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In Tyler’s defense, there were a lot of things Goodwill had not prepared him for.
During his first week, he learned three of them immediately. One: there was no such thing as a normal donation. Two: women’s clothing had more subcategories than he had previously believed existed in the English language. And three: if someone pulled into the donation lane and said, I’ve just got a couple things, they were a fucking liar.
Every time.
“Just a couple things,” the woman said cheerfully through the open window of her SUV.
Tyler looked at the vehicle, then at her, then back at the vehicle.
The back seats were folded down, which meant there were no back seats anymore—only stuff. Boxes climbed nearly to the ceiling, garbage bags had been shoved between them, and a chair leg stuck out from beneath a comforter beside two lamps and three framed pictures. In the very back sat something large, floral and upholstered that Tyler sincerely hoped would remain someone else’s problem.
Behind him, Mark leaned against one of the rolling bins.
Tyler looked at him.
Mark raised his eyebrows.
Tyler looked back at the woman.
“A couple?”
“We’re moving.”
“Ah.”
That explained absolutely everything.
Twenty minutes later Tyler was staggering backward with a box roughly the size of a microwave and the density of a collapsed star.
“What the fuck is in this?”
“Books,” the woman said.
Of fucking course.
“You got it?” Mark asked.
“Yep.”
“You sure?”
“Nope.”
Mark followed him toward the sorting table at a pace usually associated with sightseeing.
“You’re supposed to lift with your legs.”
“I lifted with everything I had.”
“Could tell.”
By the time the SUV was empty, Tyler had personally moved eight boxes, eleven garbage bags, two lamps, a chair, a side table, three framed prints, one mystery appliance and the floral thing.
The floral thing was an ottoman.
It weighed more than the chair.
Tyler and Mark carried it together.
“Why is it so heavy?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s in it?”
“It’s an ottoman.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“It doesn’t open.”
“Then why does it weigh seventy pounds?”
“I don’t know, Tyler.”
“There are bones in this.”
“There aren’t bones in it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Please don’t tell the donor there are bones in her ottoman.”
“I think she deserves to know.”
Mark nearly dropped his end laughing.
They got it inside. The woman thanked them approximately fourteen times, took her receipt, and drove away.
Tyler stood in the empty lane with his hands on his hips.
“Just a couple things.”
Mark nodded.
“Every time.”
“I hate people.”
“You’ll fit in great.”
The irritating part was that Tyler actually kind of was.
Not with hating people. Not yet.
With the job.
Goodwill kept him busy, and Tyler liked busy. There was always another rack, another fitting room, another register, another donation, another mysterious object someone had looked at in their own house and decided deserved a second chance at life.
Katie taught him the registers.
“Cash is easy. Card is easy. Gift cards are mostly easy. Returns are where people become demons.”
“People?”
“The register.”
“Oh.”
“And sometimes people.”
“Great.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
By his third shift he could run a register without supervision. By the end of the first week, he could talk while he did it. That was when everybody discovered Tyler was funny on purpose.
Even Jesse, their manager, who carried himself with the permanent low-level weariness of a man responsible for both retail employees and the general public, occasionally made the mistake of asking questions he didn’t actually want answered.
“Why is there a mannequin arm in the break room?”
Tyler looked up from his sandwich.
“I got lonely.”
Jesse stared at him.
“I named him Benjamin.”
“Put Benjamin back in salvage.”
“He just got here.”
“Tyler.”
“He hasn’t even finished orientation.”
Katie choked on her drink.
Jesse picked up Benjamin.
“Tell him I love him.”
Without turning around, Jesse raised the mannequin arm over his shoulder and made it wave.
Tyler almost inhaled bread.
So, yeah: he liked them, and apparently they liked him too.
He learned the sales floor next: men’s, women’s, children’s, shoes, housewares—and then the way every department divided itself into enough categories to require its own constitution.
Katie handed him a blouse.
“Women’s large.”
Tyler looked at it, then at the racks.
“I need you to understand that before last Tuesday, this was just a shirt to me.”
“Large blouses.”
“That’s not where the other large shirts are?”
“Those are T-shirts.”
“This is a shirt.”
“It’s a blouse.”
“That’s a kind of shirt.”
“Not here.”
Tyler held it up between them.
“What did this do to deserve its own government?”
“Go put it away.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He learned.
That was the important part.
Within another couple shifts, Tyler knew where things went. He knew the size markers, fitting-room recovery, tags, sorting and pricing, and he got good at hangers, which was not an achievement he had ever imagined possessing pride about. Shirt, hanger, one arm, other arm, collar. Done. Next.
Jesse stopped treating him like a trainee and started putting him wherever they needed someone.
Tyler still made normal mistakes. Once he spent several minutes looking for a scanner he was holding while Katie watched without helping.
“You’re a bad person,” he told her when he finally noticed.
“You looked so determined.”
“I asked you if you’d seen it.”
“I hadn’t seen it recently.”
“You were looking at it.”
“That’s subjective.”
But those were normal mistakes—human mistakes. Tyler wasn’t the employee everyone had to babysit. He showed up, worked, learned, and could take a shirt from a bin, identify the department, hang it, walk to the correct rack and put it exactly where it belonged.
Reliably.
Repeatedly.
Without incident.
For nearly two whole weeks.
Which would become important.
Because on the Thursday of Tyler’s second week at Goodwill, a man with bright pink hair walked through the front doors.
And, very shortly afterward, Tyler Joseph forgot how fucking hangers worked.
+
The pink hair was what Tyler noticed first, mostly because it was difficult not to. It wasn’t neon or screaming-highlighter pink, exactly; somehow it was brighter and softer at the same time, vivid against the mostly neutral men’s jackets behind him. Tyler noticed it because Tyler had eyes. That was all. He was working beside a rolling cart of shoes, holding a pair of children’s tennis shoes by the heels and trying to locate the correct section.
Pink hair walked through the front doors. Tyler looked, then looked away. Children’s shoes. He had a job. The little black high-tops in his hands had white rubber toes and were probably meant for a kid somewhere between still believes in Santa Claus and has begun lying about brushing their teeth. Tyler checked the size and turned toward children’s, but pink moved through his peripheral vision and he looked again.
The guy had stopped near the front of the store to say something to Katie. Oh. Okay. Not just pink hair—there was a face attached to it, and a very— Tyler looked back at the shoes. Nope. Shoes. Children’s. Size three. Easy. He’d been doing this for almost two weeks and knew exactly where they went. He started walking, but Katie laughed at something behind him and Tyler looked over. Pink Hair was smiling. Oh. That was unfortunate. Tyler slowed.
Because the face attached to the pink hair was—well, fuck. Really fucking pretty. Not delicate, exactly; Tyler didn’t know. Good. His face looked good, which was apparently the best his vocabulary could offer under current conditions. Then Tyler noticed the nose rings, one on either side. They should have been too much. They weren’t. In fact, they were apparently exactly enough, because Tyler immediately wanted to look at the rest of his face again.
So he did, just for a second. The guy was still talking to Katie; she said something, Pink Hair laughed, and—Jesus Christ. He had a really good smile too. Tyler’s feet stopped without his permission while his brain moved on to the tattoos. There were a lot of them, ink disappearing beneath the sleeves of a dark shirt and reappearing along his forearms. Tyler couldn’t make out much from where he stood, which gave him a perfectly reasonable justification to look a little longer.
To identify the tattoos. Obviously. For— Inventory purposes.
Or something.
Pink Hair finished talking to Katie and moved farther into the store. Tyler’s eyes followed him. He was built, too—not enormous, but solid, with broad shoulders narrowing beneath a shirt that fit well enough for Tyler to notice the narrowing, which he absolutely had no business noticing. Tyler looked away immediately, because he was at work and normal.
He had seen attractive people before. Lots of them. Thousands, probably; he didn’t keep statistics. There was nothing remarkable happening here except that a very attractive man had entered the Goodwill where Tyler happened to work. That happened. Probably. Tyler resumed walking. Three steps later, Pink Hair bent to flip through a rack of women’s jackets, and Tyler stopped again. His clothes were cool. That was another thing.
Different, somehow. Tyler couldn’t immediately place what was different about them. Nothing screamed designer or looked particularly expensive, but the shirt had details he hadn’t noticed on shirts like it before, especially around the way the fabric had been pieced together near the shoulders. Even the jeans looked altered somehow. Maybe that was just the style; Tyler wasn’t exactly a fashion expert. Until nine days ago, he’d believed a blouse was simply a shirt with delusions of grandeur.
Pink Hair pulled a women’s denim jacket off the rack, and Tyler frowned. It was small—very small, nowhere near his size. Pink Hair held it up, turned it around, then, instead of checking the price like a normal person, flipped the entire jacket inside out. Tyler watched him run his fingers along an inner seam, turn the sleeve to inspect the stitching beneath the arm, and check the inside of the collar.
Tyler forgot he had been going somewhere. He also forgot he was holding shoes, and apparently continued forgetting for long enough that Katie noticed. Across the aisle, she had moved beside Mark, who was straightening a shelf of miscellaneous housewares. She looked toward Tyler, looked away, then looked back. He was still standing in exactly the same place, one tiny black tennis shoe in each hand.
His body was pointed toward children’s; his face was pointed decidedly elsewhere. Katie followed his line of sight to Josh, then looked back at Tyler. He hadn’t moved—except, she realized, his fingers were moving. Very slowly. Tyler pinched the end of one shoelace and pulled it through the top eyelet without ever looking down. Then his fingers moved lower and pulled again.
The lace slipped through the next eyelet. Katie nudged Mark with her elbow; when he kept straightening ceramic mugs, she nudged him harder.
“What?”
Katie didn’t answer. She pointed. Mark looked over just as Tyler pulled the lace through another hole, then another. Mark looked at Katie, his lips forming a very clear What the fuck? Katie pressed hers together to keep from laughing.
“I think...” she whispered.
She pointed subtly across the store. Mark followed her finger to Josh, who was still examining the denim jacket and studying one of the cuffs, then looked back at Tyler. Josh. Tyler. Josh. Tyler. Another eyelet quietly surrendered its lace.
“Why?” Mark whispered.
Katie shrugged. She didn’t know yet; she had a theory, but it was developing in real time. They watched while Tyler, completely unaware he had become an experiment, slowly destroyed the functional integrity of children’s footwear. He was thinking about the jacket. Mostly. Sort of. Why was the guy looking at the inside? Maybe he was checking for damage before buying it. That made sense—except he seemed especially interested in the seams.
Maybe he knew how clothes were made. Maybe— Pink Hair pushed his hair back from his forehead, and Tyler’s fingers pulled again. Another eyelet came free. Only two remained. Katie decided she’d seen enough, not because she particularly cared about the shoe, but because if she let this continue Tyler was going to wind up holding a loose shoelace with absolutely no idea how it had happened. She crossed the aisle.
Tyler didn’t notice her coming. One eyelet remained. Katie stopped beside him just as he pulled the lace free and stood there staring across the store with the loose end pinched between his fingers. The shoelace now hung from a single eyelet near the toe. Katie looked from it to Tyler, then followed his gaze one more time. Josh had righted the jacket and was holding it against himself—not wearing it, obviously, because there was no chance in hell it would fit—just studying the denim, maybe judging how much material it gave him.
Katie looked back at Tyler and gently took the shoe from his hand. He startled.
“What?”
Katie held up the shoe. Tyler looked at it, then at her, then back at the shoe with his eyebrows slowly drawing together.
“What are you doing?”
Katie stared at him.
“What am I doing?”
“Yeah.”
She slowly lifted the dangling shoelace. Tyler looked at it, and there was a pause.
“What happened to it?”
Katie’s mouth fell open. Across the aisle, Mark made a strangled sound and turned away, shoulders shaking. Tyler looked from him back to Katie.
“What?”
Katie looked down at the shoe again.
“You did this.”
“I did not.”
“I just watched you.”
Tyler took the shoe back. He examined it.
“No, I didn't.”
“Tyler.”
“Why would I take the shoelace out?”
“That is a fantastic question.”
“I wouldn't.”
“And yet.”
Tyler turned the shoe over as though perhaps the answer might be printed on the sole. Katie's eyes moved deliberately across the store, then back to him. Tyler caught the movement.
“No.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I wasn't.”
“You did a face.”
“I have a face.”
“You did something with it.”
“That's generally how faces work.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes as Katie grinned and glanced toward Josh again.
“His name's Josh.”
Tyler looked at her.
“I didn't ask.”
“No.”
The answer came much too quickly. Tyler looked back down and started threading the lace through the lowest empty eyelet. It went through crooked, so he pulled it back out while Katie’s grin widened.
“I already knew that.”
Tyler glanced up.
“What?”
“That you didn't ask.”
“Then why did you tell me?”
“No reason.”
Mark had apparently recovered enough to join them. He leaned one forearm against the end of the shoe rack.
“Who's Josh?”
Katie pointed casually.
“Him.”
Tyler did not look; he was very intentionally relacing the shoe while Mark looked across the store.
“Oh.”
Tyler threaded the lace from the wrong side. Fuck. He pulled it back out while Katie watched his hands and Mark watched Josh, who had draped the denim jacket over one arm and moved to another rack.
“He comes in all the time,” Katie said.
Tyler concentrated on the shoe.
“Cool.”
“Pretty regularly, anyway.”
“Okay.”
“Once a week, maybe.”
“Great.”
Katie's mouth twitched.
“He's nice.”
Tyler finally looked at her.
“I didn't ask for his biography either.”
“This isn't a biography.”
“You've given me his name, shopping habits and personality.”
“I said he's nice.”
“That's a personality trait.”
Mark nodded.
“He's got you there.”
“Thank you.”
“You're still holding a toddler shoe you disassembled while staring at him.”
“Children's.”
Mark looked at the shoe.
“What?”
“It's not a toddler shoe.”
Katie folded her arms.
“Oh, good. He's back.”
“I never went anywhere.”
“You absolutely did.”
Tyler returned to the lace and managed one eyelet, then another. Normal. Fine. He was fine—just relacing a child’s shoe in the middle of his workplace because... actually, he still didn’t know why he was doing that. He decided not to examine the question too closely as Katie leaned against the rack.
“He buys weird stuff.”
Tyler's fingers paused.
“For someone whose biography you're not giving me, you sure have a lot of material.”
“I'm just saying.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. He does.”
Tyler hated that he wanted to ask. He resisted for approximately three seconds.
“Weird how?”
Katie's grin returned. Tyler closed his eyes.
“Fuck.”
“There it is.”
“I walked into that.”
“You sprinted.”
Mark looked between them.
“What does he buy?”
“Random stuff,” Katie said. “Like, completely random. Different sizes. Women's clothes sometimes. Things that don't go together. I don't know what he does with half of it.”
Tyler’s eyes betrayed him and slid toward Josh for just a second. He was holding the denim jacket again: small, women’s, inside out for another seam inspection. Huh. Tyler looked away before anybody could catch him. Katie had, of course.
“He talks to everybody,” she continued. “He's been coming here forever.”
“How long is forever?”
“I don't know. Longer than me.”
Tyler frowned.
“You don't know anything.”
“I know his name.”
“You've mentioned.”
“I know he's nice.”
“Also mentioned.”
“And—”
Katie stopped, looked at Tyler and grinned.
“He's hot.”
Heat hit Tyler’s face so fast it was almost impressive. Not a gradual flush or a delicate warmth across the cheekbones; his entire circulatory system apparently went, WE’VE BEEN DISCOVERED. He dropped his gaze to the extremely important shoe and tugged the lace too hard, nearly yanking it out of his own hand. Katie made a tiny delighted sound. Tyler pointed at her without looking up.
“Don't.”
“I didn't do anything.”
“You're doing it right now.”
“What?”
“Whatever this is.”
Mark looked at Katie, then at Tyler’s reddening ears, then toward Josh and back again. Understanding arrived slowly.
“Oh.”
Tyler's head snapped up.
“No.”
Mark's eyebrows rose.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You said oh.”
“It's a vowel.”
“It was judgmental.”
“I don't think vowels can be judgmental.”
“That one was.”
Katie was openly smiling now. Tyler looked between them.
“You both need jobs.”
“We have jobs,” Katie said.
“Then do them.”
“We were.”
“Do them farther away from me.”
Mark pushed himself off the rack.
“Sure.”
“Thank you.”
Katie stayed exactly where she was. Tyler looked at her.
“Katie.”
“I'm working.”
“You are standing.”
“Part of retail.”
“Go.”
She laughed and finally turned away, Mark following her. Tyler exhaled and looked down at the shoe. It was mostly relaced. Mostly. He fixed the last two crossings, tied the laces loosely together and set it beside its mate. There. Done. Normal. He picked up the pair—children’s shoes, correct section, he knew where they went—and this time made it all the way there before putting them neatly on the shelf.
He turned around and, because apparently he had learned absolutely nothing from the previous five minutes, immediately searched the store for pink hair. He found Josh near women’s jackets, talking to an older woman who was holding something up and asking a question Tyler couldn’t hear. Josh answered, made her laugh, then reached up and pulled another jacket from the rack for her.
He handed it over, accepted her thanks with a nod and went back to browsing. Tyler watched for another second. That was the thing, he realized: Josh wasn’t doing anything. He wasn’t swaggering around like he knew people were looking at him, flirting with Katie or trying to be charming. He’d talked to Katie because he knew her and helped the woman because she asked. He smiled easily. That was it. He was just—nice.
