Chapter Text
"Have a good day," Jimmy muttered from his subconscious. The two young looking girls across the counter grinned and scooped up their bags, never to be seen again - as was the case with 98% of customers. He's in his usual quarantine at the register, checking his watch every handful of minutes like it would speed up time. Only fifteen minutes and then he can go grab the pizza he promised Brian that morning. There was a little pizza place about a block away from where they lived, but Brian was frustratingly stubborn about the smallest things - including his dinner.
He fiddled with his bracelets, sipped at his Red Bull, absolutely anything to get the clock moving. Zack comes up to him; if Jimmy wanted to know what his own expression looked like, Zack's was pretty close, eyelids dark with black liner and sleep deprivation. Equally black hair fell over one eye, in spite of meticulous styling to keep it above the eye now obscured. He huffed and leaned on the counter. "Having fun ringin' in the same Slipknot shirt a hundred times?" Zack said, snake bites in his smile.
"Absolutely fucking not. And I bet you're not having fun restocking it a hundred times, either," Jimmy said, reaching for the little silver can again. He raises the rim to his lips, "Why are people so lame? We don't just sell graphic tees and those collars that look like they should be on a fuckin' pitbull. I'm waiting for someone to come in and buy all the fancy shit just to shake things up a little bit."
"Like those huge goth shoes that make you half a foot taller?" Zack scratched his head. "Swear you're on register at the worst times, man. I see people paying for things I forgot we even sold anymore."
Some generic rock tune keeps the store from fading into silence, aside from the occasional clacking of plastic clothes hangers and jangling of people's wallet chains as they walk around. Jimmy looked down at his watch and grated, "Since when was fifteen minutes a fucking year?"
"Think you should get yourself another Red Bull when you're out of here, Jim," Zack chuckled, standing upright to stretch his arms. "I'm usually the snippy one. You been okay?"
That's a hard question. Jimmy's mouth said "yeah", but it was code for not really, I'm in an endless cycle almost every single day and want to take up a whole new identity if it means doing something new. Maybe find a new face to look at. He doesn't get the feeling Zack's going to nod and smile at that one. He mumbled, "A smoke'll probably fix it, actually."
"Damn, I've been trying to quit those fuckers."
"Not tobacco," Jimmy scrunched up the can after draining its last drop. "Weed. Can't live without it." A subtle self-reminder to go to the dispensary while he's out, too.
"Preach..." Zack perked up, "Still got some more shit I need to put away, okay? You've got, uh..." He peers at Jimmy's watch. "Fourteen minutes. You can go to the back for a little bit if you want."
"Nah, it's fine," Jimmy said with a refusing wave of his hand. Now he's just annoyed he doesn't have the extra distraction of a drink. "You do what you gotta do, I'll do what I gotta do. Fourteen minutes."
Zack nodded and wandered on over to the back of the store, pulling out even more graphic tees and skinny jeans to put out. Jimmy's head hurt just watching him.
He leaned over the counter and mindlessly picked at his cuticles for what he assumed was a minute or two, until the form of a man appeared in his peripheral. He was coming to the register, carrying a bundle of items. Jimmy leaned back and stood himself upright.
The man is about as tall as he is, black hair slicked back. His face is rather off-putting; his eyebrows form these stubborn little straight lines over his bright green eyes, lips in a pout, adorned with a lone ring to the right. Then from under a brown leather jacket, the words Harley-Davidson are screaming at him from the chest of his obnoxiously tight T-shirt, blue jeans down below. A sore thumb of a human being at Jimmy's store was nothing out of the ordinary.
Jimmy gave him the usual fabricated politeness as he rang in the items. The man's lips curled into an innocent, dimpled smile before immediately dropping back down to the frown. He'd expect a guy of that caliber to be buying out all the Metallica shirts, or something, or not even shop here at all; but here he is, purchasing things like fishnet stockings, hair accessories, and women's jeans, size medium. At least there's no ambiguity as to if he's buying all of this for himself. Then he took out his wallet from his back pocket; it's about as brown, thick and leathery as Jimmy would've expected him to carry.
He paid, and the only words Jimmy heard him say during the entire exchange were "thanks, have a good night", with such a gravelly voice that Jimmy wondered if he had a cold. He disappeared like anyone else.
Zack returned to the counter, hands in his pockets.
"That's one scary motherfucker."
Jimmy shouldered through the front door, a plastic bag in his hands. Brian snatched it from him the moment the door shut behind them. The apartment sounds like whispers of Mr. Bungle.
"You got the goods?" Brian asked, the hair in his face giving him a ghoulish appearance. He was pawing through the bag before Jimmy even opened his mouth - hell, formulated his response in his mind - and gleefully whipped out the few boxes of frozen pizza, completely blind to the little plastic packets filled with green bliss. "You sure fuckin' did, goddamn. Thanks, man."
"Have you not eaten, or something?"
"Nope. Been keeping myself hungry for these," Brian said.
Jimmy blinked, " These? You're gonna fuckin' gorge on all three of them in one sitting?"
"The fuck? No. One now, and the others, uh... when I feel like it. I'm a pig, but not that much of a fucking pig." Brian turned on his heel for the kitchen to put two of them away, ripping open the remaining box to get it started in the oven, and returned to the desk near the kitchen. He sits curled up in the desk chair with his feet on the seat, knees to his chin; hunched like a gargoyle statue.
The computer monitor is still on, showing that Myspace had been open for God knows how long. Jimmy often laughed at the idea of Brian striving to be one of those "scene queens" that he hears about, and sees floating around at his store. He once found a little handheld camera near the bathroom sink - and never mentioned it. The sticks of eyeliner strewn around didn't do much for Brian's case, either.
"You can't fucking walk one block for pizza?"
"It's overpriced and shitty, dude. If there's anything I know about you, it's that you're not afraid to be a cheap bastard." Brian reaches for the bong on the desk, which had been placed in such a manner that it looked more like a noble trophy. It gurgled as he awarded himself a hit.
Jimmy just rolled his eyes and retreated to his room. He grabbed a comfy change of clothes and made for the shower, returning to the living area to throw himself onto the couch after he cleared the two Xbox controllers out of the way. He gave himself some shut-eye until Brian was grabbing at his limbs and moving him out of the way, placing a large plate of now cooked margherita onto the coffee table.
Brian's attempt to slice it evenly was in vain. He picked up one of the pieces, "C'mon. Have some. You'll be less of a grouch with some food in you."
"Okay..." Jimmy rubs his eyes. The smell was enticing enough. "But I got it for you specifically. I'll survive without it."
"I didn't ask you to eat. I told you to," Brian snickered, "Get some fucking meat on those bones already. We're here to live, not survive, man. Living means eating some cheap pizza sometimes." A bite of it, and he was talking over a mouthful, "It's real good. You deserve to eat like a slob as much as I do."