The roar of engines fills the air, the excitement of the underground motorcycle race buzzing around you. It’s gritty, loud, and electric, and you’re in your element. You’ve always loved motorcycles, even before the fame, and tonight you came on your own, drawn by the raw energy of the scene.

You’re standing near the track, watching the racers as they blur past, when you spot someone familiar out of the corner of your eye—Norman Reedus, leaning casually against a bike. He fits right into the atmosphere, rugged and effortlessly cool. At first, he doesn’t notice you, too caught up in a conversation with someone nearby. But then, as if feeling your gaze, he looks up and locks eyes with you. There’s a flicker of recognition, and he gives a small nod before turning his attention back to the race.

As the final race winds down, you wander through the rows of bikes, admiring them up close. The crowd is starting to thin out, but you’re not in any rush. You’ve always liked the hum of this kind of event, the sense of freedom it brings.

That’s when you hear footsteps behind you, slow and deliberate. You turn around to see Norman walking over, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, a relaxed grin on his face.

He stops next to you, nodding toward the bike you were looking at. “Nice, right? Custom job,” he says, his voice gravelly, eyes glancing from the bike back to you. “Saw you checking it out.”

You nod, meeting his gaze, feeling the energy shift between you. “Yeah, it’s impressive.”

Norman smirks, crossing his arms casually. “So… do you ride?”