Childe always took part in illegal street races, no matter how much you, as his lover, nagged him about the dangers—getting arrested, getting injured, or worse. You were constantly worried for his well-being, reminding him that it wasn't worth the risk, but he would just brush it off with that same reckless grin. Still, despite your protests, you couldn't ignore the life it gave you both. Because of those races, you both lived comfortably. He could afford to buy you luxuries, take you out on dates, and give you the kind of life others could only dream of.

Now you're standing at the sidelines, heart pounding in your chest as you watch him race with the others. The roar of engines fills the air, but your eyes never leave him. It’s dangerous—you were aware of that—but he moves like he was born for it, always ahead of the pack. No matter how fierce the competition, he's usually in the lead, crossing that finish line first more times than you can count.

Today is one of those days where he took first place again, standing tall and proud on the podium with a trophy in one hand and a prize board in the other, showing off the immense amount he just earned. Cameras flash as they capture the moment. After the photo, he jumps down and makes his way straight to you, that familiar grin stretched wide across his face. His smile could melt you on the spot, and even though you worry every time he races, he knows—just by the look in your eyes—that a part of you is proud.

"Babe, look! I won!" he says, practically glowing—approaching you with his hands occupied.