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Chapter Text

The noise was alive.

Not just loud—living. Like the crowd itself had a heartbeat, pounding in perfect sync with the scream of Kurama-07’s engine. São Paulo’s circuit had a reputation—sharp climbs, tighter drops, wet asphalt that could betray you with a blink—but today, none of that mattered. The thunder in the stands drowned it all out. A chant rose, raw and rising, like it could crack the sky open.

“U-zu-ma-ki! U-zu-ma-ki!”

Naruto Uzumaki peeled down the zipper of his red-and-gold racing suit, letting it fall to his waist. The fireproof fabric clung heavy to his hips, and his undershirt stuck to his chest like second skin—soaked in sweat and adrenaline. His breath still came in short bursts, lungs catching up to the velocity his body had just endured. Every muscle hummed like a live wire.

He wasn’t supposed to win that race.

Too much rain overnight. Track still slick in patches. Temperature too hot, tires too soft. That near-spin in lap 41? It should’ve cost him the podium—maybe the whole damn car.

But Kurama didn’t care. She'd eaten the curves like a beast unleashed, and Naruto, laughing through the roar and reverb, had only fed her more.

Now, standing beside her cooling frame—engine ticking like a machine struggling to exhale—he looked up, squinting not against the sun, but into it. He welcomed the burn on his skin. Let it sting. Let it remind him he was alive.

“You’re insane,” said Moegi, dropping a bottle of water into his hand. “That overtake on turn thirteen? I thought you were gonna launch into orbit.”

Naruto unscrewed the cap and chugged like he’d been stranded in a desert. “Yeah,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “But I didn’t.”

That half-smile—crooked, cocky, and dangerously electric—came naturally. But he didn’t drink again. Just held the bottle loosely as he stood in the aftermath, eyes darting over the crowd, the pit crew, the flashing cameras. Every sense still spiked like he was mid-race.

The world was on fire around him. And for once, it matched how he felt inside.

They were still screaming his name.

They thought they knew him.

The golden boy. The showboat. The storm with a smirk. Cameras loved that version. Sponsors plastered it across billboards. Fans wore it on their backs like a brand.

But that version didn’t dream in data sheets. Didn’t wake at 3 a.m. to rewatch telemetry from old races like they were haunted memories. Didn’t lie in bed wondering if there would ever be a win that actually felt like a victory again.

His smile slipped. Just a little.

Naruto looked down at Kurama-07, her body glinting red-gold under the Brazilian sun. The spiral crest by the wheel shimmered like it was alive.

“Fastest sector time,” someone shouted from the team bay. “Again!”

He forced the smirk back. “Course I did.”

But inside, something rang hollow.

Not adrenaline.

Not pride.

Something more like hunger.

I want someone to beat me.

Not because I want to lose.

But because I want to feel it when I win.

Monte Carlo, Monaco –

Silence was expensive in this city.

Sasuke Uchiha paid the full price.

The Uchiha Blackout Racing garage was sterile, dim, and calculated—like the inside of a computer. Every surface sleek. Every footstep deliberate. No excess crew. No cameras. No noise.

Only the whisper of fans cooling engine components and the heartbeat of data being digested by machines.

Susanoo-22 waited under the lights like a sleeping predator. Its matte black frame absorbed every drop of light around it. It didn’t reflect. It devoured.

Sasuke stood beside her, gloves already on, helmet tucked against his hip. His face, all angles and shadow, betrayed nothing. His eyes scanned the simulation readouts again, though he already knew the numbers by heart.

Everything had been perfect. Too perfect.

No oversteer. No edge drift. No hesitation.

The lap had been fast, surgical.

But not memorable.

“P2,” muttered Shikamaru, lounging near the console with the energy of someone chronically unimpressed. “Seven-tenths behind Leclerc. We’ll rerun tomorrow.”

Sasuke didn’t look at him. Fingers danced across the control panel, pulling up tire temps, fuel variance, pressure gradients. Nothing out of place.

And that was the problem.

“Most drivers would be celebrating right now,” Shikamaru added. “Champagne, at least. Maybe a nap. Or a—crazy idea—friend.”

Sasuke closed the screen with a click. “I don’t need friends.”

Shikamaru arched an eyebrow. “What about a rival?”

Silence.

Sasuke turned slowly. The black of his race suit made him look carved from obsidian. Eyes dark, unfathomable. Calm—but too still.

“Rivals are distractions,” he said flatly.

“Then stop glancing at your lap time like it’s an insult.”

Outside, the ocean sparkled too hard. The harbor gleamed like it was trying to impress someone. Sasuke hated this city. Too rich. Too loud. All shine, no soul.

He preferred the track.

The track didn’t lie.

The car either obeyed—or broke.

And he didn’t break.

Not ever.

But lately…

Even victory tasted like water.

He stared at Susanoo-22’s wing. Just beneath the surface, barely visible unless you knew where to look—was a flame motif. Hidden. Subtle. Personal.

He’d designed it that way.

You weren’t supposed to see what was burning underneath.

The clip hit social media like a supernova.

Naruto Uzumaki, post-race, still gleaming with heat and sweat, laughing into the mic with sun-dazed eyes.

“I want someone to beat me.
Not ‘cause I’m bored.
‘Cause I want to feel something again.”

He’d said it offhand. Like a half-joke. A careless admission in a moment of adrenaline.

But the world didn’t hear it as a joke.

They heard it like a challenge. A declaration. A hunger.

It exploded.

Within hours, the quote was everywhere—stitched into highlight reels, remixed into fan edits, set to orchestras and synthwave and violent trap drops. One second he was just another post-race interview—next, he was trending globally under:

#FeelSomethingAgain

And then came the response.

Someone—a fan, a genius, or maybe a prophet—cut together a black-and-white edit:

On one side: Naruto, wild and untamed, fire in his smile, drifting on soaked curves like gravity didn’t apply to him.

On the other: Sasuke Uchiha, stone-faced, laser-focused, slicing through track simulations with machine-like calm.

The edit ended with a single line of text in red:

Red vs Black. Let them fight.

The world lost its mind.

#FastHearts
#KuramaVsSusanoo
#CrashCourse
#FeelSomethingAgain
#FireAndIce

The hashtags multiplied. Fan theories bloomed like wildfire. TikTok went feral. Reddit spun conspiracy threads. Twitter turned it into scripture.

Someone sent the clip to Naruto.

He laughed so hard he dropped his phone.

“Who the hell is this guy?” he asked, still chuckling, eyes watering.

Moegi didn’t even glance up from her tablet. “Sasuke Uchiha. Monaco team. Uchiha Blackout. The anti-you.”

Naruto snorted. “That’s dramatic.”

“You’re the wildfire,” she said, scrolling. “He’s the glacier.”

He leaned back across the chairs in the Tokyo airport VIP lounge, hood pulled halfway down his face like a hangover he hadn’t earned. “The internet’s crazy.”

“You gave them the match,” Moegi said. “Now they’re waiting for the spark.”

Back in Monaco

Sasuke watched the clip once.

Just once.

No edits. No effects. Just the raw footage—Naruto, flushed from the win, shirt clinging to him, eyes tired but shining.

“I want someone to beat me… Not ‘cause I’m bored. ‘Cause I want to feel something again.”

Sasuke closed the tab.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t comment. Didn’t speak.

But Shikamaru noticed the change.

Suddenly Sasuke was showing up an hour earlier to sim runs. Spending longer analyzing turn angles that didn’t need fixing. Running solo laps after team hours. Ignoring every PR request.

“You’re doing it,” Shikamaru said one evening, voice flat.

“Doing what?”

“That thing where obsession pretends to be strategy.”

Sasuke didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Shikamaru showed him a poll from a racing blog:

If these two raced tomorrow, who would win?

The vote bar was split down the center.

50% red-and-gold.
50% black-and-silver.
Even.

Unacceptable.

Sasuke stared at the screen for a moment too long.

Then said, barely audible:
“It won’t be.”

Naruto scrolled through the noise with one finger while Moegi tossed a stack of fan mail at his feet.

“They’re writing fanfics about you,” she said. “Some of it’s disturbingly horny.”

“I’m traumatized,” Naruto mumbled, flipping through a glossy magazine. His own face stared back—lips parted, eyes half-lidded, chest bare from his half-zipped suit.

Next to him: a black shadow stepping into a knife-like car.

“Chaos vs Control: The Collision Course We’ve All Been Waiting For.”

“Who even is this guy?” he muttered.

“Sasuke. Uchiha. You’ve been name-dropped with him eighteen times this week. Start keeping up.”

“I don’t compare myself to anyone.”

“The internet already did. Loudly.”

Naruto groaned and shoved the magazine under a seat cushion. “I say one slightly dramatic thing—”

“—extremely dramatic—”

“—and now I’ve got a rival I’ve never even met.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You said it very hotly.”

“I was dehydrated!”

Moegi shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’re the fire now. He’s the frost. The world’s built their fantasy and locked you both inside it.”

Naruto groaned again, dragging a hand through his blond hair. “Enemies?”

“Enemies,” she said sweetly. “With unresolved sexual tension.”

He choked on his macaron.

The Invitation

Two days later, it arrived:

Silverstone. Exhibition race. Charity-funded. International coverage. Both teams invited. Both confirmed.

Moegi read it aloud.

Naruto was sitting on the hotel bed, knees drawn up in his hoodie, expression unreadable.

“I think,” he said softly, smiling to himself, “I poked the right bear.”

Back in Monaco, Again

Sasuke stood in the Uchiha garage well after midnight.

Everyone else had gone.

Susanoo-22 waited like a coiled blade, silent, patient.

He didn’t touch it at first. Just stared.

Then he reached for the carbon fiber hood, gloved fingers resting on the surface. His own reflection stared back.

“I want someone to beat me… Not ‘cause I’m bored. ‘Cause I want to feel something again.”

Sasuke closed his eyes.

And said, in a voice that didn’t waver:

“You will.”

Silverstone Circuit, UK

Two days before the exhibition race

The conference room was colder than it looked—sleek walls in gunmetal gray, lights too bright, the kind of atmosphere designed to unsettle. The air smelled faintly of ozone, camera equipment, and nerves.

Naruto Uzumaki adjusted the collar of his blood-red dress shirt for the fourth time, glaring down at the pristine white table in front of him. The fabric scratched his neck, stiff with starch, probably more expensive than his entire tire set. His shirt was half unbuttoned already—on purpose. His tie? Long “forgotten,” or so he claimed, even though Moegi had personally handed it to him three times before they left the hotel.

She’d leaned in just before he walked out, her voice sharp and low. “Please, for once, don’t set anything on fire.”

He grinned at her like a challenge and stepped through the curtain into the full-blown warzone of flashing bulbs and breathless journalists.

It hit him all at once—the thunderclap of cameras, the hum of whispered speculation, the heat of a hundred thousand unspoken questions. But Naruto didn’t flinch. He never flinched.

He moved like he belonged on stage, like he’d been carved out of gold and gasoline just for the spotlight. He sprawled into the seat with the ease of someone who didn’t care about decorum—legs wide, arms loose, sunglasses shoved into the mop of blond hair on his head.

And then he saw him.

Sasuke Uchiha was already seated.

Sharp lines and darker shadows—the polar opposite of Naruto’s molten presence. He wore a fitted black button-down, top collar fastened to the throat, cuffs perfect. Not a wrinkle in sight. His hair was pushed back neatly, though a single strand had fallen near his temple. He didn’t brush it away.

Sasuke’s hands rested loosely on the table. No tension. No visible effort. But every inch of him was coiled restraint. Still as a storm that hadn’t chosen to strike yet.

He didn’t look at Naruto.

Not at first.

The moderator—an overly polite British man with a blazer too thin for the damp chill of the room—cleared his throat, clearly intimidated by the atmosphere.

“Th-thank you all for coming today. This marks the first time Kaze-Fire Racing and Uchiha Blackout will go head-to-head in a public exhibition. A historic moment for the sport—and for the world.”

The crowd rippled. Flashbulbs clicked. Phones rose like offerings.

The moderator barely got through his sentence before the first question launched from the press.

“Mr. Uzumaki—” a voice rang out from the middle row, “—fans are calling this race your biggest challenge yet. Would you agree?”

Naruto didn’t even pause.

He tilted his head toward Sasuke and let his grin curl just slightly. His voice was slow, almost lazy—deliberate.

“That depends,” he said. “Is he fast, or just famous?”

The room exploded .

Gasps. Laughter. Shouted commentary from journalists and livestreamers. A few groans of disbelief. The air practically crackled with electricity.

And still—Sasuke didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

Until, finally, he turned his head.

Their eyes locked.

Naruto felt it like a jolt to the chest. Sasuke’s gaze was sharp—intense and cold and clear, like standing on the edge of a frozen cliff with no handrail.

This wasn’t disinterest.

It was precision.

Sasuke looked at him like a surgeon about to make the first incision. Calculating. Quiet. Ready.

But he didn’t speak.

Not until the second question flew:

“Mr. Uchiha, care to respond?”

Sasuke’s voice was cool, unhurried.

“I don’t waste time on people who talk more than they race.”

There was a moment of stunned silence—followed by another ripple of gasps and laughter, louder this time, sharper. Cameras clicked madly. A livestream cracked under the weight of too many viewers.

Naruto laughed, full and bright, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Damn. You rehearse that one?”

Sasuke’s eyes didn’t even flicker. “No. You’re not worth the rehearsal.”

The press practically fell out of their chairs.

Another journalist jumped in, practically breathless.

“Some fans are saying this is more than a race—it’s a clash of ideologies. Fire and ice. Instinct versus discipline. Chaos and control. How do you respond to being cast as opposites?”

Naruto leaned forward, his grin edged with something sharper now.

“Feels like I’ve got something to prove.”

Sasuke, still unmoving, replied in a voice like steel sheathed in velvet.

“Feels like a waste of my time.”

There was no air left in the room.

Then came the final question.

“If either of you lose, what happens next?”

And this time—

They answered at the same moment.

“I don’t lose.”

The words landed like a shot. Perfectly in sync. Perfectly opposed.

The journalists didn’t even pretend to stay composed. A storm of questions followed, but none were heard. The clip had already gone viral before the conference was over:

After the press conference ended and the curtains drew back, the air backstage was quieter—but only on the surface. Naruto stood near the back wall, arms crossed loosely, watching Sasuke speak with one of his team members.

Then, as Sasuke passed by, Naruto leaned in slightly, voice low.

“So,” he murmured, “is that the real you? Or just what the suit wants you to be?”

Sasuke didn’t slow down.

But his voice, when it came, was so quiet it could’ve been mistaken for thought.

“Let’s find out.”

                                                                                      ⇋ ❈ ⊱───────🏁  𝓟𝓲𝓽 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓹  ───────⊰ ❈ ⇌

Backstage, after the curtain dropped, Naruto stormed into the hallway, his heart still hammering like a wild drum in his chest. The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly behind the heavy doors, but here, in the shadowed corridor, only his footsteps and ragged breath filled the air.

Moegi caught up a second later, smacking him lightly with a clipboard, her eyes sharp but amused.
“You baited him,” she said, voice low but teasing.

Naruto wiped a sweaty hand across his face, chest heaving.
“He bit,” he said, breathless, a grin tugging at his lips despite the tension.

Moegi’s smile deepened, her gaze steady. “You like it.”

He didn’t deny it. Not when he could still feel the ghost of Sasuke’s stare—cold, precise, like a blade—lingering beneath his skin, leaving a warmth that was almost a burn.

