Chapter 2 – The Race
The following day, The air felt colder than usual, even for August.
"Let's go."
"Where?"
"You'll see."
He didn't explain. He didn't give me time to overthink it. Just shoved a helmet into my hands, tossed me into the passenger seat of a matte black sports car, and sped out of his family's compound
The engine roared under us.
It wasn't the kind of car people just drove for errands
it growled, sleek and too fast, like it had its own heart. The kind of vehicle that looked stolen even when it wasn't. I barely had time to fasten my seatbelt before we were winding out of the city, toward the broken outskirts.
"Mathan" I started, glancing at the neon road signs flashing past.
He looked sideways, smiling. "You trust me, right?"
"I don't know yet."
He laughed.
That sound, reckless and warm and a little too alive
We reached a stretch of ruined buildings, a long, looping junkyard like complex just outside the city. Half of it was barely paved. The rest was all cracked concrete and metal scrap. Graffiti, broken streetlights, and smoke.
The place reeked of oil and thrill.
And people were everywhere.
Mostly guys. A few girls in tank tops sitting on hoods of cars. They all turned when they saw us pulling in.
Mathan parked like he owned the place.
And judging by the reactions
the nods, the whistles, the whoops, he might as well have.
"What is this?" I asked quietly as we got out.
He tossed me a half grin. "Underground racing. Not cars though. Bikes."
"You bike?"
He looked at me like I'd asked if he breathed.
It wasn't just a hobby. It was a world. One I didn't know he lived in.
His friends were already gathering around. Half of them wore leather jackets or denim. The kind of people who didn't blink twice at breaking rules. One guy slapped Mathan on the back. Another handed him a helmet.
"Yo, he's back!"
"Been too long, M."
"Heard you'd gone all soft."
And somehow, every pair of eyes eventually turned to me.
To the boy in jeans and a borrowed hoodie.
To the outsider.
One guy whistled under his breath, eyeing me. "That your plus-one, Mathan?"
Mathan didn't answer. He was already swinging a leg over the bike, straddling the engine like he was born on it.
Then, finally, he looked over at me.
That quiet fire in his eyes.
"And don't blink." He said
I didn't.
The race started half an hour later.
They didn't race on a track
it was through a twisted loop of abandoned roads, dirt ramps, collapsed bridges and curving alleys. Sharp turns. Steel jumps. Real injuries if you miscalculated.
I stood at the top of a hill with a crowd of strangers, watching him ride like he'd built the road himself.
His bike was a shadow.
A silver blur on two wheels, moving with terrifying precision.
The others tried to keep up, but it was like he wasn't even trying.
He dodged a fallen barrier like it was a branch in the wind. Leaned low on the curve like his whole body trusted the road not to betray him.
I lost count of how many laps they made.
My heart didn't come down from my throat the entire time.
One of the racers wiped out halfway through. A tire burst. The bike spun, sparks scraping the ground. The crowd shrieked and surged forward, only to cheer louder when the rider stood up, limping and laughing.
Mathan didn't even glance back.
By the final lap, only three bikes were left on the road.
The sun was sinking behind a tangle of steel and wires in the distance. The air was dust and adrenaline. Music still pounding.
And Mathan
Mathan was in the lead.
He came flying around the last turn like it was instinct. One hand briefly lifted, like he knew it was already his.
The crowd surged forward again, surrounding the finish line.
I stepped back, breath caught.
Then
He stopped.
Helmet off. Hair wild. Eyes burning.
Someone shouted, "You never lose, do you!"
Another girl laughed breathlessly, "God, Mathan you looked so hot out there."
People kept calling his name. Teasing, praising, congratulating.
And me?
I just stood there, still feeling the imprint of my teeth on my lip from biting too hard. My heart hadn't slowed. My hands were shaking. I was still cold from watching someone I loved disappear around dangerous corners like gravity didn't apply to him.
I didn't expect what came next.
He walked straight through the crowd. Straight to me.
People turned to watch.
And before I could say anything—
He kissed me.
Right there.
No hesitation.
No hiding.
It wasn't a soft kiss, either. It was fierce. Final.
