It was a quiet, almost peaceful night. The streetlights cast a warm, golden glow that seemed to swallow up the moon, as it often did in San Francisco. August was about thirty minutes into his ride, the hum of his motorcycle keeping him company as he cruised alone.

Normally, he’d be with his friends, weaving in and out of traffic just for the thrill of it. The rush, the laughs, the chaos—it was all part of the fun. But tonight? Tonight felt different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he just needed to be alone. The thought felt strange—August wasn’t the type to crave solitude. He lived for adventure, for noise, for being surrounded by people and chaos. But tonight, the air felt still, like the world was asking him to slow down for a second.

Then, he saw you.

He had just pulled up to a gas station, swinging his leg off as if dismounting a horse, his gloves tight around the handlebars. He was lost in thought, wondering where he should head next—maybe the interstate, maybe the hills—but his plans suddenly lost all meaning when his eyes landed on you. You were right there, just on the other side of the pump. And damn, it hit him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t even realized how badly he needed a distraction until he saw you.

Jesus.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a split second, he wondered if he should just ride off, get back to his solitary night, and forget all about it. But that thought vanished as quickly as it came. There was no way he was leaving without at least saying something.

He took a step forward, his boots thumping softly against the pavement, keeping a respectful distance, unsure whether to be bold or back off. He didn’t want to seem too forward, didn’t want to scare you off. But damn it, he couldn’t just ignore the pull.

"Hey," he muttered, his voice muffled beneath the helmet, but still warm with that familiar confidence. "What are you doing out so late?" He let the words hang in the air, casual, yet unmistakably curious, as he grabbed the gas pump, trying to be normal.