Chapter Text
Team Redline’s garage was already buzzing by the time Chuuya arrived. Monitors streamed telemetry data, mechanics rolled equipment across the floor, and engineers argued over Suzuka simulations. A faint scratch still irritated Chuuya’s throat, and his body still complained about last night’s rain, but there was no time to worry about that. The countdown to the Suzuka Grand Prix was ticking, and Team Redline’s schedule left no room to breathe.
What Chuuya didn't calculate, however, was just how long that countdown would stretch. Due to an unexpected delay by the Grand Federation concerning trackside safety barriers at Suzuka, the race weekend was pushed back. A week's vacuum opened up in the middle of the championship calendar. The paddock dissolved into a waiting game.
The delay swallowed Chuuya whole. Kouyou’s promised routine was a gauntlet. Chuuya’s mornings started at 6:00 AM sharp in the gym, his muscles burning against resistance weights to strengthen his neck and core. His afternoons were swallowed by the simulator bay, strapped into the digital rig for four hours at a time until the sweeping lines of the virtual track blurred together.
But no matter how dense the telemetry mapping got, the secret channel between his phone and Dazai’s never went cold. As the delay dragged on, the spark of their hotel encounter transformed into a constant background hum.
It started on the first Wednesday afternoon of the delay. Chuuya was trapped in a grueling engineering debrief with Tachihara and Atsushi. Bored out of his mind while they spent their third hour debating the thermal expansion of the rear brake calipers, he pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of his custom helmet resting on the table, the crimson paint catching the harsh lights.
[02:14 PM] Chuuya: [Image Attached]
[02:14 PM] Chuuya: Technicians are arguing about brake fluid for the third hour. Shoot me.
He didn't think the champion would answer—Obsidian’s schedule was notorious for keeping its riders locked down—less than two minutes later, his phone buzzed beneath the clipboard.
[02:16 PM] Osamu: If the captain dies of boredom before Friday practice, who am I supposed to leave behind at 130R?
[02:17 PM] Osamu: Pay attention to your data, rookie. Or do I need to call your Team Principal?
Chuuya bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile, his fingers flying across the keyboard beneath the edge of the table.
[02:18 PM] Chuuya: You call Kouyou and I’ll make sure your race goes horribly. Watch your back, champion.
——-
By the second week, the texts turned into a war of visual distraction. Chuuya would be sweating through a core block in the team gym. Kenji had just handed him a bowl of sliced melons and a horrific green protein shake formulated to fight off the mild congestion he was hiding. Sitting on the training mat with a towel draped over his red hair, Chuuya pulled out his phone, holding it at a high angle to snap a quick selfie. The loose collar slipping just enough to reveal the flush creeping across his collarbone.
[11:45 AM] Chuuya: [Image Attached]
[11:45 AM] Chuuya: Your warning was right, my throat feels like asphalt.
[11:45 AM] Chuuya: Kenji is forcing me to consume liquidated grass 🤢
The response from Dazai caught Chuuya off guard.
[11:49 AM] Osamu: You look pathetic when you're congested, sweetheart.
[11:49 AM] Osamu: But the flush suits you.
[11:51 AM] Osamu: [Image Attached]
Chuuya choked slightly on his green drink as the image downloaded. It was a shot taken inside Obsidian’s private facility. Dazai was tilted back in a sleek cockpit seat, his race suit zipped down to his waist, exposing the undershirt stretching over his broad torso. He was holding a steaming mug of black coffee, his dark eyes holding the camera’s gaze as though he’d been expecting Chuuya to open it.
[11:52 AM] Osamu: Hurry up and recover. The paddock is too quiet without your vulgar shouting.
Chuuya found himself looking at the photo longer than he meant to, something in his chest giving an awkward lurch. He saved the image to his private folder before locking his phone, unable to blame the sudden color in his cheeks on the workout.
——-
By the middle of the third week, the line between teasing and temptation had started to blur. It was a Friday night, and the silence of Chuuya’s empty apartment was giving him far too much time to think about Dazai. His body was still sensitive from a long day of simulation blocks. He was lounging on his bed clad in nothing but a loose pair of black short sweatpants when his phone buzzed on his chest.
[11:14 PM] Osamu: [Image Attached]
Chuuya tapped the screen and froze. The lighting in the photo was dark, cast in the blue glow of Dazai's private media room. The champion was lying flat on his back, his gray sweatpants pushed low past his hip bones, exposing his V-line. One hand rested loosely against his waist, his fingers drifting lower across his stomach. There was no message attached.
