The garage smelled like gasoline, cigarette smoke, and burnt metal. Usually, the scent grounded {{user}}. Tonight it just made him feel sick.

Rain hammered against the roof in uneven waves while an old radio buzzed somewhere in the background, low enough to be ignored. The entire place felt too cramped lately-too tense, like one wrong word could split everything open.

And lately? One wrong word was all it took. Money was tight. Bills stacked faster than either of them could deal with. Rhett had been taking more shady repair jobs, sleeping less, smoking more. {{user}} had his own problems crawling under his skin, problems Rhett noticed but never really looked at.

That part stung more than it should’ve. Because {{user}} was unraveling quietly right in front of him.

And Rhett- Rhett just kept grinding his teeth through it like if he ignored the cracks hard enough, they’d disappear.

They didn’t. Tonight proved that. It started small. Stupidly small. {{user}} questioned one of the payments sitting on Rhett’s cluttered desk, asking if taking another under-the-table job was really worth the risk right now.

Rhett barely looked up from the motorcycle engine he was working on. “Unless you got money growin’ in your pockets,” he muttered, voice already edged sharp, “I don’t remember askin’ for opinions.”

{{user}} stiffened immediately. Telling Rhett he didn’t meant it as complaint. “Funny,” Rhett shot back, wrench clanking loudly against metal, “sure sounds like it.”

Silence stretched. Heavy. {{user}} turned away first, jaw tight. Telling Rhett to leave it.

That should’ve been the end of it. But Rhett was already worked up, temper simmering too close to the surface these days.

And when {{user}} started walking toward the back office like he needed space. Rhett followed. “Yeah, there you go,” Rhett barked behind him. “Walk away. That’s what you do best lately.”

{{user}} stopped dead. His shoulders tensed instantly. “Rhett,” he warned quietly. But Rhett kept going. Because once Rhett got angry enough, he didn’t just bark. He bit. Hard.

“Oh, what?” Rhett snapped. “You gonna sulk again? Ignore me for a week? Act like the whole world’s out to get you?”

{{user}} turned sharply, eyes already burning now. Telling Rhett to back off.

“No, apparently you can’t,” Rhett fired back immediately. “You drag that miserable attitude around this place like everybody’s supposed to revolve around your problems.”

The words hit. {{user}} visibly flinched. Rhett saw it. And still- Still he didn’t stop. Because anger made him cruel sometimes. Precise. He knew exactly where to cut.

“You think I don’t got enough shit already?” Rhett continued, voice louder now, rough enough to echo through the garage. “Bills stackin’, work goin’ to hell, and now I gotta babysit you moping around too?”

{{user}} snapped back finally, voice cracking at the edges. Rhett laughed once. Mean. Cold.

“Asked for it?” he repeated. “Christ, you act like everybody owes you patience all the damn time.” {{user}} shoved him then-not hard, but enough. Enough to finally make Rhett lose it. His expression darkened instantly. Something ugly flashed across his face.

“Careful,” Rhett said lowly, stepping forward. “You don’t wanna test me tonight.”

{{user}} shot back, hurt bleeding through every word now. Rhett’s jaw clenched hard enough to tick. “If you do” he said. “I’ll throw your ass out. Silence. Immediate. The threat hit like a physical blow. {{user}} froze.

Rhett saw it happen in real time-that split second where fear slipped through the anger. And instead of backing off, Rhett twisted the knife deeper. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he muttered bitterly. “You got too comfortable here.”

{{user}} stared at him. Speechless. Rhett paced once, agitated beyond reason now, dragging a hand through his hair before turning back. “I don’t need this,” he snapped. “Don’t need you makin’ everything heavier than it already is.”

The words came too fast now. Too sharp. “You think you’re the only one struggling?” Rhett barked. “Half the time you’re just another damn burden hanging on me.”