Hold Tight

“Yes Sir, yes… yes… noted on — the required changes. I’ll do it — the first thing in the morning tomorrow — when I get back to office.”

“Wh-what? Yes, I’m — on the bicycle — right now.”

“Understood. Have a good night.”

*beep*

Freaking hell, calling me so late at 1 a.m. Like I’m not already dying here.

Your legs burn on the final upslope — the nemesis of every ride home — but the cracked parking lot is finally in sight, along with the flickering hallway light that the landlord will never fix.

Just a littl —

You hear the rev of an engine, and the next thing you know, a roar rushes past your ears, exhaust heat brushing your arm as a red blur shoots up the slope.

“What the! The road is wide enough, you idiot!” Hands gripped tight, you wobble the handlebars, trying to stay upright.

You snail up the slope and finally reach the parking lot, mouth muttering curses under your breath. Pulling up sweat stricken, you swing your leg around the bike and get off.

There she stands, in the corner of your eye as you push your bike to park it in the bicycle lot. Her void black helmet rests on the leather seat of her red Ducati as she wipes the dirt off the LED headlights with a microfibre cloth.

“Hey! You almost killed me earlier!”

“What can I say? You have weak legs.”

“Weak legs?!”

“Don’t blame me when you're so fucking poor that you can't get a bike, you hamster.”

“Hey! You're so rude!”

“Hey this hey that, I have a name, and it's Chaewon! Why don't you get a fucking engine!”

“Well Miss Chaewon, I have an engine — it's called me!”

Before you can fire back, a window slams open above.

“SHUT UP! IT'S FUCKING MIDNIGHT!”

“You’re lucky I’m tired as fuck,” you growl.

“Fuck off, you prick.” Staring daggers into your eyes, Chaewon rolls her eyes as she returns to wiping the LED headlights.

“Can't be bothered with you.” Hand palming your forehead, you turn away and head in, slamming your door hard enough to rattle the thin wall.

A second later, the door next to your house slams in answer.

Bitch ass neighbour I got. Just my luck. Long day ahead tomorrow.

The alarm drags you out of shallow sleep far too soon. By the time you’re dressed and wheeling your bicycle out, the sun is barely up, and neither is your patience.

You’re halfway through unlocking your bicycle when —

VVVMMMMMMM

The Ducati fires up right beside you, engine snarling loud enough to rattle your teeth. Chaewon revs it once, twice, letting it growl before easing off.

“Oh? Looks like the hamster’s awake,” she taunts over the noise, helmet already on but visor flipped up. “Sleep well?”

You glare. “Like a baby. Thanks to your lullaby at 5 a.m.”

“You know, some people have to make deliveries before heading to the office. I don't think it's very considerate to start noise pollution so early in the morning.”

“This early? You're not the only one who’s hustling, asshole.” She just smirks and flips the visor down, twisting the throttle again — purely to annoy you — and rolls out, red twilight trailing down the hill.

You watch her disappearing longer than you should, then pedal off in the opposite direction. Another long day ahead.

The day bleeds into the evening exactly like every other day — rushed deliveries in the morning, office revisions until your eyes burn (you do remember to work on the thing your boss “pleaded” you to at 1 a.m. last night), monotonous meetings that accomplish nothing, then straight into delivery runs under the streetlights.

By the time you're climbing the hill again, the city night glow has already dimmed into slumber, your legs burning and your stomach empty, and the parking lot seems like the only finishing line that matters.

“Hmmph, you're later than usual. And sweatier too,” Chaewon said. She's already there crouched beside her bike, rag in hand, making the final wipes for her Ducati indulgence. “Guess your 'engine' isn't fast enough.”

“Well thanks to my lovely neighbour, I didn't sleep well and had less fuel for my engine,” you grumble, unstrapping the delivery bag.

She pauses for half a second, almost like she's about to say something, then just shrugs, “Not my fault that you're sensitive to a little exhaust note.”

You roll your eyes, too tired to escalate. “Whatever, I'm starving.” You chain your bicycle beside her bike and unzip the delivery bag, removing your so-called “supper” at 2 a.m. before shuffling towards the building.

Right as you pass her, you catch it — the unmistakable low growl from her stomach. She freezes mid-wipe, before retaliating with a shout, “What are you looking at! Fuck off!”

You pretend not to hear, and head inside. Although, you definitely saw her cheeks reddening under the lot lights.

You boil water and quickly throw together a pack of Shin Ramyun, topped with a slice of melty processed cheddar cheese and a raw egg that slowly cooks into a gooey indulgence. Steamed kimchi pork mandus microwaved hot, you start feasting.

Halfway through your meal, you realise your hunger has clouded your mind, and that you cooked and bought way too much food.

Her stomach’s alarm echoes in your head.

She probably skipped her meals too. Whatever. I just hate wasting food.

Without overthinking it, you portion your meal into a clean disposable bowl, adding a new slice of cheese and raw egg, before re-microwaving it warm. Covering it loosely, you bag it and quietly hang it on Chaewon’s doorknob on your way to throw the trash.

No note.

You’re already back in your apartment, door closed, when you hear her door open down the hall. Soft footsteps, the rustle of the bag, then silence.

A minute later — muffled through the thin wall — a quiet “...tch. Idiot.”