The Ride

 The sun had already dipped behind the hills when the familiar rumble of an engine cut through the cool evening silence outside Midnight Throstle. Gun stood behind the counter, polishing a mug that had already been wiped three times over, when the gentle chime of the door echoed.

Lisa stepped in, wearing a casual bomber jacket over a white tee, her black jeans still slightly damp from the earlier drizzle. She looked around the café, scanning its familiar vintage charm, the smell of coffee beans and aged leather seeping into her senses like a welcome memory.

Gun didn't look up at first. He was focused on the swirl of the crema in the espresso cup he'd just prepared. But she waited patiently, quietly approaching the counter.

"You always make it smell this good in here?" she asked, her voice light, teasing.

He looked up, blinking once. "It's a café. That's the idea."

Lisa laughed softly and leaned against the counter. "So this is your version of small talk?"

"Don't do small talk," he said, eyes on the machine again.

"I noticed," she murmured, letting silence settle between them again.

She watched him work for a few seconds before speaking again. "I was nearby… thought I'd drop by. The car's still in the garage. Said they need another day."

He didn't respond.

"I was hoping you could give me a ride again."

"No."

Lisa blinked, caught off guard. "No?"

"You asked. I answered."

She frowned, a little deflated. "Why?"

Gun looked at her finally, his dark eyes unreadable. "Don't feel like it."

"But I…" She hesitated, then softened her voice. "I just want to feel it again. What you feel when you ride. That freedom. That roar. That moment."

Something in her words stirred the edges of a memory—Gun's fingers stilled, resting on the handle of the portafilter.

She continued, gently. "Please?"

He didn't speak for a moment. The silence stretched, then with a slight shake of his head and an exhale that sounded more like surrender than agreement, he said, "Finish your coffee. We'll leave after."

The night air was cool and alive with the scent of wet earth as Lisa straddled the back of his Royal Enfield, the café lights casting long shadows as Gun adjusted his gloves. The engine came alive with a deep, throaty rumble that reverberated through the quiet street. Lisa closed her eyes, the vibration rushing through her spine.

They sped through the narrow roads, the Enfield's iconic roar echoing off the concrete. Lisa held tight to him, her cheek resting against his back, breathing in the earthy scent of oil, leather, and rain.

"This still feels insane," she said, shouting over the wind.

Gun didn't answer.

They didn't speak again for the next twenty minutes as they wound through the outskirts of the city. The bike carved through the fog like a memory returning to life.

When they stopped at a cliffside road overlooking the shimmering city, Lisa climbed off slowly, pulling her jacket tighter. Gun dismounted and sat on a nearby bench without a word.

Lisa joined him. "You know… I looked you up."

He didn't move. "And?"

"I didn't find anything. No social media, no history, nothing."

"That's because there's nothing to find."

"Are you even real?" she teased, smiling.

He didn't smile back.

"I meant it back at the café," she said. "The feeling… when you ride. It's addictive."

"Gun," she said, her voice nearly lost to the wind.

He gave a soft hum of acknowledgment but didn't speak. The road was open, and the world around them was hushed. Her words would have to earn their space.

"This… this feels amazing," she admitted. "It's different from last time. Then, I was scared, but now… it feels like I'm flying."

She could almost feel him smirk, just a flicker in his posture, before he spoke. "It's the Royal's way."

Gun looked at his bike. "It's the engine. That sound. The vibration. It tells you you're alive."

"You must have other bikes. I'm remembered seeing other 3 bikes better than this one."

He smirked faintly. "Yeah. I have better ones. Faster. Flashier."

"Then why this one?"

He reached out and ran a finger along the gas tank's edge. "It's the first thing I ever bought for myself. Saved for months. Underground fights. Shady work. Every bruise I got, I thought of this. That sound, when it started for the first time… like the world finally listened."

He downshifted smoothly as they came up on a long curve. Lisa's hold tightened a bit as the bike leaned.

"Other bikes, they hum," he continued. "This one roars. Like a king. Like it's announcing its presence. It's not the fastest, not the most agile... but it's got something the others don't."

Lisa looked up at the side of his face, his jaw set and calm, the faintest curl of fondness in his voice.

"What's that?" she asked.

He exhaled through his nose. "A soul."

She went silent, stunned by the simplicity and gravity of his words. The engine beneath them thrummed like a heartbeat.

They rode in that calm silence for a while longer, the city giving way to stretches of open road flanked by sleeping trees and empty sidewalks. The moonlight danced across their path. Then Lisa broke the silence again.

"Can I ask you something... personal?"

"You can ask."

"Your parents..."

Gun's hands on the handles didn't twitch, but something in his posture changed—a tightness, a chill that seemed to settle between them.

