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The Goodwill parking lot looked like every Goodwill parking lot.
Which was to say: vaguely threatening.
The asphalt was cracked all to hell, shopping carts were scattered like abandoned battlefield casualties, and someone was aggressively revving a motorcycle three stores down in the strip mall for reasons known only to God.
Chris stepped out of the passenger seat and took one deep breath like a man returning home.
Josh stared at him over the roof of the car. “You know this place smells like dust and depression, right?”
Chris looked genuinely offended. “First of all, rude. Second of all, that smell is history.”
Josh snorted, locking the car with a chirp. “I’m pretty sure that smell is mold.”
“See? This is why I had to bring you.” Chris pointed at him accusingly as they crossed the parking lot. “You don’t respect the craft.”
Josh huffed and fixed his beanie.
“The craft?”
“The thrift.”
Josh laughed under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”
Chris ignored him, already in the mindset of search, find, and negotiate a dollar off asking price.
He pushed through the sliding doors with the confidence of a man entering sacred ground.
Immediately, the smell hit.
Old fabric. Industrial cleaner. Dust. Something faintly floral that had probably seeped permanently into the walls sometime in 2007.
Josh physically recoiled.
“Oh my God.”
Chris spread his arms dramatically. “Welcome.”
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere deeper in the store, a child was crying with the force of a smoke alarm. One of the cashiers was arguing with a customer about the return policy.
It was chaos.
Chris looked delighted.
Josh watched him grab a shopping cart near the entrance. Or, well. He attempted to.
The cart jerked violently left with a horrible squealing noise.
Chris nodded approvingly. “Excellent.”
“How is that excellent?”
“You always want the cart with something wrong with it. Builds character.”
“It builds lawsuits.”
Chris shoved the cart toward him. “Hold this.”
Josh took the handle reluctantly and nearly dislocated his shoulder when the broken wheel locked sideways.
“Chris.”
Chris was already wandering toward the sweater section without him.
“Christopher!”
“You’ll catch up!”
Josh stared at the cart for a long suffering moment before dragging it after him with the noise of dying machinery echoing through the store.
Honestly, this was probably how horror movies started.
He found Chris digging through a rack of sweaters with frightening concentration.
“How are you already this invested?”
Chris held up a mustard yellow sweater with what appeared to be several geese swimming across the front.
Josh blinked.
“No.”
“Coward.”
“It looks haunted.”
Chris gasped softly. “Josh. Look at their little faces.”
“The geese are little, yes.”
“No, no, emotionally. Look at them.”
Josh looked at the sweater again.
“I think one of them is the same one that chased us out of the park last year, Chris.”
Chris dissolved into laughter, the kind that made him hunch forward a little, one hand gripping the rack for balance.
Josh felt the familiar warm ache settle in his chest before he could stop it.
That was the problem with Chris.
The guy laughed like he meant it.
Not polite laughter. Not forced, or the fake kind people did at parties.
Chris laughed with his whole body, like joy physically escaped him before he could hold it back.
Josh had been addicted to it for years.
Which was probably unhealthy.
Definitely unhealthy, actually.
Chris tossed the sweater into the cart anyway.
Josh immediately reached for his phone.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Chris smacked the phone right out of his hand before he could unlock it.
“What?”
“You were about to look up a more expensive version online.”
“I was gonna buy you a sweater that doesn’t look like it came free with a nervous breakdown.”
“That is not the point of thrifting.”
Josh shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Then explain the point to me.”
Chris leaned against the cart solemnly.
“The point,” he said, “is the hunt.”
Josh stared at him.
“You sound like an old wizard.”
Chris nodded once. “Correct.”
“What are we even looking for? You could have just gotten your mom some flowers and a candle.”
“She is really into these old dishes, and this is the perfect place to find some. Besides, it's cheaper too.”
Then he wheeled the screaming cart further into the store.
Josh followed automatically.
That was another problem.
Following Chris around felt natural in a way most things didn’t anymore.
