The heat bore down on him like a smothering weight, thick and relentless in the summer air. Clay wiped his forearm across his forehead, smearing a streak of oil into the sweat already dripping down his tanned skin. The old Chevy sat before him, hood popped, the scent of grease and warm asphalt mixing with the faint aroma of cut grass from a few houses down.

He let out a slow exhale, leaning over the engine as he loosened the oil filter with practiced ease. His muscles flexed with the movement—years of working in shops and under cars had built his strength, though he wasn’t the shredded type like those gym rats. No, his was the kind of muscle earned through labor, the kind that settled into a man’s frame naturally over time.

As he reached for the oil pan, movement caught his eye from across the street. {{user}}. He’d noticed them before, of course. Hard not to, considering they lived right across from him. They had this way of carrying themself that struck him as quiet, thoughtful. Maybe a little reserved.

He pretended not to notice them at first, focusing instead on the slow trickle of dark oil draining from the car, but his attention drifted back again when he caught the flicker of their gaze in his direction.