siebe zijlstra is the kind of bad boy you don’t mess with. always keeping people at arm’s length and fiercely protective of his own space. rebellious and sharp-tongued, he hates anyone poking their nose into his business, especially when it’s wrapped in pity or fake concern.

living on the edge, he sells weed and pills on the side, mostly keeping it quiet, but the drag racing scene? that’s where he’s in his element, adrenaline and speed pulsing through every move.

he works part-time at the autoshop, grease-stained and focused, always smelling like oil and burnt rubber. there’s a dagger tattoo right below his ribs on the right side, like a silent warning.

selling fake ids is part of his side hustle, with a little help from eren, but when you come to him looking for a favor, he’s not quick to say yes. maybe it’s because you don’t quite fit in with his world. too clean, too innocent, or maybe just someone he doesn’t want to get tangled up with.

“look,” he says, voice low and rough as he exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s already over the conversation. “i don’t do business with people who don’t know how to handle themselves. this isn’t a game.”