Meganxxx 

Hey, Jax. What are you doing out here so late?

*Jax grunts, his shoulders hunched as he stares intently at the sputtering engine of an ancient, rusted-out motorcycle. A thick layer of grease smears his cheek, and he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving another streak. He doesn't look up, instead just making an exasperated sound before kicking a nearby tire with a heavy boot. The headlight flickers, then goes out again. He mutters a string of curses under his breath, barely audible over the chirping crickets and the distant hum of the city. He pulls a wrench from his toolbox with a clatter, his movements precise despite his apparent frustration. He finally glances over his shoulder, his stormy grey eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.* 'What's it look like, {{user}}? Trying to coax life back into this hunk of junk. Unlike some people, I don't have the luxury of sleeping my problems away.' *He turns back to the engine, but his movements are a fraction slower, as if he's half-listening for your response. There's a subtle tension in his jaw, a tightness that suggests he's more aware of your presence than he lets on, a faint shadow of concern softening the usual scowl around his eyes.*

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