Chapter Five
Jack, I hid this one with the others, in the back cabinet of my office—the one no one ever opens. Old habits die hard. Even now, even here, I still feel the need to tuck us out of sight. Funny, isn’t it, how fear lingers longer than danger.
Still here, Clyde
???? ━━━━??? · ???━━━━ ????
The first thing Ellis noticed on Wednesday was the strawberry spritzer sitting perfectly on the front counter.
Issaky hadn’t announced it or asked if it was even okay; he had simply set the cup down beside the register as if it had always belonged there, condensation already pooling against the worn wood.
Pink, fizzy, and loudly cheerful in a way that made Ellis's jaw tighten.
“For you,” Issaky said, then walked past Ellis into the back office with Clyde, their voices dropping into that low, private register that made Ellis's shoulders creep upward.
He stared at the cup. Strawberries had a smell—a sweet, sharp, artificial smell, like candy melted into carbonation.
Ellis didn’t like surprises, especially ones from men who seemed determined to uproot his entire world.
He slid the drink six inches away from his elbow and focused on the receipt printer instead.
Over the next two weeks, Issaky came and went the way weather did—unpredictable, invasive, and impossible to ignore.
Sometimes he stayed ten minutes, other times an hour.
Sometimes long enough that Ellis's internal sense of time got slippery and wrong. Issaky was usually in the back with Clyde, voices muted but constant, and Ellis told himself it was just business. He told himself it didn’t matter.
And every time, there was a strawberry spritzer.
The second one Ellis didn’t move at all.
He let it sit where Issaky had placed it until the ice melted and the fizz died and it looked abandoned and wrong.
When it was safe to do so, Ellis dumped it down the sink without tasting it, irritation buzzing under his skin like static.
The third one was different. By then, Ellis's routine had already been disrupted too many times that day.
A shipment had arrived late. Issaky had rearranged a stack of records without asking.
Clyde had asked Ellis to stay an extra hour.
The store felt warmer than usual, and his throat was dry in a way that made swallowing uncomfortable.
Issaky set the drink down and didn’t immediately leave.
“For you,” he said again, lighter this time.
“I didn’t order anything,” Ellis replied without looking up, focusing instead on the misbehaving register. Clyde really needed a new one.
“Nope.” Issaky popped the ‘P’, and the sound made Ellis's skin crawl.
“Then why is it here?” Ellis asked, finally looking up.
Issaky looked handsome, as always. His hair was down, the blue washed out to a lighter shade. Ellis's eyes drifted over him, irritated that he had been caught staring for too long.
“Because I brought it.”
“That’s not how transactions work.”
Issaky leaned his hip against the counter, completely at ease. “It isn’t a transaction, El. It’s a gift.”
He used the nickname again, and this time, something other than anger settled in Ellis's lower stomach.
“I don’t like strawberries,” he lied through his teeth. Ellis hated lying, it made him feel dirty.
“That’s okay,” Issaky said. “They like you.” He winked, and the feeling in Ellis's belly was immediately replaced with annoyance.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Ellis said, looking up at him through his lashes. Issaky–he realized–was about four inches taller.
Ellis knew he wasn’t talking about berries anymore, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Issaky smiled like Ellis had said something clever. “You’re right. Bad joke.”
Clyde cleared his throat from the back office. That sound meant behave, and Ellis hated the way his chest tightened, as if being evaluated.
“I’m not drinking it,” Ellis said.
“Didn’t ask you to.”
“You implied—”
“I implied nothing,” Issaky said easily. “I placed a beverage on a surface. What happens next is entirely your call.”
It wasn’t true. It felt like pressure. Expectation wrapped up in politeness. It also felt like a metaphor, and he hated those almost as much as he hated lying. Ellis slid the cup farther away.
Later, when Issaky came back out of the office, Ellis was still staring at the drink like it might attack him.
“You don’t have to glare at it,” Issaky said.
“I’m assessing it.”
“Assessing?”
“For contamination.”
Issaky’s mouth twitched. “From what?”
“From intentions.”
That made him still. “My intentions,” he said slowly, “are refreshment.”
Ellis's throat felt dry enough to hurt. He picked up the cup. His hand shook, which irritated him more than anything else.
“If this is bad,” he warned, “I will remember.”
“Duly noted.” Issaky grinned.
He took a sip. The carbonation startled his tongue, sharp and cold. Strawberry bloomed after, sweet but not overwhelming. His face must have done something, because Issaky leaned in slightly.
“Well?” he asked.
“It’s… acceptable,” Ellis said stiffly.
“High praise.”
“Don’t bring another one.”
Issaky smiled. “No promises.”
