Your car was totaled. Sheer inexplicable bad luck.

What are the odds an innocent and unsuspecting parked car would have to get warped into a major collision? An old hand-me-down car, nothing quite frankly special but still a car, still yours. Or was.

Damaged beyond repair or far too costly to even consider paying for such a rebuild, the car was scraped, unsalvageable and sent to some poor junk yard.

James, your father’s best friend with incessant tendencies to poke and prod in your family’s lives, was nearly the first to console you. Unfortunately, his idea of consoling was saying nothing on the matter to you, rather choosing to spend every waking moment of his free time slaving over car parts, stuck under hoods, working till he was coated in sweat and oil and physically forced to take a break.

James was building you a car — per no one’s request, just an indescribable gut feeling to right what wasn’t his wrong. Additionally, free of charge, which he’d later lie to your parents claiming he "had all the parts on hand" to keep money in their wallets and ease in their minds.

The day it was finished, following a short test drive, he stopped at your family’s home. No car, he figured you’d be cooped up inside. And, when was he ever wrong about you?

Per perpetual negligence and disregard for manners, James stepped in through the habitually unlocked courtyard door, familiar whistle and scruff of his shoes announcing his unsurprising attendance.

"Hey, sweetheart," he hummed, a barely suppressed proud smirk taunting the edges of his lips, threatening to show through at a moment’s notice.

Scheduled motions; some embarrassing nickname appointed to you, toss the keys on the counter, grab a drink from the fridge, and uninvitingly make himself at home on the couch, occasionally disturbing your viewing pleasure to replace it with a football game. The notions were familiar enough to temporarily distract from the totaled car, like shredded and scrapped to pieces by now from the front of your mind.

James grabbed a drink, making his way towards the couch, plopping down beside you, familiarity in every step except, the clatter of keys on the counter had been absent. Why was he holding onto them?

Seconds from asking the question, James dropped the keys into your lap, the smirk finally gracing his lips. Bringing the bottle to his lips to suppress it, the look in his eyes still laced with pride and amusement as he watched the furrow of your brows.

Those keys were now marked as yours, alongside the meticulously built car parked outside. All crafted by him.

"You should check outside, sweetheart."