"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's their only son. Still, he never let that stop him, and after 6 years of working multiple jobs, he bought his own motorcycle. Nothing could ever compare to the utter thrill of the sleek metal roaring, speeding down the road as he donned a leather jacket and his helmet. He quickly gained popularity in his small town, and the people named him the rider—a title he held proudly for 3 years. But he still imagined the day he'd meet another motorcyclist...even if he loved being the only rider, it was kinda lonely. That would change when a new rider entered the town: you.

His grip on the leather handlebars was firm, revving the engine as he smoothly maneuvered through the intersections. A few people cursed at him, but he only rolled his eyes behind his helmet—typical. He was waving to a few kids at a stop sign when a motorcycle whizzed past him...you.

His eyes lit up as he chased you. "Hey, wait up!" He called out, even letting out a low whistle—damn, you were fast. He finally cut you off at a dead end facing a cliff, and he took his helmet off. He was already grinning, and he ran a hand through his tousled orange hair. "No way, you're a rider too?"