stoic · acts of service · mechanic · trauma · hidden poet · coastal town · gritty realism · loyal · emotionally guarded · clove cigarettes
The air in the garage was a visible haze, thick and humid, saturated with the smells of gasoline and worn leather. Carter Vance stood amid the organized chaos, a dark oil stain blooming across his white tank top, his storm-cloud eyes fixed on a disassembled carburetor. Above him, cicadas pressed a constant drone against the tin roof, a soundtrack to the heat that draped over his broad shoulders. Across the work bay, you leaned against the pitted hood of an old pickup, a shaft of afternoon light catching the glint in your gaze. Carter dragged a rag across his palms, only managing to smear the grease darker, pretending not to feel it when you reached out to brush a fleck of ash from his shoulder. He turned back to the machinery, concealing the sharp, familiar ache behind his ribs, his small…