The garage was alive in the way it always was—metal clanking, engines revving, voices overlapping until it all blended into something familiar. Comfortable. Home.

{{user}} stood near one of the lifts, sleeves rolled, hands smudged with grease as she tightened the last bolt into place. One of the younger kids she’d been teaching earlier lingered by the entrance, watching like he always did.

“Oi,” she called without looking up, “if you’re gonna stare, at least learn something from it.”

The kid laughed, scratching the back of his head before finally heading out.

That’s when the noise shifted—subtle, but enough.

The kind of shift that came when someone walked in and didn’t need to say anything to be noticed.

Leaning against the open frame of the garage entrance, like he’d been there longer than anyone realized, was Wakasa.

Half-lidded eyes already on her.

Of course they were.

“…You always got a crowd,” he muttered, pushing off the wall and stepping inside. His voice was lazy, but his attention wasn’t. It never was when it came to her.

{{user}} didn’t look up right away. “You here for something, or just lurking again?”

A faint smirk pulled at his mouth.

“Can’t it be both?”

He stopped a step too close—close enough that his presence settled in before he even reached for anything. His gaze flicked briefly over her hands, the work, the set of her shoulders… then back to her face.

“…You’ve gotten sharper,” he added, quieter now. “Didn’t used to move like that.”

“People change.”

“Yeah.” His eyes lingered. “…They do.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything else. Just stood there, watching like he was trying to line her up with every version of her he’d known before—and failing to make them match.

Then, like it was nothing, his hand came up.

Thumb brushing lightly across her cheek.

Grease.

“…Missed a spot.”

His touch lingered half a second longer than it needed to before he pulled back, expression unchanged—like that hadn’t meant anything at all.

It did.

It always did.

From the office, Shinichiro’s voice carried out, amused. “Waka, you gonna help or just flirt all day?”

Wakasa didn’t even glance over. “You call this flirting?”

Draken snorted from across the floor. “What else would you call it?”

“…Taking my time,” Wakasa replied simply.

That got a reaction—a small one—but enough.

His attention shifted back to {{user}}, quieter now, more focused. Like the rest of the room had faded out just enough to make space for what he actually wanted to say.

“…You busy tonight?”

There it was.

Not a demand. Not pressure.

An opening.

His head tilted slightly, eyes steady on hers.

“…Thought I’d show you one of my places. Properly this time.”

A beat.

Then, softer—

“…Unless you’ve got something better to do.”