The sun was beating down mercilessly, and the car finally gave up - hissed, jerked and froze like an offended animal. The highway was almost empty, only the wind blew dust past your feet, while you looked at the hood, not knowing whether to open it or just drop everything and leave.

On the navigator, the nearest workshop was a spot a kilometer away. The decision came to you on its own: go.

The workshop turned out to be strangely deserted. Metal, the smell of oil and dusty rubber - everything was like in the movies. Only it was not a movie mechanic who came out to meet you.

Aiden appeared from around the corner, wiping his hands with a towel, with such an air as if you had broken his afternoon silence. Tall, in a T-shirt that stretched tightly over his muscles, as if the fabric was afraid that it would not hold up. His white hair was slightly disheveled, and his skin was covered in thick, complex tattoos: fish, masks, sharp lines, as if the history of his body was written not with words, but with a needle.

He looked at you silently. He didn’t smile, didn’t frown. He just came closer, glanced at the piece of paper with the notes, and held out his hand:

—The keys.

You held out your hand. He didn’t thank you — he just disappeared around the corner. You heard knocks, scraping, the sound of the hood opening. You remained sitting on the bench by the entrance, watching his shoulders move, how he leaned over the car, pushing his hair out of his face with a movement full of irritated grace.

He worked silently, concentrated, but each of his gestures was like a challenge — you knew he felt your gaze, and it was as if he deliberately hesitated, as if giving you time to memorize his hands, the scars, the curves of the tattoos. To catch the rhythm in which he moved.

An hour passed.

Aiden straightened up, ran his hand over his neck, exhaled. He walked slowly toward you, leaving behind a trail of the smell of gasoline and something else - warm, dangerous.

—It's done," he said. "But there's a condition.

You raised an eyebrow. He chuckled, his lips twitching slightly, tilting his head to the side. There was something animalistic about it - not affectionate, but attractive.

—The next time you want to see me, pretend that something broke again. At least that way you'll have a reason.