Love reBuilt {TMNT 2012}

CH. 1 - 3

CHAPTER ONE

The subway was overcrowded, hot, and humid. To your left sat a muscled man with a neck dome, who based on his musk, you assumed was on his way home from the gym. On your right, a tall, lean businessman, whose eyes periodically drifted to your legs, exposed from your jean shorts.

You pulled your jackets sleeves tight against your hands and sat in extreme discomfort and irritation waiting for the next stop.

Fucking pervert.

There was something about subways that just personally offended you. Maybe it was the smell, the abundance of creeps, or the mothers with their crying children, or perhaps it was the general idea of traveling with large groups of complete strangers. You really fucking hated people at the best of times, and actively made the most of efforts to avoid them.

Today, however, the matter was outside of your control. You had woken up late... again. A healthy sleep schedule was something you lacked in the best of times, and now it seemed you had bit off more things than you could chew. Walking across the busy streets of New York was usually fine, but it wasn't quick. You'd been late to work six times too many this week and weren't willing to risk a seventh.

So here you sat, between a rank-ass muscle man, and some corporate-looking guy who lacked any skills in subtlety. The subway cart screeched and slugged into a slow stop. And around you, people busily scrambled out of the cart to make way for more people who were coming in.

You grabbed your bag, sending a vile glare over your shoulder to the business man, and sped passed the automatically opened doors as soon as you saw a gap between the crowd. Your sneakers squeaked against the tiles as you hurried up the stairs and into New York.

The two-block walk to your work was brisk and sweet. The one thing you've found to love about NY since moving here was that no one paid attention to you. No one cared about you or made any effort for conversation, or even sent a glance your way. Everyone here was such a self-absorbed narcissist, all so caught up in their own lives, that they wouldn't even think to acknowledge anyone else's.

The Bangled Tiger sat in a small nook between a laundromat and an old comic book shop. Even with its cliche (bordering on culturally insensitive) name, the restaurant had a small loyal following. Not large enough to move locations to a better neighborhood, but not so minuscule that the restaurant would ever be at risk of going out of business.

For you, it was a nearly perfect workplace. Even regular customers in New York didn't make conversation, they just grabbed their usual orders and left. But there still weren't quite enough customers a day that you'd actually have to put in any real effort to stay employed.

"Y/n! You made it in on time!"

Shit.

The only thing that annoyed you was your coworkers. Or more accurately, coworker.

Kashvi Pisanu grinned mischievously at you from behind the counter as you pushed past the front doors, her septum ring accentuating the gold beads embedded into her box braids. You sighed, "Yep."

You all but ran into the back room, in a desperate attempt to avoid getting trapped in a conversation. Unfortunately for you, Kashvi kept up with you fine, her long legs aiding her greatly. Fuck tall people. "Oh my gosh, last night I think I had the worst insomnia of my life! I couldn't fall asleep until like two! The Sunday Slug is the only thing keeping me going at this point." Kashvi slouched against the wall as she talked, watching you as you hurriedly shoved your bag into your locker and snatched an apron off the wall. "I really doubt I could work a busy day right now."