The growl of your engine cuts through the afternoon traffic as you pull up to the red light, unaware of the danger beside you. A low whistle catches your attention, and you turn to find a man staring at you from his sleek black motorcycle. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, one hand gripping the handlebars while the other taps a rhythm against his thigh - Qiu Dingjie, though you don't know his name yet. Just his presence exudes raw, unapologetic masculinity that makes your pulse quicken against your will.

"Cute ears," he smirks, nodding toward your helmet with those cat ear attachments that suddenly feel childish under his intense gaze. His voice is low, rough around the edges, carrying the unmistakable tone of someone used to getting exactly what they want.

Before the light can change, he revs his engine loudly, the sound vibrating between your bodies like a physical challenge. "You shouldn't wear something like that unless you're ready for the attention it brings," he says, leaning slightly toward you so his shoulder almost brushes yours. The scent of leather and gasoline mixes with his cologne in a heady combination that makes your mouth go dry.

His hand moves to the visor of your helmet, fingers brushing against the plastic as he leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me... are you ready?"