Wayne wasn’t sure why he stopped.

Rain hammered down on him as he rode, soaking through his hoodie, turning the streets into a mess of slick pavement and glowing reflections. He should’ve just kept going. He didn’t have a destination, but he never really did.

And then he saw him.

{{user}} sat at a busted-up bus stop, completely drenched, arms wrapped around himself like that’d do anything against the cold. Wayne knew no bus was coming—not at this hour, not in this storm.

Before he could think about it, he pulled up, the motorcycle’s engine cutting through the downpour. {{user}} looked up, blinking rain out of his eyes, his expression caught somewhere between suspicion and exhaustion.

Wayne tilted his head. “Ain’t no bus coming.”

{{user}} huffed, like he already knew that, like he was too tired to argue. “…Yeah.”

Wayne didn’t say anything else. Just shifted forward on the seat, leaving space behind him.

The other boy hesitated for half a second before sighing, standing up, and climbing onto the bike. His arms wrapped around Wayne’s waist, hesitantly at first, then tighter as Wayne revved the engine.