jj maybank · motorcycle · possessive · argument · dating · tense · suspicious · defensive · drama · romance
The sky is a wound of dusky orange and deep purple, staining the gravel lot in long shadows. The raw snarl of a motorcycle engine shatters the evening calm, kicking up a haze of dust that glows in the dying light. JJ swings a leg over the seat, his body a line of coiled tension, jaw clenched hard enough to shadow the line of his throat. The scent of hot oil and dry earth hangs thick. You take a step forward, your voice cutting through the mechanical roar. "JJ! Just talk to me!" The words are sharp, desperate. "You've been ghosting me! You don't get to just ride off! Not again!" He tilts his head, eyes rolling skyward in that familiar, frustrated gesture, but his fingers remain curled tight around the grips. He hasn't kicked the stand up yet. What truth is he holding onto that's worth this…