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Staples sells a bunch of office supplies. Pizza Hut sells pizza.

Lovino had been hired as a fucking delivery boy. That was what he had signed up for—car trips to creepy trailer parks and shoving pizzas into drunk people's hands. He liked doing that.

But what was he doing? He was standing at the counter and taking people's orders. Because Alfred, the asshole cook, had sauntered up and told him Emma had called out.

Here he was. Seething.

The guy rubbed his chin, glanced at Lovino, smiled. Lovino seethed.

"So, I have two friends," the customer started.

"Congratulations." It was so reflexive, it took Lovino to realize he had even said it. He pursed his lips and then forced a smile. "What can I do for your two friends?"

"Well, I'm at lunch." The guy paused, and Lovino had no fucking idea what he was supposed to say. "And, well, we want a pizza. But we could only get together…" The guy searched his pockets. "Uh, five dollars and thirty-three cents." The change clinked against the counter.

Lovino resisted the urge to check the menu behind him. He delivered these things—he didn't know how much they cost. "Well, you can get a personal pizza—"

"Ah, no, I have to feed my friends. Well, one of my friends. I don't have money, and neither does Gilbert."

Lovino took a deep breath through his nose. "Well, that's the only thing on the menu you can afford."

The guy nodded. "How big are the personal pizzas?"

Lovino realize he had no freaking clue. He held his hands a random distance apart. The guy considered, tilted his way this way and that. Lovino's eye twitched.

"Can I get toppings?"

"Not for five dollars you can't."

The guy pointed at the change. "And thirty-three cents!"

Lovino looked at the change, then back up at the man. Lovino let out a puff of air, reached out and dragged the money towards him. "I'm keeping the money."

The guy gaped. "What?"

"You lost the privilege of money. It's mine now. Say you got mugged." Lovino shrugged.

…

Staples was a minute walk across the parking lot. He forgot where the pens were literally every time he stepped foot in the store, and he felt like a total ass walking to the registers.

A guy was busy with… a bunch of plastic boxes. He was carefully stacking the boxes on the register counter behind him. His back was to Lovino, and for a second, Lovino appreciated the view of the man's—

"Excuse me," Lovino said.

Antonio whipped around. "Lovino!"

"Oh." Oh, he had been staring at the Staple Boy's ass. His face flushed.

Antonio grinned. "Fancy seeing you here again! I'm just…" He gestured. "Stacking the acrylics. For the ink. So people don't steal them, even though we wave them through the doors if they beep."

"That's some shitty fucking business practices right there."

Antonio nodded. "Probably!"

Lovino looked around. "Man, it's dead around here."

"Yeah!" Antonio pointed. "We have one other person, and they're probably shop lifting. I find the little packaging all the time in the bathroom, so they don't beep."

"Even though you wave them through?"

The boxes wobbled dangerously, and Lovino shot past Antonio to try and stop the inevitable crash. His hand smacked into the boxes and sent them scattering, one of the loudest noises Lovino had heard in his entire life.

"Fucking—sorry." Lovino went to pick them up.

Antonio hopped in front of Lovino. "It's okay! I drop them all the time, and honestly I was only stacking them because I was bored."

Lovino stood back up. "Okay. Your mess, not mine."

Antonio nodded. The red Staples shirt looked good on him, complemented his skin tone. For a second, Lovino was jealous. At least they got to wear colors here, even if they wore black—

"What the hell is going on with your shoes?"

Antonio looked down. "Hm?"

Lovino was mortified. "Did you spray paint your shoes?"

"Oh, yeah. We have a dress code, and my shoes were white, but my manager said I could spray paint them black instead of buying new ones."

Lovino laughed.

…

"Did you get the pens?"

"The what?"

"Uh, you were getting pens."

"Fuck!"

…

"We should grab a pizza sometime," Antonio said, digging through his pockets.

Lovino recoiled. "What?"

Antonio was looking at his feet, still searching for money. He glanced up, quickly. "I think it would be fun, no? As long as we take our lunches at the same time—"

"I'm not eating this trash." Lovino's lip curled. "Did you really just call this stuff pizza? Have you even seen this stuff?" Lovino turned and grabbed one of the boxes he was supposed to be delivering. "It's practically cardboard. And the cheese."

Antonio had stopped searching for money, and Lovino realized there hadn't been any to begin with and smiled.

Antonio scratched the back of his head. "Smells pretty good to me."

"That's because you can't afford real food."

"Didn't they remaster the recipe?" He reached for the box, and Lovino held it away.

"No, that was Dominos."

"Do you want to go to Dominos?"

Lovino sighed. "God. If this place wasn't the only damn store hiring, there's no way I would go near this place. Have you ever had homemade pizza made by a real Italian? Crunchy crust, spiced to perfection, just…" Lovino shook his head.

"I wish I had money because I would pay you for that."

Lovino laughed.

…

"Wow, a ten-percent discount."

Antonio nodded. "Yeah, it doesn't seem like much, but if you combine it with your Staples Reward card, you can actually get some pretty good deals. Francis, in Copy Center, got a printer for thirty dollars."

Lovino frowned. "The one that broke?"

"Yep! And then he got a ten-percent discount when Gilbert repaired the printer."

"Who's talking about me?!"

Antonio froze, gripping the pack of pens in mid-air. Lovino raised an eyebrow.

Gilbert—bleached white hair and all—sauntered over, black shirt and black pants and stupid fucking hair. Lovino felt himself bristling and scowled. Gilbert leaned against the snack stand.

"Is this the Pizza Hut Boy?"

"Lovino," Antonio said, smiling quickly, "this is Gilbert."

Lovino scowled deeper. "Is this the guy who wouldn't know a good hair style if it kicked him in the balls?"

Antonio gestured. "Gilbert, Lovino."

"You have a problem with my hair?" Gilbert scoffed. "I thought you said he was cute! He looks like he's going to bite my head off."

Lovino's eyes snapped back to Antonio. "You talked about me?"

"I said you were cute!" he tried.

"I'm handsome!" Lovino said, louder than he intended.

Gilbert guffawed.

Lovino pointed. "I will shoot you."

Antonio raised his hands, still holding the box of pens. "Lovino, Gilbert really isn't that bad once you get to know him."

"I'm not that bad?"

Lovino pulled out his wallet. "I just want my pens."

Gilbert snickered. "Pen jar," he muttered.

Antonio reached around the counter and slapped at Gilbert's arm. "Shut up!"

"Pen jar?" Lovino squinted. "What pen jar?"

"The Pen Jar."

Antonio waved his hands. "The pens are free! Lovino, I'll text you—"

"What is this fucking pen jar?"

Gilbert shrugged and walked away, hands in his pockets. Antonio stared after him, eyebrows drawn together, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Just-heartbroken and confused and Lovino was going to kick him again.

"Antonio…"

Slowly, Antonio reached under the counter and brought out a mug filled with pens.

"It was you who stole all the fucking pens! What the fuck Antonio?!" Lovino grabbed at the mug and held it close. "What the fuck!"

Antonio held up his hands again. "I wasn't sure how to get you to visit! I couldn't just keep coming in and not buying anything! I can only ask how much pizza costs so many times!"

"Oh my God. Do you know how many times I got bitched at by people? They thought I was stealing them so people could sign receipts. Oh my God."

…

"Oh, you finally got your nametag!"

Lovino shrugged. "It's stupid. The last thing I want is for people to know my name."

Antonio peered over the counter. "What's… vaffananculo mean?"

"Fuck off."

"What?"

"It means 'fuck off' in Italian."

Antonio's laugh made everybody in the restaurant turn their heads.