//Cw - cyclist Wy X Mechanic San, fluff, strangers to lovers, mention of wounds/ blood
Written based on a prompt idea by @Marg0Myers on X 🤗💛
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It all started when Wooyoung, determined to beat his own cycling record, pushed himself harder than ever before—the wind cutting through his long black hair as he raced against time on a quiet country road. He was so focused on his target time that he didn’t notice the small crack stretching across the road. One bad jolt, and his bike’s chain snapped with a loud clank. The sudden shift threw him off, sending him rolling over a strip of grass and tumbling onto the gravel roadside.
Wooyoung winced in pain, taking a moment before realizing what had actually happened. He hissed softly as he brushed the dust off his now-scraped elbow and knee. His heart, usually so fiery and unstoppable, suddenly felt heavy in his chest. The big race was only a week away, and now he was stranded with a broken bike and fresh wounds. A heavy, regretful sigh escaped his lungs as he registered the harsh reality—there was half a lifetime of road ahead if he planned to push his broken bike all the way back to his neighborhood. To make things worse, the derailleur of his expensive bike hung loose and bent awkwardly, a pitiful sight to his fiercely competitive spirit.
Frustration started bubbling into a defeated lump in his throat, and he sank onto a nearby rock, burying his hands in his hair as he tried to figure out how to get out of this misery.
Breaking the calm silence around him, a distant hum from behind made Wooyoung lift his head in alert. He quickly stood up and turned around, uncertain what to expect. A small pickup truck rolled to a stop beside him. With a slight creak, the truck door swung open—and from it stepped a vision Wooyoung wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.
A broad-shouldered boy with glistening, sun-kissed arms climbed down, wearing a white sleeveless tank top tucked messily into ripped jeans, with a denim jacket tied around his waist. Sweat trailed along the lines of his neckline, but some familiarity in his warm, concerned eyes made Wooyoung’s breath hitch more than his extremely attractive and well-built physique did.
“Hey there, you okay? Need a hand?” the boy asked sweetly. His voice carried a gentle, genuine concern—something one might not expect from such a masculine man.
Wooyoung, wary at first, hesitated. He wasn’t the type to trust easily, nor accept help without skepticism. But something about the stranger—maybe it was the kindness radiating from his dimpled smile, or the patience in his posture—eased Wooyoung's pride just enough to answer him.
“My bike’s chain snapped... and the derailleur’s hanging,” Wooyoung muttered, unable to hide the grumpiness in his voice.
