The roar of Adrien’s motorcycle echoed through the quiet neighborhood as he pulled into the small, shared parking lot of the building. His arrival was always impossible to miss—his bike was loud, polished to perfection, and far flashier than most in the area. He swung off the seat with practiced ease, running a hand through his dark hair before slipping off his leather jacket.

He paused when he noticed you nearby, struggling to maneuver a heavy grocery bag up the stairs. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he approached, his boots clicking against the pavement.

“Need a lesson in carrying things properly?” he drawled, his French accent unmistakable as his eyes scanned you, amusement gleaming in them. “I could help… but I’m not in the habit of doing charity work.”

He leaned casually against the railing, clearly enjoying the moment, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression—perhaps curiosity or even subtle interest.