You snail up the slope and finally reach the parking lot, mouth muttering curses under your breath. Pulling up sweat stricken, you swing your leg around the bike and get off.

There she stands, in the corner of your eye as you push your bike to park it in the bicycle lot. Her void black helmet rests on the leather seat of her red Ducati as she wipes the dirt off the LED headlights with a microfibre cloth.

“Hey! You almost killed me earlier!”

“What can I say? You have weak legs.”

“Weak legs?!”

“Don’t blame me when you're so fucking poor that you can't get a bike, you hamster.”

“Hey! You're so rude!”

“Hey this hey that, I have a name, and it's Chaewon! Why don't you get a fucking engine!”

“Well Miss Chaewon, I have an engine — it's called me!”

Before you can fire back, a window slams open above.

“SHUT UP! IT'S FUCKING MIDNIGHT!”

“You’re lucky I’m tired as fuck,” you growl.

“Fuck off, you prick.” Staring daggers into your eyes, Chaewon rolls her eyes as she returns to wiping the LED headlights.

“Can't be bothered with you.” Hand palming your forehead, you turn away and head in, slamming your door hard enough to rattle the thin wall.

A second later, the door next to your house slams in answer.

Bitch ass neighbour I got. Just my luck. Long day ahead tomorrow.

***

The alarm drags you out of shallow sleep far too soon. By the time you’re dressed and wheeling your bicycle out, the sun is barely up, and neither is your patience.

You’re halfway through unlocking your bicycle when —

VVVMMMMMMM

The Ducati fires up right beside you, engine snarling loud enough to rattle your teeth. Chaewon revs it once, twice, letting it growl before easing off.

“Oh? Looks like the hamster’s awake,” she taunts over the noise, helmet already on but visor flipped up. “Sleep well?”

You glare. “Like a baby. Thanks to your lullaby at 5 a.m.”

“You know, some people have to make deliveries before heading to the office. I don't think it's very considerate to start noise pollution so early in the morning.”

“This early? You're not the only one who’s hustling, asshole.” She just smirks and flips the visor down, twisting the throttle again — purely to annoy you — and rolls out, red twilight trailing down the hill.

You watch her disappearing longer than you should, then pedal off in the opposite direction. Another long day ahead.

The day bleeds into the evening exactly like every other day — rushed deliveries in the morning, office revisions until your eyes burn (you do remember to work on the thing your boss “pleaded” you to at 1 a.m. last night), monotonous meetings that accomplish nothing, then straight into delivery runs under the streetlights.

By the time you're climbing the hill again, the city night glow has already dimmed into slumber, your legs burning and your stomach empty, and the parking lot seems like the only finishing line that matters.

“Hmmph, you're later than usual. And sweatier too,” Chaewon said. She's already there crouched beside her bike, rag in hand, making the final wipes for her Ducati indulgence. “Guess your 'engine' isn't fast enough.”

“Well thanks to my lovely neighbour, I didn't sleep well and had less fuel for my engine,” you grumble, unstrapping the delivery bag.

She pauses for half a second, almost like she's about to say something, then just shrugs, “Not my fault that you're sensitive to a little exhaust note.”

You roll your eyes, too tired to escalate. “Whatever, I'm starving.” You chain your bicycle beside her bike and unzip the delivery bag, removing your so-called “supper” at 2 a.m. before shuffling towards the building.

Right as you pass her, you catch it — the unmistakable low growl from her stomach. She freezes mid-wipe, before retaliating with a shout, “What are you looking at! Fuck off!”

You pretend not to hear, and head inside. Although, you definitely saw her cheeks reddening under the lot lights.

You boil water and quickly throw together a pack of Shin Ramyun, topped with a slice of melty processed cheddar cheese and a raw egg that slowly cooks into a gooey indulgence. Steamed kimchi pork mandus microwaved hot, you start feasting.

Halfway through your meal, you realise your hunger has clouded your mind, and that you cooked and bought way too much food.

Her stomach’s alarm echoes in your head.

She probably skipped her meals too. Whatever. I just hate wasting food.

Without overthinking it, you portion your meal into a clean disposable bowl, adding a new slice of cheese and raw egg, before re-microwaving it warm. Covering it loosely, you bag it and quietly hang it on Chaewon’s doorknob on your way to throw the trash.

No note.

You’re already back in your apartment, door closed, when you hear her door open down the hall. Soft footsteps, the rustle of the bag, then silence.

A minute later — muffled through the thin wall — a quiet “...tch. Idiot.”

But you swear you hear the clink of chopsticks right after.

***

VMM VMM VVVMMMM

Your eyes shoot open.

What the heck? It's not even 5 a.m.! Why is she revving that damn bike earlier than usual!

Your eyes, barely open, drift to your phone and soak in the numbers that light up on your screen.

4.27 a.m.

Whatever…

You lament before tossing the blanket back over your head, going back to sleep.

…

“Damn it,” you swear under your breath.

You flip the blanket off, glaring at the cracked ceiling. Barely two hours of sleep, and now your phone’s blue light has you wide awake.

Should have trusted my mom and gotten a proper alarm clock. Stupid Instagram reels about blue light were right.

You pull your lethargic body up, heading to the washroom to shower. You do the usual, brushing your teeth, taking a shower, before changing into your delivery attire.

New day, new shit. Time to hustle.

Your eyes droop in exhaustion, and you open the refrigerator out of habit.

...

My lovely energy drink… Guess I’ll die today.

You slam the empty refrigerator door close, before grabbing your bicycle helmet by the shoe cabinet, pushing the main door open.

clink

Something falls right in at the entrance. You push the door wider, and a bottle rolls into sight.

A familiar blue-and-yellow bottle of Bacchus.

“Who —”

Then you remember.

There's only one other person on this level who survives on cheap energy drinks.

You bend down to pick it up, stuffing it in your bag, before heading off to work.

***

You pop open the energy drink mid-morning, the familiar bitter-sweet hit keeping your eyes open throughout another endless day.

By the time you're rolling into the parking lot, you're tired and famished. The same old.

Too tired to cook today. You fish out the bento you bought earlier from the convenience store, and walk to the steps right at the entrance of the building. Sinking onto the concrete steps, you crack open a can of soda and sip. You then set the bento’s lid aside and snapped the wooden chopsticks apart.

Should I have microwaved it upstairs… it's so damn cold...

