The store is finally quiet.

The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead, and the clock on the wall clicks past closing time like it’s judging how long you’re still here. Your feet hurt, your back hurts, and your brain feels like it’s been wrung dry.

Ian locks the front door and flips the sign to CLOSED.

“Thank God,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “If one more person asked for cigarettes we don’t sell, I was gonna lose it.”

You laugh weakly from behind the counter. “You didn’t lose it when the guy tried to pay in loose change?”

Ian grins. “Barely.”

He drops into the chair across from you, legs stretched out, shoulders slumped. For the first time all night, he actually looks tired—not the controlled, responsible Ian everyone sees, but the real one.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “Just… drained.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

Silence settles between you—not awkward, just heavy. Familiar. You’ve shared a hundred shifts like this, a hundred late nights and stolen snacks and sarcastic comments.

So why does this one feel different?

Ian watches you longer than usual, his gaze soft, thoughtful. You notice because you always notice him—how he hums under his breath when he’s tired, how his shoulders relax when the world finally stops demanding things from him.

“You know,” he says suddenly, “I don’t think I ever say this, but… I’m glad it’s you I work with.”

You look up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Makes it easier. Being here.”

Your chest tightens a little, like something inside you shifts.

“Same,” you admit. “I don’t know how I’d survive these shifts without you.”

He smiles—but it’s not his usual grin. It’s smaller. Almost nervous.

The clock ticks louder.

Outside, a car passes. Somewhere far away, someone laughs.

Ian leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “Do you ever think about… how some things change without you noticing?”

You hesitate. “Like what?”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes.

“Like when someone stops feeling like just a friend.”

The air feels thinner.

You swallow. “Ian—”

“I’m not saying anything,” he says quickly, sitting up. “I just… I’ve been feeling weird lately. Around you.”

Your heart starts pounding.

“Me too,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

He freezes.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice low.