“Here, have something to eat,” Armin’s boss said, passing him a plate of half-eaten shrimp fried rice.
Armin looked up from the car wheel screw he was tightening.
He smiled as he accepted the plate.
As if it had been expecting the food for a long while now, his stomach groaned angrily.
He bent his head and looked down at his grease-stained boots, embarrassed, but his boss and his fellow workers already knew of his situation.
Most times, he worked all day on an empty stomach, yet he never slacked off or complained of hunger.
He showed up on time, worked diligently with total concentration, and cleaned up the entire garage before leaving.
His boss had grown incredibly fond of him and had made it a habit of always passing him a portion of his own food.
Armin thanked him softly and walked around to the back of an old, abandoned car.
It had been parked in the corner of the garage since he first started working here five years ago, and it had quickly become his favorite resting spot during his short breaks.
He was a recluse, and his colleagues understood this, choosing to leave him alone whenever he needed space.
He sat down on the dusty concrete floor and shoved the food into his mouth with hurried hunger.
Suddenly, the voice of his brother echoed sharply in his head: “I didn’t ask you to be the martyr.” Armin sighed dejectedly, suddenly losing his appetite.
Was this really what it was?
Was that truly what his brother thought his efforts were about?
Did his father think the same thing?
Certainly not, he thought desperately.
Surely, his father was grateful.
Zach might not be saying it to his face or acting like it, but Armin was sure his father was proud of his sacrifices.
Right?
The thoughts kept racing through his mind until his spoon clinked against the ceramic plate loudly.
He jolted slightly, realizing he had been eating absentmindedly and the plate was already empty.
He set the plate down and dumped the spoon into it.
His shoulders slumped, and he let his head rest heavily against his knees.
Where was his mom?
His mind wandered off into the painful past again.
He was slowly forgetting what she looked like.
Sometimes, he had to look at his own reflection in the only mirror they had at home—a car rearview mirror he had salvaged from the garage—just to remind himself of his mother’s features.
He honestly couldn’t tell if he wanted her to come back or not.
Would her return make things any better, or would it make everything worse?
He hated thinking about it—about her.
He thought of her as entirely self-centered for leaving him and Archer behind for a better life, forcing them to become school dropouts and caregivers to a father who was still hale and strong.
He felt his face getting wet from the tears that were always so ready to spill down his cheeks.
“Armin, back to work!” his boss called out, interrupting his emotional inner crisis.
Armin quickly wiped his face with the back of his dirty sleeve, swallowing the lump in his throat.
He grabbed the empty plate and stood up, trying to compose his voice before stepping out from behind the old car.
“Coming, boss!” Armin called back, his voice slightly thick.
He walked over to the break counter to set the plate down.
His boss, a burly alpha man with graying hair and grease permanently stained into the lines of his hands, was wiping down a wrench.
He took one look at Armin’s red-rimmed, beautiful eyes and sighed, setting the tool down.
“You’re crying again, kid,” his boss said, his rough voice softening with genuine concern.
“Is it your old man again?
Or did Archer cause more trouble last night?”
Armin looked away, staring at the concrete floor.
“No, sir.
It’s nothing like that.
Just…
got some dust in my eyes while I was working on the tires.”
His boss scoffed gently, crossing his heavy arms.
“Armin, you’ve been working under my roof for five years.
You’re the best mechanic I’ve got, and you’re a good kid.
But you’re carrying a boulder on your back, and you’re too small for it.
You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Armin gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white.
“I’m just tired, boss.
Archer thinks I’m trying to play a hero.
He thinks I’m trying to be a martyr.
But I just want us to have a normal life.
I want my dad to stop being the town’s joke.
Am I wrong for trying?”
His boss walked over and placed a large, heavy hand on Armin’s shoulder, a grounding presence that instantly calmed the young omega’s frayed nerves.
“You’re not wrong for caring, Armin,” the boss said seriously, looking him straight in the eyes.
“But a sinking ship can’t be saved if the captain keeps drilling holes in the bottom.
Your dad has to want to stand up.
You can’t force him to.”
“I only have four months left,” Armin whispered, a silent desperation in his voice.
“Four months of payments, and the debt is gone.
We can leave.
He’ll change when we leave this place.
I know he will.”
His boss stared at him for a long moment, a look of profound pity and admiration mixing in his eyes.
He patted Armin’s shoulder twice.
“You have a big heart, kid.
Just make sure it doesn’t get crushed before the new year.
Now, let’s get that sedan finished.
The customer is coming at four.”
“Yes, sir,” Armin replied, feeling a tiny spark of determination return to his chest.
He grabbed his tools and headed back to the garage bay, pushing his mother’s ghost and his brother’s harsh words deep down into the back of his mind.
By 7:00 PM, the garage was ready to close for the day.
The sedan’s owner had picked it up at 5:00 PM.
Armin cleaned up the workspace, returning all the tools that were lying around back into their designated compartments.