You grumble in your heart as you stuff the ice cold slice of gimbap into your mouth. You should have eaten your dinner earlier.

Is it even safe? It's been like, almost 7 hours since I bought it.

Regardless, you continue to chew. You can only blame yourself for being unlucky if you get food poisoning from this.

Then suddenly, you hear shouting from above. It's hers. "No, I'm not coming home! And no, I'm not wasting my life. The bike's mine — I earned it."

You pause, listening despite yourself.

So that's it. She's running from something. Or someone. Guess she's having it tough too.

Then the shouting stops.

Your eyes wander around as you stare into the night sky, before finally resting your gaze on the red Ducati.

“Still here? Thought our pathetic hamster would've crawled inside by now.” The apartment’s main door creaks behind you as her familiar voice cuts your thoughts short.

“Speak of the devil,” you mutter under your breath. “I thought you died, not seeing you performing manicure on your bike today.”

Chaewon steps out in an old hoodie over her work clothes, portable speaker in one hand, a bottle of degreaser and rag in the other.

She snorts, walking past you to the Ducati, and sets up right under the light, close enough that you can smell the citrus degreaser before she even sprays.

The speaker starts low, playing some song about pasta. Cool. Your head bobs silently to the beat, feeling the groove as you pop more slices of ice-cold gimbap into your mouth, until the heavy and sharp smell hits your nose.

You try to ignore it, but the smell intensifies to the point that your gimbap now tastes like degreaser. The fumes stings your nose as you wince while chewing.

You look over at her, shaking your head internally.

So much for your precious bike. Who the hell drenches the bike chain in degreaser without diluting it?

As if reading your thoughts, she glances over, the degreaser bottle still in hand, half-tilted, “Any problem, Mr. Hamster?”

“Nope,” you mutter, stuffing the last two pieces of gimbap into your mouth in a single bite before standing up. “Just heading in before I choke on your spa treatment.”

“Whatever.” She turns back to the bike, drenching the chain without restraint.

You chuck the empty bento into the rubbish chute and escape upstairs, door clicking shut behind you.

You shower, brush your teeth, and collapse on the bed, exhaustion hitting you like a truck.

But the smell seeps through the thin walls, faint and persistent. The muffled music thumps on.

You guess your sleep tonight is going to be shallow again.

***

The same thing happens again today — your daily 5 a.m. wake up call, morning delivery hustle, monotonous office meetings. Except tonight is a free night. It's your weekly off-shift for the delivery gig.

You saunter out of your office at 6 p.m. sharp, feeling slightly more energised than usual.

Time to treat myself to a nice meal and stock up on my lovely Bacchus~

You drop by your favourite noodle place, ordering your usual combination: jajangmyeon with extra noodles and a can of soda, except this time around you splurge a little more, ordering an extra half serving of tangsuyuk and kimchi mandu each.

“8000 plus 1500 plus 6000 plus 3000, which is errrrr…18,500 won.” You mumble while calculating the bill as you key your order into the kiosk.

A little over budget… fuck it. A man's gotta eat. Gotta bulk up these 'weak legs'...

You swipe your card, sending your order through to the kitchen. Not too long later, you're stuffing your belly full, to the point that you had to loosen your belt before gulping down the last two pieces of sweet and sour pork.

Satisfied, you head towards the nearby hypermart, grabbing some packs of Toowoomba and Shin Ramyun — five each, to be exact, otherwise you don't qualify for the bulk purchase discount. Of course, you don't forget about Bacchus, you could never. You dump another five cartons of energy drink into your shopping cart, before heading to the cashier. You pass by the different sections: fresh produce, bakery, ready-to-eat food, frozen, daily necessities. Until you reach the automotive section.

You breeze past it, rushing to join the payment queue right ahead, grumbling internally after seeing that the line is super long.

But the next thing you know, you're back at the aisle, looking at spray bottles.

She's a bitch about everything... but that chain's gonna die if she keeps using the degreaser undiluted. Can't let a good bike suffer.

“Why do I even bother…” you mumble before grabbing the cheapest one before rejoining the queue.

You pay, bags heavy in both hands, and pedal home slower than usual. Full belly, no rush for once.

The building is quiet when you roll in. Her door is closed, with no light underneath. Probably not home yet. You pause in the hallway, one bag digging into your wrist, then pull the cheap spray bottle from the bag, set it against her door with the nozzle facing out. You hope it’s obvious what it’s for.

No note. You head inside, dump the groceries, and crash early for once.

***

“Get me the project done by this week. Management’s orders.”

“Wh-what? You're asking us to rush out something that would take a month by Friday? And it's already Wednesday today?”

Sweat trickles down your forehead as you try and imagine squeezing one month’s worth of work into three days.

Even Chaewon wouldn't be such a bitch.

Although, what can you do besides agreeing to the demand? It's not like decent paying jobs readily drop from the sky.

“I’ll take my leave then, Boss. Three days is a mooore than enough time~” you shrug and roll your eyes, before turning towards the door.

“Yah! I’m also mad at the managem —”

You slam the door shut before your superior even completes the sentence.

You head back to your desk, slumping into your office chair. Bending forward, elbows on the table, fingers threading into your hair. You close your eyes and think about your unpaid bills, the ever rising rent, and the shrinkflation of basically everything.

“Fuck.”

You slap yourself across the cheek. No time to brood. And you get to work.

12 noon. You skip lunch. Too busy to eat.

2 p.m. You switch your online visibility status to “Do Not Disturb”. Can't have minute matters distracting you.

4.30 p.m. Your boss shouts at you for not completing his PowerPoint slides. You put on your noise-cancelling headphones.

6 p.m. Everyone leaves the office. Except you.

6.30 p.m. You receive a text message from your boss: Friday. You skip dinner.

7 p.m., 8 p.m., 9 p.m. Time passes, hour after hour. No delivery gig today.

Midnight.

Your eyes droop, your stomach growls, and your head throbs. You're tired.

You stare at the Excel sheets, columns and rows of numbers spinning and twirling into whirlpools of gibberish.

You're done for the day. You power off your desktop, and leave the deserted office. You swing a leg over your bicycle and head for home.

…

You roll into the cracked parking lot well past midnight, head pounding, stomach empty. The sharp hiss of a pressure washer cuts through the dead night.

Chaewon’s under the light, blasting her Ducati, water spraying everywhere. The floor is wet with oil and dirt, and you wonder where she even rides her bike to.

