The Bangkok heat clung to skin like a second layer.
Metal roofs trapped the afternoon sun above Kittisak Performance Motors, turning the massive garage into a furnace of oil fumes and roaring engines.
Nat stepped inside with a folder tucked under his arm.
Engines. Sparks. Men shouting in Thai over the noise.
And then—
Silence.
It happened the moment someone noticed him.
Too clean.
Too university.
Too soft for this place.
A mechanic muttered, "Dek mah'rai wa?"
(What kid is this?)
Nat ignored it.
He spotted him instantly.
Rolled-up black sleeves. Grease on his hands.
Standing beside a half-built Nissan GT-R like it was a throne.
Phum.
Younger than Nat expected.
More dangerous too.
Nat walked forward confidently.
"I'm here for the internship—"
"You're in the way."
The words were flat.
Not loud.
But they cut through everything.
Nat blinked. "Excuse me?"
Phum didn't even look at him.
"You're blocking the airflow."
The mechanics chuckled.
Heat crept up Nat's neck — but he didn't move immediately.
"Oh," he said lightly, stepping aside. "Wouldn't want to disturb your oxygen."
A few whistles sounded.
Phum finally looked at him.
Slowly.
Measured.
Dissecting.
"You're the university intern?"
"Yes."
"Name."
"Nattaphon Rattanakosin."
Silence.
Someone in the back whispered, "Rich family."
Phum wiped his hands with a rag and walked toward him.
Each step deliberate.
"You've never held a torque wrench properly."
It wasn't a question.
Nat tilted his head slightly.
"You could teach me."
A mechanic choked on his drink.
Phum stopped in front of him.
Too close.
"You think this is a classroom?"
"No."
Nat's eyes flicked down briefly — grease-stained forearms, veins tense from pressure — then back up.
"I think it's better."
A challenge.
A flirt.
Subtle. But intentional.
Phum's jaw tightened.
"Wat."
The head mechanic stepped forward.
"Yes, P'Phum?"
"Bring him a rag."
Nat frowned slightly.
"For what?"
Phum grabbed a wrench from the nearby table and tossed it.
Nat barely caught it.
The metal was heavier than he expected.
"In this garage," Phum said calmly, loud enough for everyone,
"we don't let pretty boys stand around looking decorative."
Laughter erupted.
Nat's grip tightened.
Humiliation burned — hot and sharp.
Phum gestured toward the underside of the car.
"Get under there. Tighten the rear differential bolts."
Nat hesitated.
He'd studied this.
He knew the theory.
But under twenty pairs of eyes?
That was different.
Phum leaned closer.
Voice low.
"If you can't handle pressure, go back to your air-conditioned campus."
There it was.
The challenge.
Nat held his gaze.
Then smiled.
Small.
Dangerous.
"If I get dirty," he said softly, "are you going to look at me differently?"
The garage went silent.
Wat coughed violently.
Phum didn't react immediately.
But his ears turned slightly red.
"Get under the car," he said coldly.
"Yes, Phi."
The honorific was deliberate.
Teasing.
Nat slid beneath the car, grease staining his crisp white shirt instantly.
Above him, he could hear boots step closer.
Phum crouched.
Watching.
Waiting for him to fail.
"Clockwise," Phum said flatly.
"I know."
The bolt resisted.
Nat adjusted his grip.
Pushed harder.
Muscles straining.
The wrench slipped.
Metal clanged loudly against the floor.
Laughter again.
Phum stood.
"Three minutes," he announced. "He's lasted three minutes."
Nat's chest tightened.
But instead of crawling out—
He grabbed the wrench again.
Slower this time.
Steadier.
He tightened the bolt fully.
Then the next.
And the next.
When he slid out from under the car, his face and shirt streaked with grease, he looked nothing like the clean university boy from earlier.
He looked... different.
Phum stared.
Something unreadable in his expression.
Nat stood.
Walked closer.
Close enough to smell engine oil and expensive cologne beneath it.
"Still decorative?" Nat asked quietly.
The mechanics were pretending not to listen now.
Phum's voice dropped lower.
"You don't belong here."
Nat smiled slightly.
"Then why are you still looking at me?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Electric.
Phum stepped back first.
"Work starts at 7 a.m. tomorrow," he said coldly. "If you're late, don't come back."
Nat nodded.
"Yes, Phi Phum."
The name rolled off his tongue too smoothly.
As he walked toward the exit, Wat muttered under his breath,
"He's either brave... or suicidal."
Phum didn't answer.
His gaze was still fixed on the grease-smudged handprint Nat had accidentally left on his black sleeve.
And for the first time in a long time—
Something inside him felt... disrupted.