oh, baby here comes the sound!

Bob was talking quietly to Ray at the end of the bar, presumably about tomorrow's large table booking, and Mikey was curled up in a booth, typing furiously on his phone.

The other staff who had worked that evening had already gone home. Mikey always extended the invite to everyone, but staff turnover was so high that you never really got the chance to get to know anybody before they realized that restaurant work just wasn't for them and they quit. Mikey, Gerard, Ray, Bob and yourself were like part of the furniture, having worked there for so long. You wondered if Frank would be the same, or if he'd quit, too.

Gerard looked down at you when you didn't speak, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"You good, sugar?"

"Just tired," you lied. "I need a shot. Or three."

Gerard grinned, squeezing your arm. "That can be arranged. Are we ready to go?" He turned to ask the group as Frank appeared in the doorway, eyes glued on you and Gerard, his arm around you still. You looked down at your hands, picking at the skin around your fingernails.

After you chugged the rest of your drinks, Ray ushered all of you outside and set the alarm before locking up. You split off into groups as you set off in the direction the bar, chatting excitedly back and forth. You, Mikey and Gerard as one group, then Ray and Bob, with Frank straggling behind.

"How's your situationship going?" You teased Mikey, who had barely looked up from his phone since the shift ended.

"What? Oh, yeah, good," he responded quickly, not really listening to your question, his pace slowing down until he dropped off behind you.

You and Gerard shared a look, then burst out laughing, linking your arms together.

Gerard was the only reason you hadn't quit a long time ago. He already worked at the restaurant when you started, but the two of you just clicked. He was your best friend, and you loved him so much. He always knew what to say and how to cheer you up, but he also had this weird thing where he knew exactly what you were thinking at any given moment.

You glanced over your shoulder to sneak a look at Frank, who was walking on his own, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. You felt kind of bad for him, but pushed the feeling down quickly, then turned around again before Frank could notice. Gerard raised an eyebrow at you.

"Don't start," you insisted, shooting him a glare.

His mouth fell open, bewildered. "Start what?"

"You know what," you replied, attempting to put a stop to the conversation before it had even started. You lowered your voice, checking behind you to make sure the other guys weren't close enough to hear you. "I know how your brain works. You were going to tell me that I like Frank. Which I don't, so leave it."

"Hey, you said it, not me." He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "I was just going to say you look really pretty today," he added as he opened the door to the karaoke bar and then stopped to hold it open for the rest of the group to enter.

"How's it going, Pete?" Ray greeted the bartender with a smile as you all approached the bar.

Your group frequented this place so often that you had made friends with the staff. Some of them - Pete, especially - would comp your drinks or intentionally miss a few off your bill.

Ray rubbed his hands together, looking between the five of you. "I'll get a round in, what do you guys want?"

After ordering your drinks, you all crammed into a small booth by the DJ stand. The table was already sticky and you cringed as you wiped the residue off your arm. Mikey picked up a booklet that had a list of all the songs available to sing on karaoke and slid it across the table towards Bob. Bob pushed it back immediately, leaning away and folding his arms over his chest.

"Nope, not doing that again," he insisted, completely un-phased by the chorus of complaints that erupted around the table.

"But you were so good last time," you encouraged, batting your eyelashes. "What if I sing something with you?"

He looked at you, clicking his tongue and contemplating for a second. "I'll think about it."

Gerard reached over to pick up the booklet, opening it and flicking through the pages. "Mikes, we're gonna sing something. Come help me choose." He beckoned Mikey over with his hand, and he came over to squish himself in between you and Gerard, forcing you to shuffle over to sit next to Frank.

Your thighs were pressed together, his arm brushing yours whenever he reached out to pick up his drink. He hadn't said a word to anybody since you left work.

Gerard was too engrossed in choosing a song and arguing with Mikey, so you were thankful that he wasn't paying enough attention to you to see you become increasingly flustered.

This was stupid. You did not like Frank. A little crush, maybe. He was attractive, you could admit that, but his personality was less than desirable. You fought with yourself internally, before relenting and trying to strike up a conversation with him.

"Have you been here before?" You asked, turning your head a little to look at him.

He kept his eyes staring straight ahead when he answered you. "Nah, I just moved to town not long ago. Seems like a cool place, though."

He looked up to glance around at the interior. It was dark, cramped and loud, the walls covered in writing and little doodles from customers.

