And remember, call me if you need anything at—"
"Dad," you shouted in exasperation, pulling at his hands that were cradling your face, "would you please just leave already? My shift starts in ten minutes."
The two of you were currently standing in a quaint ice cream shop, located just a few hundred feet past the entrance in an amusement park. You'd needed a summer job and one of your friends told you about how fun it was to work there for the entire summer—free ice cream, air conditioning, and the customers were somewhat slow. Your father, on the other hand, wasn't as easy to convince as you were. He hadn't wanted you to have a job until you graduated high school but managed to convince him by bringing him home ice cream, his favorite being vanilla.
Always with the sweet tooth, you remembered thinking to yourself. His eyes had lit up at the mention of vanilla and that's when you knew you had him.
"All right, all right," he said, backing away slowly with his hands held in a surrendering fashion, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm your dad and I just always worry about you, child, especially with your mother being—"
"I know," you quickly replied with a clench of your jaw, breaking eye contact with him to stare at the shop's tiled flooring, spotting a few stains here and there. You really wished he would stop bringing her up all the time. "You don't need to remind me. You do need to leave, though. I have a lot of work to do before I open up the shop and I can't do that with you looming over my shoulder, you weirdo."
"Fine," he whined, the iiiiiine echoing off the walls in the shop, then pointed one of his fingers at you seriously. "Am I still picking you up after work or do you have a ride?"
You quickly explained that you were the only one working and that you definitely need a ride, almost having to shove him out of the shop with your own two hands afterwards. As he was leaving, he energetically waved at you, even as he walked out the door and on his way to the parking lot.
The slight hum of the air conditioning and the whirring of one of the machines comforted you, allowing you to appreciate the peaceful atmosphere. Rolling up your sleeves, you walked into the back room and quickly put on an apron, glancing at your watch occasionally. You still had a few minutes before you had to stand at the counter for the next eight hours, you noted. Pulling your hair into a ponytail, you swept some broken ice cream cones behind the counter, transported tubs of ice cream from the back to the front of the shop, and waited for the first customer.
Your morning went by fairly quickly, most of the customers being either a large family of four with screaming kids or kind, elderly couples that just wanted some scrumptious vanilla under the blistering sun—it sounded romantic but then you witnessed one of their dentures falling into their cone and that was a bit scarring, to say the least. Teenagers, on the other hand, didn't frequent the shop at all. You figured it was because they would much rather get to the most popular rides first and didn't want to haul ass all the way to the front of the amusement park where the shop was.
However, only a week after you started your job, a group of teenage boys strode into the shop. As they approached the counter, you scowled at the wet footprints they left behind and figured they must've just been on one of the water rides to be soaking wet. You dully greeted them in response, knowing that your customer service needed some work but couldn't bring yourself to care that much.
There were only three of them but their outrageous hair colors made them stick out in comparison to the neutral walls adorning the shop's interior. The smallest one of the group began to run his fingers through his tangerine hair, tousling the strands messily to which one of his friends began to playfully scold him for it. As they argued, the one with the black fringe and a gray snapback staggered along the line of ice creams displayed behind the counter, glancing over at you occasionally.
"What can I get you?" you asked him, tapping your finger impatiently beside the register.
Pointing a finger at himself, he confusedly stared at you with wide eyes. "Um... I don't know... I'm not su— I think— Taehyung." He desperately looked behind him then and motioned for one of his friends to order first instead of him, claiming that he didn't know what he wanted yet.
The taller of the two stepped forward, his green highlights along his bangs catching your attention. He had overall large features—a big nose, and an even bigger mouth—but you still considered him attractive, more so than his friends because of his confidence. As he opened his mouth in excitement at all the different flavors the counter had to offer, you remained impassive.
"What can I get you?" you repeated, following his eyes as he longingly stared at the cherry ice cream, bits of chocolate poking out from underneath its frozen surface.
Finally realizing that you asked him a question, he looked back at his friends and elbowed the one with black hair, who replied with a stubborn shake of his head. You watched on indifferently as they frantically whispered and gestured to you, catching pieces of their conversation here and there.
A moment later, the black haired boy was pushed to the register with a rough shove, glancing back nervously at his friends once he regained his balance. He struggled to form a sentence at first, a lot of um's and ah's stumbling from his mouth, then attempted to introduce himself
"I'm..." he started to say, as if he forgot his own name. You weren't sure why he was introducing himself in the first place because you really didn't care that much, knowing you'd forget his awkward personality by the next working day. After his friends and gestured wildly for him to continue, he slowly turned to face you again and read your name tag to himself. "I'm Jungkook."
You blinked, then sighed to yourself as you realized he was hitting on you—or at least, he was trying to. It didn't happen very often but it always made your shift feel longer.
"Your hair." He pointed to his own messy strands, then to yours. "It's very p... Your hair is pretty."
"Thanks," you muttered dryly, glancing at your watch as he anxiously awaited your response. He looked so eager that you almost felt bad about your lack of interest. "I grew it myself."
His eyes dropped to the floor at that, scratching at the back of his neck nervously. You didn't give him much to work with but you really just wanted to give him his ice cream so he would leave.
Another customer walked in a minute later and you could tell Jungkook was still trying to think of something else to say. He began to panic then, fanning at himself like he was in a sauna rather than an air conditioned ice cream shop.
"What would you like?" you tried again, phrasing it in a nicer way, as if simply changing your words would make him order. He slowly brought his hands back to his sides, tucking them into his front jean pockets as he looked at the various sweet, sugary, and fruity flavors.
After a moment or two of awkward silence, his eyes barely glancing at the ice cream but still refusing to order, he looked to you as if he just came up with the best idea known to man.
"Surprise me."
You deviously smiled to yourself at that, him probably mistaking that for romantic interest.
"Sure," you replied, tightening your ponytail as you stood behind the ice cream counter to read the labels carefully, noticing that his eyes were following yours closely.
And with that, you began to scoop one of the least popular flavors into a small cone: black licorice. At the tub having only been scooped into a few times while the others had been scooped into many more times, you knew that he was not going to like it, which was the point.
Some of the ice cream melted as you handed him the cone, him eyeing it warily. You licked at the sticky residue that dripped onto the back of your hand and smirked at him.
"Enjoy."
His two friends eyed the ice cream cone in his hand and started to laugh. The smaller one laughed so hard that squeaks began to escape from his throat in little bursts, bending over to clap every few seconds. Jungkook hesitantly licked one side of the ice cream, immediately yanking his head back at the taste and scrunching up his features as he swallowed. With each nervous lick, he would close his eyes tightly, as if not seeing the gross, coal color would make it tasteless.
After making a third of the way through the ice cream cone, he realized that he still hadn't paid you and frantically patted at his jeans with his free hand, searching for his wallet. A few wadded bills and old coins made their way across the counter towards you and you blinked in response. Any other day, you would've been highly offended that a customer had just tossed money at you like you were some sort of stripper. As you were quickly learning, however, Jungkook was not your average customer. Instead, you politely nodded at him, folding the crumpled bills into the cash register and telling him that he could take a seat in one of the booths or take the ice cream to go. He thanked you and waited for his friends to order their own ice cream cones before the three of them left the shop.
When your father picked you up several hours later, asking how work was and if you made anyone cry, you easily answered with a small smile, "Not yet but I still have the whole summer left."
