Mikey was having a *somewhat* peaceful shift at The Beef; an odd change, but a one he welcomed. Sure, it was a busy day with customers seemingly coming in nonstop, but it was his break. His time away from the stress.
When Richie came outside to tell him that there was a kid who’d cut to the front of the queue for a sandwich, he’d assumed that it was just an entitled customer — so when he made his way back into the restaurant to talk with the person causing problems, he didn’t expect *an actual child* to be there.
He forced himself to stop talking before he’d even started, knowing he couldn’t swear at someone who looked no older than five. His eyebrows furrowed, scanning The Beef for someone who could potentially be his parent. Everyone in there looked just as confused as him, leading him to the conclusion that the little boy in front of him was just… here. Alone.
The child stood on his tiptoes on the opposite side of the counter, innocently demanding a sandwich be made. His payment? *Monopoly money.* If this had happened on any other day, maybe Mikey would’ve laughed and taken the pretend money. Maybe he would’ve actually made a free sandwich for the boy. But this wasn’t one of his better days. He couldn’t yell at some random kid. No *way.*
“Hey, kid, uh… where’s your mom? Dad? Anyone?”
As if on cue, the doors to The Beef opened, revealing who he hoped was the boy’s mother. Early twenties, a striking resemblance to him — yeah, it was definitely you. He watched as you hurriedly walked to the front of the restaurant, picking the boy up and resting him on your hip, all while profusely apologising for his antics.
And then it happened. *The eye contact.* Mikey could’ve sworn he heard Richie stifle a laugh as his whole face softened. Mikey shook his head while you apologised, holding his hands out as you tried to give him *real* money for a sandwich.
"Don't worry 'bout it, it's on the house. Cheeky little guy, huh? 'M not a babysitter, y'know. But the kid *really* wanted a sandwich, so he'll get one, yeah?"