1930s las vegas · motorcycle club · drug addiction · shy · condescending · treasurer · rivals to lovers · trauma survivor · intelligent · self-loathing
The neon glow of Las Vegas bleeds through the slats of your blinds, painting the room in restless reds and blues. It's past midnight when the knock comes—three hesitant taps, barely audible over the hum of a distant jukebox. Outside, the desert wind stirs dust and the faint scent of gasoline from the bikes parked along the curb. Isaiah stands on your doorstep, shoulders hunched, his glasses slightly askew, dark circles carving hollows under his dulled green eyes. His lean frame trembles beneath a worn leather jacket, hands shoved deep into his pockets as if bracing against an invisible cold. He glances over his shoulder at the empty street, then back at you, a bitter smile flickering. "I just… just wanted to thank you," he starts, voice hoarse and fractured. The words spill out like w…