crossed wires

by stylxesgrunge

Summary:

When an anonymous texting app sparks a connection, Brian and Dom discover that the truth can change everything, love is closer than you think and sometimes the strongest connections are the ones you never see coming.

Notes:

damn this fandom--i love you--the moment you get a small seeding of a story idea, it doubles and now i have like a shit ton of story ideas for said fandom. I told myself it wouldn't happen, then i spent four days writing just this story alone, and plotting like five more.

Chapter 1: chapter one

Chapter 1: Brian’s Loneliness

 

Brian O’Conner sat on the couch, the dim glow of the TV flickering in front of him. Mia’s voice drifted from the kitchen, muffled by the sound of running water as she scrubbed the dishes. The house felt quiet—too quiet, in fact, given the chaos that had been his life not long ago. He had tried talking to Mia, tried connecting, but she wasn’t having it.

“Brian, I don’t want to talk about it,” she’d said earlier, her tone sharp, her eyes distant. And just like that, another door slammed shut between them. It wasn’t like they fought, exactly. There were no screaming matches or thrown objects. Instead, the silence was suffocating, a slow suffocation that had crept in over the past few months.

His eyes lingered on the empty space next to him on the couch. It felt strange, seeing the spot that should have been filled with Mia. He used to feel like she was his anchor, but now she seemed so far away, lost in her own world, unwilling to meet him halfway.

He reached for the beer bottle on the coffee table, twisting off the cap before taking a long, drawn-out swig. It did nothing to ease the gnawing feeling in his chest—the loneliness that seemed to wrap itself around his ribcage like a vice, squeezing tighter with each passing day.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He hated feeling like this, like an outsider in his own life. He loved Mia. He did. But the connection between them had frayed, worn thin. It wasn’t even about the physical distance—though they hadn’t touched in what felt like forever. It was the emotional distance. Mia had become a shadow of herself, and he was left grasping for something real, something that wasn’t slipping through his fingers.

Tired of the quiet, Brian stood up and walked toward the kitchen. Mia didn’t even look up when he entered, absorbed in the task at hand. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, the way she had her head tilted as she scrubbed at the plates, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

She didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge him. The absence of her usual warmth cut through him like a knife.

“Can we talk?” he pressed, trying again. “I know things haven’t been easy lately, but I—”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted, cutting him off with a short, clipped tone. “Just… leave it, Brian. I’m not in the mood.”

The words hit him like a slap, and for a moment, he stood there, dumbfounded. He’d been trying so hard, putting in all the effort he could, and this was the response he got? It was like trying to talk to a wall.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to step back. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking out of the room. He didn’t even bother to look at her when he left.

Back in the living room, Brian sank into the couch again, the silence closing in on him once more. He pulled out his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through the screen, flipping from one app to another. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt truly seen, truly understood. Not since his time with Mia, anyway.

His fingers hovered over the screen, and for a moment, he wondered why the hell he felt so restless. His life was a fast lane of adrenaline and high-speed chases, but here, in the stillness of his own home, he felt like he was in park.

A random thought popped into his head, a desperate idea. He’d seen an ad earlier, something about a new texting app that promised anonymity—a chance to talk to someone without the weight of expectations or history. He didn’t even know why it appealed to him so much, but in that moment, the temptation was undeniable.

Brian didn’t think twice. Well that was a lie, he did, he looked back toward the kitchen for a moment.

He opened the app store and downloaded it. The app’s interface was sleek, clean—no face, no names, just usernames and short bios. Perfect. No one had to know who he was, and he didn’t have to know who they were. Just two people sharing a moment, a conversation. Maybe that was all he needed to escape the suffocating silence that had taken over his life.

He created his account quickly, choosing the username CallMeBullet without a second thought. It was a nod to his past in Florida. He didn’t want to think too hard about it. Just wanted to be and feel… anything but this.

As he finished setting up his profile, he paused for a moment, staring at the screen. The profile photo was a photo of his arm gripping his stick shift during the night. Nothing that was too revealing, just simple.

His bio was simple as well: Love fast cars. Just here to talk. It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t looking for anything more, not really. He just needed someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t shut him out, who wouldn’t look at him like he was broken. Maybe that was too much for an app? He’s never done this before, it almost feels like a low.

Brian clicked upload and waited. Then spent almost an hour scrolling through bullshitted messages, nothing standing out to him. He was getting bored pretty quickly, ready to deactivate the entire account too.

