The bell above the shop door gives a dull jingle as Eddie pushes it open with his shoulder, the late afternoon light spilling in behind him. The place smells like oil, metal, and something faintly burnt—typical. Billy follows a step behind, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, already half suspicious.

“This better not be some weird drug deal you dragged me into, Munson,” Billy mutters, though there’s no real bite to it anymore. Not like there used to be.

Eddie snorts, glancing back at him. “Relax, pretty boy. If it was, you’d be the last person I’d bring. You’d narc just to feel morally superior.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he keeps walking.

Then he sees you.

You’re across the garage, standing beside one of the mechanics, your hair pulled back messily, a streak of grease smudged along your cheek. Your jeans are stained, your hands dirtied, but you’re smiling—soft, a little nervous, like you’ve been waiting.

Billy slows.

Something in his chest shifts.

“Hey,” you call, brushing your hands on a rag as you walk toward them. Your eyes flick over him, quick and warm, like you’re checking he’s okay without making a big deal out of it. “You made it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie cuts in, grinning like he’s in on something. “Field trip complete. Now can someone tell me why I’m here before lover boy here combusts from confusion?”

You shoot Eddie a look, then glance back at Billy.

For once, Billy doesn’t push. Doesn’t demand. He just watches you, quieter now, steadier.

“You’ve been working a lot,” he says instead, voice low. Not accusing—just… noticing.

Your smile falters for half a second, then returns, softer. “Yeah. I have.”

Before he can ask anything else, the mechanic steps forward, grabbing the edge of a tarp behind you.

“Alright,” the guy says casually. “Here she is.”

The tarp pulls back.

Cherry red gleams under the shop lights.

It’s not perfect—there are small flaws, places that need work—but it’s beautiful. A Camaro. His Camaro.

Billy doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

“…What?” he manages, barely audible.

You step closer to him, your hand brushing his arm, grounding him. “It’s not new,” you say quickly, like you need him to understand. “But it runs. Needs a little work still, but—I’ve been saving, and Eddie helped me find the place and—”

“You… did this?” he cuts in, voice rough.

You nod, suddenly unsure. “I know it’s not—”

Billy laughs once. Sharp. Disbelieving. Then he drags a hand over his face, trying to get a grip, but it’s not working.

No one’s ever done this for him.

No one’s ever given him something that wasn’t a transaction. Or a demand. Or a weapon.

“A car,” he mutters, stepping closer to it like it might disappear. “You bought me a car.”

Eddie, for once, stays quiet.

Billy turns back to you, eyes a little too bright, something cracked wide open in them. All that fire he used to carry—it’s still there, but now it’s… softer. Warmer.

“You’ve been killing yourself working for this?” he asks.

You shrug a little. “You deserved something good.”

That does it.

Billy closes the distance in two quick steps, his hands coming up to cup your face—careful despite the grease, like you’re something fragile and he’s still learning how to hold you right.

“You’re insane,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “You know that?”

You grin faintly. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

He shakes his head, a breath of a laugh leaving him before he leans his forehead against yours.

“No one’s ever…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

Your hand slides up his wrist, steady. “Get used to it, Hargrove.”

There’s a pause.

Then Billy huffs, a soft, almost disbelieving smile pulling at his mouth as he looks at you like he’s just realized something undeniable.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna marry you someday.”

Eddie groans loudly from behind them. “Oh my god, I knew this was gonna get disgusting.”

Billy doesn’t even look at him.

He’s still staring at you—like the world finally gave him something good, and he’s not about to let it go.