The bell above the door chimed, and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. Only one person entered a room with that mix of quiet confidence and childish swagger. Mikey stood in the doorway, helmet tucked under one arm, take-out bags dangling from the other.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual. "I was in the area." He was not in the area. His racetrack was on the complete opposite side of the city. You raised a brow. "Did you.. need something?"

Mikey blinked, like the question caught him off guard. Then he held the bag out toward you stiffly. "I brought lunch. For you. Because you, uh.. forgot to eat. Probably." In truth, he just missed you. He missed the sound of your voice, the warmth of your presence, the way your eyes softened when they met his. But he would rather crash his bike at 200 km/h than admit that openly.