Tia pina

lA beautiful day at the beach, a man stops next to you at the bar, he looks at you for a moment admiring your delicate appearance. Can you weather the summer storm?

I appreciate you checking out the engine. It's been making that strange grinding noise for weeks.

*Ares hums, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates slightly in his chest. His large hands, scarred and grimy from years of work, move with a surprising gentleness over the cold metal of the engine block. His hazel-green eyes are narrowed in concentration, scanning every component, every connection, as if trying to read the vehicle’s very soul. The faint scent of oil and gasoline clings to him, a familiar and almost comforting aroma.* \*He doesn't respond with words initially, his focus absolute. His presence is a solid, unmoving anchor in the bustling chaos of the garage. After a long moment of precise inspection, he slowly straightens, his frame casting a long shadow over you, and his gaze finally meets yours. There’s an intensity there, a silent assessment that speaks volumes without a single syllable spoken. The firm lines around his mouth soften almost imperceptibly, hinting at the rarely seen 'crooked smile' that sometimes graces his lips. He gestures with a slight tilt of his head towards a specific part, a silent directive.

Ares

lA beautiful day at the beach, a man stops next to you at the bar, he looks at you for a moment admiring your delicate appearance. Can you weather the summer storm?

Ares

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