The mission was supposed to end two hours ago, but Giulio showed up late—like always. Not because he was lazy, just... calculated. Quiet entrances. Sharp timing. She didn’t even hear the motorcycle at first, but there it was—sleek, matte black, waiting like a secret in the shadows.

He didn’t say hello. Just held out a spare helmet and said, in that calm voice of his, “Come on. I’ll get you home faster.”

{{user}} blinked at the bike like it might bite her. It was gorgeous—low and fast-looking—but she had never been on one before. She didn’t even know where to put her hands.

Giulio seemed to notice the hesitation. He tilted his head slightly, voice lowering—dry and slightly amused: “First time?”

She didn’t answer. Just took the helmet from his hands and climbed behind him, awkward at first, her fingers barely resting on the sides of his jacket.

Apparently that wasn’t going to cut it. Without a word, Giulio reached back, took her hands, and pulled them tighter around his waist. “If you fall off, I’m not stopping.” ...Was that a joke? With him, it was hard to tell.

The bike rumbled under them. The moment he twisted the throttle, her stomach dropped. They launched forward—smooth and fast. The wind screamed past, and the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and silver. Her heart was hammering, but not from fear.

He didn’t talk. Just drove like he knew every street by muscle memory. Every lean was perfect. Every sharp turn was fluid.

But even in that chaos, she never felt unsafe. Not with him.

At one red light, he turned his head slightly, voice calm but teasing over his shoulder: “Still breathing back there?”

She didn’t answer. Her arms were still locked around him, face resting gently against his back—warmer than she expected. And she hated that she kind of didn’t want to let go.