The salesman walked him out to the garage area some minutes later, where the bike was prepped and ready to ride. "Here you go. I''ve fueled her up and checked everything over. She''s ready to hit the road."

    Ethan nodded, slipping on the helmet he''d picked up at the shop.

    It felt snug and secure as he adjusted the chin strap. He swung a leg over the Ducati, feeling its weight and balance beneath him.

    "You''ve ridden before, right?" the salesman asked.

    Ethan smirked. "It''s been a while, but yeah. I remember enough."

    The engine roared to life as he turned the key and pressed the ignition.

    The sound was exhilarating, and for a brief moment, he let himself just sit there, absorbing it.

    Pulling out of the shop''s parking lot, Ethan eased into the throttle. The bike responded instantly, gliding forward with a smoothness that caught him off guard.

    He navigated the quiet side streets at first, getting a feel for the controls and the way the Ducati moved beneath him.

    It didn''t take long for his confidence to grow. By the time he reached an open stretch of road, he couldn''t resist pushing the throttle harder.

    The bike surged forward, and the world blurred around him as the wind whipped against his jacket.

    Riding felt like freedom.

    The Ducati carried him forward, away from all of it, even if just for a little while.

    He took a long route home, weaving through quiet streets and open highways. The city looked different from this perspective — brighter, more alive.

    Every turn and shift in gear was a reminder of why he''d wanted this in the first place.

    When Ethan finally pulled up to his apartment complex, he parked the Ducati near the entrance and sat there for a moment, letting the engine idle before shutting it off.

    The silence that followed felt almost too loud after the ride, but it was a good kind of quiet.

    "Alright," Ethan said finally. "Where and when?"

    "Perfect! There''s this great little restaurant not far from where I am. I''ll text you the address. Say, an hour?"

    "An hour works," Ethan said, standing up and stretching.

    Ethan hung up and went to his bedroom to change. He threw on a casual shirt and jeans, something comfortable but decent enough for a public meetup.

    As he adjusted his jacket, he caught his reflection in the mirror. After dressing around for a bit and adjusting his clothes, he looked presentable. Not perfect, but presentable.

    ''I''ll have to go and buy some clothes, probably change my phone too,''

    He wasn''t just another guy – neither was he trying to get by... he had so much money in his account, money that was meant to be spend on his wellbeing.

    He grabbed his helmet and keys, heading out the door. Outside, the cool evening air greeted him as he walked toward his bike, the Ducati gleaming under the streetlights.

    Climbing on, he felt a familiar rush as he started the engine.

    The restaurant Nate had mentioned wasn''t far, just a short ride across the city. Ethan merged into the light weekend traffic, the roar of the Ducati cutting through the hum of car engines.

    Riding at evening always felt different — calmer, quieter, yet filled with a certain anticipation.

    The ride gave him time to think.

    He hadn''t spoken to Nate in years. Back in college, they''d been inseparable, pulling all-nighters for exams, splitting cheap takeout, and sharing ridiculous plans for the future.

    Nate had been one of the few people who genuinely understood him, but after graduation, life took them in different directions.

    And then everything fell apart for Ethan.

    He wondered how much Nate knew about his situation. Did he know about the accusations, the debt, the isolation? Or was this just a casual reunion, free of the weight of his past?

    Ethan sighed, tightening his grip on the handlebars as he approached the restaurant.