27 (race)

The office was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the muffled roar of engines outside, the track alive with practice runs.

Nao sprawled sideways on the sofa like he owned the place, scrolling through his phone, while Tiger sat cross-legged on the floor with a half-finished energy drink in hand.

I perched on the edge of Johan’s desk, staring at the neat stack of sponsor files he’d left behind.

“When’s your marriage?” Nao asked suddenly, not even looking up from his phone. His tone was casual, but the question landed with weight.

I blinked, startled. “…Uh. P’Jo said after I graduate. Which means right after this semester, I guess.” I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to sound nonchalant even though the thought sent a nervous rush straight to my chest.

Nao finally lifted his gaze, narrowing his eyes at me. “That fast?”

Before I could reply, Tiger reached over and pinched his nose with a grin. “Don’t pout, baby. If you’re feeling left out, we can get married too after we graduate.”

Nao yelped, swatting him away. His cheeks flushed pink, and he glared at Tiger. “How about you plan me a proper proposal first? You’re all talk but no action.”

I laughed quietly at the bickering, their voices bouncing easily in the otherwise serious office.

Tiger leaned back against the sofa, smirking. “I’ll make it grander than Johan’s. Just wait.”

Nao scoffed, flicking his bangs out of his face. “Grand proposals don’t matter if you don’t follow through. Johan knew what he wanted—and he went for it.”

His eyes slid to me, sharp but softened with something else beneath. “Guess you said yes pretty fast too, huh?”

I fiddled with Johan’s pen, heat creeping up my neck. “It wasn’t about fast… it just felt right.” My voice was quieter than I meant it to be, but it was the truth.

The engines outside roared louder, vibrating through the walls, and for a moment none of us spoke.

Tiger broke the silence first, grinning wide. “Well, when it’s our turn, we’ll make sure you’re there, North. Front row. You’ll get to cry for us.”

Nao rolled his eyes but didn’t argue this time. Instead, he leaned back, his phone slipping onto the cushion. “…You know, I thought you’d wait longer. But seeing you now, maybe… maybe it makes sense. You look different.”

“Different?” I asked, brow furrowing.

Nao studied me for a beat, then shrugged. “More settled. Like… you know where you belong.”

Something in my chest tightened. I fiddled with the pen again, staring down at my hands. “Maybe I do.”

The sound of footsteps in the hall made us all glance up, and instinctively, my lips curved into a smile.

Johan stepped inside, his jacket slung over one arm and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead from being out on the track.

His eyes scanned the room, landing on me first. The corners of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly. That little look—like he had found what he was looking for—always made my chest feel too full.

“You survive without me?” he teased lightly, setting the folder he carried down on the desk beside me.

Tiger stretched and grinned. “Barely. Nao almost started lecturing us on marriage timelines.”

Nao threw him a sharp look. “At least I’m not delusional.”

Johan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. His hand brushed the top of my shoulder briefly as he passed, like he couldn’t resist the contact even for a second.

Without thinking, I slipped off the desk and plopped myself down on the sofa, right between his legs as he sat.

I leaned my back against his chest like I’d done it a hundred times before—because I had.

Johan’s arms automatically came around me, settling on my waist, steady and protective.

I could feel Nao watching us, his lips pursed like he wanted to make a comment but was too polite (or maybe too jealous) to say it.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, lifting it slightly, angling the camera down at where my sneakers brushed Johan’s racing shoes.

Click.

Another click.

Johan leaned down, resting his chin on my shoulder as the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Tiger leaned forward, peering at the screen. “Cute. That’ll get at least five hundred likes.”

Nao rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

I laughed, feeling Johan’s chest shake with his own quiet amusement behind me.

After scrolling through the photos, I tilted my head back a little to look up at him. “So… is the track ready for your race with Tiger yet?”

At once, Tiger’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Tell him I’ll win. Today if you want.”

Johan raised a brow, his tone cool but playful. “Confident, aren’t you?” His thumb brushed absent circles against my side absentmindedly as he looked at Tiger. “It’s ready. But are you?”

Tiger grinned, his competitive fire sparking instantly. “Anytime, Phi.”

Nao groaned into his hands. “If you two break your necks racing just to prove a point, don’t expect me to light incense at the hospital.”

That made all of us laugh, though Johan’s arm tightened briefly around me, as if promising silently he’d never risk too much—not with me watching.

