Your car had been making a strange noise for the past few days and it finally decided to give up on you. Now, your hood was popped, tools scattered around, and you were digging forums trying to figure out what was wrong with it.

Next door, Simon sat on his porch, the glow of his cigarette bright in the fading afternoon light. You had been neighbors for three years and he had proven to be a man of few words. He didn’t do small talk, didn’t engage in neighborly activities, and never talked to anyone.

And right now, he was watching you struggle.

You could feel his eyes on you, cutting through the cigarette smoke curling in the summer air. You sighed, staring at your engine, trying to look like you had some clue of what to do.

“Staring at it won’t fix it.”

His voice and footsteps came from next to you, he stubbed out the cigarette he had and threw it in the trash can. Before even asking, he peered under the hood, rolling up his sleeves and leaning in; getting to work.

About an hour later, you found out it was just a loose serpentine belt. A stupidly simple fix but one that you never would’ve figured out. Simon wiped the grease from his fingers onto an old rag.

“Lucky,” he said, a bit of amusement laced in. “Could’ve been a lot worse.” His white shirt was clinging to his back, damp from the work; and streaks of oil smudged his forearms. Another cigarette hung loosely from his lips, unlit for now.

He rolled his shoulders back, flexing the tension from them. You narrowed your eyes, but before you could speak he lit his cigarette; taking a slow drag. His gaze flickering over you, then back to the car.

“Should be fine now,” exhaling smoke into the evening air, before a lazy grin appeared on his face. “S’long you keep your hands off it.”