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Max lets out a heavy breath as he crosses the busy street. The heat's heavy despite it only being the beginning of spring. Dread fills him when he thinks about what Summer's going to be like. He tries to stop it from getting to him, but he's from the Netherlands and their Summers are pathetic best. Seriously, why is the South of France this ridiculously hot.
The young male's pulled from his thoughts when in the distance, a car's horn goes off but it's partly drowned out by the low sound of the bus' engine that starts moving alongside Max as he trudges on over the sidewalk.
Noises that have become mundane or an annoyance to someone else are the exact opposite for him. Growing up in a small town meant that everything was much quieter than in a large city like Nice. All this, the people, this was what life really sounded like and he enjoyed. Mostly.
Max had just finished unpacking most of his stuff when he grew bored and decided to go out and explore the new neighborhood for a bit. He wandered aimlessly for a bit, seen a few of the sights that the place had to offer, but it'd been a while since he'd had lunch so the Dutchman decided to scout for a place where he could find a decent meal.
It wasn't long before he found one. God, if only he knew...
The inside of the joint's definitely cooler thanks to the seriously suspect airconditioning that sounded like a woodchipper chewing on a concrete slab. Max glances up at the roof in worriedly as he crossed the dual-colored tile floor toward the counter, hoping and praying, despite not being particularly religious that the airconditioning wouldn't spontaneously fart out a bolt that landed right between his eyes. Did he just think up the next installment of Final Destination? He thinks he just did.
"Welcome to Chilli's what can I get you?" the incredibly handsome guy with the green eyes greets enthusiastically as Max steps up to the counter. The Dutchman glances around the empty restaurant and wonders if he shouldn't be even little concerned that the place is literally empty and doesn't have a single customer. He couldn't be in one of those businesses that are a front for money laundering could he? Mattress Firm comes to mind then but the concern lasts for all but a minute when it feels like someone's set a fire in his gut and his stomach feels like it's started digesting itself.
Also, what the hell kind of name is Chilli's?
"Hi," Max glances at the guy's nametag that sticks out over the red shirt he's wearing, "Charles." The guy, 'Sharl' and not British king 'Charles' as Max thought, brightens at Max 's use of his name and the Dutch male thinks the smile he wears makes him look kinda cute. Score one for Max on a totally out there guess. Also, it's France, so...
"Can I get a burger and fries?" Max asks as he digs his wallet out from his jeans' back pocket.
"Nope," the other male replies cheerfully, the dimpled smile not slipping from his features.
It hits Max for a loop and the Dutchman blinks once. Twice. "Nope?" he asks just to clarify that he'd indeed heard the other male correctly.
Charles nods. "We literally only serve ice cream here now. Our chef had a breakdown a few months back and we haven't found anyone to replace him. Poor Daniel."
Okay, it totally makes sense now, Max thinks. It's also weird that an employee would just volunteer information like that to just anyone.
"Oh," Max says for lack of anything else, still partially worried that the airconditioning might fall through the roof at any moment. "Can I get an ice cream?"
Charles nods. "Chocolate or Vanilla?"
"Chocolate," Max replies.
"Chocolate is finished."
Why even list it as an option? Whatever, Max 's not going to dwell on it. He'll order whatever else they have and hightail it out of there.
"Okay, give me a vanilla then."
"Vanilla is finished."
What. The. Actual. Fuck? Max is tempted to go out and check the sign to make sure he hadn't accidentally stumbled into a pop-up psych facility or something. He has faith in humanity and he doesn't think there's anyone out there who is this fucked up.
"What do you have?" Max asks, his annoyance slowly climbing as he resists the urge to either massage his temples or choke the man across from him.
Charles shrugs nonchalantly. "Ice cream is finished and the machine is broken. We literally got nothin-"
"- Charles! Charles! I've been watching Oscar, the repairman work and he literally has the cutest butt ever. Seriously, it's like a peach! You have to come see-Oh," a curly-haired guy with the same uniform as Charles runs in excitedly from the back like he's just brought the greatest news ever. For the store staffed by idiots? It might actually be, Max doesn't know.
The repairman with the cutest butt ever! Put it on the fucking front page and include an explanation why this store with no food, no ice cream is still operating. No wonder the last chef quit! He probably couldn't handle working with thing one and thing two. All they need now was the cat. One with a hat and a hidden compartment for muscle relaxants.
"Go away Lando," Charles grits out and gestures with his head at Max. He's obviously trying to be stealthy but it's an epic fail since Max could literally hear and see everything.
"Is your manager here?" Max asks when the two males devolve into an argument.
"Unfortunately not. He said he'd be out for a bit but-oh look! There he is now!" Charles tells excitedly Max before lifting his hand and waving at a guy across the street who was shouting in excitement as he zoomed down the sidewalk in a shopping cart. That actually explains so, so much.
Defeated, Max drums his fingers on the granite countertop once more then turns to leave without another word.
"Wait! Where are you going?" Charles asks Max, sounding almost panicked that the male had decided to leave.
"Home," Max breathes out tiredly and through a burgeoning headache. Why does the guy even care after he wasted an important 10 minutes of Max 's life.
"If you leave your number I can call you to let you know when the machine's been repaired," Charles gets out quickly. The man's words earn a choked out high pitched laugh from Lando and a sarcastic "smooth" from the Britishman.
"Go suck the repairman's dick or something," Charles restorts.
"I'm trying to!" Lando shoots back, almost offended that it wasn't obvious to his colleague before he hurries into the back of the store again.
Max has never seen two individuals who've struggled more with the concept of whispering. Or proper, acceptible social norms.
"If you still want that ice cream, my lunch break's in like five minutes. I can take you to a cool place that makes the best ice cream in the city. Totally better than the crap we serve here."
Max has to pause, rewind and play. Did this guy seriously just ask him out AND diss the store he works at? He verbalizes his question because this is just too much to comprehend.
"Let me get this straight: You're seriously asking me out right now?"
"Uhh... yeah?" The guy looks a little unsure of himself now and Max attributes this to his patented resting bitch face.
"After experiencing THE worst customer service in my life, do you really expect me to go out with you?"
"Yeah?" Charles' smile drops again slightly. "No? Maybe?"
Max pats at the counter twice before pulling his Redbull cap off, shaking his head and laughing in dry astonishment. He'd seen dense people, pushy people and people with huge balls that went for whatever they wanted, but this? This was something else entirely.
Without another word, Max turns on his his heel and starts walking toward the door. His back's turned so he doesn't see the bright, playful smile of the cute employee fall completely. Somehow the buzzing energy that crackled around them changes in a way he can't really explain.
He has a feeling that he might end up regretting this but...
"I'll be back in five to pick you up," Max says without turning back to face him. "That ice cream better be good."
The last thing he hears is the excited "Yes!" from behind the counter and then the squeaking of shoes, most likely Charles running to the back to tell his coleague. All this followed by a horrified and disgusted "Oh my god, pull your pants up!" from the green-eyed male.
"That ice cream better be good," He tells himself as the bell above the door bids him a farewell.