“i work at a little market/store and u came up to the register with a candy bar but didn’t have enough money to pay for the entire thing. but don’t worry, i got you, fam” au: I saw this and my mind screamed, "ANDREIL".
ok i combined both of these and neither is fully what you asked for but i hope you like it anyway!!!
It’s hot the way only New Jersey gets hot, America’s swampy asshole, thick damp air under an impermeable layer of smog, the sun mocking him from where it hangs between a few grey clouds that indicate but don’t promise an upcoming rain.
Neil’s jog is taking much, much longer than usual thanks to an unbearable amount of traffic. It doesn’t help that he’s had to reroute himself to get some British candy bar from the one Wawa that—without explanation—carries British candy bars.
He gets there eventually, eight miles away from his apartment and so fully dehydrated that he’s questioning how the fuck he’s going to make it back. Wawa is, as always, an oasis: refrigerators line the walls, and within them, blissfully, is cold water. He grabs a bottle and drinks half of it in the aisle before even going on the search for the Mars Bar.
The candy aisle has nothing, just mostly-depleted cardboard boxes of Snickers and Twix. The international section is mainly Latin American and Asian goods, and then, crammed between coconut water and Goya goods, a box of Mars Bars.
Like the boxes in the candy aisle, it’s empty.