You wheel closer to park — and a mist of oily water splashes across your chain and frame.

"Hey—!”

Chaewon ignores you and continues to wave the water pipe, dislodging another mud stain on the Ducati’s wheel, splattering onto your bicycle.

“Hey! Don't ignore me!” You shout, patience running thin.

She ignores and continues to wash, earning more splashes of water-oil droplets at your bicycle’s chain.

You snap.

“Yah! Miss Chaewon! What is your freaking problem!” You lunge forward and snatch the pipe off her hands, turning it off.

“My fucking problem? Fuck you! It's just a few drops of harmless water! What's that even going to do to your toy!”

Your face flushes an angry red. “Harmless?! Those drops of harmless water are going to cause my freaking chain to rust! Who the hell’s going to pay for the repair?”

“Tha —”

“I'm not done! Just water?! My seat’s freaking oily too! And what about the dirt?! It's all over my bag! You inconsiderate prick! First you almost get me killed, then you wake me up with your stupid revs every morning, and now? Now you soil my bicycle at the expense of cleaning your bike. Toy?! This isn't a toy, it's my freaking method of getting around! What the hell did I ever do to you!”

You blast at her without pause, barely catching your breath.

“I —”

“To hell with this goddamn world!”

A long silence follows.

Then, Chaewon grumbles, “...Fine… I'll be more careful next time”

You park the bicycle, grab your bag, and stomp off, leaving Chaewon in the parking lot.

You slam your house’s door in a rage and throw your bag across the room. Moments after, you hear a click and the door of the house next to yours closes.

*bzzzzz*

Your phone vibrates. It’s your boss. Of course it is.

“Yes, boss?”

The voice on the other end is calm and clipped. “Deadline’s tomorrow. Come in early. Overtime if needed.”

You freeze.

“Tomorrow? You’re kidding me. I haven’t eaten lunch or dinner because of this shit, and now you want it tomorrow?”

Silence. Then, “Management’s orders.”

“Fuck that. Fuck you.”

You hang up before he can respond.

*beep*

Undressing yourself, you head into the shower. You turn the tap’s handle, cranking the temperature of the water up until the toilet fills with steam.

The fuck did I do… I’m gonna get fired…

Squatting down under the flow of steady, lukewarm water, you thread your fingers into your wet hair.

And you cry.

***

You wake to the alarm far too soon, head still splitting, mouth cotton-dry from yesterday's breakdown. The shower cry feels like a dream you want to forget.

You drag yourself up, throw on yesterday's clothes (no energy for fresh ones), grab your helmet and bag. You open the door to head out early, the boss's orders ringing in your ears.

A small convenience-store bag sits against the frame, handles looped on the knob like it was hung carefully.

You crouch, frowning. Open it.

Inside: a blister pack of painkillers, two triangle gimbap (tuna mayo and bulgogi), and a small bottle of mint chocolate milk.

Taped to the medicine is a torn scrap of receipt paper, with sharp and messy handwriting.

'Thanks for the spray bottle.

Sorry about the splash. Won’t happen again.

Eat something before you collapse, idiot. — C’

You stare at the note longer than you should.

The hallway is quiet and her door is closed, no light underneath. No sign she’s waiting for a reaction.

Your headache throbs once, hard, like a protest. Then you peel one gimbap open, taking a bite as you wheel the bicycle down the hall. Tuna mayo. Salty and cold, exactly what you need.

You pocket the note, down the painkillers with a gulp of mint chocolate milk, and head out.

The hill down feels a little less steep today.

9 a.m. The painkillers kick in. Your stomach grumbles less, the tuna mayo gimbap actually doing its job. You catch yourself wondering if she ate too, then shake it off.

12 noon. Work's still shit, but the headache is gone, and you actually eat lunch, the second bulgogi gimbap courtesy of Miss Chaewon.

6 p.m. The end is in sight. Your boss doesn't leave you in the lurch for once, and even has the decency to order in some tteokbokki for you.

8 p.m. Project submitted. Your boss grants approval.

You decide to push off late night delivery gigs today, and you're home earlier than usual, Chaewon’s note still in your pocket.

Same old routine, shower, brush your teeth, and you plonk yourself onto the bed. The soft mattress caresses you as you sink into it, and for once, you drift into deep slumber.

…

…

*clink clink clink*

You're jolted awake. You turn to look at your phone.

2.56 a.m.

What the hell? I slept for four hours? That felt like one...

*clink clink clink clink*

More tinkering sounds stab past the thin walls, and in a few seconds, you're fully awake.

Oh wow, who would have thought that there would be something more effective than blue light at waking me up.

“F-fucking hell! Get off, you shit!”

You hear her cries past the thin walls and you approach the window, peeking out. There she is, wrench in hand, knocking on the wheels of her bike. Her curses get louder as she hits the bike with the tools harder with every failure.

“Gosh, she really needs to zip it up,” you grumble before heading downstairs, slamming the main door open and storming towards her.

“Miss Chaewon, can you pl — oh.”

She's crouched, slamming the wrench down in frustration.

“Y-you alright?”

“This… stupid bolt won't fucking turn! The chain’s too loose after today’s runs, and I-I have early deliveries tomorrow…” Silence swallows the parking lot, as her eyes turn slightly red, a tear escaping as she glares at the bike.

You look at her, then look at her wrench, look at the toolbag in the corner, before sighing. “You aren't supposed to use the wrench, Miss Chaewon… smart, but this isn't a regular wrench job. You have a socket wrench and you don't use it, you pabo.” You walk towards the toolbag, taking out the socket wrench before squatting beside her.

“Look, I’ll show you how to do it.” You attach the socket to the wrench, and show it to her. “Tilt this switch clockwise to tighten, anti-clockwise to loosen. I’m sure you know which is which right?” You fit the socket onto the nut and crank the wrench, the nut coming loose almost instantly.

“Give it a try.” You softly grab her hands, wiping her fingers dry with yours, and place the tool on her palm.

All while she looks at you silently.

"I'll be right here if you need a hand," you mutter, before settling onto the nearby concrete steps — close enough to help, far enough to give her space.

She wipes her eyes with her sleeve, sniffs, and tries the socket. It catches, and turns a fraction. “This… actually works…” She works in silence, with you watching quietly. Eventually, the nut loosens and drops. She adjusts the chain tension, then checks the slack with her fingers.

