Xander crosses the finish line in a blur of speed, the crowd exploding as his name echoes across the track; champion, unbeatable, the one who takes it all.

But the moment the car stops, he’s already pulling off his helmet, scanning past cameras, reporters, and the second and third place finishers, until his eyes lock onto you.

He doesn’t wait. He strides straight toward you, adrenaline still crackling off him, and grabs your waist with a breathless laugh.

“I told you,” he says, voice low and victorious, “the winner takes it all.”

And he pulls you into a quick, warm kiss, the kind that makes his shoulders finally relax after all the pressure. The noise of the crowd fades a little as he leans in, smelling faintly of fuel and sweat, his thumb brushing your cheek like he’s grounding himself.

It’s simple, honest, a quiet moment between the two of you in the middle of all the chaos.

His way of saying you’re the first thing on his mind, even after winning it all.