Chapter Seven
It was the end of a particularly busy afternoon rush and the customers were finally starting to clear out. The hiss of espresso machines and the clink of cups had softened, leaving behind the steady comforting sound of the faint jazz playing from the speakers. The small tables were still dotted with half-drunken coffees and pastry wrapper, but the regulars had mostly drifted out, leaving Leal and Salis time to wind down.
Salis leaned against the counter, drying mugs with a dishtowel, his movements slow, deliberate, like everything was taking just a bit more energy than usual. He kept his head down but the light from the overhead lamp accentuated how pale he was and the subtle bags under his eyes.
Lael hadn't missed it—couldn't. His gaze flickered over to Salis, his worry building as he watched the way that his shoulders slumped, the way that he almost swayed as he shifted from one foot to the other.
"You okay, man?" Lael's voice was quiet, but it carried that familiar softness.
Salis didn't even look up at first, as if off somewhere in his own far away world. He mumbled something that could've been an answer, but Lael could barely catch it over the sound of the milk steamer.
"Salis?" he tried again, this time stepping closer to him, his voice full of concern.
"Yeah, fine," Salis finally answered, but his voice lacked his usual conviction. His eyes darted to the window, looking anywhere but at Lael.
"You've barely eaten today," Lael insisted. "You didn't even take a lunch break."
Salis stiffened, his grip on the dish towel tightening, as if the pressure could somehow push away the sick feeling slowly building inside of him. He didn't want to be a burden. He didn't want Lael to worry about him, not when there was so much more that he could be doing—when there were customers to serve, and orders to handle.
"I said I'm fine," Salis repeated, but just as he did, his stomach growled, low and rumbling, betraying him. His face flushed, and he quickly bent his head lower, pretending that he hadn't heard it.
Lael caught the look of embarrassment flicker across Salis's face. His chest tightened.
They were slight, but Lael had noticed the signs. Salis's body was starting to give up in more ways than one: the faint tremble in his hands, the color in his cheeks had gone faint, and his gaze that was normally sharp was growing distant.
"Come on," Lael pleaded. "You know you can't run on empty. You might think you're fooling some people, but I'm not one of them."
Salis winced, his eyes still trained on the ground. He opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out.
Lael's gaze softened. He had noticed that Salis never really talked about how he was feeling but he was never sure if it was okay to keep pushing after that first initial 'I'm fine'. He wished that he could show him that it was okay to admit when things were tough.
Without saying another word, Lael grabbed the small take-out bag he'd brought back from his lunch earlier and set it on the counter between them. It was simple—just a sandwich, nothing fancy.
"Just eat something," Lael said, nudging the bag gently toward Salis. "You don't have to finish it if you don't want to, but you should at least try."
Salis hesitated, looking down at the sandwich. His stomach growled again, louder this time, as if trying to remind him how much he needed it.
"I don't—" Salis began, but his words faltered when Lael stepped a little closer, his hand resting casually on the counter, as if he wasn't going to move until Salis took the offer.
"I'm not asking you to eat the whole thing, but I am asking you to take care of yourself, okay?" Lael's voice was quiet and there was a cushiness to it that Salis hadn't been expecting. He didn't mean to, but Salis found himself staring at the sandwich as if it was some strange, foreign object he had to work up the courage to get close to.
He swallowed hard. His throat felt tight.
Lael stood there patiently, his expression unhurried, as if it was something they both knew needed to happen but weren't rushing towards.
Salis tried to breathe through the discomfort but it felt impossible. Finally, his hand shook slightly as he reached for the bag, picking up the sandwich with much reluctance.
He could feel Lael's gaze on him, warm, un-pressing. Salis took a small bite, chewing slowly, trying not to let his body betray him, trying to ignore how his nervousness tightened around every muscle in his chest.
Lael's hand hovered near him, ready to offer a quiet gesture of comfort if Salis needed it—he could tell that he was forcing himself to eat, but the fact that he was trying, even if it was small, meant something.
As Salis took another bite, Lael's eyes softened. He had no idea why he fought this so much. Why it was so hard for him to care for himself.
"You're doing good," Lael said, just as Salis finished chewing and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice wasn't mocking or condescending—it was sincere. Quiet enough so only Salis could hear him.
Salis just looked Lael for a moment, the words caught in his throat. He couldn't help it. The words had hit him harder than he expected.
You're doing good.
It wasn't anything spectacular—just a simple encouragement, something anyone could say. But to Salis, it felt like a revelation. A quiet admission that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as broken as he thought. That someone saw him—really saw him—for the effort that he was putting in.
His throat tightened again, but this time, it wasn't from trying to hide his hunger. It was the start of something softer, something he didn't know how to define yet but couldn't ignore.
+++
Salis grabbed the broom and began sweeping the floor in slow methodical motions, the sound of the bristles against the wooden floor echoing in the otherwise still shop. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly as the machines finally fell silent. It had been a long day, but for once the quiet was comforting. Just the sound of the cleaning and the soft shuffle of Salis and Lael's feet.
