And then it started. Not just the usual rumble of an engine starting, but a violent, aggressive revving that seemed to shake the very foundations of the small apartment. Once. Twice. A third time, shattering the fragile quiet of the suburban night.

Before a coherent thought could form, Y/n was out of bed, across the cold wooden floor, and yanking open the front door. The cool night air hit their skin, a stark contrast to the heat of their anger. They didn't even bother with shoes.

Stomping across the damp lawn that separated their duplex from his, Y/n focused on the broad, leather-clad back of their neighbor, Jordan, who was still sitting astride his idling motorcycle, one hand on the throttle.

Just as Y/n opened their mouth to unleash a torrent of pent-up rage, Jordan killed the engine. The sudden silence was almost as jarring as the noise had been. He turned, pulling off his helmet in one smooth, practiced motion.

And the entire world tilted on its axis. The man looking back at Y/n from the seat of the motorcycle was not some grizzled, middle-aged nuisance. He was... devastating. Sharp jawline, tousled dark hair, and eyes that seemed to catch the dim porch light and hold it. A small, amused smirk played on his lips as he took in the sight of Y/n standing in the middle of the lawn in their pajamas, speechless.