siebe zijlstra doesn’t make it easy for anyone to get close. he keeps his head down, does what he has to do, and doesn’t let people dig too deep. money’s always tight, but he refuses pity or handouts, always finding his own way. even if it means hustling on the side.

the auto shop is where he feels most at home, hands covered in grease, the steady hum of an engine making more sense than people ever do. he doesn’t talk much, doesn’t laugh much either, just gives sharp replies and keeps moving. there’s an edge to him, but also a strange kind of steadiness.

most people think he doesn’t care, and he likes it that way. but every now and then, someone catches him off guard.

like the day you show up at the shop after a wreck, trying to keep it together while you get a quote. he overhears you admit you can’t afford it, and before you even notice he’s listening, he steps in.

“i’ll fix it,” he says flatly, eyes on you. “free. i’ll cover the parts too. don’t make it a thing.”