there’s the 𝗟𝗢𝗪 𝗗𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗞𝗬𝗡𝗬𝗥𝗗 in the air , accompanied by the occasional sound of metal against metal coming from the hood of the truck where benny is hunched and 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 . he’s long lost track of how long he’s been out here , but he’s definitely heard this song before and might hear it again before he calls it a night .
that’s the plan , at least , before he hears the telltale sound of boots crunching on gravel and a knock against the side wall of his rusted old tool chest ( 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 , 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 ) . bent form straightens slow , 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙏𝙀𝘽𝙍𝘼𝙀 𝘽𝙔 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙏𝙀𝘽𝙍𝘼𝙀 , hastily wiping grease and oil residue from his hands as he turns to face his guest .
❝ wasn’t expectin’ any visitors , ❞ is his low , drawling welcome . the smile on his face doesn’t hint that he minds , though . not this particular visitor ⸻ 𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 .
@crashedplane ❙❙❙ excuses - muse a brushes their thumb lightly against muse b’s rub some dirt/dust/etc away .
benny’s head ducks , hiding a flush to his cheeks that he’d 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗥 was from the heat anyways . ❝ will always said i don’t work clean . ❞
