ً 𝚜 𝚒 𝚖 𝚘 𝚗 .

@xkalopsia 🎸 vibing this. longest and most stressful work week. let’s take it eaassyyy 😎

// I’m alive (barely) and I feel like death

// And now I nap

Or.. you can actually do your reps without cheating?” Isiah grabbed his flannel, slinging it over his shoulder. “You can try.” Simon grinned. “Oh, I will.”

“Maybe a bit of both.” He stood, stretching, that same lazy confidence oozed from his posture as he looked toward his brother with tired eyes. “You might have the arms, but you lack technique. If you need to remind you who hits harder. I’ll take you to the ring sometime. -

The gym smelled faintly of rubber mats and metal— weights clinking, music humming overhead. Late enough that it was mostly empty aside from regulars. Just how Simon liked it. Isiah didn’t. “You always pick the dead hours,” Isiah muttered, rolling his shoulders as he stepped up-

@xkalopsia 🎸 targeted? wait- someone put a hit on your car hot dam. or did they presume you had something they wanted or something. 👀

@timbxrwolf // No, just smashed my windows and dug through everything. But came to find out it was targeted :)

// Someone broke into my car last night 🙃

Simon did reach back and yank on his brother’s tail, looking him head in the eyes with a mocked deadly expression. “Also- if I catch you teaching Dakota curse words in Afrikaans or using my guitar as a back-scratcher again.. I’ll make a jacket outta your pelt mate.”

“If he’s out here.. I’ll find him.” he muttered, more to himself than Isiah, Isiah watched him, a faint smirk tugging at his muzzle, his tail faintly wagged at the thought. “Course you will.” The engine sat between them, half-finished but coming together. like everything else.

The workshop smelled of oil, hot metal, and old rubber, the kind of scent that clung to your clothes long after you left. The hood of the ’89 Mustang was propped open, its engine exposed under bright warm white lights. Simon leaned over it, sleeves rolled. -