oh, i’m missing you.

It was a year of sunset-glazed rooftop gardens and broken air conditioning units — July of 2039. These warmer months brought along flowers and harvest, but they also dragged pollen and mosquitoes with them. No one’s ever grateful for the winter cold until allergies kick in, and the summer heat is never welcomed until you’re held up in the frozen snow, shivering violently in a downpour of ice. You were standing over a flashy Mazda MX-5, working to swap the engine with that of a Supra’s 2JZ. Chapped flecks of white paint were peeling onto your jeans, and you briefly wondered if car wrap services should be your next side hustle. The harsh smell of the garage was something you weren’t sure you’d ever grow accustomed to. It was greasy floors, flickering fluorescent lighting that threatened to fall from the sky at any minute, the tinge of burnt rubber. There wasn’t anyone left there with you, not at this time of night. They had all cleared out long ago, but you were never the type to discard a project you had already started. Especially when you knew you could finish it if you just gave it another hour.

You hear it before you see it, the sharp rattle of a ruined car sliding into your garage like it owned the entire world. Right then, only one of two things could occur: 1. the sun explodes in a bright white blasting fury across the entire earth and boils you dead, or 2. you’re forced to stay a whole lot later than you initially planned for. You’ve placed your bet on option two. A matte black Nissan 240SX, complete with a faded red stripe that wrapped around the midsection. It was full of makeshift repairs– duct tape holding up the front bumper, scrapes covered by black sharpie. The kind of thing you’d see on a first-time driver’s car. While you weren’t too well-versed in the street racing underworld, it certainly doesn’t take an idiot to see that this car has been in a race (or twenty). The left side sank down heavy to the floor, surely the cause of that incessant rattle and a definite sign of a shot suspension. You squinted into the deeply tinted windshield, searching for any sign of life beneath glass. You tried to imagine who could be driving such a thing: a tall, skinny man, dark brown hair that is just beginning to gray at the edges, ratty unkempt beard framing his chiseled jawline.

That’s not who comes out.

Instead, it’s her. Stained wife beater, jeans one size too big, converse that are falling apart at the seams, and sun-touched auburn hair cut back into a harsh mullet that framed the freckles dotting across her face.

“Hey,” she said, as if this was normal. As if she was always rolling up to random mechanics with her car sounding like judgement day had come.

You should’ve told her to leave. Should’ve said you were closed and to come back tomorrow. But something about the look in her eyes caught your attention, made you feel like you were the last chance she had. So, you scoffed right back. “Hey?”

“You fix cars or just stand there looking confused?” Her voice was deep and tired, but weirdly sharp. Everything about her screamed trouble. 

“Right now?” You glanced down at your watch. The neon green letters flashed tauntingly back at you: 11:27pm. Yeah, option two was looking real possible right now.

The girl merely shrugged, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her sagging jeans. “If not, I’ll find someone else.”

As much as you hated to admit it, her words lit a flicker of irritation in your chest. It felt like a challenge. Like she was saying you couldn’t do it. “I didn’t say no.”

The corner of her mouth twisted up into a smirk– quick, you couldn’t help but think that she didn't mean for you to catch it. “Didn’t sound like much of a yes either.”

You tossed the oily rag you kept in your waistband up onto the workbench, wiping your palms against your thighs one last time for good measure. “Depends how bad you screwed it up. Looks like you drive this thing like you hate it.”

“I get that a lot,” she said, not even blinking. “But it still runs. That’s gotta count for a little bit of brownie points, right?”

“We’ll see.” You shook your head, stepping around her to reach the wreck she called a car. You stole a glance into the open passenger side window as you sauntered around. The dash was cracked, the glove box hanging by hopes and dreams. You took note of the roll cage, the lack of backseats, the rather bare interior. Definitely a racer. A faded out sticker on the rearview mirror caught your eye: if you can read this, i’m already gone.

