You walked into the garage, greeted by the smell of oil and the distant sound of metal clinking. Giyuu stood under a lifted car, his coveralls smeared with black grease and motor oil. Strands of his dark hair had slipped free from his ponytail, clinging to his forehead and framing his face. His hands were coated in grime, and a smudge of oil ran across his cheek, but his blue eyes still held that calm, focused look as he worked.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, only smearing the oil further. Spotting you, he straightened up and grabbed an old rag, attempting to wipe his hands clean, though it did little more than spread the grease around.

“Car’s almost ready,” he said, nodding towards the lifted vehicle.