Nathan Miller worked at the tackiest diner within a hundred miles. The Dropship Diner was one part 50's chrome and two parts UFO enthusiast. The squat metallic building looked like an RV refitted as the lunar lander, and the worst part was that the appearance was intentional. The floors were always sticky. The bathrooms had questionable poetry and dubious artwork scribbled on every surface. The food was a coronary delivered on a plate featuring a smiling martian.
Miller hated his job, but college textbooks were expensive and his ROTC scholarship didn't kick in until sophomore year. His father had taken out a loan to cover tuition costs, but supplies and housing were coming straight from Nathan's pocket.
He had just finished freshman year, and only had two months left before his scholarship would allow him to quit. Two more months of minimum wage, of coming home smelling like used cooking grease, and he'd be free.
For the past month that knowledge had been enough to keep him in a fairly good mood during the long hours in the cramped kitchen, but not this day. His roommate, Murphy, had reaffirmed his reputation as a giant asshole by emptying Miller's dresser and closet and refilling them with hairnets.
Murphy had found it hilarious, despite Miller's reminders that the Dropship Diner didn't bother making their staff wear hairnets. He'd had to put Murphy in a headlock to force out the location of his uniform, but the rest of his clothes were stashed somewhere in town. Knowing he had nothing at home to change into at the end of his shift had prevented him from brushing the frustrating morning away.
He'd scowled and grumbled at every coworker for the past three hours, and two more months of the Dropship suddenly seemed intolerable.
So when Bellamy, one of the servers, slid a ticket into the kitchen window with a particularly heinous order, Miller didn't bother holding back his response.
"Fucking gross," He wrinkled his nose at the custom-ordered sandwich he'd have to make. Scrambled eggs, tarter sauce, and pickles added onto the bacon cheeseburger, along with a request for it to be extra greasy. Miller shook his head and pulled the ticket off the spindle, mentally preparing himself to make the abomination.
"Did he just insult my sandwich?" A groggy voice carried through the window.
"Shit," Miller muttered. 90% of the time the bar seats by the kitchen window stayed empty, so 90% of the time no customers could hear remarks from the kitchen. Yet despite those odds, the one time he'd chosen to bad-mouth an order was the one time the customer was within earshot.
The sound of laughter made his sudden panic dissipate just in time for Bellamy's face to reappear in the window with one eyebrow raised in judgment.
"Sorry," Miller called out, as much to Bellamy as to the customer.
"Actually, your description was pretty accurate," The mystery voice answered, "It's supposed to be gross, though. It's for a hangover."
"What?" Miller chuckled, enjoying the distraction of conversation and trying not to gag on the smell of the Dropship's sad excuse for tarter sauce.
"Hangover food. Self-explanatory, really," He could almost hear the guy shrugging, and somewhere between insulting the order and sliding the finished product onto a plate shaped like a flying saucer, Miller decided he had to see gross-sandwich-guy. He put the plate on a spare server tray and was about to step through the kitchen door when Bellamy came in.
"Seems like you got out of your bad mood," Bellamy tried to look serious, but was clearly holding back a smile, "But that's my job," He pointed to the tray.
"I just wanted to-"
"To flirt with a customer," Bellamy spoke low enough not to be heard through the window, "Just get back in here before the lunch rush kicks in."
Miller nodded and left the kitchen. There were two guys about his age sitting at the bar, but one of them was slumped over and possibly passed-out. It was difficult to determine consciousness with the guy wearing shaded ski-goggles over his face. The other one had to be the gross-sandwich-guy. His black hair was disheveled and his eyes were blood-shot, but he was still undeniably cute. He was scrolling through his phone with a look of amused regret, a look Miller himself had worn after plenty of nights out partying. The guy was so consumed with his phone he didn't see Miller walking over.
"The key to good hangover food," The stranger called through the kitchen window without looking away from his phone, "isn't taste. It's about effectiveness. Like pepto-bismol. That stuff's demonic pink ectoplasm, but I'll chug a whole bottle if I need to."
"You sound pretty chipper for someone with a hangover," Miller tried to maintain a neutral expression as he placed the food on the bar. Gross-sandwich-guy jumped in place, his eyes going wide with surprise. Miller bit his lower lip to keep from grinning at how adorable the guy was, "And thanks for comparing my cooking to pepto bismol."
The guy suddenly seemed to struggle for words, so Miller gave him a smile. The unconscious guy next to gross-sandwich-guy gave a pitiful groan of torment.
"I'm never drinking again, Monty. Your moonshine should be illegal," Goggles buried his face in his hands and grumbled.
"It is illegal, Jasper," Sandwich-guy, Monty apparently, gave Miller a sheepish look, "Not that I make illegal moonshine. I- I don't. We hap-happened to... we found it."
Miller chuckled, "I almost ended up in the hospital last time I drank moonshine. How are you functional right now?"
A nervous grin lit up Monty's face, "I'm a professional."
"Oh, I thought you just happened to find it?"
"Well," Monty blushed, "That may have been less than truthful."
Miller knew he was grinning like an idiot, "I've got to get back to the kitchen. I'll let you eat in peace," He smiled at Monty, then glanced at the still-groaning Jasper, "Is he gonna need an ambulance?"
"He'll be fine after some coffee," Monty smiled, "I didn't catch your name, by the way."
"Nathan."
"Well, Nathan, thanks for insulting my food. This was a pretty fun talk."
"Any time," Miller started walking away, then decided to take a chance, "Tonight at seven would be perfect, for example."
Monty made that same, wonderfully cute expression of utter shock, "What?"
It was Miller's turn to look nervous, "I'm asking you out. We could get some food, maybe watch a movie."
"Absolutely."
"Cool. I'll write my number on your receipt. I really need to get back to the kitchen or I'll get fired," He left before he said anything embarrassing.
The moment he entered the kitchen, a new ticket was being placed in the window. He'd barely started making the order when Monty's voice came through the window again.
"Jasper. Jasper wake up. Did you see him? "
"Hmm?"
"You're staying at Maya's tonight. I've got a date."
"What?" Jasper's groggy voice was sounding slightly more aware, "Since when?"
"Since five minutes ago. You were busy drooling."
"He hot?"
"Very."
"That's my boy. I knew you had game."
Miller tried his best to keep his laughter quiet. He didn't want Monty to remember he could hear through the window.
Provided he could convince Murphy to give him back his clothes, Miller's day was looking up.