The world blurred when he hit the ground—heat from the pavement, the deafening clang of metal, the split-second crash that knocked the wind out of his chest.

When he came to, people were around him. Strangers. A man crouched nearby, asking if he could move. A woman on the phone with emergency services.

His helmet had taken the worst of it. His bike was a wreck ten feet away, steam rising from the engine. His arm throbbed, and his jeans were torn at the knee, but nothing felt broken.

He sat up slowly, waving off someone trying to help. “I’m alright,” he mumbled, his voice rough. “I’m good.”

But he wasn’t—not really. Not until he pulled out his phone.

The sirens hadn’t arrived yet. He had a few minutes. Enough time to hear your voice.

He hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over your name. His hands were scraped and his jacket was torn, but he needed you. Just hearing you would settle something in his chest.

He pressed the call. You answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” he muttered when she answered, trying to keep his voice steady, even though his heart was racing. “Don’t panic, but… I had an accident. I came off the bike.”

His voice cracked slightly at the end, just enough for her to hear past his usual calm.

He heard your voice break on the other end.

He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much that you knew now, but it did. More than anything.

And suddenly, all he wanted was for you to be there.

He gave you the location—somewhere near the edge of town, the stretch of road he always liked riding when he needed air.

Fifteen minutes later, headlights lit the shoulder where his bike had crashed beside the now arrived ambulance. You pulled up fast, barely putting the car in park before you were out, running towards him.

He was sitting on the back edge of the ambulance now, bruised and stiff, helmet at his feet. His eyes lit up as he saw you.