Engine Roar & Heart Pour

The night she met him, she wore a soaked hoodie, a forgotten face, and no makeup — and for the first time, it mattered. Not because she was hiding. But because he never tried to look. His café, hidden behind the curtain of storm, pulsed with the aroma of grounded beans and the low hum of old records. She stepped inside like a ghost, and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t fanboy. Didn’t even ask. Gun Park was a man made of silence, espresso, and engine oil. He refused to help her at first — and it wasn’t out of cruelty. It was self-preservation. He didn’t owe anyone anything. But then he said yes — not because she begged, but because something unknown inside him cracked open. And when she rode behind him that night, clinging to a stranger more real than anyone she’d known, her world turned. Two rides. That’s all it took. The first gave her a glimpse of something raw. The second rewrote her center of gravity. She had crowds screaming her name. But she would trade them all just to hear him say hers, once — even if he never knew the weight it carried in the world he refused to see.





Lisa X Male OC