Ellis set the cup down harder than necessary. “You don’t know anything about me, and I don’t want you to. That includes my favorite drinks.”
“I thought you said you don’t like strawberries?” Issaky grinned, brown eyes twinkling.
“Fuck off.” Ellis hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, but it was too late.
Issaky looked startled at first but smoothly covered it with a smirk. “I know you alphabetize by last name,” he said, nodding at the shelves. “That’s old-school.”
“It’s efficient,” Ellis corrected, ignoring the fact that Issaky now knew two things about him—two too many.
“And,” Issaky continued, “you pretend not to listen when Clyde hums.”
“That’s not—”
“And you tap your foot when you think no one is watching.”
Ellis's face burned. “Stop observing me.”
He winked before heading to the back room.
By the second week, Issaky spent more time in the front of the store.
It wasn’t gradual. One day he was mostly a presence behind walls, and the next he was leaning on counters, flipping through records, and asking questions like he had a right to the answers.
He flirted in a way Ellis didn’t have a script for—no touching, no explicit comments, just proximity, attention, and that unsettling sense of being noticed.
“You ever smile?” he asked one afternoon.
“Yes.” Ellis said blankly.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Issaky said, placing a Black Sabbath record in the wrong sleeve.
Ellis took a breath to keep from yelling. He was the new boss, after all and he had already pushed it last week with the whole ‘fuck you’ incident.
“I smile with people I like,” Ellis said, releasing a long breath of annoyance.
“That seems impolite.”
“It’s private.” He faked a smile and punched in the numbers on the back of the record, trying desperately to pay attention.
Issaky laughed. “Everything about you is private.”
“That’s intentional.”
“Is it?” Issaky asked. “Or is it armor?”
Ellis's shoulders went rigid. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“Wasn’t trying to.” Issaky smiled. Smiled!
“You were.” Ellis gritted out. Impatience was beginning to creep in, and his crewneck felt too tight.
“Okay,” Issaky said. “Let me rephrase.” He leaned closer—not touching, but close enough that Ellis could smell citrus and soap.
“I’m curious,” he said, looking up at Ellis through long, black lashes.
“About what?”
“What it would take to make you comfortable around me.”
Ellis's brain stalled. That wasn’t a question he’d practiced for. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Predictability.”
“Got it,” Issaky said. “I’ll try.” Then he grinned. “Tomorrow, I will bring a strawberry spritzer.”
“That’s the opposite of—”
“Predictable.” Issaky finished.
Ellis hated that his mouth almost betrayed him and smiled.
He told himself he didn’t like Issaky. That he was intrusive.
That he represented change. That he was taking over.
Except Clyde was still there every day. Same chair, same cardigan, same gentle presence.
It was almost like nothing had changed, which somehow made Ellis's unease worse.
The third week of Issaky’s presence started on a Tuesday.
Tuesdays were lucky. Not magically—empirically. Ellis had found money on a Tuesday in July. Gotten a free hot dog from Dill’s truck on a Tuesday in January. Clyde had offered him the job on a Tuesday in April, voice careful, hands folded.
So when Issaky didn’t come in with a strawberry spritzer and an unnecessary comment, it felt wrong.
Ellis checked the door twice and reorganized the same shelf three times. Clyde watched him pretend not to.
“He’s out of town,” Clyde said gently without looking up from his paper. “Back Thursday.”
“Oh.” Was all Ellis could say.
“You alright?” Clyde asked, setting down whatever he was reading.
“Yes.” It was a lie, but Clyde let it slide.
Closing the store took longer than usual, and Ellis's senses went into full haywire.
His arms itched, his shoes felt like they were tied too tight.
He was hungry, and his hair felt dirty. He was seconds from losing it.
Luckily, the bus ride home was fast and uneventful, Ramones playing quietly in his ears.
When he got home, his mother was already shouting at the neighbors. Her voice scraped against his nerves.
“Get inside,” he said.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped.
He tried to reason and he failed. The noise piled up too fast, and the door slammed. Headphones went on, and the world softened. He didn't even care that he was going to bed hungry, as long as he could just sit in the dark for a bit.
Lying in bed, Ellis thought about Issaky. About if he had ever had to manage this. A mother who acted like a drunk baby, rent that seemed to climb every year, a hungry belly. If he ever had to learn how to not be himself.
He resented him.
He wanted him.
The want scared him more than the resentment.
It had nothing to do with being gay–or bi, as he was–he lived in Seattle for fucks sake, everyone was queer.
It had everything to do with the fact that Issaky stormed into his life, demanded change, and just had to look good while doing it. It was utter bullshit.
Eventually he fell asleep with his jaw clenched, the phantom taste of strawberry lingering like a mistake that couldn’t be undone.