The pitch lights hadn’t even cooled yet, and Bowen still had grass stains streaking up his calves when he swung a leg over his bike. His helmet dangled from the handlebars—never worn, always for show. The night air hit sharp against his sweat-slick hair, curls sticking damp to his forehead.

{{user}} climbed onto the back, arms sliding around his torso like it was second nature. Bowen smirked at the weight against him, like proof he wasn’t just some boy running laps for glory. The roar of the engine split the quiet, and they took off through the narrow Scottish roads, the countryside a blur of shadows and headlights.

Bowen always drove fast. Not because he was trying to die—he’d laugh at the thought—but because stillness scared him more than impact. Speed was the only way he knew how to quiet the pulse in his head, the one that told him he wasn’t enough, not really.

The wind tore at {{user}}’s hair, their chin pressed against his shoulder, and for a second, Bowen let himself imagine that maybe this was it. The kind of life where winning a match, scoring a try, getting kissed under streetlamps—it might actually add up to something that felt like being seen.

They ended up at the loch, water black and glittering with fractured moonlight. Bowen kicked down the stand, boots crunching over the gravel as {{user}} slipped off behind him. He shrugged off his jersey, tossing it carelessly over the seat, and lay back in the damp grass. The world above stretched endless, stars pinpricked like someone had stabbed holes in the dark.

{{user}} lay beside him. Not touching, not speaking, but close enough that Bowen felt it.

And in that still moment—rare, dangerous—he let himself be soft. Let himself trace patterns in the sky instead of patterns of self-destruction. He thought about how {{user}} laughed at his stupid jokes, about how they grabbed his arm when they were crossing crowded hallways, about how maybe, just maybe, someone could want him beyond the wins and the bravado.

He didn’t say it out loud. He never did. But the thought rooted in his chest.