Page 37 of The Comfort Trap

"I didn't mean to offend you—" Aubrey starts, his hands up in surrender, carefully placing some ancient rotary phone back on its shelf.

"Yes he did," Eli interrupts, a smirk playing on his lips. "He's a snobby little shit."

"I amnotsnobby!" Aubrey retorts, getting louder. "I have standards. Unlike some people who think roadkill is high fashion."

Eli reaches out and messes up Aubrey's perfectly styled hair, and just like that, they're off. Yelling about something stupid, the sound of their argument bouncing off the stacks of old vinyl and dusty bookshelves. It's similar to watching a couple of toddlers go at it over some shiny piece of plastic, except these toddlers are grown-ass men with a love language straight out of some twisted textbook I've never seen. One minute they're this close to tearing each other's eyes out, the next they'd take a bullet for each other.

"For fuck's sake," Patrick cuts through their bickering. He emerges from the record section, his face a thundercloud. "You're both embarrassing the hell out of me. Get out of the store."

"Wait, wait," Eli says, holding up a hand. "I need to buy this jacket. It's calling to me."

"No!" Aubrey yells, trying to physically pull the jacket off Eli's shoulders. Eli plants his feet, grinning like an idiot while Aubrey struggles, the faux fur flying everywhere. It's a pathetic display, and honestly, I'm surprised Patrick hasn't thrown them both out on their asses already.

"Both of you," Patrick says, showcasing the deadly calm he uses on customers who think it's a good idea to complain about the coffee temperature. "Out."

"I'll pay for this first," Eli says, digging into his wallet. "Twenty bucks for this beauty."

"It's tagged for twenty bucks? That thing's worth maybe five," Patrick scoffs, but he's already taking the cash to pass over to my uncle at the counter, his scowl softening a fraction. He's a softie under all that barista armor, no matter how much he pretends otherwise.

"Nah, it's worth the twenty," Eli says, slipping out of the jacket and tossing it over his arm. He’s way too pleased with himself as my uncle rings it up, the cash drawer sliding open.

"Oye, Ricardo, dile a tu amigo que gracias por la compra, pero que lave esa cosa cuando llegue a casa."

"What'd he say?" Patrick turns to ask me, passing me the three records he grabbed as his selections today. He's been growing his record collection again lately, something about reclaiming his past. We spent last weekend building a new stand for them after we realized the old one was about to collapse under the weight of his rediscovered nostalgia.

"He said to wash it," I translate.

"Mi estimado, no puedo lavar algo que tiene tanto encanto, o perderá su personalidad."Eli responds, puffing out his chest like a fucking peacock.

My uncle lets out a chuckle. "Estás loco.You won't wash?"

"Hell no," Eli smirks, already rubbing his face against the collar.

"Eww. I can't believe you," Aubrey mutters, shaking his head.

"Don't be jealous just because you don't have the balls to pull it off," Eli teases, slinging an arm around Aubrey's shoulders as they head toward the door.

"You're an idiot." Aubrey shoves him off, but he's laughing now, the fight already forgotten.

"Bye, you heathens," Patrick calls after them, but there's a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turns to me after they wave back at him, shaking his head. "I swear, those two are going to give me an ulcer before I'm twenty-five."

I chuckle, pushing off the counter. "At least they're entertaining."

Patrick rolls his eyes, but he's already heading back to the vinyl, touching the spines of the records with a kind of admiration. I watch him for a minute, the way his shoulders relax as he immerses himself in the music. This is his happy place, surrounded by the things he loves. And somehow, by some miracle, I'm a part of that.

I move to stand beside him, brushing my hand against his. He leans into the touch. We stand there in silence, the sounds of the street outside muted by the thick walls of the shop. It's peaceful in a way I never thought I'd find.

"You think those two are ever actually gonna make it legal?" I ask, grinning as I watch Eli and Aubrey disappear out the door, still laughing about something stupid.

Patrick snorts, still scanning the record shelves. "Not a fucking chance."

"I don't know," I say, turning to face him properly. "Eli's been dropping some hints lately. Asking some real weird questions."

Patrick's head snaps up then. "Really?" he asks softly. "Like what?"

"Hypotheticals. What Aubrey would want for a proposal, if he were to ask. Ruminating on what Aubrey would say. The kind of shit that makes me think he's not bullshitting."

I watch Patrick's face, trying to read the expression there. It's not exactly surprise, more like contemplation. "You think he's serious?" he asks.