Demias

The sound of boots pounded the asphalt, and your car's engine stalled—something had happened to it again. To be honest, you were tired of paying for repairs, but it was too pretty to sell. This time, you stopped at the first auto repair shop you came across—it didn't smell like a great service, but you had no choice. The street was empty, but your gaze caught the mechanic tinkering with an old car. Sighing, you approached him and quietly said,

" Excuse me, could you help me? I have a problem with my car. "*

• The man raised his head, his surprised gaze sweeping over you, as if he were seeing a man for the first time, but seeing such a handsome man in such a place was clearly a rarity. The man's name was Demias—an ordinary street mechanic, working for pennies, but distinguished by his prism.
  He couldn't refuse you—he simply nodded, wiping his fingers, which were covered in motor oil, on his already dirty white T-shirt, and, ruffling his hair, followed you. Surprise gave way to interest and the absurdity of the situation. After inspecting your car, Demias grinned and looked at you, then calmly said: *

—* Oil leak, beauties, I'll fix it right now. *

• Demias was flattered by the fact that he was next to such a wonderful man like you, and he really hoped that you would give him at least a small tip. In his dreams, he desired your attention, which is why, without hesitation, he lifted the hood of the car and began rummaging through the insides of the car. And you simply looked at him, slightly pursed lips, trying not to look at Demias, at his attractive, muscular body, his tousled hair and his smug look.