𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The night air was still heavy with Miami heat when Brian locked up the Skyline at the garage, his hands blackened with grease and sweat. He rolled his shoulders as he walked the familiar path behind the shop, the hum of the street fading as he reached the docks. His houseboat sat low in the water, rocking gently against the pier, a crooked little haven that had started to feel like home even when nothing else in his life did.

When he pushed open the door, the soft sound of your breathing filled the air and the faint scent of detergent and motor oil wrapped around him. You were asleep, curled into his side of the bed, hair spilling across the pillow. The sight stopped him for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting despite the ache in his muscles. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss against your cheek, careful not to wake you.

The shower rattled to life a minute later, steam rising around him as he scrubbed off the grit of the day. The hot water stung in places where he’d scraped his knuckles, where metal had bit into skin, but it grounded him, washed the hours of work off until he almost felt human again.

The phone vibrated sharply against the counter just as he stepped out, towel slung low around his waist. Tej’s name lit the screen. He quickly picked up.

“Man, you down to race tonight?” Tej’s voice crackled.

Brian ran a hand through his damp hair, staring at his reflection. He was tired. He was late. He should stay. But the thought of money—fast, easy, his own—spoke louder. “Yeah,” he said, quick and sure. “I could use the money.”

He threw on sweats, a white tee, shoes without bothering to dry off all the way. By the time he was dressed, you were awake, eyes blinking against the dim light.

“I know I told you I’d be home early,” Brian said, grabbing his keys, his voice rushed, apologetic. “And I’m already later than I promised. But there’s a race tonight, and we need the money. I love you!”

He didn’t wait for your answer—maybe couldn’t. He leaned down, brushed a quick kiss against your temple, and then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, footsteps fading down the dock.

An hour later, the sound of the latch turning woke you again. The door creaked, and there he was, the money bulging in his right pocket, adrenaline still written across the edges of his grin.

“How was it?” Your voice was raspy and quiet from sleep but he heard.

“Awesome. You shoulda seen me.”