Chapter 5 (the invitation)

It was a rare quiet night dry, still, and silver-lit.

No rain, no thunder, just the soft hum of the city settling into itself. Streetlights painted long golden lines across the pavement, and the faint echo of distant music drifted from somewhere down the street.

Inside the bar, it was peaceful. The last of the regulars had gone home an hour ago, and Mira had left with a cheerful “Don’t work too late, Zeke!” before vanishing into the night.

Now it was just Ezekiel and the low buzz of the refrigerator.

He liked it this way or, he thought he did.

The lights were dim, the counters wiped clean, the smell of cinnamon and coffee still clinging faintly to the air. He leaned against the counter, half-tired, half-thinking of nothing, when the bell above the door chimed softly.

He didn’t even jump this time.

Ezekiel: “You’re late.”

Ryan’s voice floated through the stillness, easy and amused.

Ryan: “You say that like you were waiting for me.”

Ezekiel glanced up. Ryan stood in the doorway, framed by the warm glow of the streetlight behind him. His jacket was unzipped, his hair a little tousled by the wind, and his smile the one Ezekiel was trying very hard not to like was softer than usual.

Ezekiel: “I was waiting for the chance to lock the door.”

Ryan: “Ouch. Brutal.”

Ezekiel: “You get used to it.”

Ryan: “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Ryan crossed the room, footsteps muffled by the wooden floor. He took his usual seat at the counter, the one that by now almost felt his, and leaned forward.

Ryan: “You always stay this late?”

Ezekiel: “I close up.”

Ryan: “That’s not an answer.”

Ezekiel: “It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Ryan chuckled quietly, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Ezekiel pour water into the kettle. The sound of boiling filled the silence between them soft, steady, familiar.

Ezekiel didn’t ask why he was there. Ryan didn’t explain.

He never really did.

⸻

The clock ticked past ten.

Outside, the street had gone mostly quiet, save for the distant hum of passing cars. The bar was warm, a small world of amber light in the middle of the night.

Ryan traced circles on the countertop with his finger, absentmindedly watching the reflection of the hanging lamp sway.

Ryan: “You ever notice how quiet it gets when everyone leaves?”

Ezekiel: “It’s a bar. That’s the point.”

Ryan: “Doesn’t it ever feel… too quiet?”

Ezekiel: “No.”

Ryan: “Liar.”

Ezekiel looked up sharply. Ryan was grinning but it wasn’t the usual teasing grin. It was gentler. Almost careful.

Ryan: “You don’t like silence, you just pretend to.”

Ezekiel: “You think you know a lot for someone who only drinks here.”

Ryan: “Maybe I pay attention.”

Ezekiel: “To what?”

Ryan: “To you.”

The words hung in the air, unhurried and unashamed.

Ezekiel’s hand stilled on the kettle handle. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a second, then muttered too quickly

Ezekiel: “You’re insufferable.”

Ryan: “Probably. But I’m right.”

Ryan smiled again, soft and steady, the kind of smile that made Ezekiel’s pulse trip over itself.

He turned away, pouring water into a mug just to have something to do.

Ezekiel: “Coffee at this hour?”

Ryan: “You worry about me now?”

Ezekiel: “No. I worry about people who don’t sleep.”

Ryan: “You don’t sleep.”

Ezekiel: “That’s different.”

Ryan: “How?”

Ezekiel: “…It just is.”

Ryan laughed under his breath, quiet and genuine. The sound filled the room like the softest kind of music.

⸻

Minutes drifted by.

They talked in half-whispers, as if the night might shatter if they spoke too loud. About small things Ryan’s terrible cooking, Mira’s habit of labeling pastries with doodles, the streetlight outside that flickered every other night.

And then, somehow, without warning, the conversation shifted.

Ryan: “You ever go anywhere?”

Ezekiel: “I’m somewhere now.”

Ryan: “I mean outside of here. The bar. Home. Work.”

Ezekiel: “Sometimes.”

Ryan: “When was the last time?”

Ezekiel: “…A while ago.”

Ryan: “So never, basically.”

Ezekiel gave him a glare that didn’t hold much weight. “Why do you care?”

Ryan: “Because I was thinking-“

He paused, hesitating.

Ryan: “-you should come out with me.”

Ezekiel: “Out?”

Ryan: “Yeah. Like, actually out. A walk. A late dinner. Something.”

Ezekiel frowned.

Ezekiel: “It’s ten-thirty.”