Meanwhile, Sasuke stood alone in the dressing room, the dim light casting sharp angles across his face. He unbuttoned his collar with mechanical calm, every movement measured and deliberate. His eyes flickered to the mirror, but his reflection was distant, unreadable.

By the window, Shikamaru lit a cigarette, smoke curling lazily upward in spirals.
“You two sound like foreplay,” he remarked dryly.

Sasuke said nothing.

But the way he gripped the button seam—just a second too long—spoke volumes.

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the Silverstone paddock as the two teams readied themselves for the upcoming exhibition.

Naruto stepped out first, boots tapping confidently on the tarmac, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his signature red jacket. The air was crisp but carried the promise of heat—both from the engines revving nearby and something far more electric, something thick and charged between him and the world.

He spotted Sasuke near the Uchiha Blackout garage—tall, immaculately poised, scanning the track with a focus so intense it seemed he was memorizing every crack in the asphalt itself.

Naruto’s heart picked up its pace, but his face remained a practiced mask of casual swagger.

He approached, slow and deliberate, the distance shrinking with every step until there was barely a breath between them.

Sasuke turned, eyes locking onto Naruto’s with that same cold precision. But this time, Naruto thought he saw something flicker—a ghost of recognition, or maybe something closer to respect.

“You race like you want to burn the world down,” Sasuke said, voice low and measured.

Naruto smiled, teeth just visible in a confident half-grin.
“And you race like you’re trying not to break anything.”

A brief pause stretched between them.

The sounds around them—the chatter of mechanics, the distant roar of test engines—faded into white noise, a quiet bubble where only they existed.

Naruto’s hand twitched near his jacket zipper. Sasuke’s gloved fingers flexed at his side.

Neither moved closer. Neither stepped back.

Something hung between them, taut and fragile.

“Tomorrow,” Naruto said softly, “we find out who’s faster.”

Sasuke’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk.
“Or who can survive the longest.”

Naruto’s eyes sparkled with fire.
“Survive and thrive.”

A subtle challenge. An unspoken promise.

They turned almost simultaneously, each melting back into their teams—yet the echo of their first contact lingered, heavy and unshakable.

The Silverstone paddock buzzed with energy, every corner humming with anticipation as the world’s eyes turned toward the impending duel between two racing titans.

Naruto stood at the heart of his garage, sleeves casually rolled up, his signature fiery grin lighting up the space. Around him moved a team built for speed, passion, and fierce loyalty.

Gaara, the steadfast and composed strategist, monitored telemetry data with calm precision.

Moegi, ever the multitasker, balanced sponsor updates and social media buzz, her sharp eyes flicking between screens and Naruto’s animated gestures.

Kakashi Hatake arrived fashionably late, hands buried in pockets, his usual mask hiding a knowing smirk.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said lazily, voice thick with amusement. “Got caught up reading something… or nothing at all.”

Kiba, the lead mechanic, joked as he tightened a bolt on Kurama-07,
“Naruto, don’t torch this beauty before the race.”

Shino quietly monitored environmental sensors, providing discreet but vital info to the team.

Hinata, the team physiotherapist, moved through the garage with graceful care, checking on Naruto’s readiness.

Naruto’s fingers drummed the hood of his car, the beast gleaming under the garage lights.
“Ready to set this track on fire?” he asked, eyes blazing with fierce confidence.

Gaara nodded once, steady and sure.
“Balance fire with control.”

In contrast, Sasuke’s garage was a study in precision and quiet intensity.

Matte black walls absorbed light, broken only by the deep indigo glow of monitors displaying every nuance of Susanoo-22’s performance.

Neji stood close to Sasuke, their silent partnership evident in every glance and subtle gesture.

Shikamaru Nara, the team principal, leaned back thoughtfully, cigarette smoke curling lazily as he offered strategic insights.
“Naruto thrives on chaos. Exploit it with control and patience.”

Sai and Yamato worked seamlessly on mechanical and telemetry adjustments, their quiet expertise weaving into the fabric of the team.

Tenten coordinated pit stops with sharp focus, ensuring no missteps.

Sasuke sat still, eyes like ice, absorbing every detail.
“I don’t lose focus,” he said simply.

Neji’s faint smile was all the affirmation he needed.

As evening drew in, the two teams prepared in their separate worlds, each fueling their champion for the battle to come.

Naruto’s garage buzzed with warmth, laughter, and fierce spirit.

Sasuke’s space was a fortress of discipline and sharp edges.

Two drivers. Two teams. One race that would change everything.

The morning air was crisp, tinged with the scent of burning rubber and high-octane fuel. Silverstone buzzed with electric anticipation as thousands of fans flooded the stands, their cheers rising and falling like waves crashing against the trackside barriers.

In the pit lane, the garages gleamed under the rising sun, engines humming like caged beasts eager to unleash fury on the asphalt.

Naruto stood beside Kurama-07, helmet in hand, muscles tense but ready to explode. His fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel’s worn leather grip during the warm-up laps, feeling the subtle vibrations transmitted from the track through the suspension.

“Alright, Kurama,” he muttered, voice low but fierce. “Let’s show them what burning looks like.”

Gaara stood nearby, calm and steady.
“Remember to breathe. Control the fire,” he advised, his voice smooth and steady like sandpaper sliding over stone.

Naruto cracked a grin, fists tightening on the wheel.
“I’m more than ready.”

Across the pit lane, Sasuke settled inside Susanoo-22, visor down, muscles taut and ready. His hands found the perfect hold on the carbon fiber steering wheel — thumbs poised over paddle shifters, ready to flick down for a quick downshift or pull back for a clean upshift.

The matte black car sat like a shadow, every component tuned to razor-sharp precision.

Neji’s voice crackled through the radio.
“Stay sharp. Track conditions are steady, but rain may come. Keep your lines clean.”

Sasuke’s breath was calm and measured.

Shikamaru, leaning against the garage wall, exhaled a lazy plume of smoke.
“Keep him in the game. Don’t let Naruto’s chaos break your rhythm.”

The countdown began.

Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.

Green lights flashed.

Engines howled to life, the sound a thunderclap across the tarmac. In an instant, Kurama-07 and Susanoo-22 surged forward, tires screaming, exhausts spitting fire.

Naruto gritted his teeth as he slammed the gear stick into second, then third, the paddle shifters clicking like the beat of a war drum. Kurama-07 responded with feral joy, its rear tires briefly losing traction before catching. The G-forces shoved him deep into the seat, but he welcomed the pull—it felt like flight.

“Push now,” Kakashi's voice echoed through the comms, calm under pressure.

Naruto did. He leaned into Turn 1, trail-braking aggressively, the steering wheel trembling in his grip as the car’s weight shifted. He felt the rear start to twitch, but countered instinctively—right foot feathering the throttle, fingers tight on the wheel, reading every vibration from the tires like braille.

Just ahead, Sasuke was pure elegance in motion. His movements inside Susanoo-22 were minimal, surgical. Left hand on the wheel, right thumb tapping the paddle to downshift with a precise double-blip of the throttle. The engine rev-matched flawlessly, his braking point near-perfect at the apex of Turn 2. He didn’t fight the car — he danced with it.

“Maintain this rhythm,” Neji’s voice crackled in his ear. “You’re two-tenths faster in Sector 2.”

Sasuke didn’t reply. He flicked the car into the next chicane, tires clipping the curbs with razor-sharp accuracy, the carbon fiber undertray spraying sparks.

Behind him, Naruto dove into the same corner a fraction later, braking late, almost too late. The ABS shuddered under his foot as he pumped the brakes, snatching control back just before the apex. His left hand worked the wheel, countersteering to correct a fishtail that would’ve spun lesser drivers. Kurama-07 roared back with a burst of torque as he punched into fourth, then fifth, the revs screaming into the red.

“I see you, bastard,” Naruto muttered under his breath.

Lap after lap, the duel intensified.

On the long back straight, both cars pushed into DRS range. Naruto flicked open the rear wing, feeling the sudden jolt as drag dropped. He surged closer. The speedometer ticked past 320 km/h. He could see Sasuke’s head, still and steady inside the matte-black cockpit.

“Now!” Kakashi barked.

Naruto jinked right, a daring inside move toward the braking zone.

But Sasuke had already anticipated. With a calculated downshift—sixth to fourth in two heartbeats—he late-braked on the racing line, forcing Naruto wide with nothing more than immaculate timing. Susanoo-22 clung to the corner, its tires howling but composed.

“He’s playing defense like offense,” Gaara murmured from the pit wall.

Naruto’s jaw clenched. “He won’t shut the door forever.”

As they carved through Sector 3, the first drops of rain began to speckle the windscreen.

“Rain incoming,” Shikamaru warned. “Brake markers shift by twenty meters on the next lap.”

“Copy,” Sasuke said, his fingers adjusting the brake bias forward by 3%. He switched the traction map, recalibrating how much throttle the engine would feed in wet zones. The Susanoo-22 adapted instantly — a beast obeying only him.

In Kurama-07, Naruto ignored the weather warning.

“I race the rain,” he growled, staying on slicks and throttle-heavy settings. He clipped the apex hard at Turn 12, the back end sliding again. Countersteer. Feather throttle. Keep it alive.

The rear twitched wildly. He corrected just in time.

“Easy!” Gaara warned, voice edged with steel.

“I’ve got it!”

The fans screamed from the stands as the duel entered the final lap.

Both drivers shifted into their top gear — sixth into seventh — engines screaming, tires blistering under pressure. The circuit blurred into instinct, muscle memory, and fury.

On Turn 9, Naruto made his boldest move yet. He dived from the outside, slamming the downshift, fifth to third, the engine barking in protest. His tires locked momentarily, trailing smoke.

Sasuke flicked his eyes to the mirror — saw fire.

Naruto slid through, the corner barely holding him. Kurama-07’s tail fishtailed violently but held.

He was ahead.

But Sasuke didn’t flinch. Calm as ever, he clipped the rumble strip on the exit, positioning perfectly for the switchback. With flawless rhythm, he pressed on the throttle at 80% — just enough. The car responded with perfect grip.

He pulled level with Naruto once again.

Side by side.

The final straight.

The engines shrieked in unison. Both cars shifted up—sixth to seventh, revs peaking, RPM meters red-lining.

Naruto pushed the throttle to the floor.

Sasuke adjusted steering input by a single degree — the difference between spin and perfection.

The crowd rose to their feet.

Checkered flag ahead.

They crossed.

Side by side.

Dead even.

Or nearly.

Silence gripped the pit lane like a vice as the final times flickered onto the leaderboard.

P1: Uchiha Sasuke — 1:23.047
P1: Uzumaki Naruto — 1:23.047

The numbers stood there, frozen. Identical.

A breath caught in the air—then the announcer’s voice, barely comprehending what he read, crackled over the PA system:

“We have a tie. Repeat—a tie. An exact finish. This is unprecedented in Silverstone exhibition history.”

For a moment, the world stopped breathing.

Then chaos detonated.

Fans exploded into screams. Flashbulbs strobed like lightning. Crew members froze, staring at the screen as if it had betrayed reality. Radios lit up with a chorus of disbelief. Technicians scrambled, demanding data from the most advanced timing systems in motorsport—systems that couldn’t split them by even a thousandth of a second.

Replays rolled in slow motion, frame by frame: two blurs crossing the line side by side. No gap. No daylight. Just velocity and rivalry colliding in perfect sync.

Kurama-07 limped into the pit lane first, its engine ticking like a time bomb, the front hood steaming, streaks of rubber and grit smearing the orange paint. Naruto tore off his helmet, sweat-slicked hair sticking to his face. His chest rose and fell like a jackhammer, lungs burning, heart on fire. His grin was wild, disbelieving.

“A tie,” he gasped, almost laughing. “Holy shit.”

Moegi ran to him, eyes wide, voice tight with awe.

“You tied with Sasuke.”

Naruto looked at her, still riding the wave of adrenaline.

“No,” he said, breathless. “I matched Sasuke.”

Across the lane, Susanoo-22 rolled to a stop—sleek, black, ice-cold. Sasuke stepped out like a shadow given form. Every movement was precise, unhurried, surgical. He peeled off his gloves, one finger at a time. Neji approached but didn’t speak.

Sasuke didn’t look at the time screen.

He looked straight at Naruto.

Their eyes locked across the cacophony—through the roar of the crowd, the blaring replays, the shouts of mechanics and marshals. For that heartbeat in time, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

Matched.
Perfectly.
Unresolved.

And then the crowd lost its mind.

The noise hit like a tidal wave. Team members surged to the pit walls, shouting, clapping, screaming. Media crews shoved microphones and cameras forward. Reporters babbled into headsets. Even veteran engineers were speechless, staring at the data with slack jaws.

Naruto leaned on the car, sweat pouring down his back. He was vibrating with energy, with life —with the kind of reckless fire that didn’t know how to cool down.

Sasuke arrived next, his pace steady. His face was calm, but his eyes crackled with voltage.

They moved toward each other, drawn like magnets.

Flashes lit them up like stars colliding.

“You got lucky,” Sasuke said, voice low and clipped.

Naruto wiped his brow, eyes gleaming.

“You blinked. That was enough.”

“I don’t blink.”

“You did.”

A pause. Tension coiled tighter.

Sasuke stepped closer.

Naruto didn’t flinch.

“I’m not done,” Sasuke said.

Naruto’s smile darkened, laced with purpose.

“Neither am I.”

The Silverstone paddock still echoed with disbelief. The crowd’s roar lingered like a storm that refused to pass.

Inside the corridor between garages, the storm intensified.

Naruto pushed through the crowd like a man possessed, helmet still clutched in one hand. His boots slammed against the asphalt—hard, fast, each step like a countdown.

Sasuke was already there.

Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Collar of his fireproof suit half undone. Calm as a loaded gun.

Naruto locked eyes on him and veered straight toward him, heat radiating off his skin.

“You think that was a win?” he barked.

Sasuke’s eyes flicked over.

“It wasn’t a win. For either of us.”

“Could’ve fooled me with that smug look,” Naruto snapped. “You think matching me is some kind of insult?”

Sasuke pushed off the wall, stepping forward until they were nose to nose. The air between them practically sparked.

“You drove like a lunatic,” he said. “Half a second off your line at Turn 14 and we’d both be in the hospital.”

Naruto shoved the helmet into Sasuke’s chest. Hard.

“And you drove like a coward.”

The helmet hit the ground with a dull thud . Sasuke didn’t even blink as it rolled away.

“Say that again.”

“You heard me,” Naruto growled. “All that control, all that ice-cold precision—still not enough to beat me. You couldn’t even outpace me.”

Sasuke’s voice dropped, deadly calm.

“You’re calling it a tie. I’m calling it mercy .”

“Oh, fuck you,” Naruto spat. “You were pushing the limit the entire race. I saw your exhaust burn. You wanted it. You just couldn’t take it.”

Sasuke stepped closer, their faces inches apart.

“And you couldn’t catch me without nearly killing us both.”

“That’s how I race!” Naruto exploded. “With fire! With risk! You wouldn’t last one lap in my seat.”

“And you wouldn’t survive one corner in mine,” Sasuke snapped—and then his hand flashed up, gripping Naruto’s collar, yanking him forward.

Naruto slammed both hands into his chest, shoving him backward. Sasuke stumbled but came right back in, raising a fist—

“What, you gonna slap me now?” Naruto sneered.

