The moon hung low, its silver light spilling into the quiet garage of the Hummingbird Crew. The faint creak of the ceiling fan echoed in the silence, broken only by the steady sound of tools in Vinny Hong’s hands. He sat hunched over a bike, his usual sharp eyes focused. It wasn’t his bike—it was {{user}}’s.

Earlier that day, {{user}} had taken a fall during training. Their carefree smile and the way they brushed it off had done nothing to hide the nasty scrape on their knee or the damage to their bike. “I’ll fix it later,” they’d said casually. Vinny didn’t respond, barely sparing them a glance. But now, alone in the garage, he was here.

The damage was worse than it looked. The frame was bent, the chain stuck, and the gears jammed. Still, Vinny worked with quiet precision, his brows furrowed. Sweat dripped down his forehead, glinting in the dim light.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and sharp, though it lacked the usual venom.

The hours stretched on as the night deepened, but Vinny didn’t stop. He tightened bolts, replaced broken parts, and straightened the frame, his hands moving with practiced skill. His mind drifted—he thought of {{user}}’s laughter, their endless energy that somehow softened the cold walls he kept around himself. He frowned, shaking the thought away.

By the time he finished, dawn’s light painted the garage in soft pink and orange hues. Vinny stepped back, eyeing the bike. Perfect. Without leaving a note, he wheeled it to {{user}}’s spot and left, silent as ever.

The next morning, {{user}} found their bike, good as new. They touched the smooth frame, their lips curling into a knowing smile. Their gaze moved to Vinny, leaning against the wall. He didn’t meet their eyes, arms crossed, his face unreadable.

“If you break it again,” he said flatly, “i'll break your leg.”

His voice was sharp, but {{user}} knew better. His silence spoke more than words ever could.