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“Thanks for the tour.”
Bison’s voice rang like bells in the warm mid-day air. His scent – dark amber, petrichor – floated around him in a serene cloud, flooding Kant’s senses when he drew a deep breath in.
“My pleasure. I love being a good neighbor,” Kant quipped, always ready with his words even when moths flapped their giant wings in his stomach.
Bison’s gaze shifted all over him. He seemed almost nervous for a second. “If I want you to show me around again…?”
“My tattoo parlor is always open. You can come over anytime,” Kant promised and nodded at the restaurant doors behind them. “And if I get hungry, I’ll show up here.”
Bison smiled at him, that impossibly adorable shy smile that made Kant’s heart flip-flop in his chest. It was ridiculous. He did not catch feelings.
He did catch lust though. Lots of it.
Kant reached out and caught Bison’s hand, his thoughts going delightfully hazy at the edges at the combined touch and scent of the Omega.
“What if…”
Bison’s pupils dilated as he watched Kant lick his lips.
“...I want to do what we did that night, where should I go?”
“What did we do?” Bison asked, playing at innocent forgetfulness while want sparkled in his eyes. “I must have been way too drunk that night, I hardly remember anything.”
Kant grinned. Perfect set-up. “Let me give you a little reminder.”
He slapped his hand onto Bison’s ass and gave it a hearty squeeze. The Omega smiled back and slid his hand up Kant’s flank, leaning in as if for a kiss. Kant bent down to meet him halfway, their noses brushing.
“What the hell are you doing?”
They flinched apart at the menacing growl. The wind turned and slammed Kant with a face full of dark leather and burning cinnamon. A displeased fellow Alpha. Bison’s big brother.
Fadel stood there in his black sleeveless, biceps out, two bags full of groceries in his arms and still managing to look like he was there to murder Kant where he stood.
“What?” Bison whined, pushing out a softer scent to placate his brother. “We’re not doing anything. He just took me on a tour. I told you he owns a tattoo parlor around here, right?”
Kant turned to face Fadel fully, nodding respectfully like he hadn’t just been manhandling the guy’s brother. “Hello.”
Fadel rolled his eyes and shoved the groceries at Bison. “Take these inside. Put those in the fridge,” he gestured to the bag of meat.
Bison scowled mightily for someone so small and cute. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
Fadel leveled him with a firm look. “Go in.”
Bison huffed and puffed but gave on, turning to flash a small smile to Kant. “See you around.”
“See you,” Kant nodded even though he wanted nothing more than to snatch Bison into his arms and get the kiss he had been craving.
Bison took a few steps and then turned to shoot a confused look at Fadel. “Aren’t you coming?”
“You go ahead,” the Alpha said. Outwards, he was cool as a cucumber, but Kant could just smell trouble coming.
“Fadel…” Bison whined.
Fadel was firm. “Go inside first.”
Bison did, glaring at Fadel over his shoulder.
Despite the sounds of traffic and the wind whistling through palm leaves, the silence between the two Alphas was deafening.
Kant flashed a polite, cold smile. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Wait.”
The command was clear, Fadel’s scent was gathering like a storm front. Kant felt the pressure in the bones of his face and chest when he spun around to face the other Alpha who had moved between him and Heart Burger’s doors. As if there was a possibility that Kant would try to go after Bison like a starving animal.
“Are you hitting on my little brother?” That gaze could have killed a lesser man.
What a cliché. Kant snorted. “Yes. Is that not allowed?”
“Why? What do you want from him?”
What were these questions? Did Fadel not know what Alphas usually wanted from Omegas? Kant should have been in that position.
“You already slept with him,” Fadel continued, cool enough to freeze Kant’s nose. “That should be more than enough. My brother doesn’t need a boyfriend.”
Kant chuckled, intending to rile the other up. No better way to get the upper hand from another Alpha. “He seems to like me just fine.”
“Another Alpha full of himself, huh?” Fadel sneered.
“A bit, yeah. Takes one to know one, I guess,” Kant grinned.
“He may like you, but I don’t. If you want him, you get through me,” Fadel growled.
“What are we, tribesmen fighting over an Omega?” Kant scoffed. “It's 2023.”
“You heard me,” Fadel growled, shifting his stance as if he was about to pounce. “You’re not getting with him before you impress me. And let me tell you, we’re nowhere near that.”
Kant huffed as Fadel turned on his heel and went inside his restaurant. Uncalled for. But all right. Seems he would need to bring out some bigger guns for this fight.
***
Tuesday, 2:47 PM
Unknown Number: guess who started on your jeep today??? 🚙
Fadel stared at his phone between sets at the gym. He had insisted when he handed out his number to Style: Professional communication only.
This was not it.
Fadel: Style.
Unknown number: ding ding ding! you're so smart mr restaurant owner 🧠✨
Unknown number: also your transmission fluid was basically sludge. whens the last time you serviced him?
Fadel: None of your business.
Fadel paused. He was going to regret this.
Fadel: Wasn’t it a her yesterday?
Why was he going along with this? Stupid.
Unknown Number: I was mistaken, hes a he
Unknown Number: hes gonna need some loving btw. found some other stuff that needs attention. ill send you a full list
Fadel: Fine.
