"I'll take turkey, on rye bread."

"We don't serve rye," Spencer grunted behind the counter. He looked unimpressed, thick arms folded to his chest. The grey of his eyes was dense, no clouding emotions. The guy had one thought and one thought only.

That he was never, ever, ever, going to rejoin the play. No matter how many sandwiches I attempted to order.

"How about maple-glazed ham... on rye?" I asked and Spencer actually dropped his arms at that, only to reach out behind him to untie his apron. Throwing it on the counter he let out a soft whistle, alerting a girl with a clipboard who stood by the walk-in fridge.

"I'm going on break, Polly," he said, eyes daring me to comment before he swept off to the door adjacent.

I waited all of four seconds before walking out of the store and heading to the alleyway I knew Spencer would be in. As always, he stood resting against a graffitied wall, unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. Waiting until he lit the end, I lazily made my way over, dragging a hand against the rough concrete wall across from him.

"You should invest in rye bread. It's the only stuff my Mom lets the family eat." I said as a way of announcing my presence.

Spencer peeked open an eye, glare hard as a kitten's, though the clench of his fists were twice as menacing. "I could call my Mom, have her book you for harassment."

"Pretty sure asking for rye bread doesn't class as harassment."

"It can when the offender is someone I have a known history with... Especially if I'm known to them as the guy who enabled their arrest."

"Really?"

"I don't fucking know. Not a cadet remember," he muttered, taking a soft drag before dropping the cigarette to the concrete. "I'm not doing the play."

"Just tell me why, then I'll drop it. I promise," I said, reclining against the wall opposite him. The cement was cold against my back and a little wet which made me regret my actions but I didn't move.

"I'm not kissing you," he said, simply.

"Mildly offended."

"No, Jesus," he huffed, rolling his eyes. "You're a treasure, Beau, a national one. Is your ego happy now? I just meant... I can't kiss another guy."

"Why?"

"It's kind of personal. I'm not gonna pour my heart out to you while on my smoke break." Spencer scoffed, looking down ruefully at his abandoned cigarette. "Listen you said all I had to do was give you a reason, there's my reason. Now, kindly, fuck off."

"It's not a big deal, kissing another dude. It wouldn't make you gay," I reasoned and Spencer sent me a hard look.

"I know that."

"Then I really don't see the issue. Is this about Bella? About her trying to get back at you? Is that why you're being so sensitive?"

"Fuck Bella," he scoffed, rolling his eyes harder. "No, for once Bella is not the center of the universe – though she tries to be. I just, I can't do it. Okay. Now, please, go."

Not awaiting my reply, Spencer shouldered his way back into the store. With a low groan, I followed behind him, just catching the door as it went to swing shut.

"Turkey. Sourdough. All salad, but onions, and extra mayo."

"Jesus– Beau you can't just come behind the counter, it's staff only." Spencer lectured, clearing enough space so I could pass him, ducking under the counter to reenter the customer's side.

"Better?"

"Couldn't you have saved the harassment till after work?" he asked, raking a hand down his face before turning to wash them in the sink. Slapping on a pair of gloves he worked on my sandwich, carving the turkey leg.

"No, see this is my only day this week where I don't have service right after class. I've had to take on more hours if I want to finish them before I die since someone got me kicked off the play," I said, pulling out my ace earlier than I wanted but it's enough to get me the reaction I wanted. Spencer paused in his slicing, softer eyes meeting mine.

"What?"

"Bella cut me from the play. Said that I was unneeded," I said, fiddling with a napkin holder until Spencer slapped my hand away, placing it out of reach.

"Why?"

"Single word answers are annoying, Spencer," I warned before continuing. "She said I was only hired because I was, I think the word she and Kyle used was, 'hunky'? And when you, dramatically I should add, quit last week she fired me since the role was supported by you being humiliated."

"What does this have to do with your community service?" Spencer asked, before adding with a smirk. "More than one word answer."

"I had an agreement with Han. Whatever time went to the play, he would cross-off as part of my hours as the play was a town production. Technically I would be servicing the community with my amazing acting talents."

"That's not my fault, you earned your punishment man. Full blame warranted or not," Spencer said, though the frown on his face belied that he felt bad.

Did I feel like an asshole for emotionally manipulating Spencer into doing the play? A little bit. But it didn't matter. Last week's interaction with Clark had taught me to stop being a fucking pushover who waits around for other people. If I wanted to get my hours down I needed to get Spencer onboard sooner rather than later.

"No onions," I reminded him when his hands hovered over them, unsure.

"Thanks," he said before his head snapped my way. When the fillings were done he pressed the top slice down, wrapping the sandwich before pushing it to me.

"How much?" I asked, grabbing my card, but Spencer shook his head.

"The first one is free," he said and at my arched brow, he elaborated, "I know you, Beau. You're gonna continue to heckle me for sandwiches, like you did with the fu– freaking rye bread for ten minutes when you first came in here, wasting your money, and think that all this annoying me into submission will work and you'll get what you want. Which it won't, because I'm not coming back."

"What happened to me being a treasure?"

"A national treasure," he added with a smirk before getting serious. "Save the money and the produce and go home, Beau."

"I need you to come back, Spencer," I told him, firmly, and he shook his head.

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"Then make me a tuna melt."

"... This is a deli. We don't sell tuna."

"Then another turkey sandwich," I huffed, taking a bite of the one before me. And it was as great as I remembered, enough so I took my time eating it before Spencer wrung me up.

"Nineteen-fifty,"

I raised my eyebrows in shock. "What's in the sandwich, gold?"

"You're taking up my precious time making your stupid sandwiches, and Polly will stay in that fridge until she dies in there. Which means I'm stuck on my own with you until you run home with your tail between your legs. So your sandwich, and all the ones that follow since you do need to be eating in order to stay here at the counter, is nineteen-fifty. Tax-inclusive, because I'm not a monster."

