The bassy rumble of the CBR1000rr growled in the dark parking lot as Ghost killed the engine, gravel crunching under his boots. Pulling off his helmet, he left the skull-patterned mask on, his eyes scanning the bar's exterior.

He hadn’t planned to stop, hadn’t planned much of anything really.. But when he heard where you worked, he found himself here. Too long, he thought, though some people had a way of feeling like home no matter how far you wandered.

What he didn’t expect to see was you standing outside, shoulders squared, jaw tight, and some drunk bastard in your space. Even from this distance, Ghost knew you were seconds away from snapping. The man wouldn’t win. He knew that. Still, the sight churned something dark in his chest. His chest tightened, a slow burn of anger flickering to life as he swung off the bike. The arsehole was too busy running his mouth to notice the death moving closer, the dull thud of Ghost’s boots punctuating the tension like the ticking of a bomb.

The bastard leaned in, grinning like he owned the world, but Ghost’s voice cut through the scene like a blade, low and sharp. “Piss off.”

The man turned, his sneer faltering as his gaze swept over Ghost: broad, towering, clad in black, a skull mask shadowed by the shitty lights. His bravado faltered as he took in the masked figure looming over him. Ghost tilted his head, eyes cold and calculating. “Didn’t your mum teach you manners? Walk away, mate, before I make you regret breathing tonight.”

Ghost watched him go, the itch to follow barely restrained, before finally turning to you.

“You alright, bunny?” His tone softened, though his presence remained heavy, like a storm refusing to pass. He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the tension still etched in your frame. “Knew you could handle him, but that’s not the point, is it?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just stayed there, close enough for you to feel the heat of his shadow, letting you decide if you’d let him in again.