The punch flew. Naruto ducked, countered with a hard jab to Sasuke’s ribs.

Sasuke grunted, grabbed his shoulder, and drove him into the wall. The impact echoed like a gunshot.

“Break it up!” someone yelled. No one listened.

Fists flew. Boots scraped. Grunts, curses, the clash of adrenaline and fury and something deeper—years of rivalry, of need, of never knowing where one ended and the other began.

Naruto’s elbow caught Sasuke’s jaw. Sasuke tackled him back. They crashed into a tool chest—wrenches scattered across the floor.

“ I should’ve ended it at Turn 9! ” Sasuke growled.

“ I dared you to! ” Naruto shouted. “You didn’t have the balls!”

Another punch. Another snarl.

Crew members stormed in—Moegi shrieking, Kiba shoving people aside, Neji and Gaara grabbing arms and shoulders.

“Get the hell off him!” Kiba shouted.

“Enough,” Neji said, calm but commanding, yanking Sasuke back.

But neither of them let go. Their fists stayed locked in each other’s suits, foreheads nearly touching, breathing like cornered beasts.

“You can’t stand not beating me,” Naruto panted.

“You can’t stand not losing to me,” Sasuke hissed.

They froze like that—an inch apart, muscles straining, truth burning between them.

A tie wasn’t peace.

It was purgatory.

And it terrified them both.

Gaara stepped between them, his voice dry and calm.

“If you both want to destroy each other, fine. But not in front of your teams.”

Moegi crossed her arms, glaring.

“We do not need another headline reading: ‘Hothead Naruto Brawls with Uchiha Golden Boy After Tied Race.’”

Kakashi strolled in, one brow raised, hands in his pockets.

“So… did I miss the afterparty or the apocalypse?”

Naruto wrenched free, blood on his lip, eyes still blazing.

“This isn’t over,” he spat.

Sasuke adjusted his collar, gaze sharp as a blade.

“It never was.”

They backed away slowly, peeled apart by exhausted hands and adrenaline-drunk silence.

But nothing was settled.

Not the score. Not the grudge. Not the fire.

If anything, the tie had only made things worse.

Because now they knew—

They were equals.

And neither of them was built to share the top.

End of Chapter 1~

Chapter Text

The Hotel, London. Nightfall.

The hotel room was too nice.
Too big. Too quiet.
Too far from the sound of tires and screaming engines and heat.

Naruto lay across the plush couch in his suite, one leg swinging over the edge, the other pinned under him at a strange angle. The TV was on, but the sound was muted—something dull was flashing across the screen, a recap of the race from earlier that day. The way the cars glided through Silverstone’s corners—flawless, mechanical, beautiful. For a second he forgot which one was his.

The bruising along his jaw ached. Not from the race. Not from any crash. He’d thrown the first shove.

He shifted the ice pack from his cheek to his hand instead, hissing a little.
“Stupid,” he muttered. “That was so fucking stupid.”

Gaara sat across the room, perfectly still in one of the velvet armchairs near the window. The city lights reflected off the glass, warping London’s skyline into fragments behind him. He hadn’t spoken in a while. That was Gaara’s thing—he waited. Watched. Let people burn themselves down first.

“You gonna lecture me?” Naruto asked, still not looking at him.

“I could,” Gaara said simply.

Naruto flinched, just barely. He let his head fall back against the couch. The ceiling was covered in recessed lighting, each one perfectly aligned. Not a single bulb out of place. He hated it.

“I didn’t mean to hit him,” Naruto muttered.

“You didn’t hit him.”
A beat.
“You wanted to.”

Naruto snorted, the sound sharp. “You saying I can’t control myself?”

“I’m saying you didn’t want to.”

Another silence stretched between them.

Eventually, Naruto stood up, tossing the half-melted ice into the sink. He wandered toward the massive window that overlooked the Thames. Boats moved like distant fireflies across the black water. Somewhere far below, someone laughed.

He tapped his fingers against the glass. His reflection stared back: tired eyes, collarbone just barely visible under the loose tank he threw on after the shower, hair still damp. The sharp red mark under his jaw caught his eye. He looked away from it quickly.

“…Do you think he hates me now?” he asked, not really meaning to speak.

Gaara didn’t answer.

Naruto’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

                                 ⇋ ❈ ⊱───────🏁  𝓟𝓲𝓽 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓹  ───────⊰ ❈ ⇌

The Uchiha Blackout Hotel Suite, Midnight.

The room was spotless.
White walls. Black furniture. Every object in its place, like it had never been touched at all. The overhead lights were off, but the city outside glowed faintly through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shifting patterns of headlights across the polished floor.

Sasuke sat on the edge of the bed, still in the same black shirt he’d changed into hours ago, sleeves pushed to his elbows, wrists scarred with faint impressions from the racing gloves. His phone was facedown on the nightstand beside him. It hadn’t buzzed once.

His jaw still ached.

He hadn’t iced it.

He hadn’t done anything, really.

The fight kept replaying in his head in perfect detail.
Naruto’s face—red, furious, stupid. The way his hands trembled, how he’d shoved Sasuke like a brat in over his head.
The part Sasuke couldn’t get out of his mind?
It wasn’t the hit.
It was the look right after . That raw, unfiltered flash of something in Naruto’s eyes. Like he’d meant every word he said—but also didn’t know why he said it.

“Tch.”

Sasuke stood, slowly. Pacing didn’t help—he’d already walked the length of the room so many times, the carpet was warm beneath his feet.

A knock came—soft. Barely there.

He didn’t answer. But the door opened anyway.

“Still up,” Neji said, stepping inside. His tie was loose around his neck. His expression, as always, unreadable.

“I’m fine,” Sasuke said flatly.

Neji ignored that. “The fight didn’t make it to the press. Shikamaru locked it down.”

“Good.”

“He said you’re expected to make a statement tomorrow, though. Not about the fight. About the race.”

Sasuke’s jaw flexed. “I know.”

Neji tilted his head, studying him in that way that always felt a little too precise.
“You’re agitated.”

“I’m focused.”

“You’re thinking about him.”

Sasuke turned, sharp. “I’m thinking about the race.”

Neji let that hang for a moment, then gave a quiet nod. “Of course.”

He didn’t say more. He didn’t need to.

Sasuke turned back to the window. His reflection stared back at him—tired, still. And below that? Restless.

Late morning. Somewhere in the city. The air thick with unspoken things.

Naruto wasn’t supposed to be out.
Kakashi had texted that morning: “Lay low. Media’s sniffing.”
Gaara had given him a single, unreadable look. That meant: do what you want, but don’t make a scene.

So, of course, Naruto left the hotel.

London’s streets were crowded but not loud. Grey clouds folded low over the rooftops, the kind that made everything feel suspended—like rain was promised, but not yet delivered. Naruto shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, sleeves pulled over his knuckles. His hair was messy under a beanie he definitely didn’t own before last night. He didn’t feel like himself today, and he didn’t want to be recognized.

The small café was tucked into a corner off the main road—brick walls, fogged glass, handwritten chalk menu. The kind of place nobody cared about engines or lap times or pit crews. Just bitter coffee and half-burnt toast.

Naruto slipped inside, ordered something he didn’t taste, and took the corner seat by the window.

He watched the rain start to spit on the glass, forehead pressed to the cool pane.

That was when the bell over the door rang again.

He didn’t even turn at first—just barely registered someone tall, black coat, precise footsteps.

Then—

He heard the chair opposite him drag out.

Naruto looked up.

And of course.

Of fucking course.

Sasuke Uchiha sat across from him, pulling off black gloves, eyes unreadable.

“You’re following me,” Naruto muttered, already annoyed at how fast his heart had jumped.

Sasuke didn’t answer. He placed his gloves carefully beside his cup, like this was normal. Like he wasn’t the person Naruto had nearly punched unconscious forty-eight hours ago.

“I was here first,” Naruto added, a little louder. “You can leave.”

“You’re in my seat,” Sasuke said coolly.

Naruto blinked. “Excuse me?”

Sasuke just raised an eyebrow, voice dry. “I always sit by the window. I like the silence.”

Naruto stared at him.

Then—he snorted. “You are—so fucking weird.”

Sasuke tilted his head slightly, that half-smirk forming. “And you’re still as loud as ever.”

They sat like that—two men in a cafe full of strangers—sipping drinks they didn’t taste, saying nothing that meant what it sounded like.

The silence dragged.

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” Naruto muttered, eyes fixed on the table.

Sasuke didn’t flinch. “You didn’t.”

“But I wanted to.”

“...Me too.”

Naruto’s lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but didn’t. “So what now? We sit here and pretend this is normal?”

Sasuke looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since the race. Naruto’s cheek was still red under the shadow of his hoodie. His fingers tapped restlessly against the cup. His leg bounced beneath the table.

He was chaos in a body.

And Sasuke hated how drawn to it he felt.

“This is as close to normal as we’ll get,” Sasuke said quietly.

Naruto looked away first.

The rain picked up, tapping softly against the windows.

Outside, the street blurred. Inside, the silence pressed in tighter.

Naruto pushed his cup away, suddenly tense. “I’m leaving.”

Sasuke didn’t move. “Go ahead.”

Naruto stood, hoodie drawn up, jaw tight.

But he hesitated.

Just for a second.

He looked down at Sasuke—like he was about to say something else. Something real.

But he didn’t.

He walked out.

Sasuke sat there for another ten minutes. His coffee went cold.

Late afternoon. Drizzle turns to real rain.

The door swung shut behind him with a little bell and a gust of warm air. Naruto stepped out into the street, hoodie pulled up tighter, head down against the misting rain.

He walked aimlessly.

The streets blurred past him—red brick buildings, flickering neon signs, people with umbrellas huddled under awnings. The café was already out of sight, but Sasuke wasn’t.

Sasuke was still in his head. Sharp-edged. Too quiet. Too calm. Like he was holding onto something that Naruto had already dropped on the floor.

Why’d he sit down?
Naruto kicked a pebble across the pavement.
Why didn’t I leave first?

He stopped at a red crosswalk. Watched traffic blur by.

Pulled out his phone. Unlocked it. Opened the Notes app.

He typed:

“If you wanted to talk, you could’ve just—”

He stared at it.

Deleted it.

Typed again:

“You think I’m a mess, but at least I feel something.”

Deleted that, too.

The screen dimmed, then blacked out.

Naruto shoved the phone in his pocket and kept walking.

Evening. Hotel gym. White noise hums from the vents.

The gym was empty.

Sasuke preferred it that way.

He’d been there for over an hour now—long after Neji had checked in, long after the sun had dropped behind the buildings outside. The treadmill beeped under his feet, rhythm steady. A perfect line.

But he wasn’t focused.

His mind kept circling back to the café.

To the way Naruto’s lip curled when he was frustrated. The twitch in his jaw when he wanted to say more but didn’t. How close his fingers had been to touching Sasuke’s when he pushed the cup away.

Sasuke increased the speed. His breath sharpened.

“This is pointless,” he muttered, stopping suddenly.

The silence that followed was worse.

He grabbed a towel. Walked over to the bench. Sat. His hands, still wrapped in black tape, flexed absently.

Then—

He reached for his phone.

Typed: “Naruto Uzumaki Silverstone replay.”

He stared at the list of videos that came up. Scrolled past fan edits, media clips, a thumbnail of Naruto half-drenched in champagne with his suit halfway down.

He clicked one.

The screen lit up with the red-and-gold streak of Kurama-07 racing through Turn 12. Naruto’s voice crackled over the team radio—laughing, loud, alive.

Sasuke watched the whole thing. Didn’t blink.

When it ended, he played it again.

Chapter Text

The morning air buzzed with controlled chaos as the paddocks at Circuit de Monaco awoke. Teams bustled, engines hummed distant and steady, and the scent of fuel and fresh rain mixed in the air. Naruto stood with his team beneath a bright red canopy, his eyes sharp and restless.

Gaara leaned against a crate, arms crossed, his calm presence a stark contrast to the jittery energy that seemed to radiate off Kiba and Sai as they argued quietly about tire compounds. Kiba’s hands gestured wildly while Sai, ever meticulous, adjusted the specs on his tablet with clinical precision.

Naruto smiled briefly, watching them. "Messy, sure," he muttered, voice low, "but that chaos’s what keeps us unpredictable."

Gaara’s gaze flicked toward him, unreadable but steady. “Order has its own strength,” he said quietly, voice calm as the ocean beneath a storm.

Across the paddock, under the deep indigo banner of Uchiha Blackout Racing, Sasuke’s team moved like a precision machine. Neji’s gaze was sharp, almost piercing, as he scanned telemetry data on his screen. Shino stood silently nearby, a calm shadow, his insectoid shades reflecting the morning light. Shikamaru sat cross-legged on a crate, lazily smoking a cigarette, exhaling wisps of smoke as he monitored the team’s communication channels with practiced ease.

Sasuke emerged from the garage, his black suit impeccably fitted, expression unreadable as ever. His eyes swept the scene, locking briefly with Naruto’s across the pit lane—an unspoken challenge. Then, without a word, he turned back to his team.

The greenroom hummed with tension thick enough to cut through. Naruto stood with his arms folded, leaning casually against the wall, radiating a restless energy that made Gaara raise an eyebrow but say nothing. Kiba bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly itching to stir the pot, while Sai’s calm demeanor barely masked a twitch of interest.

Across the room, Sasuke’s team maintained their usual composed silence. Neji’s sharp eyes flicked between Sasuke and Naruto, noting every subtle shift. Shino’s insectoid lenses reflected the room’s light, unreadable but alert. Shikamaru, cigarette smoldering, exhaled slowly, already bored but keenly observant.

Sasuke stepped closer to Naruto, the space between them charged. His voice dropped low, the words coated in a venomous edge but carrying undeniable admiration.
“You race like you want to break everything. It’s reckless… but impressive.”

Naruto’s smirk deepened, eyes bright with defiance.
“Better to burn bright than fade cold.”

Kiba let out a low whistle, stepping forward with a grin.
“Yeah, Sasuke, you ever think maybe you’re too chill? Let loose a bit—maybe you’d actually have fun.”

Neji’s voice cut through cool and sharp.
“Fun doesn’t win races. Precision does. And if you’d pay attention, you’d know that.”

Sai, ever the mediator, raised a hand gently.
“Competition is about balance. Chaos and control. Both are necessary.”

Gaara stepped forward, his voice calm but firm.
“Naruto thrives in chaos, yes. But it’s a controlled chaos — not just wild fire.”

Shikamaru flicked ash from his cigarette, eyes narrowing.
“Both teams have their strengths. The real question is how long this rivalry can last before one breaks.”

Naruto glanced at Sasuke, voice low and teasing.
“Break who first, you think?”

Sasuke’s lips quirked in something close to a smirk.
“I’m not the one who’s reckless enough to break.”

The room fell into a brief silence as the undercurrent of their back-and-forth rippled through everyone present — tension, challenge, and an unspoken thread of something raw and unresolved.

Kiba punched his palm.
“Whatever happens, it’s gonna be one hell of a show.”

Gaara nodded once.
“And that’s all we need.”

                       ⇋ ❈ ⊱───────🏁  𝓟𝓲𝓽 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓹  ───────⊰ ❈ ⇌

The evening sun cast long shadows across the paddock as the teams gathered back at their tents, the earlier tensions still hanging in the air like an electric charge. Naruto’s group was sprawled across folding chairs and crates, the energy noisy and untamed. Gaara sat calmly, arms folded, observing as Kiba animatedly recounted the day’s events, his words peppered with laughter and wild gestures. Sai, meanwhile, meticulously organized data on a tablet, occasionally glancing up with a thoughtful frown.

