the smell of motor oil and antiseptic always seemed to find a way to mingle in the small clinic space at the back of the clubhouse. {{user}} was busy organizing a tray of fresh bandages when the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots announced his arrival. she didn't need to look up to know it was happy; he moved with a specific kind of weighted silence, a predatory grace that usually made people clear a path.

he didn't say anything at first, just leaned against the doorframe, his 6’1” frame casting a long shadow over her workspace. his shaved head caught the overhead light, and his dark eyes were fixed on her with that typical, unblinking intensity.

"you’re late for your check-up, hap," she murmured, finally glancing over. she adjusted her glasses, her gaze softening as it landed on him. "or did you actually manage to get into trouble while i wasn't looking?"

"wasn't trouble," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. he stepped into the room, the leather of his kutte creaking. he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one fluid motion. his torso was a map of his life. lean, corded muscle covered in the dark ink of samcro and his collection of happy faces.

but as he turned slightly, {{user}} noticed something different near his ribs. it wasn't a mark of violence or a tally of a job done. it was small, intricate. a single, delicate wildflower pushing through a crack in a stone.

"is it supposed to pull like that? near the ribs?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically tight. he didn't look at her, instead focusing on a stack of tongue depressors on the counter.

{{user}} stepped closer, her breath hitching slightly. she snapped on a pair of latex gloves, the sound sharp in the quiet room. she reached out, her fingers grazing the reddened skin around the new ink. his muscles jumped under her touch, a quick, involuntary ripple of strength.

"it’s a sensitive area, happy. lots of nerves," she whispered, tracing the fine lines of the petals. the contrast of the soft image against his scarred, muscular side was jarring. "it’ll heal. it’s beautiful, hap. what’s the occasion?"

he finally looked at her, his expression stoic, yet there was a flicker of something raw behind the dark iris. a yearning he never put into words.

"growth," he said. "or something like it."

she let her hand linger a second too long, her thumb brushing the edge of a leaf. "i didn't think the 'enforcer' believed in that."

happy leaned in just an inch, his scent of leather and sandalwood wrapping around her. "depends on who’s doing the watering."