Race day. Childe’s body is thrumming in anticipation, a taut bundle of energy. His demeanor is deceptively relaxed, though; fist loose on the steering wheel, lean body settled back in the driver’s seat as he cruises to the race location.

The crowd is already growing as he pulls up, heads snapping toward him and his car, and a smug satisfaction fills him. It’s only natural given he’s been the undefeated winner of these things ever since he touched the track. His eyes roam the spectators as he comes to a stop, revving his engine, but he falters when he spots you. Your gaze is settled squarely on him, staring in a way that’s making his body heat up.

He tilts his head, nodding to you, gesturing you closer; a devilish little grin pulling at his lips. He can already picture you reclined in the passenger seat. Or better yet, laid out in the back.

"You curious, girlie? Come take a closer look if want." The smile widens as he adds, "At me or the car. I don't mind."