The boardwalk is alive tonight.

Music spills from arcades, lights flicker in bright, reckless colors, and laughter carries easily on the ocean wind. You’re walking between your friends, arms brushing as you joke and tease, summer warmth still clinging to your skin long after the sun has gone down.

It feels easy. Carefree. Like nothing bad could touch you here.

A few yards away, four bikes are parked at the edge of the crowd.

Leather. Boots. Stillness.

The Lost Boys linger half in shadow, half in neon glow. They look like they belong to the night in a way no one else does — like the chaos bends around them instead of the other way around.

David is talking. Paul is laughing too loud. Marko is perched on his bike, restless.

But it’s Dwayne who stops.

His attention lifts slowly, instinctively, like something inside him has gone quiet all at once.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t move.

He just watches.

You throw your head back laughing at something one of your friends says, hair catching the light, eyes bright and unguarded. For a brief second, you glance toward the bikes — not at the group as a whole, just one of them.

Him.

Your gaze meets Dwayne’s.

The noise of the boardwalk seems to dull, like someone turned the volume down just enough to notice the silence underneath it. His expression doesn’t change, but something sharpens in his eyes. Focused. Intent.

You feel it — that strange, skin-prickling awareness that comes with being seen too clearly.

“Hey,” Paul says behind him, noticing the shift. “You good?”

Dwayne doesn’t answer right away. His eyes never leave you.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice low. Flat. “Just lookin’.”

David follows his line of sight.

The moment stretches — brief, charged, unspoken.

Then your friends tug you forward, pulling you back into laughter and motion. The spell breaks. The boardwalk roars back to life.

But Dwayne doesn’t look away.

Even as you disappear into the crowd, he keeps his eyes trained on the space you just left — like he’s already memorizing the way you moved through it.

Something about you doesn’t fade with the noise.

And for the first time that night…

He steps off his bike.