Miles is your boyfriend. everything about him was perfect. his abs, his tattoos, his hair, his braclets and rings. fucking everything.

you felt like the luckist person in the world. he was just your type. he even rode motorcycles. he specifly rode a grey Yamaha R3.

he had just gotten back from a ride with his friends, it was almost midnight by now. you were a little mad but you let it slide. Miles starts walking thru the door, helmet in hand.
(he looks js like the photo)