A few moments later, after he was looking through the settings on how to delete the account, his screen flashed with a notification.

 

AmericanMuscle: Nice car in your profile pic. Classic, I see. What else you got?

Brian smirked at the message. Classic. Yeah, that sounded about right. Goddamn him for easily getting swayed by someone who wants to talk cars. He typed back quickly.

CallMeBullet: I like to keep it old school. I can appreciate a car with character.

 

It wasn’t much, just the start of something small, but for the first time in a long while, Brian felt a glimmer of something—something that wasn’t disappointment or rejection.

And for tonight, that would have to be enough.

Chapter 2: chapter two

Notes:

i want to say i love cars, always have, that said i am not a car expert and i had to research a lot for this.

Chapter 2: Dom’s Escape

 

Dominic Toretto stood by the hood of his Charger, taking in the late-night air that carried the faint hum of engines and the smells of burnt rubber. The race was over, the adrenaline slowly fading, but Dom still felt restless. He’d come here for a distraction, but it hadn’t worked as well as he’d hoped. The familiar faces of the crowd and the endless noise couldn’t drown out the gnawing feeling in his chest. The kind of loneliness that came with being surrounded by people but still feeling…detached. Even with Letty by his side, something felt off.

He had already pulled out his phone several times during the night, and, after enough empty scrolling, he finally gave in. Maybe it was the isolation. Maybe it was the endless cycle of racing and rebuilding that had started to feel like a cage. Whatever it was, he downloaded the hookup app. Not to find a quick fling or even meet anyone—but to escape. To vent. To talk to someone who didn’t know who he was or what he was supposed to be.

The profile he set up—AmericanMuscle—felt right. It was a part of him, a reflection of his love for muscle cars, the power that coursed through his veins every time he revved the engine of his Charger. He wasn’t looking for anything serious. Just a chance to have a conversation that didn’t come with the weight of expectation. Then he found someone, or at least he thinks he did.

 

CallMeBullet: I like to keep it old school. I can appreciate a car with character.

 

Dom couldn’t help but smile. There was something about the tone of the message—confident, but not too eager—that piqued his interest. He leaned against the hood of the car, fingers tapping against the screen as he crafted a response.

 

AmericanMuscle: Old school is where it’s at. But tell me something—what’s your take on a ’68 Fastback? Not a lot of people get the appeal of it.

 

He waited, his eyes scanning the busy street, but his mind was focused on the reply. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something thrilling about this conversation already, even if it was just about cars. It wasn’t just small talk—it was a test. He wanted to know if this person truly appreciated the mechanics of a car, the feel of a well-tuned engine. Dom liked to think of himself as someone who could sniff out a poser from a mile away.

 

**

 

Brian has soon moved to his room, almost afraid that sitting on the couch would lead to Mia over his shoulder. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, the glow of his phone screen illuminating his face. He’d been staring at the message from AmericanMuscle for a good few minutes, trying to keep his grin in check. This guy clearly had an attitude—had to be a fellow car enthusiast. And Brian loved a good challenge. The problem was, he wasn’t sure if this was some kind of test or just casual car talk, but either way, he wasn’t about to back down.

Brian liked to be the one in control, well sometimes, and this anonymous conversation was something he hadn’t expected to enjoy as much as he did. It was a distraction, sure, but there was something oddly… refreshing.

No expectations, no ties. Just two guys talking about cars, nothing else. But this challenge? He was here for it.

 

CallMeBullet: A ’68 Fastback? Yeah, that’s a classic. The 302 V8 engine’s got some serious muscle, but it’s the way it’s balanced that makes it stand out. Not too much, not too little. And the design—sharp, aggressive lines. A lot of people can’t appreciate it, but it’s the perfect combination of power and finesse. What do you think?

He hit send, sitting back against the headboard, already thinking about the next reply. Maybe this guy wasn’t just a car fan—maybe he actually knew his cars.

 

**

 

Dom felt a rush of satisfaction when the reply came through. Whoever Bullet was, they clearly knew their stuff. He read the message, his lips curving into a small smile as he typed out his response.

 

AmericanMuscle: I’ll give you that. Not bad. The balance is key, but it’s all about the sound of the engine when you hit that throttle. You ever hear a ‘68 in full swing? It’s like music. But enough of the technical stuff—tell me, what’s the car you’d take if you had to choose just one for the rest of your life?

