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Zander Netherbrand’s bar had a way of collecting lost things—stray souls, misplaced dreams, half-spoken confessions tangled in the swirl of whiskey and smoke. The bar smelled of aged oak and something warm—cinnamon, maybe, or the slow burn of whiskey meeting ice. Low music hummed in the background, a quiet heartbeat beneath the chatter of regulars. The neon glow from the sign outside flickered, casting a faint pink light against the polished glasses lining the shelves. It was a quiet place, humming with low jazz and murmured conversations, a haven for those who didn’t quite belong anywhere but somehow found themselves here.
And maybe, just maybe, that included a certain biker who stormed in like he owned the place.
Zander wiped down the counter, long fingers tracing absent-minded circles over the polished wood. The hour was late, and the bar had long since quieted, but he remained. Not because of duty or habit—but because he was waiting. For something. For someone.
He wouldn’t admit it, of course. Not even to himself.
Then, right on time, the door swung open.
A gust of wind carried in the scent of leather and asphalt, the crisp bite of the open road clinging to the man stepping through. Black biker jacket, helmet tucked under one arm, fingers lazily spinning a set of keys.
“Missed me, Zanny?”
Gale Galleon grinned, green eyes glinting with mischief as he took his usual seat at the bar. His presence was a storm crashing against Zander’s quiet shore—loud and laughing, full of warmth that smelled like gasoline and freedom.
Zander didn’t look up right away. He took his time polishing a glass, letting the familiar cadence of Gale’s voice settle over him like a favorite song. Only after finishing his task with slow, practiced ease did he finally meet Gale’s gaze.
“You say that as if I had a choice.”
Gale laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained, leaning onto the counter with that easy confidence of his. “You love having me around. Admit it.”
Zander sighed theatrically, but the corners of his lips betrayed him, twitching ever so slightly. “And what makes you so sure?”
“Because you already poured my drink.”
Sure enough, a glass of whiskey sat between them, golden amber catching the bar’s dim light. Gale picked it up, fingers brushing Zander’s for the briefest second—warm, calloused, lingering just long enough to be felt. He smirked as he took a sip.
“You know me too well, Zanny.”
Zander exhaled, slow and measured, before replying, “I have no choice. You’re here too often.”
Gale feigned offense, pressing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I thought you liked my company.”
Zander tilted his head, pink eyes studying him. “I tolerate it.”
The teasing was familiar, a well-worn rhythm between them, laced with something unspoken—something soft.
Then Gale reached into his jacket pocket, his grin shifting into something quieter, more thoughtful. He placed a small object onto the counter.
Zander arched an eyebrow, picking it up. A river stone, smooth and cool against his fingertips. At first glance, it seemed unremarkable—until the light caught its surface, revealing subtle pink undertones.
“Kinda looks like your eyes,” Gale murmured, almost shyly. “At least, when the sun hits them right.”
Zander stilled.
Not because of the stone itself, but because of the way Gale looked at him when he said it. Like he had spent time thinking about this—about him. Like he had been searching for something that reminded him of Zander, and this was what he had chosen.
Zander tilted his head, pink irises flickering to the stone. It was an unremarkable thing—dull in the dim bar lighting, its surface worn smooth. But he touched it anyway, rolling it between his fingers like it meant something.
“And what exactly do you expect me to do with a rock?”
“Throw it at someone annoying?” Gale offered with a cheeky grin. Then, softer, “Or, y’know, keep it. You can toss it if you want.”
Zander smiled, shaking his head. “You always bring me the strangest things.”
Zander didn’t say it, but he did keep them. He never tossed them. Every random trinket Gale had ever brought him—keychains, postcards, seashells, a feather once, even a rusted bottle cap—sat on a shelf in his room, a silent collection of moments that smelled like the road.
Gale slipped the stone into his coat pocket with the others, where it settled like a quiet promise among its companions. It was smooth, warmed from his touch, a little piece of the road he had chosen to carry with him.
