Chapter Six
Clyde, I need you to come home. I’m tired of writing around the truth when what I want is your voice in the room and your hand on my back, reminding me that I still belong to someone who chose me once and might choose me again if I ask.
Still here, Jack
???? ━━━━??? · ???━━━━ ????
Issaky came back the following Thursday.
Ellis noticed because Thursdays were quiet in a particularly suspended-time kind of way.
The rain was thin and needling instead of loud, the kind that didn’t announce itself so much as settle in.
Clyde was in early, humming tunelessly as he rearranged a display of old punk singles that no one ever bought but everyone always flipped through.
The heater clicked on and off in its unreliable rhythm. Everything was normal.
Which meant that when the bell above the door rang, and Issaky did that sigh thing he seemed to do often, Ellis's body reacted before his brain did. There was a quick tightening behind his ribs, like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Ellis kept his eyes on the crate he was alphabetizing.
He could identify most regulars by sound alone—the weight of their steps, how decisively they moved, whether they hesitated in the doorway like they were afraid the place might reject them.
Issaky didn’t hesitate. He never had. His presence always felt like he stepped into rooms instead of entering them.
“Hey, Ellis,” Issaky said.
There it was. His name, like it belonged in Issaky’s mouth. Ellis needed to get a hold of himself.
He straightened slowly and turned around.
Issaky was wearing a jacket Ellis hadn’t seen before—dark, fitted, probably expensive in a way Ellis didn’t have the vocabulary for.
His hair was slightly damp from the rain, looser than usual.
And in his right hand, unmistakable as a peace offering, was a clear plastic cup beaded with condensation, pink liquid sloshing gently against the sides.
Strawberry spritzer.
For a second, Ellis just stared at it. “Oh,” he said, eloquently.
Issaky smiled, small and pleased, like he’d won something. “Hi to you too.”
Ellis hadn’t expected the drink. That was the part that threw him off.
He expected most things. Pattern recognition was his forte—it was what his mother called one of his many superpowers.
Issaky had been gone for days, long enough that he should’ve gotten bored.
Ellis had convinced himself the drinks had been a bit, a flirtation Issaky had decided not to commit to, that cutting them off without explanation was easier than letting it turn into a habit.
Ellis had prepared for that version of events. He was good at preparing for abandonment, for change. It was one of his core competencies. So to see Issaky standing there, holding the same drink he always brought, like no time had passed at all—
Ellis's chest did something inconvenient.
“You didn’t have to,” Ellis said automatically.
“I know,” Issaky said. “I wanted to.”
That didn’t help the pain in his chest. Or the growing heat in his lower belly.
Issaky handed it to him, fingers brushing Ellis's, just barely.
The contact was brief, intentional, and entirely too much.
Something along the shelves behind Ellis shifted—a whisper of movement, like vinyl sleeves settling themselves.
Ellis pretended not to notice. Issaky pretended not to notice that Ellis noticed.
That was becoming another one of their little agreements.
He took a sip before he could overthink it. It was cold and sweet and familiar. Strawberry syrup, carbonation sharp against his tongue, ice clinking softly. His shoulders dropped an inch without permission.
“Thanks,” he said, quieter this time.
“You’re welcome, El.”
They stood there for a moment, neither of them moving, like the conversation needed a push to start rolling again.
“So,” Issaky said eventually, leaning one hip against the counter. “You’ve decided to just drink them now?”
Ellis shrugged. “I was thirsty.”
Issaky raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
“Don’t read into it.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely reading into it.”
Ellis shot him a look, but Issaky only grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. It annoyed Ellis—but it also, unfortunately, felt good to be seen consistently enough to be teased about it.
“You were gone,” Ellis said, before he could stop himself.
Something flickered across Issaky’s face—not guilt exactly, but awareness. Like he knew that mattered more to Ellis than he was willing to admit.
“Yeah,” Issaky said. “I had to take care of some stuff.”
Ellis waited. Issaky didn’t elaborate. That’s fine, Ellis told himself. People were allowed to have lives that didn’t orbit him. He knew that. Intellectually.
Clyde appeared from the back room then, saving Ellis from having to decide whether to push or not. His eyes lit up when he saw Issaky.
“Ah,” Clyde said. “There you are.”
Issaky straightened, his attention shifting easily. “Hey, Clyde.”
