l/n y/n has always loved girls. you always thought that they were the prettiest things in the world, with their pouty lips and pierced ears and smiles that light up the world. but you also love boys, and one day, when doyoung stumbles into your life...
Jay's voice interrupts your dream of pirate ships and sunken treasure, and as soon as you open your eyes, you frown at him so that he knows it. Sometimes you wonder whether it was a good idea to give him the keys to your apartment, especially when he switches the light on and you roll over onto your stomach, burying your face in your pillow.
"Get up," he says, and you know he means it. The last time Jay woke you up, it was on a school trip to Austria, and you remembered how he had dumped water on your face when you refused to get out of bed.
You clamber out of the bed hurriedly, sweeping your hair into a ponytail.
"Good morning," he says cheerfully. You glare at him in response.
Jay laughs at your expression, twirling his keys (the ones he used to unlock your apartment's door) as he leans languidly on the door. You reach out to snatch the keys from his hand, but he's faster than you, and he tucks it into his pocket.
He ruffles your hair and you groan, lifting one hand to your head to get a feel of how messy your hair is now. Annoyed, you brush past Jay, intentionally knocking him backwards as you make your way to the bathroom to get changed.
He stumbles back, grinning at you like the devil.
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You hear the rush of the wind whistling past your helmet, decorated in hot pink stickers and stripes of caution tape. The five of you—you, Jay, Phoebe, Rhysal, and Johnny—had decorated helmets back in high school, though you and Jay were the only two who still used them regularly. Jay had added the stripes of yellow caution tape to yours, a little joke between the two of you because he always thought you were too clumsy for your own good.
The streetlights barely illuminate the streets, and you lean against Jay, hands wrapped tightly around his waist. You've ridden with him on his motorcycle plenty of times, but you still feel the rush of anxiety when you realise how fast you're passing the buildings to your left and right.
The streets are isolated. It's 5 am in the morning and everybody in the right state of mind is asleep, except for the two of you. Despite the chorus of cicadas incessantly chirping away, there's something serene about riding at this time of day, with the darkness shrouding your vehicle and the faint glow of the headlights, his leather jacket against your cheeks and the rumble of the engine beneath you.
You see a car up ahead and turn your head in curiosity, interested to know who else could be up this early. A little girl sits inside the convertible with its top down, raptly watching you as you pass by.
She taps her mother's shoulder excitedly and twirls a finger at you. You don't get what it means, but Jay says, "Hold tight," and your knuckles whiten as they grip his sides.
The motorcycle slows a little to match the car's speed, and the front wheel rises to what feels like a dangerous incline. The little girl claps and laughs joyfully, but all you can hear is the pounding of your heart and the adrenaline coursing through your veins.