Zander wiped down the counter with slow, practiced strokes, watching as Gale took another measured sip of whiskey. The amber liquid caught the dim light, casting golden reflections onto the wood.
"Where were you this time?" Zander asked, his voice low, unhurried.
"Up north," Gale murmured. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the way it clung to the sides before slipping back down. "Long stretch of highway, no stops for miles. The kind of place that makes you forget the rest of the world exists."
Zander leaned against the counter, arms folded, the weight of his gaze settling on Gale like a warm hand at the nape of his neck. "Sounds lonely."
A slow exhale. A flicker of something in Gale's eyes before he turned back to his drink. "It is. But I don’t mind, y'know? I like the silence."
For a moment, the quiet between them stretched, filling the space like the last embers of a fire, glowing but not yet gone. Then, softer—like he was setting something fragile between them—Gale added, "But sometimes I find myself wanting to turn back early."
Zander’s fingers stilled against the glass he was drying. Just for a second. "Oh?"
Gale hesitated, the weight of his words settling around him. He rolled his whiskey glass between his palms, as if trying to gather the courage to hold onto something more elusive. Then, with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, he glanced at Zander. "Guess I just miss a certain pink-eyed bartender who makes me feel like I belong somewhere."
Zander scoffed, but the warmth in his chest was undeniable. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
"Good thing I’m not looking for 'nowhere.'"
Zander shook his head, but the small, private smile that tugged at his lips betrayed him.
The night stretched on, the bar humming with quiet conversation, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter. As always, they fell into their rhythm—Gale tossing out jokes that made Zander roll his eyes but secretly laugh, Zander throwing back smooth retorts that left Gale mock-offended. Their banter was an old song, familiar and easy, and the other regulars had started to take notice.
"You two dating or what?" someone asked, their tone half-teasing, half-curious.
Gale barely missed a beat. "Why? You jealous?"
Zander just smirked, sipping his drink as the conversation shifted. They never corrected anyone. It was easier to let people think what they wanted. And if Zander didn’t quite hate the thought of it, well—he kept that to himself.
The hours slipped away like sand through fingers, until the bar emptied out bit by bit. By the time the clock crept past closing, it was just the two of them, lingering in the space between familiarity and something unspoken.
Then Gale hesitated.
He leaned forward, twirling his glass between his fingers, looking at Zander with something softer than his usual mischief.
“You ever think about getting out of here for a while?”
Zander arched an eyebrow. “I own a bar, Gale.”
“So?” Gale grinned. “Bars don’t run away. Come with me sometime.”
Zander chuckled, shaking his head. “And what, ride off into the sunset with you?”
Gale leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it?”
Zander opened his mouth to brush it off, to say something teasing, but for some reason, the words never came.
And maybe that was how, one late afternoon, he found himself gripping Gale’s waist as they sped down the highway, the wind cool against his skin, the scent of salt and sun thick in the air.
They stopped at a random beach, the kind of place untouched by crowds, where the sand was still soft and the waves lapped lazily at the shore. The sky bled into hues of gold and pink, stretching endlessly over the horizon.
Zander stood beside the bike, arms crossed, watching as Gale kicked off his boots and wandered toward the water, grinning like a kid.
“You’re ridiculous,” Zander muttered, but his lips twitched.
Gale shot him a look over his shoulder, the wind tousling his hair. “And yet, here you are.”
Zander sighed, slipping off his own shoes before stepping onto the warm sand.
For a while, they just existed—side by side, watching the sun dip lower, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves.
Then Gale nudged him, voice softer than usual. “Feels different, doesn’t it?”
Zander turned to him, tilting his head. “What does?”
Gale shrugged, eyes fixed on the horizon. “The world. When you’re not looking at it from behind a bar.”
Zander exhaled, the scent of salt and earth filling his lungs. His eyes followed Gale’s gaze. The sky stretched wide, painted in soft hues of dusk, the waves carrying whispers of the world beyond this moment. It did feel different. It felt like something slipping through his fingers, something fleeting yet impossible to ignore.
