Chapter Text
The air in the garage was thick with the scent of oil, burning rubber, and the low thrum of engines. It was a familiar world, one Charlie had bled himself into, where speed and adrenaline blurred the edges of everything else.
The others talked around him—Way and Alan arguing about lap times, Jeff chiming in with a teasing remark, Babe throwing in his usual cocky grin. It should have felt natural. It should have felt like home.
But lately, everything was… muted.
Charlie adjusted the grip on his wrench, tightening the last bolt with practiced ease. His fingers ached, a sharp sting where the skin had cracked from overuse. He ignored it. Just like he ignored the heaviness in his limbs, the sharp pull of a bruised rib from where he’d taken a hit last week. From what? A fall? A job? He didn’t even remember anymore.
It didn’t matter.
Pain was a whisper now, a quiet thing that lingered but never truly left.
"You're fine. Keep moving."
“Charlie.”
The sound of his name pulled him back. Babe was watching him, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly—like he’d been calling him for a while.
Charlie forced a smirk, shifting his weight against the car frame. “What, getting jealous that I’m paying more attention to this beauty than you?”
Babe rolled his eyes, but his sharp gaze lingered for a second too long. “I was saying we should head home. You coming?”
Home. Babe’s place. Because technically, Charlie still had the apartment he’d scraped together for himself and Jeff, but it had been a long time since either of them really lived there. Jeff had Alan. Charlie had Babe.
In theory.
He wiped his hands on a rag, nodding. “Yeah, just a sec.”
Babe gave him a lingering look before pushing off the hood of the car and walking toward the others. The conversation picked up again, but Charlie could still feel the weight of Babe’s presence, even from across the garage.
He knows something’s off.
Charlie swallowed down the tightness in his chest. He was fine. He had to be fine.
Babe’s apartment was quiet when they got back. Not in a bad way—just the soft, comfortable kind of silence that came from familiarity.
Charlie toed off his shoes, shrugging out of his jacket carefully. The fabric dragged over bruised skin, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing.
“Hungry?” Babe’s voice came from the kitchen.
Charlie’s stomach twisted at the thought of food. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten a real meal.
“Nah,” he called back. “Tired. Gonna crash.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. His body was screaming for rest. But more than that, he just—needed space. Needed to collect himself before Babe decided to look too closely.
Charlie slipped into the bathroom, locking the door out of habit. The mirror over the sink reflected a version of himself he barely recognized—too pale, too tired, shadows darkening beneath his eyes, collarbones sharper than they should be.
His fingers tightened on the edge of the sink.
"You’re fine. Just push through."
He rolled down his sleeves, ignoring the bruises, the way his ribs still ached from… hell, he didn’t even know which job had done it. One of them. Maybe all of them.
Jeff still thought Charlie had gone to school. That all those nights spent out were spent studying graphic design, when in reality, Charlie had been working—night shifts, manual labor, under-the-table jobs that didn’t ask questions.
He had taught himself design in the stolen hours between exhaustion and survival. He hadn’t had the luxury of classes or assignments. Just trial and error and a desperate need to keep Jeff afloat.
And now?
Now, Jeff was thriving. Happy. Safe.
That was all that mattered.
Charlie exhaled slowly, shoving his exhaustion down. He splashed water on his face before stepping out of the bathroom, finding Babe already stretched out on the bed, scrolling through his phone.
Babe glanced up, expression unreadable. “You okay?”
Charlie hesitated. It was such a simple question.
He forced a smirk, climbing into bed beside him. “You ask that a lot, y’know.”
Babe didn’t laugh. He just studied Charlie, like he was looking for something hidden beneath the surface. “Maybe because I don’t always believe the answer.”
Charlie's throat tightened. His first instinct was to deflect, to brush it off like he always did. But Babe was watching him too closely. So instead, he just huffed, shifting onto his side. “Go to sleep, Babe.”
A long pause. Then, finally, Babe sighed. “Fine. But you’re not off the hook.”
Charlie let himself relax, just a little. It was dangerous, how easy it was to be close to Babe. To let himself forget, even for a moment, that everything was not okay.
Eventually, Babe’s breathing evened out, his warmth solid and steady beside Charlie.
Charlie stared at the ceiling, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.
His phone vibrated.
Frowning, he slid it from his pocket, squinting at the screen.
Unknown Number.
His chest tightened. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the notification before finally opening it.
Long time, Charlie. We need to talk.
The blood in his veins turned to ice.
For a moment, he just sat there, pulse pounding in his ears. His fingers clenched around the phone, his grip white-knuckled.
No.
This wasn’t happening.
He had buried that part of his life. He had escaped.
