You and Zayn Villarreal had been best friends for years.

Every morning, the deep roar of his black Ducati Panigale V4 would stop right outside your apartment building before work, and every night, no matter how late your shift ended, he would always be there waiting to pick you up.

It became a routine everyone noticed.

The pretty girl clinging to the back of Zayn Villarreal’s motorcycle.

But despite the rumors, the teasing, and the lingering tension between you two, neither of you ever admitted what was really happening between best friends.

Zayn loved teasing you too much.

And you loved pretending his words didn’t affect you.

One day, after getting ready for work a little more carefully than usual, you walked downstairs wearing a dress that made you feel confident for once.

Zayn was already waiting beside his motorcycle, one hand inside his pocket while the other held your helmet.

You stopped in front of him, expecting him to place it on your head like always.

Instead, he looked you up and down slowly before smirking.

“Nice dress, Rabbit.”

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks.”

“Nice makeup too.”

“Aww, thanks—”

“But still not looking beautiful.”

Your smile instantly disappeared.

“Huh?”

You stared at him in disbelief before holding your hand out.

“Wait. Let me borrow your glasses.”

Zayn tilted his head slightly. “Huh? Why?”

You grinned smugly.

“Because only blind people call me ugly.”

The playful atmosphere vanished in a second.

Without warning, Zayn suddenly stepped closer.

Too close.

His gloved hand gripped your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to look up at him. Through the clear glass visor of his helmet, you could clearly see the change in his expression—the teasing look gone, replaced by something deeper.

“Say that again,” he said quietly. “Slowly.”

Your heartbeat stumbled.

“H-How only blind…”

“Hm.”

“…people…”

“People…” he repeated softly, his eyes slowly lowering to your lips.

You swallowed nervously under his gaze.

“Leave me alone,” you muttered shyly, trying to push him away.

But his grip tightened slightly instead.

“Damn,” he murmured lowly. “Now even my heart needs glasses.”

Your cheeks instantly burned red.

You quickly looked away.

“Stop…”

Before either of you could say another word, a loud truck horn suddenly echoed from the road, snapping both of you back to reality.

You immediately noticed how close your bodies were.

How his hand was still holding your chin.

How your breath kept shaking.

Zayn slowly released you before clearing his throat casually, acting like nothing happened.

“Ready?” he asked.

You avoided his eyes while putting the helmet on.

“Y-Yeah.”

Then you climbed behind him on the motorcycle, wrapping your arms around his waist tighter than usual—while the tension between you remained unspoken during the ride.