Pirouette [h.s.]

chapter 2

//  i'm running through my dreams to //

// see you in the light //

Blueberry Eyes  -MAX (feat. SUGA)

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The clock above the front door of Dino's flashes 1:55 am and I breathe out a sigh of relief, almost drooling over the thought of taking a hot shower and climbing into bed. It had been a slow night; I basically spent eight hours shuffling through my music over the loudspeaker and trying not to fall asleep on the cashier's stool.

With a yawn, I drag myself to my feet and toss my hat onto the cash register, with the hope of closing up a few minutes early.

As if by some sick, twisted joke, the moment the soles of my shoes smack against the dirty black and white checkered tile, a pair of car headlights shine into the gas station windows.

"You've got to be fucking kidding." I turn around to throw my Dino's hat back on, letting out the most dramatic eye roll I can possibly muster when the front doorbell chimes.

"Welcome to Dino's. We're only open for another 5 minutes." I don't bother facing the person. I'm serious about closing up on time, and if they don't hurry up I will happily kick them out.

I hear panting breaths coming from the front entrance, which stops me in my tracks. They sound like they just finished a goddamn marathon.

So, logically, I place my bets on the victim of a drunken fight.

As I turn my body around, I prepared to see some beaten, bloody person standing in the middle of the gas station. Instead, is a man who looks to be around my age, staring at me with wild eyes.

Okay, not beaten up – that's good, I really didn't want to clean up somebody's blood. Definitely too frantic to be high. Maybe drunk?

He stares at me for two seconds too long, with a pause in his breathing. He falters a little bit before breaking his eyes from mine to look out the window at his car. He takes a deep breath as if he wasn't able to when our eyes were locked, before turning back to meet my gaze again.

"Do you have any of those little blueberries with the yogurt wrapped around them?" his voice is deep – deeper than I expected, with a little bit of rasp, and he brings his hands up to mimic the size of a blueberry.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, do you have those little blueberries with the yogurt around them. I really need them." There's a twinge of attitude in his voice, and he sounds so serious that I can't help but to choke back a laugh.

"You need yogurt-covered blueberries at 2 in the morning?" My tone is dripping in sarcasm, but I can't help it.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe he is fucking high.

I watch as his shoulders raise way up, swallowing his neck and bristling a little, tension radiating off of him in waves. "Yes I said I need blueberries." And, his voice drops as he adds under his breath, "I didn't say I need any damn attitude."

News flash, buddy, I heard that.

"What the hell is so important that you need blueberries at 2 in the goddamn morning?" I ask, a cynical laugh leaving my lips.

I know my boss would have my ass on a platter for both the sass and the cursing, but I can't be bothered to reel it in. Its 2 am, I had to deal with the wicked witch of the west coast today, and, quite frankly, I just want to be in bed.