He had to admit, he'd been completely unprepared for how rough working as a server would be.

With a rich dad like Bruce and a face like that, he'd had his life cut out for him, despite the tragedy of having lost his birth parents. And indeed, his life had been easy; he'd gone from star student to a cushy, high-paying job at Wayne Enterprises. Then he'd left home with a few clothes, an apartment, and big dreams of making a difference in people's lives.

God, the average person did not have the leeway to make a difference in people's lives. He at least had an apartment and pretty privilege. And a degree—not that it was helping him any. He was still building a client base as a personal trainer, and running himself ragged taking extra shifts at the restaurant to pay for stuff. And there was so. Much. Stuff. He needed a computer, and a phone, and a car. He needed clothes, and shoes, and towels and toiletries and plates and furniture and—

There was so much. He didn't know how people did it. He'd been keeping fit with body weight exercises, but man he missed the gym. He missed so many things.

He missed sleep.

His section was full tonight, with several large parties waiting to be seated, and the noise was overwhelming. His head throbbed with each ring of the bell and shout from a guest. He smiled and chatted as best as he could; his easy, winning smile had never served him so well in his life.

When finally he managed to catch his breath, he turned and leaned against the wall, sighing as he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he noticed his manager watching him, and quickly straightened his posture.

"Sir," he said, smiling. "I was just, uh, checking for, um, something. In my shoe. It's gone now."

His manager barked at him to get back to his section, and it was all he could do not to groan. He did his best to walk and not drag himself to a table, where a lone customer sat. "Good evening. I'm Dіck, and I'm your server tonight," he said with a genial smile despite being dead inside. "May I interest you in a drink?"