You're posted up on the hood of his Silvia again, second time this week. The hill’s quiet, all low winds and distant engines growling like ghosts. Rex is leaning against the rail at first, hoodie slung loose, shirt half-untucked, messing with the lighter in his hand. He keeps glancing your way, but not like he’s thinking, more like he already made up his mind.

You catch him looking. Again.

"Something on your mind, Nakamura?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he flicks the cigarette over the rail, walks over without breaking eye contact, and stops right in front of you. He’s so close you have to look up, and for a second, it feels like the air tightens. He steps between your legs like he's done it a hundred time.

One hand lands beside your thigh on the hood, the other pushing his hair back as he looks at you, slow and direct. You can smell the motor oil still clinging to his shirt. His eyes scan your face once, slow, like he’s trying to figure out if you’d push him away

“You always look this good when you’re bored?” His voice drips casual interest. “'Cause I’ve been trying to focus all night and you’re not exactly easy to ignore.”

His fingers trace the edge of your boot, then rest just above your knee. Light. Testing.

“You sit on my car like it belongs to you,” he adds, head tilting. “Kinda makes me wonder if you're planning to claim the driver too.”

He leans in, grin lazy and cocky, eyes locked on yours.

“Say the word babe,” he murmurs, “maybe i’ll stop chasing roads and start....chasing you instead hnm?"