RISK & REWARD ✔️

15 | 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘺𝘤𝘭𝘦

WALKING side-by-side down the sidewalk with Slade has apparently become a regular occurrence. Our breath fogs around our mouths with every step; it's cold, crisp, and near winter by now, and we can tell.

"It isn't hard to get in," Slade's saying, voice quiet. "Hop the fence, get the bike, an' sneak it through the gap. Real easy."

"What gap?"

The chime of metal on metal floating out of Slade's pocket serves as my answer.

"Oh. We're making the gap."

"Mm."

"Do you ride your bike a lot?" The question sounds phenomenally stupid coming out of my mouth; Slade's got both hands buried in her pockets and her head bowed against the cold when she answers.

"Try to."

"I've never seen you on it," I say, earning a quick, confused glance from Slade. "Besides the crash, obviously. I've never seen you come to the Doghouse on it."

"Never went to the Doghouse on it," she replies evenly. "Pierce knows it."

"Oh." Both of our eyes follow the lines of the sidewalk. "Why don't you just disguise it? Paint it, or something."

"I like it black."

"Fair." I pause. "Do you name motorcycles?"

Slade doesn't answer, and I'm afraid it's too stupid a question for her to even fathom answering.

She mumbles something too quiet for me to hear, scuffing her heel against the pavement. "What?" I ask, leaning slightly closer.

"Jethawk," she repeats, voice low. I can hear the plain embarrassment in her tone.

"Jethawk?" I look up, gaze flying to Slade. "You named it Jethawk?"

Two flashing emerald eyes meet mine. "That a problem?"

"No." I look back down, stifling a laugh. "Just kind of funny."

Slade scuffs her heel against the sidewalk again. "Mm. Very."

"It's a great name, Slade," and a little giggle manages to get into my voice when I say her name. "Jethawk is a fine name for a motorcycle."

Slade doesn't reply. I risk a glance over and I swear there's a dark blush on her face. It's not just the light. I swear she's blushing, I swear.

I swear she's maybe-possibly-flustered, but then she opens her mouth to talk again and her voice is as cool and hard as ever.

"Hat," she says simply, hand formerly in her pocket shooting out to me. "Put it on."

She's got a thick, warm black beanie in her fingers, fleece soft against my skin as I slowly take it from her.

"Why?"

"If anyone sees," Slade replies, voice slightly tight with what could be embarrassment, "they won't recognize you."

Oh.

Right.

"When we get there," Slade says, digging her hands further into her pockets, "you've either gotta come in or stick outside."

"I'm going in," I reply, voice rushed. I can hear Slade asking are you sure? before she so much as opens her mouth. "I'm not standing outside the junkyard while you're in there rescuing Jethawk from motorcycle death."

Slade bristles at that. "I think I wanna leave you outside."

"Please don't," I reply, still trying to swallow a stupid grin. "I want to meet Jethawk."