there are few things in this world that mercy is totally aware of, two of those being: she’s seventeen years old & fucking exhausted. she’s been waiting tables for a year now , working her ass off to try & support herself when she finally gets to college. her mother constantly scolded her about having a decent work ethic & making something of herself if her dreams of becoming an actress proved to be dead end. the thought alone of not making it is what scares her into working a job that she actually kind of hates.
she see’s him there , adorned in what she would assume to be prom-wear. she chuckles to herself , simply because she skipped prom to work. he looks upset & she can only assume by the incessant checking of his phone that he’s being stood up. she’s been there – knows the hollowing feeling of being completely & utterly alone. she glances down at her watch ; she only has three minutes left on her shift. a tiny grin curls the ends of her lightly glossed petals as an idea arises. she glides towards the kitchen, rattling off an order of waffles & waiting patiently for them to come up. she fixes herself a cup of coffee before making her way towards his table.
she slides the plate of waffles in front of him as she herself slides into the booth opposite to him. she sets her coffee down & pulls her long, brown hair from out of its high ponytail. her bright blue scrunchie finds solace upon her dainty wrist ; reaching over and pouring a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. ‘ people are assholes , but i like to think ‘m an exception. i couldn’t let you just sit here & wait alone , so i hope it’s cool if i hang out with you for a while. ‘
—a pit begins to form in his stomach. or is that hunger? he feels nauseous as he realizes he’s truly on his own, that is, until a plate clinks up ahead of him. his head whips up and his eyes light up, but he realizes that the stranger is most definitely not who he’s waiting for. he sinks into his chair again, but his eyes immediately snag on the plate of fresh waffles. oh, god, he really is hungry.
she speaks. auggie stays silent but looks up at her, his eyes glossy and angry, long lashes batting slowly. he reaches for the glass of water, his calloused fingers taking a moment to brush over the droplets forming on the surface before he takes a gentle sip. tears are forming. fuck, fuck, he can’t cry. no, he can’t. a tight feeling clenches at his chest as she keeps speaking—god, people really do suck, but at least the waitress is nice enough to console him. he wants to say thank you, but he won’t. he doesn’t know how to. okay. time to stop pouting. he sits up and pulls the plate a little closer.
“yeah, totally—” he clears his throat and tries to compose himself. he’s not going to cry. he’s not going to sulk. there’s no point. and he’s definitely not going to sit there and sob to this stranger. she’s not his therapist. “i don’t have anywhere to be and i could use the company i guess. you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” he shrugs gently and shakes his head, little waves of laughs slipping out from under his breath. suddenly, as if someone flipped a switch, he takes inhales sharply and looks up.
“you know what? people really are fucking assholes, man,” his voice raises, but then lowers noticeably as he realizes an older woman is peering over the top of a booth, looking rather offended. “i, like, paid for my date’s ticket and everything. i don’t even know what happened. one moment i was dancing with someone and the next i wasn’t. no one’s picking up. i don’t know if i did something wrong. maybe i fucked something up and no one wants to talk to me. i don’t know.”
he pauses as he cuts into his waffles.
“thanks for this, by the way.”
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