Lael had finished wiping down the counter, and he was now working on stacking the last of the chairs. It felt easier now, the silence between them not as awkward as it had been earlier in the day.
Salis still wasn't sure what to make of Lael's concern about him not eating, but the last thing that he wanted to do was talk about it more.
They hadn't said much since their conversation earlier, and Salis figured they'd just leave it at that. He didn't need anyone's pity.
But then, Lael spoke.
"You're sure you don't want the rest of my sandwich?"
Salis stopped for a moment, the broom still in his hands as he glanced at Lael. There was no judgment in his voice—just the same soft curiosity as earlier. He wasn't pushing, just offering the same question again, but now in the quiet of the cafe with the night wrapping around them.
Salis quickly dropped his gaze, focusing on the broom bristles again. "I'm good, really," he said, his voice a little too fast. "I don't need anything."
Lael didn't answer immediately, his eyes lingering on Salis for a beat too long. It was like he was waiting, like he wanted Salis to say more, but he didn't want to force it. Salis could feel the quiet weight of it in the air between them—the kind of weight that made his chest tighten.
He took a breath and started sweeping again, more out of nervous habit than anything else.
"You could come over to my place and I can make you something?" Lael added, as if to ease the silence. "Not a lot. Just… something to help you wind down, you know? It's late, and I don't know about you, but I don't like going to bed hungry."
Salis knew all about that.
Salis shot a quick glance at Lael. It was odd how casual the offer sounded, like it wasn't a big deal. But in Salis's mind, it was huge.
It was about way more than just food. It was about letting someone take care of him in a way that he wasn't used to. The thought of accepting something—anything—from Lael felt foreign to him. He didn't need anyone looking out for him, especially not when he didn't even know how to look after himself.
Lael paused in his task of stacking chairs and raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to, but if you're hungry later, you can come by. No pressure, promise."
Salis hesitated, his fingers gripping the broom handle a little tighter than necessary. He didn't like how Lael seemed to see right through his defenses, but there was something about the offer that felt so different from how other people treated him. It wasn't insistent, just… tender.
"I'll be fine," Salis murmured again, avoiding Lael, hoping to end the conversation there.
The moment hung between them, thick like fog, until Lael's voice broke the silence once more.
"You know," he said softly, "I don't think I've ever seen you take a break. Not once since we started working together."
Salis didn't stop sweeping this time, but his movements slowed, just for a moment. He didn't look up.
"It's just a shift," Salis said, trying brush it off with a shrug. "No need for me to take a break."
Lael was quiet for a moment, then, almost as if he was considering his next words carefully, he spoke again. "Maybe. But you're not a robot, Salis. You've got to give yourself a little room to breathe."
Salis's throat tightened slightly, and he clenched his jaw to keep from responding. He wasn't good at this—talking about himself—and he certainly didn't want to do that here.
The soft scraping of the broom against the floor filled the space between them.
Then Lael said something that caught Salis off guard.
"You can stay over at my house tonight if you want. We can just hang out. If you're tired or need a break, you don't have to rush back. I won't tell you what to do. I… figured I'd just offer."
Salis's heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, and for a moment, he just stared at the broom in his hands, unsure of how to respond. His stomach growled faintly—loud enough for him to feel, but he ignored it.
The thought of being alone in his own apartment didn't appeal to him very much. He didn't like being alone, but he also didn't like the idea of letting someone see him. Letting someone in.
"I'm fine," Salis said again, but this time, it didn't sound as convincing as before, his voice too quiet.
Lael seemed to sense the change, and went back to finishing his tasks, and unspoken understanding hanging in the air between them.
Salis's mind was racing as he tried to continue sweeping. He had never been good at letting people in—never knowing how to accept even simple gestures of kindness without feeling like he was losing control. But Lael was patient. Too patient, maybe. Too kind.
Finally, as the last of the chairs were stacked and the lights flickered off, Lael turned to him, offering a smile that was easy, like he was giving Salis space without making a big deal out of it. But inside it was a bigger deal than he could admit. He wished that Salis would just come home with him so he could watch over him. Make sure he was safe.
"Well, I'll head out," he said, pulling his jacket on. "I'll be around if you change your mind. I'm just down the street." He pointed out the left window into the dark night.
Salis nodded, offering him a small, almost hesitant smile in return. "Yeah. Thanks."
There was a moment where Lael seemed like he was going to say more, but then he just gave Salis a quick nod and headed out the door. Salis lingered in the silence of the cafe, the soft hum of the fridge and the hush of the street outside surrounding him.
He stood there for a while, staring at the door Lael had just walked through, the quiet weight of the evening settling in.
His stomach growled again, louder this time, and he pressed his palm to it in a futile attempt to soothe the discomfort.
Maybe it wouldn't hurt to grab something on the way home..?
He shook his head quickly. What was he thinking? Of course it would. What an idiotic question.
But, even so, a small part of him wondered what it would be like to go to Lael's place. Even just for a little while.