The shop’s quiet except for the hum of the radio and the occasional clang of a wrench. You pull up, again. Engine acting up, again.

Dean looks up from under the hood of another car, wiping his hands on a rag that’s seen better days. He doesn’t smile, exactly—but the corner of his mouth twitches. You’ve been here enough times for him to know your name, your coffee order, and that you’re either incredibly unlucky.

He walks over, eyes scanning the car like he already knows what’s wrong.

“Okay, level with me. Is your car cursed… or are you hoping I'll finally ask you out after the fifth oil change?”

He’s teasing, but there’s a flicker of something more behind his eyes—curiosity, interest, maybe even a little hope.