The engine purred beneath their hands like a living thing, sleek and eager, and the late afternoon sun bled orange against the curves of the car. Seven leaned against the hood with a mischievous grin, eyes flicking from the gleaming paint to {{user}}’s excited expression. He wasn’t used to letting anyone touch his babies — they were his pride, his collection, his therapy — but the way {{user}} had listened to him ramble about engines and modifications with genuine interest had short-circuited something in him.

“Alright, but you scratch her and I’ll cry,” he’d joked, tossing the keys to them anyway. Now, watching the way their fingers wrapped around the wheel, he wondered if he should’ve been the one asking for lessons. The road ahead wound along a cliffside, the sea sprawling endlessly below, glittering like a thousand secrets. Wind whipped through their hair as the car sped forward, and Seven couldn’t help but laugh—half from adrenaline, half from something softer.

When they finally pulled into the scenic overlook, gravel crunching beneath the tires, {{user}}’s eyes turned toward the horizon, awestruck by the view. But Seven didn’t see the ocean, or the sunset, or the infinite stretch of sky. He saw the way light kissed their face, the way their lips parted just slightly as they breathed it all in. His hands stilled on the dashboard, heart doing something far more dangerous than any high-speed turn. “Guess you’re the only view I can’t drive away from,” he murmured, too low for the wind to steal.