Unknown Number: you know what else needs attention??
Unknown Number: meee 😘
Fadel shoved his phone back in his locker without responding.
---
Tuesday, 6:23 PM
Fadel was in the middle of prep work at Heart Burger when his phone buzzed. Against his better judgment, he checked it.
Style: [IMAGE]
It was Style under the Jeep, taken from a low angle. Grease-smeared and grinning, one hand giving a thumbs up.
Style: morning grumpy. your undercarriage is filthy
Style: the jeeps i mean
Style: mostly
Fadel's jaw clenched. He should delete this. He should block the number.
He put his phone away and went back to chopping vegetables.
He lasted forty-five minutes before checking again.
The photo was still there. Style's smile was infuriatingly bright, even covered in automotive grime. Fadel's thumb hovered over the delete button.
He merely closed the message instead.
---
Tuesday, 7:17 AM
Style: found a problem with your fuel intake
Style: [IMAGE]
This one showed Style bent over the engine bay, screwdriver in hand. The angle was... strategic. Slim waist and exposed stomach on offer like in a pinup of some sort.
Style: it's gonna cost extra for parts but i can get you a discount
Style: because we're friends 😊
Style: very good friends
Style: 😩😏
Fadel deleted the photo immediately.
Then reopened his recently deleted folder and undeleted the photo.
At the gym that evening, he failed his bench press for the first time in three years because he was thinking about the curve of Style's back in that photo, the way his jeans sat low on his hips.
He went home and deleted the photo a second time.
It stayed deleted for six hours.
---
Wednesday, 9:05 AM
Style: gooooood morning khrub ☀️
Style: fun fact: did you know your jeep has a hidden compartment under the passenger seat?
Style: found some VERY interesting items in there
Fadel's blood ran cold. The weapons compartment. Fuck.
Fadel: Put everything back exactly as you found it.
Style: relax lol it was just some protein bars and a first aid kit
Style: but now im curious what you THOUGHT i found 🤔
Fadel: Nothing. Finish the work.
Style: so mysterious~
Style: its hot
Fadel turned his phone off.
He turned it back on ten minutes later.
Style: did i scare you off?
Style: Fadellllll
Style: don't ignore me 🥺
Fadel's fingers hovered over the keyboard. He should establish boundaries. Tell Style this was inappropriate. Remind him they weren't–
Weren't what? Dating? Gods, what a thought.
Stupid.
He put the phone down without responding.
---
Wednesday, 6:43 PM
Style: [IMAGE]
Fadel opened it without thinking.
Style was holding a wrench, making an exaggerated thinking face at the camera. Fadel had a hard time getting his stare off of those plump, pouting lips. The Omega's hair was messy, there was a streak of grease on his cheek, and his expression was so genuine it made something in Fadel's chest hurt.
Style: trying to figure out if i should upgrade your brake pads or just replace them
Style: also trying to figure out how to get you to smile at me like you mean it
Style: the brake pads are easier tbh
Fadel stared at the photo for a long time.
He saved it.
Then immediately deleted it.
Then restored it from recently deleted.
Then deleted it again.
At 12 PM, he restored it one more time and just... looked at it. At Style's ridiculous expression, his obvious joy at doing something as mundane as car repair.
Fadel fell asleep with his phone in his hand, the photo still on screen.
---
Thursday, 5:15 PM
Style: finished! your jeep is ready for pickup
Style: [IMAGE]
The photo showed the Jeep, clean and gleaming in the garage bay. But in the side mirror's reflection, Fadel could see Style taking the photo, grinning at his phone.
Style: hes beautiful. you take good care of him
Style: wish youd take care of me like that 😏
Style: kidding! mostly
Style: okay not really kidding
Style: when are you coming to get him? i miss your grumpy face
Fadel's thumb moved before his brain could stop it.
Fadel: This isn't appropriate.
The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Style: what do you mean?
Fadel: These messages. The photos. We're in a professional relationship. I'm a customer. Act like it.
The typing indicator vanished.
Fadel waited.
Nothing.
Fadel: The Jeep is ready?
No response.
Fadel: Style.
Still nothing.
Fadel tried calling. It rang through to voicemail.
He told himself this was good. This was what he wanted. Boundaries, distance, professionalism. Style needed to understand that their relationship should be distant. No playful messages, photos that made his chest feel tight and strange.
This was better.
---
Fadel checked his phone.
No new messages.
He went to the gym. Checked again.
Nothing.
At Heart Burger, he checked between orders.
Still nothing.
By evening, he'd opened his messages with Style seventeen times. The last message was still his own: Style.
Unanswered.
Fadel scrolled up through their conversation. Four days of Style's relentless cheerfulness, his terrible jokes, his flirty comments and ridiculous photos.
He found the image of Style with grease on his cheek, making that thinking face. The one Fadel had saved and deleted and saved and deleted.
It was still in his recently deleted folder.
Fadel restored it permanently and set it as Style's contact photo before he could talk himself out of it.
Then he stared at his phone like it might suddenly produce a new message through sheer force of will.
It didn't.