh-so cool neckband and nametag gave it away), but I had never seen him before.

His lips turned up into a little smile, “Can I help you?”

Suddenly, I felt myself grow nervous. How could I be such a fucking idiot?! I couldn’t ask this guy to fetch me the book I had ordered… it would be so awkward.

“Uh,” I gulped, trying to gather the courage to whip my vocal cords back into shape.

“Do you need help finding a book?” He placed the romance novel he had in his hands on the shelf without putting in the right order. That bothered me. I mean, he would just have to come back and put it in the right spot, so why not do it right now?

And, no, Mr. Emo, I didn’t need help finding a book. I know this fucking store like the back of my hand. I need the LGBT book I ordered, now be a good serving wench and go fetch.

Of course, this was just my internal dialogue. Even if I knew the guy, I seriously doubt I could actually say that to him.

“I… ordered a… book?” It came out like more of a question, but it was better than my previous attempt, right?

“Oh, okay, follow me,” he smiled pleasantly, leading me to the front, where I was to pick up and consequently purchase my “gay book.” Normally, I wasn’t nervous picking up my Alex Sanchez novels. I was on friendly terms with all the workers (except for that crazy fat bitch, but that’s a totally different story), and I didn’t mind their questioning (or knowing, whichever the case may be) looks as I ordered the latest and greatest in LGBT fiction. But for some reason, I didn’t want this scrawny little brat to know that I read about butt-bangers. “What’s your name?”

“O-Owen…” Alright, good job. You’ve successfully fucked up your name.

But he still smiled at me with those haunting eyes of his, rummaged around under the desk until he found my name (because, seriously, how many Owens were there in my shithole of a town?), and strode toward me. He jumped down off of the little raised platform, grinning.

And I just knew he was going to make fun of me…

“This is a really good book. I assume you’ve read the other two?” Bird Legs rang up the novel, not even batting an impeccable eyelash. I had money bet that he wore a touch of eye make-up.

“Uh, yeah, actually.” I dug my wallet out from my ass pocket, blushing like the stupid kid I was (just because I was eighteen didn’t mean I wasn’t still a kid).

He typed in some sort of code, and didn’t meet my eyes as he said, “Alex Sanchez’s books really helped me when I decided to finally come out.”

Whoa, wait, what?! Was this kid for real? He was seriously trying to engage in some conversation about gay people with me. Not that I was a ‘phobe or anything. I wasn’t exactly family, either. Somewhere… straddling the border, maybe.

“Are you having trouble with something like that?” He finally looked at me, sympathy reflected in his eyes.

“I—uh…” Oh, god, what was wrong with me? I couldn’t even answer a simple question like that?! “I’m not. I just like his books, kid.”

He propped his elbow up on the counter as I slid him ten bucks. He didn’t tell me the cash amount, but I practically lived in this store; I knew how much everything cost. Smirking, the kid took the ten.

“You know, you’re as easy to read as the novel in your hands,” he punched in the numbers that made the machine beep and the drawer pop out. He counted out my change. “Anything else I can give? A new book order? More life advice?”

I felt my face flush, “I would like to order another book, yes. But you can keep your shitty advice.”

He walked over to the other computer (the one they used to order books and shit), grinning over his shoulder at me. “What would you like?”

I followed him around the counter, to where I could watch him punch in the order (to make sure he got it right, of course), and replied, “There’s a manga I want called Invisible Boy. Think you can find that, kid?”

“I think I can do anything. And please stop calling me ‘kid,’ it gets annoying. I have a name, y’know.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s Parker, as if my nametag didn’t give it away,” he smirked and typed in my information. I was surprised he remembered all that crap, but alas.

And, damn… his name. I repeated it in my head, interested in the way it sounded to me. Parker…Hmmm.

“Are you new here?” The question tumbled out of me before I knew what I was asking. “I, uh, haven’t seen you before.”

Parker leaned on the counter, “I worked Christmas, but then I went away for school. I came back, got my old job back, and… here we are. Why, did you think I stole the job from you?”

I flushed, “Of course not. And how did you know I applied here?”

“I didn’t until now. Jeez, you’re uppity, Owen.”

I… didn’t have an answer to that. Normally, I would have a smart-ass answer to something someone said, but… I was at a loss for words.

Parker just laughed, though. It was a cute, fluffy laugh that I would expect one of those Disney teens to have. “You’re really interesting, y’know? I mean, first you deny that you’re in the closet, which, if you don’t mind me saying, you totally are. Then you buy a yaoi manga. What’s with you, Owen?”

“There’s nothing with me, Parker,” I scowled at him.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he lightly scolded as he picked up a pencil and started toying with it. His almost-there-but-not-quite smile confounded me, and I fought off urges to stomp away like the diva I pretended to be. “You buy the queer books and all, but then… you wear a Linkin Park shirt. And your wallet: you like AFI, too? Those aren’t totally queercore bands. So what’s the deal?”

“I like Linkin Park and AFI because of the music, okay? I don’t need to limit myself to a certain form of music, yanno. There is a thing called diversity.”

Parker shrugged, not in the least bit put off by my argument. “Family usually sticks with family.”

“I’m not family.”

“Get over it,” he looked at me over his thick frames, gunmetal eyes glistening. That gaze killed all the words I was going to say. I think—my heart stopped, too. Shocked to the point of death.

But then a woman called for him, and whatever bond we had shared in those moments was gone.

“I gotta go anyway,” I explained as he gave me an apologetic look. The woman called for him again, and we parted. I grabbed my bag and book off the counter and prepared to never see Parker ever again, unless I happened by one day while he was working. But, I had a job, too, and what were the odds that I would be here when he worked, anyway? It was a stupid notion.

“Owen!”

I stopped, looking back to see Parker fluttering a paper in my direction. It was the receipt for the manga I just ordered.

“I don’t have to have that, I trust you guys to call,” I muttered. But Parker was insistent and I finally took the stupid little piece of paper as he went back to helping the woman check out (I noticed that she was buying something about polygamy… weird, much).

Rolling my eyes, I started to shove the paper in my wallet as I exited the store, but stopped. On the back of the receipt, in curvy, narrow handwriting, was a work schedule. Parker’s work schedule. And under the schedule it said: I’d like to get to know you. XOXO.

Hmmm. Maybe the odds of seeing Parker again were just a little higher than I thought.

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By the way, this is dedicated to that awesome, super cute girl that works at my local Waldenbooks. :D Too bad I didn't get her name. D: