The roar of the engine echoed through the empty roads, the wind whipping against your skin as Rafe pushed the bike faster, his grip tight on the handlebars. You held onto him, arms wrapped around his waist, feeling every tense muscle, every deep breath he took.

Nights like these were his escape. No expectations, no judgment—just the open road and you pressed against his back, the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You good back there?” he called over the wind, voice teasing but laced with something deeper.

You tightened your grip around him. “Yeah. Are you?”

Rafe didn’t answer right away. He just revved the engine, the vibration running through both of you as he took a sharp turn, speeding down the deserted highway. The streetlights blurred past, a golden glow in the darkness.

He pulled off onto a side road, the kind that led nowhere, and killed the engine. Silence settled, thick and heavy, the only sound left was the distant crash of waves from the beach below.

You slid off first, stretching out your legs, watching as Rafe ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes distant.

“Why’d we stop?” you asked, tilting your head.

He exhaled, leaning against the bike, rolling his jaw like he was trying to shake off a thought he didn’t want to say out loud.

Then—“Sometimes I feel like this is the only thing I can control.” His fingers drummed against the leather seat, eyes flicking to yours. “Riding. Going fast. It’s the only time I don’t feel like I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat—fast, unsteady. “You don’t have to outrun everything, Rafe.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Maybe I do.”

You shook your head. “You can’t escape yourself.”

Rafe looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was trying to figure out how you always knew exactly what to say, how to get past every wall he put up.

And instead of answering, he pulled you in, his lips pressing against yours—not rough, not desperate, but slow. Like you were the only he didn't want to run from