You nodded your head, humming in agreement. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, and you suddenly couldn't think of anything else to say. The silence between the two of you stretched on for a painful amount of time. Thankfully, the guy singing karaoke hit a particularly bad high note, and Frank snickered into his drink, causing you to laugh. You hid your face behind your hands so that the poor singer couldn't see.

He leaned towards you, closer than you were expecting, and spoke into your ear so you could hear him over the noise. You could feel his warm breath on the side of your face. He smelled like mint, beer and a hint of cigarettes.

"I bet you're not much better," he teased, gesturing to the karaoke singer and smirking.

"Is that a challenge?" You replied, cocking an eyebrow and pushing down the butterflies in your stomach.

"I tell you what." He placed a hand over his heart. "If you can get Bob up there to sing with you by the end of the night, I'll re-make every steak you bring back to the kitchen, no questions asked." He paused, then added, "even if you're wrong."

You rolled your eyes, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. "You must be desperate if you're willing to damage your ego like that."

You had expected him to get defensive, or bite back just a little, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned back and laughed, soft and breathy, and nodded his head in agreement.

"You could say that," he murmured. You barely heard him over the sound of the music.

Gerard stood up to put his and Mikey's names down to sing, then came back and grabbed your arm to pull you out of the booth. You stumbled out and let him drag you towards the bar.

He ordered twelve shots, two each, then leaned against the bar to look at you with knowing eyes as he waited for Pete to pour them.

"What?" You asked, incredulous, after he'd been staring at you in silence for too long. "You gonna tell me I look pretty again?"

"Actually, I was gonna tell you that you like Frank," he stated, his face dead-pan. You didn't argue this time, and his eyes widened. "Ah-ha! You like-!" He yelled, but you shoved your hand over his mouth, shushing him.

"I have a little crush," you whispered. "But he's an asshole. It's not that deep."

Pete placed the tray of shots on the bar, saving you from the conversation. Gerard paid, leaving him a tip, then picked up the tray and walked back to the booth as you followed.

Ray and Mikey cheered at the sight of the little glasses, and Gerard began to distribute them between all of you. You held a shot glass in each hand and raised them into the middle of the table, clinking them together before downing them.

The DJ's voice cut through the chatter. "Next up we have Mikey and Gerard singing I Want It That Way by The Backstreet Boys."

You all whooped and whistled as the brothers got up and made their way to the small stage, turning your attention to watch them. You eyed Bob across the table, wiggling your eyebrows at him and pushing the song booklet towards him. He ignored you.

They both took a little bow as the song ended when the pub erupted in applause. Ray grabbed the booklet and began to flick through it, and you narrowed your eyes at him. Ray had never been up to sing in all the times you had frequented the bar. When he noticed you staring at him quizically, he looked up and winked at you, then stood up to speak quietly to the DJ.

Another round of drinks later, the DJ's voice interrupted again. "Alright lovely people, next up is Ray and Frank singing Don't Stop Believin' by Journey!"

You clasped a hand over your mouth, muffling your laughter as Frank's head shot up and he looked around like a deer caught in headlights. Ray walked around the table and stopped briefly behind you, leaning down to whisper to you.

"This is for covering today, we're even," he stated, then grabbed Frank by the arm and dragged him towards the stage, ignoring his protests as he pulled against him.

You and Gerard stomped your feet, wolf whistling and laughing in excitement. Mikey pulled up his camera, already recording. Bob snorted into his beer.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened," you declared, blowing a kiss to Ray as he shoved a microphone into Frank's hands.

Frank was already walking back to the table before the instrumental had finished, his head ducked low as he slumped back into the booth and chugged the rest of his pint.

"You were good!" You laughed, carelessly nudging his shoulder with your own.

He scowled at you, but there was a hint of humour in his eyes.

"More shots?" Ray asked as he came back to the table, stopping behind Frank and placing his hands on his shoulders. "I think Steve Perry over here could do with one."

You snorted, and Frank rolled his eyes.

You were all buzzed, laughing until your stomachs hurt at things that weren't even remotely funny. You made eye contact with Bob across the table again and pointed at him sternly.

"You, me, karaoke, now," you demanded, not even giving him a chance to argue before you got up to write your names down.

"Don't choose a crappy song," he yelled after you.

After speaking with the DJ, you headed straight outside to smoke. The cool air hit you and you suddenly realized how drunk you were. You stumbled, catching yourself on a street lamp and giggling as you fumbled with your cigarettes.