Outside, tires screeched and a woman screamed. Just background noise in this part of the city. The overhead lights buzzed like angry mosquitoes and you flicked on the beaten radio to drown out the uncomfortable background noise. Static, then a guitar riff, then the sound of a man’s voice. 

Well, come and get it now–

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here in a dingy garage so late at night?” Her voice was pure tease now.

“Flattery’s not gonna make me work faster,” you quipped, flashing her a glare over your shoulder.

“Didn’t say I was trying to be fast,” she said, trailing after you with her hands still deep in her pockets, lazily strolling along like she all of a sudden had all the time in the world. Like she didn’t just disturb your entire night.

You grinned, looking back over your shoulder again with a mischievous glint now dancing in your eyes. “Good. ‘Cause judging by your suspension, you’re not great at going fast anyway.”

She chuckled, low and rough and warm all at once. “Touché.”

You circled back around to the front of the car, crouching down to the concrete floor to get a better look at the sagging frame. She leaned against the matte black hood, arms crossed, watching you with a heat that roasted your skin. You fought to not stare at her arms. The muscle dragged you in, and some part of you longed to trace your fingers along her tattoo. 

“You never told me your name.”

“Williams. Ellie Williams.” Her tone was casual, short. It held a louche quality that hinted at depravity. You yearned to know more, but you held your tongue. “You?”

“___.”

There was something electric hanging in the air now, humming under the harsh buzz of the fluorescent garage lights. You wiped your hands on your jeans again, more to keep busy now than anything else.

“Suspension’s fucked,” you said finally, tapping the left side of the hood. “I’d bet you bottomed out hard. Frame’s probably cracked too… if you were lucky enough to hit a curb instead of some other racer.”

Ellie gave a low whistle. “Bottomed out hard, huh?” she repeated, pushing off her car slow and easy until she was standing just a little too close. Close enough that you could smell the vague scent of gasoline and something sharp-sweet on her. Leather, maybe, and smoke. “I’ve heard that before.”

A blush passed over your cheeks and your heart threatened to sink down into your stomach. You breathed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

She lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused at your fidgeting. You let the blush take over as you popped the hood, the overbearing smell of hot oil engulfing your senses almost immediately. Ellie moved to be at your side, her shoulders brushing yours as she leaned in for a look.

“Something wrong there too?” she asked.

“You sure you wanna know?” you were the one teasing now, giving her a sideways glance.

Ellie shrugged, accompanied with a lazy tilt of her head. “Already here. Might as well hear all the bad news.”

You rattled off a condensed list. Bent control arm, possible steering rack damage, probable oil leak. She just nodded along like you were reciting a grocery list and she was your incompetent husband.

“No big deal,” she sighed, her breathing ragged and uneven. “How long will it take to fix?”

You stared at her, struggling to hide the dumbfounded look plastered across your face. “You’re either incredibly rich or incredibly stupid.”

She smirked. “Why not both?”

That pulled a breathy laugh out of you before you could stop it. A real one, not the hollow kind you gave old men trying to sweet-talk their way into a discount.

“Give me an hour to tear it down,” you said, stepping back and wiping the sweat that had accumulated on your brow. “See if it’s worth saving, then another to fix it.”

Ellie nodded, but it didn’t seem like she was really listening all too well. She leaned her hip against the workbench, freckled arms crossed over her grimy shirt, staring at you like you were the main event and it wasn’t at all a possibility that she could lose her car.

“You’re not gonna hover the whole time, are you?” you coughed, fake annoyance dripping from your teeth.

“Maybe,” She grinned fully this time. Lazy, cocky, dangerous even. “Unless you can’t handle a little pressure.”

You snorted under your breath and ducked your head back into the engine bay, hiding the stupid smile that was threatening to spread across your face.

“Trust me,” you muttered, “you’re not that scary.”

Ellie leaned down to meet you under the propped-up hood, hovering her lips just beside your ear. The feeling of her breath careening down your neck made you shiver.