 

Dom leaned back against the hood of his Charger again, feeling a light buzz of excitement. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he was enjoying it. Whoever this Bullet person was, they weren’t just another guy trying to impress with surface-level knowledge. This felt different.

 

**

 

Brian’s pulse quickened a little at the question. One car for the rest of your life?

It was a tough one. Brian had driven so many cars over the years—most of them high-performance imports, the kind that made heads turn—but there was something about this challenge that felt… personal. He paused for a moment, tapping his fingers on the edge of his phone, before he typed his response.

 

CallMeBullet: You can’t go wrong with the right Skyline—an R34 GT-R? Nothing beats that engine. But if you’re asking me to pick just one… maybe an early ’90s Supra. Classic, but with serious potential. You could turn that baby into a monster with the right setup. What about you?

 

Brian didn’t expect the rush he felt. Whoever AmericanMuscle was, they were definitely someone he’d want to know better.

 

**

 

Dom’s fingers hovered over the screen for a moment, feeling a mix of amusement and intrigue. The Supra? God that almost makes him think of Brian, he loved that damn car, Dom thought.

 

AmericanMuscle: Nice choice. But I’ll take a Charger. If you really want to know who I am, take a good look at my car. It’s the one thing that’ll always give you the truth.

Brian smirked at the response, liking the attitude. A Charger. That was… predictable. The guy clearly had a thing for American muscle, it was literally in his username and Brian had to admit, there was a certain raw power to the Charger that made it hard to hate.

CallMeBullet: I’ll give you that. Chargers have a lot of power, but you’ll never convince me they’re better than the imports. But hey, to each their own. Tell me…you into racing?

Chapter 3: chapter three

Chapter 3: Building the Bond

 

The glow of Brian’s phone lit up the otherwise dark room, and he glanced at the time.

1:35 a.m

It had become a routine. Every night, without fail, he would find himself messaging with AmericanMuscle. He had told himself it was just a distraction, something to break the monotony of the slow slide of his life. But the more they talked, the less he felt like he was simply filling a void.

It was more than that. He didn’t know who AmericanMuscle was, but in these conversations, he felt understood in a way that he hadn’t in a long time. His frustrations with Mia, his frustrations with himself—it all came out in these texts. And somehow, AmericanMuscle understood. He never gave names but he still felt good to let it go.

Brian smiled at the latest message on his screen.

AmericanMuscle: You’re telling me you’ve never swapped out your suspension? I thought you were the king of street racing.

Brian snorted as he typed his response. It had become a game of one-upmanship between them, especially when the conversations moved away from the generic small talk about cars and into the playful jabs.

CallMeBullet: Pfft. Suspension’s for amateurs. I’m about performance. But nice try.

He hit send, leaning back on his bed and waiting for the inevitable retort. He wasn’t sure what it was about these late-night sessions, but AmericanMuscle had a way of getting under his skin. Not in a bad way, though. No, it was more like… a challenge. He didn’t know if the guy was trying to show him up or if they were just talking shit, but it kept him on his toes.

The phone buzzed again.

AmericanMuscle: Performance, huh? Guess that’s why your car’s still running like shit.

Brian laughed under his breath. There it was, the usual taunt. The guy wasn’t holding back.

CallMeBullet: Just wait. I’ll show you what real performance looks like. And I’ll take you for a ride.

The words were almost casual, but there was something more in them—a promise. And he didn’t know why, but he felt a slight buzz at the thought of meeting AmericanMuscle in person. Maybe it was the idea of proving himself, of showing this stranger just how good he was. It had been a while since he had felt that rush.

AmericanMuscle: I like that. But we’ll see. Not sure if you can handle this ride, Bullet.

He could almost picture the guy’s cocky smirk, though he didn’t know what he looked like.

CallMeBullet: I’ll handle it just fine. I’m not scared of a little horsepower.

AmericanMuscle: We’ll see. But you better know your stuff. I don’t do charity races.

CallMeBullet: You’re on. Let’s see if you can keep up.

He hit send and set the phone on his nightstand, leaning back against the wall. Each night, they peeled back a layer, revealing a little more of themselves, though neither had yet ventured too deep. There were still boundaries in place, things left unsaid.

Still, every night, AmericanMuscle was there, waiting, ready to talk cars, life, anything. And Brian had to admit, he found himself looking forward to it.

