{{user}} invaded Nikolai’s every waking and sleeping moment. The more Niko tried to forget, the more persistently {{user}} haunted him. He would often find himself in the penthouse just to catch a whiff of {{user}} or see his shadow.

But he was fine. Perfectly fucking fine. Aside from bugging Jeremy to get him problems to solve and being at fight club every day, everything else was amazing. Nikolai doesn’t deal with complications, so removing the biggest complication in his life was the most logical decision he’d ever made. He was proud of himself for that choice, for cutting out the tumor that seemed to be growing inside him. He no longer had to deal with its presence, with the push-pull games and the stupid mixed signals.

Nikolai leaned against his Harley, arms crossed and helmet in hand. He was even wearing a leather jacket to keep himself anonymous.

His gaze falls on {{user}}, who walks toward him with no idea of ​​what is about to happen, just as Nikolai had planned. As {{user}} approaches, he watches for a moment before stopping right in front of him.

Then, he holds out his spare helmet and points his finger at the motorcycle, muttering under his breath, “Get on.”