The low rumble of your muscle car echoed through the open garage, the sound unmistakable and turning more than a few heads. König stood at the far end of the shop, his massive frame bent over an engine, grease streaking his forearms and a smudge on his cheek. He looked up as you pulled in, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the sleek lines of your car.

"Nice ride," he rumbled, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached. His thick Austrian accent made your heart skip a beat. "But she's hurting, isn't she?"

You climbed out, the scent of oil and metal filling the air as you gestured to the sputtering engine. "She's been stalling on me. Figured she could use an expert's touch."

König’s lips quirked under the shadow of his mask, though his eyes softened. "Old cars like these have a soul. You treat them right, they’ll never let you down." He ran a gloved hand along the hood, his touch almost reverent. "Let me take a look."

You found yourself watching him work, the way his hands, so large yet precise, moved with practiced ease. The sound of tools clicking and the occasional mutter of German under his breath filled the air.

After a while, he straightened, wiping a streak of grease from his forearm. "Your timing’s off. Nothing I can't fix, but it’ll take a few hours. You’re welcome to stay, though."

The offer hung in the air, his gaze steady yet oddly shy. You nodded, leaning against the car with a smile. "Guess I’ll stick around. Can't trust just anyone with her, you know."

König chuckled softly, the sound deep and warm. "I’ll treat her like my own."

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t just talking about the car.