Chapter Text
Shane is tired and he really does not want to be here right now, working. He’s been here since ten, which was five hours ago and he already wants to go home and just sleep.
He woke up pretty early this morning, earlier than he normally would for a night shift, even though he could’ve slept in. But this morning, he forgot he agreed to take Rose’s shift last night, so now he’s really regretting not staying in bed longer.
Night shifts are always the worst and Shane hates them with a passion. The energy feels different at this time of night, the hours stretch on and make the night feel ninety hours long instead of just nine. There’s usually not that many customers and it’s just overall slow, leaving Shane to just sit and wait around for hours on end. It’s boring.
He prefers morning shifts, since he’s a morning person anyways. He likes having a routine and he likes getting up early and having somewhere to be. It gives him something to do with his day. With night shifts, though, he has nothing to do all day until it’s time to clock in. It’s just not what he prefers, but he’ll get over it tonight. For Rose.
He’s currently cleaning a table that had just been used not too long ago when the bell above the door rings, indicating a customer just walked in. He doesn’t even bother looking up.
Shane sighs, heavy and exhausted, and finishes up before making his way up to the front.
He puts on a smile, heading towards the host stand. “Hello, welcome to IHOP.” He says in his customer service voice as he bends down to grab a laminated menu off of one of the shelves with a practiced ease. It’s muscle-memory by now after all these years of working here. “How many?”
”Oh, just one.” Shane hears the man say, and the sound of his voice makes Shane falter for just a split second.
His accent is thick and Shane can’t tell where he’s from, but it sounds nice. He straightens back up to meet the man’s eyes and… wow. He doesn’t look like he belongs in a diner like this at three in the morning.
He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that’s partially covered by his jacket and denim jeans. It’s a basic outfit, but he makes it look so good. He’s got pretty blonde curls and piercing blue eyes that stare straight into Shane’s soul. He’s beautiful, that much is obvious, but Shane shakes that thought right out of his head the second it pops into his brain.
He does not let himself check him out any longer, despite how his brain desperately tells him to, keeping his eyes lazer-focused on a spot near the man’s collar rather than keeping eye contact with him. He’s on the clock and staring at a customer, even if they are strikingly handsome, is very unprofessional.
“Perfect.” Shane nods, stepping away from the host stand and gesturing for the guy to follow him with a flick of his wrist.
Shane leads him to a booth in his section—which is technically every booth tonight—that’s towards the back.
“I’m Shane, I’ll be your server tonight.” He tells the blonde, setting the menu down in front of him once he sits down, the leather of the booth squeaking as he slides in.
“Can I get you something to drink?” He asks, watching the man’s profile intently as he glances up at the ceiling while he thinks before his gaze sweeps over the empty dining room.
“Just..” He shrugs a shoulder, meeting Shane’s eyes after a long moment. “Coke will be fine.”
”Coke,” Shane repeats, nodding. His accent.. maybe it’s Russian? It sounds Russian. He almost gets out his notepad to write the drink down, but then he figures he really won’t need it. This man is the only customer he’s serving at the moment, he’ll remember a simple drink. “Alright. Coming right up.”
Shane turns on his heel and makes his way to the back where the soda fountains are, grabbing a cup and filling it up generously with ice first.
It’s late and he’s delirious, he thinks. That’s why he’s acting like this is the first time he’s ever seen an attractive man. He needs to go home and go to bed and sleep. He shouldn’t even be awake right now.
Four more hours, he tells himself. Four more hours and then you’re out of here.
Once he finishes filling the cup up with Coke, he carries it back out, his eyes automatically finding the man and his head of perfect curls. He’s sitting there, staring out at the window into the darkness, the rain-slicked parking lot is illuminated by the streetlights and is the only thing visible, his hands clasped and resting ontop of the table.
“Here you go.” Shane sets the drink down, pulling a straw out of his apron and setting it on the table too.
“Спасибо.” He hears the man mumble, immediately breaking the straw paper and putting the straw in the drink.
“Are you ready to order or do you need more time to look over the menu?” Shane asks, awkwardly hovering off to the side of the table. He’s usually holding his book, but now he has nothing to do with his arms or hands. He feels awkward. He probably looks awkward. He really, really hopes he doesn’t.
The man nods as he swallows a sip of his drink, flipping the menu over to read off of it.
