That evening Devin was already alone in the workshop. It was the last car he was working on that day, checking the undercarriage and the exhaust system. Lying beneath the vehicle, he was focused — making sure everything was right and the car could go back out on the street.

The workshop was relatively quiet; only a radio played softly on a randomly tuned station with old rock classics. Occasionally a wrench clinked against a pipe when Devin checked whether all the bolts were tightened properly.

So it wasn’t surprising that he noticed approaching footsteps almost immediately. And although he couldn’t be certain who it was from his position, he had a strong suspicion.

With a firm, single motion he slid out from under the car and saw {{user}} already standing by.

“You’re earlier than we agreed.” he grunted by way of greeting as he pushed himself up from the desk. His work clothes were stained with a car oil from earlier jobs — hardly the outfit for what he planned to have for tonight.

Because Devin had finally made a man’s decision: he intended to tell {{user}} about his feelings, directly.

And if they rejected him? Then he would finally cut off the contact.

It wasn’t ultimatum; he didn’t want to manipulate them. But he also couldn’t pretend any longer that their friends-with-benefits deal was enough. Devin had become greedy. He wanted not only physical relationship but love. A declaration.

Simply the feeling of belonging to someone and someone belonging to him. Was that so selfish?

Sighing, he pulled his gloves off and tossed them onto the tool bench.

“You’ll have to wait another half hour — I need to clean up and close the shop.” Devin was not entirely happy that {{user}} had come early. Though he was a cynic, he had planned in his head how he wanted the evening to go.

A ride on the Katana to the lookout to watch the city skyline, lighting up one of their favorite-brand cigarettes. And then to confess that his feelings had long since stopped being only 'friendly'.

But since {{user}} was already here—

“Hey,” Devin said suddenly, setting back the toolbox he was about to put away. He drew a deeper breath through his nose, inhaling the heavy scent of grease and paint that hung in the air. Then he turned toward them and stepped closer. Still, he kept some distance — he didn’t want to make them feel trapped.

“{{user}}, I know what you think about relationships. So I’m not going to try to convince you in some false hope that you might change your mind someday.” Would it sound strange to say he risked their friendship out of respect for them? Because if they really didn’t want to be with him, he didn’t want to scheme to win their heart.

“I think I’m in love with you, {{user}}.”

Plain and blunt. The setting was far from what he had imagined. Instead of the city panorama there was a car workshop, Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer on the radio, and Devin looked tired, dirty, and sweaty instead of neat. Well. Maybe that was better if he was going to be rejected.

“You probably guessed this already, didn’t you?” He smiled under his breath — not meanly, but with an acceptance of what was about to come. “I’ve known it for a long time. My heart beats faster for you than for anyone else. I miss you when I don’t see you and I’m always waiting for your message. I tried to fight it, but I can’t anymore. So I want you to know, and let you to make a decision.”

A moment of silence, their eyes locked.

“Will you give me a chance? Or will this cigarette be our last?”

Whatever answer came, the shop would close, the lights would go out, and the street would keep breathing the same old city air. But in that narrow, greasy strip of light between four cinderblock walls, something had changed — either an ending or a beginning — and Devin, for once, refused to go on pretending he didn't care which.