"Oi Simon, Mr. Hungry Man just popped in."

Penelope walked over to where Simon was sitting and pulled her water bottle out of her backpack. Management called the room their "mucho grande room of staff" but Simon was pretty sure something had gotten lost in translation. For one, there was absolutely nothing mucho grande about their staff room, unless it was supposed to be a walk-in closet with a plastic table and two fold out chairs squeezed inside.

Simon groaned and put his hands over his face.

"I can't go out looking like this." He wore a shirt with a giant burrito and a sombrero that got caught in any doorway.

With her water bottle still in hand Penelope poked her head out the doorway. "You better go out because he just got in line and he's looking all around the dining room. The poor guy, he's probably looking for you." Penelope smirked over the top of her water bottle as she took a swig.

Simon let his hands drop and he looked up at her; they'd had this conversation a thousand times now. "Penny, he's just here for the food."

Penelope snorted. "Nobody likes burritos that much Simon."

It had all started one Thursday about three months back. It was pouring rain outside and it was absolutely dead in Mr. Burrito. Nobody felt like getting drenched just to buy a greasy, overpriced burrito that had a 1 in 7 chance of giving you food poisoning – Simon couldn't say he blamed them. His manager headed home early, muttering something about the rain destroying his potted jalapeno peppers which left Simon and Jeffrey to close up.

Jeffrey, bless him, was useless.

He'd been trying to catch the attention of the girl who delivered the university newspaper to the restaurant for months now and from where Simon stood, it looked like they were actually having a conversation. Simon was sure he was going to hear the play-by-play version of the conversation tomorrow, whether he wanted to or not.

Simon smiled to himself as snatched the broom and started putting the chairs onto the tables. Jeffrey was laughing at something the girl said when the door opened and someone came stomping in. Simon felt the draft of the open door swirl around his ankles.

The stranger, the man that just walked in, was soaked. From where he stood Simon could hear the man muttering something to himself, annoyed, as he ran his fingers through his black hair and shook his hair out. It stuck up like bristles on a broom and Simon was strangely tempted to smooth it back down. He snatched a handful of napkins off the table and started towards the man who now started to unbutton his coat.

Simon felt his foot snag on the forgotten broom. He scrambled to catch the end before it fell but he wasn't able to stop it from clattering ungracefully to the floor. He snatched it up and leaned it carefully against the table. When he looked up he found the man looking at him.

And oh sweet Crowley, Simon was pretty sure he forgot how to breathe.

Potentially forgot how to walk.

Maybe even forgot how to think.

Definitely forgot how to talk.

The man smiled bashfully at Simon. "Sorry, I know you're closing up but it just opened up outside. Would you mind if I waited it out for a couple minutes here?" The man laughed. "I don't much see the point, I guess. I'm already soaked as can be."

Simon stared at him gormlessly; his broom slipping against the floor and making him lose his balance. He gave himself a mental shake and told himself to at least try and act like a normal human being.

It was a daily struggle though, it truly was.

"Yeah, sure. No worries, mate," he said, aiming for effortless and sounding choked instead. "I've got to clean up anyways so I'll be here for a while."

The stranger smiled. "Thanks, I owe you one."

Simon left the stranger in the dining room and went back to the kitchen hoping that he'd be able to find some of his composure hiding behind all the ground beef. If only that were the case.

With his customer service skills kicking in, he dumped the broom by the door and poured a glass of water. On a split second thought he grabbed a couple kitchen towels from the shelf and pushed the door open.

"I thought you might use some water, and maybe some of these," Simon said, putting the kitchen towels on the table in front of the man.

The man laughed. "You thought I could use more water?"

Oh. Right.

Simon felt a flush crawling up his neck and he wished he had the broom with him just so he'd know what to do with his hands.

Maybe the man took pity on him but he took the glass from Simon's outstretched hand and drank half the contents. "To be fair," he said, "I only went swimming in the stuff. I didn't necessarily drink it."

Simon snorted.

"These," the man said, picking up one of the towels, "are a God send though. " He wiped his face in one of them and Simon had to look away when he saw a drop of water fall off a strand of his black hair and soak into the collar of his shirt.

"I'll, er, just be in the back finishing up. Shout if you need anything," Simon sputtered.

"Thank you, truly."

Simon turned around and went back to the kitchen before the man's smiled loosened his tongue enough and he'd end up declaring his love for 80's rock bands or something equally as embarrassing.

