The leather felt like steel to her forehead, her dash a black abyss to her hooded eyes. There was blissful silence. She couldn't understand how her body had the energy to yawn. Her left hand found the lever below and pushed it.
Kagome had landed herself in some parking lot with a strip center, halfway between school and halfway between bed sweet bed. Her right hand felt around across the console in the passenger seat. Dragging a blue down blanket over herself, the woman curled up on the laid-back driver's seat. A little power nap will help recover her from the all-nighter at the library.
The old time-clock spit out his card. He stretched up and elongated his core, then plucked the time sheet and dropped it in the box above. His bag flew to the cubby with a slam. A dull pain throbbed in the back of his neck and if he even smirked at all today, it would be because he'd gone mad.
"Morning sunshine."
He muttered darkly, "she-devil" to the bitch sitting prettily in her office-chair, eyeshadow and ponytail, all slick and pristine. She shot daggers with her eyes but her smirk pissed him off. Sango was a morning person. And he was not.
Inuyasha put up his hair into a lazy man bun, and snatched a hat off the rack. Flicking on the light above the grill, the sight made him furious.
"WHO THE FUCK WAS ON LAST SHIFT?!"
Sango, used to the angry dog-demon, yelled back calmly from the comfort of her office, "Who do you think?"
Hojo was gonna get it next time he crossed him. Inuyasha would make sure that the part-time student either got fired, or got only the busiest shifts for the next month. Whoever closes has to clean the grill. Or. Else.
One sniff and he knew that the grease hadn't been dumped either. "Disgusting … thinks he can get away with this. I'll kill him …"
He knew Sango was behind him as he labored over the now-warm metal surface, scrubbing away the grime, "Now now. Don't be such a grump. You know Sunday shifts can be terrible when it comes to closing the store."
Inuyasha didn't reply. He'd already exerted any energy left for argument. Even if he did, Sango wouldn't report him for yelling unlike the other managers. This shitty job at this shitty breakfast joint was all society would let the likes of him have. He wasn't about to quit and lose his pride.
Sango set the cash tray in the ancient, yellowed register. Wary of the ill-tempered grill man behind her, she softly, yet firmly, warned him, "We open in five."
Soft chimes gently told the sleeping woman to rise and awaken. Daylight. 7 am. Her eyes were hooded, slightly sore, but the rest of her felt swell physically. The light from outside was a laser in the shade of her car, but it would definitely not inspire her mind any energetic notions.
Her emotions were upped however. Her final project was done. Sitting up and checking her face of tiredness in the mirror, her head felt level, tranquil. Stomach roaring at its emptiness, she'd hardly remembered to eat last night.
"Okay. You can do this. Just brave the blinding day and go feed yourself."
With efficient force, the world brightened maddeningly as the door faded away. If she could, she'd curse the white concrete. She'd curse little brothers for stealing her shades, curse city planners for the lack of trees. There was no energy nor hate within her for these things. Crossing the parking lot was little struggle and she was grateful for the awning that accented Rumiko's.
The door dinged and the line was short. Most of the occupants were already settled with their food. A girl manned the register, as one does like every retail. Seriously, there's maybe ten percent likeliness that it'll be a guy. What's up with that? Everything here was nearly as old as the store, the food quality keeping it up and running. The service was efficient too.
Whatever the teen was greeting to Kagome, it didn't compute. She just gave a simple hi and glanced up quickly to whatever she sees first on the menu. Written in big letters right smack in the middle was the special. Saliva was being swallowed back for the sake of her voice, "I'll just get a water and the Waffle Pile please."
The woman's eyes livened a bit from the robotic order-after-order retail humdrum. "Um. It's a big serving miss. Are you sure?"
Kagome missed her implied tone of understatement, missed the head turn of the cook in the back who couldn't have possibly heard from that distance, the boy beside him looking up confused and waiting for him to continue an order.
She gave an expressionless "yep."
While she was looking down into the insides of her wallet, Nazuna turned to the watching demon who flicked his eyes at the customer pointedly and she shrugged in reply. It's not like they could deny a customer what they want unless they didn't have it. The poor woman didn't look like she had the energy to battle the beast of a meal with her dark circles and weak smile.
As if nothing was amiss, Inuyasha resumed his work, except, "Kohaku."
The prep cook hummed.
"Ready the waffle iron."
The boy left his post, the left-hand of the grill, and flicked the switch for the iron, in view of Sango from her office.
"Ooh have fun making that shit." He heard her sarcastic sympathy through the noise of the fans in the overhead. Not that it tasted like shit, though he hadn't bothered to try it, if it was a pain in the ass to make, they all automatically hated it. If not for the customers and his lack of energy, an insistent "shaddup" would have been voiced loud and clear.
Kagome sat at the empty counter, resting her weight on the surface with crossed arms. If she just leaned forward a bit, she could see the cook working on people's orders.
She had a mental quest to find anything entertaining enough to keep her awake so they don't deliver their giant waffle pile to a snoring Kagome. Her eyes had lazily flitted over to the boy who was bringing orders to the other counter, and decided to follow the most fast-paced person in the room, hoping he'll inspire her some energy through some psychic means. It was too bad that they didn't have energy drinks here.
As he returned to his post, handing the cook some sausage patties to toss on the grill, Kagome paused and squinted. She wasn't so tired that she was seeing things. She couldn't possibly be seeing pristine, thick white hair.
Maybe he bleached it? But it's so white.
Previously only seeing the back, the cook turned his head to speak to the boy, and she caught his side-profile of black apron and red t-shirt, the dip from brow to cheek for deep-set eyes that was cut off by high cheekbones. White hair or not, he was … something else, and that was a way to wake her up just enough.
