𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘 ﹙peter maximoff﹚

𝒊𝒙. how does this even work?

CHAPTER TEN ;
how does this even work?
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MARCH 1972

IT WAS FINALLY the weekend.

Rather than waking up at noon as she normally did on a Saturday, Layla found herself hurriedly brushing her knotted hair at five in the morning, getting ready for her first shift at the corner store.

Yay.

Looking back at it, it was stupid. Getting a job just to spite someone that she had barely known a month wasn't the best idea, but of course, Layla didn't think it through, and did it anyways. Oh well, at least she got paid.

"Fuck." the girl muttered as she looked at her clock, quickly tying her hair in a low ponytail and rushing downstairs. She grabbed her keys and stalked out the door, hoping to get to the store before half five. If she was late on her first day, she would never hear the end of it.

She arrived at the store just on time and quickly unlocked the door with some rusty keys Ollie gave her. The girl flicked on the lights, squinting slightly at the sudden brightness of it all, and walked over to the counter.

"How do I even use this..." she muttered to herself as she looked down at the cash register. For some reason, her friend had assumed she knew what she needed to do.

She did not.

The girl frowned, looking for a button that screamed "OPEN", but alas, they all looked the same. So, of course, the only logical thing to do would be to test them all out. It had to be one of them, it was just up to her to figure out which.

After a few attempts, she finally managed to open it.

Her success was short lived, however, as while she was looking for the button to give receipts, she accidentally pressed the button to close it, making the metal smash into her fingers. She hissed in pain, cradling her fingers close to her chest.

Literally fifteen minutes into her first shift and she had already gotten injured.

To make matters worse, as she looked back up, she locked eyes with someone she did NOT want to see.

Peter Maximoff stood by the door, staring at her with his brows raised and an amused smirk. Layla groaned, rubbing a hand over her forehead in irritation.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"Getting food, is that not allowed?" The boy responded, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"No. It's not allowed, you're banned."

He clearly wasn't expecting that.

The silver haired boy put his hands in the air in surrender, walking towards the counter.

"Can you even ban me? Is that allowed? I mean, you've worked here for like, a day-"

"How do you know that? What are you, a stalker?" Layla cut him off, squinting at him in accusation.

Peters eyes widened in panic, a sight that greatly amused the girl behind the counter.