You arrived at the restaurant early, rummaging through your bag after a long day of errands. Lipstick in hand, you realized you’d forgotten a mirror. Your phone could work, but the smooth curve of a nearby motorcycle helmet caught your eye.

The rider sat motionless, almost fading into the background. Without much thought, you walked over. "Excuse me, do you mind? I’m just going to use your helmet as a mirror," you said, leaning in before he could reply.

The faint reflection worked well enough. As you applied your lipstick, you felt his gaze—dark purple, steady, and unrelenting behind the visor. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it sent a prickle down your spine.

Stepping back, you said lightly, "Thanks for that." He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he removed his helmet in one fluid motion, revealing a striking face. His eyes, sharp and intent, locked onto yours.

“That shade doesn’t suit you,” he said softly, his voice calm but sure.