Better Sorry than Safe

5.

A motorcycle logo on the sign. An identical motorcycle logo on Jack's sports shirt. For God's sake, the auto fix shop was called Jack's. Why had he never made the connection? He only cycled past this shop every single weekday. Oh, right, he was always pedalling his ass off, rushing past, because he was chronically late for school. If only Sem had known who was working inside that building, he would've slowed down a little. 

Jack hadn't noticed him yet. His back was turned to Sem, and he was completely engrossed in his work. Even from behind, and even when wearing an unflattering grubby overall, Jack looked amazing. Sem glanced down at himself. And he looked incredibly dumb for not bringing an umbrella or whatever. Like a drowned rat. A filthy drowned rat. There was black grease on his fingers, and he'd somehow gotten a big black streak on his shirt as well. 

It was unbelievable. Whenever he ran into Jack, Sem somehow managed to always be drenched in something icky. If it wasn't sweat and mud, it was rain and grease. Awesome first and second impression that made. But it wasn't too late to get out. Jack wasn't paying attention to anything but the car, and Sem started shuffling backwards towards the exit. Abort mission. I repeat, abort mission.

He bumped into something hard with his foot, and it scraped across the floor loudly. Shit. Sem looked over his shoulder, and saw the exact crates he'd dodged on the way in behind him. Stupid stupid, he'd known they were there. 

Jack's head snapped up at the noise, and Sem's heart stuttered in his chest. Before he knew it, Jack had closed the distance between them and was standing right in front of him. He was clean-shaven today, but that looked equally good on him as stubble. From up close, his tan skin was still flawless. 

"Hey." Sem felt his face heat up, his mind t-boned hard by the sudden proximity, and those brown eyes boring into his. 

"Hello. Can I help you with something?"Jack's voice was pleasant: calm, deep, and with a faint lilt. His eyes briefly traveled down Sem's drenched form, sending a shiver down Sem's spine. He subtly straightened his back. A wet-clinging-to-his-skin shirt was not necessarily a bad thing. He was more toned than most guys his age. Thank you, kickboxing. 

"I hope you can help. I know this is an auto repair shop, but my bike's broken. The chain just snapped in half on the road outside, and I figured you guys might have tools for it." Sem vaguely gestured to the entrance where he'd left his bike, proud at how casual he sounded but definitely not felt. He swore his ass was sweating by now. 

"Aha." Jack nodded. "Okay, I'll see what I can do." 

Sem blinked in surprise. No further explanation or information required? Jack was, evidently, very to the point. "Uh, great, thanks." 

As swiftly as Jack had approached Sem, he now strode to the entrance, retrieved the bike, and then flipped it upside down. He crouched down and observed the chain for a second, before moving to a cabinet and pulling out a tool Sem didn't recognise. 

Jack was a whirlwind, and Sem just stood there, tongue-tied, and with no idea how to handle the situation. 

No way this was happening. In a timespan of mere seconds, Jack had disproven any turn-off Sem had ever come up with. He wasn't ugly up close, no weird-ass chipmunk voice, not a trace of foul body odour so far. Not to mention, he looked incredibly sexy all serious and focused, expertly fitting the tool, whatever it was, on the chain. Jack was clearly hell-bent on not giving Sem any chance to get over his crush. That bastard. 

Sem stared at him anyway. He drank in the sight of his well-defined jawline, straight nose, his concentrated frown, his hair. Jack didn't seem to wear gel. If Sem reached out, he could run his fingers through that shiny black hair. And with him so focused on wriggling a pin out of the chain, it almost seemed like he could get away with it. If only Jack wouldn't notice, and if only he wouldn't get caught.