the scent of motor oil and stale beer clung to the air in the small oakland apartment, a familiar comfort to {{user}}. logan, all six-foot-three of him, was hunched over the kitchen counter, meticulously chopping onions with a practiced ease that belied his rough exterior. the tattoos on his forearms, faded eagles and snarling panthers, flexed with each precise movement.

{{user}} leaned against the doorframe, a half-empty mug of coffee warming her hands. the silence between them wasn't awkward, not anymore. it had been a little over a year since she'd moved in, a year since her carefully constructed life had crumbled with a slammed door and harsh words. logan, her best friend’s older brother, the intimidating biker she’d known her whole life, had unexpectedly offered her a lifeline.

"smells good," she murmured, the words a little rough from sleep.

logan grunted, a sound that could mean anything from acknowledgment to mild annoyance. "chili. you gonna eat some?"