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It's oddly quiet despite it still being summer vacation — parents, carers and guardians are probably spending their money on school supplies now — but whatever the reason, I'm grateful for it. I don't think I'd have noticed him if it was busier.
He hurries in, head ducked almost timidly. Dark brown hair, clearly brushed but otherwise left alone, flirts with the frame of his glasses. His hands are tucked into the pockets of worn but well-fitted jeans, his arms, toned but not bulky and mostly bare thanks to the short sleeves of his tshirt, are littered with tattoos in various styles; he passes too quickly for me to be able to tell what any of them are.
I'm almost tempted to follow him down the aisle, but as soon as the idea occurs to me I realise how creepy that would be…and besides that, the trading card display still isn't cooperating.
Just as I have the cards in some semblance of standing, I hear a conversation the next aisle over, one of the voices familiar, "You never called me…I wrote my number on your receipt." Is that…?
"Oh, uh, g-guess I just didn't see it."
"Maybe I should write it on the back of your hand, can't ’not see it‘ then, can you?"
When I peek around the corner, my suspicion is confirmed: Sadie's there with a hand on her hip, a flirty grin on her face; standing in front of her, with is back to me, is the tattooed brunet, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Look, y-you're just kinda young, y'know?"
"Oh, c'mon! You're what, 19, 20?"
"Twenty three."
Sadie starts to argue, "It's not that big a difference," and I decide to intervene — not only is she being unprofessional (something the manager's had me talk to her about several times), but the poor man is obviously not interested and it doesn't seem that she's going to take no for an answer. I step into the aisle they're standing in, and the smile falls from her face the moment she sees me. "Um…"
The brunet turns to investigate her sudden loss for words, and my breath catches in my throat. I feel my eyes widen a little and I dread to think of the look on my face. He's…very handsome. Sapphire blue eyes, high cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw dusted with I forgot to shave stubble; the uncomfortable smile/grimace he's wearing is kind of endearing.
When he turns around, Sadie's gone. He glances back at me, the shape of his mouth more smile now. Pretty smile. I smile back at him and quickly take myself away before I can do something dumb, like try to flirt with him myself.
A few minutes later, as I'm restocking the dollar toys, I see him again. He's looking at Lego sets, and even though we're at opposite ends of the aisle, I can see how tense he is. He's rubbing his neck again, shifting his weight like a trapped animal. Standing very close to him is a couple who have left their stroller, occupied by a sleeping toddler, almost directly behind him. He moves as if he's going to try to push past them but decides against it — the couple don't notice the motion, nor do they seem to notice or care that he flinches as they reach into his space.
I frown in sympathy and swallow hard, willing away the twist of anxiety in my gut as I approach them. "…Excuse me sir." Both the brunet and half of the couple look at me. I'm surprised and thankful that I'm not blushing. "Could I ask you to move your stroller…?" The sapphire gaze turns away, and, realising that he's blocking the walkway, the other man reaches for the handlebar of the stroller, mumbles an apology, and manoeuvres it out of the way. Immediately the brunet relaxes a bit. "Thank you." As I move past them I see him step away to peruse the sets on the other side of the aisle.
Just as I'm heading out back Angela catches my attention, sweeping her hair, silver-blonde with age, away from his flushed face. "Nate, I'm off home, Hon."
I pout at her. "Have a good afternoon."
She smiles and pets my shoulder, taking the empty box from me and goes into the storeroom.
I take her place at the register, toying with a Rubik's cube between customers.
A trio of teenage girls buy a dozen packets of loom bands; a mother and her daughter leave with Spider-Man roller skates, the little girl tearing at the packaging before I've even handed the receipt over.
The green side is solved.
An elderly man comes in for a shape-sorter for his youngest granddaughter who, he tells me, will love it, she loves learning and she's very smart (and stubborn, like her father).
The red side, then the white are completed, too.