Same socket wrench, switch flipped in the clockwise direction. Nuts tightened and fastened back on.

And she's done. She packs the tools, turns on the engine, letting it run idle, before sitting heavily on the step beside you — not too close, but closer than ever.

The low hum of the engine now fills the silent void in the parking lot. After a long beat, she asks with a low voice, “So… rough day?”

You let out a breath that’s half-laugh, half-sigh. “Yeah. You could say that.”

She doesn’t push. Just waits.

You rub the back of your neck, eyes stuck on the cracked concrete between your feet.

“My boss moved the deadline up again. Told me yesterday it was Friday, then called at one in the morning to declare today as Friday. I haven't eaten since… I don’t even remember. Then I lost it. Told him to fuck off.” You huff, embarrassed. “Pretty sure I almost got fired.”

She nods slowly, like she’s not surprised. “Sounds like my night,” muttering above the engine. She leans back, propping her arms on the concrete step behind and looks up into the sky. “Big table of drunk office guys. The fattest one grabbed my waist when I brought the check. Laughed like it was nothing, boasting to his colleagues at how cheap I was. Then the manager told me to ‘suck it up and keep them happy'. Their tips weren't even worth it.”

Her fingers clench into fists. “Came home after that stupid encounter and the bike wasn't cooperating either. The chain was basically slapping the whole ride. Thought I could fix it fast. Heh, couldn’t even do something so simple.”

Her words hang there heavily.

You swallow, looking up at where she's staring at. “Some days it feels like you’re just… running out of road. No matter how hard you push, you’re still in the same place. Same bills, same walls, same everything.”

She turns her head, eyes glassy but sharp. “Exactly.” Her voice cracks a little. “This bike… it’s stupid, but it’s the only thing to me that ever feels like freedom. Like something I chose. When it doesn’t work…” She trails off, turning to looking at the Ducati like it might break her heart, “It feels like proof that I can’t even keep the one thing I love running.”

Your throat tightens.

“I get that,” you mumble. “More than you know. The bicycle’s the same for me. It’s not anything fancy like yours, but on the nights when everything else feels like it’s crushing me… those rides are the only times when I can breathe. Even when my legs are screaming... Even when I’m starving…”

She’s silent for a long moment, then whispers, “I hear you. The late nights. The way you drop your bag, that long sigh… I know that sound.”

You meet her eyes. “And I hear you humming through the wall. Especially on the nights when I can’t sleep. It’s… dumb, but I feel like it’s the only thing that makes this place feel less… empty. Like someone else is still fighting too.”

She shrugs, her voice quieter. "I moved out young. Family wanted the safe path. You know, office job, stable, like yours probably. Couldn't breathe there. Every time I tried to be myself, it was always 'too loud', 'too reckless.' So I left. Delivery gigs, bar shifts, whatever paid for the bike. It's the only thing that's ever been just mine. I've met a lot of nasty people, so... when people get close... I push away first. Easier that way.”

Her gaze drops. A tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it this time.

“I thought you were just some stuck-up office guy who hated noise,” she says. “But then… you left food. And that spray bottle. Even after I was a complete bitch.”

You shrug, your throat dry. “I heard your stomach. Couldn’t let you starve. And… you were killing your chain with straight degreaser. Had to save the bike, at least.”

She lets out a wet, shaky laugh — the first real one you’ve heard from her.

“Pabo,” she mutters, but there’s no bite in it.

“Yeah,” you answer, a small smile spreading across your lips. “We both are.”

She shifts closer on the step, your shoulders almost touching now.

“I don’t let anyone near this bike,” she says softly. “Ever. But tonight… thanks. For not laughing. And for helping.”

“Anytime.”

You take a deep breath. “If… you ever want a break from the noise, I do slow rides every Friday night. Just around the blocks. No throttle. No rush. Just… quiet.”

She looks at you for a long time.

“Maybe,” she whispers.

Then she leans her head against your shoulder.

You don’t move. Neither does she.

And for the first time in months, the night doesn’t feel so heavy.

“See you tomorrow night then… Chaewon.”

She nods.

***

The night comes slower than you expect.

Work drags throughout the day, but the note's still in your pocket, its edges worn out from checking too many times.

Then evening comes. You wheel the bicycle out at dusk, your heart thumping harder than it should. Two helmets in hand, you linger by the rack, pretending to adjust the chain.

The building door opens.

Chaewon steps out in dark jeans and an oversized hoodie, her hair loose. No leather biker outfit tonight. She pauses when she sees you, eyes flicking to the bicycle.

"Thought you were joking," she mutters, but walks over anyway.

You shrug. "I said Friday nights."

She eyes the rear rack on the bicycle. "How the hell does this work?"

"Sideways. Or you can stand on the pegs. Your call."

She snorts. "This is gonna be lame."

But she moves and climbs on sideways, her legs dangling off one side, one hand lightly perched on your shoulder for balance, the other gripping the rack.

You push off slowly.

The first few minutes are awkward. She shifts and adjusts her body every turn, muttering "this is weird" under her breath.

“Try not to move so much, okay?” You grumble as you struggle to keep it steady, bicycle looping along the quiet side streets.

Gradually, she relaxes. Her hand on your shoulder loosens, fingers now resting instead of clutching.

You coast down a small slope. The wind picks up. She leans forward a bit, not hugging, but she’s closer to you.

"Not completely boring," she says quietly behind your ear.

You smile into the dark.

You stop once at a 24-hour store for drinks. She hops off stiffly and stretches.

"Legs okay?"

"Fine," she says, but her hands rub one calf.

And you both get back on. Same sideways perch. Her hand stays on your shoulder the whole way home.

Back in the lot, she dismounts carefully.

"Not the worst," she admits, handing back the spare helmet.

You nod. "Next Friday?"

She pauses, then, "Maybe."

But her eyes say yes.

***

Second ride.

She's waiting when you roll out, same hoodie, same hair tied back.

She climbs on without comment, but she sits front-facing this time, her legs over the rear wheel, arms loosely around your sides, hands resting on your stomach/chest.

"Better balance," she mutters, like an excuse.

You don't call her on it.

The ride this time is easier. She points directions with a tap, left for the river, right for the longer loop. Her hold tightens on downhills, relaxes on flats.

