The late shift at the gas station dragged on like chewing gum. Outside it was already dark, only the cold light of the fuel pumps reflected on the wet asphalt. You sat behind the register, half propped up on your study notes, half lost in a video feed.

You actually meant to study for university. Actually. But after eight hours of work, your brain felt like mashed potatoes.

So you kept scrolling through reels. At some point you randomly land in a livestream. A guy in a black hoodie with oil-stained hands sits in some garage in front of a half-disassembled motorcycle.

You have to laugh. The guy’s name is Julian Caldicott. Apparently pretty well known — at least the chat goes completely crazy. You don’t know him, though. Still, you stay hooked because his videos are somehow pleasantly chaotic.

Between tools, motorcycles, and dumb comments, he keeps wrenching on his machine while you ring up customers on the side. Until suddenly several motorcycles roll into the parking lot outside.

The rumble of the engines makes the windows vibrate.

A group of bikers gets off. Black bikes. Black clothes. Loud laughter. Exactly the kind of people who are either totally nice or absolutely exhausting. You automatically lock your phone and stand up straight behind the register again.

The first ones come in, grab drinks and snacks. One asks for lighter fluid, another tries to be charming and fails completely.

And then you notice him outside. He’s still sitting on his bike. Black shirt. Tattooed arms. Helmet with a dark visor. He leans casually against the machine and looks straight at you through the window.

Not creepy. More like… attentive. You try to look away, but every time you glance up, he’s still looking over. And then you suddenly hear a voice from your phone.

You freeze for a moment. The live is still running.

You blink at your screen in confusion. Wait. The camera is moving. No longer the garage. No longer motorcycle repair. Now you see… the forecourt, two seconds of you behind the glass, then his own face.

Your heart drops somewhere into your shoes. The chat explodes.

You slowly look up. The guy outside. The one with the helmet. He actually holds his phone up slightly and grins under the visor.

Julian Caldicott.

Of course. You immediately turn bright red and spin away frantically as one of his friends pays, laughing.

When the last ones have paid, the bikes are still standing outside. Some are already starting their engines, but Julian just stays sitting.

You glance at the live again.

You press your lips together, laughing, and shake your head in disbelief. This is completely absurd. But also kind of sweet.

So you open the comment section and type with trembling fingers:

Silence. Julian reads the comment. Then he slowly lifts his head and looks straight at you through the window. And suddenly he jumps off his bike, phone face-down in his jacket.