Apparently Katie had been right, and Tyler didn’t know why that made everything worse. Looks were manageable. Probably. A gorgeous guy came into the store, Tyler enjoyed the scenery for a few minutes, and eventually the gorgeous guy left. That was how these things worked. But gorgeous and friendly? Gorgeous and weirdly interested in the internal construction of women’s denim jackets? Gorgeous and smiling at old ladies? That was unnecessary.
Tyler turned away. He had work to do. Behind him, Katie whispered something to Mark that he probably didn’t want to hear anyway. He grabbed the next pair of shoes, checked the size and walked them directly to the correct shelf because he was a competent adult man doing his job. Perfectly. Then laughter carried from the front of the store—Josh’s laughter—and Tyler’s head turned automatically.
Katie saw it. Mark saw Katie see it. Mark looked from Tyler to Josh and back again; Katie raised her eyebrows, and Mark answered with one tiny shrug. Neither of them said anything. Yet. Tyler, blissfully unaware that his coworkers had begun studying him like an unusual animal discovered in the wild, stared for another two seconds before forcing himself back to the cart. He picked up another pair of children’s shoes and kept both hands very deliberately away from the laces.
+
Josh came back three days later. Tyler knew this because Katie said, “Your boyfriend's here.” Tyler, who was crouched behind the counter trying to shove a roll of receipt paper into the cabinet underneath register two, hit the back of his head.
“Fuck.”
Katie leaned over the counter.
“You okay?”
Tyler emerged slowly.
“First of all.”
“Mm-hm.”
“He's not my boyfriend.”
“I know.”
“Second of all, don't fucking do that when my head is inside furniture.”
“I didn't put your head in there.”
“You knew where it was.”
“I thought you'd be happy.”
“Why would I be happy?”
Katie looked toward the sales floor. Tyler did not.
“No reason.”
“Exactly.”
He rubbed the back of his head. It hurt—not badly, just enough to make irritation with Katie a convenient thing to focus on instead of the information she’d casually dropped into his brain. Josh was here. Again. After three days. Katie had said he came in maybe once a week, not that Tyler had remembered that for any particular reason. It was simply information his brain had retained against his wishes.
Like song lyrics. Or the fact that octopuses had three hearts. Or Josh came to Goodwill approximately once a week. Meaningless trivia. Tyler pushed the receipt paper into the cabinet and closed it.
“Anyway.”
Katie was smiling at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're fucking annoying.”
“I know.”
Tyler stood and very deliberately did not look around for pink hair. He lasted eleven seconds. Josh was near the front of the store, and Tyler found him immediately, which was irritating because apparently some part of his brain had already catalogued that exact shade well enough to pick it out through racks of clothing from halfway across the building. Different clothes today. Still weirdly good ones.
Dark jeans, a loose black shirt with something patterned worked into the sleeves Tyler couldn't decide whether he'd ever seen another human being wear before. Maybe Josh just knew where to shop, although considering where he currently was, that explanation raised additional questions. Tyler watched just long enough to confirm that yes, Josh remained offensively attractive, then looked away.
“Still hot?” Katie asked.
Tyler turned. She wasn't even looking at him. She was straightening the little impulse-buy shit beside the register.
“Were you born like this?”
“Like what?”
“Obnoxious.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.”
Tyler went back to work and, for a while, actually did it. That was the problem with having a crush on someone who wandered around your workplace: you couldn’t continuously stare at him. Well, you could, but eventually somebody would ask why you were standing motionless with a child’s shoe while slowly removing its laces, and Tyler had already reached his lifetime quota for that particular humiliation. So Tyler worked while Josh shopped.
Occasionally, Tyler became aware of pink moving between the racks and mostly ignored it. His head did turn when Josh passed the end of his aisle near housewares, and later, when Tyler caught sight of him bending over a lower rack, he developed a sudden and profound interest in the price tag of the shirt he was holding. $6.99. Fascinating. Really something.
Eventually Tyler wound up near the front with Katie, working through a small rack of clothes abandoned by the fitting rooms. Katie hung things while Tyler checked tags, sorted by department and handed them over—efficient, normal work they’d done plenty of times.
“Women's.”
Katie took the shirt.
“Men's.”
She took that one too.
“Women's.”
“Blouse.”
Tyler looked at her.
“Don't start.”
“I'm proud of you.”
“I know what a blouse is now.”
“You've grown so much.”
“I'm basically a fashion designer.”
Katie snorted and Tyler reached for the next garment, but then she stopped moving—not dramatically, just enough for him to notice. Her eyes had shifted somewhere past his shoulder. Tyler followed them and found Josh beside one of the mannequin displays near the front, where three figures stood on a low platform wearing whatever combination of clothes someone had apparently decided constituted an outfit that week.
One mannequin wore jeans and a sweater, one wore a dress, and the third wore an enormous white faux-fur coat. Josh stopped in front of that one. Tyler watched him reach out, place both hands flat against the fur and run them slowly from the upper chest almost to the hem. His eyebrows lifted. Josh brought his hands back up and did it again—both palms, up and down—until Katie stopped moving the hanger in her own hands.
Josh did it again. Tyler’s head tipped slightly to the right; at precisely the same moment, Katie’s did too. Neither looked at the other. They simply stood shoulder to shoulder, identically cocked, watching Josh Dun pet a mannequin. Josh ran both hands up the coat once more and slowly back down. Tyler’s eyes followed them, and that was where things became a problem, because Katie had apparently been watching the coat.
Tyler had stopped watching the coat entirely; his attention had transferred to Josh’s hands. Jesus. They were fucking hands. People had them. Tyler had two himself. There was absolutely nothing unusual happening here, except Josh’s were broad, with long fingers, visible veins and ink crossing one hand before disappearing into the colorful tattoos covering his arm. When he flattened his palms against the fur again, the muscles in his forearms shifted beneath all that color.
Tyler's brain supplied absolutely no useful commentary. Just:
Oh.
Josh dragged his hands downward. The fur changed direction beneath his palms. Tyler watched his fingers disappear briefly into it. Something in Tyler's chest gave a stupid little sigh. Beside him, Katie said, almost thoughtfully,
“He looks like he'd have really warm hands.”
“Yeah...”
The answer left Tyler on a soft, dreamy breath before he even knew he’d said it. Katie knew. Her head slowly straightened from its tilt toward Josh and turned toward Tyler, who remained oblivious. Josh had lifted one hand from the coat and was rubbing the fabric between his thumb and fingers, apparently testing the texture, while Tyler’s gaze traveled over his knuckles, fingers and the dark ink near his wrist.
Then there was the bright sleeve tattoo and the subtle movement beneath it when Josh flexed his hand. Tyler wanted—he didn’t even know what he wanted. To touch them? Jesus Christ. Maybe. Fuck. They just looked warm, and that was Katie’s fault; he hadn’t been thinking about temperature until she said it. Now his brain had apparently committed to warm hands, warm palms, warm fingers. Why the fuck was he thinking about this? Katie was staring at him.
Tyler had no idea. The teasing smile Katie had been wearing was gone, not because anything was wrong but because this had suddenly become much, much funnier than she’d realized. Oh. Oh. Tyler wasn’t merely checking Josh out; Tyler had gone somewhere. Katie looked from Josh back to Tyler, still staring at his hands, and her mouth slowly curved. For once in her life, she said nothing. Apparently she understood the value of allowing evidence to accumulate.
Josh let go of the coat, and Tyler’s eyes followed his hand as it dropped. Because hands were unfortunately attached to arms, his gaze kept traveling: wrist, forearm, colorful ink, bicep beneath the sleeve, shoulder, neck, jaw, nose rings, mouth—eyes. Josh was looking directly at him. Tyler stopped breathing. Not metaphorically; his lungs simply neglected their next scheduled appointment while Josh stood beside the mannequin with one hand still resting against the white fur.
Josh was looking directly at Tyler. There was no possibility he’d imagined it—no maybe he’s looking behind me, no maybe he’s looking toward the registers. Their eyes were locked. Josh’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and then one corner of his mouth curved into a small, slow smile. It wasn’t the open smile he gave Katie or the easy grin he’d offered the older woman; this one looked amused. Maybe. Tyler didn’t know.
He didn’t know anything anymore except that Josh had caught him staring, which was enough. Tyler dropped his eyes directly to the garment in his hands. Clothes. Work. Wonderful. Women’s medium. Great. Excellent. At least he knew what that meant. Apparently he had spent nearly two weeks learning Goodwill’s clothing categories specifically so that, someday, when a gorgeous pink-haired man caught him staring at his hands, Tyler would have something to look at afterward.
Goodwill training had prepared him for this moment.
“Women's medium,” Tyler said.
Katie didn't move. Tyler held the garment toward her.
“Women's medium.”
Nothing. Tyler finally looked sideways and found Katie watching him with her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“What?”
Katie shook her head.
“Nope.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
Katie took the shirt. Tyler narrowed his eyes as she turned away, shoulders already beginning to shake.
“You're laughing.”
“No, I'm not.”
“You're fucking laughing.”
Katie made a choking noise. Tyler glanced toward the mannequin display and immediately regretted it; Josh had moved on. Good. Fine. Wonderful—except his stomach did something bizarrely disappointed at finding the spot empty, and before he could stop himself he searched again. Pink hair, two aisles over. Josh was looking through jackets, not at Tyler. Tyler exhaled while Katie recovered enough to speak.
“So.”
“No.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“I know what so means.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means you're about to make my life worse.”
Katie smiled sweetly.
“I was just going to ask if you needed a minute.”
“For what?”
“I don't know.”
Tyler stared at Katie. Katie stared back, then glanced pointedly at his hands. He looked down and realized he was still holding the next shirt’s price tag without having read it. Women’s small.
“I'm working.”
“Clearly.”
“I am.”
“Okay.”
“I've been working this entire time.”
“I know.”
“Then what's your problem?”
“I don't have one.”
“You've got a face again.”
“I always have a face.”
“Not that one.”
Katie’s smile widened. Tyler decided he hated her and handed over the shirt.
“Women's small.”
“Thank you.”
“Blouse.”
“Oh my God.”
“See? Competent.”
“Never doubted you.”
“You absolutely doubt me.”
“Not about blouses.”
Tyler grabbed the next thing—a pair of jeans—and checked the tag while Katie continued occasionally looking at him. He ignored her. Across the store, Josh laughed, and Tyler’s eyes almost lifted before he stopped them. Absolutely not. He had just been caught staring at another man’s hands like he’d never seen fingers before; there would be no further observation. He would finish the rack, do his job, and Josh would shop.
Eventually Josh would leave, and the next time he came in Tyler would behave like a normal human being who had absolutely never spent thirty uninterrupted seconds wondering whether another man’s palms were warm. Easy. Completely manageable.
“Men's,” Tyler said, handing Katie the jeans.
She took them. A few seconds passed before she said, very quietly:
“Definitely warm, though.”
Tyler closed his eyes.
“Fuck you, Katie.”
She fucking lost it.
+
The next time Josh passed him, he said hi.
That was it.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
They kept walking.
Tyler made it six steps before realizing he was smiling.
Four days later Josh said hi again, then slowed.
“How’s it going?”
“Good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
They both seemed to realize they had exhausted the conversational possibilities of the word good.
Josh smiled.
Tyler smiled back.
“See you.”
“Yeah. See you.”
Josh walked away.
Katie appeared beside Tyler like an unwanted haunting.
“Hi.”
Tyler jumped.
“Jesus Christ.”
She looked after Josh.
Tyler pointed at her.
“Don’t make it information.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
Katie laughed and went back to work.
+
The third time, Josh actually stopped. Tyler was on the sales floor with a pricing gun clipped to his waistband and a rolling rack beside him, putting out a fresh batch of men’s clothes from the back. He had found a rhythm—check size, find spot, hang, next—and was halfway through a dark green sweatshirt when pink appeared in his peripheral vision. Tyler did not look. Personal growth.
Personal development, even. He finished hanging the sweatshirt, straightened it and only then looked over. Josh was already watching him, and Tyler’s stomach performed the annoying little drop it had recently learned.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Josh came closer. Tyler kept one hand on the rolling rack. He had learned. If Josh was going to stand near him, Tyler needed an anchor point.
“How's it going?”
“Pretty good. You?”
“Good.”
There it was again: good, their oldest conversational friend. Tyler smiled and Josh did too, but this time he didn’t leave. He looked at the rack, around the store, then back at Tyler.
“So, um.”
Tyler waited as Josh put one hand into his jacket pocket, then took it back out.
“You work here.”
Tyler nodded enthusiastically.
“Yeah.”
There was a beat. Tyler’s enthusiastic nod slowed as Josh’s mouth twitched. Tyler looked down at the Goodwill logo on his shirt, the pricing gun clipped to his pants, and the rolling rack he was actively stocking before looking back at Josh. Josh’s face had started turning pink—not his hair, his actual face. They stared at each other until Tyler broke first and laughed. Josh immediately did too, dropping his head.
“Fuck.”
Tyler grinned.
“I was gonna let you have that.”
“I don't know why I said that.”
“I was wondering.”
“I know you work here.”
“I was hoping.”
“I've seen you working.”
“That's generally where they keep me.”
Josh laughed again, and something inside Tyler lit up. Oh, that was nice—really nice. Josh rubbed one hand over the back of his neck.
“I meant—”
Tyler waited.
“Do you like working here?”
“Oh.”
“That's what I meant.”
“That makes significantly more sense.”
“Yeah.”
“Less concerning.”
Josh laughed, cheeks still pink. Tyler noticed in the same technical sense that he noticed the nose rings, the tattoos and the way Josh’s hair had faded slightly since the first time he saw him: information, nothing requiring interpretation. Maybe Josh embarrassed easily. Cute. Fuck. Tyler mentally backed away from that word.
“Yeah,” he said. “I actually do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, I've only been here like two weeks.”
“I figured you were new.”
Tyler looked at him.
“You noticed?”
Josh's face went slightly pinker.
“Uh.”
Tyler waited. Josh looked toward the rack.
“I come here a lot.”
“Oh.”
There: a perfectly reasonable explanation, which Tyler accepted.
“Yeah, Katie told me.”
Josh looked back at him.
“Katie talks about me?”
Tyler's brain tripped.
“No.”
Josh smiled. Tyler corrected:
“I mean—not like—”
Josh's smile widened.
“She just said you're a regular.”
“Okay.”
“And nice.”
Josh raised his eyebrows. Tyler could feel himself digging the hole; he knew he could stop, knew he should stop, and naturally continued.
“And that you buy weird shit.”
Josh blinked, then really laughed—head tipping back slightly, eyes squeezing at the corners. Tyler’s heart did something completely fucking unnecessary, and he grinned despite himself.
“Did she say that?”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You just told me I buy weird shit.”
“She told me you buy weird shit.”
“You repeated it.”
“I'm an innocent messenger.”
Josh looked toward the racks around them.
“I don't think I buy weird shit.”
Tyler thought about the tiny women's denim jacket he'd watched Josh turn inside out. He thought about the white faux-fur coat Josh had spent an uncomfortable amount of time petting. He decided diplomacy was appropriate.
“Okay.”
Josh narrowed his eyes.
“That sounded judgmental.”
“I said okay.”
“You did a face.”
Tyler stared as Katie’s voice echoed distantly in his head: You did a face.
“Faces are apparently becoming a real problem around here.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Josh laughed again, and this time Tyler had done it. That was the strange part. He’d heard Josh laugh plenty of times in the store, but Tyler had caused that one, and he liked it way too much. Josh glanced at the rolling rack.
“What are you doing?”
Tyler glanced at it.
“Putting these out.”
“That's it?”
“No. It's extremely technical.”
“Sorry.”
“You have to take the clothes from the rack.”
Josh nodded solemnly.
“Okay.”
“And then—this is the complicated part.”
“Yeah?”
“You put them on a different rack.”
Josh's mouth started twitching.
“Holy shit.”
“I know.”
“How long was the training?”
“Years.”
“Wow.”
“I'm actually not legally allowed to explain most of it to civilians.”
Josh laughed again, and Tyler felt ridiculously pleased with himself.
“Do you get first pick of stuff?” Josh asked.
“Technically?”
“Yeah.”
“I have no idea.”
“You've been here two weeks.”
“I know where the blouses go now.”
Josh blinked. Tyler nodded.
“Big week for me.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Proud of you.”
“It's been a journey.”
Josh smiled at him—not laughing this time, just smiling—and for one tiny second Tyler remembered the mannequin, Josh looking across the store and catching him staring, that little curve at the corner of his mouth. Tyler’s eyes dropped automatically to Josh’s hands resting on the rolling rack. Bad choice. Shoulder? Also bad. Face? Catastrophic. The rack, at least, was safe.
Josh glanced toward the front of the store.
“I should probably let you work.”
Tyler's first thought was: You don't have to. His second thought was: What the fuck?
“Yeah,” he said instead. “Apparently that's what they pay me for.”
“Seems unfair.”
“I've been saying that.”
Josh grinned.
“See you around.”
“Yeah. See you.”