A declaration.
The crowd went silent for a second.
Then a guy from behind Mathan barked out a laugh. "So he's the one who's been holding you back all these years?"
Another whistled, "Mathan, bro seriously? We didn't know you were gay."
Mathan just smirked.
Still holding me. Still close.
"You do now."
He didn't let go.
And I didn't want him to.
For a moment, we stood there like no one else existed. Like the roar of the race hadn't stopped. Like the dust in the air had frozen.
And I thought
This was him.
The real Mathan.
Unshaken.
Unapologetic.
Mine.
The wind was still in my chest.
Even after we'd left the crowds behind
the rumble of bikes, the chaotic music, the bright eyes of people who didn't know me
I could still feel it. The adrenaline. The heat. The impossible disbelief that Mathan had done what he did.
That he kissed me.
In front of all of them.
And smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I was still holding my breath when he turned the key in the ignition, the engine of the sleek black coupe purring to life like it belonged in a movie. The inside smelled like his cologne, expensive, but still entirely him.
He didn't speak at first.
He just looked at me.
I was already looking at him.
"Buckle up," he said, voice soft, teasing.
I nodded quickly, heart still doing laps in my ribs. I fumbled with the seatbelt, still not quite able to believe any of this was real.
The city lights blurred past us as we drove. Not the campus anymore, not the school, not any place I knew. This was his world. His turf. The place he lived while I spent my life in classrooms and clinics and structured routines.
Now we were in a whole different story.
And he had just written me into it.
I glanced at him
hands relaxed on the wheel, window half-down, the wind running through his hair. His jaw was sharp in the orange glow of the streetlights. One hand was resting lazily on the gearshift, the other steering like he'd done it a thousand times blindfolded.
I didn't know how to stop looking.
"I didn't know you could do all that," I finally said, voice low.
" That stunt riding? The jumps? That whole… show?"
He smiled just a little. "It's not a show when it's real."
"It was insane."
"Did you think I'd lose?"
"No," I said immediately. Then hesitated. "Well. Maybe a little. But only because I couldn't imagine someone riding like that and still surviving."
He laughed
one of those deep, unguarded laughs that cracked something open in my chest. Then he turned to glance at me for a second, eyes catching mine.
"Glad I impressed you."
"You did more than impress me," I said, shaking my head. "You terrified me. And then you… you kissed me. Like you didn't care who was watching."
He didn't respond at first.
Then he pulled into a quieter road
narrower, lined with trees. The hum of the engine softened, the world outside darkening into stillness.
"I didn't care who was watching," he said.
"Mathan…"
He didn't let me finish. Just kept his eyes on the road and added quietly, "I want people to know it's you."
My heart did something strange
not a thud, not a flutter. Something in between. Something heavier.
The car rolled to a stop at a red light. The world paused with it. He turned in his seat, full now, really looking at me.
"You looked so small standing there in the crowd," he murmured. "Like you didn't know whether to run or cry or scream. And all I could think was
he came all the way here for me. After everything. After the silence. After the mess. You still came."
I swallowed hard.
He reached over, hand brushing mine gently.
"I've had everything, Mathew. Every toy, every car, every game, every thrill. But nothing, nothing makes me feel like you do when you look at me."
I didn't know what to say.
So I just stared at him.
Let him speak.
"You ground me," he said. "You're the only person who's ever told me to slow down and meant it. You're the only one who ever saw me without asking for something. You're not impressed by money or machines or fake smiles. You just… see me."
He squeezed my hand.
"I don't want someone to worship me. I want someone to stand beside me."
He looked down for a second, then back at me again. There was something raw in his expression now. No cockiness. No show. Just a boy in love, stripped of the crowd and the noise.
"And when I saw you standing there, after I won, I realized, this is it. This is what I want."
The light turned green, but he didn't move.
Not until he leaned in and kissed me again.
Softer this time.
He drove the rest of the way in silence.
One hand on the wheel.
The other still loosely holding mine.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself lean back, close my eyes, and believe it.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't temporary.
This was Mathan.
And he had chosen me