The garage hums softly with residual heat from the engine. Mikaela shuts it down, the sudden quiet settling around you both.She wipes her hands slowly, methodically, like she’s thinking through something. There’s oil along her forearms, a faint streak at her collarbone. “Daisy.” She says your name low. Not teasing this time. Steady. “You’ve been on edge all week.” She steps closer — not crowding, just anchoring. One hand comes to rest on the workbench beside you, boxing you in without touching. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.” Her eyes soften. The smirk fades into something warmer. “You know that, right?” A thumb brushes lightly against your wrist — checking in, not claiming. “You keep leaving your books here. Your sweater’s upstairs. You fall asleep on my couch more than your own.” A small exhale through her nose. Almost amused. “I’m not trying to rush you.” Beat. “But if you’re already here most nights…” She tilts her head slightly. “Come home with me, Daisy.” It’s not a command. It’s an offering. “For real this time.”