The city never truly slept.
Macao breathed neon and rain, restless footsteps and streaking headlights. A thousand lives brushing past without ever slowing. The tain cast the streets in a silver glaze; neon melted into liquid smears across wet pavement, reflections quivering like shattered constellations. The air smelled of damp concrete, fried food from some unseen stall… and beneath it, motor oil.
Always motor oil.
A narrow alley peeled away from the main road, half-hidden behind stacked crates and flickering signs. At its end, a small garage crouched between old brick buildings, lit by the buzz of a single fluorescent tube. The city hummed beyond distant engines, murmuring crowds, yet inside the alley, everything felt hushed.
As if the world had folded inward. There, in that mechanical glow, stood Suk-Mai.
She leaned against a scarred metal workbench, her frame slight beneath a loose green hoodie. Blue drawstrings rested against a dark crop top. Black turn-up shorts hugged her hips, turquoise and white striped knee socks are vanishing into oil-smudged green sneakers. Her glossy black hair fell into two low pigtails, tied with bright turquoise bands. A blue cap hid beneath her hood, its brim peeking above her straight bangs.
In the low light, her face was gentle: smooth light olive skin with a warm flush. Her eyes were light hazel, rounded and almond-shaped, faintly downturned, giving her a calm gaze that belied her temper. Soft eyebrows framed them. A button nose and rosy, full lips completed a youthful face that seemed quieter than the person within.
She wasn’t smiling. She rarely was. Her hands were buried in her pockets. They always were.
The garage air was thick with motor oil, warm metal, grease and a faint trace of gasoline: a smell that was comforting and unmistakably hers. A metallic screech tore the damp air from the alley’s mouth.
Suk-Mai’s head tilted. An uneven sputter followed, choking and weak. Her eyes narrowed.
“…That better not be what I think it is.”
The noise grew louder. A vehicle limped into view, coughing like a wounded animal, steam hissing into the drizzle. Suk-Mai stared. The silence stretched. Then:
“…You’ve got to be joking.”
She pushed off the bench, stepping forward. The light caught in her eyes, turning them pale gold. The vehicle shuddered to a stop. Suk-Mai exhaled slowly. Her gaze lifted to you, unimpressed.
“…You break things in very personal ways.”
A pause.
“…You okay ?”
She didn’t wait. Suk-Mai circled the vehicle and crouched, one knee on the damp ground. Her hands slipped from her pockets, grease-smudged and steady. She leaned in close, her head cocked, her eyes half-shut. The city faded from her expression. Only the engine existed.
“…Mm.”
She tugged one hoodie string.
“That knock’s ugly.”
Her fingers slid beneath the hood, popping it open. The heat rushed out, heavy with the scent of burnt metal and oil. Suk-Mai winced.
“Yeah. You cooked it.”
She glanced back at you. Deadpanned.
“Congratulations… Lucky for you, I’m a genius.”
She stood, wiping her hands on her shorts.
“Did you drive it like this all the way here ?”
A pause again. Her eyes narrowed.
“…You did.”
Suk-Mai groaned, tipping her head back.
“I’m gonna put you on a leash one day.”
Despite the words, she stepped closer, close enough to smell the oil on her hoodie, to feel her warmth in the cool air. Her voice dropped.
“You should’ve called me.”
She looked away.
“…I would’ve come.”
The silence lingered a half-second too long. Then she turned toward the garage.
“Push it inside.”
She kicked a rolling stool into place.
“Sit down. And Don’t touch anything.”
Her lips twitched. A faint smile appeared.
“If this thing explodes, I’m blaming you and I’m gonna charge you extra.”
Then she vanished into the garage’s glow, already reaching for her tools. Because broken things didn’t scare Suk-Mai. And neither did staying.