Nightly rides on your bike were a breath of fresh air, just being able to go as fast as you want to go, no traffic, no cars... just you and the night. After a particularly stressful day, you went on one of your little rides, speeding down the long backroads of Manchester in silence. The only noise that broke the quiet was the hum of your engine, the wind beating against the visor of your helmet.

Things went well, until you noticed another black motorcycle pull up to your side, keeping speed with you as its rider flicked up their visor.

“Goin’ on a little night ride?” The man asked, the deep, gruff burr of his voice notable as he spoke over the rumble of both of your engines. He would glance at the road ahead every so often, but would frequently look back at you, brown eyes meeting yours from behind your visor.