You stop at the same store. Share earbuds, her playlist, soft beats. She leans her chin lightly over your shoulder for the first time.

"Not boring at all," she says into your ear.

You grin.

Back in the lot, she lingers after hopping off.

"Night," she says, softer.

"Night, Chaewon."

She smiles — small and real — before heading inside.

***

Third ride.

She's waiting with a small plastic bag, inside with two mint chocolate milks and a triangle gimbap.

"Figured you'd forget dinner again," she says, tossing it to you.

You catch it, grinning. "Thanks."

She climbs front-facing without hesitation, her arms sliding fully around your waist this time, palms flat against your stomach, her small chest pressed to your back.

You feel her exhale as you push off, her chin settling on your shoulder like it now belongs there.

The ride is familiar now. Longer route, quiet streets. She rests against you the whole way, breathing warm against your neck when you coast. You end up at the overlook above the city, the lights sparkling below.

You stop, feet on ground.

She stays on a moment longer, arms still tight around you.

Then she hops off, but doesn't step back.

Back in the cracked parking lot, you park the bicycle, chaining it. Her Ducati sits gleaming under the flickering light.

You spot it then: a small streak of grease on the red tank, probably from her tinkering earlier.

Without thinking, you step over, grab the rag from her seat (still there from earlier), bend down, and wipe it clean in one smooth motion.

You straighten up, and she's right there, closer than you expected.

Her eyes flick from the clean spot to your face.

Before you can speak, she closes the gap.

The kiss is deep from the start. No hesitation, her lips pressing to yours quietly. One hand comes up to your collar, pulling you closer, the other at your waist.

It lasts, slightly warm, and tasting faintly of mint chocolate milk and the night air.

She pulls back just inches, breath mingling with yours.

"That's my thanks for the cleaning service," she murmurs, smirking, but her eyes are soft, cheeks flushed under the lot light.

"Don't get cocky."

You laugh quietly, thumb brushing her jaw once more.

"Too late."

She leans in again, shorter this time, lingering, before stepping back.

"Next Friday," she says, walking back towards the building.

You nod, your lips still tingling.

The lot feels warmer as she disappears.

And so do you.

***

Friday again. The one you've been counting down to without admitting it.

The week has been kinder than most. No new deadlines crashing down, no skipped meals out of pure survival. The project win bought you breathing room, and the rides, those quiet, perfect rides, have become the anchor keeping everything steady.

You finish work on time, no overtime pull. Evening deliveries off the schedule, and you head home with a small buzz of anticipation, the kind that makes the hill feel less steep.

Dusk settles as you wheel the bicycle out to the cracked lot. Helmet in your hand, you lean against the rack, pretending to check the tires while your eyes keep drifting to the building door.

It opens.

Chaewon steps out.

But something's off.

She's in her usual jeans and hoodie, spare helmet dangling from her fingers. But her shoulders are slumped and her eyes are shadowed with that bone-deep tiredness you know too well. No smirk tonight. Just a quiet defeat.

"Rough one?" you ask, straightening.

She exhales and nods. "Bar shift from hell. More drunk assholes who think grabbing the server is part of the tip. And the miniscule tips barely covers a bus fare." She looks at the bicycle like it's the only good thing left. "Was counting on the ride to fix it."

You smile softly. "Then let's go."

She climbs on, her arms sliding around your waist immediately, tighter than usual, like she needs to feel safe. Her chest presses to your back, chin settling on your shoulder once again before you even push off.

You start off slow, riding out.

Then, right as you are about to leave the parking lot, disaster strikes.

A sharp metallic snap from the rear wheel.

You coast to a slow stop in the empty lot entrance.

"Shit," you mutter, looking back. The chain's completely off. A link bent, jammed in the derailleur. Doesn’t look like a quick fix without your tools.

Chaewon hops off, crouches to look.

"Fuck," she says, her voice flat and tired. "Of course. Tonight of all nights."

She stares at the broken chain for a long second in frustration, disappointment flickering across her face. Then her eyes shift to her Ducati, gleaming red under the flickering parking lot light spilling out.

She stands slowly.

"Fuck it."

She heads upstairs, before coming down with her clothes totally changed. She's back in her black leather outfit that clings tightly to her skin.

She strides to the bike, unlocks the seat compartment, and pulls out the scuffed spare helmet. The one she's never let anyone touch.

She tosses it to you, which you barely catch, your heart jumping.

"Just this once," she says. "Get on."

She swings a leg over the Ducati and settles in.

You put the helmet on and climb on behind her. Your arms slide around her waist and your hands rests on her hips. Just like how you've imagined a hundred times.

The engine roars to life beneath you, deep vibrations running through your whole body.

She twists the throttle once, letting it growl.

"Hold tight."

You do, tighter than necessary.

And she blasts out of the lot.

Wind screams past. The city blurs into streaks of light. Her body is warm and solid under your arms, the leather jacket cool against your palms.

No words.

Just speed.

She takes the long way, sparse highways bleeding out of Seoul, winding roads that climb into darker hills. The Ducati growls through curves, leaning smooth, and you follow her body instinctively, just like how she once told you inside your head another hundred times.

An hour disappears.

She slows down, pulling off at a quiet hilltop overlook. It’s an empty parking area, with city lights sparkling far below, and stars glimmering sharp above.

Engine off.

Silence rushes in.

She pulls off her helmet, shakes out her hair that's wild from the wind. You take yours off. She turns on the seat, facing you, eyes dark, breathing still quick from the ride.

No words. She grabs your jacket collar, pulling you into her.

The kiss starts hungry, your lips crashing, months of stress exploding all at once. Her mouth lands hot and desperate on yours, tongue sliding in, tasting the night and her.

You groan into it, hands tightening on her hips, pulling her closer across the tank. She breaks away only for air, forehead still stuck against yours.

"Not enough," she whispers roughly. “Fuck — I need more.”

“M-more?” You blurt.

“Shush,” she leans forward and places a finger against your mouth. Her other hand grabs your cock, straining hard under your pants. "I could feel this the whole ride, you know. Your hard cock poking me.”

“S-sorry.”

“Don't be. If you're sorry… then fuck me. Right here. Right now.”

She leans slightly backwards onto the bike’s handlebars, her fingers raising to the leather outfit’s zipper nested between her collarbones. The leather parts wide, exposing her right down the middle — perky breasts half-covered by the leather, body glossy with sweat from the ride, pussy already shimmering wet under moonlight — all while looking into your eyes.