Chuuya’s dick throbbed against his sweatpants, His body reacted before his pride could catch up. He closed his eyes for a second, his thumb hovering over the screen for a miserable minute before he forced his fingers to type.
[11:18 PM] Chuuya: What the hell does this mean?
[11:19 PM] Osamu: Nothing.
Chuuya snorted into the quiet bedroom.
[11:20 PM] Chuuya: Damn. That's so out of character for you.
The typing dots blinked for a few seconds, then vanished. No text followed. Chuuya looked back at the photo despite himself. His gaze lingered on the sharp line of Dazai’s hips, the pale skin disappearing beneath the fabric.
Fucking hell.
[11:22 PM] Chuuya: You look good, btw.
[11:23 PM] Osamu: Oh? Really?
[11:23 PM] Osamu: Show me yours.
Chuuya didn't even think. Before he could talk himself out of it, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and shoved them down just enough, baring just enough skin to make him question his life choices. He snapped the shot, framing the bare torso under the dim light, and fired it off.
[11:24 PM] Chuuya: [Image Attached]
[11:24 PM] Chuuya: Done.
[11:25 PM] Osamu: Oh.
[11:25 PM] Osamu: I actually meant your tire telemetry data from the afternoon practice run, but this is okay too.
Chuuya read the message twice. The phone slipped onto the mattress as mortification crashed over him. He threw his arm over his face, screaming a muffled curse into his bicep. He meant the data. He was asking for the fucking telemetry.
Chuuya grabbed his phone again and aggressively stabbed at the keyboard.
[11:26 PM] Chuuya: Chuuya unsent a message
[11:26 PM] Chuuya: You know you're a massive bitch, right? I hate you.
Before he could type another insult, his screen lit up. The incoming call lit up the dark room, the phone vibrating against his palm. It was a video call request.
Chuuya swore under his breath. He swiped the green icon angrily, propping the phone up against the headboard as the camera initialized, ready to rip Dazai a new one.
The screen split. Dazai filled the display, leaning back in his chair as though he didn’t have a care in the world. His broad shoulders and collarbones catching the blue light of the room.
Chuuya opened his mouth to yell at him and immediately forgot what he’d been planning to say. Seeing Dazai lounging there, completely bare-chested and entirely unbothered, was deeply unfair.
Dazai let out a chuckle through the speaker, a smirk stretching across his face as he noticed the blush coating Chuuya’s cheeks.
"I'm sorry, princess," his voice low with amusement. “Don’t look so mad. You look exceptionally good too, you know.”
Chuuya looked away, fiercely crossing his arms over his chest to hide how hard his heart was beating. "Shut up," Chuuya muttered, Somehow, his attention kept wandering back to Dazai’s chest. "You're an asshole."
To keep from unraveling under Dazai's gaze, Chuuya did what he always did when he was rattled—he started to talk. Fast.
"Ango is breathing down my fucking neck about the sector telemetry for the upcoming Suzuka rounds," Chuuya ranted, his words tumbling over each other faster by the second. He was practically pacing his bedroom now, his free hand gesturing wildly in the air just to stop himself from looking at Dazai.
"He’s been haunting the Redline garage since six in the morning, waving around printouts of your telemetry profiles from last year's Grand Prix and threatening to hit us with a technical safety penalty if our corner entry speeds don't perfectly clear the federation margins through the 130R. And the media analysts? God, don’t even get me started on those parasites. They’re literally writing entire television scripts about our 'genuine animosity' like we’re some kind of tragic afternoon soap opera, analyzing every time our handlebars came within six inches of each other like it’s a national security threat!
And as if I’m not already losing my mind from the administrative compliance bullshit, the garage is a total circus right now. Tachihara was so busy scrolling paddock gossip that he nearly dropped a pressure gauge straight into the open oil pan while we were calibrating the primary power unit! The whole team is on edge, I’m running on absolutely zero sleep, and my shoulders feel like they’re full of broken glass because Kouyou forced me to run eighty consecutive simulation laps on the Suzuka track layout until my knuckles turned raw against the grips. I’ve spent the last six hours trying to keep my rear tire from sliding out through 130R under the setup while nailing the double-apex geometry at Spoon without destroying the compound before the back straight. And then—then—I finally get back to my room to collapse, and you're over here pulling this stunt past midnight! You’re sitting there, stripped out of your suit, baiting me into sending photos because you knew I’d fall for it! You’re deliberately trying to wreck my mental state before the most demanding race of the cycle, you—you—bastard!"
