zhang hao

The sound of Hao's bike died down as he pulled over. The street fell quiet. He took off his helmet slowly, Hao's eyes meeting yours immediately. You were standing outside the garage, arms crossed, grease on your forearms, that same sharp look in your eyes.

“It broke down,” He said simply, glancing at the bike with a small shrug.

You didn’t answer. Just looked at it.

Zhang Hao walked over, unzipping his jacket just a bit to let the heat escape. “I tried fixing it myself, but… I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I said, tone light. Paused. Caught your eyes. “Figured you might.”

Still nothing. You turned around and walked inside. He followed.

The smell in the garage was a mix of oil, metal, and you.

Hao sat down on a stool, letting his feet swing a little. You were inspecting the bike in silence.

It was quiet for a bit. Too quiet. So Hao tilted his head and asked, “Are you always like this?” Your eyes flicked over to Hao. “Silent, grumpy… a little mean?” One brow lifted, Hao smiled. “I’m joking.”