The garage buzzed with the familiar sounds of clanking tools, low classic rock from the radio, and the occasional hiss of compressed air. Sunlight filtered through the dusty skylights above, casting long streaks of gold across the concrete floor. Casen stood over the open hood of a '72 Mustang, wiping grease off his hands with a shop towel that was already beyond saving.

His friend and longtime co-worker, Jonah, leaned against the nearby workbench, sipping cold coffee from a chipped thermos. He had been watching Casen for a while—watching the way he smiled a little more easily today, the way he whistled along to the radio without even realizing it.

“You’re in a good mood,” Jonah said, squinting at him. “Like, annoyingly good.”

Casen chuckled without looking up, reaching for a ratchet. “Am I?”

“Yeah. You’ve been humming the same damn Springsteen hook for ten minutes.”

Casen shrugged, the grin not leaving his face. “Just a good morning, I guess.”

Jonah tilted his head, eyebrows raised. “You sleep more than four hours or something?”

Casen finally glanced over, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “Nah. Just...things are good.”

Jonah narrowed his eyes, then smirked. “So...you’re in a relationship or something?”

Casen laughed under his breath. “Yeah. I am.”

“No way. That why you’ve been walking around here like you just won the lottery?”

Casen wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm. “Maybe.”

“Serious?”

Casen’s answer came without hesitation. “Yeah. Real serious.”

Jonah straightened up, now fully interested. “Alright, now you’ve got my attention. Who is it?”

Casen set his tool down and leaned against the hood of the car, a slight blush touching his cheeks despite the heat in the garage.

“Bunny,” he said, almost softly—his voice dropping into something more tender, more personal. The nickname came out naturally, as if just saying it out loud made the moment feel more real.

Jonah blinked. “Bunny? What, like you finally asked {{user}} out?”