Chuuya cut himself off when he realized Dazai hadn’t interrupted him once. The champion was resting his chin in his hand, an uncharacteristically soft smile tugging at his lips. He was listening, completely absorbed in Chuuya’s rambling.
"Why are you even still awake anyway?" Chuuya muttered, his words slowing for the first time all evening. "Don't you have a strict curfew?"
Dazai’s smile softened, something weary slipping into his expression. He let his head fall back against his chair, his gaze lingering on Chuuya through the screen. "I don't know," Dazai murmured. "Just... too many things on my mind tonight."
Chuuya pulled his legs up as he settled back into his bed, his curiosity piqued by the shift in gravity. "Like what?"
"Maybe I'll tell you later," Dazai murmured, a familiar smile threatening to return. “It’s late, sweetheart.”
“Oh, come on,” Chuuya huffed, leaning closer to the camera. “Don’t pull that mysterious genius act on me. Give me one thing. What’s got the great Demon Prodigy up past curfew?”
Dazai was quiet for a moment, his gaze tracking the line of Chuuya’s jaw, the way a stray red curl fell over his forehead. The look in his eyes was heavy with an unspoken possessiveness.
“What if I said it was you?”
Chuuya blinked. “What?”
“One of the things keeping me awake,” Dazai corrected lightly. “What if it was you?”
Chuuya’s mouth opened, then closed again.
“…In a good way or a bad way?" Chuuya asked quietly.
Dazai tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Chuuya wait for an answer. “What about you could possibly be good, Chuuya? You’re loud, argumentative, and somehow manage to create problems for me from entirely different garages.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes, throwing a pillow at his phone screen in frustration. "Ugh! Why are you always like this? You literally always ruin the mood."
Dazai’s laugh echoed through the bedroom.
They didn’t hang up.
Midnight slipped into one, then two. Somewhere along the way, the teasing gave way to something easier. Chuuya stayed curled up in his blankets, complaining about engineers, sponsors, and whatever else crossed his mind, while Dazai listened with quiet amusement, chiming in just often enough to keep the conversation going.
By the time the clock rolled past three, Chuuya’s words had started to slur together with exhaustion. Dazai stayed on the line anyway, a demon with nowhere else to be.
[03:22 AM] Osamu: Sleep well, Chuuya.
——-
The back-and-forth only escalated over the fourth week, settling into a routine of late-night mind games. Dazai would send cryptic messages and screenshots of his simulator data, usually at ridiculous hours of the night, each one showing another tiny improvement through Suzuka’s sectors.
[01:03 AM] Osamu: [Image Attached]
[01:03 AM] Osamu: Found another half-tenth through Spoon today.
[01:04 AM] Osamu: Still giving away time on corner entry, Captain?
Chuuya glared at the notification lighting up his bedside table.
[01:12 AM] Chuuya: I’m sleeping, you lunatic. Some of us are actually human.
[01:14 AM] Osamu: Human?
[01:14 AM] Osamu: That’s not what I saw in Singapore.
[01:15 AM] Osamu: You kept fighting long after anyone reasonable would’ve called it a night.
Chuuya’s ears warmed immediately.
[01:16 AM] Chuuya: GO TO HELL, OSAMU.
[01:17 AM] Osamu: Sleep well, Captain.
[01:18 AM] Chuuya: You’re the one texting me at one in the morning.
[01:19 AM] Osamu: And yet you answered.
Chuuya hated how long he stared at that message before muting the conversation for the night.
He unmutes it five minutes later.
——-
By the final week of the delay, the team trucks finally rolled into the Suzuka circuit, and the paddock descended into its usual media frenzy. Chuuya spent Thursday evening walking the track with Atsushi beneath the stadium floodlights, studying the curbing through the famous corners and committing every bump in the asphalt to memory.
When he finally made it back to his hotel room, exhausted, his phone vibrated.
[09:30 PM] Osamu: Media briefing’s tomorrow at ten.
[09:30 PM] Osamu: Try not to start any international incidents before then.
Chuuya snorted.
[09:35 PM] Chuuya: No promises.
[09:35 PM] Chuuya: Don’t look too shocked when I steal all the headlines again.
[09:36 PM] Osamu: I’ll make sure to leave you something worth talking about.
A beat later, another message appeared.
[09:37 PM] Osamu: Sleep well, rookie.
Chuuya stared at the screen for a second longer than he meant to.
[09:38 PM] Chuuya: You too, champion.