He didn't answer.

Lisa immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Don't be," he said flatly, not unkind, but distant. "I don't know them. Don't care to. They left me. In front of an orphanage. No note. No reason."

She said nothing, and he continued, as if speaking it aloud helped him keep the emotions from sticking.

"I chose my name. Gun. It's not my real name. There was another one. It came with me in a locket. An old picture too. A couple... holding a baby."

Lisa looked toward him in surprise. "You kept it?"

He nodded slightly and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small, worn locket. He held it in one hand, still guiding the bike with the other.

Lisa took a quick glance. The engraving was too faded for her to read in the moonlight. The picture inside was aged, the details blurred, but she could make out the silhouettes—a man and a woman smiling, holding a baby between them.

Before she could ask more, Gun give it to her. "It's not important. I wrote my story from that day forward. I'm not interested in finding out who they were. You can keep it if you want."

Her fingers tightened around his waist again, and this time, he didn't flinch. His body felt warm, solid, a safe anchor in the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in her mind. She tucked the locket inside her pocket.

After a while, she broke the silence, her voice softer this time, laced with something more than curiosity.

"Gun... what was it like... the first time you really felt alone?"

The question hung in the air like a delicate thread, fragile yet charged with meaning. She wasn't sure why she asked it. Maybe it was because the darkness felt heavy around them, the weight of their shared silence too much to bear without breaking it. Or maybe it was because, somewhere deep down, she felt a need to understand him in a way that went beyond the café and the ride.

Gun's response didn't come right away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale, his grip on the handlebars tightening ever so slightly. The engine beneath them continued its growl, but now it felt like a background hum to the deep rumble of his thoughts.

"You want to know when I first felt alone?" he said, his voice low but steady, as if he'd been waiting for this moment—waiting to speak these words.

Lisa nodded, unsure of what she was expecting but feeling the urgency of the moment. He wasn't a man of many words, and when he spoke, it was always deliberate, like each word mattered.

"It wasn't a moment," he said, his voice distant, as if he was looking beyond the road, beyond the moonlight. "It was... a process. I don't remember the day it happened. But I do remember the feeling of waking up one day and realizing I didn't belong anywhere. That I wasn't anyone's son, that no one was waiting for me. That the world didn't need me."

Lisa felt the weight of his words settle into her chest. She wasn't sure why it hurt to hear him say it. But it did.

"Did it... hurt?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

Gun's voice softened, the steel in it unraveling, just a bit. "I didn't know what hurt was. Not back then. But after a while, you start to feel the absence of things. You start to wonder why no one called. Why no one cared. It's a different kind of pain... one that doesn't show up until it's too late to do anything about it."

They rode on in silence for a while. The wind whipped through Lisa's hair, but she barely felt it. She couldn't shake the image of Gun as a boy, abandoned and alone, his heart heavy with a loss he couldn't name. She imagined him standing outside that orphanage, the world cold and indifferent, waiting for something that would never come.

"Do you ever think about them?" she asked, her voice quiet, careful. "Your parents?"

Gun didn't answer right away, but Lisa could feel the shift in him, the tension that returned, like a stone sinking into the depths of his chest. She hadn't meant to pry, but the question felt like something that had been hanging in the air for too long.

"No," he said after a long pause. "I don't. I don't have the time or the interest. My past is a book I'm done reading."

Lisa swallowed, her throat tight. She had seen him laugh, seen him smile, but never like this—never this raw, this open.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Gun shook his head, though she couldn't see it. "Don't be. I've made peace with it. I had to. But that doesn't mean it doesn't stick with you. The quiet. The space between people. You learn to live with it, but you never forget."

"I understand," Lisa said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment. "But... if your parents came back—if they somehow came to you now... would you take them back into your life? Would you forgive them?"

The question seemed to linger in the cool air, the weight of it settling between them. Gun didn't respond immediately. His fingers curled tighter around the handlebars, his knuckles turning white. He didn't want to answer—she could feel it, but she didn't pull back. She needed to know. Needed him to say it, to let her into that part of him.

"They could come back," Gun finally said, his voice steady but with a subtle sharpness, like steel on stone. "But I wouldn't take them in. I'd just ask them one question: Why?"

Lisa's heart sank at the finality in his voice. She had expected him to say something else. Something softer. But this wasn't soft. This was the truth he'd built to protect himself.

"Why?" she repeated, unsure of what he meant. "Why wouldn't you want to know them again?"

He was quiet for a long moment before responding, and when he did, his voice held a layer of something deep, something almost unreachable.

