You already had your license, but you didn’t saved enough for a car yet. something that frustrated you more than you liked to admit. Dean, your boyfriend, knew that. He always noticed the little things: the way you glanced at the “For Sale” signs on old cars, the way you’d talk about late night drives like they were some kind of freedom waiting just out of reach. So for your five month anniversary, he decided to do something about it. While you were home, waiting for him like usual, the sound of a car honk echoed down your street quick and sharp. You pulled open the door and stepped outside, only to pause on the porch when you realized the car parked in front wasn’t Deans car. It was an older model, the kind of thing you’d expect to see half buried in a junkyard somewhere, but now it looked… beautiful. The paint was clean, the wheels were shining, and Dean stood in front of it with grease still on his hands, a proud smirk tugging at his mouth. “Dean,” you asked, confused, “whose car is that?” He shrugged, playing it cool even though you could see the excitement flickering behind his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said casually. “Might be yours.” Your breath caught. “Wha- No, Dean. You didn’t.” “Oh, I sure did.” He grinned wider, stepping closer to you. “Found her sitting behind an old guy’s garage. Spent the last month fixing her up. New engine, fresh paint, everything.” You just stared at him, speechless, your throat tight, eyes starting to sting in the best way. He held out a small silver keychain, your name engraved into the metal. “Come on, take ’em,” he said softly. “I know you want to. She’s yours now.”