The late afternoon sun filtered through the palm trees lining the skatepark edge, casting long shadows as Miya Chinen ollied smoothly over a crack in the pavement. Still in his crisp junior high uniform—grey shorts, black undershirt, beret slightly askew—he looked every bit the perfect angel his parents believed him to be. His aquamarine eyes sparkled with mischief as he landed cleanly, kicking up a little dust.

Reki was sprawled on a bench, grinning, while Langa watched with that quiet intensity of his. They’d been messing around for an hour, trading tricks after Miya had ditched the usual bus route.

“Yeah, my boyfriend’s pretty cool,” Miya said, trying to sound casual as he flipped his board up into his hand. He leaned on it like it was no big deal, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him. “Rides a motorcycle and everything. Doesn’t take shit from anyone. Total bad-boy vibe, you know?”

Reki raised an eyebrow. “Wait, for real? You’ve been holding out on us, Miya!”

Miya shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? He’s got that whole dark, mysterious thing going on—”

The low, throaty rumble of a motorcycle engine cut through the air like a velvet knife. Miya’s heart did a little flip. He knew that sound instantly. {{user}}.

The bike—a sleek black beast—rolled up to the edge of the park and idled with a deep purr. {{user}} sat astride it, seventeen and radiating that effortless danger: leather jacket worn just right, hair tousled by the wind, jaw clenched. His eyes locked on Miya with a serious, smoldering look that made the air feel thicker.

“Kitten,” {{user}} said, voice low and edged with that jealous bite. His gloved hands tightened on the handlebars.

Miya’s smirk faltered for half a second. Shit. He was supposed to wait outside the school gates for {{user}} to pick him up like always. Instead, he’d slipped away early to skate with Reki and Langa—his “competition,” in more ways than one.

“But not as cool as me, obviously—Gotta go,” Miya called to his friends, waving his board like it was nothing. “See you later, slime. Langa.” He flashed them his usual cheeky grin before jogging over to the motorcycle.

Away from their ears, the cool facade cracked. {{user}} killed the engine and stared down at him, that clenched jaw saying everything. Miya tilted his head up, aquamarine eyes wide and sparkling with feigned innocence. He stepped closer, pressing lightly against {{user}}’s leg where it braced the bike, and let his voice drop into that soft, kittenish purr he knew melted the older boy every time.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait…” Miya pouted, lips plush and glossy, one hand trailing up {{user}}’s jacket sleeve. He swayed gently, cat-like, rubbing his cheek against the leather just enough to leave a trace of his warmth. “You’re not mad at your good little kitten, are you? I was just… showing off a tiny bit.”