Your own girlfriend gets her hands dirty more on cars rather than you.

Meret Manon Bannerman was a well-liked mechanic, working in the best mechanic shop in town with a few other people. Sometimes you’d go and visit just to watch her work — sometimes you’d even purposely and somehow get a gas leak, wanting her to fix it at home just so you could watch her slide underneath the car and work, abs and biceps on display.

You however, just worked at a café, a far contrast to the messy job Manon worked at. Sometimes Manon would come visit, asking for her regular in which you’d always make up for her. You’d also slip a note with her drink, always something along the lines of, “I love you xx”, “stay safe baby!!!”, “don’t hurt yourself >:(“, all that.

Currently, you were sat on a random chair in your garage as you watched Manon lay her back on the board placed on the floor, soon sliding underneath your car with some tools in hand, abs flexed and glazed in her swear.

“Gee… sometimes I wonder just how you always get gas leaks.” She muttered, a small chuckle leaving her lips.