"I've been on my own since the moment I could understand things. I didn't need them then, and I don't need them now. They left when I needed them most. When I was small, and I couldn't even defend myself. So, no. I won't let some strangers back into my life, even if they share my blood. I know what it's like to be alone, Lisa. I know what it's like to have nothing. And I'm not going to let that happen again."

Lisa's heart twisted in her chest as his words hit her like a wave crashing against the shore. She understood, in a way. She understood what it felt like to lose something, to have a piece of yourself broken. But Gun's rejection was so final. So absolute.

"Do you... do you regret it?" she asked carefully, almost afraid of what his answer might be.

"No," he replied quickly, his voice a little too sharp, as if the very idea of regret was something he couldn't afford. "Regret is for people who want to change things. I don't. I've built my life on my own terms. I don't need them, and I won't need anyone else."

Lisa's heart felt heavy with his words. She wanted to reach out, to pull him into a moment of vulnerability, to show him that he didn't have to be so alone. But she knew—just as he did—that some walls weren't meant to be broken, no matter how much you wanted to.

The road stretched on ahead, endless and dark, but it was no longer just a path they were riding. It was a journey, one they would take together. She just wasn't sure yet where it would lead them.

Lisa's heart ached. She knew what it was like to feel like you didn't belong, to walk through life with a part of yourself locked away. But Gun's pain... it was different. He had built walls around it, walls so thick that no one could climb over them. She had been there once, too. She still was, in some ways. But this? This felt like something she wasn't sure she could understand.

After a few moments, she asked, "So... you really don't have any favorite celebrities?"

Gun chuckled once. "No."

She grinned, pressing her cheek against his back, her voice playful. "Why not? Come on, everyone likes someone."

"I don't."

"Why?"

He was quiet a moment. "They're fake. Not all of them but most of them. Fake personalities. Fake kindness. Fake tears. It's all about image."

"That's harsh."

"Maybe. But true. You ever notice how quick their relationships change? One year it's love, next year it's divorce. Another year, another wedding. All for clicks and relevance."

Lisa went still behind him. Her arms shifted slightly, sliding a little more snug around his waist. He didn't notice, or pretended not to.

"For me," he continued, "love's not a game. It's not something you try and discard. It's a promise. Commitment. You give your heart once. That's it."

The bike continued to hum beneath them, but now it felt like the only connection between them. The only thing that didn't feel distant. Lisa's arms moved slowly around him, not tight, but protective, as if she could somehow shield him from the weight of the past that still clung to him.

Gun's next words were quieter, but no less sharp.

"Love," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I don't believe in it the way most people do. People talk about it like it's a fairy tale, something that's supposed to save you. But it's not. It's... it's a choice. A decision to stay, to commit. And when you make that decision, you stick to it. No matter what. I've seen too many people treat it like it's disposable, like it's a game. I'm not interested in that."

Lisa's breath caught in her throat. She didn't know what to say to that. She had always believed in love—romantic, fleeting, starry-eyed love. But this... this felt different. His love wasn't about passion or fleeting moments. It was something heavier, something real. And she didn't know if she was ready to carry that weight, but at the same time, she couldn't deny how much she was drawn to him.

"Are you..." she started, her voice faltering slightly, "Are you saying you believe in love? Or that you don't?"

"I believe in it," he said, his voice steady now. "But I don't believe in wasting time chasing something that's not real. If she's out there, I'll know. And I'll love her for life. That's it."

Lisa's heart beat faster at his words. She didn't know if he was talking about her. She didn't know if he even saw her the way she was starting to see him.

But the way he spoke, the way he held himself, told her more than any words could.

"Do you ever think you'll find her?" Lisa asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if the question itself was too fragile for the night air.

Gun turned his head slightly, enough that she could see the side of his face. His jaw was set, his eyes ahead. But there was something in the way he looked at the road, something in the quiet of his movements that spoke louder than anything.

"I don't know," he said. "But if she exists, I'll find her."

"Gun," she said after a while, breaking the quiet again, this time with a question she'd been wanting to ask for some time. "You've told me what you think about love... but what if someone you love... wanted to leave? Would you let her go?"

Gun's hand tightened on the throttle, and Lisa could feel his muscles tense, his body stiffening against hers. He didn't answer immediately, and Lisa could sense the weight of the question, like a door opening to something deeper.

"I already told you how I feel about love," he said, his voice a little more clipped than before. "It's complicated. People leave. It happens."

Lisa persisted, her voice quieter but insistent. "But if she wanted to break up with you... if she decided to leave, would you just let her go?"

Gun's grip on the handlebars tightened again. This time, she felt it, a subtle shift in his stance. "No."

Lisa raised an eyebrow in surprise. "No?" She let out a short laugh, almost disbelieving. "You're telling me, if someone wanted to leave, you wouldn't let her go? That's sound villainous you know."