Josh walked away. Tyler picked up the next shirt, checked the tag—men’s medium—and moved toward the correct section before stopping to look over his shoulder. Josh had reached the end of the aisle and, as if feeling it—or maybe simply because people sometimes turned their heads for completely ordinary reasons—glanced back. Tyler snapped his attention to the shirt. Men’s medium. Men’s medium. Men’s medium.
He knew where men’s medium went. Tyler hung the shirt correctly and stood there with his fingers resting on the hanger, aware that something had changed even though almost nothing had happened. They had talked for maybe three minutes. Josh asked whether Tyler liked his job; Tyler insulted his shopping habits; they discussed blouses. That was it. But Tyler had learned something extremely unfortunate: Josh was funny, and not in a loud or performative way.
He was a little weird, maybe even awkward, which Tyler hadn’t expected at all. He laughed easily and played along; Tyler could say something stupid and Josh would catch it and hand it right back. Talking to him hadn’t felt like desperately trying to keep Hot Guy interested. It had just... worked. Josh had opened with you work here, so perhaps worked was generous, but Tyler had liked it a lot. Which was bad. Very bad.
Finding somebody hot was easy. Hot could remain across the store—pink hair moving between racks, hands on a faux-fur coat—and eventually walk out the front doors to become a funny thing Katie tortured Tyler about until another attractive person existed. But Tyler liked talking to Josh. That was different, and that could become a problem.
“Jesus.”
Tyler startled. Katie was standing at the end of the rack.
“What?”
She looked at the shirt he'd just hung, then at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why did you say Jesus?”
“You've been staring at that sweatshirt for like thirty seconds.”
Tyler looked at it.
“Oh.”
Katie’s eyes moved toward where Josh had disappeared and back again. Her expression changed. Tyler immediately pointed at her.
“No.”
“So.”
“No.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was just going to ask how your new friend is.”
“He's not my friend.”
“No?”
“He said hi to me.”
“Right.”
“That doesn't make us friends.”
“No. Of course not.”
“And we talked for like three minutes.”
Katie's eyebrows rose. Tyler realized he'd volunteered that.
“Because he was standing here.”
“Mm-hm.”
“And people talk.”
“They do.”
“He asked if I like working here.”
“That's nice.”
“Yeah.”
“He seems interested in your career.”
Tyler glared.
“Don't make it weird.”
“I'm not.”
“You're making it weird.”
“I'm happy for you.”
“There's nothing to be happy about.”
“Okay.”
“He's just nice.”
“Absolutely.”
“He talks to everybody.”
“He does.”
“Exactly.”
Katie nodded. Tyler narrowed his eyes.
“You're agreeing too much.”
“I thought you'd like that.”
“I don't.”
“Okay.”
“Stop.”
Katie pressed her lips together while Tyler picked up another shirt. She stayed there, and he could feel whatever she was thinking gathering force. He checked the tag—men’s large—just as Katie said, very casually:
“How were his hands?”
Tyler froze and slowly turned his head. Katie’s face was perfectly innocent.
“Katie.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I asked a question.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Were they warm?”
“I don't KNOW.”
Katie’s eyebrows shot upward. Tyler heard what he’d just said, watched her mouth fall open, and pointed at her before she could use it against him.
“That's not what I meant.”
“You don't know?”
“I haven't touched his fucking hands!”
“So you've considered the question.”
“Because YOU said it!”
“Three days ago.”
“You put it in my head!”
“And apparently it moved in.”
“Get away from me.”
Katie started laughing.
“Go.”
“Okay.”
“Go do your job.”
“I am.”
“You're not.”
“Neither are you.”
“I was until you came over here asking about another man's hand temperature.”
Katie bent at the waist, laughing harder. Tyler shoved the shirt onto the rack—correct section, correct size, perfectly—and glared at her.
“Look at that,” he said. “Still fucking employable.”
Katie straightened, wiping beneath one eye.
“For now.”
“Fuck you.”
She walked away. Tyler watched her go, then looked down at the six garments left on the rolling rack. Six garments. He could finish that. He was an adult, competent, and at work. He picked up the next shirt just as Josh laughed somewhere near the front, and Tyler smiled before he could stop himself. Fuck. This was becoming a problem. And by the end of his second week, Tyler had discovered another problem: the shoe rack. Everyone knew the shoe rack was dangerous.
It wasn’t technically a shoe rack. It was a metal display fixture balanced across the top of a long clothing rack, presumably installed because somebody had looked at the store and thought, You know what this place needs? Shoes at head level. It was perfectly stable, provided nobody touched it, leaned against the rack beneath it, bumped it, moved the rack too abruptly or, presumably, breathed near it with malicious intent.
Jesse had mentioned this many times, beginning during Tyler’s training.
“Don't lean on these.”
“Got it.”
The second time had been when Tyler watched Mark rest his elbow against one.
“Didn't I tell you guys not to lean on those?”
Mark had removed his elbow. The third time Jesse had simply walked past Katie, who wasn't even touching the fixture, pointed at it, and said, “Don't.” Katie had looked around.
“I'm literally not doing anything.”
“Preventative.”
By Tyler’s count there had been at least six warnings, possibly seven, so he knew. He understood. He respected the structural limitations of the shoe fixture—until Josh walked into the store, at which point OSHA regulations apparently became more of a suggestion. Tyler was putting away shirts when he noticed pink hair moving between the racks. He didn’t even need to see Josh’s face anymore. That was becoming a problem; Tyler could identify him by approximately two square inches of hair from forty feet away.
Tyler tried to prove he could keep working while Josh existed in the same building. He hung one shirt correctly, then another, but kept noticing Josh moving between the racks anyway. When Josh laughed somewhere across the aisle, Tyler looked before he could stop himself, shifted for a better view and rested his forearm against the metal bar beneath the shoe display.
Tyler smiled too, for absolutely no fucking reason, and leaned just slightly as Josh moved farther down the rack. His forearm settled against the metal bar beneath the shoe display. Nothing happened, because nothing was going to happen; Tyler wasn’t putting his full weight on it. He was simply— A metallic scrape cut through that thought. Tyler froze and looked up. The fixture had shifted perhaps half an inch.
Tyler returned to his shirts. Josh laughed again, and Tyler looked again. This time he didn’t lean; he merely took one small, perfectly safe step sideways. Unfortunately, the rolling rack beside him was in the way. Tyler nudged it, the wheel caught, and when he nudged harder the rack jerked forward and bumped the clothing rack.
“Right.”
He adjusted the fixture with both hands until it looked centered again, then stepped back. Problem solved. Lesson learned. Tyler returned to his shirts. Josh laughed, and Tyler looked again. This time he didn’t lean; he merely took one small, perfectly safe step sideways. Unfortunately, the rolling rack beside him was in the way. Tyler nudged it, the wheel caught, and when he nudged harder the rack jerked forward and bumped the clothing rack.
The clothing rack shook. Above it, the shoe fixture shifted with a metallic scrape. Tyler heard it and felt his soul leave his body.
“No.”
One sneaker tipped sideways. Tyler reached for it.
“Don't.”
The sneaker slid. Tyler caught it and, for one glorious second, believed he had saved the situation. Then his hand bumped the metal fixture. It shifted another inch, and three shoes moved at once.
“Oh, fuck.”
The first shoe fell onto the opposite side, and Tyler lunged for the fixture. He knew almost immediately that was the wrong decision. Instead of stabilizing it, he tilted the entire fucking thing. A collective rustle of footwear moved overhead. Then gravity took over.
“No, no, no—”
A sneaker disappeared over the far side, followed by a sandal and then another sneaker. Tyler heard someone say, “Whoa—” Josh. Of course it was fucking Josh. Tyler’s eyes widened.
“JOSH—”
Too late. A loafer went over, then a children’s rain boot, then approximately half the fucking display. Tyler couldn’t see the other side; he could only hear shoes hitting the rack, the floor, and something that made a soft thump he sincerely hoped was not Josh’s head.
“Oh my God.”
Tyler abandoned the fixture and ran around the end of the rack. Josh stood in the middle of the aisle surrounded by shoes: one sneaker behind him, a sandal underneath the rack, two children’s boots separated by several feet, and a black loafer somehow upside down on the jacket he’d been looking at. Josh himself appeared unharmed—startled, but unharmed. Tyler stopped.
“Oh my God.”
Josh looked at him. Tyler looked at Josh.
“Are you okay?”
Josh blinked.
“Yeah.”
“Did one hit you?”
“A couple.”
“Oh my fucking God.”
“I'm fine.”
“I just dropped shoes on you.”
“Yeah.”
“Like, a lot of shoes.”
Josh looked around.
“Yeah.”
“I'm so sorry.”
“Tyler—”
“I knew that fucking thing was loose.”
Josh's mouth twitched.
“That's reassuring.”
“No, that's worse.”
“A little.”
“Jesse has told us like six fucking times not to lean on it.”
Josh's eyebrows lifted. Tyler heard himself.
“I'm making this worse.”
“A little.”
“I wasn't even—”
Tyler stopped. Josh waited. Tyler absolutely was not going to explain I wasn't even doing anything except trying to see you better through the shirts.
“I wasn't paying attention.”
That was technically true. Mostly.
“I can see that.”
Tyler put both hands over his face.
“Jesus Christ.”
Josh laughed softly.
“I'm fine.”
“I assaulted you with Goodwill.”
That earned a bigger laugh. Tyler lowered his hands and, seeing Josh still smiling, felt something inside his chest finally unclench. Thank God.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“No concussion?”
“From the sandal?”
“I don't know which one hit you.”
Josh pointed.
“That one got my shoulder.”
A sneaker.
“That one hit my arm.”
The loafer.
“And I think that boot bounced off my leg.”
Tyler stared at him. Josh looked around.
“I've had worse.”
“Where?”
Josh considered.
“That's a good question.”
Tyler laughed despite himself. Then—clunk. They both looked up. One remaining shoe teetered on the edge of the fixture, and Tyler’s eyes widened.
“No.”
It fell. Josh had just enough time to look at Tyler before a small canvas slip-on dropped directly onto his shoulder, bounced off and landed between them. Silence. Tyler stared at Josh; Josh stared back, then down at the shoe and back up again. Tyler opened his mouth and produced absolutely nothing. Josh lost it. He laughed so suddenly and openly that Tyler did too, mostly from relief.
“I'm sorry,” Tyler managed.
Josh bent to pick up the slip-on.
“No, you're not.”
“I am!”
“You're laughing.”
“Because you're laughing!”
“You dropped a shoe on me.”
“That one wasn't my fault.”
Josh straightened. Tyler pointed upward.
“That was residual.”
“Residual?”
“The event was already in progress.”
“Okay.”
“I wasn't touching anything.”
“Okay.”
“Don't blame me for aftershocks.”
Josh laughed again. Tyler’s embarrassment didn’t disappear, but it changed; it stopped feeling like something he needed to escape. Josh wasn’t annoyed or looking at him like he’d lost his mind. He was standing in a pile of secondhand shoes laughing with him. Tyler crouched to start cleaning up.
“Let me clean this up before Jesse finds out and murders me.”
Josh crouched too. Tyler looked at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You don't have to.”
“I know.”
Josh picked up the sneaker that had hit his shoulder, and Tyler watched his hand close around it. Warm hands, his brain supplied helpfully. Tyler immediately grabbed a loafer instead. No. They were not doing that during disaster recovery.
“Seriously,” Tyler said. “You can go shop. I did this.”
“I'm already down here.”
“That's not a reason.”
Josh picked up another shoe.
“Too late.”
Tyler smiled. They started collecting them. For a few seconds, the only sounds were shoes being gathered and hangers scraping against the rack above them. Josh held up one of the children's rain boots.
“Where does this go?”
Tyler pointed.
“Kids.”
Josh looked at the tiny boot, then at Tyler.
“Thanks.”
“You asked.”
“I thought maybe formalwear.”
Tyler stared. Josh's mouth twitched.
“Fuck you.”
Josh laughed. Tyler reached beneath the rack for the matching boot.
Josh kept helping. He held up a glittery silver heel.
“Men’s?”
Tyler stared.
“Absolutely.”
“Thought so.”
Josh reached for a tiny pink sneaker.
“Also men’s?”
“You’ve lost your privileges.”
“I was helping.”
“You’re making my job harder.”
“After you dropped shoes on me.”
“Accidentally.”
“On me.”
“You happened to be there.”
Tyler heard the sentence and immediately looked down.
“Very unfortunately.”
Josh went quiet for half a beat. When Tyler glanced up, that little smile was there again.
“Women's.”
“Sure?”
“Josh.”
“Just checking.”
Somewhere during cleanup, Tyler stopped waiting for the conversation to end. The pauses did not seem to matter with Josh. One would happen, then one of them said something stupid and off they went again. Josh eventually held an enormous boot beside Tyler’s foot.
“You seem to have a complicated relationship with shoes.”
“You’ve known me for like five minutes.”
“I’ve known you longer than five minutes.”
Josh seemed to hear himself a fraction too late; his cheeks went pink, and Tyler smiled. Cute. Still fucking cute.
They gathered the last few shoes and stood together beneath a fixture that was now nearly empty. Tyler stared up at it; Josh followed his gaze.
“Want me to stand back?”
Tyler looked at him.
“Yes.”
Josh laughed.
“Actually, go to housewares.”
“Why?”
“Maximum distance.”
“Seems fair.”
Tyler carefully lifted the fixture back into position—no leaning, no shortcuts—then checked both sides and checked them again while Josh watched from a few feet away.
“Looks good.”
“I don't trust your opinion.”
“Why?”
“You've been encouraging me.”
“I helped.”
“You put a children's sneaker in men's.”
“Once.”
“Deliberately.”
“Allegedly.”
There it was again, that strange ease. Tyler’s body apparently could not be trusted within fifteen feet of Josh, but talking to him was easy. Josh got his jokes, gave them back, and stayed.
“You still shopping?” Tyler asked.
“Yeah.”
“After the attack?”
“I refuse to live in fear.”
“Brave.”
“Thank you.”
Josh started backing away, then stopped.
“Hey, Tyler?”
“Yeah?”
Josh pointed toward the shoe fixture.
“Jesse told you six times?”
Tyler stared at him. Josh's grin broke.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
Josh laughed as he turned toward the next aisle. Tyler watched him go for maybe a second too long, then two, then three—
“Tyler.”
Tyler nearly jumped out of his skin. Jesse was standing behind him, looking first at Tyler, then the shoe display, then the several pairs Tyler and Josh had not yet returned to their exact original positions. His gaze came back to Tyler. A very long silence followed. Tyler smiled.
“Hey.”
Jesse's eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Jesse looked at the fixture.
“Tyler.”
“It has been resolved.”
“What has been resolved?”
Tyler considered.
“A situation.”
“What situation?”
“Very small.”
Jesse stared back for a long second, then pointed at the fixture.
“Did that fall?”
“No.”
That was true. Technically.
“Did the shoes fall?”
Tyler hesitated. Jesse closed his eyes.
“Tyler.”
“Some.”
“How many?”
“That's subjective.”
“How the fuck is the number of shoes subjective?”
Tyler looked toward the aisle where Josh had disappeared.
“Depends what you count as a shoe.”
Jesse opened his eyes.
“What else would you count them as?”
“Boots are arguably their own category.”
Jesse stared at him. Tyler felt his mouth twitch.
“Sandals—”
“I told you not to lean on that thing.”
“I know.”
“How many times?”
Tyler looked down.
“Six.”
“At least.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you leaning on it?”
“Briefly.”
Jesse inhaled through his nose. Tyler waited.
“Why?”
Tyler opened his mouth, found nothing useful, and looked helplessly from the rack to the aisle and finally to Jesse.
“No compelling reason.”
From somewhere two aisles away came Josh’s laugh. Jesse’s eyes moved toward the sound and then slowly back to Tyler, whose face immediately heated. Jesse looked toward Josh, then at Tyler again. Something passed across his face—not understanding, exactly, just the weary suspicion of a manager realizing there might be a much stupider explanation available than the one he’d originally imagined.
“Fix the display.”
“Already doing it.”
“And stop leaning on shit.”
“Absolutely.”
Jesse walked away. Tyler exhaled and looked toward the aisle where Josh had gone, still able to hear him moving around somewhere over there. He smiled. Fuck. He’d dropped half a shoe display on the guy; Josh had stayed to help clean it up, they’d talked longer than ever before, and somehow Tyler had come out of the entire disaster liking him more. That seemed deeply unfair. Before Josh, Tyler had been good at this job.
Now he was apparently one pink head of hair away from becoming an insurance claim. Worse: He couldn't wait for Josh to come back.
+
The shoe incident should have taught Tyler something.
Technically, it did. He never leaned on the upper shoe fixture again.
Unfortunately, the lesson his brain retained was extremely specific: Do not lean on the shoe fixture while looking at Josh.
The broader concept—stop trying to do two things at once when one of those things is Josh—failed to arrive.
So there were smaller incidents.
A men’s sweater ended up in children’s beside a hoodie that said DINOSAUR EXPERT in glitter. Tyler denied responsibility until Katie held up the gray sweater and asked what color the sweatshirt he remembered carrying had been.
“Gray.”
She raised the sweater.
Tyler stared.
“A child this size has a mortgage.”
Two days later he forgot he was carrying a lamp.
Not permanently. For perhaps forty seconds.
Josh saw him crossing the floor with it tucked under one arm.
