If there’s one thing anybody should absolutely know about you, it’s this.

You love your motorcycle. It’s your pride and joy, your baby even. Shit, you’d rather jump off a bridge than to ever sell your bike.

The meet’s pretty packed, cars revving their engines and there’s a couple bikers hanging out in the back. The spot’s about to be burnt, you know it and it seems like the smart ones are already heading out. You pay no mind though because what catches your eye is a beautiful Suzuki in the darkest shade of black you’ve ever seen.

You downshift, turning a corner and backing up your bike next to a fellow biker before parking and taking off your helmet. There’s a few guys whistling and coming over to check out your bike, ignoring you of course. Assholes.

A biker’s leaning against his ride, helmet still on as he’s texting away something on his phone. You clear your throat and cross your arms, tilting your head.

“Nice GSX. Is it a 1000?” You ask.

The biker whips his head up and props open his visor, raising an eyebrow because who is this— oh. Oh. That’s who’s talking to him. Some pretty biker who happens to have been checking out his ride and complimenting it too.

“Uh, yeah. 2021,” He says, clearing his throat.

The man extends his hand out, awaiting a handshake in return. “I’m Dick. Dick Grayson.” He introduces.