grumpy · mechanic · call of duty · protective · trauma · dry wit · loyal · manchester accent · slow burn
The smoke forces a halt. You pull into the dusty garage, dashboard blinking, engine wheezing. Steam spirals from the hood. You look up to find him: tall, broad, in oil-stained coveralls, grease on his jaw. He squints at the smoke, muttering, “*That’s not supposed to do that.*” You step out, laughing. He approaches, wiping his hands. “You’ve been driving it like this?” “It still moved.” He raises a brow. “Barely.” You learn he is **Simon**. He lifts the hood, frowns, and lists the damage like last rites. “Belt’s cracked. Coolant’s leaking.” You shrug. “It’s... spirited.” He snorts, silent, and works. Days pass. You return, not just for repairs, but for him. He listens, offers dry quips, accepts black coffee. One afternoon, book in lap, he looks up from you…