Xev Bellringer Ride //free\\ Jun 2026

Dawn comes pale through the thin curtains. He’s still asleep—rare for him. I slip out of bed, pull on my jeans and his shirt from the floor, and step outside.

He steps out onto the walkway, shirtless, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He sees me. He freezes.

I cup his jaw. His stubble is rough against my palm. “Because I’m tired of watching you run. And I’m tired of running after you. So this is the last time. After tonight, you either come home and stay, or I’m gone for good.” xev bellringer ride

“On the Bonneville? There’s no backrest.”

And something shifts in my chest—not anger, not grief, but a strange, quiet thrill. The wind tears at my jacket. The engine growls beneath me. For the first time in years, I am not waiting for him to return. I am the one moving. Dawn comes pale through the thin curtains

But Stillwater was different. Stillwater was where his father died. Where his mother stopped speaking. Where he learned that love was a thing you survived, not something you held.

The road begins to curve—long, lazy arcs at first, then tighter switchbacks that force me to shift my weight, to press my knee into the tank, to remember his instructions. Look through the turn. Trust the bike. Don’t brake in the apex. He steps out onto the walkway, shirtless, a

Long-form short story (~4,000 words equivalent in detail)