Kohaku watched a sudden fire light up in the cook. Of course he's always got energy to burn. With a flip of his spatula, the metal scraped away the grease into the square hole as he prepared his canvas, clearing away the other food, for the masterpiece. He lined up ten eggs from the bucket in the concave long dip of the grill, applying a fresh coat of oil before each shell got tapped on the hot surface then tossed to the trash beside him.
10 eggs in 10 seconds. He was definitely using some untapped reserves of energy.
Or he was just angry. No one likes to make big orders.
Kohaku mentally shrugged it off. There was no telling. He simply had the plate with the waffle ready in front of him, though it would be Inuyasha taking the order for once. It's the rules. The cook takes the specials- oh. That's probably what he was upset about. He hated having to interact with customers, even if he had the excuse to run back to the grill to hurry up the remaining orders.
He didn't dare look at him as it dawned. Sango didn't mind Inuyasha going up there, but any other manager wouldn't risk the possibility of conflict that they expected from customers who ate food prepared by a demon, half or not. Daring a glance at the grill, he noticed that his claws were trimmed to the skin, something he had to do as often as one would for shaving. As long as he could avoid eye contact, the only thing that could cause the slightest suspicion would be the white that spilled from his cap.
Oh great. Leaving the grill for any reason other than to get more food was highly annoying. There's something about the disruption of read, organize, crack, flip, sizzle, and serve that just ruins the mojo, the rhythm. He didn't give a damn what people thought. He may be serving, but he was no servant, and this girl better not give him any hassle.
The scrambled eggs were ready and fluffy in metal ovals of different sizes. Whoever put this on the menu clearly didn't ask any of their cooks for their opinion. In effect, he was stacking eggs into a perfect pile that was bound to become a mess left behind because it was difficult to eat for even the most well-mannered. The final result was about 9 inches tall with the waffle beneath.
Kohaku sprinkled salt and pepper, then passed it back to him. He set down his spat, took off the plastic gloves, and took it. They made eye contact, "Watch the grill?"
"Yeah."
Kagome averted her eyes as she saw the readied plate that was obviously hers.
Surprise was not an emotion she could access when she was this out of whack. Some little part of her did flip inside at the cook taking the plate. Saying she felt a bit warm would be understating it.
And then he was in front of her, a frown but calm expression with it. The plate slid a bit with the push of his hand- a very good-looking hand. She didn't feel like braving to meet him. Kagome believed that you truly first met someone by looking into their soul. And that after doing so it can get awkward.
His voice called her eyes to him in the instant he spoke, "Here's your meal."
Maybe she could actually finish it, he thought. Her hungry gaze never left the plate. An awkward and unpracticed three words ensued between them. He was about to flee- "Thank you."
It was no ritual thanks. Not a last thought after realizing how much effort a meal like that takes. It was a genuine girl giving a genuine thanks like it was the finest meal she'd seen in her life. His spine suddenly pulled him up tight and his shoulders flung back in slight shock. He felt a layer of fire coat his face, and then he was struggling quickly to find his voice. His chin bobbed slightly before he remembered how to say "You're welcome."
Mortally embarrassed for nothing, he twisted his stiff joints away and left her to return to his post, only to see Kohaku standing there with not a ticket in sight. Fearfully, his gaze darted to Nazuna, who was at her post, sitting on a stool, picking her nails as she ignored an empty line.
Feeling helpless, he groaned at the fact there was now nothing to distract him from thinking of her.
The half-demon leaned against the counter by his grill, arms crossed and their sinewy curves plush. Though she was tired, something gave her the energy to actually study him between bites of eggalicious. He either kept his head bent staring at his shoes, exchanged words or chuckles with his assistant, turned to wipe a counter or wash dishes. She snorted softly at the frame of his shoulders that hinted at the man's stubborn sense of bravado. The cockiness in his gait when he moved to the tub of a sink that held dirty dishes.
The store started to become vacant, only two tables occupants left. Not that she noticed, because when she wasn't watching the cute half-demon, she was staring into space, holding the fork to her lips and wondering about her encounter with the man.
Occasionally she'd get a lock on his gaze, and his strangely revealed nothing. He saw her as an open book. One look told him she was a student of some kind. Her beanie a constant pillow to her no-doubt tired brain. The sweatpants he'd glanced when he'd towered over the counter were soft and wrinkled had him imagining her cross-legged in a chair with a textbook or laptop. The slight squint beneath her brows when she met him. Oh he knew she'd discovered his halves right away.
A spontaneous quirk of her mouth, had anybody seen it, would be the ultimate hint that she was fishing for a pen in her pocket and sliding an unused napkin to the center of her counter space, the empty plate scooted aside.
Her grin as she devoured his creation was bright with energy. He couldn't help but turn away to hide the smirk that was insistent to stay plastered to his expression. No matter what he was doing, wiping, scrubbing, chatting- she was in the forefront of his mind. And he was very good at operating with items on the back-burners while the front was occupied with a huge order of importance.
He didn't see her leave, but the empty space she left behind sunk him to a new low. Her presence itself was energy. Now all the weight was suddenly in his feet as he sauntered over to clear away her spot. A pile of all her items, napkins, utensils, and cup upon her plate and his shoulders slumped. Such a good girl.
That he could never have- how could he have missed the perfect white square scribbled purple with two words and ten numbers? All the fog of mope-land didn't exist. The cloth was gently slipped along the counter into his pocket, then patted next to his cheap slidey phone.
May get a part 2