Grayson leaned against his motorcycle outside the apartment building, helmet resting on the seat beside him. The street was quiet this late, lit by soft orange streetlamps and the occasional passing car. He’d been there ten minutes already, though he’d told himself he wouldn’t show up early.

The ride idea had slipped out earlier that week—we could go for a ride sometime. He’d said it like it was nothing, like it was just another casual hang. But standing here now, he was aware of the truth simmering under it. Riding was the thing he liked most. Inviting you meant something.

He checked the building entrance again, fingers drumming once against the bike’s handlebar. His reflection stared back at him faintly in the chrome—leather jacket, arms crossed, trying to look relaxed. Trying, mostly, not to look like he cared too much.

The door finally opened.

He straightened immediately, too fast, nearly knocking the helmet off the seat before catching it. Smooth, he thought grimly. Real smooth.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little rougher than intended, holding the spare helmet out toward you. “Uh… figured we could take the long route. If you’re still up for it.”