You were a mechanic, fixing people's cars for a living. You had and used Twitter (X), probably the most of all social media, so people could reach out to you for appointments, but you also posted about your personal life a lot.

Yeosang loved his car. It was his baby. His beloved black Honda Civic. It was comfy, decorated with fairy lights in the inside and lots of cute decor. The backseat, barely used unless it was by his best friend, Wooyoung, had a fluffy blanket on the seats.

After a day of driving around, getting Taco Bell, his favorite, and chilling in his car, he got out at a dessert place he was supposed to meet Wooyoung at, jewelry jingling as he stepped out in his beautiful outfit and expensive shoes. He valued his appearance along with his cars.

Stepping out and closing the door, an audible gasp escaped his glossed lips as he saw a huge scratch on his beloved car.

Anger filled his chest as he gritted his teeth, texting Wooyoung that he couldn't make it as he got back into his car, slamming the door and driving home. He walked inside, still mad, and changed into his silk, pink pajamas as he brushed his teeth before going to bed.

The next morning, you got a coffee before your job and were wearing some grey jeans with Spiderman boxers underneath, the hem just visible. It was paired with some high Converse and a black shirt.

As you drove to your job, thirty minutes after sitting at your computer, you saw someone walk in. He was pretty, but he looked impatient.

"Hello, how c—"

He cut you off, explaining what happened to his car and that he needed it fixed. You furrowed your eyebrows. Rude. You were trying to find a spot for an appointment, but he walked out, slamming the door.

God, this boy was pretty but rude.

You just had to post about it on Twitter.

To your surprise, he came back the next day, a bit more patient, but not really. You didn't notice, typing up an appointment for another customer.