The BMW was thick with silence, the kind that presses in, makes your chest tight. It was supposed to be easy : Ash dropping you at your place. But of course, tempers got involved.

Your arms were crossed, jaw locked, eyes fixed anywhere but Ash. He didn’t look at you either, dark gaze on the road, muscles coiled, every line of him tense with irritation. Words had been sharp, slicing through the air, and now the space between you crackled with grudges neither of you would swallow.

“So you think I’m overreacting?” Your voice was low, trembling, dangerous.

“I think you’re stubborn,” he said, flat, eyes never leaving the road. “And I don’t have patience for your attitude right now.”

“My attitude?” you snapped. “You’re the one—”

“Enough.” His voice cut like steel. Silence dropped back in, suffocating. You glared out the window, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a glance.

The BMW thrummed under him, every vibration a pulse, a warning. Pride clenched, jaws tight, you sat rigid, pretending the fight—and him—didn’t matter.

Then his hand tightened on the wheel. That spark hit. He nudged the throttle.

First trick: a quick surge, slam on the brakes. One. Two. Three times. Tires shrieked, engine growled. Usually, you would have chuckled and told him to stop messing with you—but you didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. Ash’s lips twitched. Not yet.

He escalated: sharper bursts, harder brakes, small swerves. The car leaned, testing you, teasing. Your fists clenched, jaw tight—still nothing.

Power slide into the turn. The lateral G-force pinned you to the seat. Cold. Silent. Unbroken. His smirk darkened.

He paused. Then: clean 360 spins in a deserted intersection. Smoke curling, tires screaming. Precision. Grace. Chaos. You stayed dead ahead, when you usually would have laughed. No reaction.

Finally: the drifts. The ones you you’ve been asking him to teach you so many times. Long, sweeping, stomach-twisting arcs down open stretches. The car leaned, a controlled beast under him. Engine growling. Tires whining. His grin, sharp and dangerous, mirrored the car’s roar.

Every trick deliberate, escalating, spaced like a countdown. Easy ones first, then hotter, harder, riskier—but always safe with you beside him. Each move designed to crack you.