Mature content: strong language, violence, sexual themes, and drug use. Reader discretion advised. Everything is fictional!!
Aaron
The second I put the helmet on everything is supposed to disappear.
That's how it always works.
The noise, the thoughts, the mess in my head—it all fades the moment I'm on the bike, the second the engine roars to life beneath me, vibrating through my chest like something steady, something I can actually control.
It's the only place where things make sense.
It used to be.
Now?
Now even this feels off.
I grip the handles tighter than usual, knuckles going white under my gloves as I stare ahead at the track, forcing my focus forward, forcing myself not to think about what just happened, about the way Tyler looked at me, about the things neither of us finished saying.
It doesn't matter.
That's what I keep telling myself.
Race first.
Everything else later.
Engines rev louder around me, the sound building, vibrating through the ground, through my bones, through my skull.
The signal is about to drop.
I roll my shoulders once, steadying my breathing, forcing everything else out.
Focus.
The second the signal hits—
we're off.
The world narrows instantly, the track stretching out ahead, the roar of engines turning into one constant, deafening rush as I push forward, shifting gears fast, clean, precise.
This is what I know.
This is what I'm good at.
The first turn comes fast, tight, and I lean into it without hesitation, body moving on instinct, cutting close, overtaking one rider immediately.
Another follows.
Speed builds.
Adrenaline kicks in.
For a moment everything feels right again.
Until a sharp screech cuts through the air.
My head snaps slightly to the side, instinct pulling my attention toward the sound before I can stop it—
And I see it.
Tyler.
His bike jerks sideways mid-turn, the back wheel slipping just enough to throw him off balance, the motion too sudden, too sharp—
He goes down.
It happens fast.
Too fast.
The bike skids out from under him, metal scraping harsh against the ground as he hits, rolling once before coming to a stop a few feet off the track.
Everything in me reacts instantly.
My grip tightens.
My body tenses.
For a split second I almost slow down.
Almost.
But I don't.
I force my eyes forward again, shoving the instinct down hard, pushing the throttle instead, speeding past the spot like I didn't just see that happen. I can't lose. Not this time, my dad would kill me.
He's fine.
He has to be.
It didn't look that bad.
People crash all the time.
It's nothing.
"Focus," I mutter under my breath, sharper this time, like I can command myself into ignoring it.
So I do.
I ride.
Harder.
Faster.
Like if I push enough, it'll drown out the image replaying in my head.
Corner after corner, I take every turn perfectly, aggressive where I need to be, clean where it counts, overtaking the last rider in front of me with a move that feels more instinct than thought.
I don't look back.
I don't check.
I don't let myself think about the fact that he's not behind me anymore.
I'm such a coward.
By the final stretch, I'm in first.
And I keep it.
I cross the line with speed still surging through me, the noise of the crowd rising instantly, loud and chaotic and completely disconnected from the tension still sitting in my chest.
I slow down gradually, pulling off to the side, engine still running as I take a breath that doesn't quite steady anything.
I won.
That's what matters.
That's what this was about.
So why does it feel off?
I pull my helmet off, dragging a hand through my hair as I scan the area without meaning to, my eyes moving over the crowd, the track, the other riders—
Looking.
I don't find him.
Because he's not here anymore.
"Aaron!"
Mason's voice cuts through as he jogs over, already grinning, already hyped.
"First place, man!" he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "That's what I'm talking about!"
"Yeah," I reply shortly, pulling my gloves off.
He pauses.
Because that's not the reaction he expected.
"...Okay," he says slowly, studying me now. "You gonna celebrate or what?"
"Later," I mutter.
His eyes narrow slightly.
"You saw it," he says.
It's not a question.
I shrug, like it's nothing, like I don't know exactly what he's talking about.
"People crash," I say flatly. "It happens."
Mason doesn't look convinced.
"Yeah," he agrees slowly. "It does. But you've been staring at the track like you're waiting for him to get back up and finish the race."
"I'm not."
"You are," he insists, stepping closer. "Dude, you practically slowed down when it happened."
"I didn't," I snap, sharper than I mean to.
He raises his hands slightly. "Okay—relax. I'm just saying—"
"And I'm just saying I didn't," I cut him off, my jaw tightening.
Mason exhales, clearly not buying it, but trying anyway.
"It's not a big deal to care, you know," he says, more careful now. "Especially after what you told us—"
"I don't care," I interrupt again, louder this time.