Frank followed you out shortly after, watching you as you struggled to light your cigarette and helping you.

"You know," you started, not caring about the words that came out of your mouth. "You're nice when you're not an asshole." You leaned next to him against the cold wall of the pub.

He laughed, rubbing his forehead. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I just mean-," you paused, taking a drag and exhaling, then losing your train of thought. "Why are you such an asshole?"

"Don't act like you don't like it," he stated, leaning towards you with a small smirk.

You scoffed. "I don't."

"Yeah?" He cocked his head. "Then what do you like?" He moved to stand in front of you, placing his palm flat against the wall beside your head, boxing you in. "Cause don't think I can't see the way you squirm around me."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked down at your feet, cheeks flaring red as you avoided his eyes with every ounce of control you had left.

You both looked towards the doors of the venue when you heard your name being announced over the speakers, and you took the opportunity to duck under his arm, quickly discarding your cigarette and running back inside to grab Bob.

"Limp Bizkit? Really?" He grumbled as you pushed him onto the stage.

"Hey, Break Stuff is a great song," you argued, handing him a mic. "Smile at the camera!" You grinned, pointing towards Mikey. Your gaze flickered to Frank as he took his seat around the table.

The bar was almost empty. Last orders had been called just after you went outside to smoke. You could feel Frank's eyes lingering on you while you sang terribly, causing you to stumble over your words a few times. Fuck, you thought. What am I doing?

When the song was over, Bob made a bee-line for Mikey, angrily trying to grab his phone. It was a welcome distraction.

"Delete that now," he demanded, but Mikey tossed his phone over the table to Frank, who grabbed it without thinking. Panic flashed across his face as Bob rounded the table towards him, and he quickly got up and ran outside, darting from side to side to avoid him. Pete laughed from behind the bar, cheering Frank on.

"I've already sent it to you guys, don't worry," Mikey assured you all, grinning. "Brian's gonna be so happy."

A few moments later, they emerged back inside, Bob holding Mikey's phone in one hand and gripping Frank by the hood of his jacket in the other.

Frank was holding his hands up in surrender, smirking to himself as Bob released him at his seat.

He gave Mikey his phone back, pointing at him. "Keep that fuckin' camera out of my face, Way. I mean it."

"Yes, sir," Mikey mumbled, giving him a small salute.

Frank snorted, then groaned when Bob kicked him under the table.

"Ah, geeze. What did I do?" He mumbled to you, leaning down to rub his shin.

It was your day off. You really didn't want to work, but your bank account said otherwise. After class, you reluctantly checked your messages. Ray had messaged you privately.

I'm so sorry to ask but I've already been through everyone else. Please can you work tonight? Angela is sick. I promise I'll cover your shift tomorrow

You rolled your eyes. You were a pushover, you knew that, and you didn't like to leave your friends in the shit, but you also liked your sleep and your sanity. Although, not having to work on a Saturday sounded delightful.

Fine, I'll come in. You owe me big time

You heaved a sigh, packing up your things into your bag and heading to the library to cram some studying in before work.

Since your first encounter with Frank a few weeks ago, every shift you had with him after that you avoided him altogether. You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you wouldn't give him the satisfaction. It frustrated you to no end that nobody else seemed to see how much of a dick he was. Nobody except Bob, the head chef, but he didn't really like anybody so you didn't count him.

Looking at the time on your phone, you sighed and packed up, heading home to change and grab a bite to eat before your shift.

You bumped into Mikey on your way to work. He grinned when he saw you, quickly crossing the street to walk next to you.

"You're working tonight?" He asked excitedly, and you looked up at him as he towered over you, your face contorted in disbelief.

"You're literally always on your phone, you didn't check the work chat?"

He laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Nah, I have it permanently muted. So, you coming out tonight?"

You rolled your eyes, shoving him with your shoulder. "Do you never get tired?"

"Nope!" He nudged you back. "Come on, please? Everyone's going. It's Friday!"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Who's everyone?"

"Uh, Gee, Ray, Bob-."

You cut him off. "No way, Bob's going?"

You hadn't seen Bob on a staff night out in months. Drunk Bob was so much fun, when he finally shed his stone-faced exterior and let himself be a normal human being.

"Yeah, um, who else?" He asked himself and thought for a second, then hesitated. "Frank."

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back in a dramatic fashion.

"I couldn't not invite him. He was there when I was planning it," Mikey defended.

