The sound of cheering bleeds through the concrete walls above him, a constant roar rising and falling like the tide. The strip lights overhead flicker once - twice - before buzzing back to life. Music thunders from the stadium speakers, loud enough to rattle the floor beneath his boots, the announcers shouting over the chaos. 

Noir stands alone in the tiny bathroom tucked beside the paddock, palms braced on the cracked porcelain sink. Water drips from the ends of his bangs, running down the curve of his jaw. 

For a venue this expensive, the bathroom is surprisingly shitty. Not that he cares, though. Right now, he needs the small, quiet space more than anything. 

He lifts his gaze to the mirror - its edges yellowed, surface warped - and studies the reflection staring back. When he first started racing, the noise outside used to choke him. It was too loud to think with all the sound crashing around him... but now, he finds it grounding. Chaotic, but predictable. Everything he isn't. 

He turns toward the wooden cabinet by the door, it's surface worn smooth by years of use. The small carved shapes along its frame are fading, but someone clearly takes care of it. 

He opens it. 

Inside sits a single object: an old, crumpled photograph. A mother with her arms around two boys. A family, a life. 

Noir's throat tightens, fingers brushing the edge of the picture.

"Простите... я попробую ещё раз." Forgive me... I'll try again. 

"Times up! Get your ass out here!" 

Laya.

He exhales sharple, closes the cabinet, and steps out - letting the door slam behind him. 

Laya is instantly at his side, walking in stride. "How're we feeling?"

"Fine." His response is clipped as he brushes past a swarm of mechanics running past with spare tires and equipment.

"Good. Keep your head clear, eyes on the finish line-"

"I know." 

"And most importantly-" she shoves his helmet into his chest, "do not wreck my car again."

"Right. I won't wreck my car." Noir clicks his tongue, taking the helmet from her grip. As he slides it on, a soft hint of jasmine fills his lungs. Laya always sprays the padding before a race. She says it calms his down, and she's not wrong. 

"MY car!" She calls after him as he heads towards the exit of the garage. 

The crowd noise spikes the moment sunlight spills across his boots, bright and hot. Noir pauses at the threshold.

"Удач." Laya says behind him. Good luck. 

He gives her a small nod and steps out. 

The fans instantly erupt. 

His matte-black car waits for him just to the left, it's surface gleaming under the afternoon sun. The red streaks along the sides catch the light like fresh paint. 

He used to hate that Maksim added the red. But now? 

...It's growing on him. 

The engine growls beneath him like a living beast, sending vibrations through his whole body - shaking his ribs and up his spine. His gloved hands grip the steering wheel, watching as the light ahead turns green before slamming his foot down onto the gas pedal. 

The world around him narrows to a tunnel: asphalt, red and white barriers flashing - everything a blur. 

Focus. Breathe. 

Left turn in three seconds. 

He shifts his weight, fingers locking tighter around the wheel. The car responds instantly, leaning with him, tires screaming as they carve through the turn. Any tighter and he would've rolled the damn thing - 
But he doesn't. 
He never does. 

Two cars close in on him, one on each side, boxing him in. Noir flicks his eyes between them. Too close, too intentional. 

He growls a curse under his breath and slams the accelerator, then abruptly hits the breaks. 

His body jerks forward hard against the harness as the two cars shoot past him, overshooting the turn just like he wanted. He drops a hand to the shifter, ripping the car into third, the engine snarling as he cuts sharply inward. 

Half his wheels hit the grass, the car rattling violently beneath him. Dirt spits up, the chassis vibrating like it's seconds from losing control. 

It's unsafe, reckless, and stupid. 
But he does it anyway. 

Laya's distorted voice breaks through the the radio, yelling at him to stop, but he doesn't. 

He's not losing. Not today. He made a promise. 

He steadies the wheel, forcing the car back onto the track. The moment the tires grip asphalt again, he launches forward, sliding between the two racers before they can correct their lines. one tries to block - too slow. 

Noir cuts ahead, the back of his car trapping the front bumper of the other with a sharp metallic crack. 

Sweat slips down his neck, pulse hammering. He doesn't look back, only forward. 

-

"Mr Noir! How do you feel about just winning the Iron Horizon Cup?" A reporter shouts over the noise. It's packed, filled with fans, reporters, and sponsors. 

Noir ignores the press, pushing past them, one glove hand gripping onto the trophy - not that him ignoring them isn't normal.

He shoves past a group of some fellow racers, one stopping him. "Hey, Noir. Nice job. I really thought I had you there." The jackass who tried to crush him. 

Noir glances at him before looking away, jaw clenching. "Do that again and you'll regret it." His eyes hold a light flame, threatening and walking away. Some of the dudes scoff. 

"You think you're hot shit! Jackass!" He shouts after him. 

Noir keeps himself under control, and it wasn't until he reached the privacy of the garage that he cracks a little, hurling his helmet to the wall, gritting. 

