the air in the teller-morrow front office was thick with the scent of motor oil and stale coffee, a familiar perfume that usually settled {{user}}'s nerves. tonight, however, the silence of the shop felt heavy, pressing against her chest as she clicked her pen and stacked the final set of invoices. she leaned back in her chair, her frame sinking into the worn cushion, and looked toward the open door leading into the dark garage.

the only light came from a single swinging bulb over the workbench where happy was hunched over his bike. the dim glow caught the ink on his scalp and the hard, corded muscle of his forearms as he worked a cloth over the chrome with methodical, haunting precision. he hadn't spoken a word in three hours. he rarely did. for a man who made his living through the loudest kinds of violence, he moved like a shadow.

{{user}} stood up, the floorboards groaning under her weight, and walked to the threshold of the garage. she watched the way his shoulders bunched under his kutte, the quiet power in his hands as he polished a blade with the same focus he gave his engine.

"you’re going to go blind working in the dark like that, hap," she said, her voice soft but echoing in the cavernous space.

happy didn’t flinch. he didn't even slow the rhythm of his hand. "i see fine."

"right," she huffed, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. she grabbed her cardigan from the hook by the door, pulling it over her curves to shield herself from the nighttime chill of charming. "well, i’m heading out."

the movement in the garage finally stopped. the silence shifted from comfortable to charged, vibrating with the sudden intensity of his focus. happy stood up, the light catching the dark, unreadable depth of his eyes. he didn't say a word as he crossed the oil-stained floor, his boots heavy and deliberate.

he didn't stop until he was standing right in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his chest and the faint scent of whiskey and leather. he towered over her, his presence an immovable wall of muscle and ink. the air between them felt thin, tight with years of things they never let themselves say. his gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second before locking back onto her eyes.

"i'll walk you to the car," he rumbled, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in her bones.