A few hours later, another message came through.

AmericanMuscle: You said performance. You better bring your A-game, Bullet. I don’t want to hear excuses when I leave you in my dust.

CallMeBullet: Fine by me. But don’t be surprised when I take the lead.

The cocky reply felt good. Too good. The anonymity, the banter, the flirtation.

It felt good to be Bullet. To just be a guy in the dark, talking shit to some other guy who didn’t know who he was.

Exactly what he needed.

Chapter 4: chapter four

Notes:

in my head the story is over the span of two months? i don't know. in my head i see one things, now if i actually accomplished that is another.

Chapter 4: The Conversations Deepen

 

Brian tossed and turned in his bed, the soft hum of his phone beside him. It was 2:10 a.m. — late, even for their usual late-night exchanges. He had tried to sleep, really, but his thoughts kept drifting to the same place. To the guy behind the screen. AmericanMuscle.

It wasn’t just the teasing banter or the challenges, though they had definitely kept him on his toes. No, it was something deeper. He found himself looking forward to these conversations more than anything else in his life, even more than the actual races, or hanging out with the family. The way they could talk about anything—cars, life, random shit—and it never felt awkward, never forced.

CallMeBullet: You know, I’ve been thinking… You’ve got some real guts talking all that shit. I like it. But it’s getting late. I don’t usually stay up this late.

His phone buzzed again almost immediately.

AmericanMuscle: Guts? I’ve got a lot more than that. Don’t worry. I can keep you up all night.

CallMeBullet: Bold. I like that. Maybe I’ll take you up on it.

There was a pause this time. Just long enough for Brian to wonder if AmericanMuscle was getting tired of the game. But then, the phone buzzed again.

AmericanMuscle: I’m not trying to just keep you up. I’m trying to show you something more than just cars. Something more than just words.

The message hit like a punch to the gut. Something more than just cars. Fuck, yes..no..yes? Shit.

Brian stared at the screen, his heart thumping in his chest. Was this just him reading into it, or was there something deeper in that message?

They’d been talking for a few weeks now, but this was different. He could feel the shift in the air, even through a screen.

There was a part of him that was scared to respond. The same part of him that had built walls around his life, walls he’d never been sure how to tear down.

CallMeBullet: What are you trying to say?

The message sent. And for a moment, he regretted it. It was too direct. Too vulnerable. But the response came quickly, as always.

AmericanMuscle: I’m saying…that sometimes, talking about cars isn’t enough. Sometimes you need to talk about real shit. The stuff that keeps you up at night.

It wasn’t just playful banter anymore. They were both dancing around something real now.

CallMeBullet: You always know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?

AmericanMuscle: You’re the one keeping it interesting, Bullet. I’m just along for the ride.

Brian let himself smile. He could feel his face heating up, his finger tips playing with his lower lip as his other hand held the phone. Eyes glued to the screen.

This feeling. This is what he has been craving for months since Mia and he started to fall out. What he joined this app for. He felt understood. Not just on a surface level, not just because of their shared love of cars or racing because in all honesty he could find anyone to talk about racing and nice cars with on the streets. This? There was something more. Something that made his heart race even faster than the engines he’d been tuning.

But as much as he wanted to keep talking, to keep exploring whatever this thing was, he had to pull back. He couldn’t let himself get too attached to someone he didn’t even know.

Still, he found himself typing again, despite the voice in his head telling him to stop.

CallMeBullet: Alright. Let’s cut the crap. We both know there’s more to this than cars. What is it you’re really after?

He pressed send and waited, heart in his throat.

Was this hypocritical? He did have a thing for pushing others away before they could him. It hurt less. 

This was it. The moment when they would both admit what was really going on, or they would let the game go on a little longer.

The reply came, slower this time. There was a weight to the message. A hesitation.

AmericanMuscle: I’m after… someone who gets it. Someone who understands what it feels like to be stuck in a life you didn’t plan for. Someone who can make me forget that I’m not really living, just existing.

The words hit Brian harder than he expected.

“Fuck, It wasn’t just about the cars or the jokes anymore.” Brian muttered. This was real. And for the first time in days, weeks even, Brian felt his own defenses slip away.

CallMeBullet: That’s…

CallMeBullet: exactly how I feel. Like I’m just going through the motions. But maybe I’m just scared to actually feel something.

