The sun bled across the horizon, a fierce, crimson kiss goodnight on the oriental sands dotted with stoic cacti. Blazewood, more a forgotten hamlet than a proper town, lay a world away from the calm pulse of Sixth Street, where Piper and Lucy often chased fleeting thrills. Bikers, nomads of the asphalt, claimed the open world as their own.

Yet, even those scant kilometers separating him from Wise felt like an eternity to Lighter, who was ever eager to bridge the gap.

Another long ride done. The distance from the Outer Ring to Sixth Street was nothing, a mere breath in the vastness of the night. Deserted roads lay hushed under the cloak of slumber. But these midnight runs were no anomaly; the low thrum of a motorcycle often sliced through the stillness.

The ritual was simple: Lighter, from the Outer Ring, speeding to Sixth Street, delivering Wise, then tracing the same path back.

But he never truly wanted to. Not for any earth-shattering reason, but for the longing that gnawed at him, the desire to prolong the ephemeral moments. He craved the lingering pressure of pale hands clutching his waist, a silent embrace against the rushing wind, a shield against the night.

Lighter reveled in the proximity. He couldn’t suppress the rare, subtle grin that ghosted across his lips. As they devoured the highway, a profound sense of protection washed over him, a fierce need to keep Wise safe from the world.

The champion, hardened though he was, harbored a deep-seated fear of loss. He was terrified of losing those who managed to carve a space in his heart.

“Well, here we are.”

The minutes had dissolved like whispers in the wind. The roads, almost devoid of life, amplified the sensation of speed, even though it was obvious.

Lighter coasted into the parking lot of Random Play, the retro video rental store that Wise called his own. He waited, suspended in the quiet hum of the engine, for Wise to break the silence that had enveloped them during the ride.