“C-Chaewon… you're soaked.”

“And whose fault do you think it is?” She says, before pulling you by your collar, forcing you down on her, her breath barely inches above your lips and whispers, “Give it to me. Take out that throbbing cock of yours. Now.”

She pushes you back, before lunging forward, hands scrambling around your waist. The belt unbuckles, and your pants unzips. You raise your legs and push your pants down, the cloth pooling around your ankles.

“Gosh. I can't believe I was so bitchy to such a nice cock.” Her hands grab your cock and give it a few hard strokes, before she leans back down on the handlebars. Chaewon raises her legs, her arms wrapping underneath her thighs, and places her hands around her pussy. “Push it in. Give it to me.” Her fingers spread her soaked pussy open on both sides, the trembling hot walls beckoning your entry.

You stand half up, lining your cockhead against her entrance and push. Chaewon tilts her head back and moans as you part her walls slowly, feeling every rib and bump of her velvety heat around your shaft.

“S-shit Chaewon. You're… so tight and hot.”

Her pussy clenches and relaxes as you push further, until you're fully embedded in her. You hold there, savouring the way her walls ripple and massage your cock, the magma heat melting your mind.

“You're so… deep inside of me.” She moans, tilting her head back, looking at you.

Then you pull. Her pussy clenches greedily, the suction refusing to let you go. You draw your cock out, already shiny with her juices, and slam it back in a single hard thrust.

“Fuck —” Chaewon yelps.

You grab on to her waist for leverage, and start fucking her proper. Hard, desperate thrusts, your hips snapping forward with raw force. Each drive slams deep, her body bumping against the bars, the bike rocking beneath you both.

“Fuck. Yes, just like that," she hisses, her nails digging into your shoulders through the fabric. Her walls clench hot around you, pulling you deeper like she can't get enough.

"Harder," she demands, legs locking tighter around your waist, heels digging into your lower back. She pull you down, and growls, "Don't you fucking stop. Give it to me. I can take it.”

Pounding into her relentlessly, the slick drag of her walls around you driving you insane. Sweat slicks your skin, the black leather flapping with every brutal thrust.

"Fuck, you're so deep," she moans, her mouth on your neck. Chaewon bites down hard, leaving marks that will probably bruise tomorrow.

"Right there. Yes." Her moans grow louder. "Don't stop. Fuck me harder."

You thrust faster and deeper, getting lost in the heat. You take in the lewd sight — the way she clenches every time you bottom out, the way her body shudders violently with every slam.

She cums first, sudden and overwhelming. Walls pulsing vise-tight around you, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as she trembles hard, biting screams into your neck.

You hold Chaewon firm, thrusting through her orgasm, feeling her flutter and squeeze, drawing it out until she's gasping your name, body limp in your arms.

Your breath is ragged, and you pull out slowly. She's shaking, her eyes half-lidded, but she's not nearly yet done.

She stands up and gets off the bike, ordering you to turn around, before pushing you down onto the seat. You are now in the same position as her earlier, your head now perched between the handlebars, back leaning on the engine, legs extended out to the back of the bike.

Chaewon swings her legs and straddles you, one of her legs resting on the bike's footrest, the other firmly rooted to the ground. Your heart pounds wildly, your cock still throbbing hard at the sight of her open breasts heaving under every breath, her glossy skin sprinkling with sweat droplets, and her expression that is a mix of command and desperate need that makes your stomach flip.

There's no patience in her eyes any more, and she sinks down onto you slowly at first, taking every inch with a long, drawn-out moan that vibrates through her entire body. Her walls are so hot and slick, clenching tight around you like she never wants to let go, pulling you deeper into her velvet heat until you're buried fully in her.

“Fuck,” Chaewon breathes, before sliding off the top of her outfit, the black leather dropping to gather around her waist, exposing her pair of nipples that's already stiff and hard under the night light. She grabs on to your hands, guiding them towards her hips and gazes needily into your eyes, “Hold me tight, don't let me go… ever.”

You groan, immediately gripping her, loose enough to not bruise, but firm enough to claim. You pull her body down onto your chest, her stiff nipples and sweaty chest rubbing against yours, face inches away your lips.

She starts riding — slow rolls of her hips at first, grinding down in deliberate circles to feel you fully, her body rubbing down against your chest, seeking more contact, more of you.

Her hands scramble forward, gripping the handlebars tight for stability, knuckles whitening against the black grip as she adjusts to the fullness inside of her.

“God — you’re so full — inside me—” she rasps, her body trembling slightly. She raises her hips and picks up speed, bouncing harder, her ass rocking and twerking against your cock. The bike’s suspension compresses and rebounds with every drop, driving you deeper into Chaewon with a perfect, relentless rhythm that makes the bike creak softly beneath you both. The Ducati moves with her like it's alive, amplifying every sensation.

"Yes — just like that," she gasps, the pace building steadily, her breasts bouncing and rubbing on your chest with every rise and fall. Her nipples are hard, begging for your attention. "Your hands — everywhere — touch me —”

“Ch-chaewon — t-turn —” You stutter, before grabbing her waist and lifting her up. Your cock slides out of her with a wet pop, ever so hard, lying between the ridge of her ass. She twirls her body and swings it around, her back now facing you.

Hands still gripping her waist tightly, you lift her once more, and she grabs onto your cock slick with her juices. She guides it towards her pussy, and you lower her down, sinking her wet heat onto you once more. Her body leans back as she places both of her feet on the bike's footrest, hands propped against your chest, and she rides you rough.

Chaewon moans and yelps every time you penetrate her, parting her walls. You wrap your arms around her waist fully, one hand splayed wide on her stomach pulling her back flush against you, the other sliding up to cup her breast, squeezing firmly, thumb circling her hard nipple in slow, teasing strokes that make her arch and moan louder.

She leans her head back against your shoulder, hair tickling your neck as she grinds deeper, her breath hot against your ear. "Fuck — yes, don't stop. I need you close — hold me like this.”

You thrust up to meet her, pistoning hard, matching her bounce, the suspension helping the depth. Her body jolting with every slam, slick and squelching sounds filling the night as her arousal coats you both.