They disappeared into the back together, voices low but animated. Ellis watched them go, something sour curling in his stomach that he didn’t have a good name for. It wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was more like being excluded from a room he didn’t know he wanted into until the door closed.
Ellis focused back on his work. Alphabetical order. Predictable systems. Things that stayed where he put them.
The bell rang again an hour later, then again.
Time passed. Customers drifted in and out while the rain thickened.
Ellis got so caught up in updating the store’s inventory that his drink melted down to pink water before he was even halfway finished.
For a brief moment, he worried about what Issaky would think if he saw the barely drunk spritzer.
Who cares what he thinks, Ellis scolded himself, hating that the thought had crossed his mind at all.
As if on cue, Issaky came back out and leaned against the counter again, like it was where he naturally belonged now. He looked unfairly handsome in the warm, old lighting, his skin more bronze than usual.
“So,” Issaky said. “I feel like I’m finally allowed to ask you real questions.”
It annoyed Ellis that Issaky and Clyde would go to the backroom, have their secret conversation, and then Issaky would come out here and act like it was normal.
Ellis frowned. “What makes you think that?”
“You drank the drink.” Issaky glanced at it, his smile dipping before lifting again. “Well. Some of it.”
“Can you not see that it’s barely half gone?” Ellis asked, genuinely unsure if the man was dense.
“Still,” Issaky said. “It feels like progress.”
Ellis rolled his eyes. “What do you want to know?”
Issaky tilted his head, studying him with that intent, curious look that made Ellis's skin buzz faintly. “Where do you live?”
Ellis stiffened and hoped it wasn’t noticeable.
It was.
“Near here,” he said.
Issaky laughed. “Okay, mysterious.”
“I’m not mysterious. I’m private.”
“Mm, so you’ve said. What about you asking me something, then.”
Ellis hesitated. “Where do you live?”
Issaky’s face lit up immediately, like he’d been waiting for that one. “Capitol Hill.”
Ellis snorted before he could stop himself. “Oh,” he said. “Of course you do.”
Issaky blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re boujee,” Ellis said, putting extra weight on the b.
“I am not boujee.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Nuh-uh.”
Ellis fought a smile, sucking his teeth. “You live in Capitol Hill. You probably have exposed brick and a monstera.”
Capitol Hill wasn’t just one of the nicest neighborhoods in Seattle—it was an art student’s dream, college kids’ favorite bar crawl, and a massive LGBTQIA+ epicenter.
“I do not have a monstera,” Issaky said, scrunching his nose.
Ellis immediately wanted to poke it but pushed down the urge. “You’re lying.”
“I have a fig.”
Ellis laughed—actually laughed—and immediately felt betrayed by his own body.
Issaky’s eyes softened, like he’d just been handed something fragile. “Wow,” he said. “That was easy.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I am absolutely getting used to it.” Issaky leaned closer, lowering his voice. “There’s this ice cream place near my apartment. Best I’ve had in the city. I want to show you.”
Ellis's stomach flipped. “No.”
Issaky blinked. “No?”
“No.”
“What, you don’t like ice cream?”
“Of course I like ice cream,” Ellis said, irritated. “I don’t like you.”
That earned a slow grin.
“Ouch.”
“I mean it.” Ellis turned back to the register.
“Sure you do.”
God, Ellis hated teasing.
“I really do.”
“Ellis—”
“No,” Ellis said again, sharper this time. “I said no.”
The word cracked through the space between them—sudden and bright. Ellis's pulse roared in his ears. He hated how snappy it sounded, hated that he couldn’t soften it fast enough, hated that wanting something and being afraid of it felt identical in his body.
Issaky didn’t argue.
That was a surprise.
He studied Ellis's face for a long moment, something thoughtful and gentle replacing the playful edge. Then he smiled—not teasing, not smug. Just warm.
“Okay,” Issaky said. “No is no.”
Relief washed through Ellis so fast it nearly buckled his knees.
Issaky stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Another time, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Ellis echoed, noncommittal.
Issaky turned toward the back room, then paused. “For the record,” he said over his shoulder, “you’d look cute holding a waffle cone.”
“Get out of my store,” Ellis said.
“It’s my store,” Issaky laughed, disappearing into the back and leaving behind the echo of his presence—and a fizzing warmth under Ellis's skin that refused to settle.
Ellis took another sip of the melted strawberry spritzer and stared at the door, his heart doing something it absolutely should not have been doing.