Chuuya locked his screen and stared up at the ceiling. A month of stolen conversations and midnight messages was about to disappear beneath the machinery of the championship. Tomorrow, they would step back into their respective roles—the wildcard and the champion.
Yet as Chuuya turned his phone over in his hand, he knew something between them had shifted. They could play rivals for the public as convincingly as they liked, but the line they’d crossed over the past four weeks wasn’t one either of them could simply walk back.
Giving in to the restless itch beneath his skin, Chuuya unlocked his phone again. Rolling onto his stomach, he buried half his face in a pillow and opened one of the international motorsport forums. Usually, he avoided paddock gossip like the plague—Kouyou was always warning him that comment sections existed solely to get inside a rookie’s head—but tonight, curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to see how the world was still talking about his historic 0.004 second victory before Suzuka swallowed everyone’s attention.
He scrolled through the familiar headlines. Articles breaking down Redline’s tire degradation strategy. Technical analyses of his overtake at Turn Thirteen. Endless debates over whether the wildcard could sustain this pace against the seemingly limitless resources of Team Obsidian.
Chuuya smiled, a rush of pride swelling in his chest as he read through thousands of international fans screaming his name in the comments, insisting that Singapore had marked the beginning of a new era.
But as he swiped down to reload the feed, a newly uploaded, viral post caught his eye.
holyessier @holyessier • 51m
yooo, i was literally looking through my camera roll from my singapore trip last month and when i zoomed into the background of this beach selfie… U GUYS SEEING THIS TOO RIGHT??? IS THAT DAZAI??? 😭😭😭
[Image Attached]
💬 5.8k 🔁 18.2k ❤️ 51.4k
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holyessier @holyessier • 49m
Replying to @holyessier
LIKE I’M NOT CRAZY RIGHT??? THAT IS 100% OSAMU DAZAI. WHO THE HELL IS HE PINNING DOWN IN THE SAND??? JDNSIJNFIWSMK
[Image Attached]
💬 1.8k 🔁 7.4k ❤️ 29.1k
Chuuya’s thumb froze. For a split second, his brain refused to process what he was looking at. Then he opened the thread. His eyes skimmed over the attached image, instinct already racing ahead to calculate the damage.
The breath left his lungs.
It was an ordinary vacation selfie, taken from farther down Siloso Beach beneath the glow of the boardwalk lights. Palm trees framed the edges of the shot, the ocean stretching dark behind the smiling tourist in the foreground.
Zooming past the main subject revealed a broad-shouldered man in a dark shirt had someone smaller pressed into the sand, his body shielding them from the main walkway. The angle concealed most of their faces, but not enough.
Chuuya’s thoughts ground to a halt. The shot didn’t catch the taller man’s face, but the moonlight perfectly hit the lower half of his arms—revealing the distinct texture of medical bandages wrapped tightly around his wrists and forearms.
The comment count was climbing so quickly it refreshed before Chuuya’s eyes.
Prettypolkadots @prettypolkadots • 2m
Replying to @holyessier
WAIT I THOUGHT Y’ALL WERE DELUSIONAL BUT I ZOOMED IN??? WHO IS THAT??? Why are they SO SMALL compared to him??? Team Obsidian really had this man hiding an entire situationship from us
💬 4 🔁 8 ❤️ 112
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Ggabriell @ggabriell_skk • 2m
Replying to @holyessier
ME WHEN??? 😩😩
💬 13 🔁 6 ❤️ 318
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https_breakNeckSpeeds @breaknecks_ • 2m
Replying to @holyessier
nah I’m actually salty. Dazai loses the Singapore podium because of a “concentration issue” and then THIS MAN is out on Siloso Beach immediately after?? Obsidian strategists are somewhere screaming into a wall rn 💀
💬 80 🔁 83 ❤️ 628
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RIA_LOVES_CHUUYA @ria_loves_chuuya • 1m
Replying to @breaknecks_
LET HIM LIVE OMG 😭 he has ONE blurry beach cuddle and suddenly y’all think he’s committed motorsport crimes
also whoever the mystery person is… congrats honestly
💬 1 🔁 5 ❤️ 76
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Bananamilkbunni @bananamilkbunni • 1m
Replying to @holyessier
sports analysts: tire degradation, brake temperatures, sector times
the actual reason for the concentration drop: hot mysterious beach stranger
I CAN’T DO THIS HELPP
💬 5 🔁 4 ❤️ 92
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HypothermiaReader @hypothermia_r • 45s
Replying to @holyessier
OH MY GOD?? I swear sports media is going to have a literal field day with this tomorrow. Half the fandom is loving the romance and the other half is absolutely hating on him for throwing away the podium. Tomorrow's media briefing is gonna be 3% racing and 97% “osamu dazai who were you making out with on the beach”
💬 8 🔁 6 ❤️ 63
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Rhyme @Rhyme_13 • 4m
Replying to @holyessier
hold on.