"Fuck, you're hitting so deep," she moans, her voice breaking with pleasure as she turns her head to capture your lips in a messy kiss, tongue sliding against yours hungrily. "Keep holding me — just like this —"

You tighten your grip, arms locking around her, one hand pinching her nipple gently, the other low on her hips guiding her down harder with every bounce, feeling her tremble in your hold.

She rides frantically now, her body slick with fresh sweat, moans turning desperate and broken as she chases the edge, her hips rolling and bouncing in a rhythm that's completely lost in the pleasure.

"Faster — I'm close — make me come again," she pleads, body pressing back harder against yours, seeking every inch of contact.

The pleasure builds too fast. Her clenching walls, the bouncing rhythm, the suspension driving you deeper, and you can't hold back any longer.

You cum hard, barely pulling out in time, your seed spilling hot and thick across her waist and lower stomach, painting her skin and the edge of her leather jacket in messy ropes.

She gasps at the feel of the heat on her skin, grinding down empty for a moment, then cums hard anyway, walls pulsing around nothing. Her cry echoes in the open night as she trembles violently, clinging back against you with all her strength.

"Stay close — fuck — hold me through it," she gasps through the waves, her body shaking, arms reaching to grip your thighs.

You hold her through it, arms locked tight, pulling her back against your chest until she's gasping, boneless, leaning fully onto you, head on your shoulder.

“Let me go.” Chaewon snarls, her attitude switching all of a sudden. You oblige, loosening your grip around her, and she climbs off the bike, standing at your side.

“W-what’s wrong Chaewon?” You ask, worried that you did something wrong.

“Why did you pull out? I wanted you to fill me up full!” She glares, fingers reaching down towards her glazed tummy, scooping up your cum before she licks her fingers clean. “All this cum should have been inside of me…”

“I-I'm sorry! I didn't know if it was safe…” you cry, your spent dick softening on your waist.

“If you're sorry, then make it up to me. You can go on, right?” Chaewon pulls you upright, and sits on the rear seat, facing you. “Finger me, make me squirt all over your fingers. Make me squirt all over this bike. Stain the seats with my juices. Let me remember how you make me cum whenever I ride this bike.”

She pushes her outfit down her hips with impatient jerks, kicking it aside once it's pooled at her feet. The leather hits the ground with a soft thud.

You strip fast, your jacket tossed aside, shirt yanked over your head, pants and boxers shoved down and kicked away. Everything scatters around the bike in a messy pile. Both of you are finally naked, completely bare under the cool night air and sharp moonlight.

"Touch me," she whispers, her eyes dark and needy. "I need your hands in me.”

You slide your fingers down immediately, two at first, pushing into her soaked heat, feeling her clench around you instantly. "Yes — finger me — fuck, I need it so bad.” She moans loud, pushing down onto your hand, thighs trembling.

You add a third slowly, stretching her carefully, curling deep inside, thumb circling her swollen clit in firm, steady strokes that make her hips buck forward.

"Fuck — more," she gasps, her hands gripping your arm tight, holding them in place as she bounces and grinds on your fingers. "Deeper — curl them — yes, like that — stretch me.”

You pump your fingers fast, the slick sounds loud and obscene in the night. Her juices run free, coating your hand, dripping down your wrist as she grinds desperately.

She rides your fingers feverishly, her hips rolling forward, her body arching backwards. "Don't stop — fuck, your fingers feel so good — make me cum — please — I need to cum on your hand.” You curl them deeper, hitting that spot over and over — thumb pressing harder on her clit, circling faster, feeling her walls flutter wildly.

Her moans turn broken, body shaking. "Yes — right there — harder — I'm so close — fuck, please — don't stop."

She shatters, cumming hard on your fingers, body freezing, walls pulsing around you, legs trembling around your hand.

You draw out, fingers thrusting slowly through the waves, thumb rubbing gentle on her clit until she's gasping, shuddering through the aftershocks. Hand fully soaked, the leather seat wet and stained, you bring your fingers to your mouth and lick, tasting her fully, your eyes locked on hers the whole time.

She watches, biting her lip, then leans in, kissing you deep and slow, tongue chasing her taste in your mouth, moaning softly into your mouth.

"Fuck — so dirty... but I love it," she whispers against your lips, kissing harder, hands in your hair pulling you close.

She pulls away eventually and says, “Fuck, I wanna taste your cock so bad.” She hops off the bike, guiding you to the back of the bike. You're now sitting on the rear seat facing the back, your cock half hard. Chaewon circles around to the back of the bike, standing right in front of you, before kneeling down.

“C-Chaewon, your knees! Put something below! M-my clothes, yours! Don't let your knees get hurt!” You stammer.

“You… you're so fucking sweet to me.” She blushes, before grabbing your clothes, stuffing them underneath her knees, cushioning them from the rough floor.

“Makes me want to ruin you.” Face pressing close to your half hard cock, she grabs it and stuffs it into her mouth. She drools immediately, bubbling sloppy from the start, saliva dripping down your length as she sucks it, bobbing her head up and down. You shudder at the sensation, your heart sending more blood down, and your cock slowly hardens in her mouth.

“Mmmm fucking get hard for me,” Chaewon says as she pulls off for a brearh, before taking you back in deep, her lips stretching wide around you. Her mouth works on your cock, bobbing up and down, before she tilts her head sideways, taking you in slowly. Your dick bumps her inner cheeks, bulging visibly, the sounds messy and loud as her tongue swirls everytime she pulls back.

"Fuck — you taste like us," she mumbles around you, eyes looking up. You thread fingers in her hair, guiding lightly as she works, feeling her moan vibrate around you.

She pulls off slowly with a wet pop, slapping your cock on her lips, cheeks and tongue, the drool stringing thick and messy. "Look at you, already leaking, so hard for me again.”

Then back in. She takes you deep, gagging softly, saliva bubbling more, throat working around you as she takes you to the base, her nose brushing your stomach.

You groan, your hips bucking slightly.

She works you relentlessly, hand stroking your base, her mouth sloppy and eager, drool flowing everywhere, dripping down your balls, pooling on the seat.

"Fuck — your mouth — Chaewon —”

She pulls off again, slapping your throbbing cock on her pouty lips. "Gonna make you come again," she declares, slapping even harder, tongue sticking out to flick the tip and tease the slit. She repeats, diving back in, deepthroating, gagging, choking on your cock.

You pull her hair gently, and she moans around you, taking you deeper.

