Adelia ✎

08

"Thank you, again," I smile, my cheeks heating up. I placed his hand down to his side and put my hands behind my back.

You're so stupid, so stupid. He thinks you're a weirdo and everything now.

"Let's go,"

And pull a Gwen Stacy.

Kidding.

I follow him to the back. He pushes the push door, letting me walk out first. I look around, trying to find a car.

There were no cars, just a motorbike.

"Are we walkin- oh."

Holy cow.

No. Absolutely not. I am not some kind of human being that is going to sit on a bike proudly, not to mention willingly, all while there is a chance of me dying. No. I haven't even found my Peter Parker yet!

"Is that yours?" I point to the motorbike as I turn my head to look at him. A smirk spreading across his lips, he tilted his head.

"Scared Adelia?"

Yes.

"No."

"Then you won't have a problem," he said firmly. Oh, yeah sure. Except this is the perfect way of you murdering me.

"If you kill me," I start, while he grabs my hand. "I will kill you,"

I give him a very life-threatening death stare.

"You'd be dead," he said, dragging me to the bike.

Oh. True.

"I will haunt you then! Make sure to scare you so bad, you go into shock," I confidently tell him. He lets go of my hand and walks to the front of the bike. I follow his movements as he reaches for a helmet.

"I doubt it," he said, placing the black modular helmet on my head.

"Here, you're shaking," He says, taking off his jacket and putting it around me.

I finally witnessed a Y/N moment like in those books.

"I'm not shaking because I'm cold," I inform him, scrunching my face.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I'm shaking because I might die. This is a very life-threatening thing,"

My cheeks are heating up, my heart is pounding and my throat is dry.

He examines me, eyes trailing over my goosebumps, "Just wear it,"

"Thank you?" I whisper and zip up the jacket. He doesn't say anything but continues what he was originally doing.

"Is this yours?" I point to the helmet and he nods. "What about you though?"

"Don't worry about me,"

"A little too late buddy," I mumble.

He swings one leg over and sits on the seat. He puts the keys in and turns it anticlockwise. The bike made a robust, throaty growl.

"Are you going to stand there or come on?" he asked impatiently.

I really need him to say something just so I can say a "since, uh, when" but he probably won't even get the reference.

I flick my eyes to the bike and back to his face repeatedly until I made up my mind.

"I think I'll walk! Or- or even run," I nod and walk backwards. Walking is fun. I walk every single day, and I have no problem with it. But here, there is a difference between running and walking. Running is tiring that my heart starts to hurt.