Kill My Mind || DOLLHOUSE Spin-off

60. Grayson

Ale's car had been acting up again — something with the alternator, maybe the battery. He wasn't sure, but I had a feeling what it was the second he described it over text.

By the time I pulled into his driveway, he already had the hood popped and a set of tools laid out like he actually knew what to do with them. He didn't — not really — but I didn't say anything. Just tossed my jacket over the railing and walked up.

"You didn't touch anything, right?" I asked, already peering under the hood.

"I waited for the expert," he said. His hands, however, were covered in grease. His forehead was a little sweaty with his hair sticking to it, and his muscles were certainly flexed. Liar. But It didn't matter to me, he looked really good right now. Part of me wanted to pretend I didn't know what I was doing so I could see him work a little.

"Don't be dramatic," I muttered, but I didn't hate the word expert.

I was quick to start working on the car. I had positioned Ale next to the beers and the tools so he could hand me what I wanted while I worked. Occasionally, I asked him for help tightening some bolts just to see him work. It was a sight to see, so I asked a few more times, even at the expense of looking weak.

We didn't talk much while I worked — not because things were tense, just... we didn't have to. Ale handed me the tools when I asked. Got the flashlight without me saying anything. Kept his music low, the same playlist he always used when he was trying to look busy doing nothing.

It had been like this for a while now — close, but careful. A quiet understanding that whatever we were building back had to be slow and steady. A month of small things. Picking up each other's calls. Random visits that didn't need excuses. Comfort that didn't need to be explained. It had been like this lately — easy. Not like nothing had happened, but like we were learning how to live with it. A month of half-finished conversations and fully finished snacks. Of long silences that didn't feel awkward anymore. I still caught him looking at me sometimes, like he was remembering something soft. I didn't know what to do with that, so I didn't do anything at all. I also looked at him that way when things would come flooding my memory. He hadn't caught me, at least not as much as I caught him.

After I finished tightening the last bolt, I wiped my hands and stepped back. "Try it now."

Ale climbed in and turned the key. The engine came to life on the first try.

He stepped out of the car with a grin that looked a little too proud. "Knew you could fix it."

I shook my head. "You owe me lunch."

"I'll make us something."

We walked inside together like it was normal, like we'd done it a thousand times. In the hallway, I noticed a hoodie of mine draped over the back of a chair. I hadn't realized I left it, but Ale didn't seem in a hurry to move it either. Maybe he liked seeing it there as much as I liked seeing it now.

When we walked into the kitchen he opened the fridge and I heard him mutter fuck under his breath "What's wrong?" I asked as I raised my eyebrow

"I asked Matt to grocery shop, and he didn't. We're out of beer and somehow water. How the fuck did the fridge get so empty."

I shrugged. "I'll go grab some."

He shook his head quickly and grabbed his key. "No, I can't make you do that."

"You're not," I said softly as I grabbed my keys. "Get to cooking, I'll be back soon. I'm hungry." He reluctantly put his keys down after a moment, then nodded and smiled.

The store was mostly empty, which was good — I wasn't in the mood to make small talk with some old lady who'd ask where the seasonings were. I moved fast. Beer. Bottled water. Bread. The usual bullshit Matteo never remembered to buy.

I turned down the snack aisle just to double-check if Ale needed chips or something when I saw them — those stupid gummy sharks.

Blue and white, in a cheap bag with a badly drawn cartoon shark on the front. Ale had loved that dumb cartoon shark. Once, late at night, back when we still told each other things just to hear the other laugh, he'd mentioned how he'd go to a gas station near his school with some friends and his first stop was to the candy isle to get these, how he thought they were the best candy on the planet. I remember teasing him about it, but he never backed down. Called them elite. Said no one else had taste.

I stared at them a moment too long, then grabbed a bag and tossed it into the basket without thinking.

I didn't plan to say anything about it. It wasn't a grand gesture. Just a quiet one. Something small and stupid — but it felt like the kind of thing you did when you were friends again.

The kind of thing he'd do for me.

When I got home, he was in the kitchen putting some pasta into bowls for us. His back was towards me, I set down the bags and pulled the sharks out, placing them on the counter near where I was sure he'd sit while he ate.

"Let me know what I owe you," he mumbled as he grabbed some forks

"Nothing," I said with a shrug, despite him not seeing it. Finally, he turned around with two bowls in his hand

He saw the gummies when he turned and paused for a second, like he didn't know what to do with the gesture. Then he just nodded.

"Thanks."

"Don't get emotional."

He scoffed, but I caught the smile before he put his head down. He handed me the pasta and sat next to me. Before even biting into his actual food, he opened the bag and grabbed a shark, smiling.