Ryan: “Exactly. Best time of night.”

Ezekiel: “There’s nothing open.”

Ryan: “There’s a diner by the pier. Stays open till midnight. Good food, bad coffee. You’ll love it.”

Ezekiel: “Why would I go with you?”

Ryan: “Because you want to.”

The confidence in his tone made Ezekiel’s stomach twist.

Ezekiel: “You think too highly of yourself.”

Ryan: “No. I think just right about you.”

Ezekiel opened his mouth to argue then closed it again, because for once, he didn’t know what to say.

Ryan waited, patient but hopeful, fingers tapping lightly against his mug.

Ezekiel: “I can’t just leave. I have closing to do.”

Ryan: “I’ll help you.”

Ezekiel: “You’ll make a mess.”

Ryan: “Probably. But we’ll leave faster.”

Ryan tilted his head, smile small but warm.

Ryan: “Come on. You spend all night surrounded by people, but you never go anywhere. Don’t you want to see the city a little?”

Ezekiel hesitated, looking around the bar. The lights, the shelves, the quiet hum of routine. His world. His walls.

Then he looked at Ryan and suddenly, it didn’t seem quite so ridiculous.

Ezekiel: “You’re not going to stop asking, are you?”

Ryan: “Nope.”

Ezekiel: sighed. “…Fine.”

Ryan’s: eyes brightened. “That’s a yes?”

Ezekiel: “That’s an if you spill anything, you’re cleaning it yourself.”

Ryan: “Deal.”

⸻

It didn’t take long to finish closing up.

Ryan helped badly stacking chairs unevenly and almost dropping a glass before Ezekiel swatted his hand away. But the laughter that slipped out between them made the whole thing lighter. Easier.

By the time the lights were dimmed and the door locked, the night had deepened. The air outside was cool and clear, carrying the faint scent of salt from the nearby pier.

Ezekiel pocketed the keys, glancing at Ryan.

Ezekiel: “If the diner’s closed, you’re buying me coffee somewhere else.”

Ryan: “If it’s closed, I’ll find you the world’s worst vending machine and make it romantic.”

Ezekiel rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the curve of his mouth.

They walked side by side down the quiet street. The city lights glowed soft and gold, and the sound of the ocean whispered faintly in the distance. Ryan kept his hands in his jacket pockets, humming some tune Ezekiel didn’t recognize.

Ezekiel: “You always hum?”

Ryan: “Only when I’m in a good mood.”

Ezekiel: “So… all the time, then.”

Ryan: “Only when you’re around.”

Ezekiel stopped walking for half a second.

Ezekiel: “…You can’t just say things like that.”

Ryan: “Why not?”

Ezekiel: “Because people don’t.”

Ryan: “Then people are missing out.”

Ryan looked at him really looked eyes warm under the streetlight.

Ryan: “You don’t have to be afraid of good things, you know.”

Ezekiel’s breath caught.

The wind shifted, brushing against them softly.

He wanted to say something sharp, something deflective. But instead, he just muttered

Ezekiel: “…You talk too much.”

Ryan: “And you listen too carefully.”

They kept walking.

When they reached the end of the street, the pier lights shimmered ahead rows of tiny bulbs strung along the railings, reflecting on the dark water below.

Ryan: “See? Not so bad, right?”

Ezekiel: “…It’s fine.”

Ryan: “You’re smiling.”

Ezekiel: “No, I’m not.”

Ryan: “You are.”

Ryan stepped closer, voice lower now.

Ryan: “It suits you.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The sound of the water filled the quiet between them slow, rhythmic, endless.

Ezekiel looked away first, but the warmth in his chest stayed.

Ryan didn’t reach for him. Didn’t push. Just stood there beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed, close enough that Ezekiel could feel the calm steadiness of his presence.

Ezekiel exhaled, eyes on the waves.

Ezekiel: “You’re ridiculous.”

Ryan: “Maybe.”

Ezekiel: “…But thanks.”

Ryan: “For what?”

Ezekiel: “I don’t know. This, I guess.”

Ryan: smiled. “Anytime, my love.”

Ezekiel: groaned softly. “Don’t call me—”

Ryan: “Yeah, yeah. You always say that.”

But the corner of Ezekiel’s mouth curved again, and Ryan saw it the same half-second smile he’d been chasing for weeks.

And under the quiet starlit sky, with the faint sound of waves beneath them, neither of them said anything more.

They didn’t need to.