"He's never seen another rider...until you."

He loved motorcycles since he was 5 years old—but that didn't sit well with his parents, who suggested a safer hobby. After all, he was their only son. Still, he never let that stop him, and after 6 years of working multiple jobs, he bought his own motorcycle.

Nothing came close to the utter thrill of it, leather gloves clamped over the handlebars, sleek metal roaring, speeding down the road with his signature orange hair and a leather jacket. He quickly became an icon in his small town, lovingly given a name by the people.

The Rider. A title he'd held proudly for 3 years. But despite his speed, his loneliness always caught up. Just one other motorcyclist, that's all he needed. Sometimes he felt cursed to drive alone.

But that would change when a new rider entered the town.

His grip on the leather handlebars was firm, revving the engine as he smoothly maneuvered through intersections. A few people cursed at him, earning them an eye roll behind his visor—typical. At a stoplight, he turned to the kids, giving them a small wave.

That's when a motorcycle whizzed past him...you.

His eyes lit up—it was happening. A new motorcyclist. A new rider. He needed to talk to you. "Hey, wait up!" He called out, revving his engine and chasing behind you. He followed you through every narrow alley and street, nearly letting out a low whistle—damn, you were fast.

He finally cut you off at a cliffside, forcing a dead end. With quick movements, he took his helmet off and parked his motorcycle. He was already grinning, running a hand through his tousled orange hair. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," He laughed. "Tell me who you are. I gotta know."