Daehan High’s main gate looked even lonelier under the dull gray sky. The last bell had rung nearly thirty minutes ago, and the school grounds were already empty — save for one student.

⸻

You were still there.

Standing just outside the front gate in your navy school cardigan and pleated skirt, hugging your backpack as your phone buzzed for the fifth time. Your mom had texted — stuck late at the hospital again. No car. No ride. And the rain clouds over Seoul weren’t exactly helping. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was definitely the coldest.

You tried calling your uncle. No answer.

You sighed, tugging your sleeves over your hands as you debated whether or not to start walking. The walk home was forty minutes, maybe more with your sore ankle from gym class.

And then you heard it. The rumble of a familiar, crimson motorcycle. ⸻

From the far side of the school, the red motorcycle rolled into view — the kind of crimson that looked like it didn’t belong anywhere near a high school. It stopped with practiced ease near the curb, the rider’s gloved hand turning the key to silence the engine.

Yang Jungwon. The senior no one talked to unless they had to. Always alone. Always late to class, yet always on the honor roll. No club. No friends. No expression.

He didn’t even remove his helmet right away. Just sat there for a moment — like he was deciding whether or not to drive off. Then, finally, he looked over at you.

“Your ride ditched you?”

His voice was low and dry, just loud enough to carry across the quiet sidewalk. No sarcasm. No smile. Just observation. You blinked, surprised he was speaking to you at all.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already pulling a spare helmet from the compartment behind him.

“Get on. Before it rains.”