Singapore GP ended at 21:58 local.
If that’s Siloso Beach and the timestamp is accurate, Dazai would’ve had to leave parc fermé almost immediately.
I’ve made a timeline.
🧵 (1/17)
💬 8 🔁 6 ❤️ 629
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Ginshoujo @ginshoujo777 • 3m
Replying to @Rhyme_13
bro PLEASE go outside… no one asked for ur timeline
💬 80 🔁 83 ❤️ 628
Chuuya shot upright, his fingers tightening around his phone. His first sweep through the comments brought one small mercy.
They hadn’t recognized him. The relief lasted all of three seconds.
His face was hidden. His name wasn’t anywhere in the thread. To the internet, he was just some anonymous stranger Dazai had found on a beach after the Singapore Grand Prix.
But anonymous wasn’t the same thing as safe.
What if Kouyou saw it? What if someone on Obsidian’s media team started piecing together timelines? What if a bored journalist compared hotel records, paddock schedules, or security footage?
Chuuya’s stomach dropped.
One blurry photo was all it took to start a rumor. One rumor was all it took to attract reporters. And one determined investigator could turn a private mistake into the biggest scandal of the season before he even rolled onto the Suzuka grid.
His pulse was racing by the time he copied the link. He opened his private chat with Dazai, pasted it into the conversation, and started typing.
[11:42 PM] Chuuya: [Link Attached]
[11:42 PM] Chuuya: What the actual fuck is this.
[11:43 PM] Chuuya: Some tourist took a beach selfie in Singapore and WE’RE IN THE BACKGROUND.
[11:43 PM] Chuuya: THEY ZOOMED IN.
[11:43 PM] Chuuya: THEY RECOGNIZED YOUR STUPID BANDAGES.
[11:44 PM] Chuuya: The comments are completely losing their minds.
[11:44 PM] Chuuya: If Kouyou sees this… or worse, if someone at Obsidian starts tracing timelines… we are cooked.
[11:44 PM] Chuuya: This is bad, Osamu.
Chuuya paused.
[11:45 PM] Chuuya: Actually no.
[11:45 PM] Chuuya: This is REALLY fucking bad.
Chuuya tossed his phone onto the mattress and dragged both hands through his hair, pacing the length of the hotel room. His thoughts refused to slow down. The photo itself should have been embarrassing enough. It should have sent his face up in flames all over again.
Instead, all he could think about was the fallout.
The forum was spreading too quickly. People were making timelines. They were asking questions. Every new notification felt like another step toward disaster.
Three minutes passed. Chuuya stared at the phone as if it were a live grenade.
Finally, the screen blinked. Chuuya lunged across the bed, snatching the device up. Surely Dazai had a plan. A damage-control strategy. Some sign that he appreciated the magnitude of the problem.
[11:47 PM] Osamu: Oh, that thread?
[11:47 PM] Osamu: I saw it about twenty minutes ago.
Chuuya nearly choked.
[11:48 PM] Chuuya: YOU SAW IT?!
[11:48 PM] Chuuya: AND YOU’RE THIS CALM?
[11:48 PM] Chuuya: ARE YOU ACTUALLY INSANE???
[11:48 PM] Chuuya: Your contract has a million morality clauses and Kouyou will literally throw me out of the garage if she finds out I’ve been sneaking around with the competition.
[11:49 PM] Osamu: Sweetheart.
[11:49 PM] Osamu: Breathe.
Chuuya made an offended noise at the screen.
[11:50 PM] Osamu: Your face isn’t visible.
[11:50 PM] Osamu: As far as the public knows, I simply wandered onto a beach and found a very attractive stranger.
Chuuya could practically hear the smugness through the text.
[11:51 PM] Chuuya: THIS ISN’T FUNNY, DAZAI.
[11:51 PM] Chuuya: Sponsors are going to investigate this.
[11:51 PM] Chuuya: PR teams are going to investigate this.
[11:51 PM] Chuuya: MY TEAM AND YOUR TEAM is going to investigate this.