“Nice.”
“Thanks.”
“New look?”
“Trying something.”
“You pull it off.”
Tyler smiled, replayed you pull it off in his head, walked directly past housewares, and made it almost to the opposite side of the store before Mark called:
“Dude.”
Tyler stopped and looked down. Lamp.
“Detour.”
Mark looked toward Josh, then back at Tyler.
“Sure.”
The worst part was that Josh had started asking Tyler questions now.
One afternoon Tyler was carrying a basket to the back when Josh held up two shirts.
“Which one?”
Tyler stopped.
“For you?”
“Yeah.”
Blue and red. The answer was obvious.
“Blue.”
“Why?”
Because it’ll look fucking good on you.
Tyler’s survival instincts intervened.
“Blue’s better.”
“Incredible insight.”
“You asked me. Don’t criticize the service.”
Josh smiled and put the red one back.
Several minutes later Mark found Tyler near electronics, still holding the basket meant for the back room.
“The back is behind you.”
“I knew that.”
“You walked past it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“About where the back is?”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
Mark’s eyes moved to Josh, who was holding the blue shirt against himself in a mirror.
“Blue?”
Tyler stared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Then came the purse.
Tyler reached men’s pants, lifted a small leather purse toward the rack, stopped, looked at what was in his hand and very slowly lowered it.
Mark watched the entire thing.
“Not a fucking word.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I actually wasn’t.”
“I have questions.”
“No.”
Mark looked across the store. Josh was at the end of an aisle.
Then back at Tyler.
Understanding arrived.
“Oh.”
Katie, beside him, grinned.
“Right?”
“Is this every time?”
“Pretty much.”
Mark looked genuinely impressed.
“Holy shit. I thought he was just stupid sometimes.”
“I CAN HEAR YOU,” Tyler called from accessories.
After that, Mark started watching too.
A belt ended up with scarves. Tyler walked into the back room and forgot why he was there. Mark eventually pointed out that the pricing gun Tyler was searching for was clipped to his waistband.
“Josh here?” Mark asked.
Tyler’s head snapped up.
Mark nodded slowly.
“Interesting.”
“Shut up.”
Another afternoon, Josh found Tyler putting away children’s clothes.
“Busy?”
“Extremely.”
“Looks intense.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Still classified?”
Tyler smiled. Josh remembered that stupid conversation.
“Highly.”
Josh leaned against the end of the rack. Carefully.
Tyler glanced upward.
“No shoes.”
“I value my life.”
“Smart.”
They talked while Tyler worked. Or attempted to.
At some point Josh looked down at the tiny pants in Tyler’s hand.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Distracting you.”
Tyler’s eyes snapped to his face.
“You’re not.”
Josh’s eyebrows lifted.
Tyler looked down and discovered he was trying to put pants with shirts.
He moved his hand three feet left.
“See? Fully operational.”
Josh’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You did a face.”
Josh laughed.
“Go shop.”
“You kicking me out?”
“No. I’m asking you to move far enough away that I can do my job.”
The sentence escaped before Tyler could inspect it.
Josh’s smile appeared slowly.
“Am I making it hard?”
Tyler’s brain detonated.
“No.”
Too fast.
“No?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“You’re standing in front of the pants.”
Josh looked down.
He was not.
Tyler saw that, and Josh saw Tyler see it.
“Right,” Josh said, cheeks pink.
Tyler pointed toward another aisle.
“Go buy weird shit.”
Josh laughed and went.
Katie appeared approximately six seconds later.
“You know you’re only bad at your job when he’s here, right?”
“No.”
“Tyler.”
“No.”
“You put a men’s sweater in children’s.”
“One time.”
“You walked a lamp around the store.”
“I was talking.”
“You tried to put a purse in men’s pants.”
“I caught myself.”
“You walked past the back room while trying to go to the back room.”
“That’s architecture.”
Katie laughed.
“He’s distracting.”
The words left Tyler’s mouth.
Katie froze.
Tyler closed his eyes.
“No.”
Mark arrived with folded clothes.
Katie immediately betrayed him.
“Tyler just admitted Josh distracts him.”
“I did not.”
Mark shrugged.
“He does.”
“What do you mean, he does?”
“He walks in, you lose like twenty IQ points.”
“I do not.”
“Motor function too.”
“Fuck you.”
“Spatial awareness.”
“Mark.”
“Object permanence.”
“I know objects continue existing when I can’t see them.”
Mark looked meaningfully toward accessories.
“That was one purse.”
Katie was nearly crying.
Tyler pointed at both of them.
“Go fuck yourselves.”
Mark nodded.
“Probably safer.”
“Why?”
“Josh is here.”
Katie made a noise somewhere between a shriek and a laugh.
Tyler turned back to his cart. Fine. He’d prove them wrong.
Garment. Correct rack.
Another. Correct.
Another.
Tyler smiled to himself.
Idiots.
Across the room:
“Hey, Tyler.”
Tyler looked.
Josh was wearing the blue shirt open over his T-shirt.
“What do you think?”
Blue had been the right choice. Very, very right.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
“Better than the red?”
“Way.”
“Good.”
Josh disappeared toward the fitting rooms.
Tyler looked down at the garment in his hands.
Then at the sign above the rack.
INFANTS 0–24 MONTHS.
He was holding men’s jeans.
Tyler closed his eyes.
From somewhere behind him, Mark said:
“Twenty-one.”
Tyler turned.
“What?”
“Points.”
Katie fucking howled.
+
Before Josh reached his register, Tyler made a decision: today he was going to be normal. Not impressively or suspiciously normal, just normal enough to function as a person, a cashier, a man speaking to another man without relocating merchandise, wandering into the wrong department or destabilizing anything management had already identified as fragile. Easy. Josh was two customers back in line. Tyler saw him.
Pink hair, black jacket, a couple shirts draped over one arm, and something folded beneath them that Tyler couldn’t identify. Tyler looked away and focused on the customer in front of him. He scanned, bagged, handed over the receipt. Done. The next customer gave him a rewards number, paid cash, took the change and receipt, and moved on. Done again. Tyler was good at this. The register obeyed him, his hands knew where every button lived, and he could scan and talk and bag at the same time. Josh’s presence had no reason to change any of that.
The customer in front of Josh finished paying. Tyler handed over the receipt.
“Have a good one.”
“You too.”
The customer left. Josh stepped forward, and when Tyler looked up, Josh smiled.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Fine. Good. Perfectly standard. Josh set his things on the counter, and Tyler reached for the first shirt.
“Find anything weird today?”
Josh looked offended.
“I don't buy weird things.”
“That's not what the evidence says.”
“What evidence?”
“History.”
Josh laughed while Tyler scanned the shirt. Beep. Good—one item down, full functionality intact. Josh put another item forward.
“You've been keeping track?”
Tyler looked at him.
“That sounded creepy.”
“A little.”
“I meant you've established a pattern.”
“Still creepy.”
The second item scanned cleanly too. Beep. Two items; excellent. Tyler was killing this.
“I work here,” Tyler said. “I notice things.”
Josh's eyebrows lifted.
“You notice things?”
Tyler heard the sentence. He saw, instantly, about six different dangerous directions it could go. He chose none of them.
“Customer behavior.”
“Right.”
“Professional observation.”
“Sure.”
“Retail intelligence.”
Josh laughed and Tyler smiled back. See? Fine. Two guys having a conversation—no falling shoes, no jeans being offered to infants, nobody discussing hand temperature. Tyler scanned a pair of pants—beep, three items—and bagged them perfectly. Josh leaned one forearm on the counter, carefully enough that Tyler noticed. Not on the register. Not near anything unstable.
Apparently the shoe incident had created lasting trauma.
“Busy today?” Josh asked.
“Not too bad.”
“Donation door?”
“Earlier.”
Josh winced sympathetically.
“Bad?”
“Somebody donated what I think was part of a dining room.”
“What does that mean?”
“Four chairs.”
Josh nodded.
“That seems manageable.”
“And a table.”
“Okay.”
“And another table.”
Josh paused.
“Why two?”
“Different families.”
“Oh.”
“And then somebody brought in a dresser that weighed approximately the same as a dying star.”
Josh laughed while Tyler scanned another item. Beep. Still working.
“Did you move it?”
“With Mark.”
“Survive?”
“Barely.”
“Thoughts and prayers.”
Tyler stared at him. Josh grinned.
“You've been talking to Mark.”
“He's funny.”
“He's an asshole.”
“Also true.”
Tyler laughed. This was going unbelievably well—actually unbelievably. He was relaxed, mostly: his face wasn’t on fire, he wasn’t stumbling over words, and Josh seemed relaxed too. They had an actual rhythm now. Tyler said something, Josh caught it and tossed something back; Tyler made him laugh, then Josh made Tyler laugh harder. Easy. Comfortable. Almost normal. Tyler could feel himself settling as he picked up the next item.
He’s a guy. Tyler scanned it. Beep. You’re a guy. Josh asked about one of the shirts, and Tyler answered because people talked. Josh laughed; Tyler smiled. Everything was fine right up until Tyler pressed the wrong button. The register emitted a sharp electronic beep, different from the scanner, and the screen changed. Huh. Josh kept talking while Tyler nodded.
“Yeah, exactly.”
Tyler pressed what he thought would take him back, and the register answered with a second, less friendly beep. Still fine. Minor issue. He knew this machine; he’d used it hundreds of times. Josh said something else, Tyler laughed, and then Tyler pressed another button. The cash drawer popped open. Both of them stared at it before Tyler finally looked at Josh.
“That was intentional.”
“Obviously.”
Tyler pushed the drawer closed. It bounced right back open. He tried again with the same result, his frown deepening.
“What the fuck?”
Josh's mouth twitched.
“No, no.”
Tyler tried again. This time the drawer clicked and locked, only for the screen to flash a message he had never seen before. He read it twice. Josh leaned slightly closer.
“What'd you do?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The register beeped. Tyler touched another button, and the screen froze. He stared at it while Josh covered his mouth. Tyler looked over.
“Don't.”
Josh's shoulders moved.
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're laughing.”
“I'm trying not to.”
“That is worse.”
Josh looked down while Tyler turned back to the screen. Okay, he could fix this. He had been trained. Sort of. There was a sequence—cancel, return, drawer... no, wait. Tyler pressed something, and the register emitted one long, accusing tone. He froze. Josh lost the fight and laughed. Tyler turned.
“You think this is funny?”
“A little.”
“My livelihood is collapsing.”
“You still have the other registers.”
Tyler looked at him.
“Heartless.”
Josh smiled. Tyler hit another button, and the manager light came on overhead. Tyler stared up at it.
“No.”
Josh looked too.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“It lit up.”
“I know.”
“Seems like something.”
“It is not.”
Tyler pressed the call button, hoping to clear the problem. Instead, the manager light began flashing. He closed his eyes. Josh was openly laughing now—not meanly, which somehow made it both better and worse. Tyler pressed the button again, but nothing changed: the drawer stayed locked, the screen stayed frozen, and the manager light kept blinking like a tiny beacon of humiliation until Jesse appeared from the next aisle. Of course he did. He took in Tyler behind register three.
Josh stood in front of it, the cash drawer locked, manager light flashing, Tyler’s face warm and Josh visibly fighting for composure. Jesse stopped.
“What happened?”
Tyler looked at him.
“I don't know.”
Jesse looked at the register, then at Tyler.
“You're operating it.”
“That isn't helping.”
Josh made a strangled sound and looked away. Jesse's eyes moved to him, then back to Tyler.
“What did you press?”
Tyler looked at the screen.
“A few things.”
“A few?”
“Potentially several.”
Jesse stepped behind the counter.
“Why?”
“I was trying to fix the first thing.”
“What was the first thing?”
Tyler opened his mouth, but nothing came. He genuinely did not remember. Josh laughed into his hand, and Tyler glared at him.
“Supportive.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
“I'm a little sorry.”
Jesse touched the screen, got nothing and looked at Tyler.
“What did you do?”
“I told you. I don't know.”
“You froze it.”
“I see that.”
“And locked the drawer.”
“Apparently.”
“And put it into manager mode.”
Tyler looked up at the flashing light.
“That explains the light.”
Jesse stared at him. Tyler smiled weakly.
“Useful.”
Jesse exhaled through his nose while Josh became extremely interested in the ceiling. Tyler knew exactly why: if Josh looked at him, he was going to start laughing again. Jesse keyed in a code, pressed two buttons and waited for the screen to change before hitting another. The cash drawer unlocked with a click and the register returned to the transaction. Tyler stared at it.
“That was easy.”
Jesse slowly turned his head.
“For me.”
“Right.”
Jesse stepped aside. Tyler resumed scanning—carefully. Very carefully. Beep. Good. Beep. Excellent. Josh’s smile was still there, which Tyler refused to acknowledge, and Jesse was unfortunately still beside the register. Tyler looked at him.
“You can go.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“Curiosity.”
Tyler frowned.
“About what?”
Jesse looked at Josh, then at Tyler.
“Whether this survives the transaction.”
Josh laughed. Tyler pointed at Jesse.
“You are supposed to be management.”
“I am managing.”
“This feels personal.”
“Scan the shirt.”
Tyler scanned the shirt. Beep. Fine. Josh handed over the last item, and their fingers brushed when Tyler took it—barely anything, a fraction of a second. Warm, his brain supplied immediately, and Tyler nearly hated himself. He scanned the item and got nothing because he’d missed the barcode, then tried again under Josh’s watch. Beep. There—normal, fine. No one had seen. Jesse had, judging by the almost imperceptible change in his face, but Tyler ignored him.
“Total is—”
The total appeared. Tyler told Josh, Josh paid by card, and Tyler watched the screen until it approved. Thank God. He bagged the clothes, printed the receipt and handed everything over. Success: a completed transaction, civilization restored.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Josh smiled back, then looked at the register.
“Tell her I said sorry.”
Tyler stared.
“Her?”
Josh nodded toward the machine.
“She went through a lot.”
Tyler laughed.
“Get out.”
Josh grinned.
“See you.”
“Yeah. See you.”
Josh walked away, and Tyler watched only briefly. Maybe until the doors opened. Maybe until Josh stepped through them. Maybe until the pink hair disappeared outside. Then Tyler turned around and found Katie at register one with Mark beside the counter pretending to fold a shirt. Both were looking at him. Tyler stopped.
“No.”
Katie's mouth twitched. Mark folded the same shirt again.
“Great conversation.”
Tyler pointed at him.
“Shut up.”
Katie smiled.
“You seemed really relaxed.”
“I was.”
“Could tell.”
“I was doing fine.”
Mark looked at register three.
“Yeah.”
Tyler followed his eyes to the machine, which sat there innocently as if it had not just betrayed him.
“You almost killed register three,” Mark said.
“Shut. Up.”
Katie leaned on her counter.
“I don't think I've ever seen Jesse have to reboot it mid-sale.”
“He did not reboot it.”
Jesse, walking past behind them, said:
“I rebooted it.”
Tyler closed his eyes as Katie lost it and Mark gave one solemn nod.
“Thought so.”
Tyler turned toward Jesse.
“Why are you still involved?”
“Because I work here.”
“Unfortunately.”
Jesse stopped and looked from Tyler to the front doors, then to register three and back again.
“Was that Josh?”
Tyler’s face warmed. Katie made a tiny noise, and Tyler ignored her.
“Yes.”
Jesse nodded once.
“Okay.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing okay.”
Jesse kept walking. Tyler called after him.
“Jesse.”
Neither answered. Katie was shaking with laughter while Mark looked thoughtful, and Tyler turned back to them.
“Do either of you have jobs?”
“Yes,” Katie said.
“Then do them.”
Mark folded the shirt again.
“I am.”
“You've folded that three times.”
“Distracted.”
Tyler glared. Mark looked toward the doors.
“Must be contagious.”
Katie made a sound like she was dying. Tyler grabbed the nearest receipt roll and threw it at him. Mark caught it.
“Motor function's back.”
“Fuck you.”
+
It happened again the following week.
Not as badly.
Tyler made it through an entire transaction with Josh without freezing the register. He did, however, open the cash drawer twice.
Jesse heard the second one from twenty feet away.
He looked over, saw Josh, saw Tyler, glanced at register three and then back again.
Then closed his eyes.
After the third Josh-related manager light, Jesse stopped waiting to be called. He would hear the tone, glance toward the counter, see pink hair and simply start walking.
One afternoon he appeared beside Tyler before Tyler had even pressed the call button.
“I didn’t call you yet.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
Jesse looked at Josh, then at the register.
“Pattern recognition.”
Josh laughed hard enough to turn away.
“You’re creating a hostile work environment,” Tyler told Jesse.
“I’ll risk it.”
By then Josh himself had become predictable in ways Tyler kept explaining away.
If Tyler was on register, Josh usually ended up in his line. If Tyler was stocking, Josh found him. If Tyler was in housewares, Josh might appear carrying a shirt from halfway across the store solely to ask whether the color was ugly.
And Josh remembered things.
The first time Tyler really noticed it involved another ceramic goose.
Josh stopped beside the cart and nodded toward it.
“Christopher’s cousin?”
Tyler stared.
“You remember Christopher?”
“You told me about him.”
“That was like a week ago.”
“Yeah.”
Tyler looked at the goose, then at Josh.
