Page 119 of Picture Perfect

The moment hangs suspended, his question lingering in the air like the final note of a song. Then, with a small nod, I whisper back, "Yes." It feels like a leap into the unknown, but with him, it somehow seems safe.

Dre's smile doesn't wane, but the relief in his eyes speaks volumes. He's got a tough exterior, but beneath it all, he's just as scarred, just as afraid of rejection as anyone else. Maybe that's why I'm drawn to him—because we're both fighting battles few people see.

He grins, the cockiness returning like a well-worn mask, and swings his leg over the motorcycle. Saint steps forward, his presence solid and reassuring. With a nod from Dre, he steadies the bike and helps me climb on behind.

"Got everything secure?" Saint asks, his voice carrying the faintest hint of concern beneath the stoic exterior.

"We're good," Dre responds with a wink, and I can't help but notice the silent communication that passes between them.

"Take care of her, Dre," Saint says, clapping him on the back before giving me a reassuring nod. "That's my fiancé, after all." He winks at me and I can't help but laugh.

"I will," Dre promises, and I believe him.

Saint hands me the helmet, and I pull it over my head, the click of the strap a tiny proclamation of readiness. I wrap my arms around Dre's waist, the leather of his jacket cool and smooth under my fingers. My heart hammers in my chest, not just from the thrill of the ride ahead, but from the closeness, the heat of him seeping into me.

"Ready?" Dre asks, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes seeking assurance.

"Ready," I confirm, my voice steadier than I feel.

He revs the engine, and it roars to life, a promise of raw power and freedom. As the bike lurches forward, I tighten my grip on him, my body pressed against his back. Every few moments, his hand leaves the handlebar to give my wrist a gentle squeeze. It's such a simple gesture an “are you okay?” and my answering squeeze back tells him I'm more than fine; I'm alive in a way I haven't felt in years.

There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here, clinging to this damaged boy who's slowly chipping away at the walls I've built around myself. I'm terrified to trust, especially after getting burned with Chess. But Dre doesn't hide who is. There's a raw honesty to him. I always know where we stand and there's something comforting in that.

When we finally come to stop, we’re in a part of town I’ve never been to before. I’m not even sure we’re still technically in town.

"Come on," he says, sliding off the bike and offering me a hand to help me dismount. His palm is warm against mine, and I feel that heat searing right through me, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"Wow," I breathe, taking in the view. The vastness of it all makes my problems seem minuscule, and for a moment, the weight of the world lifts from my shoulders.

"Thought you might like it," Dre murmurs, his voice low and close. He stands beside me, his presence a solid, reassuring force. "It's quiet here... just the two of us."

The intimacy of the statement sends a shiver down my spine. Just the two of us. Dre's gaze lingers on the horizon, but I can see the softening around the edges of his eyes, the way his guard drops when he looks at me.

"Thank you for bringing me here," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment.

"Anywhere you want to go, I'll take you there," Dre replies, turning those ice blue eyes on me now, and I swear there's a whole universe swirling within them.

"Promise?" I ask, teasingly, but my heart skips a beat waiting for his answer.

"Promise," he confirms, and the word feels like a pact. And somehow, I believe him.

I'm still taking in the view when Dre moves away from my side, heading back to his motorcycle. I watch, puzzled, as he kneels beside the bike and pops open a compact storage box I hadn't noticed before. He rummages for a moment before pulling out a folded blanket and a small cooler. My eyes widen in surprise; I didn't expect this sort of preparation from him—Dre, with his impulsive ways and reckless aura.

"You really planned this out?" I ask, incredulity lacing my voice.

"Maybe," he responds, a playful smirk lifting one corner of his mouth as he spreads the blanket on the ground with a flourish. He catches my gaze with those piercing blue eyes, and there's a hint of vulnerability in them that I've never seen before. "Come here."

I step closer, my heart pounding a rhythm of anticipation against my ribs. The grass crunches softly under my boots as I move to join him. As I sit, Dre wraps an arm around me, guiding me down between his legs, my back resting comfortably against his chest. His warmth seeps into me, and I can't help but lean into him, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

He opens the cooler, revealing an assortment of sandwiches and drinks. I'm touched by his thoughtfulness. The Dre he shows me is so different from the Dre he shows everyone else. It's as if he's crafted this small pocket of peace just for us, and I can't help but feel cherished.

"Thank you," I murmur, accepting a sandwich. We eat in silence, the tranquility of the overlook wrapping around us like a cocoon. I'm content to let the quiet linger, but after a few minutes, Dre clears his throat, breaking the spell.

"Snowflake," he starts, and I sense the hesitancy in his tone. "There's something... I want you to know."

I turn slightly to look at him, my sandwich forgotten. "You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready."

He shakes his head, a lock of blonde hair falling across his forehead. "No, it's not that. It's just..." He trails off, taking a deep breath, and I wait patiently, giving him the space he needs. "You're not the only one with scars, Snowflake. Mine are just more visible."

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