AmericanMuscle: You don’t have to be scared with me. Whatever you need, I’m here.

Brian felt a lump form in his throat. He wasn’t used to this. Why do I do this to myself? He quickly typed out a response, his fingers trembling a little.

CallMeBullet: Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re both just… looking for something more.

The screen lit up again.

AmericanMuscle: Maybe we’re just looking for someone who can see us for who we really are. Not who we pretend to be.

There it was.

But with all that came the nagging question in the back of Brian’s mind: Who is this person on the other side of the screen?

He shook his head and let the thought go. For now, he was content to be Bullet. Not knowing where it might lead. It was better than the alternative he had going for him.

Chapter 5: chapter five

Chapter 5: The Vulnerability Unfolds

 

The sunlight seeped through the curtains, catching the edges of the window frame as Brian rolled out of bed. The familiar weight of the day already pressing down on him. It wasn’t even noon yet, but the house felt empty, as it had for weeks now. Mia hadn’t come to him. Not even a word. She even stayed in the guest room, barricading herself in a place that used to be theirs, turning it into her fortress of solitude.

Brian’s mornings were always a blur, a rote cycle of silence. No good mornings, no conversation. Just the hum of his own thoughts as he went through the motions.

Today felt heavier. He needed to get out of the house. Needed a change of scenery. The garage had always been his refuge, but today, he was heading somewhere else—somewhere he knew would be a little less lonely.

He grabbed his keys, a half-hearted goodbye to the empty house, and headed out. The drive was short, just a few miles out to Dom’s family home. It wasn’t the shop—it wasn’t the usual garage he worked in—but it was where Dom had been building his few project cars. And for some reason, Brian knew he needed the distraction, in a place that didn’t feel like a personal prison.

By the time Brian reached Dom’s place, the morning had given way to the sharp, crisp air of late morning, the kind that clung to you and made everything feel a little more alive.

Dom’s family home was the kind of place that held memories in every creaky floorboard and rusted fence post. The garage was a bit of a mess, tools scattered on every surface, yet everything seemed in its right place, and Brian believed that Dom had purposefully left things unfinished—just enough to make it feel lived-in.

Brian had already started working on the car by the time Dom came outside, his footsteps loud against the gravel, the afternoon light reflecting on the car’s polished chrome.

Brian didn’t turn around at first. He didn’t need to. He knew it was Dom. He could hear the way he walked, steady and purposeful.

“Looks like you’re deep into it,” Dom’s voice came, rough from sleep but still carrying the easy confidence that Brian had come to appreciate.

“Had a few hours to kill,” Brian replied, wiping grease from his hands as he sat back on the crate next to the car. He hadn’t meant to be out here for so long, but the time had slipped away from him. The rhythm of the work, the steady clink of metal on metal, had been oddly calming. And in this space, with Dom’s presence a comforting backdrop, Brian felt a small sense of peace.

“You hungry or something? You’ve been out here for hours. Don’t tell me you skipped breakfast,” Dom said, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at Brian, his tone carrying the faintest hint of concern.

Brian rubbed his hand over his face. “I guess I didn’t really think about it,” he admitted, the words more truthful than he’d intended. The thought of eating hadn’t even crossed his mind, his mind so occupied with the car, with the emptiness he couldn’t escape.

Dom gave him an incredulous look. “It’s a little after noon, man. You’ve gotta eat something. Come on, I’ll fix you something inside.”

Brian hesitated for a moment, unsure, but then stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. “Alright, fine. Can’t say no to breakfast, well, lunch.”

Dom smiled, the kind of smile that felt like they were on the same wavelength without needing to say anything more. He led Brian inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the coolness of the garage. The kitchen was simple but homey, sunlight pouring through the windows, catching the edges of dishes and counters. Dom moved like he belonged here, effortlessly slipping into the role of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Brian was a bad cook, but Dom easily made him look like a beginner in the kitchen.

“Sit down. I’ll throw something together.” Dom said, his back to Brian as he rummaged through the fridge. There was something comfortable about it—the ease with which they coexisted. It wasn’t forced, no small talk to fill the space.

Brian took a seat at the kitchen table, watching Dom work. His movements were deliberate, practiced, like everything in his life had a rhythm to it. The sound of the eggs cracking, the sizzle of bacon, the smell of coffee brewing—it all felt grounding. It reminded Brian of better times, simpler moments before everything got complicated.

