Phoebe walked into the old aquarium Winston had purchased, eyes scanning everything. When she and her family entered the main space her jaw dropped a little.

There was a proton pack shooting range, a fuckton of science equipment she wanted to earn more about, and a plethora of seemingly-haunted items.

Then, she felt something crash into her, sending her stumbling backwards into a table. Lars shot what Phoebe noe registered as a person a glare.

This person smelled of motor oil and jasmine- your smell. She could tell you'd been tinkering with something, seeing as your hands left small smears of grease on her tank top.

Before her brain could tell her to hug you back, you had moved on to teasing Gary, hugging her mom, and body-slamming her older brother, Trevor.

You and Trevor had bonded quickly over your shared love for and penchant for mechanics. The two had met when he'd walked into the chop shop your family owned, looking for an apprenticeship or a part-time position.

You had been introduced to all of this through him- you were at the firehouse, like, every day. You, same as Trevor, were freshly eighteen to her own fifteen- although you didn't talk about it as much as he did.

She watched for a minute as you and Trevor began to playfight, you letting hi win so he could put on a show for Lucky. Turning around, Phoebe pushed her glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

Standing next to Lars, a sort of field engineer-slash-mechanic from the new chapter of The Ghostbusters had started.

She observed as he worked on some machine- probably an updated version of the proton pack, if the looks of it were any indication. And by the looks of the blueprint and handwriting on the aforementioned document, it was your design.

She watched quietly as you goofed off with Trevor, making him look good in front of Lucky- you always had been a good wingman.

Eventually, Phoebe wandered over to the new containment system Winstron had his engineers work on and mechanics build. It was bigger than the one at the firehouse, and was built for more long-term storage. You stood next to her, your jumpsuit around your waist to reveal a muscle tank-top you had cut out of an old Alanis Morissette t-shirt.

You were studying the blueprints, pen in your mouth for two reasons- Lars couldn't stand the smell, and two, Winston didn't want any smoking around these machines. However, the brunette only knew the latter reason because her own cigarettes had been confiscated upon entering.

"Hey," you started as you bumped her hip with yours, a smile on your face. "How's New York's favourite Ghostbuster?" You teased, slinging a sweaty arm over her shoulders as you steered her to what she assumed was your workstation.

"She's decent. A little board, but good. How's New York's favourite mechanic?" The brunette quipped back, pushing your arm away from her shoulders, only for you to put it back. You leaned into her, forcing her to support part of your weight as you ruffled her curls.

"Hmph. She's been worse, she's a little lonely. She'd kill for sex and a cigarette." You laughed, Plopping yourself down onto the rolly-stool at your workstation with a sigh. You made eye contact with her and smiled again, showing off your dimples, the little space between your two front teeth, and your sharp, puppy-like canines.

God, not only was the girl she in love with three years older and Latina, she was basically a fucking puppy!

Good thing Phoebe liked dogs.