Summer Lights and City Nights

―i. wednesday

―i.

So Marceline sort of hates Wednesdays.

Not even sort of, she just―she hates them―more than waiting in lines or walking behind particularly slow people on the sidewalk or having to actually take the train to work because her dad won’t get her a car since she still doesn’t have her driver’s license because she’s failed the test at least six times but that isn’t even really her fault okay it’s just―

Getting off topic.

The point is that Marceline hates Wednesdays because Wednesday afternoons at the comic book store where she works are so incredibly slow. The fact that they are in the middle of a heat wave and the air conditioner is out of service does not help matters at all.

She blows a bubble with her watermelon bubblegum and flips a page in the comic book she’s reading―Batman, issue #8 of the reboot (new 52? more like DC what are you doing?)―and tries not to cry because oh God Damian no.

“Hi.”

Marceline looks up boredly at the new customer (she didn’t even hear him come in, weird). He grins at her and suddenly Marceline is tired because it is Wednesday afternoon in the middle of a heat wave and she does not have the energy for this.

And then she notices his eyes.

And not in the romantic movie I-just-fell-in-love way but more along the lines of holy-fuck-what. They are mismatched, one blue and one gray and Marceline thinks that that is pretty cool and is sort of transfixed by his eyes so she sort of just stares at him. He stares back, obviously, and he keeps smiling and it all starts to feel a little inappropriate in a way.

“Can I help you with something?” she finally asks and closes her book.

“Yeah, well you see,” he says and he rests his elbow on the countertop, leaning over just a little bit, “I was walking by when I looked over and saw you here alone so I thought to myself, ‘a pretty girl like that shouldn’t be alone’ and I was wondering if you’d eat lunch with me.” He grins, charmingly (not that she thinks so, shut up).

Marceline just sort of stares at him. Is he for real?

“So whaddya say?” he asks her.

Oh, he’s―he’s serious. 

“I don’t even know you,” she says.

“You’ll get to know me.”

Marceline narrows her eyes. “I’m working right now.”

“I can wait.” He smiles at her again with his stupid perfect white teeth. She suspects a whole childhood of having to wear braces and being teased about it and feels better about herself suddenly (she’s a terrible person so what).

“I don’t want to eat lunch with you,” she says finally. He shrugs.

“Okay, I can take a hint,” he says and Marceline stares at him dumbfounded, “I’ll see you around then!”

“No you won’t!” Marceline yells as he walks out the door.

Weirdo.