A boy no older than ten looks heartbroken when he realises he's $2 short for the Gross Science set he's laid on the counter. He looks to his brother for help, but the other boy's allowance has already been spent on a basketball and a fart-noise keychain. I hand the box back to him, putting the money he's already handed over into the register — I'll make up the difference with $2 from my own wallet — "Just this once, okay? Let me know how the bouncy eyeballs turn out." His face splits into the biggest grin I think I've ever seen, and he nearly shouts thanks at me before the pair hurry out.
The blue side takes no time at all and the black soon follows. Five tubs of slime, one lip balm kit, a sticker-making machine, and a stuffed dinosaur later, the yellow side is finished, too.
"Thanks for that," comes a sudden, shy voice as I'm poking at things on the counter. I look up and the brunet is standing there, a few smallish boxes tucked under his arm. "Uh, the girl, and the- the stroller."
He's even more handsome up close, eyes long lashed and cheeks sparingly spotted with beauty marks. I could probably discern a few of his tattoos if I could draw my gaze away from his face. "Oh, you're welcome… D-did you find everything okay?"
"Think so," he smiles, setting the boxes on the counter. Very pretty smile. My stomach flips. "Pretty big selection for a not-so-big store. Surprised you have half as much as you do. I mean, guess I shouldn't be, this place isn't exactly a hole in the wall," he rambles, the words so very softly accented. "Anyway…" He blushes and I find myself smiling at the — frankly adorable — pale flush. I turn my attention to his purchases, hoping to save him any more unwarranted embarrassment, slowly ringing them up. I may or may not cover part of the barcode with my thumb, preventing them from scanning so that I have to manually enter the code. "…Happy birthday, Nate."
Taken aback, I frown up at him. "What? How…?"
"You're wearing a badge an' a name tag," he says, clearly amused, and points at my chest.
I glance down and sure enough, pinned to my chest is a shiny, blue badge declaring IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! in holographic yellow letters; my name tag sits small and dull beside it. "Oh! I forgot I was wearing it," I laugh. "Um, thank you."
"Must suck to be working on your birthday. Who'd you piss off?" He teases.
"No one, I don't think. I just don't really like making a fuss," I shrug. "The badge is a gift from a colleague, I couldn't not wear it." He smiles a little, taking his right hand out of his pocket and sliding it back with barely a pause. Muscle shifts in his bicep with the movement, and I catch sight of something that looks spray painted onto the skin there; below it, I can see half a word ending in v-i-v-e — Survive, maybe?
He's quiet until I tell him his total, then he's muttering a curse and then an apology, and digging his wallet out of his pocket. I see more tattoos as he hands over a few bills — a stylized silhouette of a ram's head appears to be painted in forest green onto the inside of his forearm; above it, a Triforce seems to glow beneath his skin; the pieces aren't quite cohesive, with nothing linking them save for the skin they decorate, but they look nice together just the same. "Oh, hey, um, any chance you have an ’Attack On Avengers Tower’ hidden out back?" He asks as he's tucking his change away.
"Yes…" I admit hesitantly. There is one, just one, the last one until next week, but I'll only get a discount on it today. It literally has my name on it. "I could…"
"Dude, the look on your face!" He laughs. "’S yours, right? Keep it, man. Thanks though." My cheeks must be glowing with the heat in them. "Y' guys gettin' any more?"
I nod. "Next week. If I could take your name and phone number, or email address, I could let you know when they're in." My stomach knots up as I realise I've asked him for his number. But it's fine. We do this for customers all the time. They aren't this cute, but… This is okay. I'm not a hypocrite. It's strictly business, this is fine.
"Sure, yeah." He's slipping his wallet back in his pocket as I tear off some receipt paper and set it and a pen in front of him.
I can't help the flutter in my stomach as he scribbles down his information, or the ridiculous giddiness I feel when he slides the items back toward me; as I hand the bag over to him, he smiles at me and I have to remind myself that Matt's number isn't for me.
When the brunet — Matt — comes in the next week, he seems much more sure of himself; he strides toward me with his head held high, and his arm hanging casually at his sides. The stubble is gone, but he's no less handsome without it. He greets me with a bright smile and my chest suddenly feels a little too small. "Hey."
