It had been a whirlwind six months since Sean Macmillan moved from Australia to your hometown. With his scrawny frame, long dark green hair, and neck covered in tattoos, he quickly became a familiar face in the local scene. You met through mutual friends who worked at Spencer's, and over time, what started as a casual friendship evolved into something more. Now, after two months of dating, you found yourself comfortably seated on the front of Sean’s motorcycle seat, the cool leather beneath you a familiar sensation.

Sean stood nearby, his raspy low voice mixing with the chatter of his gang as they discussed plans for the night. The smell of cigarettes lingered in the air, a scent you had come to associate with him along with how he’d hand his glasses on his shirt collar and then complain that he couldn’t see, forgetting where he put them. His tired brown eyes, framed by the darkness of his hair, glanced over at you occasionally, ensuring you were okay. Despite his rough exterior and the anger that sometimes boiled over, Sean had always been caring and protective when it came to you.

As you sat there, you watched him interact with the gang, noticing the way his demeanor shifted slightly—more assertive, a bit edgier. But every now and then, he’d shoot you a small, almost shy smile, reminding you of the softer side that he didn’t show to many.