A/N: This is just a silly thing I thought of don't mind me
If there's one thing Levi dislikes about his job other than the constant gossip in the back room, it's waiting tables.
He should probably like it more because the tips are admittedly quite nice, but he just finds something irritating about having to look friendly and introducing himself to strangers whose names he never gets in return. Not that he particularly cares, but he supposes it's the principle of the matter. He also seems to always get the most indecisive customers, ones who spend forever deciding if they'd rather have Coke or Diet Coke, much to his chagrin.
So he tries to stick to washing dishes or simply delivering plates of food as much as possible, but sometimes waiting tables is inevitable, especially when they're short on staff.
"Annie called in sick today," Armin informs him as he walks in around 1 PM for his afternoon shift. "You've got her tables for now."
Levi scowls but nods; he needs to make extra money before school starts again, money that with a little luck and fewer bets with Hanji will help him finish paying off student loans before he's thirty, and tips will help. Still, fifteen minutes later he has to approach his first table consciously trying not to look displeased; he sets down a menu and picks up his notepad without really looking at the seated customer.
"I'm Levi and I'll be your server today. Can I get you anything to start off with?"
"Good afternoon! Could I have a Sprite and calamari for the appetizer, please?"
When he glances at the speaker—she didn't even look at the menu yet—she smiles at him, and it does something strange to his brain, to the point that he almost doesn't hear her add, "I looked at the menu online while waiting for a table."
"Uh… yeah, okay," he manages to respond coherently. "Anything else?"
For the rest of the time she is there, he tries not to stare because he's standing over her (even if he isn't tall at all) and he feels like a creep, but he is able to note the exact shade of her hair (a burnt golden-orange, like darkened sunbursts), the color of her eyes (a warm amber brown, like glazed honey), and the patterns of freckles dotting her cheeks (he's never thought freckles were interesting before, but hers undoubtedly are).
It isn't until she waits for him to return with her change—she paid in cash—and thanks him again before leaving, favoring him with one last smile, that he looks down at the generous tip on the table, realizes he never got her name, and decides he is in way over his head.
.
.
.
"That," Sasha declares, "is the most big-ass tip I have ever seen."
"It's not that much," he mutters, thinking he shouldn't have mentioned it at all. He normally doesn't participate in the back room chatter, but that one table he waited kept preying on his mind as he worked for reasons he doesn't really want to think too hard about, so he's focusing on the tip instead.
"Olive Garden isn't some fancy-pants restaurant," Sasha says, examining the crisp twenty like she doubts its authenticity. "You said she ate alone and only ordered one appetizer, a drink, a main course, and no dessert—nothing extra to take back or anything. And you didn't do anything special for her—" She pauses and squints down at him suspiciously. "Okay, your nice would be everyone else's pissy, anyway."
Levi snatches the bill back but does not refute the comment; she kind of has a point. "Forget I said anything."
He doesn't think he's easy to read—he usually just looks bored or like she said, pissy, even if he feels perfectly fine—but Sasha squints at him further—and then her eyes widen and something like glee starts to spread across her face. "You like her, don't you?"
"What? No," he snaps, heading back towards the sinks, where a pile of dishes awaits scrubbing before they can be loaded into the dishwasher. He turns the water on, but Sasha follows him anyway, grinning.
"You didn't mention how old she was, but I bet she's young—unless she's not?" She taps her fingers thoughtfully against her chin. "Didn't know you went for older women, but I suppose it makes sense; all the guys who work here have looked at Historia more than once except you."
He huffs. "She's about my age, maybe a bit younger, and I don't like—"
Sasha crows in delight, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Your age! Perfect—Reiner!"
The big blond sticks his head out of the kitchen. "You called?"
"If you ever see this girl anywhere—short, his height"—she jabs a thumb at Levi—"with… orange hair, you said?"
"Kind of golden-brownish-orange," he corrects without thinking.
Reiner laughs so loudly, two other people pause in the middle of working to glance over. "I'll keep an eye out," he promises, shooting Levi a wink. Levi only glares.
"Eye out for what?" Armin asks, ducking back into the room from the restaurant outside. He has three empty plates and a tray of unwashed glasses in his hands and a harried look in his eyes, but his blond hair is as neat as ever.