The words come out too fast.
Too defensive.
Too wrong.
Mason goes quiet for a second, watching me like he's trying to figure out how far to push.
"...Right," he says finally, though it's clear he doesn't believe me. "You don't care."
"I don't," I repeat, forcing it out.
Even as my eyes flick back to the track without meaning to.
Even as something tight sits in my chest, refusing to go away.
Even as I realize I haven't actually seen him get up.
"Well, Mr 'I don't care', just so you know Cole helped him, they left already."
Good.
The noise starts to die down slowly.
Engines cutting off one by one, people drifting away in clusters, voices fading into the background as the adrenaline of the race settles into something quieter, something heavier.
Helmet in one hand, gloves shoved into my pocket, I start gathering my things from where I left them, movements automatic, mechanical—like if I just keep going, keep doing something, I won't have to think about anything else.
About the crash.
About Tyler.
About the fact that I still haven't seen him.
If he got hurt—
"You're doing that thing again."
Mason's voice comes from behind me, too casual, too knowing.
I don't turn around.
"Doing what?" I ask, like I don't already know.
"That thing where you pretend everything's normal," he says, stepping closer. "When it's clearly not."
I huff under my breath, zipping up my bag a little harder than necessary.
"I am normal," I mutter. "We're packing up. That's it."
Mason doesn't reply immediately.
I glance over at him, irritation already building, and he's just standing there, watching me like he's trying to piece something together.
"What?" I ask trying not to sound annoyed.
He tilts his head slightly.
"You gonna keep lying to me," he asks, "or are we actually gonna talk?"
My jaw tightens.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Yeah?" he shoots back. "Because from where I'm standing, there's a lot to talk about. C'mon man, I'm you're best friend."
I shake my head, grabbing my jacket, avoiding his eyes now.
"Drop it, Mason."
"No."
That makes me look at him again.
He doesn't back down.
"I've been dropping it," he continues, voice firmer now. "Ever since you told me and Lexi about the kiss. I let it go. Figured you needed space or whatever." He pauses, studying me. "But this?"
He gestures vaguely toward the track, toward everything that just happened.
"This isn't nothing, Aaron."
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair.
"It is nothing," I insist, even though the words feel thinner every time I say them. "It was just—" I stop, frustrated. "A moment. That's it."
Mason's expression shifts slightly at that.
"A moment," he repeats.
"Yeah."
"With Tyler."
My shoulders tense.
"Yeah," I say again, more defensive now.
He lets out a quiet breath, like he's trying to stay calm, trying not to push too hard—but still pushing anyway.
"You hate that guy," he says.
"I know."
"You've always hated that guy."
"I know."
"And somehow that turns into..." he gestures vaguely, searching for the right words, "that?"
I don't answer.
I don't have one.
Mason studies me for a second longer, then shakes his head slightly, more confused than anything.
"I'm not even stuck on the 'guy' part," he admits, more quietly now. "I mean—yeah, okay, that's new, sure—but whatever. That's not the weirdest part of this."
I blink at him.
"It's him, Aaron," he continues. "Of all people—it's Tyler. That's what doesn't make sense."
Something in my chest tightens at that, irritation flaring again.
"Yeah, well, it doesn't make sense to me either," I admit. "You think I planned it? You think I woke up one day and went, 'you know what would be a great idea? Kissing the one guy I can't stand'?"
Mason raises his hands slightly.
"Okay—relax. I'm just trying to understand."
"Yeah? Well, don't," I mutter.
He watches me for a moment, quieter now, more careful.
Then, softer—
"Look... if this is about something else..."
I frown slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugs, but it's not casual.
"I mean," he starts slowly, choosing his words, "if you're... confused about stuff. About what it means. About... you."
I go still.
"And what exactly are you saying?" I ask, my voice sharper now.
"I'm saying," Mason replies, meeting my eyes evenly, "that if you are—you don't have to figure it out alone."
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head as I look away.
"I'm not confused," I say quickly. "There's nothing to figure out." What a lie.
"Okay," he says, but there's hesitation there.
"I'm serious," I add, more forceful now. "It didn't change anything. I'm still—" I stop, jaw tightening. "I'm the same."
Mason doesn't respond right away.
And when I look back at him, there's something in his expression I don't like.
Not judgment.
