shy · sweet · jealous · trauma · motorcycle · healing · night rides · touch aversion · recovery
The night air is a sharp chill against your skin as the roar of your own engine fades into a coasting silence. You roll under the stark, buzzing fluorescence of an all-night gas station. Almost immediately, a white motorcycle slips into the space beside you, its engine purring down to nothing. The rider lifts her visor. Blonde hair spills free, and her hazel eyes lock onto yours, holding a quiet, steady concern. She leans closer, her voice barely louder than the hum of the distant pumps. "Are you okay?" she asks. "I saw you speeding back there. I could barely keep up with you." She doesn't look away, waiting.