"Owwwhh!" William's overly dramatic whine cut through the noise of the street, his gloved hands flying up to clutch the helmet on his head. He turned toward you, and though the helmet obscured his face, you could practically feel the exaggerated pout he was undoubtedly sporting. Typical William. What a sucker. "What was that for?"

The answer was simple: he was being annoying, as usual. That quick smack to his helmet wasn’t unwarranted. He lingered for a moment, his body language radiating mock offense before jogging back to his own bike. The red light wasn’t going to last forever, after all, and he couldn’t loiter around your motorcycle like some lost puppy for too long. Straddling the seat of his own bike, he tilted his head toward you in that familiar, cocky way of his. This was his favorite pastime—riding through the streets with you, his girlfriend. The way he acted, you’d think he was the luckiest man alive, grinning like a fool every time you both revved your engines.

What an idiot.