“You haven’t seen me drive.”

The next two hours passed in a blur of wrenches, grease stains, and the sharp intensity of Ellie’s gaze burning into the back of your neck. She didn’t hover, not exactly, she lingered. She rarely spoke, just leaned against the bench or paced slow circles around the garage, an unlit joint dangling from her lips. Every time you turned to grab a tool, there she was, tossing it to you without a second thought. Each time your fingers would brush she’d smile like she had just won a point, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

At some point, you stopped pretending not to notice.

You slammed the hood closed, a lot harder than necessary, and tried to shake the uncomfortable heat prickling on the back of your neck.

“You’re good to go,” you said, tossing a rag onto the bench beside Ellie. “Mostly.”

Ellie shoved off the wall, sauntering over to you until she was all in your space again. Not that you moved away. “Mostly,” she repeated, that familiar grin spreading across her face. “That your professional opinion?”

“Professional opinions are extra,” you grinned back, taunting.

She chuckled low under her breath, eyes flickering over you in a way that made your entire body tense up. Slow, less like she was sizing you up and more like she wanted to memorize your every curve.

“Good thing I’m a generous tipper,” she said, her voice dipping a little lower.

“Treat it like glass,” you said, tugging at your shirt collar uncomfortably. “Or you’ll be back in a week and it’ll be a whole hell of a lot worse.”

“Good,” her eyes were suddenly serious, a dark look crossing her face in a way that made your pants almost fall clean off your hips. “Was planning on coming back anyway.”

You raised a brow. “Yeah? What else you need?”

She shrugged, a casual but deliberate movement. You could tell she was trying to seem cool. It was kind of cute. “A mechanic.”

“...You offering me a job?”

“Depends,” she spoke carefully, stepping in closer. The air between you crackled with electricity. “You any good at fixing more than busted suspensions?”

Before you could answer she had stepped back, grabbing a pen off of your bench and taking your hand in hers. Her touch made you buzz and you watched intensely as she messily scribbled her number onto your palm in dry black ink. She dotted the “i” in her name with a heart.

“Think about it,” she said, tossing her keys up and catching them one-handed, the metallic clink ringing out in the otherwise quiet garage. “Might be the best bad decision you ever make.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The air was thick with the smell of exhaust, burnt rubber, and pure, unabashed adrenaline. Neon lights glared off of chrome-polished fenders as nearly over a dozen cars lined the abandoned shipping yard, idling like predators waiting for prey. Engines revved and music blared from someone’s speakers. Half the crowd buzzed with pre-race excitement, the other half just buzzed.

Pulling your hoodie tighter around your face, you stepped into the crowd. You had left your own car further away like Ellie had instructed you. It was much less impressive among the racers’, a plush blue Volvo 240 Turbo. Understated, beat down to hell, but modded up to god and back. You grabbed the metal toolbox out of your passenger side, the cold handle grounding you in a way that felt anything but solid.

You had never attended a street race before. You’ve heard of them, sure, even modded a few cars for some, but never actually been to one. You didn’t dress for it, didn’t plan for it, just showed up. Ellie had texted you the location, didn’t say anything else about it– not that you asked.

A familiar rumble cut your thoughts short. It was a low, unapologetic grumble that definitely turned heads in the crowd. It seemed Ellie had a reputation. You turned just in time to see her car slide beside you, the engine purring a whole lot smoother than the last time you heard it. Your handiwork, still holding strong. Somehow.

Ellie stepped out like she owned the place, something you were starting to realize was a normal behaviour for her. She was donned in the same stained jeans as before, this time with a couple new oil smudges. A bright red cropped leather jacket was covering up her old stained wife beater, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her forearm muscles and faded tattoo. You watched closely as her eyes scanned the crowd before locking onto you. Something gleamed in her eyes. Relief, maybe. Moreso amusement.

