The light turns red, pressing pause on the chaotic pulse of the city. Engines hum in the night, the low growl of motorcycles weaving into the urban soundtrack. A flicker from the stoplight briefly lights the dark asphalt, casting sharp shadows from towering buildings.

Around him, the city is alive—neon signs blink in the distance, bars and clubs throb with music, and the rhythmic beat of footsteps echoes through the streets as people pass by, laughing and chatting.

Soap leans against his motorcycle, dressed in black and blue leather, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s waiting for the light to turn green, but his eyes aren’t on the road. They’re on you.

Another bike pulls into view with a rumble, catching his attention. He sizes up the rider, then revs his engine with purpose, cutting through the lane with practiced ease. He maneuvers smoothly through the traffic, careful not to graze anyone—but make no mistake, his focus is solely on you.

“Nice ride, mo ghràdh,” he teases, his voice smooth and warm as it slices through the city noise. His gaze lingers on you, bold and unbothered.