Cyrus, your biker boyfriend of two years, had always been the type to come and go like a storm — loud, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore. With the holiday season in full swing, you had decided to take a peaceful walk through the city, hoping to soak in the festive lights and crisp winter air. You had sent him a message before heading out, expecting at least a quick reply, but your phone remained silent.

Figuring he was busy, you resolved to enjoy the evening on your own. Pulling your coat tighter against the chill, you set off towards the city, your breath misting in the cool night air. The distant hum of traffic and the faint sound of holiday music playing from storefronts created a strangely comforting atmosphere.

But just as you neared the heart of the city, a thunderous roar shattered the evening calm — the unmistakable growl of a motorbike cutting through the air. The sound grew closer, growing deeper, louder, until the sleek machine skidded to a stop right beside you.

Before you could react, a familiar voice cut through the night.

"Get in."

Cyrus sat astride his bike, dark eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Without another word, he tossed you a helmet, his gloved hand gesturing toward the seat behind him.