But the past had a way of finding cracks.
And this time, he wasn’t sure he could keep it from slipping through.
_______________________________________________________________
Charlie knew how to ignore things.
It was a skill honed over years of survival—turning a blind eye to pain, pushing through exhaustion, pretending everything was fine when it absolutely wasn’t. It had kept him afloat before, and it was supposed to work now.
So when the first message came—Long time, Charlie. We need to talk.—he had ignored it.
Then came the second.
Then the third.
Then the first voicemail—low and slick, a voice he hadn’t heard in years curling around his name like barbed wire.
"You don’t get to just walk away. You owe me."
Charlie had deleted it. Blocked the number. Moved on.
Except he hadn’t.
Because the messages kept coming. New numbers. Different phrasing. But the meaning was always the same.
You can’t escape this.
And then—he showed up.
It had been during a race. A big one. The kind that drew in the right kind of people—the wealthy, the reckless, the desperate. Charlie had been in the zone, the roar of engines drowning out everything else, the adrenaline a rare reprieve from the slow, gnawing dread that had been sitting in his chest for days.
He had pulled into the pit after finishing—winded, heart still hammering—and that was when he’d seen him.
Standing just beyond the crowd, watching.
A slow, sharp grin. The kind that had made Charlie’s stomach turn even back then.
His hands had gone clammy inside his racing gloves.
"No. No, no, no."
He had turned away, forced himself to focus on the crew, on Babe coming up to clap him on the back, on Jeff shouting something about his turn next. He had pretended he hadn’t seen anything.
But he had.
And worse—the man knew it.
Charlie didn’t sleep that night.
He had gone back to Babe’s place like normal, had let Babe press lazy kisses against his jaw and curl around him in bed like always. But his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
He checked his phone under the covers, his pulse rabbiting against his ribs.
Four new messages.
You’ve been avoiding me.
That’s rude, Charlie.
We need to settle this. You know what happens if you don’t.
I’ll see you soon.
His stomach churned. His fingers trembled where they gripped the phone.
He wanted to tell himself that it was just intimidation. That it didn’t mean anything.
But Charlie knew better.
He knew exactly what this man was capable of.
And the worst part?
So did his body.
Because the second he read those words, every instinct screamed danger—his breath going shallow, his ribs locking up, that sick, cold twist of shame curling under his skin.
"Breathe. Breathe."
Beside him, Babe stirred slightly, exhaling against his shoulder.
Charlie swallowed. Forced his body to stay still.
He couldn’t let Babe wake up. Couldn’t let him see.
So instead, he closed his eyes, tucked the phone under the pillow, and did what he always did.
Buried it.
It got worse after that.
Because the man wasn’t just sending messages anymore.
He was showing up.
First at races. Then near the garage. Then—closer.
Charlie saw him twice near Babe’s apartment, leaning against a car across the street, smoking like he had all the time in the world.
And it was working.
The pressure was mounting. The noose tightening.
And so—Charlie did what he always did.
He gave in.
The first time, it was a meeting. Quick. Just to get him off his back.
Charlie had kept his hands shoved deep into his pockets the whole time, back rigid, jaw locked as the man spoke in that same lazy, knowing drawl.
"You know what I need from you."
Charlie didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.
He couldn’t afford to.
"I’m not doing that anymore," he had said, voice empty.
The man had smiled, slow and shark-like.
"No?" A beat. Then, softer—"How’s Jeff doing these days?"
Ice.
Charlie’s hands curled into fists. He knew the game. He had played it before.
So he made a deal. Something small. Something manageable. Something to get the man to back off—for now.
But the thing about men like him?
They never stop at just one favor.
Charlie could feel himself unraveling.
It was in the way his body flinched when someone spoke too loudly.
The way he pulled his sleeves down lower, his posture tenser, his movements more precise—like he was waiting for something to go wrong.
The way he hesitated now when Babe touched him.
He was so good at hiding things.
But he wasn’t perfect.
And Babe?
Babe was noticing.
"Where were you last night?" Babe asked casually one evening, arms crossed, hip resting against the counter.
Charlie didn’t look up from his laptop. "Working."
A pause.
"You weren’t at your usual spot."
Charlie's stomach twisted. Shit.
"Had to meet a new client." Not a lie. Not really.
Another pause. Then: "You keep disappearing."
Charlie forced a grin, finally looking up. "Miss me that much?"
Babe didn’t laugh. His blue eyes stayed locked on Charlie, searching. "I just—" He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Something’s different."
Charlie's fingers clenched subtly on the laptop edge. "I’m fine, Babe."
Babe didn’t look convinced.
But, like always—he let it go.
For now.