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Fadel had always prided himself on being able to handle the chaos of his life. As a co-owner of the restaurant with Bison, he was used to juggling multiple things at once—cooking, managing staff, balancing the books and just making sure everything ran smoothly. His personal life was no different. He had Style, the fun, confident car mechanic who always made him laugh. Style was carefree, spontaneous, and full of energy. He was exactly what Fadel needed after a long, stressful day of running the restaurant.
But lately, Fadel had started to notice something unsettling. It wasn’t that Style was a bad partner—far from it. Style was sexy, charming, and had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room. He was the type of person who made you feel alive, like every moment with him was full of potential. Fadel had always loved that about Style, loved the way he was able to make the ordinary feel extraordinary. But the more time Fadel spent with Kant, the more he found himself questioning everything.
There was something about Kant that Style didn’t have. Something deeper, quieter, more intense. Fadel had never met anyone quite like him. Kant’s tattoos were a form of expression, his art a testament to the life he’d lived. And even though Fadel had always known there was something magnetic about him, it wasn’t until recently that he realized how much he was drawn to him. The attraction was undeniable. It was subtle at first—just a lingering glance, a stolen moment. But as time went on, Fadel couldn’t deny the growing tension between them.
And what made it complicated was that Kant was his younger brother Bison, and Fadel was with Style. They’d been together for a while now—casual but steady. There was a comfort in it, a feeling that everything was fine, that everything made sense. Style was easy to love, easy to laugh with. He was good for Fadel. And yet, every time Fadel saw Kant—whether it was at the restaurant or in passing, his heart would skip a beat. It wasn’t just physical. It was the way Kant carried himself, the way he looked at Fadel when he thought no one was watching. It made Fadel feel like he was the only one in the room, like Kant saw something in him that no one else did.
It had been another long shift at the restaurant, and Fadel was running on fumes. Bison had stayed late to clean up, as usual, while Style had already left for the night to finish working on a project at his garage. Fadel had promised him they’d spend some time together later, but right now, he needed a moment of peace—something rare in the world he lived in.
It was almost midnight.
Fadel found himself driving to the all too familiar tattoo parlor nearby. He walked in and spotted Kant standing by the prep counter, his hands moving with practiced precision as he cleaned his tools. The way Kant moved always seemed to draw Fadel in, like there was an invisible thread connecting them. Even now, standing across the room, Fadel felt that pull.
Kant’s tall, lean frame was accentuated by his black t-shirt and the tattoos that covered his arms, his neck, and part of his face. He was like a work of art, a living canvas that told the story of his past. His tattoos weren’t just ink—they were a reflection of who he was, and Fadel couldn’t help but be fascinated by it. Every piece had a purpose, every line had a meaning. It was impossible not to get lost in them.
“Kant,” Fadel said, his voice louder than he intended.
Kant turned, his eyes locking with him for a brief moment before looking away. It was a small gesture, but it didn’t escape Fadel’s notice.
“You’re still working?” Fadel asked, leaning against the counter.
“Had some stuff to finish up,” Kant said with a shrug. His voice was steady, almost detached, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed the calm exterior. Fadel could feel it—an underlying tension, something unspoken hanging between them.
“You’ve been staying late a lot lately,” Fadel remarked, his curiosity piqued. “You know, you could come by the restaurant after hours sometimes. We could hang out. Bison and I, we wouldn’t mind. It’s been a while since we’ve done anything outside of the usual.”
Kant didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he placed the tools down with a soft clink, wiping his hands with a rag. “I’m not much of a ‘hang out’ kind of guy,” he said, almost to himself, though his words were aimed at Fadel.
Fadel frowned, his gaze softening as he studied Kant. There was something about his words that felt like an invitation, like Kant was offering a piece of himself without realizing it. Fadel knew that Kant wasn’t someone who easily let people in, someone who kept his distance even when he cared. He was always so guarded—so careful with who he let close. But Fadel found himself drawn to that, wanting to know what was beneath the surface.
Before he could say anything else, Babe’s voice broke through the silence, calling from the back. “Hey, Kant, can you help me with this homework.”
Kant turned to look at his brother. He gave a half-hearted wave in his direction before turning back to Fadel.
“You should come by the restaurant,” Fadel said again, his voice softer now. “If not tonight, then sometime soon. I know Bison would like it.”
Kant’s gaze shifted for a brief second before he nodded. “Maybe,” he said simply.
Fadel wanted to press further, to get Kant to open up, but he knew better. It had to come in its own time. If he pushed too hard, he’d only make it harder for both of them.
“I’ll see you around,” Fadel said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Kant didn’t smile back, but there was something in his expression that made Fadel feel like he was closer than ever to breaking through that wall. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake, even when he stepped out of the shop and into the cool night air.
Back at his house, Fadel lay in bed, his mind racing. Style had already fallen asleep beside him, his warm body curled against Fadel’s side. But Fadel couldn’t quiet the storm inside him. He felt guilty, torn between the affection he had for Style and the pull he felt toward Kant. Style had always been fun, and had always been there when Fadel needed a laugh or an escape from the pressure of the restaurant, but Kant was different. There was something deeper, more complicated, something that left Fadel breathless every time their paths crossed.
The guilt gnawed at him. He loved Style, or at least, he was supposed to. But the more he tried to ignore it, the more undeniable the truth became. His attraction to Kant wasn’t just about the way he looked or the tattoos that marked his skin. It was about the way Kant made him feel—seen, understood, like they were speaking the same language without saying a word. And that feeling scared him.
Fadel turned onto his side, staring at the dark ceiling, the weight of his conflicting emotions pressing down on him. Style was a good guy, easy to love, and he deserved someone who could give him their full attention. But Fadel knew, deep down, that no matter what he did, he would never be able to fully let go of Kant. The connection between them was there, undeniable, and it was something Fadel wasn’t sure he could ignore anymore.
His heart was torn, and he knew that whatever happened next, it was going to change everything.