The Monte Carlo sat gleaming under the half-dead streetlight, cherry red dulled by dust and sleepless nights. The hood was up, a soft metallic hum still rising from the engine. Oscar’s forearms were slick with grease, veins standing out as he leaned in, wrench twisting steady, rhythmic.

Work was the only thing that made sense right now. Bolts, wires, the smell of oil—it all obeyed. Cars didn’t talk back, didn’t leave, didn’t throw words that split open old wounds.

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. The world around him was silent—no dogs, no cars, not even wind. Just that deep, echoing quiet that only hit the neighborhood around three in the morning.

Then—footsteps.

Slow. Uneven. Gravel shifting under weight.

Oscar froze. The sound crawled up his spine, every muscle in him coiling tight. He straightened, head tilting slightly as he listened. Whoever it was, they weren’t in a hurry. Not creeping either—just walking. That almost made it worse.

His heartbeat kicked up. The shadows beyond the car looked thicker than they should’ve. Instinct pulled him into fight mode—shoulders squared, fists flexing once. He shifted his stance, waiting until the steps got close enough for him to feel the vibration of them through the ground.

Then— {{user}} stepped into the pale ring of light.

Oscar’s breath caught.

For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move. The tension held him like wire before it snapped, shoulders dropping, a long exhale leaving him.

“Dios…” he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. The grease smeared darker over his cheek. “You tryna give me a damn heart attack, showing up like that?”