Target // 5sos

[frangipane]

[frangipane]

I casually sat in my mum's car, which was parked in the target car park. I should probably go in, have a look take advantage of the fact that I'm in America right now, but my laziness is way too beyond that.

Green Day pumps through my earphones as I pick at my nail polish. My converse-clad foot rests upon my thigh as my boredom grows. After a five minute mental debate, I decide to join my mum in the American Superstore, grabbing the signature red basket on my way in.

The lyrics of 'Holiday' were falling out of my mouth silently as I milled around the entrance, browsing all of the American food brands. I've heard all about the magic that is Hershey's and Reese's chocolate from my American friends on Tumblr, so I pick those out, chucking them into my basket to take them away and indulge in later.

After about fifteen minutes, I see my mum looking at a pair of old lady shorts from a distance. I decide to be a bitch and sneak up behind her whispering in a low growl, 'Not those, baby'. Her reaction was priceless. Bags of crisps and chocolate fell to the floor, along with the rest of her basket's contents as she dramatically squealed. When she turned around to see it was me, a string of curses ran rom her mouth.

Now I don't know if this is just me and my dirty mind, but I'm 80 percent sure I heard her say 'They're hotter than your shorts anyway. That's why you're 20 and have never tasted dick.'

She shooed me away, indicating that my punishment would be at least another hour in this boring ass shop. I inwardly groaned at the thought. Asda is literally one hundred times more interesting than this, because at least there, I could complain about how the chicken is £2.19 per kilo whereas the one in Tesco is only £1.89.

Typical Brit: complaining about food prices; even when they're continuously getting cheaper.

I carried on looking around, throwing a few packets of shit food in my basket every now and then and even picked up a pair of black skinny jeans with a plain black tee to go with it. I came across mirrors every once in a while and took in my boring appearance.

I have dark hair and dark features en general and it does get me quite a few looks from guys and girls alike. However, in America, it seemed that all people's decisions on what to do with their appearance, happened to be influenced by other people. Seeing as I'm in America, I thought, I may as well do the same.

I searched pretty much the entire shop looking for some hair dye, or a member of staff to help me find the dye, but neither could be found. The service here is so shit that it might as well be my local Tesco.

I gave up on the dye plan and found my way to the gaming section in hopes to expand my vast collection of PlayStation and X Box games. I saw an awkward looking guy with blue hair and a red shirt with the name tag 'Michael' sitting down on one of the gaming chairs playing Black Ops 2. Rather pathetically if I may add. Just looking at him play with such shit technique from a distance was pissing me off.

I jog-walked to where he was at before sitting down on the arm of the chair he was on, and taking the remoted controller without a word. He seemed taken aback, but didn't say anything as he watched me play in shock.

I just sat there concentrating, mumbling tips and pointers about where he was going wrong every so often. 'You see, this button,' I'd say, pointing to whatever button it was, 'let's you do really cool stuff like this.' and then I'd press it as he'd nod intently.

Once I won the game, I turned to him. He was still looking at the screen in shock about how I just won that in five minutes.

'How long were you playing the game, Michael?' I piped up.

This drew his attention away from the screen and towards me. He seemed confused as he answered, scratching his head cutely.

'I don't know, like thirty minutes? And how do you know my name?'

His accent wasn't American, unsurprisingly. He was too pale to be from these sunny depths. What did surprise me is that it was a deep, true Aussie accent. I was confused seeing as Australians are meant to be super tan, but this guy looked like a panda. Once again, cute. It took me a while to separate these thoughts from my head. I point to his name tag.

'I work here. Right. Shit, I was meant to be clearing up all the games and I just got carried away...' This got him up and running, picking up as much shit as he could within a minute. I simply stared and watched. Within this minute, he was all packed up. I probably should have helped him, but he was doing such a great job, and the way his blue hair flopped into his eyes when he bent down was so cute.

What the fuck, self?

I continued to stare, noticing that his hair wasn't straight up blue, but had this faint hue of pinky purple in it. I like it a lot.

'Hey dude,' I say as he walks towards me, still looking awkward and flustered, 'I like your hair'. He looks down at the floor shyly as he smiles, 'Thank you'.

'Clifford!' someone shouts from behind me. 'Stop flirting with the customers and get to work. Now!'

Michael didn't hesitate to firmly say 'Yes, sir' with such a serious face, it made me giggle. I never giggle what the fuck? How old was I, ten?

'But Clifford though,' I said to him before he left, 'As in the big red dog?' I asked laughing to myself.

With that he sighed in apparent frustration, turning away without a goodbye at hand.

Maybe my mum was right. My big mouth probably should've been used for something more practical like taking dicks rather than making them run away. Guess I'd have to work on that.

-

lmao peep this shit story. 100% inspired by luketivity's target fanfic, which was bomb af but then she discontinued. i recommend reading that too if you want to die from crying

this is my first fic so bear with

if anyone's reading [probs not lmao], comment if you're a tesco/asda/morrison's bitch

i'm tesco 100%, but  asda is pretty bomb. morrison's is a disgrace.

-peace out woes