"I'll think about it," you told him as you came up to the restaurant. "You go ahead, I'm gonna smoke first."

Mikey gave you a small smile before he entered the restaurant, and you turned to walk down the alley beside it, pulling out your smokes and lighting one.

You were half way through your cigarette when you heard the groan of the large metal side door opening, and then footsteps, stopping a few feet away from you.

You turned your head to see Frank, leaning up against the wall, with his foot propped against it, his head hanging back against the brick. He gave you a quick glance as he cupped a hand around the end of his cigarette to light it.

"Hey," he mumbled quietly around his cigarette, averting his eyes.

"Hi." It was curt and blunt, but you were being the bigger person.

Neither of you said anything else after you acknowledged each other, and you finished your smoke in silence before stamping it out into the ground and walking past him to head into the back of the restaurant through the side door. His eyes followed you as you left, exhaling smoke in your direction.

You made your way to the staff room where Mikey was changing into his uniform, Gerard and Ray slumped onto the sofa talking about the plans for that evening.

"You're coming, right?" Gerard asked you, eyes wide with excitement.

"Maybe," you huffed as you pulled your shirt over your head and swapped it for your button down. "You guys know I'm broke."

"I'll pay for you!" Gerard insisted, and Mikey nodded his head in agreement. "Come on, you know you want to see Bob doing karaoke again."

You didn't answer, just rolled your eyes and tried to hide the smirk that spread across your lips at the thought of the last staff party. Bob sang Left Outside Alone by Anastasia and then blackmailed everybody the next day to delete all video evidence of it. Nobody told him that Brian still had one.

When you agreed to work earlier that day, you knew it was the start of payday weekend. It was bound to be a stressful shift, but you didn't expect it to be that stressful. Every table you waited on was already hammered, people forgetting what they ordered, and yelling at you because you had apparently given them the wrong food.

You had to cut a few people off, and you put on your bravest face as insult after insult was hurled at you before Bob heard the commotion from the kitchen and came out to escort them off the premises.

"You good?" He asked after he'd kicked them out, checking in on you but not wanting to pry.

You tried to keep your composure. "I'm fine, thanks for helping."

He gave you a small nod and then disappeared back into the kitchen. You saw Frank looking at you through the kitchen window as he'd watched the whole ordeal go down.

Ray found you as you were picking up drinks from the bar to take to a table, and he took the tray from your shaking hands. "Go get some air," he instructed. "I'll finish serving your table."

You gave him an appreciative look and began to remove your apron as you walked through the back of the restaurant and out of the side door. Frank caught you by the arm as you passed the kitchen, and you looked down at his hand on your wrist and then back to his face, confused.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and you were taken aback by how sincere he came across.

You pulled your wrist out of his grip, and he dropped his hand to his side.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you mumbled. "Why are you being nice to me?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, and Frank scoffed, his tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip as he smirked.

"Don't get used to it, sweetheart," he stated, then turned to go back into the kitchen.

You frowned as you stepped out into the alley and closed the door behind you.

What is his deal? You thought to yourself. He was giving you whiplash with how quickly he could switch up his behaviour towards you. You almost wanted him to go back to being an asshole to you so you had a justification for how much you didn't like him.

You pushed on through the shift, keeping busy between tables by chatting with Gerard at the bar. Just when you were starting to warm up to the idea of Frank maybe not being as much of an asshole as you thought, he proved you wrong.

"Hey, this table have sent back their steak. They wanted it rare, this is medium rare," you told him over the pass, putting the plate down in front of him and pushing the meat with a fork to show him.

He barely even looked at the food before replying. "It's rare. Take it back to them, I'm not re-doing it."

"Frank, it's not rare. Even I can see that," you insisted, tapping your fingers impatiently. "Please just make it again, I need to get back to my tables."

"Yeah? I'm busy too. They can take it or leave it, I don't have time for this." He pushed the plate back towards you and wiped his hands on his apron before rushing back to the food cooking on the stove.

"I don't know where you worked before, but we do things differently here. If the customer wants their food remaking, we remake it." You were trying to keep your cool. "Especially if it's wrong."

"I'm up to my fucking eyeballs over here! Who made you queen of the fucking kitchen?" He snapped, slamming a pan down.

You flinched.

Bob had heard the two of you arguing and appeared next to Frank, poking at the meat on the plate. "Re-make it, now, or you can go and explain to the customer that you don't know how to cook a fucking steak," he told Frank. "Or do you want me to hold your hand while you make it?"

