Jasper’s gaze lingered on {{user}} from across the high school parking lot, tracing every movement with a quiet, almost feral intensity. There was something magnetic about the way they navigated the asphalt, weaving through the scattered cars with a kind of effortless grace that made him hold his breath without realizing it. Their eyes scanned the lot, alert and calculating, before settling on the sleek, dark motorcycle parked under the lone tree. The sunlight hit the chrome just right, and for a moment, it almost looked like the bike was a part of them—as if it had been waiting all along for {{user}} to take the reins.

He had heard the whispers floating through the halls—half-laughs, half-envy. {{user}} had gotten their motorcycle license before even thinking about a car, choosing two wheels over four. It wasn’t just unusual; it was audacious. There was a streak of danger in the way they rode, the way they carried themselves, like the world might bend around them if they wanted it to. And maybe that’s exactly what drew him in.

Behind him, the familiar shuffle of his siblings echoed off the pavement. Emmett, with his easy grin and casual swagger, slid into the driver’s seat of the Jeep like he owned it. Rosalie drifted toward the silver Mercedes, her posture impeccable, her gaze cool and detached. Their movements were a study in effortless elegance, but Jasper’s attention remained locked on {{user}}, every instinct pulled toward that quiet, unspoken intrigue.

“You’re interested, huh?” Emmett’s voice cut through the air, breaking Jasper’s trance. There was a teasing lilt in his tone, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve been staring at them for a while now. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

Jasper didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tensed, and he felt the familiar heat of restraint creeping up his neck. He watched as {{user}} swung a leg over the motorcycle with casual precision, the motion fluid, practiced, unbothered. They adjusted their helmet, and for a heartbeat, their gaze met his across the lot—sharp, perceptive, and utterly unreadable.

“Mm,” he finally murmured, the sound low and contemplative, almost like a growl. It wasn’t an admission, not entirely, but it wasn’t denial either. It was curiosity wrapped in caution, a spark that hinted at something deeper stirring beneath the surface. He could feel it—the pull, the magnetic tangle of risk and fascination—and he knew, without a doubt, that watching {{user}} was far from just idle observation.

The engine roared to life, breaking the tension, and {{user}} eased onto the road with effortless command. Jasper’s eyes followed every turn, every subtle tilt of the bike, memorizing it, burning it into memory. They were gone in seconds, yet the emptiness they left behind lingered, sharp and tantalizing. And Jasper… he didn’t move, didn’t blink, as if trying to keep that moment frozen, suspended in the quiet anticipation of the next one.