Your name is Gilbert Bielschmidt, you're currently in the process of ordering a pizza and damn, you can't tell if the guy who's taking your order is high or drunk. Or both.

"Did you want anchovies or pepperoni?" He half-screams into the phone and you wonder if you're going to go deaf from this anytime soon. It's been half an hour and the pizza still isn't done. Mostly because the dipshit who was answering didn't understand anything that he was saying.

"For the fifth time," You groan, loudly, Antonio glancing your way with a questioning glare. "I'm ordering a large pizza with extra cheese, or is that too complex for your tiny-ass brain?" You were getting tired of the guy on the phone, and so were your friends. Perhaps it would've been smarter to just fucking drive to the pizza place and get something, it would definitely take a shorter amount of time, and you aren't getting anywhere with the guy on the phone with you.

You're about to say "forget it," and hang up when you hear shouting and what seems to be a sober voice. "I'm sorry, sir," The voice is soft. So much softer and quieter than the fucktard that was on the phone before. "I do hope Carlos didn't get on your nerves, I only just came back from my break and found him screaming at a bottle of ketchup with a phone in his hand. May I take your order?" You breath a sigh of relief and run your hand through your dove white hair before answering.

"I'd like a large pizza with extra cheese," You hear a grunt and take that as confirmation. At least this guy is able to understand a word of the human language.

You finish up ordering after that and holy shit are you relieved. The other guy had almost given you a headache and your ears were ringing from all his screaming. "Did you manage to order pizza from that crazy man, cher? I could hear his screaming from all the way over here," Francis called from the couch, casually flipping through channels. Toni seemed to be taking a nap on the loveseat. Had you really taken that long?

"Yes and no," You grunt, sitting on the very edge of the couch to avoid getting hands on with one of your best friends. "Some other guy took the phone and I managed to order something." Francis nods and looks back at the TV, finally finding something that interests him. The beauty channel.

"Gaaaay," You whisper and he smirks, kicking you off the edge of the sofa with such a smug look on his face that you find yourself wondering if he fucking practiced it a million times.

You lie on the ground for a good 15 minutes, having nothing else to do, before you are forced to get up, the doorbell ringing and someone yelling "Pizza delivery!"

To be honest, you weren't sure what you were expecting. Some guy with an acne farm on his face, you'd supposed, and oh god this was nothing like that.

The guy looked like he had come from a modeling magazine. His eyes were a colour between lavender and blue, almost indescribable. His hair was a lovely blonde colour with a cute little curl sticking out. His body seemed to be perfect; you could see that he was lean with just the right amount of muscle to come off as a dude. Definitely not the kind of guy you expected to be working at a shitty pizza restaurant.

You stare for a while before opening your mouth to speak, yet no words come out. You, the great and awesome Gilbert, aren't sure what to say.

"You're the guy who ordered pizza, correct? I think his name was Gilbert..." His voice sounds perfect, differing slightly from when he was speaking on the phone with him.

"Sure I am," You finally find the ability to speak, yet you're still staring at him dumbly like a 13-year-old school girl with her first crush. "But first I'd like to order a slice of that ass."

That night you received a slap in the face.

And a phone number from a certain blonde-haired, violet-eyed man.

I don't know if i'll ever continue this oops