♚ -- { l'espoir troisième | squall&reika }
"...excuse me, young man?"
A nasally inquiry stirred him from a light slumber. Squall roused from the counter, inhaling sharply as he opened his eyes to the sight of a customer and the basket of clothes that accompanied her. Everything from her furrowed brow to her lips pursed into a fine line screamed utter displeasure, which begged Squall to ask himself the question, (...how long have I been out?)
The brunet blinked once, then twice, before the gears in his head began to spin. He reached forward to scan the customer's purchases, every motion mechanized from routine and practice. Eartips burnt red with embarrassment. There was no excuse for him to drift off on the job. Sure, he'd spent the last few weeks running back and forth from school to work to home only to repeat the cycle after a lackluster sleep, but there was still no excuse. Squall could feel the woman's condescending gaze sweep across his features as loud 'beep's signaled each clothing article being registered into the system. Tallying up the purchase as quickly as he could to make up for the time he'd spent dozing, Squall soon announced, "That's sixty-four dollars... and twenty-two cents."
The woman shook her head, pulled out a thick wallet from her purse and searched inside for the appropriate funds. Squall watched in silence, eyeing her abundance of money with the slightest twinge of envy. Or at least he watched until she quipped, "You know, if I had a lick of sense, I would report you to your manager right now." Squall hastily diverted his blue gaze to move the clothes into plastic bags, but she continued: "I don't know why an establishment like this would hire someone so careless. You children think you can just sleep wherever you want... save it for home, why don't you?"
(...alright. I get it.) Squall's lips tugged into a scowl. Above the rustle of plastic bags, he could hear the brushing of bills as the customer pulled them from her wallet and laid them atop the counter. Today, fatigue bogged him down too much to breathe a single word in response to the berating. Unfortunately, this woman was the type to be spurred on by silence, as he would immediately discover. "Honestly...! If I owned this place, I would do a much better job in selecting my employees. Lazy, discourteous, and ragged-looking..." Squall glanced upward. Eyes pulled into narrowed slits. The woman had finished withdrawing her payment, but clearly she hadn't finished her business here. Staring him dead in the eye, she gestured across the bridge of her nose where a scar would've sat had she been Squall. "I can only imagine what you did to get that awful thing. And look at that piercing... I wouldn't be surprised if you're one of those cutthroat thugs that are always prowling around town like wild animals..."
If she was purposefully trying to provoke a reaction, she had chosen the wrong person to insult. Squall offered little more than a tired shrug, took her money and offered her the bags in exchange. (...are you done now?) He wondered, before promptly receiving his answer.
"Don't give me attitude, young man. I'm only trying to help you out and offer you some advice... the least you could do is thank me," she huffed, shooting him a glare in return for his blank stare. "Do yourself a favor and use the money you earn here to clean yourself up, instead of using it for... whatever it is you do." It was lucky that the customer chose to cut it short there. She turned and strutted away, barely missing the twinge of irritation that flashed across Squall's face. Every cent he scraped together went towards his bills. Every dollar he made was barely enough to keep him from losing everything. Not that she would understand... that woman likely had life offered to her on a silver platter.
Resentment and frustration churned in Squall's gut. He leaned forward against the counter, resting his forehead in his hand. Fortunately, he had not long to dwell on the woman's judgmental commentary. There was a tap on his shoulder mere minutes later; Squall straightened himself out and snapped to attention... or at least, as much attention as one in his fatigued state could muster. The question, "...can I help you?" was on the tip of his tongue, but Squall hadn't the chance to speak. His coworker gave him a curt nod, then said, "The boss wants you."
Four words, yet they were enough to open a gaping pit in his stomach and extinguish the rising flames of anger within him in an instant. Squall's face betrayed no hint of his inner emotions, however, and he simply gave them a nod in return. Stepping away from the counter to make the short journey from the cash registers to the manager's office, Squall had nary an idea of what awaited him. Little did he know, it would be the icing on the cake of his day.