"Fuck — I'm close —"

She pulls off one last time and slaps your cock on her face, spreading her drool everywhere.

"Come for me — all over my tongue —" Chaewon sticks out her tongue and strokes you hard and fast with two hands, twisting on every upstroke. You explode, spurting out waves and waves of milky white cum that splatters all over her tongue.

She moans as you coat her, hands twisting you dry, milking every single drop. Your hands grip onto her hair throughout your orgasm, your thighs trembling, your body shaking. She looks up at you throughout, tongue licking around her lips, slurping every single drop of your seed. She pools your cum on her tongue, showing it to you before swallowing it all down in a single sultry gulp. “Mmm… you taste so fucking good~” She grins.

“You can go on more right? Still need you to cum inside my needy pussy.” She stands up, walking back to the front of the bike, mounting it. She positions herself carefully on the main seat facing forward, knees tucked beneath her on the warm leather, ass lifted slightly in invitation while her legs spread just wide enough for you to fit perfectly behind her.

Her hands reach forward to grip the handlebars tight as she arches her back beautifully, looking back at you over her shoulder, breath coming in shallow pants. You turn around, and line your cock, still hard, right at her entrance, ready to push in.

"Wait," she says, her voice laced with a desperate edge that makes your heart race. "Turn it on — the engine. I want to feel it rumbling through me while you fuck me."

You pause and lean forward, hand hovering near the key, the anticipation building as her words sink in.

She nods, her hand grabbing on to yours. "Do it. Now. I need the vibration — all of it — with you inside me."

You twist the key without hesitation. The Ducati roars to life beneath you both with a low, deep growl that vibrates through the seat, the tank, the entire frame, pulsing into your bodies. The rumble is intense and steady, sending shivers up her spine and straight through your thighs where they press against hers.

She moans immediately, the vibration hitting her clit and core where she's pressed to the seat, her walls clenching around nothing in anticipation. "Fuck — yes — now fuck me — drive into me hard."

You line your cock up and thrust into her in one smooth, deep stroke, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, welcoming heat as the engine's rumble amplifies every sensation, the vibration traveling through her body and into yours where you're joined. She cries out, her walls clenching hard around you instantly, the dual stimulation of your cock and the Ducati's growl making her shudder violently from the start.

You cover her body completely, chest pressing to her back, one arm sliding around her waist to hold her close while the other reaches forward to lace fingers with hers on the handlebar, grounding her as you begin moving.

You fuck her steady and deep at first, hips smashing forward, each thrust pulling a desperate sound from her throat as she pushes back to meet you. Her body jerks forward slightly with every slam, the engine's vibration intensifying everything, making her walls flutter and clench wildly around you.

"Faster," she demands, turning her head slightly to catch your eye. "Fuck me hard — let me feel the bike shaking with us — every vibration, every thrust."

You obey, the pace building into something brutal and relentless, the angle devastating as you hit deep over and over. Her body rocks forward with every drive, breasts swaying and pressing against the tank, nipples dragging against warm metal.

The Ducati's rumble grows with your rhythm, the vibration pulsing stronger through her core, making her moan louder, her cries growing broken and desperate as the sensations overwhelm her.

"Yes — right there — the engine — fuck, it's everywhere — deeper — don't stop," she gasps, pushing back harder, her walls clenching in rhythm.

You lean over her more, one hand sliding from her waist to grip her hip harder. You pull her back onto you with every thrust, the other squeezing her hand tight on the handlebar, fingers intertwined as you feel her tremble uncontrollably under you.

"Chaewon — fuck — you're taking me so well," you groan, the scent of her sweat and arousal mixing with faint exhaust.

She pushes back desperately, meeting every slam. "Harder — make me scream — I need it — the vibration — you — all of it — fill me up."

The rhythm turns frantic, skin slapping loud. "Fuck — I'm coming — don't stop — hold me close," she begs.

You hammer into her, driving deep, punishing strokes as she cums hard, walls convulsing around you, cries muffling into her arm as her body shakes uncontrollably. Her nails dig into the handlebar as her hips push back desperately to keep you buried while the engine's rumble prolongs every wave.

You keep going, although slightly slower now to draw it out, then faster again when she begs through gasps. "Again — make me cum again — creampie me — please — I want you to fill me up — stay inside — feel the bike with me."

You pound harder, getting lost in the heat, the slick drag, her desperate pleas, the way the vibration pulses through you both, intensifying every thrust, every clench.

She shatters again quickly, cumming a final time as her body arches as much as it can. You follow soon, thrusting deep a few more times, before burying yourself fully as you cum hard inside her, pulsing hot and thick, filling her completely with every spurt. You groan her name as the pleasure crashes through you.

She clenches around you, milking every drop, moaning softly as she feels it flood her. You stay inside for a long moment, leaning over her, arms wrapped tight around her waist. Your forehead presses to her shoulder blade, the bike's idle rumble fading into background as you hold each other.

She reaches forward and turns the key, the engine dying to silence.

"Too dirty here... fucking cold... and way too sticky," she says.

You laugh raggedly, pulling out slowly and helping her up gently into your arms, holding her close as she turns to face you, her body limp and satisfied against yours.

"Home?" You ask.

She nods, eyes soft now, lingering on yours with warmth.

"Home."

You hold tight as she starts the engine again, dressing up hastily before roaring back toward the city, both of you quiet in the afterglow, the night air whipping past like it can't touch what you've found.

***

The ride home is quiet, the Ducati's growl softened to a low, steady hum that buzzes through both of you. Her body is warm, the leather still radiating heat from the ride, your chest pressed fully to her back. You hold her waist tight, palms flat against her stomach, feeling every breath she takes.

Halfway back, her gloved hand reaches down, fingers finding yours, lacing tight. She squeezes once. Firm. Real. A silent promise.

You squeeze back, thumb tracing slow circles on hers.

No words needed.

She pulls into the cracked lot just as dawn breaks, turning the engine off. She swings off first, the helmet under her arm, hair wild and messy. She pauses and turns to you, eyes lingering with fire.

You dismount, your legs shaky from the sex, heart full with her presence. She steps close, hands sliding up your chest, fingers curling in your jacket.

One more kiss. It's slow this time, deep and lingering. Her tongue traces yours like she's memorising the taste.

You cup her face, your thumb brushing her cheek.

She pulls back slightly, forehead against yours.

"Night," she whispers.

"Night, Chaewon."