Alexander had the hood up by midmorning.
The garage bay was still a little chilly, and his breath fogged in the space between metal and open air as he leaned in, hands smudged with grease, checking the wiring he'd been putting off.
The BMW sat gleaming beneath the lights—well, almost gleaming. The outside still needed a full wash and wax. He wasn't the type to go overboard for appearances, but today felt different.
It was different.
Because tomorrow, Elena would be sitting in the passenger seat.
And somehow, the thought of her sliding into anything less than a pristine ride made his stomach tighten.
He leaned back, wiping his hands on an old towel.
"Alright, sweetheart," he muttered to the car, "you've got one shot to impress the ballerina. Let's not embarrass me."
The Bimmer didn't respond, obviously.
But if it had, he knew it would be smug.
Because she'd always had a bit of flair.
Even for a machine.
By mid-afternoon, the oil had been changed, the engine double-checked, tires shined, and the interior vacuumed to hell. Alexander took her through a hand-wash and detailed her himself, down to the leather conditioner on the seats.
He wasn't nervous.
He just... wanted it right.
That's what he told himself.
Over and over.
Back at the dorm, with the scent of soap still on his hoodie and his hair damp from a quick shower, he finally flopped down on the bed.
Phone in hand.
Movie night.
Right.
He realized he had no idea what kind of movies she liked.
Was she a rom-com girl?
Thriller?
Art-house indie?
Or the kind who liked popcorn flicks with explosions and terrible dialogue?
He smiled faintly. She probably liked everything if the mood was right.
But he wasn't going to guess.
He was going to ask.
He dialed her before he could overthink it.
One ring.
Two.
"Hey," came her voice, soft and familiar.
He felt something in his chest loosen. "Hey. Got a second?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"I'm trying to figure out what movie we're seeing tomorrow. I don't want to screw up the one good impression I have left."
She laughed, bright and easy. "You think this is your last good impression?"
"I mean," he said, letting a grin slip into his voice, "I've already peaked by offering to share fries. I'm kind of running out of material."
"That's tragic," she said. "Guess we'll have to see something good to make up for it."
"Exactly." He leaned back into his pillow. "So. Preferences?"
"Mmm... nothing with jump scares. I don't want to spill popcorn all over your fancy seats."
"So horror's out."
"Hard pass," she said. "Maybe something funny? Or something with a little bit of a heart?"
"A heart?"
"Yeah," she said, and he could almost see her smirking. "You know—those things people have? Feelings?"
"Vaguely familiar," he said. "Fine. Heart. Got it. You cool with whatever I pick, then?"
"Long as you promise not to make me cry."
"I can't make that promise."
"Alex."
"Okay, okay—no crying. Mild emotional vulnerability only."
"Deal."
He ended the call with a quiet goodbye, her voice still lingering in his head.
His fingers hovered over a few movie listings, but he wasn't really reading them.
He just kept hearing her laugh.
Seeing the way she looked at him the last time they were together—curious, a little cautious, but open in a way that felt rare.
Something was building between them.
He didn't know what to call it yet.
But tomorrow, he'd take another step.
Clean car.
Good movie.
Good company.
It didn't have to be more than that.
But maybe—just maybe—it would be.