He removed his grease-stained overalls and changed into his faded jeans and black t-shirt—clothes he had owned since his mother was still around.
He didn’t know whether to feel sad for himself or grateful that his petite frame had saved him from outgrowing them.
Except for underwear, he hadn’t owned a single piece of new clothing since his mother left.
He had bills and debts to pay, food to put on the table, and a father who requested money every now and then just to squander it on drinks and cigarettes.
Zach didn’t have the guts to ask Archer for a single cent.
He knew his son was a handsome psycho who wouldn’t mind breaking his own father’s leg if he found out a single note had been drawn from his pocket.
Armin locked up the garage and handed the keys to his boss before climbing into the open truck bed.
His boss usually dropped him off after work.
When the truck stopped in front of his house, Armin jumped down, waved goodbye as the truck took off, and walked inside.
The front door was wide open.
His dad was lying on the empty living room floor, snoring heavily with a pool of saliva drooling from the side of his mouth.
The house reeked of cigarettes, unwashed bodies, sweat, and cheap liquor.
Armin shook his head in disappointment.
Even though he was completely used to it, he still wished he could come home one day and find his father doing anything other thing than being passed out from drunkenness.
He walked into his bedroom and set his bag on the tiny bed he shared with Archer.
Strolling to the bathroom, he took a long, cold shower and changed into his briefs.
He then went to the kitchen, his stomach grumbling impatiently as he scanned the empty fridge for anything edible.
He found two apples, one of which had already been bitten into.
It must be Archer, he thought.
Of course it was Archer.
He hopped back to his bedroom with light steps, feeling deeply grateful for another productive day.
Payday was only two days away, and the thought of it brought a melodious hum to his throat.
He bit into the apple, chewing happily as he hummed along to the happy rhymes playing in his head.
His finger waved through the air like a music conductor, a fulfilling smile gracing his face as he closed his eyes and leaned into the rhythm.
Payday is coming!
Payday is coming!!
Payday is coming!!!
He broke into a happy dance, throwing his hands in the air and making funny, carefree moves with his slender legs.
But just as he threw his head back with a loud, joyful laugh, a violent bang shook the front door.
Panic pierced his heart.
Armin froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat.
He stood still and listened.
The banging sounded again and became a persistent, furious assault, accompanied by the muffled, angry screams of at least three different people.
His eyes flew wide open.
His teeth chattered, his legs quivered in pure terror, and goosebumps broke out across his arms.
He wished fiercely that Archer was here.
His brother was braver—Armin had always felt like Archer was his personal Great Wall of China.
He wished he had a phone to call him, but while Archer owned one, Armin couldn’t bring himself to spend money on a new phone.
He had been hoping to buy a cheap phone in the coming year, only after the family debt was finally cleared.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The heavy blows hit the wood as if they meant to tear the door right off its hinges.
Armin grabbed a dressing robe, flinging it over his small body.
Moving on autopilot, his terrified legs wobbled toward the living room.
His eyes flashed to the corner of the room—his dad was still dead asleep.
Through all this deafening noise, Zach hadn’t even stirred.
Armin was on his own.
He knew he was completely on his own.
Today, I have to act like Archer, Armin told himself, trying to channel his brother’s fierce bravery.
He assumed his father had caused trouble with someone at the gambling dens, and the aggrieved party had followed him all the way home.
Armin straightened his posture, tied the belt of his robe tightly, put on the most unbothered poker face he could summon, and slid back the deadbolt.
But the moment the door swung open and he saw the angry, torch-lit crowd led by Madam Margaret, his brave facade shattered completely.
Madam Margaret was feared by everyone in town.
She was the ruthless owner of the local brothel that Archer frequented, and she was notorious for protecting her trade with a bloody fist.
Armin’s mind raced.
Perhaps Archer enjoyed the pleasures of her place and refused to pay, he thought desperately.
That has to be why she’s here…
right?
“Where is Archer?!” Margaret thundered, her voice slicing through the night air.
The men behind her held heavy wooden clubs, their faces twisted in rage.
“What does he owe you?!” Armin fired back, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to sound strong.
“Tell me the amount!
I can pay it on payday!”
“He owes me his life!” Margaret roared, stepping across the threshold and grabbing Armin by the collar of his robe.
“He killed one of my girls!
He murdered Ivy this morning!
Now tell me where that psycho bastard is before i burn this house down with you in it!”
The words hit Armin like a physical blow.
The world spun violently.
His legs completely gave way, and he slumped hard against the dirty front porch post.
His chest heaved with a suffocating fear.
The loud, frantic pounding of his own heart filled his ears, drowning out the shouting of the angry crowd.
Oh, Archer…
Oh, brother…
What have you done?
Armin’s lips quivered uncontrollably, and a torrent of hot tears finally poured down his face, washing away the last remnants of his beautiful new year dreams.