The three typing dots appeared. Somehow, Chuuya could picture the exact expression behind it Dazai leaning back in his chair, one corner of his mouth tilted upward, entirely too amused by the chaos he’d caused.
[11:53 PM] Osamu: Don't worry about it, Chuuya. I know why you’re worried. But your face isn’t visible, and no one in those comments has any idea who you are. Obsidian’s legal team flagged the thread the moment it started spreading. They’ll have it scrubbed before tomorrow morning. I’m not brushing you off. I just don’t want you losing sleep over something that’s already being handled.
Chuuya read the messages twice. The tightness in his chest eased, if only a little. Then another notification appeared.
[11:55 PM] Osamu: Though I am a little offended.
[11:56 PM] Chuuya: what?
[11:57 PM] Osamu: Half the comments are complimenting me.
[11:57 PM] Chuuya: Osamu.
[11:57 PM] Osamu: Hardly anyone noticed how pretty my mysterious beach companion was.
Chuuya’s heart skipped a beat.
[11:58 PM] Osamu: Go to sleep, Captain.
[11:58 PM] Osamu: I’ll see you in the pit lane.
Chuuya stared at the final text, his jaw dropping slightly. The shameless audacity of the man was genuinely unbelievable. He dropped his phone onto the mattress with a frustrated groan, dragging both hands down his face.
“Masochistic freak,” Chuuya muttered into the empty room.
He wanted to believe Dazai. The champion had survived years of media scrutiny and sponsor politics. If anyone knew how to handle a public relations disaster, it was him. But Chuuya couldn’t shake the knot sitting in his stomach. What if someone had saved the photos before they vanished? What if Kouyou heard about it? What if some bored journalist decided a blurry beach silhouette was the mystery worth ruining both their weekends over?
His mind insisted on running through every possible worst-case scenario, each one somehow more catastrophic than the last. With an irritated huff, Chuuya reached over and snatched his phone back up, rereading the conversation.
Hardly anyone noticed how pretty my mysterious beach companion was.
A strangled noise escaped him as he dropped his phone onto the mattress and scrubbed both hands over his face.
“You’re actually impossible,” Chuuya groaned into the empty room.
He wanted to stay panicked. He really did. There was still a blurry photo of them floating around the internet. There were sponsors to worry about, team managers, journalists, federation officials, and approximately a thousand different ways this could spiral into a complete disaster.
Dazai knew that. He’d taken the thread seriously, dealt with it, reassured him and then somehow circled back around to flirting. Chuuya grabbed his phone again, glaring down at the conversation.
Half the comments are complimenting me.
Hardly anyone noticed how pretty my mysterious beach companion was.
“…Shameless.” His ears felt suspiciously hot. He locked the screen before he could do something catastrophically stupid, like answer that.
“Absolute menace,” Chuuya muttered, tossing the phone onto the pillow beside him.
The worry hadn’t disappeared. It still sat at the back of his mind, tangled up with tomorrow’s race and the uncertainty of whatever this thing between them was becoming.
But the panic had lost some of its edge.
Dazai had somehow managed to replace the image of a viral forum thread with the ridiculous memory of him sulking over internet comments because strangers weren’t paying enough attention to Chuuya.
As he settled deeper into the blankets, one last message drifted through his thoughts.
Go to sleep, Captain.
I’ll see you in the pit lane.
Chuuya rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “…Better show up, then.” The words were muttered to an empty room, but the thought settled the restless knot in his chest all the same.
——-
The four-week delay vanished faster than Chuuya expected. One moment he was buried beneath simulator sessions, engineering meetings, and midnight calls that stretched until dawn, and the next Team Redline’s transport trucks were rolling through the gates of Suzuka.
The paddock had returned to life with a vengeance. The air carried the sharp scent of heated asphalt, racing fuel, and fresh carbon fiber. Mechanics pushed tire racks through the crowded pit lane, impact wrenches barked from open garages, and the steady rumble of thousands of spectators seeped through the circuit like distant thunder. Everywhere Chuuya looked, people were moving with purpose.
Despite Dazai’s assurances the night before, the beach photo refused to leave his head. Every time Chuuya tried to focus on tire strategy or sector times, his mind wandered back to the blurry silhouette on Siloso Beach and the thousands of strangers trying to piece together the mystery.
Dazai had sounded so certain. Chuuya had spent the entire morning trying to convince himself that was enough. And apparently, it wasn’t. Which was how he found himself standing outside the door marked TEAM OBSIDIAN – PRIVATE HOSPITALITY LIFT.