"H-hi." It feels like my lips might be trembling as I smile back at him — I hope they're not, or at least that he doesn't notice. "Um, your…I'll go get it for you."
"Thanks."
In the storeroom and out of his sight, I take a minute to pull myself together. He's cute, yes, very cute, but you've seen cute guys before. What are the chances that he even likes men? And if he does, what are the chances of him being interested in you? Take a breath, put on your ’undetermined sexuality’ pants, and give the gorgeous man his Lego.
When I step back out, Matt's watching wind-up toys hopping and scurrying and tumbling over each other on the display table, an amused half smile on his face. He picks up a downed penguin, winds it with gentle twists of his wrist and gingerly sets it back on its little plastic feet. A wiggling caterpillar knocks it over as I reach him and he frowns at it, muttering "Wiggly little shit," and rights the penguin again.
"We get a lot of complaints about him terrorising the others."
Matt laughs over his shoulder, turning to face me. "Yeah, I bet. You should do something about that guy," he says with mock seriousness, taking the box when I offer it to him. "Thanks again for this. You get yours finished yet?"
"Finished it that day. Technically." Matt quirks a quizzical brow so I elaborate; "Seemed a little short for a skyscraper, so I…ordered some bricks to extend it. I should have them today or tomorrow."
"Sounds like a hell of a project." Matt sounds almost impressed, and I feel oddly proud of that.
I walk with Matt to the register to ring him up. It's just as quiet today as last week and I'm just as thankful for it now as I was then.
He whistles lowly at his total, bringing a smile to my face. "An' you spent more money on this thing?"
"I got a discount," I shrug. "20% off."
"Twenty? How'd you pull that off?"
"It's a thing they do for birthdays."
"Well, shit. Guess workin' on your birthday isn't so bad after all."
I laugh with him, agreeing for an entirely different reason.
Just as he's about to leave, a sudden panic comes over me. It's silly really, but I don't know if or when he'll be coming back and I can't just not see him again — before I can stop myself I'm asking, "Would you maybe want to go out with me sometime?"
The only word I can think that fits the expression on his face is stunned. That feeling of I've said something wrong comes over me again so quickly that it turns my stomach. "Oh, uh…you don't mean like…I mean, you mean…you're asking me out…?"
My heart is pounding, my face is on fire, but somehow my voice is steady. "Yes."
"Aw, dude, uh, I'm…Nate, dude, I'm straight." He winces a little as he says it, as if he's afraid of my reaction.
My heart swan dives into my gut. "Of course. I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"Nah, it's- I'm not. It's kinda flattering actually, so, thanks…"
"But no thanks," I finish for him, and he smiles apologetically. "Well, this is awkward." I try to smile and laugh it off, but there's a nonsensical little ache in my chest and I'm sure my smile looks more like a grimace. Matt's laugh isn't any more convincing than mine.
After a moment he offers another thanks, tells me he "should get going" and this time I'm quiet as he leaves.
As soon as he's out of sight, I want to sink down under the counter and curl up there and hide for a year.
Of course he's straight. Gorgeous and straight. Of course he is. I bet he's funny, too; he seemed like he might be, but I suppose I'll never know now. I doubt he'll come back anytime soon. I shouldn't have asked him out. If I hadn't he might still come in; at least I could talk to him then, see his smile. I never did figure out what that word was below the spray paint tattoo…
"Hey." The voice is calm but still startles me. I look up, ready to apologise, but I suddenly can't find the breath to say anything.
Matt's standing there, a hand in his pocket, smiling that shy smile again. "Y'know what, we should hang out." I blink up at him, unsure of what to make of his change of heart. "You saved me from an awkward situation and what was prob'ly gonna be a freak out in the same day, and you were gonna give up your own stuff to a stranger. You seem like a pretty cool guy, and, I mean, it's not a date, but we could still hang out…if you want."
Dumbstruck, I can only nod at him.
Endure ; Survive is what it says, in two different fonts — his parents' handwriting, he tells me.