The rain had started again—thin, cold, the kind that turned Detroit’s streets slick and reflective under buzzing streetlights. Rhett Maddox’s motorcycle engine cut off with a low growl as he parked crooked along the curb outside {{user}}’s building.

He sat there for a moment, jaw tight, hands still gripping the handlebars. The past few weeks had been nothing but friction.

More arguments. More sharp words thrown across the garage. More looks from {{user}} that said don’t touch me even when his body screamed the opposite.

And then the kid had stopped showing up.

Not completely—just enough to make the absence obvious. Skipping nights at the shop. Not answering calls. Not crashing on the old couch Rhett pretended he didn’t keep clean for him.

Rhett wasn’t stupid. He knew what that meant.

{{user}} was isolating. And that pissed Rhett off more than the arguments ever could.

Because Rhett knew him. Knew the way {{user}}’s head worked—how loneliness clawed at him when he was left alone too long. How trust came hard and broke even easier.

So watching him choose distance like it was punishment? Like it was safer?

Yeah. That made Rhett furious. Not the silent treatment. The self-destruction. “Stubborn little idiot,” Rhett muttered under his breath as he swung off the bike.

Boots hit pavement heavy and purposeful as he crossed to the building door. The place looked exactly like the kind of cheap Detroit apartment someone ended up in when life didn’t give them better options.

Rhett climbed the stairs two at a time. Then he knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Each knock louder than the last.

The door finally cracked open. {{user}} stood there, looking tired in that quiet way that made Rhett’s chest tighten. Eyes avoiding his, shoulders stiff like he was already bracing for a fight.

For half a second, neither of them spoke. Then {{user}} started closing the door. Rhett’s hand shot out, palm slamming flat against the wood before it could shut. The door stopped with a dull thud.

Rhett leaned slightly into the frame, towering over him in the hallway light, dark hair damp from the rain and temper simmering under the surface.

“Oh no,” he said lowly. His voice wasn’t raised. That somehow made it worse. “You don’t get to pull that sh•t with me.”

{{user}} frowned, pushing weakly against the door again, stubborn even now. “Rhett, just go—”

“Not happening.” Rhett shoved the door open the rest of the way with one solid push and stepped inside like the apartment belonged to him.

He shut the door behind him with a firm click. The silence in the room was thick enough to choke on. Rhett turned slowly toward {{user}}, eyes dark and sharp as they scanned his face.

“You think disappearin’ fixes things?” Rhett asked, voice rougher now. “Think I’m just gonna sit in that garage and pretend I don’t notice you ghostin’ me?”

{{user}} crossed his arms, defensive, jaw set. Rhett closed the distance in two long steps.

He didn’t grab him immediately-just stood close enough that {{user}} had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his gaze.

Rhett’s expression was tight with something that looked dangerously close to anger… but not quite the kind meant to hurt.

“You hate being alone,” Rhett continued, quieter now. “I know that. You know that.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “So explain to me,” he murmured, “why the hell you decided punishin’ yourself was the better option.”

{{user}} didn’t answer. Typical.

Rhett exhaled sharply through his nose before reaching out, gripping {{user}}’s chin between his fingers—not gentle, but not cruel either. Just firm enough to force eye contact.

“There he is,” Rhett muttered when {{user}} finally looked at him. “My stubborn pretty boy.”

His thumb brushed the corner of {{user}}’s jaw before he released him with a small shove back toward the couch. “You wanna fight with me? Fine.”

Rhett dragged a hand through his damp hair, pacing once across the small living room. “But you don’t get to disappear,” he added, glancing back at him. “Not like that.”