Easy, like muscle memory.
They drifted through aisles slowly, Chris stopping every twelve seconds to inspect something increasingly absurd.
A ceramic frog wearing overalls.
A lava lamp with suspicious stains.
A framed painting of a lighthouse that seemed to actively induce sadness.
“This one feels cursed,” Chris said thoughtfully, holding it up.
Josh glanced over. “That man absolutely died at sea.”
“Right?”
“Hundred percent.”
Chris carefully returned it to the shelf.
Then they struck gold, according to Chris, and found two different sets of vintage dishes. Chris spent far too long deciding which set to pick, and then which items to take. And Josh spent the entire time looking at Chris. The taller man had on a jean jacket, the hoodie underneath was Josh’s, and the beanie was also Josh’s. Chris always seemed to leave Josh’s place with a new wardrobe. Not that he protested.
The cart squealed violently as they moved on.
At some point, Josh realized he was actually having fun.
Which was ridiculous.
He hated stores like this. Usually they stressed him out. Too cluttered. Too loud. Too much happening at once.
But Chris moved through the chaos like he belonged there, talking constantly about weird little objects and making himself laugh with increasingly terrible commentary. Even taking a second to make fun of some weird books in the literary section, warning Josh of bookworms, that weren't Chris.
Josh mostly just watched him.
And okay, maybe carried things when Chris handed them over. Stayed suspiciously close whenever other shoppers crowded near. Memorized the exact way Chris smiled when he found something good. None of that meant anything.
Probably.
Chris suddenly stopped dead in front of a shelf.
“Oh my God.”
Josh nearly rammed the cart into him. “What?”
Slowly, Chris lifted a mug into the fluorescent light.
It said #1 GRANDPA in fading green letters.
There was a fish on it for some reason. A rainbow trout that looked like it had been painted by a five year old.
Josh burst out laughing immediately.
“Oh, that’s you.”
Chris clutched the mug protectively to his chest. “I know.”
“That mug pays taxes.”
“It has wisdom.”
“It has lead paint.”
Chris dropped it carefully into the cart anyway.
“Added.”
“You’re not actually buying that.”
Chris looked at him like he’d said something deeply offensive.
“Josh. Please.”
“You don’t even drink coffee.”
“That’s not relevant.”
Josh laughed again, shaking his head.
God, he was so gone for this idiot.
The realization arrived casually enough to almost be annoying.
Solid and undeniable.
He loved Chris.
Which, okay, sure, maybe he’d known that already in the abstract. In the vague background radiation way he knew the sky was blue and Sam was smarter than both of them combined.
But this felt different somehow.
Watching Chris stand under flickering fluorescent lights holding a terrible grandfather mug like he’d discovered buried treasure.
Josh felt devastatingly fond all at once.
Chris looked over suddenly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Josh blinked.
“Like what?”
“Like I just told you I died in the war.”
“I’m literally just standing here.”
Chris narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
Then his attention got immediately stolen by a rack of jackets nearby.
“Ooh.”
Josh exhaled quietly as Chris wandered off again.
This whole thing was dangerous, because there was something terrifyingly domestic about it already.
Strangers giving them looks, their doubts written on their faces whenever Josh paid for everything, ignoring Chris’s protests.
Especially last winter, when Josh tugged Chris closer by his scarf, a gift from him, and wrapped it tighter around his cold neck. The scarf was soft, not itchy, and a light blue that brought out Chris's eyes.
But truly, every little thing, like Chris always stole fries off his plate without asking.
Josh knew Chris’s coffee order by memory despite the fact Chris changed it constantly.
They fell asleep on each other during movie nights.
Josh had hoodies at Chris’s apartment.
Chris had a toothbrush at Josh’s place.
Nobody talked about it.
And maybe that was the problem.
Josh wouldn't dare complain, so long as he still got to drive Chris to his place and listened to him rant about the dangers of lead.
Smiling brighter than any fluorescent light.