Waiting The World (Vincent X Reader) (Dead plate)

8: Late

Gasping softly, I wake up, blinking at my surroundings. Adrenaline pumps through my body, pushing me to my feet. Once I glance at my reflection in the mirror, though, the memories flood over me, along with an intense feeling of regret. Leaning on the counter top, I look down at my clothes. Ugh, I've worn this three days in a row, and just slept in it. I smell like a pile of shit; I can't go to work like this! Unfortunately, I don't seem to have a better option. The best it seems I can do is some deodorant, perfume, and pray for the best.

Glancing out the door at the clock, I breathe a sigh of relief. It's only 5. I can at least take a shower, to keep myself from smelling even worse. Stripping off my uniform, I lean out the door and toss it onto my bed, missing and watching it land on the floor in a crumpled heap. Well, can't fix that right now; I've got to get ready. Turning on the water, I put my hand under it and adjust it to the appropriate temperature. Once it's comfortable, I step in, wasting no time to clean myself. I scrub roughly, the scent of soap meeting my nose as I clean myself.

Once I'm done, I step out, wrapping my body with a towel and stepping into my room again. A shiver runs down my spine as the water droplets still dotting my body cool down, cold water dripping from my hair. Drying off, I pick up my suit and smell it. Not bad. So most of the problem was me... Alright then. Quickly throwing on some deodorant, I check the time; 5:45!? I gotta run! I stop by the mirror, fixing my uniform and spritzing the first nice smelling thing I get my hands on, before running out the door.

Sprinting up the street, the humid air clings to my skin, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to my skin as I sweat. I can't lose this job... I'm dead. Pushing my legs to the limit, I pass alleyways, apartment buildings, and store fronts, not giving them a second glance as I head for my destination. I can see it... I'm so close... Keep running... Right before my legs give out underneath me, I slow to a stop on the doormat of Le Gueule de Saturne, my hands on my knees and I pant.

Stepping into the lobby, the bell above the door dings, signaling my entrance. I straighten up, taking in a deep breath and smiling as Vincent peeks around the corner. He waves a hand, gesturing at me to follow him, and I quickly do. Stepping foot into the kitchen, I look around at the chefs, smiling brightly at them. Despite the gloomy mood, a couple smile, before glancing at Vincent and returning to their stern glares. He runs a tight ship; all and every chef in here fears him. Still confused as to what he wanted me to follow him for, I stand awkwardly by the door, waiting for instructions.

I turn to Vincent as he holds out a mop, kicking the full bucket across the floor to me.

"Mop the seating area. And make sure to get under all the booths, will you?"

He's clearly very agitated, and I can see how weary he is from the vibrant bruising under his eyes. Of course, I'm not going to comment on it. Other than the fact that it'd be rude, I very much like this job, and insulting my boss wouldn't be a very good tactic to stay hired. I grab the water bucket and mop, quickly heading out of the kitchen before I do something wrong. I can't help but feel bad, though, seeing him so angry.

Mopping the floor is a mindless, and quite frankly, an enjoyable activity. It gives me time to think, and do something productive. But after some time that I wasn't counting, the familiar sound of yelling echoes off the walls. Dropping the mop, I run to the kitchen to find the source. I shove the door open, panicking as something I've felt for years guides me to the scene. I stand by the door, silent as I watch the scene unfold in front of me. Vincent stands over a chef, who cradles her face as she looks up at him, tears forming in her eyes. She glances at me, the fear in her eyes begging for help.

Her fellow cooks stand idly at their posts, seemingly ignoring the scene. Turning to see what the poor girl on the floor is looking at, I find myself on the fierce end of Vincent's gaze. Instinctively taking a step back, I reach for the door, not breaking eye contact.

"Get out of my kitchen and go do your job."

The look he's giving me only encourages me, and I stumble backwards, the door swinging shut in my face. I scramble back to the mop, continuing where I left off. The yelling ensues, bouncing off of the walls as I try to shut the noise out. Focus on the mop. The job you've been assigned is the job you need to do. It's not your problem. But despite the urge to ignore the situation, I can't help but want to stop the yelling. The real surprising factor is how two-faced Vincent is, though.

Is it just my imagination, or has he been... Nicer to me? He never yells at me, or makes me feel guilty or bad about anything... It's weird. And on the topic of him, why was he in my dream again? Once, I might understand, but twice in a row? Why-

"You're re-mopping. Give it here and get ready for the customers, Y/n."

Vincent's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, as I turn to face him in an instant. Before I can even offer It to him. He grabs the mop from my hands.

"Dump the bucket out the back door and get to your post."

I obey without another word, lugging the dirty bucket out back. Dumping it, I watch the grimy water slither down the street, trickling into a drain. Clearly, Vincent is in a bad mood. Let's just do our best to get through the day without him shouting at us, and we'll be fine. Despite my optimistic mood, I can't shake the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I'm forgetting something. Something important is missing, and you know it. But what is it?

What am I missing?