Anger flickered across his face, but he didn't bite. You watched him as he wordlessly crossed the kitchen to the fridge and pulled out a fresh steak.

You smiled sweetly. "Great, I'll be back in 2."

You headed back to your table and let them know that their food was being corrected, apologizing profusely. They only calmed down when you offered them a drink on the house for the inconvenience. You ran to the bar to get the drink off Gerard, dropped it off at the table and then quickly headed back to the kitchen to pick up the food.

Bob checked that it was right before you took it.

"Now, was that so hard?" He said to Frank, and you bit back a laugh. "If y/n tells you to remake something, you do it. Got it?"

Frank nodded his head, fighting back the urge to argue.

After the last few tables had cleared out and the close down routine was completed, you sat at the bar with Gerard, Ray and Mikey while you waited for Bob and Frank to finish the kitchen paperwork.

You stared into the beer Gerard had poured for you, watching the condensation roll down the glass. After taking a few sips, you sighed.

"So, where are we going?"

Mikey pumped his fist in the air. "Yay! You're joining us?"

"Don't act surprised. You and Gerard are the peer-pressure brothers. It's impossible to say no to you two." You smirked, then stood up. "I'm gonna go change and grab my things."

You headed to the staff room, not bothering to turn on the light as you began to unbutton your shirt. As you let it drop off your shoulders and bent down to retrieve your other shirt from your bag, the lights flicked on suddenly.

"Shit, sorry." Frank was standing in the doorway, trying and failing to avert his eyes. "I didn't think anyone was in here." He dropped his head and walked towards his bag. "Was just gonna change."

"It's alright," you mumbled as you quickly pulled on your other shirt and began tucking everything back into your bag.

"Sorry about earlier," he offered quietly, his back to you as he began to remove his chef whites. The tension in the room was palpable. "I get heated during service. M'working on it."

Your eyes lingered on him. His shoulders flexed as he slipped his chef whites off his back, and found yourself unable to look away. You watched him shamelessly as he bent down to pick up his t-shirt and slip it on, then ran a hand through his hair. He turned to look at you, waiting for your response.

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen

You began to stir from your sleep slowly, that dreaded feeling of sleeping for a suspiciously long amount of time creeping into your consciousness as you rolled over and adjusted your pillow.

Your eyes snapped open in a panic just before you could drift off again, hurriedly grabbing your phone to look at the time. Your alarm, which had been sounding for so long that it silenced itself, mocked you on the screen. Your shift started in ten minutes.

Mikey had managed to persuade you to go out for drinks with him and your other co-workers after your closing shift the night before, and even though you knew you had class today and an assignment due, it took very little to convince you.

"You're always so stressed," Mikey had said as he was helping you clear a table after a large party had cleared out. "It'll do you some good to blow off some steam."

"I'm stressed because I'm exhausted, Mikes," you sighed, stacking plates as quickly as you could to get the table ready for the next group.

As you picked up the pile of ceramic, the silverware balancing on top of them slipped and clattered to the floor, the noise jarring and silencing the restaurant for a few seconds.

When the incessant chatter of patrons started up again, you squeezed your eyes closed in frustration, then bent down to begin scooping them up.

Mikey walked around the table and crouched down to help, giving you a knowing look.

"Alright! Okay, fine!" You gave in, shoving the silverware into Mikey's hands as he grinned. "I'll come out. Just one drink. Maybe it'll help me chill out."

So you went out, stayed out a little too late, drank a little too much, somehow still made it to class on time in the morning and finished your assignment. You were feeling over confident at the productivity of the day, and decided to treat yourself to a nap before your shift when you got home from university.

Just an hour, you had thought to yourself as you set your alarm. It would still give you 45 minutes to grab some leftovers out of the fridge and run to work. You hadn't factored in that you might sleep through your alarm.

"Shit, shit, shit," you grumbled to yourself as you shot up to sit on your bed, unlocking your phone and pulling up your manager Ray's number.

Gonna be late, please distract Brian for me. I'll buy you a pint to repay you :(

Brian was your boss, and he'd been on your ass for the last few weeks. You exclusively did the closing shift to work around your studies, but you'd been struggling to find a balance between the two since your workload had doubled, staying up later than usual to study and in turn, slacking at work for lack of a better term. Although you and him got along well most of the time, he was a hard ass when he needed to be.

