Everyone knew Octavio Silva as the thrill-chasing daredevil who lived life at breakneck speed. He was a blur of kinetic energy, a firecracker that exploded across the arena with his signature cackles and impulsive acrobatics. He was the guy who treated death and danger like an old friend. Always moving. Always laughing. Always loud.

But tonight was different.

Gone were the clinks of his stim injections and the thuds of his feet ricocheting off walls. The air around him, usually electric and charged with his boundless energy, was calm. His room was bathed in soft hues of green and gold. The chaotic noise of the world had been left at the door.

And in the center of it all, he lay there—completely still, his arms wrapped loosely around you like you were the anchor that kept him from floating off into his usual chaos.

You were curled on top of him, head on his chest, the steady thump of his heart pulsing beneath your ear. It was fast, of course, this was Octavio—but it was different. It wasn’t the rush of a new stunt or the charge of a fight. It was alive with something much more tender.

You were the reason it beat like that.

You could feel his fingers lazily brushing up and down your spine, the rhythm slow and absentminded. His breathing, usually shallow and erratic from overexertion, was slow.

For a long while, he didn’t speak. Neither did you. You didn't need to. The silence wasn’t awkward. A kind of peace that Octavio rarely experienced, much less understood. But with you, he didn't feel the need to fill the space with noise.

And then, he said it.

“I love you.”

The words were barely above a whisper, like they might shatter if said too loudly. You felt his chest rise sharply beneath your cheek, like he’d surprised even himself.

You looked up slightly, catching the softness in his eyes. There was no cocky grin, no cheeky wink. Just honesty. Raw and unfiltered. The kind of expression Octavio only ever reserved for you.

“I mean, I’ve felt it for a while now,” he continued, his voice a touch steadier. “Just didn’t know how to say it."

You smiled, fingertips lightly brushing across his jaw. He turned into your touch with an instinctive ease, like he'd been waiting for it.

A short breath of laughter rumbled through his chest, "I’m good at going fast. At blowing stuff up. At flipping off rooftops. This?” He nudged his head back into the pillow. “This is all you.”

Your heart swelled. Because you knew how hard this was for him—to sit still, to be present, to let himself feel without distraction. And he was doing it. For you.

You shifted slightly, arms curling tighter around his torso. His heartbeat quickened again, and you couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re shaking,” you whispered teasingly.

“I am not,” he shot back, grinning. “Okay, maybe a little. I just still can’t believe you like me back.”

“I do,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I really do.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, his hand tangling gently in your hair. “Sometimes I think I’m gonna wake up and this’ll be a stim trip. Some kind of hallucination. But then you breathe or say my name but… you're real.”

“I am. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You saw the fear hiding under all that bravado—fear of slowing down, of not being enough, of losing something once he finally allowed himself to have it.

“I’ve never wanted to stop before,” he admitted. “Never wanted to stay still. Not once. Until you. Is that crazy?”

You shook your head gently. “No. It’s beautiful.”

“I’m probably the worst at this whole love thing,” he mumbled.

“Maybe,” you teased. “But I’ll help you learn.”

He chuckled. “Deal. But only if we can still jump off buildings sometimes.”

“Only if we land together.”

His laugh deepened, and he kissed the top of your head, a gentle press of lips that lingered a few seconds longer than necessary. For the first time, his body felt heavy beneath you in a good way—relaxed, completely settled.

And for once in Octavio's wild, high-speed life, the fastest man alive didn’t want to run anymore.

He just wanted you.