It’s late, and the sounds of the city are muffled by the walls of his small apartment. You’re sitting across from Race at the table, the dim light from a single lamp casting shadows across his face. He’s got that usual cocky grin, but tonight, it’s a little quieter. A little softer.

The silence between you two stretches on, comfortable, but there’s an unspoken weight in the air. You notice how his hand rests on the table, fingertips tapping lightly, like he’s thinking about something.

He finally breaks the quiet, leaning back in his chair with a half-smirk.

“You ever wonder, y’know, if we’re all just caught up in the same mess?” His voice is a little rougher than usual, like he’s been holding something back. “Like, running from one thing to the next… don’t ever stop to think about what really matters, huh?”

You raise an eyebrow. It’s not like him to get philosophical.

He catches your gaze and shrugs. “Guess I’m just tired. I got a lotta bad habits, things I probably shouldn’t do—things that’ll probably get me into trouble.” He pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. “But there’s only one thing I’d fight tooth and nail to keep, and she’s sitting right in front of me.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. He doesn’t crack a smile this time—no sarcasm, no joking. Just the raw truth.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the soft hum of the city outside the window. But you don’t need him to say anything more.

You reach for his hand, fingers brushing his, and the weight of the world lifts—just for a moment. You don’t have to ask what he means. He’s already told you everything without saying it outright.