“This is not Christopher’s cousin. Christopher had dignity.”
Josh studied the little blue bonnet and the crack down its back.
“This one doesn’t?”
“Look at her. She has seen things.”
Josh laughed.
Later, Tyler caught himself thinking: He remembered Christopher, the ceramic goose with ‘strong, trustworthy eyebrows’, as Tyler had described.
Which was stupid; Christopher had been funny, and people remembered funny things.
People also apparently remembered which shirt Tyler preferred.
Josh came in wearing the blue one.
Tyler saw him from across the store and nearly walked directly into a rack.
Josh caught him looking and touched the collar.
“Good call?”
Tyler blinked.
“The shirt.”
“Oh. Yeah. Definitely.”
Josh smiled.
“Thought so.”
Katie appeared beside Tyler after he walked away.
“He wore your shirt.”
“I didn’t make it.”
“You picked it.”
“He asked.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“People ask opinions.”
“Sure.”
The problem was that Josh really was nice. Tyler had seen him help customers, hold doors, joke with Katie, ask Mark about his day. So every piece of evidence arrived with an explanation attached.
Josh remembered something Tyler said? Thoughtful.
Chose Tyler’s register? Comfortable with him.
Found whatever rack Tyler happened to be working? Shopping.
Face brightened when he saw Tyler?
Friendly.
All technically true.
Just increasingly incomplete.
+
The hanger incident happened on a Tuesday while Tyler worked a rolling rack of clothes onto the sales floor—mostly men’s shirts, with a few jackets and sweaters mixed in. Simple. He had developed a rhythm: take garment, check size, hanger, button or zip if necessary, smooth collar, place on rack, next. He was fast now. Not spectacular; nobody was giving awards for hanger technique. But competent and steady, his hands working without thought.
Tyler had done maybe twenty in a row when he heard:
“Hey.”
Tyler looked up and saw Josh; the smile came before he had time to stop it.
“Hey.”
Josh stood at the end of the rack with one hand in his jacket pocket, his hair a little less aggressively styled than usual and falling forward around his forehead. Tyler noticed—of course he noticed—before Josh glanced at the rolling rack.
“Busy?”
“Devastatingly.”
Josh nodded.
“I can tell.”
“It's advanced work.”
“Still classified?”
Tyler grinned.
“You're learning.”
Josh smiled and stayed while Tyler picked up the next shirt.
“What's up?”
“Nothing.”
“Came here for nothing?”
Josh looked around.
“Maybe.”
Tyler laughed.
“Good business model.”
“I support local thrift.”
“This isn't local.”
Josh's mouth twitched.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, explain.”
Josh shook his head. Tyler threaded the hanger into the shirt—or attempted to. One shoulder went on, the other didn’t, and Tyler never noticed because he was looking at Josh. Josh did. His eyes dipped briefly before he reached over, hooked two fingers beneath the loose shoulder and slipped it properly onto the hanger while Tyler kept talking.
“So what, you're just wandering?”
“Pretty much.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“Why?”
“You usually have some weird object by now.”
“I've been here like two minutes.”
“Plenty of time.”
Josh smiled while Tyler reached for a polo. Tyler put the hanger through the neck and folded the collar inward without noticing. Josh’s attention moved from Tyler’s hands to his face as Tyler asked:
“Did you ever figure out what you were doing with that tiny denim jacket?”
Josh looked back at him.
“What tiny denim jacket?”
“The women's one. First time I saw you.”
Josh's eyebrows lifted.
“You remember that?”
Tyler’s hands stopped. Oh, fuck—he had not meant to reveal that. He looked from the polo to Josh.
“Yeah.”
Josh’s face went slightly pink, and Tyler rushed onward.
“You were turning it inside out like you were checking it for drugs.”
Josh laughed.
“I wasn't checking it for drugs.”
“I didn't know you yet.”
“You think I look like I check jackets for drugs?”
“I think you buy suspicious clothing.”
“That's different.”
“Is it?”
Josh laughed again. Tyler smiled, still oblivious to the half-folded collar until Josh reached over and straightened it for him.
“Actually,” Josh said, “I didn't buy that one.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Too many drugs?”
Josh shook his head.
“Wrong fabric.”
Tyler looked at him.
“Wrong fabric for what?”
Josh hesitated, then smiled.
“Nothing.”
“That sounds like a lie.”
“It's not.”
“It's a little bit a lie.”
Josh shrugged.
“Maybe later.”
Tyler frowned.
“That's annoying.”
“I know.”
Tyler picked up a long-sleeved shirt.
“I'm going to assume crime.”
“Okay.”
“Until further notice.”
“That's fair.”
Tyler slid the hanger into the shirt and missed one sleeve entirely. The sleeve dangled as he hung it, because he was watching Josh instead of the shirt. Josh’s expression shifted very slightly—not smug, not triumphant, just more attentive. He reached over and fixed the sleeve while Tyler kept going.
“So did you find anything today?”
“Not yet.”
“You've been here longer than two minutes now.”
“Maybe three.”
“Embarrassing.”
When Tyler reached for another hanger, he got the next shirt on correctly. Mostly. The neckline twisted, and Josh straightened that too. Tyler didn’t notice. Josh’s eyes lingered on Tyler’s hands before moving to his face as Tyler told him about a customer who’d tried to donate half a treadmill. Josh laughed. Tyler brightened, his hands slowed, and the sweater he picked up went onto the hanger backward.
Josh looked at the sweater, then at Tyler and back again. Something clicked across his face—not smugness or triumph, just quiet recognition, a small widening of his eyes and the faintest press of his lips together. Tyler never saw it. He was still talking.
“And Mark goes, ‘Where's the rest of it?’ and the guy goes, ‘I don't know.’”
Josh laughed.
“What do you mean he didn't know?”
“Exactly.”
Tyler hung the backward sweater. Josh gently took it back off the rack, and Tyler finally glanced down.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Josh turned the hanger around and put it back correctly. Tyler blinked.
“Oh.”
Josh smiled. Tyler laughed.
“Okay, maybe I'm distracted.”
There it was. Josh looked at him, but Tyler had already dropped his attention back to the clothes. When he glanced up again, something in Josh’s expression had softened into a kind of careful warmth Tyler didn’t know what to do with. So he grabbed another shirt.
“It's been a long day.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Josh nodded.
“Donation door?”
“Half a treadmill.”
“Right.”
“Keep up.”
Josh smiled. Tyler managed to put one arm of the next shirt onto the hanger while trapping the other sleeve behind it. Josh fixed that too. Tyler looked up.
“Are you helping me?”
Josh paused. Then:
“Maybe.”
Tyler looked at the shirt, then at Josh.
“You work here now?”
“Apparently.”
“I'm not splitting my paycheck.”
“I don't think that's how employment works.”
“You're volunteering.”
“Looks like it.”
Tyler smiled. Josh smiled back, and for a second neither of them said anything. Tyler’s stomach did that stupid little drop it had started doing around him. Then Josh glanced toward the front—a natural break, the kind of moment where someone said, Well, I’ll let you get back to it. Tyler expected it. Part of him didn’t want it. Josh looked back.
“So.”
Tyler waited. Josh touched one of the shirts on the rack.
“You always work Tuesdays?”
Tyler blinked.
“Usually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Unless they move me.”
“Where?”
“Schedule-wise?”
Josh laughed softly.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Tyler thought.
“Usually Tuesday, Thursday, Friday. Sometimes weekends.”
Josh nodded as if that mattered, as if he were filing the information somewhere. Tyler noticed and immediately explained it away: regular customer, friendly conversation, normal. Then Josh said:
“What time do you usually get off?”
Tyler looked at him. Josh's face went pink almost instantly.
“Work,” Josh added.
Tyler's eyebrows lifted.
“I assumed.”
“Okay.”
“Did you think I thought you meant—”
“No.”
Josh's face got pinker. Tyler grinned.
“Oh my God.”
“Shut up.”
“You're the one who clarified.”
“I don't know why I clarified.”
“I don't either.”
Josh laughed and looked down, visibly realizing a fraction too late what he’d said. There it was again, that little Josh thing—say something, hear himself, blush. Tyler found it absurdly delightful. Probably too much.
“Usually five,” Tyler said.
Josh looked back up.
“Five.”
“Yeah.”
“Got it.”
Tyler reached for another shirt and, this time, watched his hands: hanger, both shoulders, correct. Victory. Josh watched too.
“Nice.”
Tyler looked up.
“What?”
Josh nodded at the shirt.
“Both sides.”
Tyler stared at Josh’s twitching mouth, then looked down at the shirts already hanging: one corrected collar, one properly placed sleeve, one sweater facing the right direction. His eyes narrowed.
“Have you been fixing these?”
Josh tried to look innocent. It didn't work.
“You've been fucking fixing my hangers.”
Josh laughed. Tyler stared at the rack.
“How many?”
Josh lifted one shoulder.
“Couple.”
“How many is a couple?”
“Depends.”
“Josh.”
“Four?”
Tyler's mouth fell open.
“Four?”
“Maybe five.”
“Oh my God.”
Josh was laughing. Tyler grabbed the next hanger.
“I know how to hang clothes.”
“I know.”
“I do.”
“I believe you.”
“You watched me fuck up five shirts and didn't say anything?”
Josh's smile softened.
“I was trying not to interrupt.”
Tyler stopped. The answer landed differently than the joke had. He looked at Josh, who looked right back before adding, lighter:
“You were telling me about the treadmill.”
Tyler laughed. There—safe again.
“You could've told me.”
“You would've gotten embarrassed.”
Tyler opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally pointed at Josh while his eyebrows lifted.
“Don't know what you're talking about.”
“Okay.”
“I'm not embarrassed.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying okay like that.”
Josh smiled. Heat crept into Tyler’s face, so he looked down and put the next shirt on its hanger correctly—deliberately, this time—while Josh watched.
“Perfect.”
“Fuck you.”
Josh laughed, Tyler smiled, and somehow Josh stayed another ten minutes. He didn’t need anything from the rack; Tyler knew because Josh barely looked at the clothes. He just stood there talking—asking about Tyler’s weekend, remembering that Tyler had been trying to find decent coffee near work, checking whether he’d found any, then telling him about terrible gas-station coffee that morning. At one point Tyler laughed hard enough that he had to stop working.
Every time Tyler’s attention drifted fully to Josh, something on the rack went wrong—a collar folded, a sleeve slipped, a hanger caught crooked—and Josh quietly fixed it. No commentary, no teasing, no making Tyler look at what his hands were doing; he simply corrected the clothes and kept talking. Tyler thought the conversation was going fantastically, which, to be fair, it was. He just didn’t realize Josh was doing approximately half his job. Eventually Katie passed the end of the aisle.
She looked at Tyler, then Josh, then the rack. Josh was straightening the shoulder of a flannel Tyler had hung badly while Tyler told a story with both hands. Katie slowed. Her gaze dropped to Josh’s hand, moved to an oblivious Tyler, then returned to Josh. Something passed between them—barely an expression, nowhere near a conversation. Katie’s eyebrows rose. Josh’s face went pink. Katie’s mouth curled.
Josh looked down. Tyler turned.
“What?”
Katie kept walking.
“Nothing.”
“You did a face.”
“Nope.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Busy.”
“You're literally walking.”
“Very busy walking.”
She disappeared around the aisle. Tyler looked at Josh. Josh was trying very hard not to smile.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You did one too.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Tyler stared at Josh. Josh stared back. Then the shirt in Tyler’s hands slid halfway off its hanger. Josh caught it, fixed it, and Tyler closed his eyes.
“Jesus Christ.”
Josh laughed. Tyler opened them.
“You're distracting.”
Josh went quiet for one beat. Tyler heard what he’d just said—again, apparently this was becoming a phrase he used around Josh—and pointed at him.
“Don't.”
Josh smiled, and Tyler’s stomach flipped. There. That face—warm, amused, a little too pleased. Tyler looked away before he could examine it too closely while Josh touched the sleeve he’d just fixed.
“So.”
Tyler glanced back. Josh could have left, but he hadn’t.
“What?”
Josh smiled.
“You were saying something about coffee.”
Tyler's chest went strangely soft.
“Oh.”
He picked up another hanger.
“Right.”
And continued.
+
After Josh finally left, Tyler stood there feeling absurdly good even though, technically, nothing had happened. They had talked while Tyler worked; Josh asked questions, Tyler made him laugh, Josh made Tyler laugh. It had been easy and comfortable—probably their longest conversation yet. Tyler looked over the rack. Every garment now sat correctly. He smiled. Okay. Maybe Josh had helped.
A little. Five shirts was not a crisis; Tyler could live with that. Then Katie reappeared.
“No.”
She stopped.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You came back.”
“I work here.”
“You came back with intent.”
Katie leaned against the end of the rack.
“How was your conversation?”
Tyler tried not to smile. Failed.
“Good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Katie looked at the clothes.
“All the shirts survive?”
Tyler's eyes narrowed.
“You saw that.”
“I saw some of it.”
“He was fixing them.”
“I noticed.”
Tyler shook his head, smiling.
“I was talking.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I wasn't paying attention.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“He's nice.”
Katie looked at him with that expression—the one Tyler hated.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You never have to.”
Katie smiled as Tyler started pushing the rolling rack toward the next section. Behind him, she said:
“He didn't have to stay.”
Tyler stopped, just slightly, and turned. Katie was already walking away. He stared after her, then toward the front doors where Josh had disappeared, thinking about the conversation: Josh asking another question instead of leaving, the coffee, Tuesday and Thursday and Friday, five o’clock, five badly hung shirts quietly corrected without making him feel stupid. His stomach did something inconvenient.
Tyler pushed the rack forward. Josh was nice; that was all. Just really fucking nice—which was true, and increasingly incomplete.
+
Tyler knew the interaction was going badly before it was technically over. Not catastrophically; nothing fell, nothing broke, no register called Jesse. Somehow that made it worse, because this time there was no external object to blame. It was just Tyler. Josh had stopped beside the rack while Tyler sorted a small pile of returns. They’d been talking for four or five minutes and it had been going fine, right up until Josh said something about the shirt Tyler was holding.
Tyler made a joke. Josh laughed, and Tyler looked at him long enough to forget he was holding the shirt. Actually forget. His hand loosened and the shirt slid off the hanger; Tyler caught it against his thigh while Josh laughed harder. Tyler tried to put it back on, missed the sleeve, tried again, got the sleeve and lost the shoulder. Josh, still smiling, reached over and fixed it. Tyler said:
“I know how to do this.”
“I know.”
“You don't sound convinced.”
“I've seen you do it.”
“Correctly.”
“Sometimes.”
Tyler stared at him. Josh smiled. Then Tyler tried to hang the shirt and missed the rack entirely; the hanger bumped metal and came back at him. Josh’s mouth opened. Tyler pointed at him.
“Don't.”
Josh was already laughing.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I really wasn't.”
“You did a face.”
Josh’s laugh softened, along with his whole expression, into that thing Tyler had begun noticing without understanding: warm eyes, curled mouth, something almost helpless in it, like Tyler had become funny in a way he hadn’t intended. Tyler’s face went hot.
“Great.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Josh's eyebrows lifted. Tyler finally got the shirt onto the rack.
“See?”
“Perfect.”
“Fuck off.”
Josh laughed again, then glanced toward the front.
“I should probably let you work.”
Tyler hated how quickly disappointment arrived. He covered it with:
“Probably.”
Josh looked back at him. Still smiling.
“See you?”
“Yeah.”
“Try not to hurt yourself.”
Tyler pointed at him again.
“Go.”
Josh laughed and walked away. Tyler watched him until he rounded the end of the aisle, then lowered his head onto the rolling-rack handle.
“Jesus Christ.”
Katie’s voice came from behind him.
“That was cute.”
Tyler lifted his head.
“No.”
Katie was holding a stack of folded jeans.
“Yes.”
“No, it wasn't.”
“It was.”
“I just forgot how hangers work in front of him again.”
“You didn't forget.”
“I missed the rack.”
“Once.”
“I missed the shirt first.”
“Okay.”
“And he had to fix it.”
Katie smiled. Tyler hated the smile immediately.
“What.”
“Nothing.”
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're doing the face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you think something.”
“I usually think things.”
“Not like that.”
Katie shifted the jeans against her hip.
“He likes it.”
Tyler stared at her.
“What?”
“He likes it.”
“No, he doesn't.”
“He does.”
“No. He thinks I'm an idiot.”
“He does not think you're an idiot.”
“You saw his face.”
“I did.”
“Exactly.”
Katie blinked, looked after Josh, then back at Tyler.
“What do you think his face was doing?”
“Feeling sorry for me.”
Katie’s eyebrows shot upward.
“What?”
“He pities me.”
“No, he does not.”
“Katie.”
“Tyler.”
“You literally saw him.”
“Yes.”
“He was looking at me like—”
Tyler gestured helplessly.
“Like that.”
“That was not pity.”
“It absolutely was.”
“No.”
“He had the whole—”
Tyler tried to imitate Josh’s expression and succeeded only in looking mildly constipated. Katie stared.
“What the fuck is that?”
“His face.”
“That is not his face.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, Josh is much prettier than whatever you're doing.”
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
Tyler dropped his arms.
“He feels sorry for me.”
Katie looked offended on Josh’s behalf.
“He does not feel sorry for you.”
