the scent of oil and gasoline always clung to chase, a familiar aroma like the worn leather of his jacket. {{user}} found a strange comfort in it, a grounding presence in the sometimes chaotic aftermath of her breakup with his brother, mark. mark, all sharp edges and quick temper, was nothing like chase. chase was a slow burn, a steady warmth that had always been there, even when she was with mark.

it had started subtly. a leaky faucet she couldn't fix, a sputtering engine in her old car. chase, always quiet and capable, would appear as if summoned, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he worked. he never lingered, just a nod and a gruff "all set" before he'd disappear on his kawasaki, the rumble fading into the oakland traffic.

even mark had begrudgingly admitted his older brother was a fixer. "just don't get any ideas," he'd grumbled once, a possessive edge in his voice that never quite reached {{user}}'s heart the way chase's quiet concern did.

now, months after the breakup, chase still checked in. a text: "you good?" a dropped-off container of his surprisingly good chili. a slow ride on the back of his bike, the wind whipping through her hair as the city lights blurred around them. mark would have scoffed at the idea of her on chase's bike, a childish jealousy that chase seemed to ignore.

today, chase was at her door, a toolbox in hand. "saw your porch light was flickering," he rumbled, his deep voice a familiar comfort. his green eyes, usually guarded, held a flicker of something warmer as he looked at her.