As you were pulling on a pair of jeans, stumbling over the mess of clothes and clutter on your floor, your phone lit up and you dove for it to quickly read the text.

Already on it. Told him I sent you out to run an errand. You're lucky he's in a good mood. I'll keep him in the back, come in through the main door

"Fucking angel," you murmured to yourself, pulling on your work shirt and buttoning it as fast as your fingers would let you. You shoved your apron into your bag along with a pack of smokes, and grabbed an energy drink out of the fridge on your way out of your apartment.

You were flustered and out of breath by the time you rounded the corner of the street where you worked, your cheeks flushed and what seemed to be a permanent frown plastered on your face.

As you approached the restaurant, brows creased together, you stopped out of view of the windows to take a few deep breaths and inhale one last drag of your cigarette before stamping it out.

A voice spoke beside you suddenly, making you jump and spin around to face them. He was leaned against the wall, cigarette in hand, his hazel eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin crawl.

"What did you say?" You snapped, patience already wearing thin.

"I said you should smile," the guy repeated, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You snickered, placing your middle fingers on the corners of your lips and pushing your mouth up into a sneer. "Go fuck yourself," you spat, then turned and walked into the restaurant.

You sped towards the back of the restaurant to the bar, keeping your eyes peeled and your head ducked low, looking out for any sign of Brian. You just knew you'd run into him if you tried to sneak into the staff room where everyone usually kept belongings on shift, so you resorted to your tried and true solution.

When you successfully made it to the bar unnoticed, you walked around to crouch behind the large wooden fixture, retrieving your energy drink and apron, then shoving your coat and bag into a gap beside a shelf. You made a mental note to move them into the staff room when you went on break so Brian didn't have a chance to notice and call you out.

"You're late."

Your body filled with dread, excuses and apologies ready to spill out of your mouth any second. Before you stood up, you looked behind you, only to be met with Gerard, one of the bartenders. His unruly black hair brushed the collar of his white button down as he spun a bar blade on his finger, amusement etched onto his pixie-like features.

"Fuck sake," you breathed, pulling your apron over your head and tying it tight at the back before finally standing and cracking your energy drink open. "I thought you were Brian, you dick."

Gerard laughed, then handed you a notepad and a pen, which you took from him and tucked into the pocket on the front of your apron. He looked at you properly now that you were facing him and his smile faltered when he read the expression on your face.

"You okay?" He asked, frowning in concern.

You shrugged and ran a hand roughly through your hair, then began to tie it back into a ponytail as you spoke hurriedly, anxious to start your shift and not let Brian see you chatting.

"Yeah, m'fine. Just this asshole outside made a shitty comment and I was already having a-."

Your sentence was cut short when you saw the guy from outside out of the corner of your eye, shrugging off his coat to reveal a clean set of chef whites as he walked towards Brian's office door. Your mouth hung open in disbelief.

"I don't fucking believe it," you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. Gerard waited for you to elaborate, looking between you and the guy from outside, before putting two and two together.

"Wha- oh. Oh, the new guy is the asshole from outside?"

You nodded your head, watching the new line cook as he gave you a quick smirk before knocking on Brian's office door and stepping inside. You clenched your jaw.

"Great," you seethed, before turning to face the back wall and taking a few soothing breaths. When you had calmed down a little, you turned around to face Gerard again, a strained smile on your face. You pointed to yourself. "Is this believable?" You asked through your teeth.

Gerard grimaced, placing his fingers on either side of your jaw and beginning to massage a little. "Relax your jaw and I think you're good to go," he encouraged, giving your cheek a little pat before grabbing your shoulders and spinning you around to push you towards the edge of the bar.

You found Ray by the host station, greeting guests with a smile that was a smidge more believable than your own.

"Thanks for covering for me. Where do you want me?" You quickly asked him, and he handed you a bunch of menus and reeled off a list of table numbers that had just been seated.

The entire time you were taking orders, you watched the new line cook working through the window into the kitchen. His stupid short brown hair curled at the sides of his face from the sweat and grease. The sleeves of his chef whites were rolled up to his elbows, the tattoos covering his olive skin were illuminated by the lights as his forearms flexed while he sliced an onion with easy precision.

You were seething, anger bubbling under the surface of your skin. Of course, you didn't let the customer see that, forcing your face to hold your smile like that of a plastic doll. You kept your voice high and cheery, making monotonous small talk with the customers.