He didn’t answer, but Gale didn’t need him to.
The biker turned slightly, watching Zander from the corner of his eye, a slow smile curling at his lips. “You’re gonna think about it now, aren’t you?”
Zander hummed, noncommittal. “I think about a lot of things.”
Gale chuckled. “Yeah? And how many of those things are about me?”
Zander shot him a dry look, but the warmth in his chest betrayed him.
Gale grinned, stretching his arms over his head before flopping onto the sand. He let out a contented sigh, hands behind his head as if he belonged there, like the road had brought him here on purpose. And maybe it had.
Zander hesitated for only a second before lowering himself beside him.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable. The waves murmured secrets to the shore, the wind playing with strands of their hair. And in the space between words, something settled—something they didn’t have to name.
“You know,” Gale murmured, tilting his head toward Zander, “I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked you.”
Zander glanced at him, one brow arched. “Asked me what?”
“If you’d ever leave the bar behind. Just for a while.”
Zander let the question linger in the air, rolling it over in his mind like the smooth stones Gale always brought him. He had spent so long rooted in the same place, behind the same counter, waiting for something he refused to name.
But maybe, just maybe, what he had been waiting for had been in front of him this whole time.
The waves kissed the shore, and Zander closed his eyes for a moment, letting the thought settle.
Then, quietly, with a smirk playing at the edge of his lips, he said, “You’d get lost without me.”
Gale’s laughter rang through the air, warm as the setting sun. “Damn right, Zanny.”
And in the golden light of dusk, they lay there—two souls caught between the open road and the warmth of something that felt a lot like home.
He wouldn’t admit it, but Gale was right.
After a while, Gale spoke again, voice teasing but laced with something warmer. “Y’know, Zanny, you look real pretty in the sunset.”
Zander scoffed. “You never stop, do you?”
“Nope.” Gale grinned, eyes glinting. “And neither do you. You always wait for me.”
Zander didn’t answer right away.
He let the silence stretch, let the ocean breathe between them.
Then, so quietly it could have been lost in the wind—
“And you always come back.”
Gale’s grin softened into something else entirely.
And as the last light of day melted into dusk, neither of them moved to leave.
They sat there, side by side, listening to the waves, feeling the warmth of the setting sun sink into their skin. There was no rush, no expectation, just the quiet understanding that neither of them needed to fill the space between them with words.
Eventually, Gale broke the silence.
“You know,” he said, kicking at the water, sending small ripples across the surface. “I don’t usually bring people along.”
Zander arched a brow, arms still crossed. “Oh? I feel honored.”
Gale smirked, but there was something softer beneath it, something hesitant. “You should.” He looked back out at the horizon, expression unreadable. “I like the road. The freedom. The way it makes everything else feel small. But—” He hesitated, scratching at the back of his neck. “I think I like coming back more.”
Zander watched him carefully. The way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his fingers curled into his palm like he was holding onto something unseen.
For all his easy laughter and sharp wit, Gale had always been a restless thing. A storm that never quite settled.
Zander had never tried to hold him down. Never asked him to stay.
But maybe, just maybe, Gale was beginning to realize that not all things worth keeping had to be left behind.
Zander stepped closer, close enough that their arms brushed. The wind carried the scent of salt and leather, and beneath it, something warmer—something undeniably Gale.
“You talk too much,” Zander murmured.
Gale huffed a laugh. “And yet you keep listening.”
Zander tilted his head, pink eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Maybe I don’t mind the noise.”
For years, his world had been defined by the steady clink of glasses, the murmured conversations of strangers, the predictable hum of the neon sign flickering outside his window. And yet, standing here, with the ocean stretching endlessly before him and Gale beside him, it felt like he was seeing the world from an entirely different lens.
Gale turned to him fully then, studying him with that same easy confidence, but there was something else in his expression—something raw, something unguarded. For a long moment, they just stood there, caught between the fading light and the quiet pull of something neither of them had put into words yet.
