Going to work

Being a pizza guy didn't mean solely delivering. It meant staying at the cash register to get paid overtime. It meant bending to your bosses' orders no matter what they said.

Sigh.

Whatever. Work was work and money was money. Gotham might have been cheap as shit to live in but the insurance was sky high.

The pizza guy had seen a lot of people come and go during his time working at Gino's Slice, but some faces just had a way of sticking with him. It was late, the neon sign in the window buzzing, and the usual Gotham nighttime gloom pressed against the glass.

The streets were quiet that night. Too quiet. He was used to hearing distant sirens or the occasional sound of some guy screaming down an alleyway, but for once, there was just… peace.

And then the bell rang.

He looked up from the cash register as the door swung open, revealing a woman who—for some reason—instantly stood out.

She was blonde, maybe mid-twenties, with a girl-next-door kind of beauty that made him do a double-take. She wore glasses that framed her bright blue eyes, and something about her gave off an energy that felt out of place in Gotham. She wasn't hunched over, she wasn't avoiding eye contact, and she wasn't looking over her shoulder like she expected something to jump out at her. Instead, she carried herself with an easy kind of confidence, smiling warmly as she approached the counter.

"Hi! Can I get a medium pizza? Oh, and two garlic dipping sauces, please," the pretty blonde said, her voice light and cheerful. A woman like this should have made him nervous but it didn't. Again, it was like that hot next door neighbour, he managed to smile and nod.

"Sure thing," the pizza guy replied, punching the order into the register.

That was it. A normal interaction. He made her pizza, brought it back, and she smiled before walking out the door, leaving him wondering why she stuck in his mind so much.

And then it happened again.

The second night. His boss told him for the rest of the week, he had to handle the cash register at night. Okay, cool. Whatever. Annoying but whatever.

The bell rang. He looked up.

Her again.

Same order. Same smile. He found himself paying more attention this time—how her hair caught the glow of the neon sign, the way she hummed under her breath while waiting. He watched as she paid in exact change, thanked him, and left.

Night three.

The blonde came back.

This time, he was ready for it.

"Medium pizza, two garlic sauces?" he asked before she could even speak.

Her blue eyes widened before she grinned. "Haha, yeah, good memory! Yeah, that's the one."

He nodded, trying not to feel too proud of himself. She hummed a tune again while waiting—something familiar but just out of reach in his mind. When he handed her the pizza, she gave him a small, knowing smile before heading out.

Night four.

"Hey, welcome back," he said as soon as she stepped inside.

Her lips twitched in amusement. "Thanks! Guess I come here a lot, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Best pizza in Gotham," she said with a wink before taking her order.

And for some reason, that small bit of praise made his entire night.

Night five. Almost a week. By now, it was routine. The hot blonde arrived like clockwork, same order, same smile.

But that night, it was raining. She stepped in, shaking droplets from her hair, her glasses fogged up.

"Jeez, it's really coming down out there," she said, pushing her glasses up.

He grabbed a handful of napkins and handed them over. "Here."

"Oh, wow, thanks! You're a lifesaver."

She wiped her glasses, and he watched as she squinted at him, tilting her head slightly, almost like she was really looking at him for the first time. It made his pulse jump for a second.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked, grabbing her pizza.

He smiled. "I'll be here."

Night six. The young woman came in a little later than usual, looking more tired than normal. He swore he saw a bruise mark on her wrist.

"Long day?" he asked as he rang up her order.

"You have no idea," she said, rubbing her temples. "Some people are just… exhausting."

"Well, I think pizza makes everything better."

Her tired face lit up. "You get me." She took her pizza and, before leaving, added, "Thanks, by the way. For, you know… remembering me."

"Why wouldn't I? You seem amazing."

She blinked and if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, she went a little red. And that? That stuck with him for the rest of the night.

So for the next night, his legs wiggled and he kept eyeing the door. At this point, he was expecting her. It felt like waiting for a regular customer, except it wasn't just any regular—it was her.

She arrived a little earlier than usual. The store had some people whose orders he fulfilled. And this night, she didn't just grab her order and go. Instead, she sat down and pulled out her laptop.

The bell chimed as another customer left, and the place was quieter now, with just the low hum of the kitchen, the occasional beep from the register, and the hot blonde typing like crazy.

The pizza guy didn't want to disturb her. She seemed locked in. So he waited. Waited, waited, waited…

'Ah, now.'

She waved him over, a playful little grin on her lips. "Sorry about that, have some work to do." She gestured to her laptop and cleared her throat. "Ahem, so, do I have to order at the counter, or can I just tell you from here?"

The pizza chuckled and joked, "I think I can make a very rare exception."

"Good. Medium pizza, two garlic sauces."

"Is it that good," he teased.

"Definitely." She grinned before adjusting her bag. That was when he noticed it—a pin on her jacket, small and circular, with a distinct design. His curiosity got the better of him.

"Oh, you go to Gotham University?" he asked, gesturing toward the pin. "Doing an assignment?"

She blinked before glancing down at it. "Oh! No, actually. I'm here for an exchange program. I'm really from Metropolis."

'Metropolis?'

Yeah, that definitely made sense.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that nobody from Gotham smiled like that when working.