The garage smelled like oil, metal, and faint regret.
Lucian's hands were black with grease as he leaned over the bike frame, tightening a loose bolt. The sound of his wrench clicked in rhythm with his heartbeat, fast, unsteady. The Regeants were only a week away, and Ethan's bike still wasn't ready. He couldn't afford to waste even a second; the bike had to be in perfect condition if they were going to win.
Lucian wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. He'd been here since dawn. This was what he loved other than being stuck in books all day fixing, building, making things work. Machines didn't lie or shout or walk away when things got hard. People did.
It was his safe haven when things got rough at home.
"Still here, kid?" came a rough voice from behind him.
Lucian looked up to see Old Man Harris, the shop's owner and a retired racer himself. His grey beard was dusted with oil, and his kind eyes hid behind scratched goggles. Harris was one of the few betas who'd ever joined major races and won.
"Yeah," Lucian said, forcing a small smile. "Just finishing up Ethan's bike for the Regeants."
Harris let out a low whistle and nodded approvingly. "What a beauty that is. You sure took your time perfecting this one, kiddo." He leaned against the workbench. "But tell me are you and that boy still fightin'? You know you can always talk to this old greasehead. I used to be a hot throttle back in my day."
Lucian froze, pretending to adjust a wire. "We're… just having a rough patch."
He clenched his jaw. Of course he was lying. Fights after fights it had almost become their new normal. He couldn't even remember the last time they'd cuddled or just held each other.
"Uh-huh," the old man grunted, crossing his arms. "You've been sayin' that for months. Maybe it's time you talk it out before that patch turns into a roadblock."
Lucian looked down. The truth burned in his chest. Ethan had been distant—cold, even. He barely showed up at the garage anymore, always "busy." But Lucian still held on, hoping things would get better. Or maybe… he'd never really tried to fix what was breaking between them.
"Maybe you're right," he said quietly. "I'll go see him after I finish here."
Harris gave a small nod. "Good boy. Don't let pride ruin what love can fix."
Lucian smiled faintly as he turned back to the bike. He needed to fix more than this machine if they wanted to win the Regeants. He needed to fix them.
By evening, Lucian was walking through the city streets with a small paper bag in his hand. He'd stopped by the corner store and bought Ethan's favorite snacks chips, a cold drink, and those chocolate cookies he always stole from Lucian's lunch box.
His chest felt tight, but he tried to stay hopeful. We can fix this, he told himself. Like fixing a broken engine. Tighten what's loose. Replace what's worn out.
Then he shook his head. But bikes don't have emotions. People do.
Lucian stood outside Ethan's door, his heart pounding too fast. The hallway was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. He'd already rehearsed what he would say: just go in there, talk to him, apologize… maybe even make up afterwards. He chuckled softly at the thought.
He was about to knock when he noticed something two pairs of shoes by the door. One was Ethan's. The other… wasn't. A bit smaller. Not his. He'd never seen that kind before in his life.
A strange heaviness filled his chest. He tried to shake it off, told himself it was nothing maybe a friend visiting. Still, his hand trembled as he turned the doorknob. The earlier confidence vanished in an instant, replaced only by doubt.
The moment he stepped inside, the air hit him thick, sharp, and unmistakable.
He knew that scent, even from a mile away.
The scent of an alpha mixed with an omega.
It clung to the walls, the furniture, the air everything.
His stomach twisted, but he pushed forward, his legs barely obeying him.
Then he saw him.
Ethan sat on the couch, shirtless, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he scrolled through his phone. His hair was messy, his track pants hung low on his hips, and hickeys marked his neck and chest like bruises of guilt. Lucian's breath caught in his throat.
"Ethan," he said, his voice small but steady as he tried to compose himself.
Ethan looked up lazily, smoke curling from his mouth. "Oh. You're here."
Lucian blinked in disbelief. Oh, you're here? That was all he could say after this?
Lucian's heart pounded. He stepped closer, still clutching the paper bag of snacks. "Where have you been all this time? I've been calling you."
Ethan shrugged. "Busy."
His tone was cold, detached,the kind of cold that cut deeper than shouting ever could.
Lucian swallowed hard. "Are you… with someone right now?"
For a moment, Ethan didn't answer. Then he smirked faintly. "What if I was?"
Lucian's heart shattered. How many times had he caught him cheating? How many times had he forgiven him the one person he tried to be patient and gentle with?
Before he could speak, a soft voice came from behind.
"Ethan, baby, I can't find my" The voice stopped. "Oh."
An omega stood in the bedroom doorway, wearing one of Ethan's shirts, hair still tousled. The boy froze when he saw Lucian, eyes wide. The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the room.
"I'm sorry," the omega stammered, looking between them. "Am I… disturbing something?"
Lucian couldn't breathe. The paper bag slipped from his hand, chips and cookies scattering across the floor. He inhaled shakily, trying to hold himself together.
"No," he whispered. His lips curved into a bitter smile as tears shimmered in his eyes. His voice broke, but he didn't cry. Not this time.
"You're not disturbing anything. I was just leaving."
He turned and walked out, his steps steady even though his heart felt like it was falling apart inside him.
Behind him, Ethan didn't call out.
Not once.