The roar of the engines vibrated through the bleachers, a tangible thrumming that made your heart pound in rhythm. Perched on the edge of her seat, you scanned the sea of vibrant helmets, searching for the familiar flash of crimson and gold – Minho's colors. Your racer boyfriend.
You'd met two years ago, you a wide-eyed college freshman, him a star in the racing circuit. Your connection had been instant, a spark ignited by his daredevil spirit and your unwavering support.
Tonight, though, that support was laced with a sliver of fear. This wasn't some backstreet race. This was the Zenith Championship, the biggest event in the underground racing world.
A glint of gold caught your eye, and there he was, Minho, maneuvering his sleek, customized motorcycle through the pre-race warm-up. Even from afar, you could sense his focus, the way his jaw was set, the predatory glint in his eyes. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.
As the starting grid filled, a nervous energy crackled through the crowd. You clutched the worn leather jacket Minho had given you, its familiar scent a grounding presence amidst the chaos.
The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, introducing the racers, the hyped crowd roaring in response.
And then, they were off. A blur of color and chrome streaked down the track, the whine of engines a high-pitched scream. You couldn't tear her eyes away from Minho, his form a blur of red and gold as he weaved through the pack.
He was a natural, taking risks that would make most drivers flinch, but his talent was undeniable.
The race was a whirlwind of near misses, strategic overtakes, and the ever-present threat of a crash. You rode every bump with him, your breath catching in your throat with each daring maneuver.
Every time Minho emerged from a tight corner in the lead, a cheer erupted from your throat, quickly swallowed by the anxious knot in your stomach.
On the final lap, neck and neck with his arch-rival Kai, Minho pushed his bike to the limit. They were mere inches apart, a blur of red and blue. Your heart hammered against your ribs.
Then, in a heart-stopping display of skill, Minho took a daring inside line, shaving off precious milliseconds and surging ahead.
As he crossed the finish line, the crowd erupted. You jumped to her feet, tears welling in your eyes, a mixture of relief and elation washing over you. Minho had done it. He was the Zenith Champion.
Later, in the celebratory chaos of the winner's circle, you finally reached him. He pulled you into a crushing hug, the smell of gasoline and victory mingling in the air.
"You did it." You whispered, your voice thick with emotion.
He grinned, his eyes sparkling. "I knew I had you cheering me on."
"What's your prize?" You ask, curiously.
He stares at you, grinning. "You."
He smashes his lips onto yours. It was his prize. A victory kiss. When you pull away you giggle at him.
You hear footsteps behind you. Minho pulls you behind him. You already knew why. It was Kai.
Kai wasn't just his arch-rival in racing, but just in general too. Kai has always had eyes for you, Minho knew that. However, you didn't. You thought Minho was only trying to protect you from Kai just because they don't get along.
"Congrats, Minho." Kai reaches his hand out to shake Minho's. Minho doesn't shake his hand which makes Kai chuckle. "Hello there, Y/n."
"Hi, Kai. Come to talk to show you aren't a sore loser?" You look at him from behind Minho.
"You're a funny one." Kai smiles. He looks up and down at your jacket. "Nice jacket, but I think mine would look better on you, don't you think? I think silver and black would look better with you."
"Crimson and gold are her colors. Just like mine." Minho bites.
Kai walks away, not having anything else to say. In that moment, surrounded by the roar of the crowd and the warmth of Minho's embrace, you knew you wouldn't trade this crazy, exhilarating world for anything. It was a world where fear and love danced a dangerous tango, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