He was fully suited up in Team Redline colors, white leathers edged with crimson, his helmet tucked beneath one arm. He was supposed to be in his own garage, reviewing the final clutch engagement maps with Tachihara, but his legs had carried him across the paddock before he’d managed to talk himself out of it.
Truth be told, He just… He wanted to see Dazai. To make sure the champion was as unconcerned in person as he’d sounded over text. To make sure nothing had changed between last night and now. Chuuya exhaled, immediately irritated by his own reasoning.
“Stupid,” he muttered. Then he raised a hand and knocked against the door.
“Enter,” came a familiar voice from the other side.
Chuuya pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet of Obsidian’s waiting room. The noise of the paddock vanished the instant the door shut behind him, replaced by the low hum of air conditioning and the faint scent of fresh coffee and leather. Dazai was sprawled across a sofa in the middle of the room, long legs stretched over the carpet. His race suit was already on, but the upper half hung loose around his waist. A fitted black compression shirt clung to his frame, and the fresh white bandages wrapped around his throat stood out beneath the lights.
Chuuya stopped dead in his tracks, the door clicking shut behind him. His mind went confusingly blank.
Why the hell did I even come here? Chuuya thought. He had absolutely no idea why he’d come here. They were less than forty-five minutes away from lining up on the grid for the most cutthroat Grand Prix of the season, and he was standing inside the enemy’s inner sanctuary like a lost rookie.
Dazai didn’t acknowledge him right away. His attention stayed fixed on his phone, one thumb lazily scrolling across the screen. “If you’re here to steal our fuel maps, Captain,” Dazai said without looking up, “you’re too late. The engineers locked everything down an hour ago.”
Chuuya snorted, grateful for something familiar to push against. “Please. As if I need Obsidian’s data to beat you.”
“Oh?” Dazai finally looked up. The corner of his mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Then why are you here?”
Chuuya opened his mouth. Nothing came out. His grip tightened around the helmet tucked beneath his arm. “…I just came to wish you good luck,” he said at last. “Or whatever.”
"Good luck? " Dazai echoed, amusement creeping into his voice. “To me? How unexpectedly considerate of the wildcard.” His thumb idly tapped against the edge of the phone still resting in his hand.
“Good luck to you too, rookie. Try not to stall on the starting line.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes, but the familiar jab settled some of the nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin.
He took a slow step closer, his gaze dropping to the phone in Dazai’s hand. The teasing faded from his expression, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty.
“Hey,” Chuuya began, his voice quieter now. “That post from last night. The beach photo.”
He shifted his helmet to his other arm. “You’re… you’re completely sure your PR team handled it? No one’s asking questions at Obsidian?”
Dazai tilted his head, the smile at the corner of his mouth softening as he caught the crease between Chuuya’s brows. “You’re still worried about that.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“I know.”
The simple answer made Chuuya hesitate.
“The thread was flagged before the track walk,” Dazai continued. “Legal handled it. PR handled it. No one’s asking questions they shouldn’t.”
“And you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Chuuya let out a quiet breath. “I just don’t need my team tracing a data leak right before the lights go out,” he muttered, looking away. “It’d be a nightmare.”
“Right.” Dazai’s smile returned, smaller this time. “Completely professional concerns.”
“Exactly.”
“Nothing else?”
Chuuya’s ears warmed. “Shut up.”
A quiet chuckle escaped Dazai as he glanced back down at his phone, his thumb lazily scrolling across the screen. The sheer indifference of it instantly rubbed Chuuya the wrong way. “Why are you so focused on that stupid thing anyway?” he demanded, closing the distance between them.
Before Dazai could answer, Chuuya reached down and plucked the phone cleanly from his hand, holding it just out of reach. “The race is in less than an hour, champion,” Chuuya declared. “Pay attention to your competition instead.”
Dazai didn’t even try to take it back. He simply leaned into the sofa, dark eyes following Chuuya with quiet amusement. “Why, Chuuya?” he asked softly.
A smile spread across his face. “Are you jealous of my phone?”
Chuuya’s breath caught. “You wish, weirdo.”
He didn’t get to finish the thought. Dazai moved before Chuuya could react, one hand shooting out to catch him by the waist. With a single tug, he pulled Chuuya down into his lap, trapping his smaller frame against his chest. The phone slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the sofa beside them, while Dazai’s other hand came up to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading through the loose red curls.
They crashed together in a bruising make-out session.