"For Levi's girlfriend. Haven't you heard?" Sasha bounds over and claps a hand on the shorter boy's shoulder, nearly upsetting the neat array of items balanced in his palms. "He's in love."
Levi closes his eyes for a second and reminds himself his next paycheck is only a week away.
.
.
.
The restaurant they work at is an Olive Garden in the corner of a large shopping plaza, complete with cell phone company stores, fast food places, a bank, a Marshall's, and the requisite giant Wal-Mart in the center of everything. On his way home, he parks his car not far from the entrance and slips in to buy laundry detergent.
He's walking down the aisles, searching for the one that holds what he needs, when he turns and nearly bumps into someone. He steps back as the other person curses and trips, and then raises an eyebrow when he sees who it is.
"Kirschtein," he says.
"Hey, Ackerman." The taller boy nods once. Levi remembers seeing him around before on visits to his cousin Mikasa's home; Jean Kirschtein was a neighbor and two or three years younger than him in school.
"How's your summer?" Jean asks, clearly feeling awkward but determined to be polite. They never knew each other; Levi suspected Jean had a crush on either Mikasa or her friend Eren at some point but for the most part, he never thought much about his cousin's friends. He has enough trouble communicating with people his age anyway; he doesn't need to think about younger kids.
"Fine," Levi says. He should probably ask the same question in return, but he honestly doesn't give a fuck about the answer and he just wants to get the laundry detergent and go home; he needs to wash at least three loads tonight. He starts to nod and walk around Jean, but then he notices the curious way the kid is eyeing him.
"What?"
"Nothing." Jean shrugs. "Just… Sasha mentioned you have a girlfriend now or something?"
That stops Levi in his tracks. "What?"
"So you do?" Jean looks as surprised as Levi feels. "Most people thought you weren't interested in girls," he says, but those words are mumbled under his breath and Levi has a feeling he isn't meant to hear them. He feels something throbbing in his temple and he takes a deep breath, telling himself to just clear up the matter, get the damn detergent already, and leave.
"I don't know what the hell Sasha's been saying but I do not—"
"Hey, Levi."
He turns to find Mikasa entering the aisle behind him, her friend Eren in tow. Jean's eyes widen at their approach and Levi idly wonders which one he's interested in.
"Hey." He removes one hand from his pocket in a half-hearted wave and checks the time on his watch in the same motion; it's getting late and if he doesn't get back to do his laundry soon Isabel's probably going to nag him to wash things for her too. "I gotta go; see you."
Mikasa is used to his blunt manner and only waves back before turning to face Jean. As Levi hurries off, he thinks he hears Jean say, "Wait, so I heard your cousin's dating someone now?"
For fuck's sake. Levi contemplates turning back to tell the three of them that no, he is not fucking dating anyone and he does not have a fucking girlfriend now shut the fuck up about his love life (or lack thereof), but then he only shakes his head and hurries on. It'll die down soon, he reassures himself. Gossip always does.
.
.
.
"Levi! I'm so proud of you!"
It's a good thing he remembered to lock his door or his annoying little sister would have probably barged in already. Instead he hears his doorknob rattle through his earphones, and he pulls one out to glower at the entrance to his room with a certain air of resignation; she's just going to annoy him until he lets her in.
He stands and moves from his desk to stride across the room and pull open the door; his sister practically tumbles through in her excitement. Isabel is still in high school and just old enough to to drive, which he thinks puts her at quite a dangerous age. She dives onto his bed without his permission, wrinkling his sheets, and he winces when he sees one of her sneakered feet touch the duvet.
"What are you talking about?" he asks, walking over to his laptop and closing it casually. He hardly ever uses Facebook and Isabel would probably freak out if she saw it open in his browser; he's not trying to find anyone on it or anything. Not at all.
"I mean, I've kissed someone before you, big bro. It took you long enough!"
He can feel that headache from earlier starting to form again. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
She tsks at him for his foul language and pushes herself into a sitting position, grinning slyly at him. "Well, if you're dating a girl then I'm sure you've kissed her, right?"
Levi takes a deep breath, counts to ten in his head, and releases it. When he speaks, his voice is as calm as he was hoping it would be. "Who the hell told you I was dating someone?"
"So you are!" Isabel's mouth falls open. "I thought Mikasa was just kidding—"
"You heard this from Mikasa?" Their cousin isn't the sort to gossip about such things.
