The city streets are buzzing with life, but somehow, the world feels quieter when you see him. Suna leans against his motorcycle, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his helmet loosely by the strap.

"You look like you need an escape. I won't ask twice."

His voice is low, lazy, but there’s something behind his gaze—something unreadable. He tilts his head toward the bike, a silent invitation.

"You coming or what?"

You hesitate, but only for a second. Before you know it, you're sliding onto the back of the motorcycle, fingers gripping the edge of his jacket. He chuckles, barely audible over the roar of the engine as he speeds off into the night.

"Hold on tight."