“He watched me fail to put a shirt on a hanger.”
“And smiled.”
“Because I'm pathetic.”
“Because he thinks you're cute.”
Tyler’s entire body rejected that so quickly he nearly took a step backward.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“People don't look at pathetic things because they're cute.”
Katie paused, eyes narrowing as a thought formed. Tyler recognized the danger too late. He should have stopped her. He didn’t. Katie said slowly:
“He looks at you like you're…”
Tyler waited while Katie’s face shifted, like she had finally found it.
“A bunny.”
Tyler stared. Mark, who had been folding men’s jeans at the end of the table nearby, stopped too. Tyler looked back at Katie.
“A bunny.”
Katie lifted one hand.
“No. Hold on.”
Tyler turned his head. Mark was looking at her now too, and Katie noticed.
“What?”
Mark shook his head.
“Nothing.”
Tyler pointed at Mark.
“Don't get involved.”
“I wasn't.”
Katie looked between them.
“Okay. Just—listen.”
Tyler folded his arms.
“I am listening.”
Katie inhaled.
“You know that thing when a bunny sneezes?”
Silence. Tyler looked at Mark; Mark looked back. Together they returned their attention to Katie, who continued.
“You know. That little—”
She made a tiny noise.
“Chuh.”
Tyler’s face went blank. Katie tried again.
“That soft little bunny sneeze. Like chuh.”
Mark’s mouth twitched. Tyler said:
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The sneeze.”
“I heard that part.”
Katie gestured with both hands now.
“Then they do the little whisker thing.”
She wiggled her fingers beside her cheeks. Mark looked down so quickly his shoulders moved, and Katie caught it.
“Don't laugh.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“Keep going.”
Tyler looked at him.
“Why are you encouraging her?”
Mark’s face was completely straight now.
“I want to understand.”
Katie pointed at him.
“Thank you.”
“I didn't say I was on your side.”
“Whatever.”
She turned back to Tyler.
“So the bunny sneezes.”
“Yes.”
“And then it kind of does that little face.”
“What little face?”
Katie wiggled her nose. Tyler stared while Mark looked away again, and Katie, increasingly desperate, continued.
“And then it licks.”
Tyler’s eyebrows drew together.
“It licks.”
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“Like, its nose.”
Katie mimicked a tiny tongue flick with an expression that immediately made Mark cover his mouth. Tyler looked horrified, so she talked faster.
“Because it sneezed, and there's probably like bunny snot or whatever, so it licks it up and then it does the little face-cleaning thing.”
She brought both hands up and rubbed them down her cheeks.
“Like this.”
Tyler watched. Mark had stopped folding jeans entirely while Katie kept rubbing imaginary bunny paws over her face.
“Both paws. They do both.”
Tyler’s expression settled into one of profound concern.
“And it’s awkward,” Katie said, “because it just licked its own snot, which objectively is gross, but you don’t think it’s gross because it’s just this cute little bunny doing its little bunny thing.”
Silence. Katie lowered her hands and stared back at both of them until Tyler finally said:
“What does this have to do with me?”
Katie’s entire face collapsed.
“Oh, never mind.”
She turned away. Mark said:
“No.”
Katie stopped. Tyler looked at Mark; Mark looked at Katie.
“No, finish.”
Katie narrowed her eyes. Mark’s mouth was twitching.
“I want to know where this goes.”
“You're making fun of me.”
“Not yet.”
Tyler pointed at Mark.
“You are absolutely making fun of her.”
“Probably. But I also genuinely need the conclusion now.”
Katie glared at him. Mark picked up a pair of jeans and made absolutely no attempt to fold them. She sighed.
“Okay. Fine.”
She turned back to Tyler.
“Forget the sneeze.”
“I would love to.”
“Different bunny thing.”
“Oh my God.”
“No, this one's better.”
Mark nodded.
“Good.”
Katie pointed at him again.
“Shut up.”
“You told me to keep listening.”
“I regret it.”
Tyler rubbed his forehead.
“Katie.”
“Okay. So.”
She took a breath.
“You know when a bunny has one of those little food dishes?”
Tyler slowly lowered his hand.
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I have never owned a bunny.”
“You don't have to own one.”
“How much time do you spend watching rabbits?”
“That isn't relevant.”
Mark murmured:
“It feels relevant.”
Katie ignored him.
“Tiny food dish.”
She cupped her hands.
“Like this.”
Tyler stared at the imaginary dish.
“Okay.”
“And then the bunny tips it over.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. Because they're stupid.”
Tyler’s eyes narrowed. Katie froze.
“No. Not stupid.”
“Interesting.”
“Forget I said stupid.”
Mark said:
“Recorded.”
Katie turned.
“Mark.”
He nodded toward Tyler.
“Continue.”
Katie looked like she wanted to kill him, then looked back at Tyler.
“The bunny knocks over its little food dish.”
Tyler waited.
“So now there's food everywhere.”
“Yes.”
“And the bunny just sits there.”
Katie crouched slightly and tucked her hands against her chest. Tyler watched while Mark bit the inside of his cheek so hard his face changed shape. Katie looked up at Tyler with wide eyes.
“Like.”
Pause.
“Oh.”
Tyler stared. Katie continued in a tiny voice:
“My food.”
Mark made a noise, and Katie whipped around.
“I swear to God.”
Mark shook his head.
“Keep going.”
Katie stood upright again.
“The point is, the person sees the bunny sitting next to the spilled food and goes, ‘Awwww, you spilled your little dish.’”
Tyler frowned.
“Okay.”
“That's how Josh looks at you.”
Silence. Katie smiled in triumph while Tyler considered this, then:
“So he pities me.”
Katie's mouth dropped open.
“No!”
“That's literally pity.”
“No, it isn't.”
“The bunny fucked up.”
“Tyler.”
“Now somebody has to clean it,” Mark said quietly.
“Don't.”
Mark lifted both hands.
“I'm just saying he's got a point.”
Katie turned on him.
“No, he does not.”
Tyler pointed.
“Thank you.”
“I’m not on your side,” Mark said.
“Then whose side are you on?”
“The story.”
Katie groaned. Tyler continued:
“The person is looking at the bunny because now they have to clean up the bunny's mess.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No. Because the bunny is cute.”
“That doesn't change the mess.”
“But it changes how you feel about the mess!”
“Still sounds like pity.”
Katie put the jeans she was holding down with unnecessary force.
“No. Listen to me.”
Tyler braced himself. Mark was no longer pretending to work, and Katie said:
“Josh does not look at you like, ‘Oh, poor Tyler, he can't use a hanger.’”
Tyler crossed his arms.
“That's exactly how he looks at me.”
“No. He looks at you like—”
Katie pointed toward the imaginary bunny.
“‘Awwww. You spilled your little dish.’”
Mark snorted. Katie ignored him.
“Like it's cute.”
“Why would spilling something be cute?”
“Because the bunny is cute!”
“That's circular logic.”
“It is not.”
“The bunny is cute, therefore everything it does is cute?”
Katie pointed at Tyler.
“Yes!”
Tyler recoiled.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“What if the bunny shits on the floor?”
Katie froze. Mark closed his eyes. Tyler waited until she finally said:
“That's different.”
“How?”
“Because that's poop.”
“You just made me lick snot.”
“I did not make you lick snot!”
“You said I was the bunny.”
“I said he looks at you like a bunny.”
“Same thing.”
“No!”
Mark was shaking now. Katie pointed at him without looking.
“Stop.”
“I can't.”
“You're not helping.”
“I know.”
Katie turned back to Tyler.
“Josh finds your little fuckups endearing.”
There it was: plain language, which Tyler immediately rejected.
“No.”
Katie threw both hands up.
“Oh my God.”
“He doesn't.”
“Yes, he does.”
“He thinks I'm incompetent.”
“He knows you're not incompetent.”
“How?”
“Because he sees you work when you're not talking to him.”
Tyler opened his mouth, stopped, and gave Katie exactly enough room to press the advantage.
“He knows you can hang clothes.”
Tyler’s face warmed.
“He knows you can use a register.”
“Debatable.”
“He knows you don't normally throw shoes at customers.”
“One time.”
“Exactly.”
Katie pointed at him again.
“He can see that it's him.”
That landed. Tyler went still, and even Mark stopped smiling quite so much. Katie noticed and softened, just a little.
“He doesn’t look embarrassed for you,” she said. “He doesn’t look annoyed. He doesn’t look like he wants you to stop.”
Tyler said nothing.
“He looks…”
Katie’s eyes flicked upward, searching again. Tyler lifted a hand.
“If you say bunny—”
“I'm saying bunny.”
“Katie.”
“Because it's accurate.”
“It isn't.”
“It is.”
Mark said:
“I understood what she meant.”
Tyler turned.
“You did not.”
“I did.”
“Explain it.”
Mark looked at Katie’s smug face, thought about it for a second, then said:
“He looks like he likes the bunny.”
Katie slapped both hands onto the table.
“THANK YOU.”
Tyler looked between them.
“Because he feels bad for it.”
“No!” Katie nearly screamed.
Mark shook his head.
“No.”
Tyler looked betrayed. Mark continued, still infuriatingly calm.
“He'd clean up the food.”
“Exactly!” Katie said.
Tyler pointed at Mark.
“Because the bunny can't.”
Mark shrugged.
“Maybe.”
“Pity.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Mark looked at him.
“Because he likes the stupid bunny.”
Tyler’s eyes widened. Katie gasped.
“See!”
Tyler rounded on her.
“Now I'm stupid?”
Katie’s face went incandescent with frustration.
“YOU'RE NOT ACTUALLY THE BUNNY.”
Mark bent forward over the table. Katie turned on him.
“And you made it worse.”
“I know.”
“You called him stupid.”
“I called the bunny stupid.”
“I AM THE BUNNY,” Tyler shouted.
Katie threw her hands into the air.
“YOU JUST SAID YOU WEREN'T.”
“I DON'T KNOW ANYMORE.”
Mark fully lost it and leaned against the table, laughing silently. Katie pointed at Tyler.
“Listen. Josh would be happy to clean up the little spill.”
Tyler stared at her.
“Why.”
“Because.”
Katie paused, then said with immense, deliberate patience:
“He.”
She pointed at Tyler.
“Likes.”
She pointed again.
“The.”
Again.
“Fucking.”
And finally:
“Bunny.”
Tyler blinked. Katie breathed hard through her nose while Mark wiped at one eye. Tyler said:
“I still think this metaphor got away from you.”
Katie closed her eyes. Mark said:
“Oh, completely.”
Katie opened them.
“Fuck both of you.”
Katie snatched up her jeans and walked away. Mark watched her go, then looked at Tyler. Tyler looked back. After a long pause, Mark picked up another pair of jeans.
“She was right, though.”
Tyler’s head snapped toward him.
“No.”
Mark folded the jeans.
“Yes.”
“You're only saying that because you enjoyed the bunny.”
“I did enjoy the bunny.”
“Knew it.”
“But she was right.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes while Mark stacked the jeans.
“He doesn't look like he feels sorry for you.”
Tyler’s stomach gave an unpleasant little turn—not bad, just unsettling.
“Whatever.”
Mark shrugged.
“Okay.”
Tyler turned back to his rolling rack and hung one shirt correctly, then another. Also correctly. He thought about Josh’s face even though he didn’t want to: that little smile that sometimes started before Tyler had even finished whatever stupid thing he was doing, the warm eyes crinkling at the corners, the way Josh watched him for one extra second after the joke should have been over. Tyler frowned. Bunny. Absolutely fucking not.
+
The problem with Katie’s bunny metaphor was that Tyler could not unhear it.
The next time Josh came in, Tyler decided to investigate.
Scientifically.
Josh entered wearing his normal face and looked toward the registers, then men’s, then housewares.
Then his eyes found Tyler.
There.
His whole expression changed.
Tyler’s heart gave one hard thump.
Josh smiled.
Tyler immediately looked at a mug.
Shit.
Data lost.
The mug said WORLD’S OKAYEST DAD.
“Hey.”
Tyler looked up. Josh was closer now.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing?”
“Science.”
Josh paused.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Josh laughed.
There it was: eyes crinkling, warm amusement. Tyler tried to study the expression and instead became abruptly aware that Josh was looking directly back at him.
Observation became impossible.
On another visit, Tyler walked past housewares while answering Josh.
“Tyler.”
“What?”
“You missed it.”
Tyler turned. Housewares was behind him.
He groaned.
Josh laughed softly.
Tyler looked.
There.
Not pity. Not embarrassment.
If anything, Josh looked pleased.
Fond, maybe.
Tyler aborted eye contact immediately.
Katie caught him doing it later.
“You’re trying to find the bunny face.”
“No.”
“You keep looking at him and then immediately looking away.”
“He has intense eye contact.”
“He has normal eye contact.”
“Not with me.”
Katie’s eyebrows rose.
Tyler heard himself.
“No.”
Mark passed carrying a box.
Katie said, “He’s looking for the bunny face.”
Mark stopped.
“You haven’t found it?”
“There is nothing to find.”
Mark shrugged.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Tyler stared.
“What?”
“Can’t see it when you’re looking for it. He sees you looking.”
Katie pointed at him.
“Exactly.”
Tyler frowned.
Maybe Katie was right.
Not about the bunny. The bunny was fucking ridiculous.
But maybe Josh did not feel sorry for him.
He could believe that much.
Probably.
The next customer placed a ceramic rabbit on Tyler’s counter.
Tyler stared at it.
The customer smiled.
“Cute, isn’t it?”
Tyler looked at Katie.
Katie had already seen.
Her mouth dropped open.
Tyler pointed at her.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Katie folded over her register laughing.
+
Josh came in Monday.
Then Wednesday.
Then Friday.
Tyler continued insisting this meant nothing because regulars came in regularly and that was, presumably, where the word came from.
On Wednesday Josh found him wrestling three interlocked hangers out from beneath a rack.
“Winning?”
“Barely.”
“No shoes involved?”
Tyler pointed at him with a hanger.
“Don’t.”
Josh laughed.
A few minutes later he held up an atrocious shirt covered in tiny embroidered sailboats.
Tyler looked at it.
“You look like a divorced father aggressively enjoying a cruise.”
Josh laughed hard enough that Tyler decided the shirt had served a purpose.
Friday, Katie watched the doors open.
“Wasn’t he here Monday?”
“Yes, Katie.”
“And Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“And now Friday.”
Tyler stared at her.
“Those are the days of the week.”
“People are allowed to shop,” he added.
From behind them Mark said:
“Thank you, Goodwill legal department.”
Tyler flipped him off.
What Tyler did not see at first was that Josh had developed a routine. Josh would come in and look toward the registers, across the floor, sometimes toward the back.
And whenever he found Tyler, his shoulders loosened and his face brightened.
Eventually, somehow, Josh ended up wherever Tyler was.
Katie noticed.
Then Mark noticed.
The first time Josh came in and left without shopping, Tyler was at donations.
Katie watched Josh step through the doors, scan the registers, the floor, the back—and walk out again twelve seconds later.
Later she told Tyler.
His head lifted immediately.
“He did?”
“Yeah. For about twelve seconds.”
Tyler frowned.
“Probably forgot his wallet.”
“Maybe.”
“Did he come back?”
Katie looked at him.
Tyler looked back.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The second time Mark saw it.
When Tyler came out of the back, Mark said:
“Josh forgot his wallet again.”
“Allegedly.”
Katie folded her arms.
“He shops here every week. He knows the hours.”
“People forget things.”
Mark nodded.
“Apparently Josh only remembers his wallet and store hours when you’re near the registers.”
Tyler’s face warmed.
“Fuck off.”
After that, even Tyler had to admit Josh was coming more often.
Four days became three, and then once, twice within forty-eight hours.
The conversations stretched too.
Josh found Tyler stocking and stayed. Found him straightening racks and stayed. Found him pricing housewares and stayed until Tyler told him that standing so close to breakable objects was making him nervous.
Josh moved exactly six inches farther away.
“Better?”
“No.”
“Go away.”
“No.”
Tyler looked at him.
Josh smiled.
Tyler laughed.
And Josh stayed.
+
One afternoon Josh found Tyler reorganizing jackets with two garments over his arm.
“Which one?”
One was dark green. The other was black with tiny muted flowers.
“Flowers.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Tyler shrugged.
“I like floral.”
Josh looked at him.
“You do?”
“Yeah. Not, like, grandma couch. Darker. Weird.”
“Weird floral.”
“Black. Dark blue. Purple. Pink if the rest of it isn’t screaming. Yellow sometimes.”
“Yellow?”
“Like daisies.”
Josh nodded as though this information mattered.
“Daisies.”
“You asked.”
Josh put the green shirt back.
Another day he wore the galaxy jacket.
Tyler loved that fucking jacket.
“I fucking love that jacket.”
Josh looked down.
“You’ve said that before.”
“I know. I still love it.”
“What do you like about it?”
Tyler stepped closer.
“It looks like the entire universe got combined onto one jacket.”
Josh went a little still.
“The entire universe?”
“Yeah. All the galaxy shit without looking like somebody printed a NASA poster on you. And the colors change in the light.”
Josh looked at him.
“You notice a lot.”
Tyler’s brain immediately supplied: About you.
He said:
“It’s a cool jacket.”
Josh wore it again three days later.
