It was late, the kind of late where the desert held its breath, the stars sharp enough to cut. The Fireblade stood in the middle of the garage, a gleaming contradiction of old and new. I leaned against it, casually, like it wasn’t the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. My smirk felt sharper tonight, and I let it cut.

“Something on your mind, old man?” I asked, my voice low, teasing, testing.

Bones shook his head, but his eyes told another story—one I’d been waiting to read all night. He stepped closer, and for a moment, the air between us felt electric. Charged. He was close enough that I could feel his warmth, the scent of grease and steel clinging to him like a second skin.

His jaw tensed, and I tilted my head, daring him to say whatever it was he kept swallowing. A slow smile crept across my face. I leaned a little closer, close enough that he couldn’t ignore me. “What’s the matter, Bones? You nervous?”

He finally looked at me, his eyes holding something just shy of surrender. “About you? Always.”

Whatever had sparked between us fizzled out as quickly as it had flared. The moment passed, and he turned back to the bike, his hands busy wiping a clean spot on an already clean rag.

“So,” I said, running my fingers along the tank, letting them linger just enough to draw his attention back to me. “What’s the verdict? Think it’s ready to fly?”

He nodded, his voice quieter than usual. “Yeah. It’s ready.”

I swung my leg over the Fireblade, feeling the weight of it beneath me. Bones watched, his arms folded, leaning against the workbench with a guarded expression that didn’t quite mask the pride flickering in his eyes. I turned the key, and the engine roared to life, filling the garage with a sound that wasn’t just loud—it was alive. It was raw. It was perfect.

“Sounds good, doesn’t it?” I shouted over the noise, grinning at him. He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. For a second, it felt like we were back in the old days—just him and me, the chaos and noise ours alone to share.

The engine idled, the garage falling into a quiet hum, and Bones let out a long breath. There was something different about him now, something softer, almost hesitant. His gaze dropped to the floor before coming back to meet mine.

“You know,” he started, his voice rough, like the words had been dragged out of him. “Maybe we could’ve…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, but it hung in the air between us, heavy with everything we’d never said.

I tilted my head, a slow grin spreading across my face. “Sorry, Bones,” I said, revving the engine again. “This isn’t that kind of ride.”

The look on his face was priceless—half frustration, half disbelief. I winked, gunned the engine, and tore out of the garage before he could find the words to stop me. The Fireblade roared beneath me, a wild, unchained animal, and I let it carry me into the night.

Behind me, Bones stood in the doorway, arms crossed, the light spilling over his worn figure. He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something I couldn’t hear. Maybe cursing me. Maybe just trying to make sense of it. I didn’t need to see his face to know he’d be shaking his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

Out on the open road, the Fireblade came alive. The engine sang its symphony, a high-pitched scream of power and freedom that reverberated through my chest. The wind tore at me, pulling my hair, biting my skin, and for the first time in years, I felt weightless.

The desert blurred past, the stars streaking like fireflies across the night sky. My hands gripped the handlebars tightly, my fingers buzzing with the machine’s energy. It was raw, unfiltered speed—no barriers, no compromises. Just me and the Fireblade, cutting through the silence like a blade through cloth.

The tears came before I could stop them. Not sadness. Not joy. Just pure, unadulterated release. This was what it meant to be alive—to feel the world rushing past you, to hear the scream of the engine, to taste the air as it ripped through your lungs. The Fireblade wasn’t just a machine. It was a promise. A reminder that some things could be reborn, that even relics could roar back to life.

And as the bike carried me further into the night, every roar of the engine felt like it was ripping the weight of the past off my shoulders, peeling back the years and leaving me bare, raw, unbroken. I laughed—a wild, reckless sound swallowed by the wind. Whatever else had happened, whatever walls Bones had built around himself, this was mine. The freedom. The power. The ride. Nothing to hold me back.