Chapter Sixteen
Issaky noticed the moment Ellis entered the record store.
He straightened from where he’d been restocking the front counter display, pulse ticking up.
He hadn’t told himself to expect it today.
He’d trained himself out of that. Expectation had turned into a bruise too many times this last month–texts unanswered, plans postponed, the soft echo of absence in places that used to hold laughter.
The bell above the record store door chimed and Ellis fully stepped inside.
For a moment Issaky didn’t move. Didn’t trust that this wasn’t another almost-memory, the kind that happened when he was too tired and the afternoon light hit the dust in a certain way.
Ellis stood just inside the doorway like he was reacquainting himself with gravity, his coat zipped. Hair slightly wind-tossed. Eyes scanning the room in small, controlled sweeps–cataloguing, orienting, grounding.
Issaky’s chest tightened with something that hurt and healed at the same time. Ellis looked thinner. Not in a bad way, just in the way people look after surviving something internal. It had only been a few days since he had last seen the man, but it felt like forever.
“Hey,” Issaky said softly.
Ellis's gaze landed on him. “Hey,” Ellis answered. Not broken or distant, which was progress.
Issaky moved around the counter slowly, giving Ellis space to close the door, adjust, and breathe. He didn’t rush him. He’d learned better than that. Loving Ellis had taught him patience like a second language.
“You came back,” Issaky said.
Ellis gave a small shrug that tried to be casual and failed. “I said I would.”
It was true. After their first time–just days ago–Ellis had promised Issaky he would try and come to the store. Issaky didn't think he would actually show, but he was more than happy that he did.
“You say a lot of things.” Issaky teased.
“I know.” Ellis paused. Then, more firmly: “I meant this one.”
Issaky smiled and felt warmth spread through his chest. It had been so hard watching Ellis go through this loss.
“Good,” he said. “Because your replacement has terrible taste in music.”
“I can hear you,” a voice called from the jazz aisle.
Ellis startled slightly, then leaned to look past a display rack. His hair was slightly longer and Issaky admired the curl that hung in his eyes.
Jace stepped into view holding a stack of records against his chest. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark curls tied back messily, sleeves tattooed in fine-line geometric work. His expression was easy and amused–the kind of face that defaulted to friendliness.
“You must be Ellis,” Jace said. “The legend.”
Ellis blinked. “That sounds fake.”
“It is,” Jace agreed. “But I was told you alphabetize by emotional tone, so expectations are high.”
Ellis looked at Issaky. “You told him that?”
“I brag,” Issaky said. “It’s a flaw.”
Jace crossed the floor and held out a hand–not too fast, not too close–instinctively respectful in a way Issaky clocked and appreciated.
“Jace,” he said. “Temporary chaos coordinator.”
Ellis shook his hand after a half-second calibration. “Ellis. Permanent chaos.”
“I don’t believe that,” Jace said easily. “This place runs too smoothly.”
“That’s because Issaky stress-cleans,” Ellis said.
“I inventory-clean,” Issaky corrected.
“That’s worse.”
Jace laughed with a bright and unforced tone and Ellis's shoulders loosened another notch.
Good, Issaky thought.
“You coming back for real?” Jace asked.
Ellis glanced around the store, at the familiar rows, the listening station, the old couch near the back that sagged in the middle.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I want to.”
“Then we should celebrate your return to retail combat,” Jace said. “Drinks sometime?”
Ellis hesitated. Issaky didn't think it was from discomfort but from scheduling math. Issaky could see it happening behind Ellis's eyes.
“I don’t do loud bars,” Ellis said.
“Same,” Jace replied instantly. “There’s a place with booths and low lights two blocks over. Weeknights are basically a library with alcohol.”
Ellis considered and then nodded once. “Okay.”
Issaky watched the exchange with interest–the easy rhythm, the lack of pressure, the mutual calibration.
“See?” Issaky said. “You’ve been back five minutes and already made a friend.”
“Acquaintance,” Ellis corrected.
Jace pointed at him. “I’ll earn friend status.”
“Ambitious.”
“Relentless.”
Ellis almost smiled.
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They didn’t throw Ellis straight back onto the register. Issaky had planned better than that.
Instead, he walked the store with him–slowly, section by section–letting him reacclimate. Letting him touch sleeves, straighten stacks, re-enter through texture and order.
“I made changes,” Issaky said gently.
“I see that.”
They stopped near the back corner where construction foam panels had been subtly added behind framed album art.
“Sound dampening,” Issaky said. “Hidden.”
Ellis reached up, touched the edge of the frame, then the panel beneath.