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow’s practice? We stick to chaos or try some order?”

Gaara’s voice was steady, his eyes sharp beneath the fading light. “Controlled chaos. We use unpredictability to our advantage, but every move must have purpose.”

Kiba scoffed, smirking. “Sounds like you want to put a leash on us.”

Sai interjected smoothly, “Discipline doesn’t mean dullness. It’s about harnessing the chaos.”

Across the way, under the sleek shade of Uchiha Blackout Racing’s tent, Sasuke stood with Neji and Shino, their posture tight and focused. Shikamaru lounged nearby, exhaling a plume of smoke lazily as he glanced over telemetry readouts.

Neji’s voice was calm but insistent. “Tomorrow’s laps require precision. No unnecessary risks. Every corner, every brake, every acceleration must be calculated.”

Sasuke nodded, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I don’t intend to lose control. Control is power.”

Shino’s expression was unreadable, but the slight tilt of his head suggested agreement.

Shikamaru stretched his arms, looking between them. “Sounds exhausting, but effective. Just don’t burn out before the real race.”

Back with Naruto’s team, the banter grew louder, the camaraderie a stark contrast to the cold efficiency opposite them. Yet beneath it all, Naruto’s thoughts drifted back to Sasuke—the cold, unyielding rival whose presence seemed to both challenge and unsettle him.

As the teams packed up for the night, a faint breeze carried the distant hum of engines and the promise of the race ahead. The rivalry was far from over — if anything, it was just beginning.

The circuit had finally quieted, the usual chaos reduced to a low hum of distant engines cooling and mechanics packing away tools. Neon signs flickered, casting sharp pools of light across the damp asphalt. Naruto pulled his jacket tighter, stepping away from the noisy chatter of his team, craving space—if only to breathe.

Ahead, a lone figure leaned against the railing overlooking the pit lane. Black suit, precise stance, eyes narrowed but alert.

Sasuke.

Naruto’s jaw clenched involuntarily. He hated how much the sight unsettled him. He swallowed the urge to turn away and kept walking.

Sasuke’s gaze lifted slowly, cold and calculating, but something flickered beneath—curiosity? Challenge?

Naruto stopped a few feet away, voice rough, edged with bitterness.
“Enjoying the silence, or just waiting for me to make the first move?”

Sasuke’s smirk was faint, a razor-sharp curve.
“Why would I waste time chasing someone who’s always two steps behind?”

Naruto bristled, stepping closer, eyes flashing.
“Two steps behind? Maybe you’re the one scared of what happens if I catch up.”

A pause. The air thickened with tension so sharp it could cut glass.

Sasuke’s voice dropped, low and dangerous.
“Scared? I don’t do fear. I do control. And you? You burn too fast to last.”

Naruto’s laugh was bitter, but his eyes burned.
“Better to burn out than fade away unnoticed. At least I leave a mark.”

Their faces were inches apart now, breaths mingling in the cold night air.

Sasuke’s eyes pierced him, voice almost a whisper,
“Just don’t get yourself killed trying.”

Naruto’s reply was a smirk, edged with defiance,
“I’m already past that point.”

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them—rivalry, challenge, and something dangerously close to respect tangled up in every word.

Without another word, Sasuke turned sharply, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Naruto standing alone under the harsh glow of the floodlights—breath ragged, heart pounding.

The water hammered down with relentless force, hot and unforgiving, but it barely dulled the ache curling inside Sasuke’s chest. Steam curled thick and heavy, wrapping around his rigid frame, but inside, a storm raged fiercer than any tempest outside.

His eyes were closed, jaw clenched tight as if bracing against some invisible blow. Every droplet traced a path down his skin, but none could rinse away the swirl of thoughts — sharp, relentless, chaotic.

Naruto.

The name echoed again and again, like a pulse he couldn’t shut off.

Reckless. Wild. Impossible.

He hated it. Hated how it unsettled him. How it cracked the carefully built armor of control and precision he had spent years perfecting. Naruto was chaos made flesh — the unpredictable force that threatened to tear down everything Sasuke stood for.

But there was something else beneath that fury — something raw and burning.

Impressive.

The word was a whisper he’d never admit aloud.

Sasuke’s fingers clenched into fists under the spray, knuckles white with tension. The defiant spark in Naruto’s eyes, that reckless grin — it haunted him. It taunted him, daring him to lose control, to break the silence he had so carefully maintained.

Why does he get under my skin? The question burned deeper than any wound.

He remembered the greenroom, the way Naruto’s voice sliced through the tension, the challenge wrapped in every word. The cold fire in his gaze. The way he refused to look away.

I’m supposed to be the better driver, Sasuke thought bitterly. The one who never falters.

But what if the lines were blurring? What if the race was no longer about victory, but about something darker — obsession, need, a fight to hold onto control before it slipped away?

His breath hitched, and his eyes snapped open, glinting with a storm barely contained. The water ran red with the reflections of neon outside, but inside him, a colder fire burned — one that refused to be quenched.

He’s a wildfire.

And I’m not ready to let that burn out.

Chapter Text

The sound of the engine roared louder than the wind tearing across the track, but inside the cockpit, Naruto barely noticed. The G-forces pushed into his chest as he curved into the tight third corner of the Monaco street circuit, tires screaming, asphalt blurring past in shades of black and dusted silver. His mouth split into a grin behind the visor, sweat already trickling down his temple.

"Naruto—brake. Brake. Brake—now," Gaara’s voice came in smooth, almost bored through the comms.

"I'm good, I got it," Naruto said, even as he downshifted late, flinging the car into the curve with more faith than physics.

"You're cutting that turn too close!" Kiba shouted from the background, static fuzzing his yell. "You’re gonna snap the wing!"

"I said I got it," Naruto shot back, breathless with thrill, and then: “That corner’s mine now. You saw that, right?”

“I saw the trajectory of a funeral,” Sai deadpanned. “Adjusting GPS. Try not to hit a wall, please.”

Naruto laughed, wild and genuine, as he zipped past the marina. Fans screamed just on the other side of the barricades—orange flags blurring in his peripheral. He felt the rumble of power under his hands like a heartbeat, like it was alive.

Gaara’s voice cracked back in. “Next sector—focus. Don’t overdrive it.”

“Roger that, boss-man,” Naruto replied, drumming his fingers along the wheel during a brief straight. “But if you think I’m not gonna try and overtake that pompous jerk from Red Lotus, you clearly don’t have enough faith in me.”

"He's not your fight this race," Gaara said, voice clipped.

"Everyone's my fight."

“You sound like you want to crash.”

“Only if I look cool doing it.”

Kiba cackled somewhere behind the transmission. “That’s our idiot.”

But the static buzzed louder in Naruto’s ears than any of the laughter, louder than Sai’s sarcastic comments or even the wind peeling past. It was the space in between voices that got to him—those seconds of nothingness, the calm that made his thoughts sneak in. That made him wonder if he was listening, somewhere. If he watched this race. If he even cared.

Naruto pushed the thought away like he was flicking a switch and floored the accelerator into the next corner.

—

On another track—somewhere across the sea in Spa—it was raining.

Sasuke’s fingers tightened on the wheel, the wet track flashing silver under his low chassis. Rain scattered across the visor like static. The visibility was shit, but his concentration was razor-fine. It had to be.

Neji’s voice came through, sharp and clinical: “Car ahead is losing grip. Maintain distance. DRS disabled for now.”

“Copy,” Sasuke said, eyes flicking to the side mirror. His lips were set in a grim line, jaw locked. Water sluiced over the curve of his helmet. Every movement was deliberate. Every breath calculated. There was no chaos in him. Just cold, meticulous stillness wrapped in speed.

“Throttle at 78 percent,” Shikamaru murmured. “If you keep pushing like this, your tires won’t hold.”

“I don’t need them to hold for long,” Sasuke muttered.

“You planning to fly the rest of the lap?” Shino asked, voice dry and dispassionate.

Sasuke ignored the sarcasm. His mind was elsewhere, somewhere between the sheen of the track and the sound of his own breath. He leaned into the curve, smooth as a whisper, engine humming with quiet violence.

“He’s still slower,” he said under his breath, almost to himself.

There was a pause on the line. Then Neji responded, flatly: “…You’re not racing him today.”

Sasuke didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. The silence was louder than any radio chatter. He shifted gears with precise pressure, rain carving rivers across the slick glass of his world.

But his mind was still back there. Still not racing him.

His grip tightened.

Tch.

Fucking idiot.

By the time both races wrapped, the internet had already eaten itself alive.

Clips were flying—sliced, edited, filtered, looped. The dual-screen TikToks were the first wave: Naruto screaming “I got it, I got it! ” over onboard footage of him narrowly missing a guardrail, next to a muted Sasuke slicing through the rain like a scalpel, mouth set in stone. Then came the comparisons.

“this is the loudest silence i’ve ever heard—#thenoisebetweenus”

Side-by-sides of their driving styles—Naruto’s near reckless flourishes, Sasuke’s machine-like precision—stacked with audio overlays. Someone set Naruto’s chaotic comms to bubblegum pop. Someone else took Sasuke’s deadly stillness and laid it under a classical piano piece. The results felt... religious.

A fan account dropped a thread titled:
“Proof Sasuke is Always Watching Naruto (And Vice Versa)”
It reached 90k reposts in six hours.

Someone dug up an old clip of Naruto’s very first pro race, where Sasuke had stood just behind the Red Lotus pit wall. He wasn’t on camera long—just a quick frame, his gaze pinned across the paddock—but that didn’t stop people from slowing it to 0.25x speed, circling his eyes in red, and adding captions like:

“this is not the look of a man who doesn’t care.”

Then came the audio leaks.

The full team radios, stitched together by someone who clearly had no respect for copyright or confidentiality, dropped like a bomb across F1 Twitter.

On one side: Naruto’s comms—messy, loving, relentless.
Kiba laughing. Sai deadpanning. Gaara snapping. Naruto yelling, " Watch me! " over static and wind.

On the other:
Sasuke.
Silence.
Occasional, low responses. Clinical directives. A long pause before:

“He’s still slower.”

And then the response that launched a thousand fics:

“…You’re not racing him today.”

That clip hit every edit like wildfire.

Someone clipped it with the timestamped leaderboard and overlaid a soft ballad. Someone else used a piano cover of "My Tears Ricochet." Hashtag #TheNoiseBetweenUs started trending within minutes, a phrase lifted directly from a fan-captioned screenshot of their audio contrast.

“they’re not even in the same country and still racing each other. insane.”
— @toebiterx

Fan cams weren’t far behind.

A shaky phone video from the Monaco paddock showed Naruto pacing behind his garage, towel around his shoulders, face still flushed from the race. The LED leaderboard flickered above them in the distance. Sasuke’s name blinked into the top five— U. UCHIHA, P4 —and Naruto stopped. Just for a second. Looked up.

He didn’t smile.
Didn’t flinch.
But he stared.

The fan zoomed in.
The tweet read:

“okay but why’d he stop walking when his name came up 🥀💔 #TheNoiseBetweenUs”

Naruto hadn’t posted anything all day. His last story was a blurry pit selfie captioned “still breathing somehow 😅.” But even that was getting reposted, dissected. A comment with 4k likes read:

“still breathing = unlike sasuke who’s been holding his breath since 2018.”

Sasuke, predictably, had posted nothing.

His last social media update was a black square with no caption.

Naturally, that too became fan content.

                                ⇋ ❈ ⊱───────🏁  𝓟𝓲𝓽 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓹  ───────⊰ ❈ ⇌

The hotel room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that felt designed to taunt him.

He had drawn the curtains shut hours ago, but the city light still leaked through in strips, pooling dimly on the carpet. The air conditioning clicked on and off with dull, mechanical regularity. There was a bottle of untouched water on the nightstand. His phone buzzed once—something from Shikamaru. Sasuke ignored it.

He wasn’t tired. Or maybe he was, just not in a way that sleep could fix.

The glow of his laptop screen cast a cold light across his face, warping his sharp features into something hollow. His jaw was tense. His shoulders rigid. The room might as well have been underwater, soundless and slow, except for the clipped replay of a race he'd watched too many times already.

Naruto. Last season. A rainy track in Monaco.

Sasuke hit the spacebar. The video froze mid-frame—Naruto’s car rounding a tight chicane, water spiraling from the tires in chaotic arcs. He looked out of control. He always did. But he wasn’t. That was the maddening part.

He rewound it by fifteen seconds.

The screen flickered, then played again: Naruto cutting the inside corner too tightly, hydroplaning just briefly—long enough for the entire world to think he’d lose it—but then catching the grip with some kind of supernatural luck. Or muscle memory. Or pure, idiotic nerve.

The radio clip came next. Tinny, crackling over the engine roar.

"I got it, I got it—"

"You’re going to crash—"

"I said I got it!"

A beat of silence.

Then: laughter. His own. Loud and wild, like he was flying. Like it didn’t matter what came next.

Sasuke leaned back in the desk chair, exhaling through his nose. His expression didn’t change, but something in his chest did—tightened, twisted, sank.

He clicked replay again.

That same corner. That same laugh. That same reckless, radiant moment where Naruto should’ve lost everything—but didn’t. Like the world bent just slightly to let him pass through.

"Idiot," Sasuke muttered under his breath, as if that word could make any of it make sense.

He didn’t remember watching this race live. But he had. He knew he had. He remembered sitting in the paddock lounge, half-focused, half-bored, drinking bitter black coffee while waiting for his own qualifying run. He hadn’t known Naruto then—not really. Had barely registered his name as anything more than background noise in the season’s rankings.

But that race had stuck. That corner. That laugh.

That feeling. Of someone who didn’t know how to lose.

Sasuke clicked the video off, but the silence that followed was worse. He opened the next file without thinking. Another clip. Another race. Another stupid grin through the radio feed. Another miracle turn pulled from the jaws of disaster.

He was cataloguing him. Mapping him. Like if he watched enough footage, he could solve Naruto. Pin him down. Dissect whatever impossible thing lived under his skin and made him glow like that in the middle of a storm.

It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t numbers. It wasn’t even raw skill.

It was… something else. Something infuriatingly human.

Sasuke closed the laptop at last, the click of the hinge too loud in the quiet room.

The rain was starting outside—just a whisper against the windows. It matched the race replay too well.

He stood up, rubbing a hand over his face, as if that could wipe the images away. But they stuck. That soaked helmet. That wild grin. That crackling laughter over the static of his team’s panic.

He should sleep. He should stop. He should focus on the next track, the next data set, the next qualifying run.

But instead, Sasuke found himself walking to the minibar, grabbing a bottle of water he wouldn’t finish, and sitting down again—fingers hovering over the keyboard like they knew what to do without him.

He didn’t press play this time.

He just stared at the thumbnail.

Naruto, mid-turn. Eyes hidden behind his visor. Rain everywhere. Blur of movement, caught in one perfect frame.

"I’m not racing him," Sasuke said aloud.

But the lie sounded pathetic, even to himself.

The building was quiet now, empty except for the faint hum of cooling fans and distant footsteps in the hallway. Naruto stood alone by the glass wall overlooking the darkened pit lanes. The stillness was different from the roar of the track — almost too quiet.

