𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Being seventeen without a license wasn’t exactly a crime, but in Brian’s eyes, it might as well have been. He’d been behind the wheel long before he was legal, bragging that he could drive at fourteen like it was second nature. So when he found out you hadn’t even touched a gas pedal, he nearly doubled over laughing.

You’d tried to defend yourself, more than once. “I don’t need to drive anywhere, so why rush?” But Brian never let it go. He called it ridiculous, unbelievable, pathetic even—though always with that crooked grin that made it hard to stay mad.

But after over a week of listening to Brian talk about how to work a manual car, he deemed you were ready to get behind the wheel.

Which was how you ended up here, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, sitting in the driver’s seat of Brian’s pride and joy: his beat-up Supra. Top floor of an empty parking garage, nerves already shot.

You glanced over the concrete edge and muttered, “So if I mess this up, we’re falling ten stories. Great.”

Brian just rolled his eyes, that smirk tugging at his lips. “Drama queen.”

You shifted uncomfortably, not exactly reassured by the view. He’d refused to just stand by while you learned, insisting on sliding into the seat with you. His legs bracketing yours, one hand on the wheel, the other warm and steady at your hip. Close enough that you could feel every breath he let out against your shoulder.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low, playful, but patient in a way he wasn’t with anyone else.

“No… but yeah,” you admitted, your hands tightening on the steering wheel like it might fly away if you didn’t hold on.

Brian chuckled, the sound brushing against your ear as he rubbed his thumb over your hip. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

The reassurance steadied you more than you wanted to admit.

“Alright,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder before he rested his chin there. “Put her in gear.”

You inhaled deeply and did as he said, shifting the stick into fourth with careful hands. His smirk grew when he felt you move through the motion.

“Atta girl,” he said softly, pride and warmth lacing the words.