"You're gonna get us both fired." You huffed as you walked past Tyler with two plates in your hand, heading to heat up the carbonara that the filthy rich old hag on table fourteen left untouched until it went cold and ordered it to be heated again.

"Who cares." Tyler yawned as he zipped his pants back, picking up the meal he just destroyed to spit in it, then picking up a fork, messing with it until he made it look like nothing happened before heading out the kitchen to serve it to whoever had the demise of being served by Tyler Durden.

You ignore him, already used to his antics while hurrying into picking up other plates until the carbonara gets heated. Tyler comes back, whistling. He hops onto a counter, his legs swinging back and forth as he watches you move around the kitchen.

"We should ditch." He suggests— well, more like urges you.