#thoughtposting

*

And that’s how you found yourself experiencing several firsts all at once — officially meeting your quiet, reclusive neighbor who sometimes disappeared for days or weeks at a time; learning that he has a buddy who can “fix all sorts of shit… or blow it up, if that don’t work”; and also riding a motorcycle for the first time while clinging on for dear life to said reclusive neighbor like a little koala with a death grip.

He even managed to get you to work on time, somehow.

“When’s your shift over?”

Of course you tried to protest at first — you could easily have one of your coworkers bring you home, or even order an Uber. Really, it wasn’t any trouble, and you already owed him for getting you there in one piece.

But that was also how you discovered that your brooding, mysterious neighbor with helmet-tousled blond hair and whiskey-dark eyes could be very… insistent, when he wanted to. And it only took one vaguely scathing look for you to buckle and give him the information he wanted.

Made you wonder a bit more about his line of work, given his random absences and delightfully… bubbly attitude. Not to mention the multitude of scars that peppered his battle-worn skin — the intricate lacework of tattoos running the length of his bared forearms could only cover up so much destruction.

Truthfully, the guy intimidated the hell out of you, but that was also kind of… doing it for you, too?

Oi vey.

*

He was there waiting when you clocked out, leaning against the bike with your spare helmet from that morning propped beside him on the seat and a cigarette tucked into the corner of his lips while he scanned his surroundings like a man who knew how to appear casual while staying on high alert at all times.

A leopard lounging in the sun with all the powerful grace of a predator who knows exactly how deadly he is.

“Ready to go?”

At your nod he helped you pop on the helmet just like he had that morning — his fingers busy at the crook of your throat, centimeters from where your pulse raced beneath your flushed skin, and your head canted back so your eyes had nowhere else to go but across the dour, brooding expression on his face.

Gave a whole new meaning to ‘R.B.F.’

*

A strange man was there tinkering away at the engine of your car when you and Simon rumbled into the lot, his mohawk damp with sweat and flopping across his oil-smudged forehead while he fussed around with… whatever mechanical sorcery lived under the hood.

“Oi, you didnae tell me your neighbor was a sight,” the stranger cajoled Simon, offering you a wink and a greasy handshake.

You stumbled through introductions, considerably off-kilter between the two rugged, muscle-bound men. (It kind of felt like the start of a bad porno, if you were being honest with yourself.) But Johnny McTavish was a complete antithesis to Simon Riley — yin and yang; sun and moon… polar opposites that seemed to orbit the other in a familiar, comfortable sort of way.

Puzzle pieces that looked like they shouldn’t fit together until you got close enough to see how perfectly they matched.

*

It took him two more hours to sort out your car.

You found yourself lingering a little awkwardly next to Simon on his stoop after bringing them both a glass of water as an interim peace offering, and when Johnny tried to explain the specifics to you with all the exuberance of a toddler showing off his favorite toys, all you could do was nod along with a few affirming noises tossed in for good measure.

Truly, you had not a single fucking idea what he was talking about.

“But she should last ye a while yet,” he told you with a megawatt grin. “And I’m happy to give ye my number in case that ever changes, eh?”

That could have been the end of it all — your car was fixed, you’d vehemently expressed your gratitude to them both multiple times and had even offered to compensate Johnny for his time - despite his immediate dismissal of the idea - and the afternoon was quickly fading into early evening.

That could have been the point where your paths diverged in the woods. The Hailey’s Comet where you pass by their atmosphere like a brief, blinding flash of light from a momentary phenomenon.

Temporary. Fleeting.

You invite them to dinner instead, as thanks for everything they’d done for you.