I reached down, lacing my fingers with his, our matching shoes framed in the shot I’d just taken. “Then I’ll be the referee,” I said softly, looking between them.

Johan leaned down again, pressing the lightest kiss to my temple. “And I’ll only care about winning if you’re watching.”

✿✿✿⁠ 

The sky had already shifted into that heavy golden hour, the light painting the track in molten orange. From Johan’s office window earlier, it all looked like a picture. But standing here now—close enough to smell the burnt rubber and gasoline—it was nothing short of electric.

Tiger stood by his car, helmet under his arm, a grin tugging at his mouth like he’d been waiting his whole life for this. He gave a mock bow toward Johan. “Don’t hold back, Phi. I can take it.”

Johan didn’t rise to the bait. He was lacing his gloves tighter, movements sharp, deliberate.

His whole aura shifted—no longer the teasing man who kissed me against the window or let me fall asleep in his arms.

This Johan was different. Cold. Focused. Dangerous. The kind of man who didn’t just race—he owned the track beneath him.

And yet, when his gaze lifted, it found me. Just for a heartbeat. A flicker of warmth breaking through the steel. Enough to make my breath catch in my throat.

I leaned on the barrier, trying to mask the way my pulse hammered.

The official gave the signal. Engines growled to life. The roar was deafening, vibrating straight through my ribs, but my eyes never left Johan. The way his fingers curled over the wheel. The stillness of his shoulders before the storm.

The flag dropped.

They launched forward.

The sound was like thunder tearing the world open. My eyes watered from the sheer wind pressure as the cars blurred past the stands, streaks of color against asphalt.

Tiger was fast—reckless, but fast. He cut corners like he had something to prove, tires screaming as smoke curled off the track. The crowd cheered wildly, fists pumping, voices blending into a single roar.

But Johan—he was terrifying in a different way. He didn’t fight the car. He became it. Every shift was clean, every turn precise, as if the track bent itself to him. Watching him, I almost forgot to breathe.

They hit the first sharp curve—Tiger gunned it too early, his car fishtailing for half a second before stabilizing. Johan slipped through on the inside, smooth as silk, calculated to the millimeter.

My nails dug into the railing.

I hated it. I loved it.

The laps blurred together, time folding in on itself.

My throat was dry, my chest tight, my whole body wired with adrenaline even though I wasn’t the one driving. All I could think was: this is him.

The moment came in the final stretch. Tiger, desperate, went wide, pushing his car hard, trying to block Johan’s line. For a second, it looked like he had it.

Then Johan shifted—so subtle, so brutal. A flash of red and black as he slid past, clean and merciless, claiming the lead like it had been his all along.

The finish line rushed up, the engines screaming at their peak—

And then it was over.

Johan’s car slowed, controlled, while Tiger’s screeched to a halt seconds later, smoke curling around his tires.

My knees felt weak. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until I exhaled all at once, my chest aching from it.

Tiger ripped his helmet off, hair damp with sweat, and laughed breathlessly, throwing his arm across the roof of his car. “Phi—you’re insane! Good match!”

Johan gave him a brief nod, cool and composed, before slipping his helmet under his arm.

He didn’t bask in the cheers, didn’t grandstand for the crowd.

He just scanned the sidelines until his gaze landed on me again—steady, unshaken, like he’d only ever raced for me.

I met his eyes, my chest still thrumming with leftover adrenaline, then let the smallest smile curve my lips.

Nao, beside me, exhaled dramatically, shaking his head as if the whole thing had been too much. “Honestly, North. Do you like living with this kind of stress? You’re going to age twice as fast just watching him.”

I turned my head slowly, catching his worried glare, and let the smirk rise—sharp, deliberate. “Maybe,” I said, voice light but laced with pride. “But at least I know he always wins.”

Nao rolled his eyes hard, muttering something under his breath about “hopeless fools,” but the faint pink on his ears betrayed him.

Tiger barked a laugh, pointing at Nao. “See? That’s the look of someone who already picked the right team.”

Johan finally reached me, brushing his hand against my lower back as naturally as breathing. He didn’t need to say anything—the weight of his presence alone silenced every protest.

And as the noise of the crowd swelled again, I leaned against the barrier, smirk still playing on my lips.

Because yes—Nao was right. Loving someone like Johan was terrifying. It was reckless, it was restless. But watching him out there, unstoppable on the track, then choosing me in the very next breath…

It felt like I’d already won too.