“You showed up,” she said, strolling over with her hands shoved in her jacket pockets with a feigned air of no fucks given.

You shrugged lazily, trying not to smile. Trying not to give her that satisfaction. “You said you needed a mechanic.”

Ellie nodded slowly, lower lip twitching like she was fighting not to speak her mind. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Yeah, well,” you responded, setting your toolbox down beside her front tire, “I guess I make a lot of bad decisions.”

She grinned, wide and reckless, a strand of her auburn hair falling in front of her eyes. “Perfect,” she drawled, “You’ll fit right in.”

Suddenly, the crowd fell silent, the music that thumped from someone’s trunk was shut off, and an air of competitiveness fogged your senses. Ellie leaned across the hood of her car, eyes glazed over with excitement and a hint of menace. “Flags drop in ten. You might want to hurry it up, little miss mechanic.”

You weren’t entirely sure what flags down meant, but you were sure that it wasn’t time to ask questions. You dropped to your knees, kneeling beside the front wheel. Your fingers brushed the brake rotor.

“These things are whispering their last words,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Ellie pulled a toothpick out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. You couldn’t help but think how she looked like a llama. “Then tell ‘em to scream louder.”

You shot her a look over your shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re about to be a nightmare to keep alive.”

She only grinned in response. That signature, stupidly charming Ellie grin. She continued to stare at you with an infuriatingly calm gaze as you popped the hood one last time, eyes scanning the turbo lines. Then, you wiped your hands clean on a rag you had tucked into your belt.

“Fluids topped, pressure’s solid, clutch might hate you by the end of it.” You slammed the hood shut with a smirk. “I’ll see you at the finish line.”

Ellie stepped towards you, still grinning wildly. “You always this sexy before a race?”

You raised a brow, feigning vexation. “You want sexy, go find someone that doesn’t know what a brake pad is.”

Her grin turned crooked, it somehow made her even more attractive. “Aw man, but none of them look half as good leaning over an engine.”

Before you even got a chance to fire back someone was yelling from across the lot. “Engine’s hot! You’ve got thirty seconds to line up, and don’t come crying to me when you get smoked!”

She turned to her car, toothpick now discarded on the asphalt, hands already gripping the door handle. “Next time, you ride with me.”

Then she was gone. You watched as she slid up to the starting line, your eyes transfixed on the smoke that pooled out underneath her car and evaporated into the air. The crowd was screaming now, voltaic above the war cries of the engines. The spotters hunched over the overpass began to shift. Your heartbeat reverberated off your eardrums and threatened to hop out of your chest entirely. You blinked, and they were gone. Ellie disappeared around a bend with her tail lights flickering like a cigarette in the dark. You’d never seen anyone drive like that before. All you could think to do was hold your breath.

At first, it was just one siren. Just one, thin and far off. The crowd shifts, anxiety rippling through the crowd and boiling the water around you.

Then the world exploded in red and blue. People screamed around you, but for an entirely different reason now. There’s movement all around you, folding chairs falling and people scrambling to climb chain link fences. You turn to run, but there’s nowhere to go. For a moment, you felt the sickening feeling of being trapped.

Then you hear it– tires drifting in the gravel. A black shape was barreling out of the smoke, angled right toward you. Before you could even think to move there was a passenger door flying open and a familiar face staring you down.

“In. Now.”

You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Just dived in, half-falling into the passenger seat as the air behind you is completely swallowed by flashing lights.

Ellie was white-knuckled around the steering wheel as you shot forward and sliced through the night.

“You came back,” you say, breath coming out uneven and shaky.

City lights blurred past as the two of you skidded between two factory buildings, into an alley that was much too narrow for your comfort. The engine roared as she switched from third to fourth to third again, riding the clutch like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Behind you, someone’s bumper crunches into a brick wall.

“Couldn’t leave you.”

