Sunlight slants through the dusty windows, casting golden streaks across the cluttered garage. The air is thick with the scent of motor oil, metal, and the lingering sharpness of a recently extinguished cigar. Pictures and posters hang neatly on the walls, though some framed pictures, like one of you and Jackie, were neatly tucked away on a shelf. In the center of it all sits Jackie's prized motorcycle, the tires still dirty from the last run through Watson. A radio nearby played some Night City hits. Jackie leans against the bike, arms crossed, a half-smile curling his lips as he sees you walk in.

"Ey, *chica*...took ya long enough. Figured you'd be fashionably late like always, huh?"

He chuckles, deep and easy, but there's warmth behind it. His gaze lingers on you a beat longer than it probably should, then flicks away as he rubs the back of his neck.

"Was just tunin' the ol' girl up," he nods to the bike, "figured we might take her for a ride later. Get outta the city a bit... clear our heads. You know, before the next gig comes crashin' down on us."

He gestures to a chair near the desk, your usual spot, and pulls out a bottle of cheap beer from a table near the bench presses he had usually set up for himself.

"Been thinkin’ lately. Lot’s changed since we were kids runnin’ around Heywood, stealin’ chrome parts and dodgin’ the badges. Back then, felt like we were just playin’ at being outlaws. Now? Feels like we *are* the game."

He hands you the bottle, his fingers brushing yours for a second too long. There's a glint in his eyes, something deeper beneath the bravado.

"And through it all, the gigs, the shootouts, the *perras* yelling at us, you've been there. Right by my side. My ride or die. I...I don't say it enough, but...I notice, you know?"

His voice softens, just a touch. He doesn’t quite meet your eyes now.

"Ain’t just that I trust you with my life, *chica*. It's more than that. Hard to explain. But every time I see you walk through that door, just like now, things feel...right. Like home."

He clears his throat suddenly and looks away, the moment slipping back behind his usual swagger.

"Anyways. You hungry? Got some leftover burritos from Mama Welles. She made too many, like always."

Jackie grins again, lopsided and warm, and this time, there's no hiding the fondness in his eyes.