mention of cigarette!

enjoy!!

Iwaizumi leaned against the side of the car, one foot planted firmly on the ground while the other was slightly bent, heel resting against the body of his Nissan GT-R. The midday sun was relentless, casting sharp shadows on the asphalt, but he barely felt it. With a practiced motion, he flicked open his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the cigarette between his lips before he took a slow drag. The acrid taste filled his lungs, grounding him.

This entire situation was a mess.

He exhaled, watching the thin tendrils of smoke curl into the warm air before fading.

Oikawa fucking Tooru. A goddamn pop star. A runaway. A missing person splashed all over the news. And now, apparently, his problem.

Iwaizumi never asked to be involved in shit like this. His life was already complicated enough—dodging heat from cops, keeping himself and his crew safe, making sure every race didn’t end with someone in a ditch or behind bars. He had enough on his plate without some high-profile celebrity crashing into his world, bringing all kinds of unwanted attention.

But then, why the fuck didn’t he just leave him behind?

He could’ve ignored that text. Could’ve stayed out of it. Could’ve dropped Oikawa off anywhere and let him deal with the fallout on his own. But no—he’d let the bastard into his car, into his space, into his goddamn life. And now he had a pop star eating cup noodles in his kitchen and wearing his fucking jacket like he belonged there.

Iwaizumi ran a hand through his hair in frustration before taking another drag.

He heard the car door open behind him, followed by the sound of hesitant footsteps. He didn’t have to look to know that Oikawa had stepped out. He could feel it—the slight shift in the air, the presence lingering just a little too close.

Iwaizumi didn’t move. Just kept his eyes on the track in front of him, jaw tightening.

He had no clue what the hell he was supposed to do now.

Iwaizumi took another drag, the cigarette burning low between his fingers as he exhaled slowly. His gaze stayed fixed on the empty track ahead, but his mind was running laps of its own.

This wasn’t just about Oikawa anymore.

Iwaizumi had his own problems—bigger ones. The kind that didn’t just go away because he ignored them. The kind that caught up to you no matter how fast you drove. He knew it was only a matter of time before his past reared its ugly head again, before the people he’d wronged—or the ones who thought he owed them—came knocking.

And now, he had to figure out what the hell to do with a pop star who had no idea what kind of world he’d stepped into.

He could still feel the weight of Oikawa’s plea from last night. Please don’t—don’t return me. The way his voice had cracked, the desperation in his eyes. Iwaizumi had seen people beg before—some for mercy, some for money, some for their lives. But this? This was different.

Oikawa wasn’t running from the same kind of danger Iwaizumi was used to. He wasn’t being hunted down by men who wanted him dead. He was being dragged back to a life he didn’t want, a future he had no say in. And somehow, that made it worse.

Iwaizumi ran his tongue over his teeth, irritated. He should be thinking logically. Strategically. Keeping Oikawa here was dangerous. The longer he stayed, the bigger a target he became—not just for whoever was looking for him, but for the people after Iwaizumi, too.

And yet, despite knowing all that… he hadn’t thrown Oikawa back to the wolves.

Why?

He clicked his tongue, taking one last drag before dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot.

Maybe because he knew what it was like to have his choices taken away. To have a future carved out for him in blood and asphalt, in burned bridges and roads that only led one way. Maybe he saw something familiar in Oikawa’s fight to escape, even if their worlds were nothing alike.

Or maybe—fuck, maybe he was just making excuses now.

What the hell was he supposed to do with Oikawa? He couldn’t keep him here forever. But he sure as hell couldn’t just throw him out, either.

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw, fingers flexing at his sides. He needed to make a decision soon. Because if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that time was running out—for both of them.

Oikawa settled beside him, close enough that Iwaizumi caught the faint scent of strawberry shower gel again. His grip on the cigarette tightened for a split second before he exhaled sharply, dropping it to the ground and crushing it under his boot. Without a word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a tin of mint candy, and popped one into his mouth. The sharp, cool taste spread over his tongue, cutting through the lingering bitterness of smoke.

“Do you smoke often?” Oikawa asked, his voice light but curious.

Iwaizumi glanced at him from the corner of his eye before turning his gaze back to the track. “’Di. Kapag stress lang.”

Oikawa hummed, tilting his head slightly as he studied him. “So, does that mean you’re stressed now?”

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue, crunching down on the mint. “Tingin mo?”

Oikawa didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked out at the empty track, his expression unreadable. Iwaizumi should’ve been relieved that he didn’t push for more, but for some reason, the silence between them felt heavier than it should.

Iwaizumi flicked his gaze toward Oikawa, intending only a brief glance, but his eyes lingered longer than they should have. The other man was staring off into the distance, the faintest crease on his brows, lost in thought. His side profile was sharp, delicate yet striking—something Iwaizumi had already noticed but refused to acknowledge for too long.

But it was Oikawa’s eyes that caught him off guard.

They were brown—just brown—but the way the sunlight hit them, filtering through the midday haze, turned them into something else entirely. Hints of auburn shimmered within the depths of his irises, flickering like dying embers, rich and warm yet undeniably sharp. It didn’t seem natural, almost too perfect, as if Oikawa had been sculpted with the sole purpose of looking ethereal under the right lighting.