Unlike the store proper, his boss' office was dimly lit. Shelves of books and little knick-knacks to spruce up the room rested against one wall. In the corner sat the manager's desk, wooden surface clean and pristine as the man who sat behind it. Squall knew little about him: his name was Thomas, he always arrived at work in a crisp suit and tie... and most importantly, had a hair-trigger temper. Suppressing his nerves with a thick swallow, the youth came to a halt in front of the desk. Thomas looked at him but made no invitation to sit in the chair across from him; therefore Squall continued to stand, breathing naught a word until his manager spoke first.
Silence could not reign forever. Eventually, Thomas' head drifted to the side. He leaned back in his seat, running his fingers across a clean-shaven chin. "Squall Leonhart... that's your name, right?" Without waiting for an answer, he asked, "How long've you been working here, now? Two, three months?" Squall opened his mouth to state that, actually, he'd been here for about half a year now. Once again he was cut off. "You do realize that, as a cashier, you're the face of the company... right? And I'm sorry to say, but... you haven't been putting on the best face lately, Squall."
He had no argument for that. The moment those words slipped from Thomas' lips, he knew exactly why he'd been called to this office. Squall's stomach sank lower and lower as the seconds dragged past. A mixture of horror and exhaustion brought his world to a halt. Half of his boss' words went in one pierced ear and out the other-- only the bare point of his long, drawn-out charade was ultimately received. Squall had been fired. Or as Thomas would put it, "released for the greater good of the store's future". One moment, he found himself standing in that dimly office. And in the next, he was out on the streets after finishing up his last shift, deadened to the bustling evening around him.
He was barely clinging to his cramped apartment as it was. Even after working himself to the very bone to keep up school appearances and pay for his housing, Squall was barely there. One slip up and he would find himself on the streets... or even worse, crawling back to Paralia to face the music of his parents. No... no, returning to Paralia wasn't even an option. He would rather wither away and die on the streets of this city than attempt to seek the help of the people he was forced to call his mother and father. Turning to cast a final glance at the clothing store that once paid his bills and put food on his table, Squall exhaled a heavy sigh. Then, without a second thought, he took off down the pavement, opposite of the direction he usually went after work. It was Tuesday night. But Squall was not heading home to prepare for another day. Actually, he had no idea where he was going. Perhaps it was he simply didn't care anymore.
Dusk faded into early night. Squall continued to walk, hands thrust into the pockets of the leather coat he could only afford from employee discounts. Discounts which he no longer possessed. Cars whipped past him along the roads. People crossed his path and rushed by as they hurried to reach wherever destination they were heading to for the night. It was a long, long time before Squall came to a halt. And even then, it was only because the cold of night had finally gotten to him. The brunet caught notice of an open facility; he had no idea what it was, nor did he check to see. He simply nudged the door open with a shoulder and entered inside, acknowledging after a moment of examination that he had, in fact, stepped into a café.
Squall paid no attention to his surroundings. A miserable atmosphere clung to his figure. He dragged himself to the nearest empty seat. It took all of his willpower not to lay his head down on the table and lament his situation. The only thing that prevented him from doing so was the presence of so many other people. Squall had to be strong. He could not afford to show these strangers how weak he felt, how hopeless and bleak his situation seemed. But Squall was tired. So, so, tired. He was tired of the nonstop stream of work. He was tired of fighting tooth and claw to live. He was tired of combating his parents by living in Kairos, and yet he was incapable of stopping. The energy had been sapped from his body. Physical exertion was growing more and more of a challenge with each passing day. Pale blue eyes radiated fatigue... and so, Squall could not help but put his vulnerabilities on display, if only in the form of a resigned hanging of his head in his hands.
It occurred to him, somewhere in the back of his overworked mind, that a waitress or some such would likely approach him soon. It wasn't good courtesy to loiter in an establishment without buying something... but unfortunately (everything was unfortunate today, wasn't it?) Squall hadn't the money to waste on a coffee or treat. So when that moment came, he figured he would need to leave. Until then, however, he would continue to sit... and continue to brood.
