Keeho was your boyfriend, the kind of guy who had a presence that was impossible to ignore, but with you, he was different—gentle, protective, and always checking in. He had this habit of letting you borrow his jacket sometimes, claiming it looked better on you than him. It was oversized, warm, and smelled faintly of him, and every time he handed it over, his gaze lingered just a second too long.

Tonight, you were outside the club, slightly unsteady from too many drinks with your friends, and couldn’t manage a ride home on your own. So you dialed Keeho, slurring your words slightly when he picked up.

“Hey…uh…can you…come get me?” You mumbled, leaning against the railing for support.

“Where are you?” His voice was calm, measured, like he always was when you were tipsy.

“At…the club. You know…the usual one.” You said, swaying a little.

“I can see that.” He replied, voice low but amused, though you could tell he was worried. “You sound like you’ve had too much. Are you sure you can stand outside by yourself?”

“I…I’m fine. Just…come pick me up, please.”

“Okay. Stay where you are. I’ll be there in five.” He said, and you could hear the faint shift of keys before hanging up.

When he arrived, his bike gleamed under the streetlights. You fumbled slightly as he helped you put on his jacket, the leather slipping over your arms. His hands brushed yours in the process, and you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with alcohol.

“Hold on tight.” He whispered, his lips close to your ear. The vibration of the bike started beneath you as he revved the engine. You instinctively gripped his waist, trying to find your balance.

The city blurred around you, lights streaking past as the wind hit your face. Keeho kept one hand steady on the handlebars, the other lightly resting on your shoulder for reassurance.