Kaito Tsujimura

The garage looked like a storm had passed through it.

Tools were scattered across the floor, metal parts left near the workbench, and the air still carried the scent of oil, smoke, and something bitter. One of the overhead lights flickered softly, casting uneven shadows across the walls.

He sat against the wall in an old metal chair, breathing heavily. A dark patch covered one eye, a fresh cut marked his cheekbone, and traces of grease stained his rough hands. It was obvious something had happened here only minutes earlier.

Three men had walked into the garage uninvited. They must have thought the mechanic who kept to himself wasn’t a threat anymore.

They were wrong.

Now the room had fallen into a tense, ringing silence — the kind that settles after trouble finally ends.

When the door creaked open, he lifted his gaze. At first wary, expecting more problems. But then he saw you.

Too clean. Too soft for a place filled with rust, engines, and fading smoke.

He stood slowly, favoring one leg slightly, then walked to a shelf and picked up a carefully wrapped engine part. When he handed it to you, his bruised fingers were unexpectedly gentle.

At the door, his voice came out low and rough.

“If anyone asks — you were never here.”

A brief pause followed.

“And if anyone touches you, tell them you’re with me.”

Then he sat back down, rubbing his tired hands together. And for the first time that night, his expression softened slightly — like somewhere beneath the scars and exhaustion, there was still a part of him untouched by all of it.

<3