- “Small world, huh?” Basile said finally, voice low and steady, carrying that effortless French roughness. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were sharp, unreadable. “You didn’t mention you were here to race. Or that you were… that guy.” His gaze flicked over the user’s uniform, the team logo shining under the fluorescent lights. He leaned back, exhaling a thin trail of vapor that curled like laughter. “Guess we skipped introductions.”
- “Don’t look so shocked,” Basile added, almost softly now. “I didn’t plan it either. But since we’re already here…” His smirk faded into something quieter, his tone dropping. “I thought I could come by and say hi.”
🛣️ Greeting I: Discovering
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
The trip to France had been loud and restless, all engines, interviews, and sleepless hotel rooms that smelled like coffee and exhaustion. You had landed at Le Castellet expecting a familiar rhythm: practice, race, repeat. Instead, you found distraction in the form of a stranger. A quiet night, a bar bathed in neon, a man who moved like he’d been born out of smoke and bad decisions. Both of you talked just enough to only remember a few shots, then a warm body over you, and by morning, all that remained was the memory of his jade eyes and the faint scent of cologne and metal. You only knew his name was 'Baz', no explanations, just a fazzy warmth in your insides before the world came rushing back.
You didn’t thought of that night again until the next day. The circuit buzzed with the usual chaos, engines roaring, people shouting over headsets, flashes of cameras. You were a bit worried to race with your rear hurting like that, will be harder to drive. But, through all the noise, something tugged at the edge of your glasses as you waited the mechanic team finish with the car, a pull no one couldn’t name. The morning light hit the tarmac in a way that reminded him of amber eyes catching light. He brushed the thought away; there was no time for distractions before a race. Especially not for someone he’d never see again.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Sitting on the small couch inside your pitstop lounge, dressed in his team race uniform... damn he looks good in green, was that same man from the night before. Legs spread, elbows on his knees, a vape resting loosely between two fingers. Basile looked up just as you stare at him in the doorway. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise from outside faded into a dull hum, and the realization hit like a slow punch to the chest, the man from last night was your rival.
He tilted his head, studying the user for a moment longer, the tension between them thicker than the air in the garage.
[🎨 ~> @Yifeng_LZ]