"Спокойно... спокойно..." He inhales sharply before exhaling, calming his rage. He glances down at the trophy, the gold shimmering underneath the artificial light. 

"What's with the long face? You just won." 

Maksim. 

Noir grumbles. He walks over to the workbench and puts the trophy atop it. 

"Risky act you pulled out there," Maksim walks over, arms crossed. "Almost had me there. I thought you were going to crash." 

"Well I didn't." 

"Don't do it again."

"I won, didn't I? What's the big deal?" Noir asks with a light bite, eyes sharply staring at his sponsor who calmly stares back at him. 

Sometimes he doesn't get it. Is Maksim trying to instigate?

Maksim sighs. "You're right, you did win," he clicks his tongue. "But, I can't have you being so risky. After that last crash-" 

"Поздравляю! I didn't doubt you for a second." Laya comes bounding in, throwing her cap to the floor. "Looked good out there." She examines the car silently before suddenly marching over and landing her hand on Noir's shoulder roughly. 

"What the hell was that? Do you want to die?"

Noir opens his mouth.

 "Actually, don't answer that." She says instantly, lightly turning to Maksim, taking a moment to eye him down.

"Why're you standing like that." She arches an eyebrow, making Maksim blink. 

"Standing like what?"

"Like that!" She laughs, tilting her head, black hair sliding with her movement. "So authoritative." 

"This is just how I stand, Ms. Reznik." 

"Yeah well, change it, would you, Mr. Volkov?" 

"Jesus christ would you two stop?" Noir's lip curls, glancing between the two. What the hell is with this vibe? "You two better not be fucking." 

Laya turns to him as if he just said something criminal. "In his dreams." She whispers, ears burning a little before clearing her throat and swiftly turning to the car. 

"We're having a celebratory dinner tonight. Dress nice." She tells Noir who just sighs and walks past Maksim to the locker rooms. 

Noir walks down the hallway, the gray walls feeling like they're squeezing in on him. He pushes open the locker room door and lets it slam behind him, ripping off his gloves and letting them flop to the floor. His hands are trembling as he goes to undo the zipper of his jacket - still shaking from the adrenaline. 

The red and black leather coat drops onto a nearby bench. His compression shirt follows right after, drenched. His skin feels too hot, sweat sliding down the divots of his chest and abs - his skin flushed pink from the heat of the race. 
A cold shower sounds perfect. 

His fingers hook under the loops of his waistband - but the door opens. 

He freezes. 

Eunwoo stands there, eyes wide, breath hitching. He looks like he wants to look away but can't. He just stands in place, cheeks flaming red.

"O-Oh-" Eunwoo blurts, hands flying up in surrender. "Oh god- I'm so sorry! I thought this was - um - the hallways are confusing and I got lost-" The words tumble out too fast, tripping over each other.

Noir stares at him, jaw tight, muscles aching from how long he's held them tense. 

"Get out." The words come out automatically, like a reflex wired into him.

"Right! Yes- sorry- going now-" Eunwoo backs up, only to trip over his own feet and slam his shoulder into the doorframe. "Ow- sorry-"

He keeps rambling, and Noir still doesn't says anything. He just...stares
Something twists in his stomach - something he can't name. Embarrassment? Annoyance? Something else he refuses to acknowledge?

Eunwoo doesn't move. He just watches Noir with those big brown eyes, like a startled kid. 

Noir scoffs and turns away from him, heading toward the showers. He grabs the knob, ready to drown himself in ice cold water-

"You were amazing." 

Noir pauses.

His heart stutters once - hard. 
He turns just enough to see Eunwoo over his shoulder. 

"I've never seen a race like that before." Eunwoo admits quietly, eyes dropping to the floor as he absentmindedly fidgets with his fingers. "Maksim wasn't happy, but... I thought you were incredible."

Noir stares at him, at a loss of words. "You...do?" His body heats even more, thought he's done nothing but stand there. 

Eunwoo looks shocked by the question. "Well of course I do!" He says, breathless. "Don't you think so?"

Noir swallows. His hands tremble again. For a moment - just a moment - he feels warm. 

Then panic surges up his throat. 

He showed too much. 
He cracked, let himself slip in front of him.

"You need to leave." Noir's voice snaps back to its usual tone - cold, distant. 
He turns, flips the shower on, and lets the coldest water blast over him.

Eunwoo shifts, rubbing his arm. "R-Right-" 

"Unless you want to see me naked." 

"W-Well I-" Eunwoo feels his entire soul leave his body. "I mean- absolutely not!" he yells over the water before rushing out, face on fire - door slamming behind him. 

Noir stays under the freezing spray, water crashing down his back as he braces both palms against the old tile. He didn't even btoher taking off his pants - just lets them soak, staring at the floor as his breath evens out. 

"Почему ты делаешь это со мной…?"