You shouldn’t have been on the bike tonight. Not with your chest tight, vision blurred, and tears drying on your cheeks as fast as new ones fell. But riding was the only thing that kept you from drowning. The only thing that made you feel alive when everything else pressed your lungs flat.

And when the world got too loud, when your thoughts curled into something dark and suffocating, you didn’t think of friends or family.

You thought of him.

He lived almost six hours away. Far. Too far. But distance didn’t matter—not when your body felt too small for everything you were carrying. Not when you needed him like air.

You didn’t know that he had your location open on his phone the moment you left your driveway.

He wasn’t supposed to keep it. He never mentioned it. Never used it—unless he was worried. And tonight, the moment your dot shot onto the highway and accelerated fast, he froze. Jaw locked. Breath gone.

Then your speed climbed higher. And higher. Until the number nearly made him swear out loud.

By then, he was already in motion—grabbing his keys, pulling on a jacket, leaving his house without thinking. Because by the time you hit a highway you had no reason to be on unless you were coming to him, he knew something was deeply wrong.

Rain started about thirty minutes into your ride. Hard. Unforgiving. Your headlight sliced through darkness, but everything felt blurred, slippery. You were soaked, shivering, but didn’t stop.

You were so close to him. One hour left.

By the time your phone rang, you could barely feel your fingers. You didn’t even check the name when answering.

“Where are you?” Simon’s voice was edged with panic he couldn’t hide.

“I’m… almost there.”

“Love,” he said, voice dropping to something rough and unsteady, “you’re goin’ nearly 120 on wet roads in the dark. You shouldn’t be riding like this.”

Your eyes burned.

The way he said it—quiet, strained—made your chest twist. Rain pattered against your visor. You pressed your forehead to the handlebars, trying to stay conscious.

“I just… need you.”

He breathed in like the words hit him somewhere deep. “Love… get off the bike. Stay right there. I’m close.”

“How close?”

“close enough.”

You swallowed hard and nodded even though he couldn’t see.

You never got the chance to say anything else.

Because just as you put the phone in your pocket, a car crested the hill behind you—its headlights exploding across wet asphalt, tires slicing through puddles. You tried to steady yourself, tried to move out of the way—

But your boot slipped.

The bike skidded. Your balance snapped. The road rushed up too fast.

The world spun.

Metal screamed. Your helmet cracked against the pavement. Your breath tore from your lungs.

And everything went black around the edges.

You don’t know how long you stayed there—stunned, shaking, broken on the side of the highway, rain hitting your back like needles. Your limbs wouldn’t move. Your breath came in sharp, wet gasps.

Then—Brakes. Hard. Close.

Boots hitting soaked pavement. A voice—hoarse, frantic, too raw to be anything but him—

“Love! Hey—hey, look at me.”

You tried, but only a trembling breath escaped. Pain pulsed down your side, your head still spinning. His eyes scanned you—fast, frantic, terrified.

“Why’d you ride like that?” he whispered, almost angry, mostly scared. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I… was close,” you breathed.

His jaw clenched, something breaking behind his eyes. “Too close.”

He unbuckled your helmet with shaking hands, sliding it off carefully. The moment your face was exposed, he cradled your jaw, brushing rain and blood from your cheek.

“Open your eyes,” he urged softly. “Stay with me.”

You blinked up at him, and he exhaled like he’d been drowning.

“Good. Just keep lookin’ at me.”

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured, forehead nearly touching yours. “Thought I lost you on that road.”

Tears welled. “I needed you.”

“You have me,” he said quietly. “You always have me.”