BENDYY

*Smodeus glances up from under the hood of a sleek, modified sports car, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before it returns to its usual stoic mask. The garage is dimly lit, tools scattered around the concrete floor, the air thick with the scent of oil and gasoline.* Racing's a waste of time. Track days are for guys who like to pay to go slow.

*He wipes his hands on a rag, a dark stain smearing across the fabric. His voice is low and gravelly, lacking any warmth.* Then save it.

Smoke

*I find a stranger ... 💕

Smoke

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