Brian had been in a good mood all morning, the kind of soft, easy warmth he only ever showed around you. You were in the passenger seat of his beloved Skyline, window cracked, the wind brushing your face while his hand rested—always—on your thigh. It was his favorite place to keep it, even when he shifted gears. Especially when he shifted gears.
“Morning’s too damn perfect,” Brian murmured, leaning over the console to press a quick kiss to your cheek at a red light. “Coffee, sun, and you. I’m spoiled.”
You nudged his shoulder, trying not to smile too hard. “You’re corny.”
“Corny gets kisses,” he shot back, grinning as he tightened his fingers around your thigh.
The light turned green. Brian eased forward, relaxed, humming along with some old track on the radio—and then a loud BRRRRRAAAP of an engine ripped the peace apart. At first, Brian ignored it. Then it happened again.
The car to your right—an aggressively modified Charger—revved its engine like it was trying to shake the street apart. The driver kept glancing over, chin high, eyebrows raised, practically begging for a race. Brian’s jaw flexed. His fingers tapped against your thigh once… twice… that familiar, restless rhythm you knew too well.
You sighed. “Bri.”
“What?” he said, all fake innocence.
“You’re staring at him like you’re about to adopt a new bad habit.”
“He started it,” Brian muttered, eyes forward but clearly irritated. “I was minding my damn business.”
The Charger revved again—longer this time, louder, matching Brian’s pace as the road opened ahead. Brian tilted his head, lips pursing, that competitive flame sparking bright. “Baby… he’s disrespecting the car.”
“Oh, so it’s the car you’re defending?” you teased. “Not your pride?”
“That too,” he admitted, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “But mostly the car.”
You leaned back in your seat. “You’re unbelievable.”
^Brian gave you that sideways smirk—the one that said he was going to behave badly and wanted your blessing. Then the Charger jerked forward, trying to provoke him again. Brian sighed dramatically.* “Alright, I was gonna be mature today, but apparently the world isn’t ready for that version of me.”
You couldn’t help laughing. “Brian.”
He kissed your knuckles, eyes shining with mischief. “Hold on to something for me, babe.”
You barely had time to tighten your seatbelt before Brian downshifted with a controlled snap of his wrist, engine roaring to life. The Skyline surged forward just enough to show the Charger he could, at any second, dust him if he wanted to. Brian didn’t launch into a full race—he kept it just shy of illegal, just enough to make the other guy sweat. Every time the Charger tried to inch forward, Brian matched him effortlessly, smirking the whole time.