“So, what’s the plan for the car?” Dom asked over his shoulder, his voice casual, like the question was just another part of the morning routine.

“It’s your car.”

“I haven’t started on it yet since I brought it in. Which was a few weeks ago? Might as well be your project, you’ve put more work into it than I have since it’s been in there.”

Brian leaned back in his chair, staring out the window, feeling the tension in his body release just a little. “Got a few tweaks I want to make. Nothing major, just some fine-tuning, you know? Gotta get her running just right.”

“Yeah,” Dom said with a nod, as he worked, “she’ll run great once you finish. You’ve always had a good eye for this stuff.”

There was something in his tone that Brian couldn’t quite place. A mix of admiration, maybe. Or maybe it was something else.

“You hungry or what?” Dom’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling Brian back to the present. Dom placed a plate in front of him—eggs, bacon, toast. The simple meal felt like more than it was. A gesture of care, of something real.

Brian nodded, a half-hearted smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks,” he said, though the words felt inadequate for the quiet comfort of the moment.

Dom sat across from him, grabbing his own plate, and for a while, neither of them said anything. The quiet was easy between them, comfortable. Just two guys sharing breakfast, the world outside seeming to slow down in their little bubble.

As Brian dug into the food, the reality of his day seemed to fade a little. The weight of his thoughts was still there, yeah, but somehow, in this space, with Dom nearby, it felt just a little less heavy.

Dom was right about one thing—he needed to eat. But more than that, he needed something else. Something he didn’t know how to ask for.

Brian had already wolfed down half his plate before Dom even picked up his fork. The food was good—better than he expected for a quick thrown-together breakfast—but the way Brian ate wasn’t just about hunger.

Dom leaned back in his chair, watching him with an amused smirk. “Damn, Brian. Mia not feeding you or something? You look like you haven’t eaten in a week.”

The words were meant as a joke, but they hit a little too close to home. Brian slowed, his fork hovering mid-air, the faintest shadow crossing his face. He set it down gently, suddenly aware of how fast he’d been eating, and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“She hasn’t… uh, she hasn’t really been talking to me,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “It’s been weeks. I don’t even know what’s going on anymore.” A shit ton of weeks, honestly. He left unspoken.

Dom froze for a moment, his fork halfway to his mouth. He frowned, the crease in his brow deepening as he studied Brian. “Weeks?” he repeated, like he didn’t quite believe it. “That doesn’t sound like Mia. I saw her the other day—she seemed fine.”

Brian’s eyes snapped up, his confusion evident. “You saw her the other day?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he intended. God, it’s like he doesn’t know anything anymore when it comes to Mia.

Then he softened, his gaze falling to his plate. “Oh. Well…she’s been avoiding me. Staying in the guest room. Barely says two words unless she has to.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The house is just…too quiet, you know? I can’t stand it.”

Dom set his fork down, the amusement from earlier gone. “What’s going on with you two? I mean, did something happen?”

Brian shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “Not that I know of. At least, nothing she’s told me. It’s like…one day we were fine, and then the next, she just…shut down. I’ve tried asking, tried giving her space, but it’s like I don’t even exist anymore.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and Dom didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, he let Brian continue, knowing that sometimes, it wasn’t about finding the right thing to say—it was just about listening.

“I’ve been trying to keep myself busy,” Brian went on, his tone tinged with frustration. “Fixed up everything in the house, cleaned every damn room, even the yard. Hell, I’ve organized the garage so many times I could probably do it blindfolded. But no matter how much I do, it’s still the same. Still…empty.”

Dom nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “And that’s why you came here,” he said, more a statement than a question.

Brian gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Yeah. Figured I’d tinker with something that doesn’t remind me how screwed up things are right now. Your garage is a hell of a lot better than sitting in an empty house.”

Dom leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Look, man, I don’t know what’s going on with Mia, but if she’s avoiding you, there’s a reason. Even if it means you’re not the reason. Might not make sense to you right now, but she’s not the type to just…do this for no reason. You know that.”

Brian nodded, though it didn’t make him feel any better. “Yeah, I know,” he said, his voice heavy. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, the sounds of the house filling the void. The hum of the fridge, the faint creak of the floorboards as Dom shifted in his seat—it all felt oddly comforting. It wasn’t the solution Brian was looking for, but it was something.