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw and looked away, exhaling through his nose.

Was that normal? Did people’s eyes really do that, or was Oikawa just some divine anomaly? Because honestly, if he ever learned that this guy had been conceived under the blessing of a Greek goddess, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

Oikawa turned to him, curiosity evident in his expression. “So… what exactly do you guys do here during a race?”

Iwaizumi raised a brow, glancing at him sideways. “Bakit? Interesado ka?”

Oikawa didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he chuckled—soft, light, and effortless, like the sound of wind chimes swaying in a summer breeze.

And fuck.

Iwaizumi had heard countless laughs in his life—boisterous, sharp, even taunting ones. But this? This was different. It was rich yet gentle, unguarded yet fleeting, like it didn’t belong in a place like this. It was the kind of laugh that, if he weren’t careful, could linger in his mind for much longer than he was willing to admit.

Oikawa smirked, eyes glinting with something playful when he finally replied, “A little? I mean, I’m in your world now. Ayoko naman na walang alam sa ginagalawan niyong mundo.”

Iwaizumi exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He had no idea what Oikawa was trying to get at, but something told him that he was about to find out sooner or later.

Iwaizumi sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back slightly against his car. “Tingin mo ba simpleng harurot lang ginagawa namin?”

Oikawa tilted his head, obviously amused. “I mean… isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi scoffed, shaking his head. “Tangina. Wala kang alam talaga.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, but he didn’t interrupt. He wanted to hear Iwaizumi explain.

“Sa mga ganitong karera, may iba’t ibang klase ng laban,” Iwaizumi started, eyes drifting toward the track as if picturing the races in his head. “May sprints—pabilisan sa maikling distansya. Madalas quarter-mile lang, pero sobrang bilis ng execution. Dito malalaman kung sino may pinakamalakas na makina at pinakamagandang reaksyon sa pag-start. Tapos meron namang circuit-style races, gaya ng mangyayari mamaya. Mas mahaba, mas madaming likuan, kaya hindi lang bilis ng sasakyan ang labanan, kundi pati galing ng driver sa pagkuha ng turns at pagmanage ng traction.”

Oikawa nodded along, absorbing the information. “So hindi lang basta tapakan ng gas at bahala na?”

Iwaizumi let out a low chuckle. “Putangina, kung ganun lang kadali, wala na sanang mga disgrasya. Maraming namamatay dito, lalo na ’yung mga nagpapakaangas tapos walang alam sa handling ng kotse nila.”

Oikawa hummed, fingers tapping lightly on his arm. “So it’s a mix of skill, power, and strategy?”

Iwaizumi glanced at him, a little surprised at how quickly he caught on. “Exactly.”

“How do you even win, then? Just be the fastest?”

“Depende sa laban. Kung sprint, oo, unang makarating sa dulo panalo. Kung circuit, depende kung sino unang matapos sa set number of laps. May iba namang karera na pustahan lang kung sino unang aayaw o sino unang magkamali.”

Oikawa pursed his lips, intrigued. “Pustahan? Like, money?”

Iwaizumi smirked. “Pera, kotse, minsan kahit personal na bagay. Depende sa kung gaano kalaki ang yabang ng mga naglalaban.”

Oikawa raised a brow, clearly interested. “Sounds intense.”

“It is,” Iwaizumi confirmed. “Kaya nga hindi biro ’to. Kahit mukhang laro lang sa iba, delikado ’to, lalo na kung hindi mo alam ang ginagawa mo.”

Oikawa leaned back a little, gaze flickering toward the track. “And you? How good are you at this?”

Iwaizumi chuckled, his smirk turning into something almost arrogant. “Hindi ako nandito kung hindi ako magaling.”

Oikawa huffed a small laugh, crossing his arms as he leaned against the car beside Iwaizumi. “Confident much?”

Iwaizumi glanced at him, smirk still present. “Hindi naman sa nagyayabang, pero kung mahina ako, matagal na ‘kong patay sa kalsada.”

Oikawa’s expression shifted slightly at that, amusement dimming just a bit. “That serious, huh?”

Iwaizumi just shrugged, his gaze returning to the track ahead. “Lahat ng tao dito may dahilan kung bakit sila nagra-race. Hindi ‘to tulad mo sa stage na kung hindi ka successful, babawi ka lang sa susunod na concert.”

Oikawa frowned. “I wouldn’t call what I do like that."

Iwaizumi side-eyed him. “Ganun din dito. Kung magkamali ka, hindi lang pangalan mo ang mawawala. Pwedeng buhay mo rin.”

Oikawa stayed quiet for a moment, absorbing Iwaizumi’s words. Then, with a small tilt of his head, he asked, “And what’s your reason, then?”

Iwaizumi exhaled through his nose, but instead of answering, he simply pushed himself off the car. “Tara na, baka hinahanap na tayo nila Hanamaki. Kailangan mo na ring makilala nang maayos ‘yung ibang taong makakasama mo dito.”

Oikawa narrowed his eyes, clearly aware that Iwaizumi was dodging the question. Still, he let it slide—for now. He pushed off the car as well, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he followed Iwaizumi toward the others.

His curiosity about the underground world—and about Iwaizumi himself—only grew stronger.