Chapter Text
Lucas doesn't even know why he’s here. He doesn't particularly like movies, and you definitely won't catch him watching any movies in his spare time that dont involve superheroes or characters with some sort of mental instability (does this say something about himself? Lucas doesn't know, and he's fine with not thinking about it until it comes up in a future therapy visit). The last movie he remembers watching and actually enjoying was American Psycho , and he didn't even watch it out of choice.
When thinking about all of this, Lucas asks himself the age old question, Why did he pick a part time job of serving and feeding large families with too-loud children and too-pretentious teenagers, indulging in “intelligent” conversations with movie buffs who take pride in the fact that they watched The Godfather and “TRULY understood it”, all paired with cleaning up messes of popcorn, sodas, sticky cardiac-arrest inducing candies, and substances in the back row that he hopes is just dried butter from the packets they give out freely out front?
While he would take the time to actually think and answer this question, which, maybe in another universe, could end up with him having some sense and end with him finally leaving this god-awful job where he’s overworked and severely underpaid, it was foolish for him to think that he would ever get a moment of peace when there's a fully booked showing in 30 minutes while he’s on the clock. Thanks to Yann, he’s reminded of this during his break, which is ultimately short lived because the lines seem to be bordering the door. Yann catches Lucas lying down on the staff couch, eyes closed, one leg sitting on the backboard and the other hanging off of the couch. Some may think this position would give him muscle problems, but Lucas thinks it “allows his body to fully stretch out”.
“Up and at em, you know we’re understaffed today, and Arthur and Basile are handling security out front.” Lucas lets out a long, drawn out sigh, which is accompanied by a swift smack to the head. “I'm on it, calm down.” He gets up, letting out an exhale, “I wouldn't recommend using that attitude when talking to customers, might lower popcorn sales.” “Ha ha,” Yann responds, sporting a mildly sarcastic tone. “You know you would love me if I did that, you've made it known that you hate concessions.” “And that you are correct, my friend.” Lucas rolls off of the couch, and grabs the concession apron which once served a role as his blanket. He continues to explain while wiping off the remains of past spilled and failed orders, “But unfortunately, I’m one of the only people who can handle it during rush hours, and Imane has decided to grace us with a lack of her presence.” Lucas puts a hand to his chest, sniffling while making fake “puppy dog” eyes at Yann. “Stop fucking around and get to your spot.” Yann jokes, shoving Lucas playfully.
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While Lucas is no fan of religion, he silently thanks the god that allowed him to survive during rush hour, somehow dismissing all the thoughts telling him to shove the popcorn or greasy condiment filled hot dogs into his current arrogant customers face, and quit his job once and for all. It only takes so many “I asked for a small, this looks like a large!”’s and “What do you mean you cant register my ticket, isn't this the correct stand?”’s for a movie worker to go completely insane. But thankfully, it was finally over, and Lucas wouldn't have to look at another SMALL (yes, it's oddly large for a small bag of popcorn, but movies don't last 30 minutes,) bag of popcorn for the rest of the weekend. Or so he thought.
As he hears someone ask for yet another bag of buttered popcorn while he's turned around, untying his apron, Lucas can't help but think of what sins he committed to be treated with this karma. Was it the fact that he was the one stealing from the supply of class erasers and glue sticks in 1st grade? Or was it because he drunkenly threw up on a girl in the 10th grade after having his first kiss, making her think her breath smelled bad, and he didn't have the guts to say that it was actually a mix of alcohol and a mix of his raging teenage homosexuality?
Lucas realizes he’s been standing and doing too much thinking, and not enough responding. He ties his apron back up, takes in a strong inhale and lets out a loud exhale, and turns around to tell the man that concessions are “out of service” and oh my god you’re hot. Suddenly the smell of the sweaty bodies he’s encountered during his shift is all-too noticeable on his apron, and wow they should change the fluorescent lights in here, they're really making him sweat. This leads Lucas to think that maybe the long sleeve shirt wasn't the best idea because as he swipes a hand at his seemingly rebelling hair going somehow in all different directions, a thought crosses his mind that oh god he definitely has some sweat stains and he needs to check right now. Lucas’s brain takes a pause. Did he even put on deodorant this morning, or did he forget? Why is he always so groggy in the mornings? The least his already low functioning brain could do is remember if he got ready properly before embarrassing himself in front of his customers,
“Um, so how much for a large..?” Oh. Right. He's still a customer. Lucas taps mindlessly on the register, going through the motions of finding the total for a large buttered popcorn. “Uh, 7.49” he answers, hoping that he doesn't sound too breathless. “Well that's a bit expensive for popcorn isn't it?” The man chuckles and Lucas looks up (yes, he's so tall that Lucas has to look up ), and he almost gets weak in the knees. Not only does he have a beautiful laugh, but Lucas is positive that his smile could make peace with the most vain countries. He’s convinced that he would do anything for this man, and Lucas realizes he's yet again, thinking too much and talking too little.
Forcing himself out of his daydreams thoughts, Lucas remembers to respond to the man, and gives a soft chuckle back in agreement. “If only I could make the prices,” he jokes. If it comes out more awkward than intended, it's none of Lucas’s business. And if Lucas forgets to give him his ticket because he was too busy staring at the boy's head, wondering how messy hair looks great on him but not on Lucas, that's a secret for him and him only. And if his mindless staring leads to the boy reaching over, yes, reaching over, and ripping the paper from the dispenser, that's something that Lucas can scold himself for letting happen once peacefully at home, with no unfairly attractive men in sight.
“It’ll be a 3 minute wait.” Lucas mutters. The man nods, gives another knee-buckling smile (officially trademarked by Lucas Lallement), and walks to the delivery counter. Lucas proceeds to go through the motions.
Grab a bag of popcorn kernels, set it to the side. Then grab the bottle of oil, and eyeball the amount so that it looks close enough to the measurement they said you were supposed to pour in the first day instruction video. Drop a few kernels in the machine to see if it's heating, stare into the abyss. Stare into the eyes of the hot guy with messy brown hair at the counter, realize he’s staring at you back. He’s staring at Lucas back. Realize you didn't plan for this. Freeze in place. Have an odd staring contest with the unfairly attractive guy at the delivery counter. Jump violently at the sudden popping noises. Remember that you have a job to do, let embarrassment wash over you as the beautiful messy haired boy chuckles at your idiocy. Continue to actually do your job.
3 oddly-silent minutes later, Lucas walks up to the counter with the boy’s popcorn, quickly and semi-robotically reciting the company ordered dismissal message, which went something along the lines of “Thank you for coming to Starfall Cinema, our staff wishes you a great movie experience!”. Lucas honestly doesn't remember, as that was one of the many things he wasn't paying attention to when the staff was forced to watch the “new and improved training video!” (his boss said way too excitedly as if he didn't call all of the staff into his office at 6am, a time where nobody was meant to be working and everybody should have been savoring their break in bed).
“Thank you..” the boy drags on, and Lucas realizes he’s insinuating that he needs his name. The mere thought of this is making his mouth feel dry, so Lucas can only manage to pathetically point to his nametag, hoping that he would get the hint. Luckily, he did, following with an “Ah, Lucas, thank you Lucas.” in a too endearing voice and another soft smile. Maybe in another universe Lucas asked for his name, or even talked to him about the movie he was going to see, but one thing Lucas was positive about tonight was that this wasn't the universe that would have that outcome. He settles for a soft nod, bidding the boy farewell.
Lucas. Hates. Working. Concessions.