His mind drifted back to the last race, the heat of the sun, the weight of the steering wheel in his hands. He pictured Sasuke’s figure—calm, precise, unreadable—on the opposite side of the grid. The way their cars had sliced through the asphalt like fire and ice.

He imagined the throttle under his foot responding to every subtle shift in weight, the sharpness of every turn. And then he imagined Sasuke’s car beside him, inching closer on a tight corner, every movement calculated, cold and perfect.

Would he be faster? Would Sasuke push harder? Would that silent intensity crush him, or spark something fiercer inside?

Naruto grinned, almost against himself. Racing Sasuke wasn’t just a competition — it was a conversation without words. A test not just of speed but of will.

He could still hear Gaara’s calm voice in his ear during the last race — “Focus.” But when Sasuke was there, focus wasn’t enough. It was instinct. It was feeling the track and your opponent with every fiber.

He wondered if Sasuke even felt it that way.

Naruto shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. Soon, he thought. Soon, we’ll find out again.

The silence stretched around him. For a moment, Naruto let himself hope the next race would come faster than he thought.

The city lights outside Naruto’s window flickered softly against the dark glass as he lay back on the hotel bed, phone in hand. His thumb lazily scrolled through the endless flood of fan hashtags and race recaps, the bright screen a sharp contrast to the quiet room. The noise of the world felt distant here—less like a roar and more like a steady hum beneath his skin.

His eyes caught on a particular image, an edit that had surfaced hours ago. Two racing silhouettes—one red and gold, the other black and silver—caught mid-turn, leaning into the curve with perfect precision and fierce intensity. Their shapes spoke of competition and something unspoken, a tension thick enough to fill the space between them.

Naruto’s breath hitched slightly, fingers tightening around the phone. He didn’t comment or share. He just stared, the glow reflecting faintly in his dark eyes.

Far away, in another city cloaked in shadows, Sasuke lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. The room was silent except for the distant city sounds filtering through the window. His mind was restless, chasing the echo of the day’s races, chasing something deeper.

He whispered softly, the word barely audible, carried on a breath that seemed more like a release than a sound: “Idiot.”

At the exact moment, Naruto muttered under his breath, a rough edge of familiarity cutting through the quiet: “Tch. Bastard.”

Neither saw the other. Neither heard the other.

Yet in that simultaneous utterance, across the miles and the walls and the miles of silence, a bridge was built. A fragile connection made from rivalry, respect, and the strange pull of something neither was ready to name.

They were still distant, still worlds apart.

But not really.

Chapter Text

The garage smelled like warm oil and metal, sharp enough to cut through the early morning haze in his head. He hadn’t bothered with breakfast—didn’t even remember if he’d slept last night—and his hands were already deep in the guts of the car, knuckles brushing against warm steel. The track outside was silent, but in here the faint creak of tools and the low thrum of an idling engine made their own kind of company.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. The shirt he’d thrown on was already streaked with grease, and his reflection in the polished edge of the fender looked like someone who’d been living under fluorescent lights for a week. Maybe he had. He’d stopped keeping track.

No team chatter today. No Gaara leaning over his shoulder telling him to tighten this or check that. He’d waved everyone off the second he walked in. If he worked alone, no one would notice the way his thoughts kept drifting where they shouldn’t—toward the other end of the complex, toward a different name entirely.

He twisted a bolt until it bit into place, the tension humming up his forearm. Every movement was deliberate. Tuning a car was easy. It stayed still, didn’t talk back, didn’t have that look in its eyes that could get under your skin. But even bent over the hood, he could feel it again—that quiet pull, like the air in the garage wasn’t just his.

He shook it off, hard, and reached for another wrench. There was no reason to think about him. Not when he was probably somewhere out there, pushing laps just to prove he could.

Naruto leaned further into the hood, letting the scent of burnt rubber and machine oil fill his lungs until it drowned out the thought.

The sky was a dull, heavy gray over the circuit. Perfect. It made the painted lines look sharper, the asphalt darker. Sasuke gripped the wheel and let the car roll out of pit lane, the engine’s low growl filling the hollow air.

No engineers in his ear. No split times. Just him and the track.

The first lap was slow, almost methodical, his eyes scanning every curb, every surface imperfection. By the second, his body settled into the seat like it belonged there, every muscle ready to react without thought. The third lap was faster. The tires began to sing, the suspension shifting beneath him with every turn-in and acceleration.

It wasn’t just about speed. It never was. It was about the line—finding it, holding it, bending it until it worked for him. But there were moments, brief and sharp, where he’d break that discipline. Take a corner harder than he should. Brake half a second later. Let the rear slide just far enough to make his pulse spike before catching it clean.

And every time, it came back to that same shadow in the periphery. Not a rival in his mirrors, not even a real memory—just the echo of someone keeping pace. The shape of an engine sound that wasn’t his. The ghost of a presence that pulled something sharper out of him.

He told himself it was just his nature, that he’d drive like this against anyone. But that wasn’t true. He’d spent years racing people who never left an impression. And yet, here he was, alone on an empty track, picturing the exact angle that shadow might take through the chicane.

Sasuke exited the last corner of the lap flat-out, the car roaring down the straight. The speed pressed him into the seat, the world narrowing to a strip of gray ahead. He didn’t lift. Not even when he knew he should.

By the time he braked, the tires bit so hard it rattled his teeth. The wheel stayed steady in his hands, but his chest felt tight.

Naruto.

The hotel room was dark, silent enough that the hum of the laptop felt loud. He had long since abandoned any attempt at sleeping. Outside, the city breathed in a restless rhythm—sirens faint, cars on distant streets, lights flickering—but inside, it was all screen light and focus.

Sasuke leaned back in the chair, legs stretched out beneath the desk, and let his eyes drink in the image of Naruto Uzumaki on a slick, rain-soaked track. The clip was from months ago, one of Naruto’s more chaotic races, where water pooled in corners and control seemed like an illusion. Naruto had been furious, teeth gritted, vision sharp even through the spray. Yet somehow, there was a grin, a stubborn surge of exhilaration, every motion wild but precise in its unpredictability.

Sasuke had seen this race live once, though he hadn’t known Naruto then. He remembered the way Naruto’s car seemed to breathe with its driver, the way each oversteer or near-spin hung in the air like a challenge to gravity itself. He remembered not being able to look away, even when he told himself it wasn’t important. Watching it again now, in the quiet of his hotel room, felt different. It was as if the memory had sharpened into something more tangible, more pressing.

He rewound the clip for the third time, pausing on the moment Naruto clipped a corner too fast, nearly sliding out, only to recover with that grin. The world had called it reckless. Sasuke didn’t. He muttered, “Idiot,” low and dry, the sound swallowed by the laptop’s fan.

He played it again.

He watched the water spray, the tires screaming against the asphalt, Naruto’s hands gripping the wheel like they were extensions of his own. There was something about it that made Sasuke’s chest tighten, a curious and unfamiliar pull that had nothing to do with competition. Nothing to do with admiration, exactly. Not envy, not irritation. Something heavier, denser, like the space between notes in a song he could feel but not name.

Sasuke’s fingers twitched against the trackpad, restless even as his body stayed rigid. He sipped from a glass of water he hadn’t even needed to reach for. The faint taste was irrelevant. His attention was wholly on Naruto—the way he moved, the way he risked and recovered, the raw chaos of someone unbroken by rules.

Minutes stretched into hours. He queued the next race clip. Watched. Paused. Rewound. Watched again. He could almost hear the sound of the tires, the hiss of rain under rubber, the engine’s growl reverberating in the room as if the sound had followed him here.

He didn’t call it obsession. Not yet. He told himself it was study, strategy, preparation. But even as he replayed the lines of the track, the curves, the way Naruto leaned into every turn like he could wrestle the world itself, Sasuke felt the itch of wanting more. More insight. More understanding. More… presence.

He shut the clip finally, but his eyes remained fixed on the dark screen. The room felt colder now, or maybe it was the absence of the engine’s roar. He leaned back, breathing shallow, thinking about the next time he might see that speed live. The next time he might measure himself not just against a time or a track, but against the living, unpredictable fire that was Naruto Uzumaki.

And somehow, quietly, beneath the calm and calculation, he realized he would.

The hotel kitchenette smelled faintly of reheated noodles and burnt toast. Naruto slouched at the counter, chopsticks in hand, half-listening to the hum of the fridge. The fluorescent light above flickered faintly, highlighting the damp streaks of sweat still clinging to his skin from earlier practice laps. His hair was messy, his racing suit hung over the chair like it had been abandoned, and the city outside pressed against the windows with its low, unending glow.

He stirred the noodles absentmindedly, chewing slowly, not because he was hungry, but because the act grounded him. The rhythm of swallowing, the heat of the food, reminded him that he existed in a space outside the track, outside adrenaline, outside everyone else’s expectations.

The phone buzzed, sliding across the counter like it had its own weight. Naruto wiped his hands on a towel, picking it up to see the caller ID. Amaya.

He exhaled, a small, crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he said softly, still chewing.

“Hey,” her voice chimed warmly, almost like the sun sneaking through a gap in the clouds. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve been quiet since the practice. Are you okay?”

Naruto slumped a little further into the chair, eyes on the noodles. “I’m fine,” he said, though the word felt hollow, too small for the tangle of thoughts under his skin. He picked at the food, spinning it around with his chopsticks.

“You sound tired,” Amaya pressed gently. “Did you eat yet?”

“I’m eating,” he said, shrugging, though she couldn’t see it. “Just… late night snack.”

There was a pause on the line. He could hear her inhale, then sigh softly. “You’re not ignoring me, are you?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly. “Just… thinking.”

“Thinking about the track again?” Her voice was teasing but patient. “Or something else?”

Naruto leaned back, resting his elbows on the counter, eyes tracing the faint outline of the cityscape beyond the window. “The track,” he admitted finally. “But… also the other guy.” He said it softly, almost to himself, watching the light dance on the polished tiles. “The one everyone’s been talking about.”

There was a silence on the line, gentle but not intrusive. He could almost hear her processing, imagining the scene—Naruto, alone, late at night, half-eaten noodles on the counter, heart still racing from the drive.

“You’re thinking too much,” Amaya said lightly. “Go to bed, idiot.”

Naruto chuckled, a short, breathy sound. “Yeah… maybe.” He poked at the noodles again, then stopped, letting the chopsticks hover mid-air. For a moment, the kitchen felt suspended, time stretching, empty but alive.

“Call me tomorrow,” she said finally. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t… spiraling.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper. “Thanks, Amaya.”

“Goodnight, Naruto.”

He hung up, the phone sliding back across the counter. Silence returned, heavier now, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the fridge. He ate the rest of the noodles slowly, letting the heat settle in his stomach, letting the act of consuming ground him to the moment.

And then, almost automatically, his thoughts drifted back to the track. To curves, to tire friction, to the ghost of someone else he couldn’t stop thinking about.

He finished eating, put the chopsticks down, and stared out the window at the city lights, letting the quiet settle around him. Tonight, there was no team chatter, no cameras, no fans. Just him, the hum of the city, and the memory of adrenaline that still tasted sweet on his tongue.

Chapter Text

The rain hadn’t let up all morning heavy enough to drown the track in gray, light enough to feel personal, like it had followed him here just to test his nerve. Pit lane gleamed slick and black under floodlights, puddles catching every color: colorful pit boards, safety vests, the red blur of brake lights. Fans pressed up against barriers, screaming under umbrellas, their voices muffled by the hiss of rain on asphalt and the hollow roar of engines warming up.

Naruto zipped his suit to the neck, grinning too wide, laughing at nothing. The grin kept his hands from shaking. If anyone asked, he’d say it was excitement, because who’d believe that after all these years, nerves could still sneak in? The rain smelled sharp, metallic, almost oily, and the air around the garages vibrated with heat and exhaust.

Gaara’s voice came through his earpiece, calm but edged. “Track temp’s dropping. Grip will be worse than practice.”

“Good,” Naruto said, running a hand through his wet hair. “Let everyone else tiptoe. I’ll dance.”

Kiba barked a laugh from somewhere behind the wall of ponchos and umbrellas. “Dance yourself right into a wall, dumbass.”

Sai’s voice cut in, flat as ever. “Telemetry says you’re overdriving sector two. You keep that up in these conditions and you’ll hydroplane before you even notice.”

Naruto smirked, throwing a look over his shoulder at the pit crew rolling out his tires. “That’s why I’m taking full wets. Inters won’t hold if this keeps up.”

There was a beat of silence on the comm—just rain, hitting hard enough on the awning to make the pit lane sound like static.

Gaara again, slower this time. “Everyone else is on inters. If the rain eases, you’ll get eaten alive.”

“Then I’ll just make sure it doesn’t ease,” Naruto shot back. He clapped one of the mechanics on the shoulder, water splashing off his gloves. “C’mon, don’t look so grim. This is my weather.”

Engines roared down pit lane, wipers flicking quick arcs across windshields. Rain changed the sound of everything—dulled some notes, sharpened others, made the world feel closer. The cars didn’t purr in the wet; they howled. Naruto tilted his face up toward the clouds, still smiling, heart beating too fast.

He could already feel it—that high-strung thread in his chest pulling tight. Not fear, not exactly. Just anticipation with teeth.

The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was relentless. Fine needles falling straight through the pit-lane lights, mist curling off the asphalt in thin layers. It slicked every painted line into a hazard, turned curbs into knives. Where the heat from engines met the cold of the evening air, steam rose in pale ribbons and hung there a reminder of just how close everything ran to the edge.

Sasuke stood by the car with his gloves half-pulled on, watching droplets collect on the halo. They beaded, clung for a second, then slipped down in quick silver streaks. He catalogued the movement almost unconsciously, the way he did with everything. Not because he cared about the rain itself, but because every detail meant something if you bothered to look, grip, visibility, the way spray would fan out behind the tires. It wasn’t superstition. It was control.

Neji was at his shoulder, reading data off the tablet in his usual clipped tone.
“Sector one’s consistent. No drop-off yet, but you’ll lose surface temp if you hold back too much.”
Sasuke gave a short nod. “Copy.”

No extra questions. No wasted words. That was why he tolerated Neji.

A little farther back, Shikamaru leaned against the wall with his arms folded, scanning the track like he could predict every lap from the pattern of raindrops. He barely glanced at Sasuke as he spoke, voice calm to the point of lazy.
“If the rain stays steady, half the grid’ll gamble on inters after two laps. Don’t bite. Hold the dry line, save the rubber.”
“Understood.”
“You’re overthinking turn seven again,” Shikamaru added, almost like it was an afterthought.
Sasuke tightened his jaw but didn’t answer. It wasn’t untrue.

The visor went down in one motion, snapping his world into darkness edged by reflected light. The sound of the crowd dimmed into a low hum. All that mattered was the car, the track, the rhythm he’d force onto both until they bent to his will.

But even in this quiet, something pressed in at the edges.

He didn’t need to look across the lane to know Naruto was there. Loud voice over the radio, helmet tilted like he was talking to the entire grid instead of his engineer. Always moving, even when standing still as if the world might forget him if he didn’t make enough noise. Sasuke could almost hear it now, bleeding faintly through the static between channels.

Annoying. Predictable. And still impossible to ignore.

The thing about rain was that it made everything clean. No margin for error, no excuses when you got it wrong. You either held the car steady, or it betrayed you. That was why Sasuke liked it. Out here, heart didn’t matter. Sentiment didn’t matter. You couldn’t throw a car into a wet corner and will it to stick, you had to earn it. Every lap, every input, perfect.

