doi

illegal races don’t have rules, but they have patterns.

one of them is that aeri uchinaga always wins.

the other is that you’re always right behind her.

same stretch of road tonight. abandoned industrial strip at the edge of the city. flickering streetlights. cracked asphalt. the air thick with exhaust and anticipation. engines revving like they’re pissed off about being contained.

you sit in your car, helmet on, fingers loose on the wheel. you don’t need to hype yourself up anymore. this is muscle memory now. breathing steady. eyes forward.

to your left, aeri pulls up like she owns the road.

black car. clean lines. tuned perfectly. no unnecessary flair because she doesn’t need it. her window rolls down just enough for her to look at you.

she looks relaxed.

that already pisses you off.

“same position as always,” she says, voice light, almost bored. “you following me for fun or what?”

you don’t look at her. “just making sure you don’t get lost.”

she laughs, sharp and bright. “cute.”

the starter raises his hand.

for one second, everything goes quiet.

then the flag drops.

you launch forward, tires screaming, body pressing into the seat. the world narrows into speed and timing and instinct. you take the first turn aggressively. too aggressively maybe. but it works.

you’re neck and neck.

you can feel her there without looking. like pressure. like gravity.

second turn. third. you push harder. closer.

then she does what she always does.

she finds space where there shouldn’t be any.

she slips ahead cleanly, effortlessly, like she planned it from the start. like she was letting you think you had a chance.

she crosses the line first.

you cross second.

again.

the crowd explodes. money changes hands. someone slaps your car in congratulations that feels suspiciously like consolation.

you rip off your helmet and exhale hard.

aeri steps out of her car, helmet tucked under her arm, grin already in place.

she walks toward you like she’s taking a victory lap just by existing.

“damn,” she says, eyes flicking over your car. “you were close.”

you scoff. “you say that every time.”

“because it’s true,” she replies. “second place suits you.”

that hits harder than it should.

she leans down, closer now, voice dropping just enough to be personal.

“better luck next time.”

she straightens and turns away.

you should shut up.

you don’t.

“you ever get tired of winning?” you call out.

she stops.

slowly, she turns back, eyebrow raised.

“no,” she says. “but i do get bored.”

then she smiles at you like you’re the cure.

you don’t see her for a few days after that.

which is worse.

you spend nights under your hood, adjusting, tuning, chasing a difference you can’t quite find. grease under your nails. radio low. thoughts loud.

it’s quiet when you hear footsteps.

“you’re gonna blow your gasket if you keep tweaking that,” aeri says casually.

you hit your head on the hood. “fuck!”

she’s leaning against a pillar like she belongs there. arms crossed. amused.

“do you enjoy sneaking up on people?” you snap.

“only you,” she says. “you’re fun.”

you roll your eyes and go back to work. she doesn’t leave.

she watches. closely.

“your line’s clean,” she says after a minute. “you just hesitate.”

you sigh. “are you here to race or critique?”

she crouches beside you anyway. eyes scanning your engine. focused now.

“you race like you’re afraid of losing,” she says. “i race like i don’t care.”

you glance at her. “must be nice.”

she looks up at you. something unreadable flashes in her eyes.

“it’s lonely,” she says lightly. then adds, “speaking of.”

you straighten. “what.”

she smirks. “you look lonely.”

you laugh despite yourself. “wow. bold.”

“i can fix that,” she says, like it’s an offer she expects you to take.

“how.”

“race me again,” she says. “next friday.”

“obviously.”

“with stakes.”

you pause. “what kind.”

she tilts her head, eyes gleaming. “loser takes the winner on a date.”

you stare. “a date?”

“don’t act shocked,” she says. “you’ve been staring at me all week.”

“that’s a lie.”

“mm,” she hums. “sure.”

you wipe your hands and step closer. “fine. but when i win, i pick the place.”

she grins instantly. too fast.

“deal.”

you tell yourself you’re not hanging out.

hanging out implies intention. planning. choice.

this is just proximity. coincidence. circumstance.

except aeri keeps showing up.

sometimes it’s late afternoon, sun still hanging low, her car rolling into the lot like she owns the place. sometimes it’s midnight, when the city’s gone quiet and your radio’s the only sound keeping you company.

she never announces herself. just appears.

“you’re doing that wrong,” she says one night, leaning over your shoulder while you’re adjusting a setting.

you don’t even flinch anymore. “didn’t ask.”

“didn’t need you to,” she replies. “your timing’s off.”

you straighten slowly. “you come here just to piss me off?”

she smirks. “mostly.”

she brings food without asking. greasy takeout. energy drinks. once, a bag of candy she claims she “didn’t want anyway” but somehow knows is your favorite.

she sits on your hood like it’s a throne, legs swinging, watching you work like she’s studying a puzzle.

“you treat your car like a person,” she observes.

“you treat yours like a weapon,” you shoot back.

she grins. “guess that says a lot about us.”

it does. you just don’t know what yet.

the shit-talking never stops. it just… changes.

“you always take the outside line on tight turns,” she says one evening.

you pause, wrench still in hand. “how would you know that?”

she shrugs. “i watch.”

your chest tightens in a way you don’t like acknowledging.

you start racing harder. practicing longer. obsessing over the idea of beating her.

but you also start noticing things.

how she taps her fingers against her thigh when she’s thinking. how she gets quiet when she’s tired instead of loud. how her confidence isn’t careless, just carefully built.

one night, you’re sitting side by side on the curb, eating fries off the same paper tray.

