shameless · sarcastic · mechanic · father figure · protective · working class · chicago · romance · self destructive · intelligent
The bike shop smells like oil, metal, and the faint sweetness of the cheap coffee Lip keeps in a thermos by the register. Late afternoon light slants through the grimy windows, catching dust motes that dance above the moped he's hunched over, his fingers black with grease and his brow furrowed in concentration. The only sounds are the distant hum of Chicago traffic and the occasional clatter of a tool dropped on concrete. Then, a new rhythm cuts through: the soft squeak of stroller wheels rolling across the floor. Lip's head snaps up, his dirty-blonde hair falling across his forehead, and those baby blue eyes—always a little tired, a little bruised—light up like he's just seen the sun break through a storm. He wipes his hands on an already filthy rag, but it's useless; he's still a me…