“Uhm,” He drawls, his fingers drumming against the table. “World-Famous Pancake Combo.” He points to the item on the menu before looking up at Shane through his lashes. Shane averts his eyes, afraid if he looks into those blue eyes for more than three seconds, he’ll get sucked in and never look away.
Shane nods twice, a tight smile plastered on his face. “What pancake flavor would you like?”
The man furrows his eyebrows, his shoulders lifting up in a small shrug. “Just the regular kind, I do not know.”
”Buttermilk?” Shane asks, humming when the man nods. “Okay. And how would you like your eggs?”
“Over easy.”
They go back and forth like that as Shane asks questions about the specifics of how he’d like his order, and Shane makes it his mission to not focus too hard on his accent. He thinks he’d like to hear this man talk all day, every day. Geez, he really needs to stop. Maybe he should’ve written his order down after all.
He takes the menu from the guy once they’re done and heads to the kitchen area, tossing the menu onto the counter without looking. He puts the order into the kiosk, worrying his lip in the process until the display dings.
He stands by the expo station, watching Hayden quickly observe the order on the ticket before getting to work.
Shane can’t see the man from where he is right now, but he finds himself wishing he could. Is that weird? Yeah, it’s definitely weird. He doesn’t even know this man, only that he’s attractive and that’s it. He doesn’t need to be ogling him or thinking about him in any way that’s not professionally appropriate.
But for some reason, his brain still doesn’t get that memo.
He’s snapped out of his thoughts and back into reality when Hayden slides the plate of food onto the pass-through, smacking the counter a few times to get his attention.
”Is it really that dead out there?” Hayden asks, his lips pulling into a frown. “Haven’t got an order in, like, an hour or two.”
Shane stares at him for a second before carefully grabbing the plate. “Yup.” He says through a sigh and turns around.
”I say we just leave early and say we’re closed for the night.” Hayden says, making Shane roll his eyes as he walks back out to the dining room, the heat from the plate burning the palm of his hand. He doesn’t remind him that they’re open twenty four hours, so they can’t just leave early and say they’re closed for the night. Though Shane would love that.
He thinks Hayden says something else, but he’s not sure. He’s solely focused on bringing the food to this man, his eyes never leaving his side profile as he walks over to his table.
”Here’s your food.” Shane says in a mumble, setting the plate down in front of him. Their eyes meet for a brief second before the man looks back down at the plate with a nod.
Shane tries to keep himself busy in the meantime, waiting. He wipes down tables and counters that didn’t really need to be cleaned, and refills napkin dispensers all while trying to discreetly glance over at the corner booth every once and a while.
The man eats slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Which, he basically does, but it’s interesting to watch. Shane shouldn’t be watching a customer like this. It’s creepy, he knows, but it’s like his eyes are drawn to him. He doesn’t even know the guy, that’s what makes it so weird. Maybe he just has a presence that makes everybody want to orbit around him. Maybe Shane isn’t the only one that feels like this. Maybe this man attracts everybody everywhere he goes and makes them want to just.. watch everything he does.
He’s snapped out of his weird daydream when he realizes the man has looked up and is staring right back at Shane. God, how embarrassing.
Shane is about to blink and avert his eyes, focus on cleaning this table he’s been wiping down for the past few minutes over and over, but the man doesn’t look away. For a beat, the professional distance Shane has been desperately trying to build is slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He feels heat creep up the back of his neck and he’s sure his cheeks are a little red, too.
He doesn’t wait around to see what happens next. Shane quickly pivots toward the kitchen, pretending he forgot something. He didn’t. The only thing he forgot was his self-control, apparently.
He spends the next ten minutes in the back, chewing on his thumb nail as his eyes stay locked on the man through a window that overlooks the whole dining room.
Why can he not just be professional? Why is he ogling and acting so odd around a literal stranger? They barely even exchanged any words, the only thing being conversated between them was about food. Which, good, that’s how it should be. So why does Shane want more?
When the man finally stands to leave—long after Shane took his payment—Shane watches him place a generous tip on the table, which looks way too much than necessary. Shane takes a deep breath and opens the door that leads out to the dining room, making his way over to the table to clean it. And collect the tip.
But he pauses mid-step, his eyes darting over to the door where the man is lingering, his head turned to look at Shane. He doesn’t say anything, his face doesn’t portray anything, he just simply nods. A small, polite nod that Shane is too caught off guard to reciprocate.
