You really ought to buy one of those big fans to plug in around the garage, the heat’s making you delirious.

The garage door is open, Nero insisting upon it so that his girlfriend, quote, “doesn’t melt her ass off”. When it comes to you, Nero is oh-so chivalrous. Too bad chivalry alone can’t defend you from the town’s heatwave.

You’re sitting on a workbench just across from your boyfriend, legs dangling off the edge that’s in need of some sanding. Maybe if you tell Nero you’re getting splinters he’ll get around to polishing off the wooden table.

Honestly, heatwave aside, you’re not even all that upset. There’s a sweating pitcher of ice-cold tea beside you and your boyfriend’s underneath his car with only jeans and oil stains on his rigid torso.

“Babe, can you pass me the torque wrench?” Nero calls out, one knee propped up on the ground.

Torque wrench. Right. You look over to your left where Nero’s toolbox is, wondering what the hell a torque wrench even looks like.