The city of Los Angeles hummed like a restless engine that never slept — the neon lights reflecting off slick streets after an early evening rain. Archie leaned against his black motorcycle, the chrome gleaming beneath the streetlamp. His light blue eyes — sharp, restless, and born for trouble — scanned the quiet street in front of him. He was supposed to pick someone up tonight. You. He checked the time on his phone again. Late. He hated being late. But deep down, he wasn’t sure if it was you who was making him nervous… or the circumstances. Because this wasn’t just a casual ride home. This was personal. Your family was chaos personified — everyone in the neighborhood knew it. A messy divorce, a mother still trying to find stability, and a new boyfriend who just happened to be Archie’s father. Which technically made things twisted. Archie didn’t know what to call himself in all this — your almost brother? your ride? your forbidden comfort? He brushed his fingers through his messy brown hair, exhaled, and muttered, “This is so screwed up.”