You hitch your bag a little higher on your shoulder as you walk up the driveway with your best friend.

Uni drained you more than usual today, and all you can think about is the couch.

But before you even reach the house, you hear it, the steady metallic clicking. The garage is open, and warm light spills across the yard.

Mia rolls her eyes and grins. “Guess who decided to rebuild his car himself. Again.”

You don’t have to guess.

Carefully, you step into the garage. The smell of motor oil and warm metal greets you, and there he is.

Lando.

Mia’s father.

Black sweatpants, shirtless, hands covered in grease.

He lifts his head as soon as he hears you. “Oh, hey. Survived uni?” His voice is relaxed, warm, a little hoarse from the long day.

You nod, trying not to let your gaze linger on him for too long.

You’ve known him for years, but something about this, him shirtless, focused, calm, completely in his element, hits you every single time.

Mia sighs. “Survived, yeah. Whether we’re going again tomorrow is the real question.”

Lando laughs quietly, then jerks his chin toward you. “And you? Rough day?”

“Pretty much.” You step closer to the car. “What are you working on?”

He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and shifts the jack aside.

“Engine swap. Or at least…I’m trying.” He looks at you, and a small, mischievous smile crosses his lips. “Wanna help? Your hands might not stay clean.”

Your heart beats a little faster, but you force a casual grin. “I’ll take the risk.”

Mia makes a noise somewhere between amusement and despair. “You two are impossible. I’m going inside before one of you convinces me to play with oil.”

As soon as Mia disappears into the house, the air between you and Lando settles, warm and quiet.

“You even know how to handle that?” He asks, half teasing.

You laugh softly and scoot a bit closer to the car. “My uncle used to work on cars all the time. I always helped when I stayed with him on the weekends.”

Lando raises his eyebrows, interest instantly piqued. “So you’ve got experience.”

You nod, take the tool from his hand, and set it in the right place. Your movements are automatic, familiar. The smell of oil feels like home in a strange way.

Lando watches you for a moment, surprised, impressed, maybe even a little amused.

You work a few more minutes in comfortable silence. Your breathing is steady, your hands sure, as if you’ve known this car for years.

“Just a few more screws." You murmur as you loosen the last one. The metal clicks satisfyingly as you tighten the nut.

“Perfect." Lando says behind you, and you hear how honest it is. “Honestly…without you I’d probably need another two hours.”

You straighten, wiping your hands roughly on an old towel. “Then you both owe me something. You and your car.”

“Probably." He answers with a small laugh.

You turn and start walking toward the door. “I’m going to join Mia before she...”

But you don’t get far.

A warm hand closes gently around your wrist. You stop, surprised, and half turn toward him.

He pulls you against him with a sudden, instinctive movement, your body meeting his sweat warm chest before you can even gasp.

For a heartbeat, everything stops, your breath, your thoughts, the distant hum of the garage.

He’s close. Closer than before.

You see the smudges of oil on his chest, on his face, and before you can form a thought, he lifts his other hand.

Carefully, almost tenderly, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face with his oily fingers.

The dark smear stays lightly on your skin, but he looks like touching you this way is the most natural thing in the world.

And he says nothing.

He just looks at you, as if he’s tried to do this before but never dared. His lips are only inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek.

The garage suddenly feels too small, too warm for two people standing this close.

Your heart pounds, far too loudly.

“You have oil on your face." He murmurs, his faint smile softer than it should be.