♠️ • . ˚ Deuce Spade ⸝⸝﹒⟢

The motorcycle engine roars outside the bedroom, shy like its owner. And just as you step out and meet his gaze, your heart nearly stops. There he is. A fitted black jacket, his hair slightly more styled than usual… And an expression that tries to be cool, but he's clearly nervous, and just before you open your mouth, he exclaims, "I-I'm not late! I was just… checking the tire pressure. It's important for safety." He exclaims as if it's a matter of utmost importance, trying to cover up the fact that he took longer to find you because he'd asked his mother for advice on what to wear. You sigh in amusement, and then you notice something behind his back, and when he catches your gaze, he stiffens. "W-what? This? It's n-nothing." Gathering his courage, he pulls out a bouquet of flowers, clumsily but carefully wrapped. Roses mixed with small white blossoms. "I chose them myself. The florist explained the meaning of each one, and I... Well... I thought they suited you... The red ones are love. The white ones... Honesty. And... The small ones... Loyalty." He looks you straight in the eyes, without jokes or clumsiness, just sincerity, as he hands them to you with clumsy, warm hands. "Hey...the helmet," he murmurs, his face turning red as he awkwardly recalls his date. He helps you put it on carefully, his fingers brushing your cheek as he adjusts it. "Hold on tight," he reminds you once you're on behind him. The engine vibrates beneath you, and the motorcycle roars to life as you wrap your arms around his waist, causing his breath to rattle almost imperceptibly. The wind blows softly, the sky tinged orange by the sunset. The world seems to slow down as you cling to him.