“you ever wonder,” you ask, “what you’d be like if you weren’t winning all the time?”

she doesn’t answer right away.

“i don’t really remember not winning,” she admits finally.

you glance at her. she’s not smiling.

something in you softens.

the night before the race, she leans against your car, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

“don’t disappoint me tomorrow,” she says.

you smirk. “hope you like paying for dinner.”

she laughs, but it’s quieter than usual. lingering.

you miss the way she looks at your car like she’s memorizing it.

race night feels heavier.

more people. more noise. more money on the line. headlights carve sharp shadows across the road, engines snarling like they know something’s about to break.

aeri pulls up beside you, window rolling down.

she looks calm. too calm.

“winner chooses the restaurant,” she reminds you.

“when i win,” you say.

she smiles. “we’ll see.”

the flag drops.

everything narrows.

you push harder than you ever have. take risks that make your pulse spike. you expect her to surge ahead, to slip past you like always.

she doesn’t.

she stays behind.

your brain screams that something’s wrong, but your instincts don’t slow. you cross the finish line first.

you win.

the crowd goes insane. people slap your back. someone shouts your name.

it doesn’t feel how you imagined.

aeri pulls up beside you slowly, steps out, helmet off.

she claps.

“nice driving,” she says.

no smirk. no bait.

later, when the noise fades and the adrenaline settles, you find her leaning against her car, staring at the ground.

“you let me win,” you say.

she sighs. doesn’t bother denying it.

“yeah.”

“why?” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be.

she looks up at you then. really looks.

“because i wanted to take you on that date,” she says simply. “and i didn’t want to pretend otherwise.”

your chest stutters.

“you’re telling me,” you say slowly, “you threw a race. your thing. for me.”

she shrugs, but her eyes are serious. “winning’s not everything.”

it feels like the world tilts.

the date is nothing like you expect.

no fancy restaurant. no show-off bullshit.

food’s hit under flickering lights. shared drinks. teasing that feels warm instead of sharp.

aeri’s different here. still sassy. still confident. but softer around the edges.

“so,” you say, “you always manipulate the odds in your favor?”

she grins. “only when it matters.”

she pays without arguing. walks you back to your car.

the city hums around you, distant and alive.

“i don’t throw races,” she says suddenly. “ever.”

you meet her eyes. “except this one.”

“except this one,” she agrees.

you lean in first.

the kiss is slow. deliberate. like she’s been waiting.

it lingers longer than either of you expects.

it’s not rushed. not desperate. it’s careful in that way that means it matters. aeri’s hand stays curled at your wrist, thumb brushing over your pulse like she’s grounding herself there.

when you finally pull back, neither of you steps away.

aeri exhales a laugh, soft and a little disbelieving. “wow.”

you raise an eyebrow. “that bad?”

she scoffs. “shut up. that was… not what i expected.”

“yeah?” you tease. “what were you expecting?”

she tilts her head, studying you, like she’s recalibrating. “something less dangerous.”

your chest warms at that.

“so,” you say, breaking the silence before it gets too heavy, “you gonna tell me now?”

“tell you what?”

“when you started liking me,” you say. “because i know it wasn’t just tonight.”

she groans, tipping her head back. “ugh. don’t make me say it out loud.”

you grin. “too late. i won. remember?”

she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “fine. somewhere between you calling me an asshole for the fifth time and you letting me stay in your trash garage.”

“that’s romance?”

“don’t judge,” she says. “i have low standards.”

you laugh, bumping your shoulder into hers. she lets it happen. doesn’t move away.

you lean against your car, and aeri mirrors you without thinking. like it’s natural now.

“you know,” you say quietly, “i hated you at first.”

she gasps dramatically. “devastating.”

“you made it easy.”

“yeah,” she admits. “i do that.”

there’s a pause. a softer one.

“i didn’t mean to fall for you,” she says. “it just… happened. you kept chasing me. pushing me. not backing down.”

you look at her. really look. no grin now. just honest.

“i wasn’t chasing you,” you say. “i was trying to catch up.”

her expression shifts. something warm settles there.

she reaches for your hand again. this time, interlaces your fingers.

“guess i stopped running,” she murmurs.

you don’t go home right away.

you end up sitting on the hood of your car, legs dangling, sharing stories you never bothered telling before.

she talks about how racing was the first thing she was ever good at. how winning became easier than explaining herself. how second place scared her more than losing.

you tell her about always being almost enough. how being second taught you patience. how you learned to love the road instead of the podium.

she listens. actually listens. no shit.

at some point, she nudges your knee with hers. “so what now?”

you glance at her. “what do you want now?”

she thinks about it. genuinely.

“i wanna race with you,” she says. “not against you. i wanna see what we’d be like on the same side.”

your heart skips. “you serious?”

“dead serious,” she replies. “but also i still wanna beat you sometimes.”

you laugh. “obviously.”

she leans in again, kisses you slower this time. surer.

“you’re not second place anymore,” she whispers against your lips.

you smile. “guess i finally won.”

she squeezes your hand. “we both did.”

when you finally part ways, she doesn’t drive off immediately.

she lingers. looks back at you once before getting into her car.

“hey,” she calls.

“yeah?”

she grins. that same grin from the first race. but softer now. yours.

“don’t get used to me going easy on you.”

you grin back. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

her engine roars to life.

for the first time, you’re not watching her disappear ahead of you.