Tyler noticed that too.
Then the questions started.
Not enough to seem strange—one visit here, another there, days apart.
“What colors do you actually wear?”
“Black.”
“Besides black.”
“Dark blue. Purple. Pink if it’s not obnoxious.”
Another day:
“You like jackets fitted?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If I’m trying to look hot or trying not to freeze.”
“What if both?”
“Then whoever made the jacket better know what they’re doing.”
Josh smiled.
Another visit, Josh handed him a piece of rough wool.
Tyler touched it and grimaced.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“What?”
“It feels angry.”
Josh laughed.
“Angry?”
“Like it doesn’t want skin touching it.”
Tyler found something softer.
“This.”
Josh touched it too. Their fingers brushed.
“Soft?” Josh asked.
“Yes. If I’m wearing something all day, fuck yes.”
Josh nodded.
Filed away somewhere Tyler couldn’t see.
By then Tyler knew Josh liked more than shopping; he liked clothes themselves—the fabric, the construction, the way things were made.
He finally asked about the completely nonsensical pile Josh had over one arm: a mustard women’s blazer, an enormous flannel, a black skirt and what appeared to be half a denim jacket.
“You buy really weird clothes.”
Josh looked down.
“Thanks?”
“No. Shit. That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
Tyler gestured.
“That blazer will never fit you. That shirt is huge. That’s a skirt. And whatever happened to that jacket appears to be a crime scene. What are you doing?”
Josh considered him for a second.
“I make clothes.”
Tyler blinked.
“What?”
“I make clothes.”
“From these?”
“Sometimes.”
Josh pulled out the blazer.
“Fabric’s good. Shape isn’t. I’ll probably take it apart.”
The flannel was fabric. The skirt was panels.
Josh lifted the mangled denim jacket.
“This has a zipper I want.”
“You’re buying a jacket for the zipper.”
“It’s a good zipper.”
Tyler laughed.
Then he looked at what Josh was wearing.
The black jacket had several different fabrics worked into it so cleanly Tyler had assumed it came that way.
“You made that?”
“Most of it.”
“No fucking way.”
Josh smiled, suddenly shy.
“Yeah.”
“That looks expensive.”
Josh laughed.
“I mean it. Holy shit.”
Once Tyler knew what to look for, he saw it everywhere: seams, panels, stitching.
“That’s why your clothes always look so good.”
Silence.
Tyler heard himself.
“On you.”
Worse.
Josh’s mouth twitched.
Tyler surrendered.
“Show me what you make before I say anything else.”
Josh showed him the shop on his phone.
Tyler expected to be supportive.
Instead he was genuinely impressed.
“Josh.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re fucking talented.”
Josh went quiet.
Tyler scrolled farther.
“Seriously. This is cool.”
“You like it?”
“Yeah. I’d wear some of this.”
Josh’s eyes came up.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not. I want to.”
That night Tyler found the shop again and meant to look for five minutes.
Forty-five minutes later he was still scrolling.
There were things he would never wear and still thought were beautiful. Things that had started as discarded clothes and somehow became something completely different.
Josh saw possibility in things Tyler would have walked past.
Tyler smiled at his phone.
Inconveniently, there were apparently still new ways to like him.
After that, Josh asking clothing questions seemed perfectly reasonable.
“Patterns?”
“Floral. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Long?”
“Past my hips is fine.”
“Fitted?”
“Not if it’s long. Looser, but not huge.”
“Pockets?”
Tyler stared.
“What are you doing, building my character in a video game?”
Josh laughed.
“Just asking.”
“Normal side pockets.”
“Chest pockets?”
Tyler shrugged.
“I don’t really use them. Inside pockets are good.”
Josh nodded.
“Okay.”
That answer would cause an unbelievable amount of fucking trouble.
The questions kept appearing between everything else. Josh learned dark colors, flowers, daisies, soft fabric, warm, long enough to fall past the hips, room to move without drowning him, nothing scratchy, normal side pockets, chest pockets mostly ignored.
And the galaxy fabric.
The fucking universe jacket.
Tyler thought Josh liked talking about clothes.
True.
Josh liked Tyler’s opinions.
Also true.
Josh was nice.
True again.
Tyler was getting very good at reaching conclusions that were perfectly accurate while missing the entire fucking point.
+
Then came the donation day from hell.
By three-thirty Tyler had moved enough furniture to suspect the city was quietly relocating through Goodwill.
Somebody donated a dining table. Somebody else donated a coffee table. A Christmas tree appeared despite it being nowhere near Christmas.
Then a woman pulled up in a minivan.
“Just a few bags.”
Tyler looked at Mark.
Mark looked at Tyler.
Neither said anything.
The woman handed Tyler a garbage bag.
Then another.
Then another.
At bag seven, Tyler began to suspect they were regenerating inside the van.
At bag twelve he stopped believing in mercy.
There were seventeen.
When the minivan finally drove away, Tyler stood beside the mountain.
“There were seventeen.”
“Bags?” Mark asked.
“Lives.”
Mark lifted one.
“I think she donated an entire household one garbage bag at a time.”
“There was a toaster in bag six.”
“Why do you know that?”
“I remember my enemies.”
By the time Tyler got back to the sales floor, his shirt was sticking between his shoulder blades and his arms felt several inches longer.
Katie looked at him.
“You look terrible.”
“Donation hell.”
“How bad?”
“There were seventeen garbage bags.”
“Jesus.”
“Don’t say his name. He wasn’t there.”
Then Josh walked in.
Tyler hated how immediately his mood improved.
Josh found him beside a rack.
“So. How’s it going?”
Tyler looked at him.
Josh looked back.
“There is not enough Red Bull in the world for this day.”
Josh laughed.
“Bad?”
“Somebody donated an entire household one garbage bag at a time.”
“How many?”
“Seventeen.”
Josh’s eyebrows rose.
“Seventeen?”
“Thank you. Correct response.”
Tyler told him about the toaster. The furniture. A dresser he and Mark had nearly died moving.
Nothing monumental happened. They talked for a few minutes, Josh made him laugh, and Tyler felt human again.
Eventually Josh glanced toward the front.
“I should go.”
“Yeah.”
There was a small hesitation.
Then Josh left.
Nearly forty minutes later Katie appeared beside Tyler holding a Red Bull.
Tyler looked at it.
“I didn’t ask you.”
“I know.”
He looked at her face.
Then at the can.
Then back.
“Why are you doing that?”
Katie held it out.
“Josh left it.”
Tyler stopped.
“What?”
“He came back up front with it. Said it was for you.”
Tyler took the can.
“He did?”
“Yeah.”
Tyler looked toward the doors even though Josh was already gone.
“He remembered.”
Katie’s expression softened.
“Yeah.”
Tyler stared at the Red Bull.
Then smiled.
“He’s seriously the nicest guy ever.”
Katie closed her eyes.
Tyler frowned.
“What?”
She opened them, patted his shoulder and walked away.
Tyler watched her go.
“Why is everybody fucking weird?”
He opened the can.
The Red Bull became one more thing Tyler kept without meaning to.
Not the can. He wasn’t insane.
The moment.
Josh had listened.
Remembered.
Done something about it.
Tyler added that to the increasingly inconvenient pile of reasons he liked him.
+
Several weeks later, Tyler was back at the donation door. Of course he was. Goodwill apparently operated under an ancient law requiring him to be stationed there whenever someone in the surrounding county decided to get rid of large furniture. That morning brought a dining table, a television stand, and what appeared to be every hardcover mystery novel published between 1987 and 2004. Then came the bags. Always the bags. At eleven-thirty, Tyler and Mark carried in a dresser.
At eleven-forty-five, somebody donated an exercise bike that still had a water bottle in the holder. At noon, Tyler ate half a granola bar standing up. By two, he was sweaty again. By three, he was considering becoming the kind of person who simply left society. He was stacking boxes in back when Katie came through the swinging doors. Tyler glanced over.
“Please tell me that's not another donation.”
“No.”
“Then I love you.”
“Don't get excited.”
“Too late.”
Katie was holding a rectangular package wrapped in plain brown kraft paper, a little larger than a folded sweatshirt. She held it out.
“This is for you.”
Tyler frowned.
“What?”
“For you.”
“From who?”
Katie looked at him. Tyler’s tired brain took one second too long to catch up, and then:
“Josh?”
“Yeah.”
Instantly— Pathetically— Tyler came back to life.
“Josh?”
Katie smiled.
“He stopped in.”
“When?”
“Like ten minutes ago.”
Tyler looked toward the swinging doors as if there were any chance Josh had been waiting patiently just beyond them.
“He's gone?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Katie held the package out farther.
“He left this.”
Tyler took it. The package had some weight without being heavy, and something soft gave beneath the paper.
“What is it?”
Katie shrugged.
“Didn't tell me.”
Tyler looked at her.
“He just gave you this?”
“Basically.”
“And said it was for me?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Katie laughed.
“Tyler.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Can you give this to Tyler?’”
“That was it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did he do a face?”
Katie stared. Tyler stared back.
“Forget I asked.”
“Gladly.”
Tyler looked down at the package. His name was written across the front in black marker—just Tyler, in Josh’s handwriting. For some reason that alone did something unpleasantly soft to his chest. Katie began backing away.
“Open it.”
Tyler looked up.
“You're staying?”
“Obviously.”
“No.”
“What?”
“This feels weird.”
“You made me explain rabbit affection to you for twenty minutes.”
“I did not make you do that.”
“You absolutely participated.”
“Go away.”
Katie groaned.
“Fine.”
She pointed at him.
“You better tell me what it is.”
“I will.”
She pushed through the swinging doors. Tyler waited until she was gone, looked at the boxes he should probably finish, and absolutely did not finish them. Instead he sat on the edge of a low sorting table and opened the paper, carefully at first and then less carefully. Dark fabric appeared beneath the kraft paper. Tyler stopped and pulled the rest free. A jacket unfolded into his hands, and for a few seconds he didn’t understand what he was looking at.
At first it looked black; then Tyler shifted it beneath the overhead light and flowers surfaced from the fabric—pink and deep-blue roses worked so subtly into the black that from one angle they nearly disappeared. When the light caught them, they emerged again, muted and softly luminous, as though the pattern had been hiding inside the material. Tyler stood.
“Oh my God.”
He held it out. It was long—past-the-hips long, exactly the length he’d told Josh he liked—with a clean black collar and enough structure to give it shape. Tyler rubbed the fabric between his fingers. Ridiculously soft, but not flimsy; warm without feeling heavy. Not angry. The thought arrived so suddenly that he laughed.
“You asshole.”
He meant Josh, fondly. Very fucking fondly. Tyler turned the jacket and found the side pockets: one patterned with small white and yellow daisies against a darker ground, the other also daisies but arranged differently—not mirrored, not matching exactly. They should have looked ridiculous against the roses, but somehow they belonged. Tyler stared.
“Daisies.”
He had told Josh that once. Maybe twice. Tyler could barely remember the conversation—only that he’d said floral, dark floral, pink, blue, daisies. Then his eyes moved upward and stopped at the left chest. Galaxy. A small chest pocket sat there, not huge or meant for hands, mostly a clean little design detail. But the fabric was Josh’s fabric, or something so close Tyler knew exactly what it was: dark space.
Purple and blue clouded together beneath the light—the universe jacket. Tyler touched it.
“Oh, fuck you.”
His throat tightened strangely. Not badly—just enough that he traced the pocket’s edge instead of examining why. The stitching shifted from dark purple to blue where the seam changed direction. Tyler turned the jacket and found more of it, subtle, perfectly straight, professional. Not pretty good for homemade. Not homemade-looking at all. This thing looked expensive, like something displayed behind glass in a store Tyler would enter, check one price tag in, and quietly leave.
Inside, the seams were clean and the edges finished, with nothing rough or improvised to suggest the jacket had been built by one person at a machine instead of produced with industrial equipment. Except Josh had built it. For him. Tyler went still and remembered all those weird little conversations—You like floral? What’s too bright? Soft? Long? Past your hips? Pockets? He’d answered because Josh liked clothes and Tyler liked talking to him.
He thought about the galaxy jacket. It looks like the entire universe got combined onto one jacket. Tyler looked at the chest pocket again.
“Jesus Christ.”
Josh had listened—not generally, but specifically. He’d taken details Tyler barely remembered mentioning and built them into something that somehow looked like Tyler. If Tyler had walked into an expensive store and seen this jacket on a mannequin, he would have wanted it immediately, even if Josh had had nothing to do with it. Maybe that was the part that got him most: it wasn’t precious simply because Josh had made it.
Josh had made something Tyler genuinely fucking loved. Tyler put it on. The sleeves ended exactly where they should, the shoulders fit, the body gave him room without hanging off him, and the hem fell past his hips. His hands slid into the side pockets perfectly. Of course. He turned toward the dark reflection of a metal cabinet, couldn’t see enough, and headed for the employee bathroom mirror.
He stood in front of it. And stared.
“Oh.”
That was all he managed, because it looked—good. Really good. Not sweet or cute because somebody had made it for him; it looked fucking good. The black grounded everything. The roses surfaced and disappeared when he moved, the daisy pockets somehow avoided being too much, and the galaxy at his chest caught the fluorescent light just enough to reveal blue and purple. Tyler turned sideways, then back, and straightened the collar.
He touched the sleeve and ran both hands down the front. The jacket was soft, warm, comfortable. He could wear it out with almost anything, or throw it on first thing in the morning when his room was freezing and refuse to remove it for six hours. Josh knew him. The thought arrived before Tyler could stop it—not Josh knows clothes, not Josh remembered what I like. Josh knew him. Tyler swallowed and told himself to calm the fuck down.
It was a jacket. A spectacularly beautiful jacket that Josh had apparently spent an unreasonable amount of time making specifically for him, but still. A jacket. Tyler touched the galaxy chest pocket again without putting his hand inside. Why would he? He didn’t use chest pockets. He looked at it, smiled, and went back to work wearing the jacket despite being slightly too warm.
+
Tyler wore the jacket constantly. Not every day; that would have been weird, he told himself before wearing it four times in six days. One morning he pulled it over a T-shirt because his apartment was cold, stood in the kitchen drinking coffee, and realized twenty minutes later that he still had it on. Didn’t care. Another day the weather turned, so he wore it to work. Katie saw him come in and stopped.
“Oh my God.”
Tyler grinned.
“Right?”
She came closer.
“Josh made that?”
“Yes.”
Katie stared.
“No fucking way.”
“That's what I said.”
She touched one sleeve.
“Oh my God, it's soft.”
“I know.”
“Those are flowers.”
“I know.”
“Those pockets are daisies.”
“I KNOW.”
Katie looked at him. Tyler knew he was smiling too much and didn’t care.
“And this—”
He touched the chest.
“This is from that galaxy pattern he wears all the time.”
Katie's face changed. Tyler noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Katie.”
“It's just really nice.”
“I know.”
She smiled. Tyler looked down at himself.
“He remembered everything.”
Katie went quiet. Tyler kept going.
“I told him I like floral, but not bright floral, and I said pink and blue and he remembered the daisies, and this stitching—look.”
Katie looked.
“He changed colors.”
“I KNOW.”
Katie laughed. Tyler rubbed the fabric between two fingers.
“And it's so fucking soft.”
“Yes, you've mentioned.”
“No, feel this part.”
“I already felt it.”
“Feel it again.”
Katie laughed harder. Tyler didn't care.
+
Josh came in that afternoon. Tyler didn’t see him enter; Katie did from register two. Josh walked through the doors, checked the registers, then the floor, until his eyes found Tyler standing near men’s in the jacket. He stopped—not dramatically, just stopped—and looked from Tyler to the jacket and back again. His face opened: surprise first, then something brighter and warmer. Hopeful, maybe. Katie couldn’t know.
She only knew Josh looked happy. Really happy. Tyler turned, saw him and immediately grinned. Josh started toward him; Tyler met him halfway.
“I fucking love this.”
Josh's smile widened.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Tyler grabbed the front of the jacket.
“Are you kidding me?”
Josh laughed.
“You like it?”
“Like it?”
Tyler looked down.
“This part.”
He touched the main fabric.
“The flowers.”
Josh nodded.
“I had a feeling.”
“How?”
“You told me.”
“I told you I liked floral.”
“Yeah.”
“I did not give you enough information to do this.”
Josh smiled.
“You gave me more than you think.”
Tyler stared at him as the sentence landed strangely, softly. He ignored it.
“And the daisies.”
Josh looked at the pocket.
“You said daisies.”
“Once.”
“More than once.”
“Did I?”
Josh laughed.
“Yes.”
Tyler looked down again.
“Okay, well, this is fucking perfect.”
Josh's face was pink now. Tyler kept going.
“And this.”
He touched the galaxy pocket. Josh's eyes dropped to Tyler's fingers.
“This is your jacket.”
“Not literally.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“The pattern.”
“Yeah.”
“You put your galaxy on mine.”
Josh looked back at him. Tyler’s chest did something inconvenient, so he barreled through.
“And the stitching.”
Josh smiled.
“You noticed.”
“Of course I noticed.”
That seemed to hit Josh harder than Tyler expected. His smile changed, becoming small and almost shy.
“Purple and blue.”
“I know.”
“I switched depending on—”
“I know!”
Josh laughed. Tyler grabbed his sleeve.
