Work Text:
The auto shop was quiet, a rarity considering how loud Style usually kept things. The usual clatter of tools and blaring music was replaced by the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Fadel had only stopped by to check on his jeep, but he wasn’t expecting the stillness—or Style.
Style was standing by the workbench, his back to Fadel. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but as Fadel stepped closer, the glimmer of something unusual caught his eye. When Style finally turned around, Fadel froze.
His face was lightly made up, subtle but striking. A faint shimmer on his cheekbones caught the light, and his eyeliner added depth to his sharp eyes. His lips, painted a soft pink, glistened like they had just been kissed by the sun.
Style tilted his head, noticing Fadel’s hesitation. “What? Got something to say?”
Fadel tried to compose himself, quickly tearing his gaze away. “You, uh… What’s with the makeup?”
Style shrugged, though his movements were more reserved than usual. “Just felt like trying something new. Got a problem with it?”
Fadel’s jaw worked as he struggled to find the right words. Style was always bold, unapologetically himself, but this felt different. He looked… vulnerable. Almost like he was waiting for Fadel’s reaction.
And then, before he could stop himself, the words spilled out.
“I think you look pretty.”
The second the words left his mouth, Fadel regretted them. His ears burned, and he quickly turned away, pretending to inspect a nearby toolbox. Why the hell did I say that?
“What did you just say?” Style’s voice wasn’t teasing. It was soft, almost incredulous.
“I didn’t mean—” Fadel started, but when he turned back to face Style, the mechanic was already walking toward him.
“You think I look pretty?” Style asked, his wide eyes shimmering—not from the makeup but from something deeper.
Fadel groaned inwardly, feeling trapped. “I meant… I just—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing”
For a moment, Style just stared at him, his mouth slightly open. Then, to Fadel’s shock, Style closed the distance between them and threw his arms around his neck. The embrace was sudden and tight, and Fadel could feel Style trembling slightly against him.
“Thank you,” Style whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Fadel hesitated, his hands hovering awkwardly before he finally rested them on Style’s back. “Don’t you hear that all the time?”
Style pulled back just enough to look at him, his arms still loosely around Fadel’s neck. “Not like that,” he said quietly. “People say it, sure, but… usually they’re mocking me. Or it comes with strings attached. But you—you just said it. No agenda, no judgment. It felt real.”
Fadel shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of Style’s gaze.
“I’m not expecting anything,” Style interjected before Fadel could say anything, a small smile playing on his lips. “I just wanted to say thanks. For… accepting me.”
Fadel frowned, his grip tightening slightly on Style’s waist. “There’s nothing to accept. You’re you.”
Style’s smile widened, and the mischievous glint Fadel was more familiar with began to creep back into his eyes. “Careful, Fadel. If you keep talking like that, I might start thinking you like me.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Fadel muttered, stepping back and crossing his arms.
“Too late,” Style teased, turning back to the workbench with a renewed bounce in his step. “And for the record, you’re not so bad yourself.”
Fadel rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to leave, his boots clunking softly against the concrete floor of the auto shop. He needed to get out of there before Style said something else that would leave him feeling completely off-balance. But just as he neared the exit, Style’s voice called out behind him.
“Hey, Fadel?”
He stopped, shoulders tense, and glanced back. Style was leaning casually against the workbench, but there was something different about the way he looked at him. His usual smirk was softer, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something warmer, almost fond.
“What now?” Fadel asked, his voice gruff to hide the nervous flutter in his chest.
Style straightened and sauntered toward him, his steps deliberate but not rushed. He stopped just close enough for Fadel to catch the faint scent of whatever subtle cologne he’d chosen that day, mixing with the scent of engine oil that clung to him.
Fadel raised an eyebrow. “What are you—”
Before he could finish, Style leaned up on his toes and pressed a quick, feather-light kiss to his cheek. The soft warmth of Style’s lips lingered even after he pulled away.
“Thanks,” Style murmured, his voice low and genuine. His pink lips curved into a small, heartfelt smile as he stepped back, giving Fadel some space.
For a moment, Fadel just stood there, stunned. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the spot where Style had kissed him burning like a brand. Words refused to form in his brain, much less come out of his mouth.
Style chuckled, clearly enjoying Fadel’s rare speechlessness. “Relax, big guy. It’s just a kiss on the cheek. Don’t go overthinking it.”
“I’m not—” Fadel started, but the lie was obvious even to himself. He cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and gave a curt nod instead.
Fadel stepped outside the auto shop. The cool breeze hit his face, but it did nothing to temper the lingering warmth from Style’s kiss. His hand absentmindedly brushed his cheek as he walked toward where he thought his jeep was parked, trying to shake the memory of the unexpected—and unsettlingly pleasant—moment.
It wasn’t until he reached up again, feeling a slight tackiness on his skin, that he froze.
“What the…?”
His fingertips came away slightly sticky, and when he glanced at them, there was a faint sheen of pink gloss. A faint but unmistakable scent of bubblegum reached his nose, and realization struck him like a punch to the gut.
That kiss had left a mark.
Fadel turned back toward the shop, his expression a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.
He rubbed at his face furiously, but the stubborn gloss refused to budge. It was as if Style’s damnable charm was physically stuck to him.
“Of course it smells like bubblegum,” Fadel muttered under his breath, glancing at his reflection in a nearby window. Sure enough, there it was—a faint but unmistakable lip-shaped stain just under his cheekbone.
“Damn it,” he hissed.
He considered marching back inside to demand an explanation—or at least some makeup remover—but the thought of facing Style again, especially while wearing his literal mark, was enough to make him pause.
It wasn’t until he rounded the corner to his block that Fadel froze in place, a horrible realization crashing down on him like a bucket of cold water.
His jeep.
He had left his damn jeep at the shop.
Fadel groaned, “What the hell is wrong with me?”turning in place as if debating whether to march back and retrieve his car or just keep walking until he disappeared from existence entirely. The thought of going back and facing Style—the smirk, the teasing, the inevitable comments—was unbearable.
“Not worth it,” he decided, resolutely continuing toward home. The image of Style’s smug, bubblegum-scented smirk made his stomach churn—and not entirely in a bad way