The tension that had been building through weeks of encrypted texts finally snapped between them. Dazai kissed him like he’d been holding himself back for far too long, his tongue slipping past Chuuya’s lips and drawing a helpless sound from his throat. Chuuya forgot all about the helmet in his hand. It slipped from his grasp as he leaned into Dazai’s hold, the leather of his race suit brushing against the sleek fabric of the compression shirt beneath his palms. Their teeth knocked together once, making them laugh against the kiss before they fell back into it, the lingering taste of mint blurring into something far more intoxicating. Then Dazai shifted, and let Chuuya feel the rock-hard ridge of his length pressing against his thigh through layers of fabric, the contact sending a sharp jolt through his entire body.
The air in the room felt stifling, the tension between them so intense it threatened to melt what little composure Chuuya had left before he even made it to the grid.
With a low growl, Dazai broke the kiss, though he didn't pull his face away more than a hair's breadth. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths. His dark eyes carrying that infuriating mix of amusement and affection as he stared down at Chuuya’s unraveled form. He tilted his chin with his thumb at his lips.
"You have my attention now," Dazai murmured, a purr vibrating against Chuuya’s lips. He tilted Chuuya’s chin up harder, forcing those glazed blue eyes to meet his consuming stare. "Where’s all that confidence go, rookie? A minute ago you were stealing my phone."
Chuuya let out a frustrated sound, his hips hitching upward against Dazai’s thigh on instinct, chasing the friction before he could think better of it. He hated how easily Dazai could pull him apart like this—how quickly he went from biting back sarcasm to barely holding himself together.
“Ugh shut up, Osamu… just—”
“Just what?” Dazai cut in, voice dropping into something deliberate.
He shifted his weight again, dragging a punishing motion against Chuuya’s inner thigh that drew a sharp inhale from him. “You want me to make you completely useless before the race? Have your engineers looking at your telemetry wondering why your heart rate’s already in the red before the engine even turns over?”
His thumb traced the side of Chuuya’s neck, grounding him in place. “I’ve got your attention now, don’t I? No phone, no distractions. Just me.”
Chuuya couldn’t respond. His thoughts scattered completely, and He could only groan, burying his face into the crook of Dazai's neck, his teeth lightly biting into the fabric covering the champion's shoulder as Dazai hit him with another slow roll of his hips that sent a spike of heat straight to Chuuya's lower body
Dazai finally eased off, though he didn’t let go. His breath was uneven now, and his chest was heaving in shallow increments, as he stared down at Chuuya’s unraveled form. Dazai pressed his thumb into Chuuya’s lower lip, forcing it slightly open.
“You should get back to your garage,” Dazai murmured, voice roughened into something low and gravelly against Chuuya’s mouth. “Prepare for the race… sweetheart. Your team principal will have security on standby if you’re even a second late for pre-grid.”
Chuuya, drunk on the overwhelming horniness pooling in his gut, unintentionally let out a pout, his blue eyes glazed over with desire as his fingers tightened in Dazai's dark curls. He didn't want to leave the room. He didn't want to go back to the cold telemetry blocks.
Dazai noticed the shift immediately. A faint exhale left him, his expression softening in a way that didn’t match his usual teasing edge. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Chuuya’s cheek before lowering his mouth to his ear.
"Don’t look at me like that," Dazai teased softly, voice turning lighter vibrating straight through Chuuya's head. "I promise I can kiss you just like this again... right after I beat you on the track."
The competitive taunt acted like an injection of adrenaline. His blue eyes flashing with a fire as he pushed against Dazai's muscular chest, scrambling off his lap and standing up on the carpet.
He adjusted his racing leathers, forcing the smirk back onto his face as he grabbed his helmet from the table.
“Yeah, no,” Chuuya shot back, voice regaining its usual bite as he backed toward the door. “Keep dreaming, champion. Check your telemetry properly this time—because I’m the one taking Suzuka. You just worry about keeping up with my rear tire.”
Dazai lazily retrieved his phone, letting his head fall back against the sofa as a smile curved across his lips. “We’ll check the data on lap one, rookie.”
“Watch your exhaust, Osamu,” Chuuya laughed, flashing one last cocky grin before pushing the door open and stepping back into the roaring chaos of the paddock.
The noise of the pit lane swallowed him whole—mechanics shouting, pneumatic tools firing, distant engines screaming through warm-up runs—but none of it could drown out the pulse still hammering in his chest. The heat of Dazai’s presence lingered like a phantom pressure at his back as he walked forward.
And just like that, the countdown to lights out hit zero.