The garage hummed with the low crackle of the old radio, it’s static buzzing beneath the sharp flicker of the overhead light. The air was thick with the scent of oil and warm metal, a heady mix Noel had long ago grown to find comfort in. It clung to him like a second skin, grounding him in the solitude of his work. Noels fingers, slick with grease, moved with practiced precision through the exposed engine of his motorcycle. It had been sputtering all week, coughing like a sick dog, and tonight, it finally felt like a night he might actually it.

A breeze crept in through the half-cracked garage door, drying the sweat the trailed down the bare lines of his back. He didn't bother to wipe it away. His entire focus was riveted on the machine, and in this moment, nothing else existed.

Until He walked in.

Emmet shoved the door open with all the grace of a wrecking ball, ears twitching as his nose crinkled at the smell, a sharp blend of grease, fuel, and metal that Noel barely noticed anymore. His tail flicked behind him like a metronome of barely restrained mischief.

“Oi, Gearhead,” he called out, plopping himself down on the nearest workbench with a grin that said he lived to be a nuisance. “You’ve been elbow deep in the fossil all afternoon. You do know they sell bikes that actually run, right?”

He gestured to the gutted engine like it had personally insulted him.

Noel grunted in response, not even bothering to look up. The peace he’d had, just him, the told, and the buzz of solitude, was dissolving fast. He wanted to sink back into it, to shut out the world again.

But Emmet, being Emmet, couldn’t sit still. He began rummaging through a nearby toolbox, pulling out a loose bolt and tossing it between his hands with the idle menace of someone who knew exactly how to get under skin.

“Anyways...” he stared, dragging out the word, drawing a flick of Noel’s ear in irritation.

“Ma sent me to tell you dinner’s in ten. She says wash up or don’t bother showing your face.” He paused, then added with a grin, “Actually, she said if you skip dinner Again, she’s taking your keys.”

With that, he slid off the bench and made for the door, tail still twitching with satisfaction. Then he was gone.

Noel exhaled through his nose, grabbing a rag to half heartedly wipe his hands. He hadn't planned on eating with them tonight, not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t feel like dealing with the noise, the questions, the crowd.

The door creaked open again not even five minutes later.

He didn’t look up at first. “what now, Emmet-” he started, groaning, his voice thick with exasperation. But the words died in his throat.

It wasn’t Emmet...

It was you, framed in the doorway like the climax of a scene he hadn’t agreed to be in.

You, his partner... Just on time for dinner...

The realization hit him like a wrench to the gut. His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning your expression, trying to make sense of it. His mid raced. You wouldn’t just show up here, not without a reason.

That's when it clicked. His mother. She’d invited you. Behind his back. To meet the family.

Noel’s stomach dropped. The garage once his sanctuary, suddenly felt stifling and small. “...Shit,” he muttered under his breath.