Just—
doubt.
"...Right," he says finally, though it doesn't sound convincing. "If that's what you think."
"It is what I think," I insist.
Even if it feels like I'm trying to convince myself more than him.
Mason nods slowly, like he's choosing not to push further.
"Okay," he repeats. "But if it's not—" he pauses, then adds more quietly, "I'm here. That's all I'm saying."
The air between us settles into something quieter again, heavier in a different way now.
"C'mon," Mason says after a moment, clapping my shoulder lightly. "Let's get out of here."
"Yeah," I mutter.
We start heading out.
And I keep my eyes forward.
I don't look back at the track again.
I don't ask about Tyler.
I don't check if he's okay.
I don't do any of the things I want to do.
We don't talk for a while after that.
Just the sound of gravel under our boots, the low hum of people still hanging around, engines in the distance fading more and more until it's just background noise.
Mason walks beside me, not saying anything else.
But my mind is still replaying everything
The crash.
Tyler going down.
The way my chest tightened like something snapped inside me for a second—
like I was about to—
I clench my jaw.
Don't go there.
We reach the truck, and I toss my bag into the back a little harder than necessary, the sound echoing sharper than it should.
Mason leans against the side, arms crossed, watching me again.
He's still waiting.
Of course he is.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand over my face.
"This is stupid," I mutter.
"Yeah," Mason agrees easily. "It is."
I shoot him a look.
"Not helping."
He shrugs. "You're the one making it complicated."
I let out a short breath, shaking my head as I look away, staring somewhere past the truck, past everything.
"I'm not making anything complicated," I say, quieter now. "It just is."
"I'm here if you need to talk," he replies.
I don't.
But I can't stand it anymore
"I thought he got seriously hurt."
The words come out before I can stop them.
Mason doesn't react right away.
He just... lets it sit there.
I swallow, staring at the ground now.
"When he went down," I add, my voice rougher than I want it to be, "for a second I—I almost went there—" I cut myself off, shaking my head. "I don't know. I just..."
You just what?
Panicked?
Cared?
Felt something you're not supposed to feel?
I let out a frustrated breath instead.
"It pissed me off," I finish, defaulting to something easier, something safer. "That's it."
Mason huffs quietly.
"Yeah," he says. "You looked real pissed."
I glare at him.
"Shut up."
But there's no heat behind it.
He straightens slightly, not pushing, just... there.
"So?" he asks after a second.
"So what?" I shoot back.
"So it wasn't nothing," he says simply.
I hesitate.
Because I could lie again.
I should lie again.
But I'm tired.
Tired of repeating the same thing.
Tired of pretending it fits when it doesn't.
So instead—
"I don't know what it was," I admit, quieter now.
Mason doesn't interrupt.
"I just—" I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. "I can't get it out of my head. The kiss. The fight. All of it." I laugh under my breath, but there's nothing funny about it. "It doesn't make sense."
"No," Mason agrees. "It doesn't."
I glance at him.
He's not mocking me.
Not judging.
Just... listening.
"I keep telling myself it didn't mean anything," I continue, my voice lower now, more honest than I've let it be with anyone. "That it was just adrenaline, or anger, or whatever. But then—" I stop, jaw tightening. "Then he shows up, or I see him, or something happens, and it's like—"
I exhale sharply.
"Like it's still there," Mason finishes for me.
It is.
And I hate that.
"I'm not—" I start, then stop, the words catching in my throat. "I'm not... changing or anything."
Mason doesn't react to that immediately.
"I'm still me," I add, more defensive now, like I need him to believe that, like I need myself to believe it.
"Okay," he says.
Just that.
No argument.
No pushing.
And somehow that makes it easier to keep going.
"I just—" I hesitate again, then force the words out anyway. "I don't know what to do with it."
There.
That's the closest I've gotten to saying it out loud.
Mason nods slowly.
"Then don't do anything with it yet," he says. "You don't have to figure it out today."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"...Yeah," I mutter.
We fall into silence again after that but it's different now.
Less heavy.
Less like I'm about to snap under the weight of it.
Mason pushes off the truck, tossing me a look.
"C'mon," he says. "Let's go."
I nod, moving around to the driver's side but before I get in I hesitate.
Just for a second.
My eyes flick back in the direction of the track.
Where he went down and that tight feeling in my chest?
It's still there.
I look away quickly and shake it off.