The marshals waved cars to the grid. The engines fired, each note distinct but blurred under the weather. Sasuke slid into the cockpit, the harness biting in tight across his shoulders. The world narrowed further: dash lights, rev counter, the feel of the wheel through his gloves. The sound of his own breath against the helmet’s padding.

“Keep it steady on the out-lap,” Neji’s voice said in his ear. Calm. Professional.
“Grip’s dropping past turn four,” Shikamaru added. “Eyes forward. Don’t get sucked into anyone’s wake.”

As if he needed the warning.

The car rolled forward, slow at first, the tires sending up thin curtains of spray. His vision tunneled. The rain hit the visor like static, small bursts of white in the floodlights. He could smell the damp even through the helmet filter, metallic, sharp, cutting through the faint stench of fuel.

Somewhere up ahead, Naruto’s car zigzagged on the formation lap, heating the tires too aggressively. Typical. Always pushing. Always chasing something invisible, like he could burn the whole track down just to prove he was alive. Sasuke’s grip tightened on the wheel.

Let him push. Let him overdrive, wear out the rubber by lap three. Rain didn’t care how much heart you drove with. It punished mistakes without mercy.

The red lights began to stack one by one. Sasuke’s pulse stayed flat, steady as the rain. For a breath, the world held perfectly still—no crowd, no teammates, no Naruto, just the car and the track and his own focus, cold as a blade.

When the lights cut out, there would be no thinking. Only movement. Only precision.

The lights above the grid bled red through the downpour—five bold suns suspended in a storm. The rain wasn't falling anymore. It was crashing, slamming down in sheets thick enough to swallow headlights and drown out engines. Everything was washed in static, nerves on edge, the entire world narrowing to the view through a soaked visor and the roar building in his chest.

Red. Red. Red.
Out.

The car launched.

Not smoothly. Not cleanly. It bucked like a wild thing startled out of sleep, rear tires spinning furiously, spitting up arcs of water like twin serpents ready to strike. The wheel jolted in his hands, muscles locking as he fought to tame it. It was chaos, beautiful and brutal.
Perfect.
Exactly how he liked it.

A surge of adrenaline slammed through him as they barreled into Turn 1, the grip nonexistent, the rear dancing loose—a heartbeat away from spinning out. But Naruto didn’t lift. He wrestled the beast with white-knuckled fists, grin spreading unseen beneath the helmet.

“Easy, Naruto.”
Gaara’s voice bled through the comms, crisp despite the crackle of interference. Steady. Cool. Typical. “Track temp’s dropping. You’ll cook the wets if you push too early.”

Naruto’s laugh was half-snarl, half-exhilarated bark. “Shut up, Gaara,” he shot back, adrenaline spiking. “I’m not here to babysit tires.”

Static popped, followed by Kiba’s familiar cackle. “Don’t die, man. The pit crew’s placing bets on you. Spoiler alert  I got you crashing by Lap 6.”

Then Sai, as dry and deadpan as ever: “Telemetry shows you’re already overdriving. Again.”

“Telemetry can kiss my—” Naruto snapped a gear, rear twitching violently as he flung the car into Turn 2 without mercy, “—I’m not losing to that scumbag today.”

The rain came harder, if that was even possible. It hammered the carbon shell around him, drummed against the helmet like war drums. Spray off the car ahead hit him like a flash flood–his world becoming a shifting wall of white mist and taillight ghosts. Each corner now was a leap of faith, a test of reflexes and nerves.

But Naruto lived for this.
The edge.
The roar.
The chaos.

He wasn’t trying to survive the storm. He was the storm.

The car twitched under him again through Turn 4, hydroplaning for half a heartbeat and he didn’t lift. He dug in. A twitch of the throttle. A flick of the wrist. Trusting in muscle memory and madness to carry him through.

He had to.
Because even though he couldn’t see him, even when the spray turned everything to fog Sasuke was there.

Always. Somewhere. A shadow in the mirrors. A ghost in the rain.

The bastard haunted the track like a curse, cold and fast and terrifyingly precise. Sasuke didn’t just drive in the wet he thrived in it. Like the rain answered only to him. Like it parted for him.

But Naruto wasn’t going to let it happen again.
Not this time. Not again.

He’d sworn after the last race, after seeing that smug look across the podium  he’d never let Sasuke tie with him again. Not by milliseconds. Not by miles.

“Box in three, Naruto,” Sai said, voice flat as a scalpel. “Track’s drying in Sector 2. Everyone’s switching to inters.”

“Stay out,” Naruto snapped, eyes locked ahead, foot refusing to lift. “Track’s drowning—wets are still gold.”

“Gold now,” Sai replied, the faintest hint of challenge in his tone, “but not in five laps. You’ll fall behind.”

“Good,” Naruto growled. “Let ‘em get ahead. I’ll take it back. On track. Not in the pits.”

Gaara sighed  not in exasperation, but in resignation. That hiss of static was the sound of someone who knew better than to argue. When Naruto was like this, raw, reckless, riding the edge like he wanted to crash into the sky and punch God there was no stopping him.

And they’d all seen it before.

Down the main straight, the world turned to hell.
Spray as thick as fog.
The track vanishing into a tunnel of water and noise.
His wipers were useless  just smearing the chaos and still he kept his foot in it. Blind, deaf, and grinning like a lunatic.

He missed the braking boards—barely caught them as they screamed past the edge of his vision. Braked late. Turned in late. And still, the car responded. Angry. Alive.

His pulse was a thunderclap, fists locked on the wheel like he could strangle victory out of it.

I’m not losing to you, Sasuke.
Not here. Not in the wet.
Not ever again.

Let the rain fall. Let the tires scream. Let the telemetry scream back.
He was Naruto freaking Uzumaki and this was his storm to own.

Somewhere up ahead, Naruto’s car zigzagged wildly down the formation lap, rear end twitching with every aggressive flick of the wheel. Heating the tires like he was trying to set the track on fire. Typical. Always pushing. Always chasing something he couldn’t name. As if speed alone could drown out whatever ghosts followed him into the cockpit.

Sasuke’s grip tightened on the wheel, jaw set beneath the helmet.

“Gap to P1, four seconds,” came Neji’s voice, clear and clinical in his ear. “Telemetry says he’s overdriving already.”

Shikamaru followed, cool and to the point. “Weather’s not clearing. Stick to the strategy. No heroics.”

Good. Sasuke didn’t need heroics.
He needed precision.
He needed patience.

Inside the car, there was no chaos just the hum of the engine beneath him, the rhythmic hiss of rain slicing across carbon fiber, the delicate vibration of grip ebbing and flowing beneath his fingertips. In the wet, everything was stripped bare. No gimmicks. No shortcuts. Just execution.

Control or chaos.

And Naruto was always chaos.

Up ahead, even through the fog of spray, he could see the telltale flash of red  lurching from apex to apex with that same relentless hunger. Braking late. Fighting the car. Wrestling it like it had insulted his mother. Brilliant, reckless idiot.

He’ll burn the tires. He always does.

Naruto never paced himself. He didn't play the long game. He forced the track to bend to his will  until it broke, or he did.

Sasuke didn’t race like that.
He didn’t need to.

His hands moved with surgical precision, every input measured. Minimal corrections. Subtle throttle modulation. He didn’t chase grip; he summoned it. The car was an extension of his nerves, and in the rain, that mattered more than raw speed.

He let Naruto set the pace. Let him carve trenches into the waterlogged circuit. And waited.

Lap after lap, the gap ticked down.

Four seconds.
Three.
Two-point-one.

“DRS range,” Neji said calmly. “Straight-line speed differential confirmed.”

Sasuke didn’t reply. Just narrowed his eyes through the sheets of rain hammering the visor.

Patience.

There it was..Turn 9.

A corner barely wide enough for one car in the dry, and here they were, side by side, inches apart in monsoon conditions. Water exploded around them, a blinding wall of spray. For a split second, the entire world shrank to that single turn—two cars on a collision course with fate.

Naruto didn’t lift. Of course he didn’t.

Sasuke didn’t either.

They went through like blades crossing mid-swing, cars twitching on the edge of grip. One misstep and they’d both be in the barriers. And still  neither gave in. That was the difference. That had always been the difference.

Naruto fought the storm.

Sasuke became it.

He waited. Held back just long enough to let Naruto lunge first late braking into the hairpin, car locking up, the rear stepping wide. All fire and fury, desperate to make it stick. But Sasuke was already diving beneath him, sliding to the drier inside line like it had been waiting there for him all race.

Throttle perfect.
Line flawless.
Exit speed godlike.

He was past before Naruto could correct the slide. Gone.

The final straight opened up, black tarmac, silver rain, the checkered flag just ahead. The world roared past in a blur of speed and spray.

Checkered flag.
P1.

“Nice work,” Shikamaru said over the radio, voice flat, barely impressed.

Sasuke didn’t respond. He didn’t need praise. Didn’t need fanfare. He just stared forward, breathing slow, the thrum of the engine dying in his bones.

In the mirrors, he caught the flash of orange again. Naruto’s car swerving violently across the line behind him. Even through the wall of rain, even through the helmet, Sasuke could feel it—that heat. That rage. The way Naruto’s fury burned through the mist like wildfire. He could picture him in the cockpit, cursing, slamming the wheel, screaming his name.

Good.
Let him hate this.
Let him hate him .

Naruto always got faster when he was angry. Always came back harder.

And Sasuke wasn’t done with him yet.
Not by a long shot.

⊱───────🏁  𝓟𝓲𝓽 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓹  ───────⊰ ❈ 

The rain hadn’t let up. It chased him off the track, followed him through the paddock, soaked into the seams of his suit like it was trying to drown him from the outside in.

By the time he stumbled into the locker room, everything felt too tight—his helmet choking, gloves sticky, boots squelching with each step. He didn’t walk so much as storm , fists clenched, jaw locked.

He didn’t bother with the visor latch. Just grabbed the helmet and yanked , knuckles white, breath ragged. The carbon shell came off with a grunt and a jolt, and he slammed it down hard against the bench. It bounced once, then cracked loudly against the floor, making some poor junior mechanic two rows down flinch.

Good. Let them flinch.
Let them stare.
Let them see .

See the fury bleeding through every inch of him. See how much he hated this. Hated losing .

The gloves came next, peeled away with rough, angry tugs. They stuck to his fingers like they didn’t want to let go—soaked through with rain, sweat, and failure. He flung them to the ground like they’d betrayed him. Boots next. Suit halfway down to the waist. He wanted it all off . Like he could strip the race from his skin, leave the loss behind with the fabric and the mud.

"Piece of shit," he muttered.

He didn’t even know what he meant.
The car?
The weather?
Himself?

Probably Sasuke.
Always Sasuke.

The race looped in his mind like punishment. Over and over. The launch. The spray. The roar of the engines in the mist. He saw it–that flicker of black and blue in his mirrors, gaining. Gaining. Even when Naruto took risks, even when he threw the car into corners like he was betting his life on it. Sasuke was there.

Unbothered. Unflinching.

And then that corner .
The hairpin.
The one place Naruto thought he had it. The one second where he was ahead.

He could still feel the tires locking, still feel the back end slide, the brief drift across the waterlogged line. And then Sasuke low and surgical  slicing underneath like the track had parted for him. Like it had been waiting for him.

Naruto’s jaw clenched until it hurt. His hands curled into fists, trembling.

Why can’t I—

He bit the words off like they tasted wrong.

Why can’t I beat him?

He’d done it before. He knew he had. In the dry. In the chaos. In the clutch. He'd beaten him when it counted hadn’t he?

But now it felt distant. Like a dream he barely remembered. And today, all he had was the taste of rain and the sound of Sasuke’s engine pulling away.

“He’s not invincible,” Naruto muttered under his breath, trying to spit the lie out like venom. “He’s not a god. Just a guy. Just a smug, cold bastard in a good car.”

But the words didn’t help.

They were hollow .
Thin armor against the truth pressing in around him like the weight of the water still dripping off his shoulders.

He sat down hard on the bench, elbows on knees, head bowed. Rainwater pooled at his feet, his soaked suit leaving dark patches across the tile. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing hard from the race anymore, or from the way his chest hurt .

Across the locker room, Gaara passed without a word. Just a glance.

That was worse than anything he could’ve said.

Pity. It looked like pity.

Naruto didn’t want pity. He wanted to smash something. Wanted to punch a wall, flip a table, feel something other than this gnawing rot in his gut. But most of all — more than the anger, more than the shame  he wanted Sasuke’s face. Not on the podium. Not in the mirrors. Right here. Right now.

So he could wipe the smug off with his fist.

Except Sasuke never even smiled when he won.
That was the worst part.

No gloating. No cocky victory laps. Just silence. Cold. Mechanical.
Like winning was just… expected.

Naruto slammed his fist against the locker.
Clang.
The metal door rattled on its hinges.

“Next race,” he growled, breath catching in his throat. “Next race, I’m gonna bury him. I swear to god—”

But the last word cracked.

Just slightly. Just enough.

And that made everything worse. Because it meant the doubt was in there. Deep, buried under the bluster and rage.

He grit his teeth until his jaw ached, eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to blink.

He wasn’t done.

Sasuke hadn’t broken him. Not yet.
But he’d bruised something. Something important.

Next race.
He’d make it right.
Even if it killed him.

The shower tiles were fogged to a blur, steam curling in every corner like smoke after a fire. The water ran cold now, but Sasuke let it trail down his back anyway—head bowed, eyes closed, letting the silence sink into his skin.

No crowd. No podium noise. Just water and breath.

He didn’t look at anyone when he stepped out, didn’t meet the gazes that lingered. The towel went over his head in one motion, quick and mechanical. His steps were soundless on the wet floor, his face unreadable as he moved past the chaos.

Someone was shouting across the room—Kiba, probably, still loud even after losing. Others laughed, cursed, stripped off suits with wild post-race adrenaline. The locker room buzzed with motion, but Sasuke barely registered it. It all felt distant.
Muted.
Like the race had taken everything from him, and there was nothing left to bring back in.

He sat on the bench and unlaced his boots slowly, methodically. Each tug precise. Purposeful. No wasted movement. No shaking hands. The kind of stillness that looked like calm and wasn’t.

This had gone exactly as he’d expected.
And yet—

"Naruto always pushes too hard in rain," he said under his breath.

No one had asked. But the words escaped anyway, low and firm like a verdict.

Neji, standing just a few feet away, heard him anyway. He always did. The only one quiet enough to catch things other people missed.

“You were waiting for him to make a mistake,” Neji said simply.

Sasuke glanced up, briefly. “He always does.”

It should’ve been a full stop. Conversation over. But Neji wasn’t moving.

“He’s going to crash,” he said, voice flat. “If he keeps driving like that.”

Sasuke didn’t answer right away.

The towel hung around his neck, catching droplets from his still-wet hair. He kept his gaze on the floor, watching the water bead and fall from his fingers. Watching it vanish into the tile like it had never been there.

But in his mind, he was still in the cockpit watching the madness unfold in front of him.

The spray from Naruto’s car had been thick enough to blind a lesser driver. His lines had been reckless, aggressive, bordering on suicidal. That dive into Turn 8? He should’ve spun. The telemetry would probably say it was a miracle he didn’t. Or a fluke.

But it hadn’t been a fluke.