Gun's grip on the handlebars tightened slightly, but he didn't seem bothered by her remark. In fact, a small, almost knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Villainous?" he repeated, the word hanging between them. "Maybe. But it's better than being a hero."

Lisa blinked, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. "What do you mean, 'better than being a hero'? How is that... better?"

He didn't answer right away, but the tone in his voice shifted. There was something darker, more reflective in it now, like he was pulling something from deep within himself. Lisa could sense he was going to say something more, something important.

"Heroes are always ready to sacrifice. They sacrifice themselves for the world, for the people they love, for the greater good," Gun said slowly, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "But a villain... a villain will burn the world for what he loves. He won't turn his back on it. He won't let it go. He'll stand up against the whole world if it means protecting what matters to him. He will burn it down the world."

Lisa felt a strange chill pass through her at his words. They weren't what she expected. She had anticipated a response about honor, about duty, about the usual ideals of love and sacrifice. But this... this was something different. Something raw and real in its simplicity, but also terrifying in its intensity.

"You'd... burn the world?" she whispered, as if the very idea of it unsettled her. "For love?"

He nodded once, the gesture sharp and final. "Yes. A hero will turn his back on the one he loves because the world needs him. A villain will destroy everything in his path for the one he loves, because nothing else matters."

Lisa's mind was racing now, her thoughts colliding in a whirlwind of confusion and fascination. She couldn't fully grasp what he was saying, but there was something magnetic in the way he spoke—something that drew her in deeper, even as it unsettled her.

"But why?" she asked, her voice quieter now, as if the answer was more than just about love—it was about something deeper, something she hadn't quite been able to understand. "Why would you burn the world for someone? Why wouldn't you just let them go, if they wanted to leave?"

Gun's gaze shifted to the road ahead, but she could feel the weight of his words settling between them like an invisible force. "Because," he said slowly, "if I truly love someone, they become my world. And the world I'm living in, the one that tells me I have to choose between them and everyone else, that world isn't the one I want to live in. If I'm with someone, if they mean something to me, then no matter how much the world tries to tear us apart, I won't let it. I won't let go. I won't sacrifice them for some ideal."

Lisa's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. She had always heard about heroes sacrificing for the greater good, about the noble acts of selflessness and duty that defined them. But what Gun was saying was so different. It was... it was selfish, in a way, but in a way that felt real. Raw. Powerful.

"Isn't that selfish?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes searching his face for some sign of uncertainty, some crack in his words.

He didn't hesitate, his answer coming immediately, like it was something he had thought about for years. "Yes," he said. "It's selfish. But I've been selfish my whole life. I've been alone, and I've learned that the only person I can rely on is myself. The only love that matters is the one I give, and the one I receive. If someone enters my life, someone who actually matters to me, I'll fight for them. I won't let them slip through my fingers like everyone else. I won't let them leave me just because the world tells me to."

Lisa's heart pounded in her chest, her mind spinning with the intensity of what he was saying. She had never heard anyone speak like this before, never heard anyone speak of love with such... such resolve. It was raw and fierce, and it made her realize just how deeply Gun had been scarred by his past. He wasn't just talking about love—he was talking about survival, about protecting what little he had left in the world.

She wanted to respond, to argue, to make him see that love shouldn't have to come with such fire, such destruction. But the words wouldn't come. She found herself captivated by him, by his conviction, by the way he held onto his beliefs with such certainty, like nothing and no one could change them.

"You'd really stand against the world for someone?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, as if she were afraid of the answer.

Gun met her gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "I would. And if it came down to it, I'd stand alone. Because that's what love is, isn't it? It's standing together against everything else. It's not about the world or what people say. It's about the person who makes you forget all that. And if that person is in my life, I'll make sure nothing takes them away. Not the world, not the people, not even fate."

Lisa's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, the road ahead disappeared entirely. All that mattered was him, his words, his feelings. She had always known Gun as the man who lived by his own rules, the man who kept everyone at arm's length. But this—this was something she had never expected.

Without realizing it, her heart had already begun to change. The walls she had built around her emotions started to crack, slowly but surely. She couldn't help it. His words, his passion, the way he cared—this was the kind of love she had never known, the kind of love that wasn't about sacrifice, but about standing tall in the face of everything else.

And then, in that moment, Lisa realized something. She had fallen for him. Deeply. She had fallen for the man who would burn the world for love, who would fight for what mattered most to him, even if the world told him to let go.

Without saying a word, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand on the handlebars. Gun glanced down, surprised by the touch, but didn't pull away.

And as the wind whispered through her hair and the road stretched on ahead, Lisa knew one thing for certain.

She was falling for the villain who would burn the world for her.