Harrison Osterfield Imagines

Tuesday Morning

2nd Person POV

You usually hate Tuesday mornings. Those are the days where you have to wake up at five, be ready for work by five thirty, and start cleaning boats for customers at six. Tuesdays are definitely the worst.

Today is Tuesday. Your alarm wakes you up at five, but you end up falling asleep for another ten minutes. The five ten alarm wakes you up next.

For the next twenty minutes, you eat breakfast, change into work appropriate clothing, and put together a look for the day. As soon as the clock hit five thirty, you were off for work.

Of course, there is nobody at work except you this morning. Your coworkers would show up at nine when more customers arrive. The job you work for does boat tours on the lake nearby and sell ice cream. You much prefer selling ice cream, but you got to do what you got to do to make money.

The sun is rising beautifully when you arrive to the lake. The birds are singing. The ice cream machine is working (and not broken like last week). Everything is good.

———

"Good morning, Y/N." Your coworker says with a bright and cheery smile. You aren't smiling. You are hot and sweaty from cleaning boats, then you nearly fell into the lake. Not off to a good start.

"Morning to you too, Rich," you try to smile back. He knows how much you hate Tuesdays, so as soon as he saw your tired face, he knew to back away and leave you alone in the ice cream parlor.

There is only one perk for cleaning the boats early in the morning, it is working in the ice cream shop for the rest of the day. You might be hot and sweaty from the morning, but you can have all the ice cream you want and air conditioning for the rest of the day.

As soon as the clock strikes nine, Rich officially opens up the boat service and you open up the small indoor food shop. Nobody arrives to the lake until twenty minutes after nine. Days are usually this slow, unless it is perfect boat weather, which is very rare.

A family of five arrive. Two parents with three children. It looks like none of them want to be there. Rich gets the family set up with a boat as you sit in the ice cream parlor in silence. It did so happen that another coworker arrives for work, and thankfully, he takes the family out on the water. If he didn't show up, that would mean you would have to transfer over to sign people up for boats.

Around ten in the morning, another group of people show up. A lot of boys who look nearly twenty to thirty years old. Great. They all seem like assholes. You could overhear them from the ice cream parlor. The one with black hair is acting all tough and snobby, telling Rick that he can drive the boat himself. Actually, he called himself a professional boat driver. Most of the other ones were silent, but keep whispering to each other, laughing, and pointing.

Rich hands the dark haired boy the keys to the boat with a sigh. It is not a big sigh, but you can tell Rich did not want to give up the keys to the precious boat.

The large group of boys exit the boat sign up area, then walk straight into the ice cream parlor. Good god, you didn't want this today.

You rest you body against the back counter as the boys start to look through the ice cream flavors. They all start whispering to each other again, smirking, and licking their lips.

One of them walks up to the counter, smiling smugly at you. "Darling, I will take two scoops of cookie dough in a cone and your number." The boys begin all start laughing and whistling to their friend in front of you.

You ignore the stupid boy in front of you, and get his stupid ice cream. "That will be three fifty, please." The boy stands there not doing anything for a second, then goes right to getting his money out. He hands you the money and you hand him the cone. "Thank you, Darling," you say in the most sarcastic way possible.

All the boys behind him start to laugh and shake the kid you apparently "roasted" just now. To you, you only fought fire with fire.

"You want to get me a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of you, Sweetheart."

A fake smile crosses your face, "you want that in a cup or a cone?" In the same smug voice, he says cone and you know what happens? You put the damn chocolate in the cone and ask for two dollars.

The next boy isn't any better. "In a small bowl, I'll take one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of strawberry and that sweet arse of yours."

Each boy that comes up to you has a different inappropriate pick up line. You keep your cool the entire time, and did your best to be nice to the customers. Maybe a couple rude comebacks here or there, but nothing crazy. You need to keep this job.

There is one boy left without any ice cream, and he is concerning you with the look of disgust on his face. What happened to him? The black haired boy asked him if he wanted ice cream, but he respectfully declined. That is their cue to leave the parlor! Thank god. All of them get up to leave except the boy without ice cream.

"Why aren't you following, Haz?"

"I—I don't feel good, you guys go on ahead, I'll stay here."

The sick boy sits at one of the booths, and starts acting like he is sick. He's acting, you could tell. Some coughs come out of his mouth. A little shiver. Other little groans. All signs of someone acting like they are sick. You would know, you do it all the time to get out of work.

His friends leave the parlor. When they finally reach the boat, the blond boy slumps into his chair and sighs. A loud sigh might you add.

"Miss," he calls out, "I'm really sorry about my friends. They truly are the biggest arseholes ever." You cross your arms at his comment with the ice cream slinger still in your hand.

"You get used to it overtime, besides, your acting skills need to be worked on. I do the exact same thing when I want to get out of work." You flick the scoop up into the air, and catch it a second later in the same spot. The boy doesn't speak, so to break the tension, you put two salted caramel scoops into a bowl, and hand him the treat. "It is on the house." He unslumps from his seat to look at the bowl and at you. "You were the only one nice to me, so I give you free ice cream. Hope you like salted caramel, you look like somebody who would like that flavor."

You begin to walk back behind the counter, but his voice stops you. This looks and already sounds very cliché in your head.

"So, what's your name blond boy."

He stabs the ice cream, and stuff it into his mouth. His eyes widen with delight. So he is a salted camera man. "It is Harrison Osterfield." Harrison stuffs more ice cream into his mouth and moans. He literally moans. "This shit is so good. Here, I'll buy you some, it is literally the best thing ever."

"Harrison, I work here."

"I know, but you have to eat some of this, on me this time." Harrison shoves money on the table, but goes right back to eating the treat. You shove the money right back. "I'm buying you ice cream, what are you doing?"

"I get free ice cream all the time, you can do better than buying me desserts from my own parlor."

"You want me to buy you dinner?"

You look at him sweetly, "your words, not mine."

Harrison smiles up at you, ice cream dripping from his mouth. "As long as you keep serving me this stuff, I'll do anything with you."

Maybe Tuesday mornings aren't that bad.