Finally, when finished, Dom stood, picking up their empty plates. “Well, since you’re already here, you might as well continue to stick around,” he said, his tone lighter now. “So, we’re getting back out to the garage. That cars aren't gonna build itself.”

Brian smirked, grateful for the change in pace. “Fine by me, but you’re buying dinner for my service. I’m feeling Indian, something spicy.”

Dom grinned.  “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

They headed back out to the garage. For now, it was enough—enough to have something to do, someone to talk to. Enough to remind Brian that, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart, there were still moments like this.

They worked longer at Dom’s than he planned, partly because the evening had felt so natural. They had worked on cars until Dom’s stomach had growled loud enough to interrupt the rev of an engine. By then most places around were closed for the night, and the Indian takeout place was as well, leading Brian to pout. Dom had insisted Brian stay for dinner, throwing together some steaks and sides with little to no effort. The meal was casual, filled with banter about engines, racing stories, and bets about whose project car would hit the track first. Dom even made sure that Brian’s food met the level of spice he ever so craved.

 

**

 

By the time Brian left, the sky had faded into a deep indigo, the streetlights casting faint halos on the empty roads. He parked in front of the house, surprised to find the driveway empty. A pang of something—relief? disappointment?—hit him, but he shook it off. Mia had probably gone out with a few nursing friend or to Letty’s. It wasn’t unusual these days.

The house was quiet when he walked inside, the silence pressing on him more than he cared to admit. No low hum of the TV, no signs of anyone upstairs. Brian kicked off his shoes and headed straight to the fridge, pulling out a cold beer. He leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the cool metal of the can press against his palm.

Then his phone buzzed on the counter. The faint vibration was enough to cut through the quiet, and Brian glanced at the screen.

AmericanMuscle: Long day?

A grin tugged at his lips. Grabbing the beer and his phone, Brian headed upstairs. Once in his room, he tossed the phone onto the bed, peeled off his shirt and jeans, and slid under the covers. His beer on the nightstand.

CallMeBullet: You could say that. Spent the day tinkering with a project car. You?

AmericanMuscle: Same. Well, kind of. Did a lot of thinking. And now I’m here. Talking to you.

The words sent a flicker of something warm through Brian. He typed back quickly.

CallMeBullet: Guess I should feel special then.

AmericanMuscle: You should. I don’t usually spend my nights sweet talking strangers.

Brian smirked, shaking his head.

CallMeBullet: Sweet talking? That what we’re calling it now? Well fuck, keep talking dirty to me. I love it when a man knows his way around a car.

The reply came almost instantly.

AmericanMuscle: That’s what gets you hot and going? Doesn’t take much, does it? Not that I’m complaining…

Brian laughed out loud, the sound sharp against the stillness of the room. He took a sip of his beer, setting it on his nightstand before typing back.

CallMeBullet: Hey, don’t knock it. Been a rough few weeks. I’ll take what I can get.

There was a longer pause this time. When the next message came through, it felt heavier.

AmericanMuscle: Rough how?

Brian hesitated, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He wasn’t usually one to open up, especially not to someone he didn’t even know. Though, what would it really hurt? This is an anonymous app.

CallMeBullet: Let’s just say things at home have been…quiet? Too quiet. My girl and I…

CallMeBullet : we’re not exactly on the same page these days.

AmericanMuscle: Damn. That sucks. You trying to fix it?

CallMeBullet: Tried. Still trying, I guess. But she’s not giving me much to work with.

Another pause.

AmericanMuscle: Sounds like you’re carrying all the weight. That’s not fair to you, man. You deserve better.

Brian blinked at the screen.

CallMeBullet: Thanks. Guess I needed to hear that.

AmericanMuscle: Anytime. Now, back to what gets you going… Let me guess. You’re one of those guys who gets all worked up over an engine purring under the hood, huh?

Brian grinned, his mood lifting like a feather in the wind. Damn him, damn AmericanMuscle for being able to easily read him. He knows just when to press, and when to let it go when Brian wasn’t ready to talk.

CallMeBullet: Guilty as charged. But only if it’s a RB26DETT. Anything less is child’s play.

AmericanMuscle: inline 6-cylinder? Of course, you and your damn imports. What else revs your engine, Bullet?

He hesitated for a moment before deciding to lean into it.

CallMeBullet: Guess you’ll have to keep sweet-talking me to find out.

AmericanMuscle: Challenge accepted.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly after that, the flirting becoming bolder and more playful.