“You ever think about leaving?”
Zander glanced at him, then away. “Not really.”
Gale hummed, kicking at the sand with the toe of his boot. “You should. Not forever, just… sometimes. It’s nice, y’know? The road. The sky. The feeling like there’s nothing tying you down.”
Zander exhaled, shaking his head. “Not everyone is meant to be a storm, Gale.”
Gale smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And not everyone is meant to be an anchor, Zanny.”
The words sat heavy between them, unspoken things clinging to the air like mist rolling off the sea.
“But sometimes, when I’m out there, I think about this place.” He turned back to Zander, green eyes reflecting the last traces of sunlight. “About you.”
Zander didn’t flinch, didn’t let the words settle too obviously in his chest, but his fingers curled slightly in the fabric of his coat. “Must be hard,” he mused, voice smooth as the waves lapping the shore. “Thinking about me when you’re supposed to be free.”
Gale huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You say that like freedom and you are two separate things.” He kicked at the sand, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s different, y’know? The road’s all about movement. But this place—” He gestured vaguely, like he meant more than just the beach. “It’s about… having somewhere to come back to.”
Zander hummed, watching Gale’s profile. His mind flickered back to the bar, to the way Gale always stepped through the door like he belonged, to the way he left only to return like the tide. Always in motion, always finding his way back.
A thought passed through him, unspoken but tangible in the cooling air. Maybe Gale wasn’t the only one who kept returning.
They stood like that for a while, the silence stretching between them, unhurried and steady.
And then, with a sudden grin, Gale nudged Zander’s shoulder. “C’mon. Walk with me.”
Zander hesitated, but only for a moment, before stepping forward, matching Gale’s stride as they wandered along the shoreline.
They talked about nothing and everything. About the places Gale had been, the roads he still wanted to take. About the people Zander had met in his bar, the stories that had passed through his hands like aged whiskey.
Somewhere in between, the sky deepened into indigo,
Then Gale grinned, bumping their shoulders together before stepping away, arms stretched behind his head. He then tilted his head toward the bike.
“C’mon, Zanny. Let’s head back before you start getting sentimental on me,” he called over his shoulder. “Race you back to the bike.”
Zander rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He followed Gale to the bike, slipping on his shoes as Gale handed him the helmet. The ride back was quiet, the hum of the engine blending into the rhythm of the road, the wind sharp against their skin.
By the time they pulled up in front of the bar, the neon light was flickering again, casting its familiar pink glow.
Gale swung his leg over the bike, standing with his hands on his hips as he turned to face Zander. “Well, that was fun. Maybe next time, I’ll take you somewhere farther.”
Zander smirked, stepping toward the door. “Try not to get sentimental on me, Gale.”
Gale laughed, shaking his head. “Never.” But then, softer, as Zander reached for the handle, “Hey.”
Zander glanced back.
Gale hesitated, fingers spinning his keys, expression unreadable in the dim light. “You know you don’t have to wait for me, right?”
Zander held his gaze for a moment before exhaling through his nose, lips curling in the faintest smirk. “And yet, you always come back.”
Gale’s grin softened into something quieter, something weightier.
He took a step back, nodding once before turning toward his bike. “Guess I do.”
And then, with a flick of his keys, he was gone—vanishing into the night, swallowed by the hum of the city.
Zander stood in the doorway for a moment longer, watching until the sound of Gale’s engine faded into the distance. Then he stepped inside, the scent of aged oak and whiskey wrapping around him like something steady, something known.
He rolled the small river stone between his fingers before slipping it into his pocket, where it would rest with the others.
Tomorrow, the door would swing open again. The scent of leather and asphalt would fill the space. A familiar voice would call out, teasing and warm.
And Zander would be waiting.
Because Gale always came back.
And if Zander was honest with himself—he always would.
Because in the end, no matter where the road led, they both knew exactly where it would always bring them back.
To each other.