When the man left that night, walking away and disappearing around a corner, Simon figured that was the end of that. But it was now three months later and the man still regularly popped by. He'd make idle talk with Simon while he ordered his food but a few words were all they could manage. Sometimes the line-up was so long that they only managed to say a quick hello before the next person came up. Simon wondered if the man could see the way his fingers shook a little from nerves when he handed his food over. And if he took special care to make sure that the burrito wasn't soggy, well, it wasn't hair off another person's back.

But today was a dead day.

The boss had sent almost everyone home early because there was no point in keeping them all. Simon cut his break off early because he knew that Penelope was going to bug him until he went out and helped the man anyways. It wasn't as if he looked forward to seeing this mysterious stranger or that his heart stumbled upon itself whenever a customer with black hair and a dark pea coat walked in.

Lord, if he was Pinocchio, he could probably open the front door with his nose right about now.

Simon walked up to the counter, fighting with himself because half of him wanted to turn and run the other way and the other half of him wanted nothing more than to say something that will make the man laugh and look at him with the softened eyes.

Simon really was losing it.

"Hey," the man said, smiling.

Something in Simon sputtered and sparked. He smiled back – he absolutely couldn't help it. "Hey, how's your day going?"

This is good, this is good. That's a pretty normal thing to say. We're off to a great start, now just don't screw it up.

"Oh you know, fairly average as far as things go."

Simon hummed. "I hear you. Between you and I I'm counting down the minutes until my shift is done."

"Oh yeah? A lot left?"

"Nah, last ten minutes and then the next poor soul switches off with me."

The man's eyebrows rose at that but he just gave a noncommittal sound of agreement.

"So," Simon asked, "what will it be today?"

The man's eyes scanned the menu board behind Simon. "Ah, let's give the Vegetarian Delight a try today, yeah?"

Simon thought of the soggy, week-old carrots avocados that were turning black and he felt his nose almost crinkle from the thought. He glanced behind him to make sure the boss was out of earshot. "One Veggie Haven coming up then."

The man frowned. "Ugh, Vegetarian Delight actually."

Simon leaned a little closer. "Trust me, you really would much rather like the Veggie Haven." He raised his eyebrows.

"Oh," the man smiled conspiratorially. "Right, slip of the tongue. I meant to say one Veggie Haven."

"Good man," Simon said. He rang the order through and took the money. When he returned the change to the man's upturned palm he looked up and Simon could have sworn the man winked.

Then again, maybe it was the onions in the air.

Or an eyelash.

Or even an involuntary muscle twitch.

If the flush in Simon's cheeks were anything to go by, you'd think the man stripped naked on one of the wobbly plastic tables.

Simon tugged the hem of his sweater down all the way as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. Taking off his hairnet and tucking it into his pocket, he turned and gave Penelope a wave at the door before he pushed his way through.

He took a huge lungful of fresh air, happy to be out of the deep-fried air. He ran his hand through his hair and his curls sprang free, happy to be free of the hairnet. When he looked up he found he almost ran into some poor bloke on the sidewalk.

"Sorry mate," Simon said not paying attention as he went to go around the man.

"Simon."

Simon stopped and turned.

It was the mystery man. Simon almost tripped over his feet, which would have been a feat seeing as how they were rooted to the spot.

"Oh, hi, "Simon said lamely. "Er, I actually just clocked-out so if you want to complain about the food you'll have to talk with Penny." He pointed to inside the restaurant with his thumb.

The man's eyes went wide. "No I was actually just waiting for you."

Simon's eyebrows shot up. "You were waiting for me," he repeated slowly. He frowned when he realized how that sounded.

The man shook his head a little and took a step closer. "It's nothing like that," the man said, following Simon's train of thought. "You'd think in three months I would have found a less creepy way to say this," he muttered to himself.

"Say what?"

The man looked at him, his hands worrying the inside of his pockets with his fingers. "I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee or tea, or hot chocolate," the man laughed, "or milk."

Simon laughed softly. He was certain his eyebrows and his hairline were going to become best friends at this rate. "Milk?"

The man groaned. "Oh give a guy a break."

Simon felt something in him glow as he looked at the man before him.

"Come on then," Simon said after a fistful of seconds, with more confidence than he was feeling, "let's go split a jug of milk."

The man's gaze linked with his own. "Yeah?"

Simon's crooked heart gave a lurch when he saw the earnestness in his gaze.

"Come on, I think I know where we can get a pitcher of this town's finest milk." He started walking.

"Oh shut up," the man chided softly as he fell into step beside Simon.

"I know you know my name but I don't know yours," Simon said after a few paces.

"It's Baz."

"It's nice to officially meet you, Baz," Simon said, sending Baz a smile.

"I've got to tell you something else, though."

Simon frowned, "Yeah?"

"I hate burritos."

Simon laughed so hard he had to hold onto the lamp post.