And then he’s gone before Shane can even blink. The bell chimes as he exits, the open door letting in a rush of cool night air before it shuts with a thud.
Shane continues to just stand there stupidly, his eyebrows pinched together as he stares at the now empty booth and the money on the edge of table.
He shakes his head as he blows out a breath, forcing his body to move and clean up the table. It’s not dirty, the man was not messy, not even leaving any crumbs in his wake, but Shane scrubs it with a damp rag anyways.
He lets his fingertips brush against the paper bills, carefully picking them up after he finishes cleaning the table, letting himself count the amount. He’s just curious.
Two ten dollar bills and three fives. Thirty-five dollars in total for a thirteen dollar meal. Very generous. Shane finds himself smiling and when he catches it, he forces himself to stop. He’s gotten generous tips before. Maybe not this much, but close. It’s nothing different. The man is just a nice guy who probably thought Shane was also very kind, as he tries to be to everyone. Why is Shane acting so weird about this?
He berates himself on the way to the back, pressing his fingers into his temple a little too harshly. He has a headache and these fluorescent lights are doing nothing to soothe the pounding happening in the side of his skull.
He goes straight for his phone, deciding he’ll just pass time until another customer walks in. He knows the blue light will just make his headache all the more intense, but he honestly doesn’t think it could get much worse than this.
4:56 AM, his phone screen reads. Two more hours until he can go home. He knows those two hours will feel like two hundred, unfortunately.
His shift ended at seven in the morning, but he stayed a little longer to help Hayden clean up and listen to his very long declaim in the process. So Shane doesn’t end up actually leaving until 7:25. Which is fine, but he’s fucking exhausted.
The sun is up and he squints against the beaming light that’s shining directly into his eyes as he drives home, taking the shortest route possible.
He probably shouldn’t be driving when he’s this tired, but he has to, obviously. He wants to get home as soon as possible and just pass out in his comfy bed. The thought makes him yawn.
His back aches for some reason, he still has that terrible fucking headache, and he has a weird feeling in his belly that hasn’t left since 3 AM. He chooses to ignore that feeling, focusing on the road even when his eyes are burning from exhaustion.
The moment he gets his keys into his front door and it opens, the relief that courses through his body overpowers any discomfort in his aching bones that he was just feeling not even five seconds ago.
He quickly shuts and locks the door behind him, letting his bag slip from his shoulder and hit the ground with a loud thud, tossing his car keys in the little key bowl on his kitchen counter.
He doesn’t bother taking a shower like he normally would after a shift, even though the hot water would do miracles for the tight knots in his back. He’s too tired, he’d probably fall asleep standing up and then fall and break his fucking neck. Then what?
He hates getting in bed when he hasn’t showered, but he figures he’ll just wash the sheets tomorrow. He can’t be bothered to stand upright for more than a few minutes. He’s already past his limit, he feels like he could pass out any second now.
He beelines straight for his bedroom, discarding his work outfit and tossing it on the floor somewhere. Now that, that is very unlike him. Despite how his eyelids are drooping, he itches to fold them and put them away neatly, but he doesn’t think he has enough energy for all of that. He thinks if he were to, he’d pass out before he could even finish folding them.
So he ignores the clothes for the time being, feeling his phone buzz against his leg in his jeans pocket that he’s in the middle of taking off.
He clumsily pulls his phone out with one hand while pushing his jeans down with the other, checking the notification.
He stares at the text for a long second, his pants pooling around his ankles before he kicks them off. It takes a few tries before they actually land somewhere on his floor.
He wants to reply, he does, but he’s tired and he doesn’t think he has it in him to even type out a message. That’s how utterly exhausted he is. He should be asleep right now. She’ll understand.
So he ignores it for now, plugging his phone up with one eye open and setting it face down on his nightstand.
He doesn’t even know how he’s standing on two feet right now, but he doesn’t waste another second, falling into bed and groaning when his head hits his pillow, his body comfortably dipping into the softness of his mattress.
He can hear more buzzing coming from his phone, the notifications making his phone vibrate against the wood of his nightstand. It’s probably more texts from Rose, but he’s already half asleep before the fourth one even registers to him.
He’ll check it tomorrow, whenever he wakes up. And he does not plan on waking up early at all. He didn’t even set an alarm, which is something he does every single night no matter what. He’ll probably regret that when he wakes, but right now, he lets the sound of birdsong from outside his window lull him to a restful sleep.