“You did this.”
“You needed it.”
Ellis looked at him and Issaky felt it like a hand to the chest. Ellis didn't need to say thank you, or anything else really. Issaky was begging to know the man by looks alone.
They moved further toward what used to be an empty nook filled with overstock boxes. Now it held two soft chairs, a low lamp, and a sign that read: Quiet Listening Corner–Please Keep Voices Low.
Ellis stopped walking but Issaky knew better than to fill the silence.
“This is…” Ellis began, then restarted. “This helps.”
“I know,” Issaky said softly.
Ellis swallowed. Emotion flickered on his face, visible but contained. “You didn’t have to redesign the store around me.”
“I didn’t,” Issaky said. “I redesigned it around accessibility. You helped me understand what that means.”
Ellis's eyes went bright.
“That’s different,” Issaky added quietly. “And important.”
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They worked side by side that afternoon. No heavy tasks, just gentle ones. Sorting new arrivals. Tagging sleeves. Adjusting display cards. The rhythm came back like muscle memory.
Issaky watched Ellis return to himself in increments. The way he aligned corners perfectly. The way he tapped twice before shelving. The way he hummed under his breath when focused.
Jace drifted in and out of conversation, never intruding but always orbiting, contributing stories, asking Ellis's opinions on genre placement, and listening to the answers.
At one point Jace held up two records. “Which one feels like late October but not sad about it?”
Ellis answered without hesitation. “Left.”
Jace grinned. “I knew it.”
“Riiight.” Ellis drawled with a laugh.
Issaky stored the moment away. Seeds mattered. Ellis having friends mattered.
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Issaky decided to close early. Ellis would never admit it, but he was looking tired and overwhelmed. And Issaky still had something planned, so he closed early and sent Jace home.
Ellis noticed immediately. “It’s only seven,” he said.
“I know,” Issaky answered.
“Did something happen?” Ellis asked nervously.
“No.” Issaky smiled.
“Did you forget the clock exists?”
“Sometimes,” Issaky said. “But not today.”
Ellis studied him. “You planned something.”
“Maybe.”
“You definitely did.”
Issaky liked that Ellis knew him well enough now to read the tells. “Come on,” he said. “No spoilers.”
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The car ride was a nice, comfortable quiet. The kind that settled instead of stretched. They drove toward the waterfront. Toward the stretch where the city lights softened against the water and the noise fell away.
Issaky parked facing the dark shimmer of the bay. Ruston Way had always been his favorite place to smoke and think when he was a teenager. He was pretty surprised this was the first time he was showing Ellis.
Ellis looked around. “We’re not at a restaurant.”
“No.”
“Or a venue.”
“No.”
“Or a surprise underground fight ring.”
“Disappointing, I know.”
Ellis turned to him, curious and open, clearly fighting a smile.
Issaky reached into the back seat and brought forward a small cooler and a folded blanket. “You said once,” Issaky began, “that your favorite dates were the ones without performance requirements.”
Ellis's breath caught slightly. “I did say that.”
“So I listened.” He stepped out and spread the blanket on the grass in front of the car, setting out takeout containers–Ellis's favorite–and two bottled sodas.
No crowds. No noise. Just water and wind and distance.
Ellis got out of the car and stood very still beside him.
“This is perfect,” he said. It wasn't casual or polite, but with full weight.
Issaky’s chest warmed as he reached a hand out, “You’re perfect.”
Ellis smiled and took his hand, allowing Issaky to direct them to sit on the blanket.
They sat shoulder to shoulder, knees touching, eating and watching the water.
It was a nice night. Just cold enough to want to snuggle together.
The water was calm as it gently lapped the shore, and the smell of the ocean mixed with the nearby train cars made Issaky feel at peace.
“Six months,” Issaky said quietly after a while.
Ellis nodded. “I counted.”
“I know you did.”
“I count everything that matters.”
Issaky turned toward him then, fully.
“Then count this,” he said softly. “You are the bravest person I know. Not because you’re never afraid, but because you come back anyway. You come back to people. To places. To love. Even when it costs you.”
Ellis's eyes shone in the dim light.
“I’m still here,” Ellis whispered.
Issaky smiled. “Yeah. You are.”
Ellis leaned in and kissed him–slow, gentle, sure–like a promise spoken without words.
Issaky answered it with his hands at Ellis's jaw, reverent. The world narrowed to warmth and breath and closeness.
Ellis's forehead rested against his when they parted. “I love you,” Ellis said quietly.
Issaky exhaled like he’d been holding that moment for months. “I love you too.”