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The punch lands wrong.
That’s the first thing Sonny registers. Not the impact, not the sharp crack that echoes louder than it should, but the angle. The way his knuckles skid just slightly on contact instead of hitting clean.
Then comes the sound. A sickening, unmistakable crunch.
Ruben stumbles back a step, one hand flying to his face. For one second, the paddock goes quiet.
“Oh, shit,” Sonny breathes.
Blood spills almost immediately, bright and fast, between Ruben’s fingers. Ruben looks at his hand like he doesn’t quite believe it, then back at Sonny. His eyes are wide - not shocked, but furious in a way that radiates unbridled outrage. “You broke my nose,” he says in a flat voice. He sounds disbelieving.
Sonny lifts his hands, half-defensive, half-apologetic. “You shoved me first,” he mutters, as if that excuses anything.
“You cut me off!”
“You were too slow!”
“I was ahead!”
“You wish!”
They’re shouting again before the blood even has time to drip to the floor. Ruben takes a step forward. Sonny doesn’t back down. Of course he doesn’t.
They’re both breathing hard now, chests heaving unevenly, heat still radiating off them from the track, from the argument, from the kind of rivalry that had been building since day one.
They’re barely twenty, hot-headed, full of themselves, and convinced the other one is the only real obstacle in their life.
Ruben wipes at his nose, winces when it doesn’t stop bleeding, and glares. “You are reckless.”
“And you’re boring,” Sonny fires back immediately. “You drive like you’re afraid of the car.”
“At least I don’t treat every race like a suicide mission!”
“At least I can win one!”
Ruben’s expression sharpens, something dangerous flickering across his face, and Sonny realizes that he should probably stop. They already crossed the line from verbal to physical, so doubling down is a terrible idea.
He doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t. Because Ruben is looking at him with his typical arrogant glint in his eyes, and Sonny’s blood pressure is still up, his bruised ego demanding satisfaction. “Face it,” Sonny snarls, stepping closer. “You can’t keep up with me.”
Ruben laughs. Actually laughs. The sound is somehow worse than if he’d swung back. “Do you really think this is about keeping up?” Ruben asks, dropping his hand long enough for more blood to spill down over his lip. “Do you think talent is enough? You are going to burn out before you even get started.”
Sonny’s jaw tightens. “Better that than playing it safe and never getting anywhere.”
“I am not playing it safe,” Ruben retorts. “I am thinking ahead. Something you clearly do not know how to do.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sonny shoots back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize I needed a five-year plan to drive a car fast.”
“No,” Ruben says, stepping in again, close enough now that Sonny can see the anger and the pain and something else underneath it. “You need discipline. And right now? You don’t have any.”
That does it. Sonny’s hands clench. His shoulders square. He’s ready to land another blow, if necessary. “You don’t know anything about me,” he says, low and dangerous.
“I know enough,” Ruben replies.
And yeah, that’s it. That’s the spark. Sonny shoves him. Ruben shoves back.
It’s messy after that. Not clean, not controlled - just two hot-headed idiots with too much pride and nowhere to put it. Another swing, a grapple, a stumble into the wall hard enough to rattle the signage.
Someone’s yelling in the distance. They both know it’s the team principal. Neither of them cares.
Until Ruben hisses sharply and jerks back, one hand coming up to his face again. “Stop. Stop, you idiot!”
Sonny freezes immediately, because the blood is worse now, staining the front of Ruben’s race suit, dripping onto the concrete in uneven splatters. The adrenaline drops, just enough for reality to catch up. “Okay, yeah,” Sonny says, breathing hard. “That...uh... That might actually be broken.”
Ruben glares at him. “You think?” he snarks.
There’s a long moment of silence, then Sonny huffs out a laugh. He can’t help it. It bubbles up, sharp and disbelieving and a little hysterical around the edges. “You should see your face.”
Ruben stares at him like he’s lost his mind.
“I’m serious,” Sonny insists, still half-laughing. “It’s... Wow. That’s bad.”
Ruben’s expression doesn’t change for a second. Then, slowly, reluctantly, it cracks. “Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips.
Sonny gestures vaguely. “C’mon, let’s get you to medical before you bleed out and I get fired for manslaughter.”
“You would deserve it.”
“Yeah, probably.”
They stare at each other for another long moment, then Ruben exhales slowly. He allows Sonny to step closer without immediately shoving him away. Sonny grabs his arm - not rough this time, just enough to steady him - and steers him down the corridor.
They walk in tense silence for a few steps.
“Do you really think I am too slow?” Ruben asks.
Sonny snorts. “No. I think you’re annoying.”
Ruben huffs out an involuntary laugh. “And you,” he says after a moment, “drive like you have a death wish.”
Sonny grins unapologetically. “Keeps things interesting.”
“It is going to get you killed.”
“Not before I beat you.”
Ruben glances at him sideways, blood still running down his face, but there’s something new sparkling in his eyes now. Something that wasn’t there before the fight. Recognition. Challenge. Respect. “We will see,” he says.
Sonny’s squeezes Ruben’s arm briefly in acknowledgement. “Yeah,” he agrees. “We will.”
THE END