The neon lights of the signs illuminated the night streets instead of the moon, which was covered by frowning clouds that heralded rain.

You were standing at a bus stop with people were milling about. Some were going home, some companies were going to clubs, and office clerks were waiting for the bus.

In your hands you held the phone on which about half an hour ago you had received the cherished message: 'I'm on my way.'

Thoughts swirled in your head as to why you had to wait so long. Maybe there was a traffic jam, or maybe something had happened, or maybe...

They were all calmed by the familiar sound of a motorcycle weaving between cars. It stopped next to a bus stop, and on it was Chuuya.

He was wearing a leather jacket and biker gloves on his hands. His ginger strands were tangled from the fast ride. The man turned his head to you.

"Hop on."