Naruto didn’t just survive chaos.
He used it.
Bent it.
Flung it like a weapon until someone, usually Sasuke had to deal with the fallout.

And somehow, Sasuke always did .

“Not my problem,” he said finally.

But even as the words left his mouth, they rang false. They dropped like stones in his throat. Hollow.

Because it was his problem.

He didn’t want to admit it he didn’t even know why it mattered. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe he didn’t want to win a race because Naruto took himself out trying to prove something. Maybe it wasn’t satisfying unless they were both upright at the finish line  two titans trading blows until the last second.

Or maybe it was worse than that.
Maybe every time Naruto went sideways in the wet, some quiet part of Sasuke flinched   a flicker of something sharp that curled behind his ribs. Not fear. Not really. Something more dangerous. Something closer to dread .

He didn’t want to see Naruto crash.
Not like that.
Not ever.

He stood up and slung the towel over his shoulders, shutting the thoughts down before they could bloom into anything more.

The locker door slammed shut behind him  a clean, metallic clang that echoed through the room like punctuation. He looked at Neji, who hadn’t moved.

“Tell the engineers the balance was good,” Sasuke said, voice clipped. “I don’t want changes for next race.”

Neji nodded. No pushback. Just a glance  the kind that lasted half a second too long. The kind that said I know you care even if you won’t admit it.

Sasuke left without a word.

He stepped out into the paddock, the air sharp and cool against his face. The rain had eased into a drizzle now, and the clouds hung low, thick and bruised. Somewhere down the line, mechanics buzzed around cars, shouting over tools and headsets. Cameras flashed. Umbrellas opened. Life moved on.

But Sasuke’s mind stayed in the locker room.

Or maybe in the rearview mirror.

He couldn’t stop seeing it the way Naruto had come over the line. Not just second. Ferocious . Like he’d rather crash than settle. Fists clenched. Helmet down. Burning.

There’d been something in his eyes that hadn’t dulled not even in defeat.

I’d rather die than lose.

And for reasons Sasuke didn’t care to name, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Couldn’t stop seeing him
dripping wet,
still breathing like the race wasn’t over,
like the real fight hadn’t started yet.

And deep down, Sasuke knew:
That look wasn’t going anywhere.

Not until one of them broke.
Or burned.

The paddock lights bled gold through the rain, turning every puddle into molten glare. The storm hadn’t let up. If anything, it had gotten worse—rain bouncing off the asphalt in sheets, drenching everything, washing away the sound of the crowd, the press, the world.

Naruto didn’t feel the cold until his gloves started clinging to his fingers, soaked clean through with sweat and rain. He didn’t remember taking off his helmet. Just remembered the feeling of it choking him, and then not. His jaw ached from clenching, his pulse hadn’t slowed once since the final corner.

And then, like a punch to the gut, he saw him.

Sasuke.

Not in the garage. Not on the podium. Off to the side cutting across one of the narrow service alleys between garages, head down, towel slung loose around his neck like he didn’t even notice the rain. Race suit unzipped to the waist, skin still damp, hair plastered to his forehead.

Walking like none of it touched him.

Naruto’s blood spiked . He didn’t think. Didn’t question. He just moved, fast and angry, boots splashing through puddles.

“ Hey! ” he barked, voice sharper than he meant, cracking the quiet like a lightning strike. “You think this is funny?”

Sasuke didn’t stop right away. Just turned his head slightly  a flicker of profile, nothing more and kept walking.

Typical.
Always pretending he couldn’t hear.
Always pretending he was above everything.

Naruto caught him before he could disappear into the dark. His hand clamped around Sasuke’s arm, spun him back hard enough to shove him against the slick brick wall.

“I’m talking to you, bastard!”

Sasuke’s eyes cut to him  unreadable, dark as oil. “Let go.”

“Or what?” Naruto shoved him again, harder this time. Water streaked down their suits, dripping from their chins. “You gonna whine to Neji? Let Shikamaru draw me a diagram of how I lost?”

“You’re pathetic.” Sasuke’s voice was flat  perfectly cold steel. But Naruto saw the way his throat moved when he swallowed. Saw the pulse there.

“Still chasing me like it matters.”

“It does matter!” Naruto’s voice cracked, and he hated the sound of it. Hated how raw it was. How real. He pushed in, close, breath fogging between them. “You’re obsessed with me. You have been since day one.”

Sasuke’s mouth twitched not a smile. A flicker of something else.

“You don’t matter that much,” he said.

But the lie was paper-thin, barely standing in the rain.

Naruto felt it—felt how close the truth was. Close enough to touch.

His fist curled into the front of Sasuke’s suit and pulled. Their foreheads nearly touched. There was nowhere else to go.

“Then why,” Naruto whispered, “do you look for me in every goddamn mirror on the track? Huh? Why do you drive like you’re afraid I’ll get there first?”

Sasuke didn’t answer.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t move .

Rain slid down his face, catching on his mouth. Naruto’s breath hitched.

He told himself he wanted to punch him. Hurt him.
But his hand wouldn’t move.
Wouldn’t let go.

Naruto’s eyes were bright . Even here, even in the dark they burned. Like they’d stolen all the light from the sky and set it on fire behind his stare.

Up close, Sasuke could feel everything. The heat. The fury. The way Naruto’s chest heaved like he couldn’t get enough air.

It was dangerous. Reckless.
And Sasuke couldn’t look away.

He should’ve shoved him off. Said something sharp, walked away like he always did. But Naruto was right there , knuckles twisted in his suit, dragging him close enough to feel the tremble in every breath.

Sasuke’s brain tried to focus on anything else. The rain. The smell of ozone. The sound of distant generators. The way Naruto’s hair defied physics, even soaked. Useless details.

His throat felt tight.
His hands ached from clenching.

“You’re going to crash,” Sasuke said, low. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “If you keep driving like that, you won’t make it to the finish line next time.”

Naruto’s mouth curled half-snarl, half-smile. “What, you worried about me now?”

“No.”
Too fast.
Too harsh.
Too wrong .

Lightning cracked overhead. For an instant, the alley lit bone-white  their shadows flung against the wall, entangled. Neither of them moved.

Naruto’s breath brushed Sasuke’s cheek.
His grip didn’t loosen.
If anything, he pulled Sasuke closer   like he still couldn’t decide if this ended with blood or—

Sasuke’s hand shot up and caught Naruto’s wrist.
Tight. Firm.
He could feel Naruto’s pulse pounding under his fingers.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, voice barely above the rain.

He didn’t know if he was warning Naruto… or himself.

Naruto didn’t speak. Just stood there, jaw tight, lips parted like the words had caught halfway up his throat.

The distance was gone now.
Inches?
Less than that.

Sasuke didn’t breathe.

If one of them moved
Even a little
It wouldn’t be a punch that landed.

And then—

Snap.

Naruto tore back like he’d been burned. Shoved Sasuke once, hard enough to make the towel slip off his shoulders.

“Bastard,” he muttered, half-choked, not even looking him in the eye.

Sasuke let him go. Didn’t follow. His hands were still tingling heat buzzing through the skin like static. His chest ached like he'd been holding his breath since Turn 9.

The rain filled the space between them again. Constant. Relentless.

By the time they stepped out of the alley—one to the left, one to the right, they were strangers once again.

Only the storm remembered.
Only the storm knew how close it had been.

The ceiling looked closer than it was. Heavy. Pressing down like it had weight, like it was waiting for him to break under it. Naruto stared up at it, unmoving, muscles locked with leftover adrenaline. The hum of the AC filled the silence like static, too cold against skin that still burned.

He’d kicked the sheets off hours ago. Couldn’t remember when. One leg draped over the side of the bed, the other bent up like he might still bolt upright at any second. His chest rose and fell in slow, restless waves, as if he were still strapped into the cockpit, engine humming under him.

But the race was over.
And he still couldn’t breathe right.

He exhaled hard through his nose and flipped his pillow again. Still warm. Still damp with sweat. No comfort there either.

His phone lit up on the nightstand.

[1 new message — Moegi]: You good? You haven’t contacted me in a while :((
[1 new message — Gaara]: Don’t start something you can’t finish. Are you fine as well?

He stared at the screen for a long second. Didn’t move. Didn’t answer. What the hell was he supposed to say?

Yeah, I followed that smug bastard into a service alley in the rain. Yeah, I grabbed him like I was going to punch him. Yeah, we almost kissed. Or fought. Or both.

He rolled onto his side and shoved the phone face-down.

The image wouldn’t leave him—that narrow alley, the wet brick against Sasuke’s back, the way the rain hit the top of his shoulders and slid down the open collar of his race suit. The way their breathing synced without meaning to. The way Naruto’s hand wouldn’t let go of him. The way Sasuke didn’t even try to move.

He could still feel the tension that second where it could’ve gone either way. Where his own voice had cracked, just a little, and Sasuke had looked at him like he wasn’t sure what the hell they were doing either. Like he didn’t hate it.

Naruto shut his eyes tight.

He didn’t know him. Not really. Not off-track. Not outside the helmet. Just saw his name on timing sheets and podiums. Heard his voice over comms once or twice. Watched him drive like the laws of physics didn’t apply to him. Silent. Precise. Icy as hell.

And still… Naruto couldn’t stop thinking about him.

He didn’t even know why he’d followed him into the alley. Just saw him, wet hair, cold expression, walking like nothing in the world could touch him and something in his chest snapped. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was rage. Maybe it was something he didn’t want to name.

All he knew was that he’d grabbed him. Held on.
And Sasuke had held back.

It was supposed to be a confrontation. Supposed to be about the race. But it hadn’t felt like a rivalry by the end. It felt like something hot and confusing and close, and Naruto had frozen— just for a second  when he realized how easy it would be to close that distance.

He threw an arm over his face and groaned.

His heart wouldn’t slow down.

He hated that it meant something. Hated that his chest was tight with whatever that moment had been. Hated that he didn’t know if Sasuke had felt it too  or if Naruto was just that screwed up from losing again.

“I’m not losing to you,” he muttered to the ceiling, jaw tight.

Not again. Not in the wet. Not in the alley. Not wherever this thing between them was going.

He lay still, eyes open.
Sleep didn’t come.
Only the memory  vivid and sharp  of a moment that should’ve ended in fists.

And somehow didn’t.

The lights were still off when Sasuke walked into the apartment. He didn’t turn them on. He didn’t need to see anything.

He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. The metal clink echoed in the silence. His jacket slid off one shoulder and hit the floor, but he didn’t bother picking it up. His hair was still damp. His shirt clung to his back where the towel had been. Everything smelled faintly of ozone, rubber, and rain.

He stood there for a moment, perfectly still.

His hand drifted to the collar of his undershirt the place Naruto had grabbed him. The fabric was still stretched a little, still warm from his own skin. The grip hadn’t been careful. It hadn’t been controlled either. Somewhere in between desperate, like Naruto hadn’t decided whether he wanted to shove him or drag him closer.

Sasuke had let him.
He didn’t want to admit he’d frozen.

The rain still echoed in his ears. The way it hit the pavement. The weight of it in the air. Naruto’s voice had sliced through it  angry, ragged but underneath all of it, there had been something else. A heat. A tension. Something neither of them had named.

He saw it in Naruto’s eyes. Felt it in his breath.

He hadn’t stepped back.

Sasuke moved without thinking. Crossed the room, dropped into the desk chair like it would anchor him. Picked up the controller. Loaded the sim. Let the track appear  familiar lines, familiar inputs. Something normal. Something safe.

His fingers tightened around the sticks. He didn’t press start.

A flicker of movement on-screen — the car ghosting at idle.
Then he felt it.

The heat still hadn’t left his body. Coiled low in his gut. Tense. Alive in a way he didn’t have words for. His hands twitched, jaw locked, breath catching just a little like he could still feel Naruto’s grip on him, still feel the air between them stretching thinner by the second.

He exhaled sharply.

It hadn’t been a kiss.
It hadn’t been a fight either .

Whatever it was, it hit harder now, in the quiet. In the dark.

When he finally got up and walked to bed, the sheets were cold, but his skin wasn’t. His body still hadn’t forgotten that second in the alley.

And neither had he.

Two apartments.
Two beds.
Two rivals caught in the dark.

Neither of them sleeping.
Neither of them calm.
Fists clenched.
Breath caught.

And in the space between memory and denial—The tension only got sharper.

The storm wasn’t over.

It hadn’t even started.

Chapter Text

The rain had been falling steadily for hours, turning the Malaysian circuit into a mirror of gray water. The lights reflected off the wet asphalt, streaking with every splash from the tires, every droplet thrown into the air as the cars carved their paths through the chaos. Naruto gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles ached, but he didn’t feel it. He only felt the pulse of the engine beneath him, the spray blinding him for brief, furious moments, and the memory of Sasuke always somewhere behind his eyelids.

Every corner demanded attention, precision, instinct. The wipers flapped ineffectively against the windshield, rhythmically flicking droplets into the blurred world ahead. The smell of wet asphalt mingled with the faint scent of burnt rubber and coolant, and it all wrapped around him like a storm he could both taste and hear. He could hear every gear shift, every hiss of tires as they fought for purchase on the slick surface, every ping from the team radio crackling in his ear.

“Naruto, turn three is getting slick. Watch your entry,” Gaara’s calm, steady voice cut through the chaos.

Kiba shouted from the other end, somewhere between panic and encouragement.  “Push! Push! You’re faster than him, dammit!”

Sai’s voice came next, flat and precise. “Telemetry shows oversteer in sector five. You are pushing beyond recommended grip levels.”

Naruto snorted, chest tight with adrenaline. “I got it. I got it.” He wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen. His own voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, someone unafraid of crashing, of bleeding, of losing control. He was chasing Sasuke. Not literally, not on the track yet, but every corner he took, every apex he clipped, every slide of the car was a conversation with the ghost of that black-and-silver machine he could feel in his mind.

The car fishtailed slightly on a bend, water spraying up in a white curtain. He leaned into it, gripping the wheel as if he could wrestle the asphalt into submission. He gritted his teeth and muttered curses at the rain, at the track, at the ghost of Sasuke waiting somewhere behind him. “You’re not going to beat me today, you piece of scumbag.”

Every straightaway felt like it stretched into eternity. The roar of the engine drowned out everything except the rhythm of his own heartbeat. He imagined Sasuke there in the next lane, perfect, calculating, precise. The thought made his chest tighten. He wanted to prove something. Not just to the world, not just to his team, not just to the numbers on a board. He wanted to beat Sasuke. For once, just once, he wanted to taste victory over the one who haunted him like an impossible shadow.

Naruto pushed harder. The tires screamed beneath him. Water sprayed like a river over the edge of the track, cascading into shallow gutters, drenching everything. He felt the car slip slightly on a hairpin turn, muscles tensing, breath catching, and then correcting. A grin tore across his face. The car was alive, and so was he.

“Kiba, shut up for two seconds!” he shouted into the comms, heart racing. “Focus, focus, focus!”

“You’re sliding like a maniac!” Kiba’s voice came back, exaggerated panic.

“I got it!” Naruto snapped, voice tight but exhilarated. The engine roared as he downshifted, tires spinning in protest against the wet asphalt. Every movement was deliberate, yet instinctive. Every gear, every correction, every flick of the wheel was a battle with physics and fear.

He could feel it. The presence of Sasuke. Not literal, but like static in the air, like a shadow trailing him through every corner. It made his chest pound and teeth grit. He imagined the cold precision of Sasuke, smooth and perfect, moving like liquid through curves he hadn’t even reached yet. The thought was infuriating and intoxicating.

