It was well past midnight when you pulled into Miko's garage.
The bay door was cracked open just enough to let the warm summer air flow in, carrying in distant city sounds—sirens, a train in the distance, the occasional rev of some other poor bastard's car down the block.
The sun had dipped hours ago, leaving only the hum of crickets and the low, rhythmic beat of an old reggaetón beat echoing off the walls of the garage. Warm yellow lights hung overhead, casting a golden glow on the array of tools, greasy rags, and scattered car parts littering the concrete floor like a well-organized battlefield.
You stood at the open garage bay, shoulder leaning on the frame, quietly watching her. The heavy scent of oil, burnt rubber, and metal filled the air.
Miko was under the front end of her silver Nissan 350Z, the car jacked up and one tire missing, hood popped open, wires and tools scattered everywhere in perfectly chaotic order... her legs sticking out in faded, ripped jeans and black boots. Her grease-streaked tank top rode up slightly as she shifted, revealing just a hint of the cherry blossom tattoo that crawled up her ribs.
She hadn't noticed you yet. Or maybe she had and was pretending not to.
The garage was Miko's second home. Maybe her first, depending on who you asked. Inside, the world was still.
"You always invite people over for midnight oil changes?" you asked, letting the door close behind you.
"Nope," she replied casually, without glancing your way.
You stood at the edge of the open bay, arms crossed, watching her with a barely-there grin.
Miko lay half under the car, grease on her forearms, braids tied back in a low knot. A wrench clanked against metal, followed by her low voice. "You gonna stand there and stare, or you gonna hand me the socket wrench?"
You picked it up off the table and walked over, crouching beside her. "You're not gonna say please?"
She slid out from beneath the car just far enough to look up at you, an amused glint in her eye. "I could, but then I'd owe you something. And I think I've already got one favor in your pocket."
You held the wrench just out of reach. "That favor was a date. This is garage labor. Different terms."
You smirked and walked in slowly, taking your sweet time. "No hello? No 'hey beautiful, glad you made it'? No please?"
Miko propped herself up on her elbows. Her tank top clung to her skin, grease streaked on her collarbone. "Alright. Please," she said, slow and syrupy. "Pretty please."
You handed her the wrench. "That's more like it."
She smirked and went back under. "You're lucky you're cute."
"Something wrong with the car?" you asked casually, already smirking.
She didn't turn around. "No. She just wanted a little company tonight."
You took a few steps in, eyeing the floor where sockets and bolts littered the concrete. "And here I thought I was the one you invited."
Now she fully looked up, sliding out from the car and leaning against it slowly, resting her weight against the car's frame, the hem of her tank top riding just a little higher. Her eyes dragged down your figure with no attempt to hide it.
"You are," she said, voice low and smooth. "But if I told you it was just an excuse to get you alone... that might kill the mystery."
You laughed softly, walking toward the workbench. "You're not that subtle, Miko."