"I brought it up first, something about how you aren't looking for a summer fling like a lot of college kids who aren't in relationships do—"
"College kids? We're older than you."
"—and then she said she heard from Jean who heard from Sasha who works with you that you were seeing someone." The look on Isabel's face is one of pure delight. "Wow, I can't believe this. You're finally growing up, big bro. I'm so proud of you!"
"Listen." Levi stares at his sister until she is quiet to make sure she will hear his next words clearly. "I served her at work. Once. She gave me a huge tip. That's it. I do not—"
"So there is a girl." Isabel stands and drops his pillow onto his bed, and when she smirks at him he thinks he's never seen her look so devious before. "And she gave you a big tip, huh? And you served her at Olive Garden? Did you pluck her any flowers? Or just one flower in particular?"
Levi's not sure what is more horrifying, the fact that Isabel is using literary metaphors to talk about sex or just the fact that Isabel is talking to him about sex, period. "Out," he growls, pointing at the door.
She laughs as she dodges the pillow he throws at her, swinging the door shut behind her. "It's about time!" she calls as she bounds down the hallway, leaving him to curse after her for two minutes before returning to his laptop. He has important things to do, after all.
.
.
.
The search on Facebook proved fruitless, and as he walks into work the next day he thinks he just might ask to wait tables—until he remembers that no one in their right mind goes to eat at Olive Garden two days in a row, so he stays in the back, preparing to do dish duty for the afternoon.
Unfortunately, Annie is still on sick leave, so he heads out once more with a notepad and what hopefully looks like a smile plastered on his face. The smile falters when he catches sight of a flash of orange-gold across the room.
Don't be a dumbass, he tells himself, and walks over. His throat feels dry and he tries his best to ignore his heart's newly developed acrobatic tendencies.
"Can I get you anything?" he asks the girl seated at the same table she was yesterday, and when she looks up at him her face splits into a grin.
"Hey," she says. "Nice to see you again. I'd like Sprite, and… aren't you going to give me a menu?"
Right. He hands her the menu quickly and lets go before she has a firm hold on it. It falls to the floor; they both reach for it at the same time and he ends up knocking heads with her.
"Shit, sorry," he blurts, then squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that when he opens them, the past five minutes will have been an ill-timed hallucination. No such luck; when he opens his eyes the girl is rubbing her head but still there, laughing, the menu in her hand.
"So," she says, opening the booklet and perusing it, "I'm guessing you didn't see my number or you would have told me about this relationship we apparently have before you told others?"
He doesn't register her meaning at first; he simply blinks at her, uncomprehending, until Sasha and Jean and Isabel's words come rushing back to him like three consecutive slaps across the face. He tries to look nonchalant, but he doesn't need a mirror to know spots of red are rushing to his cheeks. "I didn't tell anyone that we were—people were just being assholes and—wait—your number?"
"Yeah." She flips a page and continues staring at the menu, but he's pretty sure she's hiding a smile. "I wrote my number on the back of the customer copy of the receipt and stuck it in the checkbook as well. I'm guessing you didn't see it?"
"I…" When he saw the customer copy of the receipt in the checkbook yesterday he figured she had left it there by accident and promptly thrown it out. "No, I didn't."
"I figured." She looks at him then and he swallows; there is a mischievous smile curving her lips. "I wouldn't have known you were interested if Isabel hadn't told me about this girl her brother apparently met at work."
Levi can only stare back at her; a million things run through his head at once, from I'm going to kill Isabel to why the fuck am I such an idiot but in the end he only says, "Wait, you know Isabel?"
"We've been doing community service together at the local nursing home this summer," the girl says. "I knew she had an older brother but I never knew his name or what he was doing. Until now." She sets the menu down and grins; she has dimples in her cheeks. "I'm Petra, by the way. Petra Ral."
"I'm L—" He stops himself from stating the obvious just in time, but her smiles widens anyway.
"I know. I should know." She cocks her head and gives him a long look. "After all, judging by what I heard from Isabel, it sounds like you gave me oral instead of food and a check."
Her eyes twinkle, letting him know she's only teasing, but he wonders if the restaurant will still pay him when he's in jail for homicide anyway.
A/N: They work at Olive Garden because "grapevine" get it (why yes I do think I'm funny)