Summary: Maxine, it read, You're an airhead so you probably haven't noticed, but there's some blue-haired bitch passed out underneath a table in the front. I have shit to do so just get her out of the cafe before it opens. Oh, and Nathan said he can't take his Sunday shift. It's all yours. - Victoria
Warnings: Some light (I'm talking, like, feather light here guys) anxiety
Extra Notes: The prompt was "It's my turn to open the cafe today and you were sleeping under one of the tables when I came in and I don't know what to say so I'm just sweeping awkwardly around you." Also, this isn't a heaping pile of garbage thanks to the efforts of my friend and beta APAccidentalAccount.
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Max stifled the yawn building in her throat and fumbled with the keys to the cafe. The back door unlocked with a quiet click and she quickly shuffled inside, closing it before any of the cold morning air could get in. Max sighed quietly – Nathan had left the broom on the floor again – and rolled the early-morning ache out of her shoulders.
Tossing her bag into a corner of the cafe, she turned on her phone and pocketed it after clicking on a random playlist. She batted the earbud wires out of her way, surveying the surprisingly clean floor, before bending down to pick up the broom. Kate must have done a bit of housekeeping before she locked up last night. Sweet girl. Max made a mental note to tack a quick thank you letter to the employees-only bulletin board once she had finished sweeping. After slowly working her way over the the counter, she stopped to glance at the board hung up on the wall behind the register.
Someone had pinned up a neat-lettered note. She blinked when she caught the largest word – Maxine.
Max scowled at the paper but plucked it off of the board all the same.
Maxine, it read, You're an airhead so you probably haven't noticed, but there's some blue-haired bitch passed out underneath a table in the front. I have shit to do so just get her out of the cafe before it opens. Oh, and Nathan said he can't take his Sunday shift. It's all yours. - Victoria
Max closed her eyes for a few moments and breathed deeply, listening to the soft plucking of guitar strings from her favorite album. She snagged a spare pen from off of the counter and penned Kate a quick thank you before flipping Victoria's note over.
I'll deal with it, she scrawled, but this is the last time that I'm covering for Nathan. Some of us actually have to work for our grades. - Max. Never Maxine.
She ended up scratching out the last bit, but not enough for it to be illegible.
Max scoffed quietly at herself. She'd never actually say something like that out loud. As it was, she pinned the note back up with shaking hands and congratulated herself on even writing it in the first place.
She wrapped her fingers around the broom handle and shuffled her feet, nervously taking a peek at the front tables from beneath her bangs. There were more important issues to think about – like how was she going to wake this girl up, much less get her to leave before the cafe opened. She was probably going to be angry. No one liked being disturbed while they were sleeping.
Max shrugged to herself and continued sweeping. She'd figure it out later. Best to finish cleaning first; she could deal with it after everything else was taken care of.
Sunlight began to filter through the half-closed blinds at the front as she worked. Max stopped for a moment to watch dust particles float in the air, wishing that she had brought her camera. It would have made a great addition to her personal Quiet Mornings collection.
Max shook her head remorsefully and turned back to her task, only to realize that she had finished everything in the back.
She took hesitant steps over to the front of the store and crouched down, tilting her head to see beneath the tables.
Sure enough, there was a girl, curled up underneath one and clutching a beanie to her chest. Her chin-length hair bled from brown to purple to blue. Max figured that she wore the beanie to hide her discolored roots.
Dark bags smudged the skin beneath her eyes, and stress lines cut through her smooth-looking skin with cruel ease. She looked like she needed the rest.
Max stood and, not knowing what to say, began awkwardly sweeping around the girl with soft, fluttery strokes. She tossed a glance behind her shoulder, as if expecting her boss to magically appear and scold her for letting her sleep.
She turned back around just in time to see the broom smack the blue-haired girl in the face. Max froze and watched her nose scrunch up in annoyance.
"What the fuck," the girl said groggily. She blinked at the broom and followed the handle up toward Max.
Silence reigned.
"Seriously, what the fuck?"
"I-I'm so sorry," Max said, nearly dropping the broom. Her wide eyes dropped to the handle and stayed there, following the grain path in an effort to avoid looking at the girl she had woken up.
Max heard her sigh and shuffle around.
"So...could you move? I'm, uh, I'm kinda stuck here."
Max glanced at her. She was crouching now, neck craned awkwardly to the side so that it wouldn't hit the underside of the table. The beanie sat snugly atop her head. Max took a couple of quick steps back, dragging the broom with her.
"Sorry," she said again.
The girl shrugged and rubbed at one shoulder. "It's cool. Hey, you serve coffee here, right?"
Max nodded. "It's a cafe," she muttered.
The girl smirked. "Great, 'cause I'm hella hungover. Just grab me something, yeah? Don't really care what it is."
"Coffee doesn't actually help with hangovers," Max told her. The girl shrugged and began massaging her temples, so Max jogged over to the coffee machine anyway. Who was she to say no to a paying customer?
A few moments of silence later, Max handed her a cup and waited while the girl fished around for her wallet.
"Shit," she muttered, "shit, shit, shit."
"What happened?" Max asked.
"Fucking asshole stole my wallet is what happened," the girl snapped. She sighed and sank into a seat. "Nevermind about the coffee. Just...I dunno. Shit. Sorry."
Max glanced between her and the cash register uncertainly before making a decision. "It's okay," she said quietly. "What's your name?"
"Chloe," the girl answered dully. Her eyes were fixed on the table, shoulders hunched. She looked surprisingly vulnerable.
Max shook off the feeling of wrong, wrong, don't let her look like that and set the coffee down in front of her. "I'm Max."
Chloe's head snapped up, her glare both tired and angry. "I already fucking told you to forget about the c-"
"I'm paying," Max interrupted. "You, uh. You look like you could use it."
Chloe paused, eyes wide. She wrapped her fingers around the warm cup and bowed her head.
"Thanks," she whispered.
Max sat down in the chair across from her. "No problem," she replied quietly.
They watched the sunlight creep through the cafe together, brightening the wood of the tables and catching on the glass centerpieces. Max's eye caught a glint in the corner of the cafe, where she had tossed her bag, and stood up to investigate. Chloe glanced over at the sudden movement but quickly lost interest, turning back to stare unblinkingly at Max's empty chair.
Max huffed incredulously at her camera, nestled snugly in the biggest pocket of her backpack. She turned on her heel, ready to stalk away in frustration – honestly, that shot earlier would've fit so well with her collection – but the breath caught in her throat and she stopped mid-step.
Chloe sat a couple of yards in front of her, shoulders slumped wearily. Sunlight streamed through the window, giving her a white, shimmery outline. Her blue hair and punk-rock clothing stuck out against the antique wood of the chairs and tables surrounding her.
She was torn, and ragged, and beautiful.
She was perfect.
Max slowly bent down and grabbed her camera. She quietly stood and shifted so that Chloe was centered, and then backed away a bit, opening the shot up to a few more tables and chairs.
Chloe looked so alone, and Max's heart ached.
She took the picture.
Later, after she and Chloe had exchanged phone numbers, after a busy day at the cafe, and after editing a research paper for a friend, Max would pull the picture out of her pocket and run her thumb across the edges.
Later, she would flip it over and scrawl Quiet Mournings on the back.
Later, she would flip open her phone and click on Chloe's contact. She would hesitate and put her phone down. She would turn her gaze to the photo taped onto her wall, and look at the lone girl surrounded by empty chairs and empty tables.
She would pick up her phone and start typing.
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A/N: My writing blog is fitch-writes / . / tumblr / . / com if you're interested in bits of unrelated narrative/ have questions/ have prompts.