I stared at Spencer, who matched my glare with equal intensity, as if daring me to break first.

My god.

Gay chicken.

It reminded me of the play, right before our characters were supposed to kiss, and in that parallel I pulled out my card, slapping it on the table and taking the moment as the sign from God I knew it to be.

"Wring me up for five more, a half-hour apart. If you won't break now then not a problem. I can stay until closing."

And I did end up staying to closing.

It was an hour before Spencer officially had to turn the sign over when he made his way over to me. About two hours into my stay I had realized the hell those stools would do to my back, leaving the deli briefly to bike home and grab my backpack and textbooks before returning. When I did arrive back, Spencer frowned.

"I thought you gave up?" he said, frown deepening when I slid my card to him until it dropped onto his lowered bench.

"Every half hour," I said, tapping the counter before striding to the back of the store.

"What fillings?" He called back and I shrugged.

"Surprise me," I said, taking a booth far enough in the back that Spencer had to make an effort to walk to me and deliver my food.

I thought it would wear him down, especially when a rush of customers came through, but we both became more resilient as time went on. I ate each sandwich I got for the next two hours, made some headway with my calculus homework, while Spencer became petty. Coming to the table with sandwiches that slowly grew larger until by eight in the evening the mere sight of bread made me queasy and they began to pile up.

"Is that a decimal or a multiplication sign?" Spencer asked, clearing the last table before stopping before me, placing a beef sandwich onto the mini pile I had pushed to the corner of my table. Three other sandwiches sat there, something he took note of.

"Even if I have to use a blender, I will eat them," I told him, rubbing my eyes, adding, "and it's a decimal. Why would I draw a dot to multiply?"

"You don't pay attention in class, do you? Never mind, it's not a big deal, scoot over," Spencer puffed, shoving me over in an attempt to shoulder into the booth.

"Jesus dude," I huffed back, making space for him as he dumped the plates on the table and scribbled on my notebook.

"Also all your k's look like h's. How can you manage to make differentiation more complicated?" he chuckled, making check marks next to some of my answers before grabbing another pen to fill out questions I had given up on answering. "Not bad over although though."

"Why are you helping me?"

"You're my friend, idiot," he chuckled. "And I call you an idiot because your card got declined an hour ago."

"My Mom's gonna kill me for this, I hope you know that," I told him.

"Claim it was stolen," he shrugged as the bell above the door rang. "We're closed."

"Well aware of that," the voice greeted back and we both turned our heads at the soft tone. Spencer immediately got out of the booth, smiling, and I froze in place.

"Gillian," he greeted, kissing her cheek swiftly before loosening his apron. "Gillian, this is Beau. Beau, Gillian. You two mingle while I finish cleaning out the backroom."

"Hard to keep that one still for more than a moment," Gillian chuckled. She was still dressed for school, in a long and pleated navy skirt with a bulky blazer that she immediately stripped off before laying over the booth seats back. Her figure was prominent in her polo shirt, shoulders soft and sides of her waist matching. She was also a million times pretty than in her photograph, which I did not think was possible.

"Apparently so," I said back, a little awestruck by her.

"I remember the last time we attended a social together he refused to be on the dance floor for longer than a couple minutes, always distracted by something or someone. Well, mainly by new food floating around the dance hall," she mused, a soft smile on her lips before she blushed. "I'm fawning, that's so embarrassing. I tend to do that. My mother complains that boys make me giddy, sorry. You're the one teaching him to ride a bike correct? I've heard your name numerous times, but that seems to be a running theme. That and your inability to grasp biology."

"Ouch, love that Spencer is pointing out all my flaws," I said, feigning hurt before laughing at the apologetic and embarrassed look on Gillian's face. "I'm just messing around. Yeah, that's me. Though the biking thing is a long-running joke, apparently, that I cannot seem to escape. I doubt I'll be seeing much of him though, now that he's dropped out of Snowed White."

"Ah, yes, Bella's play," she said, frowning. "I was looking forward to seeing him in that, all dressed up. Shame that it clashed with his exams."

I snorted at that before I realized she was serious. "That's what he told you?"

"Yes," she frowned, leaning forward. "Unless he hit his head and forgot that lying to me is a very bad idea."

"He dropped out of the play because he refused to kiss another guy. I lost my role too when he stepped down," I sighed, amping up its sadness at the sorry look I got back from Gillian.

"Well, that's ridiculous. I'll go talk to him,"

"No... No, don't do that," I said, displaying my impeccable acting skills as I faked trying to stop her.

Gillian silenced me by standing, pushing her shoulders back as she waltzed into the backroom. Smirking to myself I took down the beef sandwich from its tower, taking a bite. God, they had not decreased in flavor as the hours went on. I was on the last bite when Gillian and Spencer came back out, the latter sending me a hard look.

Striding forward Spencer laid down a stack of bills he'd pulled from the register on his way over, wordlessly sliding them to me.

"I'll see you Friday for rehearsal but until then don't talk to me-"

"Spencer," Gillian started, an embarrassed frown on her lips but Spencer continued.

"If you need to contact me, urgently about lines or anything else purely play related, then text me. Otherwise outside rehearsals we don't know each other. Now I need you to go so I can finish my clean down and lock up."

"Spencer–" I started, equal parts thrilled but unable to ignore the pit in my stomach at the void of emotion in Spencer's eyes when they met mine.

"I need to clean up, Beau. I'll see you on Friday."

I grabbed my bag, stuffing my things inside haphazardly before standing. Spencer jerked the front door open, waiting until I was on the stoop before slamming the door shut with a finality that made me wonder if I had somehow managed to fuck everything up.