Her eyebrows pinched together as she tried to focus, eyes scanning for any possible exit. Any way to get you back to safety. Ellie was burning with recklessness now, she was in her element. You’re completely entranced as she maneuvers the car with such finesse that it almost scares you. Almost. She curses and yanks at the wheel, sending you slamming into the door and ricocheting off your seat. Ellie glances over at you, partly apologetically and mostly with arrogance. The emergency brake is dropped and the car is sent drifting between two green dumpsters. You clutch the handle above your head to avoid being sent tumbling around the car again.

Ellie shuts the car off with a harsh click and you finally let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. She drops her seat down, with you following suit in the movement. Smoke was pouring out of the hood now, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the thought of you needing to do more repairs so soon.

It’s silent for a while, the two of you intently listening to the sound of the sirens disappearing into the city. Until, finally, Ellie’s voice tears through the tension.

“You shouldn’t go back to your car until tomorrow. Place’ll still be crawling with pigs.” She didn’t look at you when she said it, eyes still focused on the ceiling of her car. “You can crash at mine.”

You glance at her, blinking rapidly. Crash? At hers? You thought back to when you had first met Ellie in your garage. Back when you wouldn’t have ever expected to be running from police with a girl who looked like hell had sent her back.

“If you want,” she says after you’re quiet for too long, shyer this time.

You nod in response, still not trusting your voice to not break at the first syllable. The corner of her mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but on the edge of one. Neither of you speak as the engine hums to life and you peel out of the alley.

You can’t help but feel like you just crossed a line you won’t be able to uncross.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. his eyes—a piercing, almost startling shade of blue—met yours, and the air between you felt charged, though you couldn’t explain why.

“uh…” he finally broke the silence, clearing his throat as his hand rose to adjust his belt in what seemed like an unconscious gesture. “i’m officer rafe cameron, and... i’m here about the shooting.”

“oh!” you blurted, snapping out of your trance. “yeah. okay!”

his lips twitched into a small, apologetic smile. “sorry to bother you so late. i just need to check in, make sure everything’s alright. did you see or hear anything?”

you shook your head, feeling oddly flustered under his gaze. “no, just the gunshots… they were pretty loud, though.”

“yeah, they were,” he said, leaning slightly against the doorframe, his stance casual but still commanding. “you here alone?”

you raised a brow, folding your arms. “why? thinking of robbing me?”

his grin spread slowly, boyishly lopsided. “not tonight, no. besides, not my style.”

despite yourself, you smiled back. “good to know.”

he tilted his head, his gaze scanning you briefly before locking back onto your eyes. “seriously, though, we’re just trying to make sure everyone’s safe. if you need anything—anything at all—you can call me.” he reached into his pocket and produced a card, holding it out to you between two fingers.

you took it, brushing his hand accidentally in the process. his skin was warm, rough in that way that made your stomach do a little flip.

“thanks,” you murmured, glancing down at the card. his name was printed neatly along with a direct number. “i’ll keep it in mind.”

“please do.” his tone was low, and the way he said it felt… significant. “so, you’re sure you’re okay? no… lingering fears? nightmares?” his smirk was teasing now.

“i’ll manage,” you said lightly, leaning against the doorframe now yourself. “unless you think i need around-the-clock protection.”

his brows rose, and his grin turned wickedly playful. “depends. you asking?”

you felt a laugh bubble out of you, shaking your head. “goodnight, officer cameron.”

“goodnight,” he said smoothly, stepping back but lingering for a second longer than necessary. “you stay safe now, alright?”

with a nod, you closed the door, leaning your back against it as you exhaled. your heart was racing, and you couldn’t decide if it was from the earlier fear—or the way he had looked at you.

outside, rafe adjusted his jacket, his own heart pounding harder than it had any right to. he made a mental note to check in on this house again tomorrow, just to be sure everything was still fine. after all, it was his job to protect and serve, wasn’t it?

smirking to himself, he headed back to his cruiser.

this wasn’t exactly the worst assignment he’d ever been given.

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