Chapter Three
The Saturday rush hit the cafe like a tidal wave—customers at every table, grinders whirring non-stop, milk steaming in frantic bursts. It was the kind of shift that blurred hours together and Salis moved through it flawlessly. Almost too much so.
Lael worked the espresso station, watching Salis over the machine with the same growing concern that had been sitting in his chest since yesterday. Busy shifts were always like this but today something felt wrong.
And worse: Salis's break timer had gone off an hour ago. And he's ignored it. Again.
A tray clattered loudly on the counter as a customer returned their dishes too forcefully. At the sound—just like yesterday—Salis flinched. Not as dramatically, but enough that his hand jerked and the glass he was holding almost slipped.
Lael's heart lurched.
Salis placed the glass down with careful, trembling finger, pretending nothing happened. But Lael saw the way he steadied himself on the counter before walking away.
When the rush finally thinned, Lael caught a glimpse of Salis closing the pantry case, moving past the food without looking at it. His stomach growled loud enough for Lael to hear it across the room. Salis instantly hunched in on himself mortified.
He walked faster, shoulders curled inward, as if he could hide inside of himself.
Lael set down the coffee filter, barely resisting the urge to follow after him.
Five minutes later, the shift lead—Mara—called out, "Salis! Break! Now. You've skipped two."
"I don't need one," Salis called back, not meeting anyone's eyes. Mara didn't argue; she'd learned that pushing wasn't the best when it came to him. Most of the other shift leads had no problem with Salis not taking a break since they were paid anyways and you didn't have to clock out, but Mara didn't like the way that he just always seemed to be working.
She nodded at Lael on her way to the office, an unspoken keep an eye on him.
Lael nodded back, wiping his hands on his apron before stepping into the hallway where Salis had disappeared.
He found him at the back sink again, pretending to reorganize the same stack of cups he'd already straightened three times today alone.
"Salis?"
He stiffened but didn't turn around.
"You should drink some water," Lael said lightly. "You've been running around for almost five hours."
"I'm fine," Salis replied, but the words were thin. Tired. His hands were gripping the edge of the counter too tightly. Lael hesitated, then tried something gentler.
"Are you hungry at all?"
Salis's shoulders jerked like someone had put an ice cube down his shirt.
"No," he said quickly, taking a step back. "I—I don't need to eat right now." His stomach, traitorous and loud, growled again. Salis pressed a hand to his abdomen, face flooding with heat. Shame radiated off of him so strongly that Lael felt it in the air like static.
Lael stepped closer, but slowly, keeping his voice warm.
"It's… okay to be hungry, Salis. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."
Salis shook his head, still not turning around. "I'm not hungry."
Lael frowned. "Your body seems to disagree."
That made Salis freeze completely. The breath left him in a quiet, broken exhale. He squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders trembling. For a moment Lael thought he might be crying—that quiet way people cry when they're trying to hide it.
"Lael," Salis whispered, his voice small, "please don't." The words weren't a plea to stop talking—they were a please not to look closer. Not to see him like this.
Lael softened instantly.
"Okay," he murmured. "I won't."
Salis's breathing steadied a little.
But Lael knew he wasn't leaving him like this. Not today.
"Come sit with me for a minute," he said gently. "We don't have to talk. We can just… sit. You look exhausted."
Salis finally turned his head, just enough for Lael to see the faint tremble in his jaw. He looked torn—caught between refusing on instinct and accepting because he didn't trust his legs to keep holding him up.
"...Just sitting?" Salis asked, voice barely audible.
"Just sitting," Lael promised.
After a long moment, Salis nodded. Lael stepped aside to give him space, pretending not to notice how unsteady his walk was, or how he kept one hand pressed low on his abdomen as if trying to silence it.
As they sat on the small staff table in the back, Salis stared down at his empty hands, ashamed of something he couldn't name out loud.