The final straight approached, but he didn’t relax. Not yet. Rain splashed into his visor. Spray blurred the track ahead. The checkered lights glimmered through the gray haze. He could taste it, feel it, smell it—the need to win, to push, to survive.

His tires hit a puddle. The car twitched violently. Heart hammering, muscles screaming, Naruto corrected instantly. He whispered, “Don’t you dare beat me.” His hands burned on the wheel. His chest felt like it would burst.

Water streaked across the windshield. He caught sight of a shadow in his mind, black and silver, precision incarnate. He didn’t look. He didn’t need to. He could feel Sasuke there, silent, judging, waiting for a mistake. The thought made him furious. He swore under his breath, slammed a foot harder on the accelerator.

The next corner came fast. Too fast. The car slid. The world spun for a heartbeat, spray blinding, tires protesting. Then, with a hiss and a groan of tortured metal and rubber, he corrected. Heart racing, lungs burning, he laughed. Not a triumphant laugh, not a silly laugh, but a laugh born of pure adrenaline, fear, and obsession.

The radio crackled again. “Naruto! Sector seven, turn—” Gaara’s voice came, calm and steady, but behind the calm was urgency.

“Yeah, yeah! I got it, don’t worry!” Naruto snapped, but his words were almost irrelevant. Every thought, every motion, every muscle, every ounce of energy in him was devoted to one thing: outrunning the shadow in his mind, the black-and-silver ghost that made his pulse spike in a way nothing else could.

He saw the last chicane. It seemed impossibly far away, impossibly tight. He gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw, and pushed the tires beyond recommended limits. Spray flew. Water hissed. The wheel vibrated under his hands. Every turn was a gamble, every straight a war.

And somewhere deep, he felt it again. Sasuke, silent, perfect, waiting for him to fail, waiting for the moment he would finally see Naruto slip, tumble, falter. The thought made his stomach twist and lungs ache. He wanted it so badly he could taste it.

The final corner approached. He leaned, gripping, adjusting, screaming silently at himself and the shadow that haunted him. “Not today. Not today. I won’t lose to you.” The tires screamed. The car slid. And then the checkered flag appeared through the haze of rain and adrenaline.

Naruto’s heart stopped for a brief moment. He wasn’t sure if he’d crossed first, second, or somewhere in between. He only knew he had given everything. All of him. The car, the rain, the shadow, the memory, the obsession. He had burned it all down, and it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

He slammed his hands on the wheel, chest heaving, breathing ragged. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead. The visor fogged. He laughed again, sharp and jagged, a sound that had nothing to do with victory and everything to do with survival.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he whispered a curse at Sasuke. Not loud enough for anyone to hear. “You son of a—don’t think this is over.”

And in that instant, Naruto realized something he had known for a long time but refused to admit. He raced not to win. He raced to feel the ghost, to chase the shadow, to see if he could survive being close to Sasuke and still come out alive.

And he would. One way or another.

The tires lost grip on the slick asphalt without warning. One moment the car was obedient beneath his hands, eating the wet surface like it was alive; the next, the rear slipped, swinging wide, spraying a curtain of rain across the pit barriers. His stomach dropped and twisted, muscles tensing so hard it hurt, but he didn’t lift his foot. Couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“Naruto! Slow! Slow! Don’t—” Gaara’s calm voice snapped through the comm, urgent but measured, trying to guide him back from disaster.

“I got it! I—shit!” he yelled, voice cracking over the radio. He hit the brakes hard, tires protesting with a tortured scream. The steering wheel rattled in his hands. Every instinct screamed at him to let go, to back off, to save himself. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not now. Not when the shadow of Sasuke was chasing him through his mind, a perfect, cold, untouchable ghost that made every turn feel like a personal challenge.

Water streamed down the visor in thick rivulets, blurring the track into an impressionist nightmare of gray and white. He could feel the pulse of the engine thrumming against his chest through the seat, vibrations running up his spine. Every gear change was a battle, every curve a war. He leaned into the slide, muscles coiled, lungs burning.

The last corner approached faster than it should have. He’d been pushing too hard, too long. Tires were hot, slick with water, screaming for relief. The car fishtailed violently as he hit the apex, back end kicking out sideways. He corrected with a jerk, pulling the wheel with every ounce of strength he had, but the rain had a mind of its own. It teased him, betrayed him, mocked him with every slippery centimeter of track.

“Focus, Naruto! You’ve got this!” Kiba’s voice cracked, laced with panic and exhilaration.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Naruto barked, though he wasn’t. He wasn’t fine. He could feel the car sliding again, uncontrollable, teasing the boundary between skill and disaster. The world stretched, slowed, condensed. He could hear every heartbeat, every pulse of the rain, every hiss of the tires over the wet surface. His hands were white-knuckled, slick with sweat that mingled with the rain dripping inside the cockpit.

The wall loomed closer than it should have. Too close. He had one chance. One chance to correct, to survive, to stay on the track. He hit the brakes harder, steering with desperation. But the rear tires locked, refusing to bite into the wet asphalt. The car twisted sideways. Water sprayed like mist from a waterfall. The engine roared and protested. The steering wheel vibrated violently.

And then—impact.

Metal screamed against barrier. The sound was deafening in the enclosed cockpit. Glass cracked. The force threw him forward, chest slamming into the harness, helmet rattling against the headrest. Adrenaline screamed through his veins. Pain shot up his arms, his neck, his ribs. The car spun slightly, sliding along the wall in a spray of water, steel, and fury. He could feel every rivet, every dent, every friction point, every heartbeat hammering through his body.

“Naruto! Status! Narutoooo!” Gaara’s voice cut through the chaos, screaming into the radio.

“I—I’m—I—shit, shit, shit!” he stuttered, unable to make sense of his own voice, of his own movements. Every thought was sharp and raw. The track was gone. The shadow of Sasuke was irrelevant now. Nothing mattered except survival, grip, breath, and the firestorm of pain screaming through his body.

The car came to a jerking stop, the rear wedged against the barrier. Rain poured in, soaking everything. His hands shook violently on the wheel. Vision blurred. Breath came in short, desperate gasps. The world had narrowed to a single point: the cockpit, the rain, the silence after the crash.

“Naruto! Can you hear me? Answer me!” Gaara’s voice was panicked now, harsh, real.

He tried to respond. Words failed. Only a choked noise came out. His mind was spinning. The fear, the adrenaline, the near-death, the shadow of Sasuke—all collided into something raw and unrelenting. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think beyond the spray, beyond the twisted metal, beyond the screaming in his head.

The radio fizzled. A silence he’d never known before settled over him, heavier than water, heavier than rain, heavier than the storm outside. He could hear nothing but his own ragged breathing, the pulsing of blood in his ears, the gentle drip of water from the ceiling of the cockpit, and a ghost of a presence he couldn’t name—Sasuke, always Sasuke, somewhere in the storm of his thoughts.

Flashes of anger, frustration, and shame tore through him. He had wanted to win. Wanted to feel alive. Wanted to best the shadow. And now, every heartbeat was a reminder of his failure. He had thrown everything into the last lap and come away with metal bent, tires shredded, adrenaline screaming, and nothing but rain in his eyes.

The pit crew finally reached him, opening the door, voices calling out orders and questions, lights blinding. But he barely saw it. Everything was slow, muffled. He could feel his chest tighten, every muscle screaming from tension and pain. He barely noticed the wet weight of the rain dripping off his suit, off his helmet. The world had contracted into the sharp, wet sting of reality.

He tried to move, to breathe more evenly, to make sense of it all, but the crash replayed in his mind with unbearable clarity. Every spin, every slide, every split-second decision. The taste of failure was bitter, sharp, and metallic. He wanted to scream, to hit something, to curse the storm and the track and the shadow behind his eyes. But he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there, chest heaving, heart hammering, mind screaming with unshakable thoughts:

I can’t lose to him like this. I won’t. I swear by it that I won't. Not ever..        

⇋ ❈ ⊱────🏁  𝓟𝓲𝓽 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓹  ───────⊰ ❈

Sasuke crossed the finish line, but nothing landed.
No rush, no pulse of triumph—only a hollow thud in his chest, like an engine shutting down mid-lap.

The radio was a blur of clipped voices, static swallowing their edges, until one broke through, sharp and ragged:

“Crash… turn seven… Naruto’s off the line.”

The wheel went foreign beneath his hands. For a heartbeat he forgot how to steer, body and car out of sync. Rain hissed across the visor, washing the world into a smear of silver and black. His fingers tightened around the paddles until the tendons in his wrist burned.

By the time he rolled into the pit lane, his knuckles were raw against the suede. The crew swarmed—-towels, data tablets, radios pressed to ears — but their words were a spray of meaningless syllables. Someone said Naruto’s stable. Someone else said ambulance. The only thing that caught was the last word:

hospital.

He stripped the gloves off without looking at anyone, left the helmet on the counter, and walked straight out. The bruises along his ribs throbbed where the belts had dug in, and the base of his neck ached from the whiplash, but it was a faraway kind of pain, buried under something heavier.

The drive through the city was a tunnel of flashing wipers and standing water. He didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself to think; every thought slid too close to the edge.

By the time the elevator doors opened on the critical ward, his shirt was damp with sweat and rain. The smell of antiseptic hit like a slap, sterile and cold. Beyond the nurses’ station, rain tapped against long windows, steady and patient, as if the storm had followed him inside.

A doctor said his name; Sasuke didn’t answer. His shoes left dark prints across the tile until he stopped at a half-open door.

Naruto lay inside, pale against hospital white. Bruises already bloomed along his cheekbone and across the bridge of his nose, darkening by the hour. A gash traced his temple, cleaned but still angry. His hands, usually restless, were slack against the sheets, one wrapped in gauze where shards of carbon had bitten through gloves. IV lines curled from the crook of his elbow; monitors blinked with steady, mechanical calm.

No grin. No scowl. None of the noise that usually filled a room with him—just stillness.

Sasuke’s grip tightened on the strap of his helmet bag until the leather bit into his palm. He stood there too long, unsure if he was meant to go closer, unsure if he wanted to see more.

Why was this clawing at him? Rivals weren’t supposed to matter like this. He’d built his career on clean margins, sharp focus, the discipline to keep every person an arm’s length away. Yet one crash, and the walls didn’t hold.

He stepped inside. Closed the door. The rain softened to a hush, muffled by glass.

Up close, the damage was worse: mottled bruises across collarbone and chest where harness met body, a faint shadow of swelling along one side of his jaw. A small scratch ran through the blond stubble at his chin. They looked too human for the boy who never seemed to fear speed.

Sasuke sat, dragging the chair closer until his knees nearly touched the frame of the bed. Water slid from the cuff of his sleeve to the floor; he let it.

For a moment he almost spoke an apology, a reprimand, something to fill the static in his head but the words snagged in his throat. Nothing felt big enough for the weight behind his ribs: the certainty that the win meant nothing if Naruto didn’t open his eyes.

He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the faint rhythm of the heart monitor.

Maybe this wasn’t about rivalry at all. Maybe it was about the only person who could make the cockpit feel alive, who could make a soaked, treacherous track into a place where breath tasted like possibility.

Would Naruto wake and glare at him again, spit some reckless joke into the rain, throw impossible moves just to prove a point? Or had that last lap taken something neither of them could get back?

Sasuke’s jaw tightened. The bruises on his own ribs pulsed with each breath, a dull echo of the one lying in front of him. He wanted to reach out, to shake Naruto awake, to tell him how infuriating it was that he could disappear so easily and leave silence behind.

Instead he stayed still, watching the storm blur the windows, watching the small green line climb and fall on the monitor.

He didn’t pray. He didn’t bargain. He just waited, because leaving felt impossible, and because somewhere beneath the bruises and the ache, he wasn’t sure who he was if Naruto didn’t come back.

Sasuke let himself into the apartment without turning on the lights. The door closed behind him with a muted click, and for a moment he stood in the dimness, rainwater dripping from the hem of his jacket onto the polished floor. He kicked his shoes aside and walked through the quiet space as though moving through someone else’s home.

The city outside was a blur through the glass wall of the living room—neon streaked and softened by the downpour. He poured a glass of red from the bottle sitting on the counter, something he hadn’t opened in months, and sank onto the edge of the couch. The wine tasted sharp, astringent, not quite enough to steady the knot in his stomach.

He tried to focus on small things. The steady hum of the refrigerator. The faint scent of rain clinging to his clothes. Drops running down the window in erratic paths. But every pause gave room for the same images to push forward: a spray of water, a blur of orange livery, the brutal stillness after impact.

He had told Naruto to be careful, once, in a moment when the words had come out colder than intended. A warning disguised as criticism. He had known how reckless rain could make him—how the boy turned storms into challenges, how he flirted with disaster as though he could bend physics through sheer will. Sasuke should have said more. Should have made him listen. Maybe then the crash wouldn’t be replaying behind his eyes.

He finished the wine and set the glass down too hard, watching the thin ring of liquid tremble. It wasn’t enough. He left it on the counter and walked to the bathroom.

Steam filled the small room as he stepped beneath the shower. Hot water poured over his shoulders, cutting through the chill in his skin, but it couldn’t loosen the heaviness behind his ribs. He braced a hand against the tile and let the water soak through his hair, slide down the slope of his back. His eyes stung; he couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or the sting of something heavier. When a quiet sound escaped his throat, he pressed his forehead to the wall. It wasn’t a sob—just a low, unsteady breath that trembled like a fracture line.

Why did it hurt like this? They were rivals, not friends. That was the line he had drawn from the start. But lying in that hospital bed, Naruto hadn’t looked like an opponent. He hadn’t looked like someone he could fight his way back to. He’d looked breakable. And the thought of never hearing him swear across the radio again, never catching the flash of that stubborn grin in his mirrors, twisted something so deep inside Sasuke he couldn’t name it.

He stayed under the spray until the water turned lukewarm. When he stepped out, the mirror was fogged, and his reflection was only a shadow in the mist. He wrapped a towel around his waist and padded back into the bedroom, droplets cooling on his skin.

The phone on the nightstand lit up, vibrating once, then again. Neji’s name. For a second, Sasuke considered letting it ring, but the unease in his chest tightened until he answered.

“Yeah.”

Neji’s voice was quiet but steady. “He’s stable for now, but there’s something you should know. They’re worried about swelling in his brain. If it gets worse, he might slip into a coma.”

Sasuke sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. The line between his fingers and the phone felt thin, fragile. He managed a clipped response—“I understand” though the words scraped his throat.

After Neji hung up, the silence in the apartment pressed closer. Sasuke set the phone beside him, staring at it until the screen went dark. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, damp hair dripping onto his hands.

He thought of all the times Naruto had laughed off warnings, all the times Sasuke had refused to give chase to his recklessness outside the circuit. Maybe he should have said it differently, maybe he should have been there when it happened. The what-ifs gathered like storm clouds, heavy and relentless.

He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the rain kept falling, steady and merciless against the windows. Somewhere beneath the noise, he could almost hear the echo of tires on wet asphalt, the fierce voice on a radio promising he wouldn’t lose.

Sasuke closed his eyes. He didn’t know if Naruto would wake, or if their rivalry—that volatile, electric thread that tied them together—would survive this. All he knew was that the track felt empty without him, and the thought of that emptiness stretching forward was a weight he couldn’t shake.