“And how the fuck did you get this so soft?”
“Fabric.”
“Very helpful.”
“I know a guy.”
Tyler stared. Josh held the look for approximately two seconds, then laughed.
“I'm kidding.”
“Asshole.”
Tyler smiled.
“This is seriously—”
Tyler stopped because he didn’t know what word came after seriously. Good? Beautiful? Cool? Thoughtful? None felt big enough, but he tried anyway.
“I love it.”
Josh's expression softened.
“I'm glad.”
“No, I mean—I really love it.”
Josh nodded.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Tyler pulled one side outward.
“Look at this. How did you even know I'd like this fit?”
“You told me.”
“When?”
“A while ago.”
“I don't remember telling you half this shit.”
Josh smiled.
“I do.”
Tyler looked at him for just a second. That went somewhere deep. Then he looked back at the jacket.
“It's fucking perfect.”
Josh laughed softly. At first he was practically glowing, watching Tyler talk, touch the fabric, point out seams and pockets and the collar. Every new detail Tyler discovered made Josh brighten. Then, gradually, something changed. Tyler didn’t notice; why would he? He was too busy explaining how the roses only fully appeared when he moved beneath the lights.
“Look.”
Tyler stepped sideways.
“See?”
Josh nodded.
“Yeah.”
“That's so fucking cool.”
“I'm glad.”
Tyler touched the galaxy pocket again. Josh’s eyes followed, and for a second he seemed to wait. Tyler didn’t know that was what he was doing; he only knew Josh had gone quiet. Tyler smiled.
“What?”
Josh blinked.
“Nothing.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes.
“You did a face.”
Josh smiled. But it wasn't quite the same.
“No, I didn't.”
“You did.”
“I'm just glad you like it.”
“I love it.”
“I know.”
Another little pause opened between them. Josh looked from the jacket to Tyler. Tyler expected a joke, but none came. Some of the brightness he’d worn when he first saw Tyler in the jacket had dimmed—not disappeared, just pulled back. Tyler noticed then, and his own smile softened.
“You okay?”
Josh's eyebrows lifted.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Tyler studied him. Bunny research had never improved his ability to read Josh when Josh was actually looking at him. Today was no exception.
“You got weird.”
Josh laughed. A little.
“I'm not weird.”
“You are objectively weird.”
“Thanks.”
“Not what I meant.”
“I know.”
Josh glanced toward the front, then back.
“No, I'm good.”
Tyler waited. Josh’s smile was genuine, just quieter.
“I'm glad you like it.”
He meant it; Tyler could tell, which somehow made the strange part stranger.
“I do.”
“I know.”
Josh put his hands into his own jacket pockets.
“I should probably go.”
Tyler's stomach sank slightly. Already?
“Okay.”
“See you?”
“Yeah.”
Josh nodded.
“See you.”
Josh turned and left. Tyler watched him go with the uncomfortable sense that something had shifted. Not badly, exactly. Josh hadn’t been angry or cold, and he certainly hadn’t looked like he regretted the jacket. If anything, he’d been incredibly happy Tyler loved it—until he wasn’t. No, that wasn’t right either. He was still happy; there had simply been something else underneath it. Tyler looked down and touched the left chest pocket as the galaxy caught the light, blue and purple—tiny pieces of the universe. Tyler smiled despite himself. Maybe Josh was tired, or had somewhere to be, or maybe Tyler had overwhelmed him by talking for ten straight minutes about stitching. That was possible. Very possible. Tyler went back to work. The folded note remained exactly where it had been the entire time: inside the left chest pocket, unseen and waiting.
+
At first, Tyler didn’t notice Josh was gone.
Three days was nothing.
Four was still probably nothing.
By day five, the front doors chimed and Tyler looked up automatically.
Brown hair.
Wrong.
He looked back at the register.
On day six, Katie was sorting hangers beside him when Tyler said:
“Haven’t seen Josh.”
“No.”
“He’s usually been in by now.”
Katie glanced at him.
“Yeah.”
Tyler shrugged.
“Probably busy.”
“Probably.”
The fact that she did not tease him made it worse.
By day eight, Tyler was checking every door chime without meaning to.
Mark caught him once.
“Nope.”
Tyler looked at him.
“What?”
“Not him.”
“Not who?”
Mark went back to his rack.
“Didn’t say a name.”
By day ten, Tyler had developed theories.
“Maybe he moved.”
Katie slowly lowered her water bottle.
“In ten days?”
“People move.”
Mark, eating chips, said:
“Witness protection.”
Tyler pointed at him.
“See?”
Katie stared at both of them.
“You’re idiots.”
“He does buy suspicious quantities of women’s blazers,” Mark said.
“Thank you.”
“Maybe he got sick,” Tyler said.
Katie’s expression softened.
“Maybe.”
“Or his car broke down.”
“Could’ve.”
Tyler paused.
Katie raised one hand.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“I can see the next one forming.”
“You cannot.”
“You’re about to say he’s dead.”
Tyler went silent.
Mark turned his head.
Katie pointed.
“Do not.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Tyler folded his arms.
“He could be.”
“TYLER.”
“People die.”
“He has been gone ten days.”
“That doesn’t make people immortal.”
Mark choked on a chip.
The joke worked for a minute.
Then the quiet thought underneath all the stupid possibilities came back.
Maybe Josh just did not want to come anymore.
Because something had been weird the last time.
Josh had been happy when he saw Tyler wearing the jacket. Tyler knew that. Bright, almost stunned.
Then Tyler had talked and talked about everything he loved about it.
And somewhere in the middle, Josh had gone quieter.
I’m glad you like it.
Tyler had replayed those words enough times that they sounded different depending on his mood.
Maybe he had overwhelmed him.
Maybe he had been too obvious.
Too interested.
That last possibility hurt because, for weeks, Katie and Mark had been saying Josh liked him.
Tyler had not believed them.
Then he had started to.
Not completely.
But then there were the visits, the questions, the Red Bull, Josh remembering everything.
The jacket.
People did not generally spend hours making custom outerwear for cashiers they happened to think were nice.
Probably.
Tyler had finally allowed himself one tiny maybe.
Then Josh disappeared.
And maybe began collapsing.
The store itself did not change.
Registers beeped, donations arrived, Katie talked, Mark made unhelpful observations, and Jesse continued his endless war against avoidable workplace damage.
Everything was normal.
There was simply a hole in it.
Small.
Pink-haired.
Annoyingly pretty.
At first Tyler thought he missed seeing Josh.
Which was true.
Josh was extremely nice to look at.
But that was not the part that hurt.
He missed talking to him.
He missed Josh appearing beside whatever rack Tyler was working on like he had wandered there accidentally.
He missed being asked which ugly shirt was less ugly.
He missed making Josh laugh.
He missed Josh fixing his hangers without making him feel stupid.
He missed the little “Yeah?” Josh gave when Tyler said something he wanted explained.
He missed being remembered.
Tyler stopped with a shirt halfway onto a hanger.
Oh.
That was worse.
Katie had stopped teasing him entirely.
One afternoon Tyler finally said:
“I thought he liked me.”
Katie looked at him.
There it was. No joke. No bunny.
“I thought so too.”
Tyler swallowed.
“Really?”
“Tyler.”
He looked down.
“You still do?”
“Yeah.”
“He hasn’t been here in almost two weeks.”
“I know.”
Tyler rubbed his thumb over the hanger.
“Maybe I did something.”
Katie was quiet for a second.
“That is possible generally, because you’re you.”
Tyler laughed despite himself.
“Thanks.”
“But I don’t think you imagined this.”
Tyler looked at her.
“He made me that jacket. And I thought that meant…”
“You’re allowed to think it meant something.”
Tyler nodded.
“If he comes in while I’m in back—”
“I’ll get you.”
Immediately.
No teasing.
Tyler looked at her.
“Thanks.”
Josh did not come in.
+
The jacket hung in Tyler’s room for three days. He still loved it; that was the problem. If he hated it, he could shove it into a closet. If it were ugly, he could tell himself the whole thing had been a bizarre lapse in Josh’s judgment. Instead it was perfect, and every glance at it offered more evidence: flowers, daisies, galaxy, soft fabric, purple stitching, blue stitching, past his hips, side pockets—everything Josh had listened to.
Everything Tyler had said without realizing it mattered. Wearing the jacket without thinking about Josh became difficult, so Tyler didn’t wear it for three days. Then the temperature dropped just enough that his room felt cold after work. He changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his arms, and looked at the jacket hanging from the back of his closet door. Dark. Beautiful. Stupid.
Tyler stared at it.
“Fuck you.”
The jacket offered no defense. Tyler got up, took it from the hanger and immediately hated that the fabric was still as soft as ever. He turned it around, slid in one arm and then the other, and flipped the body over his shoulders. Something fluttered—a small paper-on-fabric sound. Tyler paused. A folded piece of white paper lay on the floor. For a second he assumed it had already been on the carpet. Then—no.
He’d just vacuumed. Probably. Recently enough. Tyler bent, picked up the small, carefully folded paper, and looked from it to the jacket. Where the fuck had that come from? He unfolded it and stopped, his entire body going still. The note was short—of course it was; Josh. Simple black ink, no dramatic declaration, no paragraph. Just: Hey, Tyler. If you want to go out sometime, call me. A phone number. —Josh. Tyler stared, then read it again.
His brain processed the note no better the second time. Tyler looked down at the jacket, back at the paper and read it a third time. Nothing moved, thought or functioned. Flatline. Then:
“Oh.”
Silence. Tyler's eyes widened.
“Oh, fuck.”
Tyler looked at the left chest pocket—the galaxy pocket, the fucking galaxy pocket—and his mouth dropped open.
“Oh, fuck.”
And suddenly the last two weeks rearranged themselves: Josh seeing him in the jacket and stopping, the brightness in his face, the way he watched Tyler talk, every pause and every glance toward the chest pocket. I’m glad you like it. Josh waiting. Tyler saying absolutely nothing about the note because he had no fucking idea a note existed. Josh leaving. Josh not coming back. Eleven days. Twelve. Nearly two fucking weeks. Tyler put one hand over his mouth.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Josh thought he’d said no. Tyler had worn the jacket, gushed about it, told Josh he loved it—and then completely ignored If you want to go out sometime, call me. From Josh’s perspective, Jesus Christ, it was devastatingly polite. Tyler had basically said: Thank you very much for this beautiful handcrafted garment. I treasure your craftsmanship. Please never speak of your romantic intentions again.
“Oh my God.”
Phone. Where was his phone? Bed? No. Desk? Tyler spun and found it on the nightstand. He grabbed it, checked the note and typed the number before stopping with his thumb over the screen. Text? No—too slow, too much room for thought. Call. He hit it. The phone rang once. Tyler paced. Twice.
“Oh my God.”
Three—
“Hello?”
Josh. Tyler stopped pacing. There he was—his voice. And Tyler did not say hello, confirm the number, identify himself or offer a single piece of context that would make his next sentence remotely sane.
“Yes. I would like to go out with you.”
Silence. Tyler squeezed his eyes shut. Then:
“…Tyler?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“What—”
“I didn't find the note.”
“What?”
“The note. In the jacket. I didn't find it.”
Silence. Tyler started pacing again.
“It fell out just now.”
Josh said:
“You didn't find it?”
“No.”
“The note.”
“Yes.”
“In the pocket.”
“Yes.”
“The galaxy pocket.”
“YES.”
Another pause. Then:
“You've had that jacket for almost two weeks.”
Tyler stopped.
“WHY WOULD YOU PUT IT IN A POCKET NOBODY USES?”
“I made the pocket!”
“THAT DOESN'T MEAN I KNEW IT WAS THERE!”
“It was visibly a pocket!”
“I SAW IT!”
“Then why didn't you check it?”
“BECAUSE I DON'T USE CHEST POCKETS!”
“I know!”
Tyler froze.
“What do you mean you know?”
Josh went quiet. Tyler remembered the conversation all at once: Chest pockets? I don’t really use them.
“Oh my God.”
Josh made a sound somewhere between a laugh and something else. Tyler pointed accusingly at nobody.
“You knew.”
“I forgot.”
“You specifically asked me.”
“I ask you a lot of things.”
“You knew I don't use them and then hid the most important piece of paper I've ever received in one.”
“I didn't hide it!”
“You put it in a secret pocket!”
“It is not secret!”
“IT MATCHES SPACE.”
Josh laughed—not the small, restrained laugh Tyler heard in the store, but full-on lost it. Tyler heard him pull the phone slightly away and dissolve into breathless laughter. For one second he stood in the middle of his bedroom, furious. Then—there it was. That laugh. The one he’d spent nearly two weeks missing. Tyler’s anger cracked, and he started laughing too.
“Oh my fucking God.”
Josh managed:
“I thought—”
Then lost it again. Tyler bent forward.
“This isn't funny.”
“It is a little.”
“I've been thinking you were dead.”
Josh stopped laughing enough to say:
“What?”
Tyler regretted that sentence.
“Nothing.”
“No, wait.”
“I spiraled.”
“You thought I was dead?”
“It was one possibility.”
“How many?”
“Several.”
Josh started laughing again.
“Fuck you.”
“I've been alive.”
“Good to know.”
“Were you actually worried?”
Tyler's laugh faded. A little.
“Yeah.”
Josh went quiet too. Tyler sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his thumb along the note. The room felt warmer now—maybe the jacket, maybe not.
“I thought I did something.”
Josh didn't answer immediately. Tyler continued.
“Like… the last time you came in.”
“Yeah.”
“You got weird.”
Josh laughed softly.
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“You told me that.”
“And then you stopped coming.”
A pause. Tyler stared at the floor.
“So I thought maybe I fucked something up.”
Josh's voice changed. Gentler.
“No.”
Tyler swallowed.
“Then why'd you stop?”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, only careful. Finally Josh said:
“You wore the jacket.”
“Yeah.”
“You told me you loved it.”
“I do.”
“I know.”
Tyler could hear the small smile in Josh’s voice before he continued.
“You didn't say anything about the note.”
Tyler closed his eyes.
“Yeah.”
“You didn't call.”
“Because I didn't fucking know.”
“I know that now.”
“Right.”
Josh paused.
“So I figured…”
Tyler waited.
“You liked the jacket.”
“Yes.”
“But not…”
Josh stopped. Tyler's chest tightened.
“The guy who made it?” he finished quietly.
Josh gave a tiny laugh. Not happy exactly.
“Basically.”
Tyler leaned forward.
“No.”
“I know.”
“No, Josh, that's—”
He ran one hand over his face.
“That is very much not the problem.”
Josh went quiet. Tyler stared at the note.
“I like the guy who made it.”
There: simple, terrifying and true. The silence afterward was brief but felt enormous. Then Josh said:
“Yeah?”
Tyler smiled despite himself.
“Yeah.”
Another quiet second passed. Tyler’s chest hurt when he pictured the last two weeks from Josh’s side: the hope on his face when he saw Tyler wearing the jacket, then the waiting, then nothing.
“Did I make you sad?”
Josh didn’t answer immediately, and Tyler appreciated that. He could have rescued him with a no or made it easier. Instead:
“A little.”
Tyler closed his eyes.
“Fuck.”
“Tyler—”
“I'm sorry.”
“Hey.”
“I am.”
“I know.”
“I would've called.”
“I know that now.”
“I would've called immediately.”
Josh laughed softly.
“I believe you.”
Tyler looked down at the note in his hand.
“I feel terrible.”
“Don't.”
“I accidentally rejected you for almost two weeks.”
“You didn't know.”
“But you didn't know I didn't know.”
“That sentence sucked.”
Tyler laughed.
“Fuck you.”
Josh laughed too, then his voice softened again.
“But not anymore.”
Tyler stopped. The room went still, and he smiled—not because it was funny, but because Josh had said it exactly right: a little sad, past tense, not anymore. Tyler looked down at the galaxy pocket.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
After a pause, Josh said:
“So…”
Tyler immediately recognized the hesitation. He smiled.
“So?”
“You actually want to?”
“Yes.”
“Like actually.”
“Yes.”
“Go out with me?”
“Josh.”
“I've been wrong about this once already.”
“You weren't wrong!”
Josh laughed.
“I didn't check the fucking pocket.”
“I know.”
“You were right.”
“Okay.”
“I like you.”
Silence. Tyler's face heated even though Josh couldn't see him. He kept going because apparently death was preferable to leaving ambiguity now.
“I've liked you for a while.”
“Yeah?”
“Do not sound smug.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“I promise I'm not.”
“You're smiling.”
Josh laughed.
“You can't see me.”
“I know your voice.”
The words slipped out before Tyler could stop them. He went quiet, and Josh did too. Then, very softly:
“Yeah.”
Tyler rubbed the note between his fingers. Josh said:
“Can I take you out?”
Tyler smiled.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He let the answer sit there for a second. Then, because Josh had apparently spent nearly two weeks believing exactly the opposite and Tyler wanted no room left for misunderstanding:
“Yeah. You really fucking can.”
Josh laughed, and there it was again—the laugh Tyler had spent nearly two weeks missing. Tyler leaned back on one hand with the warm jacket around him, the note in the other and Josh still on the phone. For the first time since bright pink hair walked through Goodwill’s front doors and Tyler forgot how hangers worked, they both finally knew what the fuck was happening.