You delivered the orders to the kitchen, sticking the paper onto the rail like you always did, shouting out to the chefs to let them know a new order had come in. As you were about to head back out to the front, the new line cook shouted you back, waving the order you'd put on the rail in the air.

"Hey! I can't read this," he said, shoving it into your hand when you approached the pass. "Re-write it."

You scoffed, slamming the small piece of paper down onto the pass and pushing it towards him. "Learn to read," you snapped. "Nobody else has a problem with my handwriting."

"What's your issue?" He retorted, leaning over the pass and resting his weight onto his knuckles.

"You're my fucking issue." You turned to leave, looking back at him over your shoulder as you plastered on your fake smile once again. "Oh, you should smile more," you added, before making a bee-line to Brian's office.

"Come in," Brian called out from behind the door, and you stepped inside, hurriedly closing the door behind you and sitting down at his desk.

"I can't work with the new cook." You started talking before Brian even had chance to greet you. "Please tell me he's temporary until we find someone else."

Brian sighed, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. "Y/n, I'm sorry, but he's here to stay." He looked you over, taking in your state, then leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table.

"I can do some shifts in the kitchen until we hire someone else. I've done it before," you pleaded.

Brian sighed, shaking his head. "I can't take you off the floor, you know that. You're my best server, and I don't have anyone to cover you." He paused. "Why? What's Frank done?"

You chewed on the tip of your pen, debating whether it was worth it or if you should just suck it up. Eventually, you sighed. "Nothing, it doesn't matter. He's just an asshole. We really couldn't get anyone else?"

Brian shook his head. "We've been advertising for months. He has experience, plus he could start straight away." He began to shuffle some paperwork around on his desk, scribbling something down onto one of them before looking up at you again. "Are you alright, y/n?"

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you hesitated, feeling your eyes begin to water. You sniffed and nodded, wiping your face with the back of your arm. Brian handed you a tissue, his face creased with genuine concern.

"Do you need to take some time off? I can try and shuffle the rota around." He asked, but you quickly shook your head.

"No! No, I mean, I can't afford to be off. I'll be fine once I submit these last few assignments. Please, don't- I'll get my shit together, I promise. I know I've been a bit all over the place but I really need the money." You forced yourself to sit up straight and look him in the eye as you spoke, hoping your watery eyes served as a persuasive tactic.

Brian nodded slowly, contemplating, before dropping the topic completely. "Did you want to talk about anything else?"

You let out a breath of relief, shaking your head and standing to leave. "Guess I'll go get more acquainted with Frank," you murmured, heading back towards the kitchen to check on your tables' food.

"How's table 20 coming along?" You called out over the pass. Frank ignored you. Bob, the head chef, swatted the back of his head to get his attention.

"Y/n is talking to you," he barked over the whir of the extractor fans, nodding his head in your direction.

Frank looked up and rolled his eyes, meeting your glare briefly. "Five minutes," he yelled to you, grabbing some pans off the hob and bringing them under the hot lights of the pass before starting to plate them up.

You tapped your foot impatiently, leaning against the wall while he took his time placing everything onto the plates.

"There you go, sweetheart," he cooed, pushing the plates towards you. "Made them extra pretty for you."

"I'll be sure to let the customers know," you mumbled sarcastically, stacking the plates up your arms and walking out into the front to deliver the food.

"Can I get you guys anymore drinks?" You asked sweetly, putting on your best please tip me I'm broke face as you spoke. You scribbled down their order and dragged your feet towards the bar to give it to Gerard.

"Saw you go into Brian's office," he stated as he poured a glass of rosé. "Everything okay?"

You nodded, reaching over the bar to grab your energy drink and down the rest of it. "Just complaining about the new guy. Apparently he's the best we could get."

"I don't know, y/n, he seems alright to me. Maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot." He held his hands up in surrender when you scoffed, your mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"You're just saying that because he's your type" you accused, narrowing your eyes at him as you picked up the tray of drinks.

"No I'm not," Gerard defended, folding his arms over his chest and jutting out his hip. You held your glare and he relented, letting his arms fall down by his side. "Okay, maybe a little. So sue me."

For the first time since you had arrived at work, you smiled a genuine smile, letting your shoulders relax as you laughed.

Gerard pointed at you, mouth agape in mock surprise, looking around and talking to an imaginary audience. "She's smiling! Oh my god, I thought I'd never see the day."