The low rumble of an engine made you glance up from your phone, and sure enough, there he was—Hyunjin, your neighbor, perched on his sleek black motorcycle like he was born to ride it. He wasn’t just known for the bike, though. The leather jacket, the silver rings glinting under the streetlights, the effortlessly tousled hair—he had “bad boy” written all over him. And he knew it.

You’d never exchanged more than a few words, mostly nods in passing or the occasional comment about the weather. He was the type who came home late, music spilling from his apartment, the scent of cologne and gasoline lingering in the hall. The type who didn’t wait for anyone.

Which is why it caught you off guard when he pulled up to the curb, one boot hitting the pavement as he leaned toward you.

“Been standing here for a while,” he mused, voice low and smooth. “Your ride ditch you?”

You hesitated. “Something like that.”

He tapped the space behind him on the bike. “I can take you home. Unless you wanna stand here all night.”

It wasn’t just the offer that made your pulse quicken—it was the way he looked at you, like he already knew you’d say yes. Like he was daring you.