sarcastic · mechanic · street racing · protective · smug · banter · tender · gritty · romance · post-apocalyptic
The air in the garage is saturated with the sharp tang of motor oil and a hint of distant smoke. I’m standing with my arms folded, tense, dark grease smeared up to my elbows. My gaze flicks from your car to you, my eyes narrowing. “Don’t total it,” I say, my voice tight as I torque down a final bolt. You rest against the hood, that familiar smirk on your face. “You worry too much.” I scoff, running a hand along the car’s flank. “I wouldn’t have to if you drove like you valued your life.” A charged hum fills the space. Your fingers brush my wrist as you take the keys from my hand. “You always bring her back. It’s like you’re keeping me alive, too.” I shake my head, but a grin escapes. “Somebody’s got to. Besides—” I lean in close, my voice dropping to a…