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The race was not something that appeared on posters or online forums, and it was never spoken about loudly, because the people who rode it preferred it to stay half-hidden, passed from one rider to another in quiet conversations that always sounded a little like a warning. It stretched across the country in a long, unforgiving line, cutting through cities, deserts, and empty highways where the only constant was the sound of an engine and the risk of pushing it too far.
Johnny had not intended to join.
He had seen riders like that before, the kind who chased distance and danger like it was the only thing that made them feel real, and he had always kept himself separate from them, watching without ever stepping in. That changed the moment Gyro showed up, leaning casually against his bike with an ease that felt almost deliberate, as if he knew exactly how he came across and did not mind it at all.
“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Gyro said, tilting his head slightly as he studied him, his tone light but observant. “Usually means you need something to distract you.”
Johnny glanced at the bike beside him before looking back at Gyro, his expression unimpressed but not dismissive. “And you think that something is you?”
Gyro smiled, wide and confident in a way that should have been annoying but somehow was not. “I think I’m at least more interesting than whatever you’re doing right now.”
Johnny let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh, though he would not admit it. “You talk a lot for someone I’ve never seen ride.”
“Then ride with me,” Gyro replied easily, as if the answer had been waiting. “You can judge after.”
Johnny should have refused, and for a moment he almost did, but something about the certainty in Gyro’s voice made it difficult to walk away.
“…Fine,” he said at last. “But if you slow me down, I’m leaving you behind.”
Gyro’s grin only sharpened. “You won’t.”
They never officially agreed to stay together, and neither of them said anything that would make it permanent, but they rode side by side anyway, falling into a rhythm that felt natural in a way that did not need to be explained. Gyro usually took the lead, moving with a kind of reckless confidence that made every turn feel sharper and every stretch of road feel shorter, while Johnny stayed close behind, never letting the distance between them stretch too far.
It did not take long for people to notice.
At stops along the route, other riders would glance at them, sometimes whispering just loud enough to be heard, as if trying to figure out what exactly they were to each other.
One night, as they stood near a gas station lit by flickering lights, Gyro nudged Johnny lightly with his elbow and said, “You hear that, they think we’re a pair.”
Johnny did not look at him as he replied, his tone flat but immediate. “We’re not.”
Gyro hummed softly, clearly unconvinced. “You say that, but you haven’t left yet.”
Johnny shot him a brief look. “You’re not hard to keep up with.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gyro said, though he did not push further, his expression settling into something quieter, like he was content to let Johnny pretend for now.
The first real problem came in the desert, where the air stayed warm even as the sun dipped low and the road seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. A group of riders pulled in at the same stop as them, louder and more aggressive, the kind of people who did not just want to win but wanted everyone else to lose.
One of them noticed Gyro almost immediately.
Johnny saw it happen before a single word was spoken, catching the way the man stepped closer, the way Gyro turned toward him with that same easy smile that never seemed forced.
“Didn’t see you around before,” the rider said, his voice casual but his posture just a little too close to be accidental.
Gyro shrugged lightly. “First time running this route.”
“Yeah,” the man replied, glancing him over with open interest. “Figured.”
Johnny was moving before he had fully decided to.
He stepped into the space beside Gyro, his presence quiet but unmistakable. “Something you need?”
The rider’s attention shifted to him, his expression unimpressed. “Wasn’t talking to you.”
Johnny’s voice stayed even. “You were talking to him.”
Gyro exhaled softly, his tone lower as he said, “Johnny, it’s fine.”
“It doesn’t look fine,” Johnny answered without looking away.
The tension built quickly, drawing the attention of the other riders nearby, until the man finally let out a short laugh and raised his hands slightly.
“Relax,” he said. “Didn’t realize he was taken.”
Johnny did not hesitate.
“He is.”
The words landed heavily, and for a moment even Gyro went still.
“…Johnny,” he said, quieter now, but Johnny did not back down.
The rider smirked, stepping back at last. “Alright, man. Didn’t mean to step on anything.”
But the look he gave Gyro before turning away made it clear that this was not the end of it.
-
They rode hard after that, faster than before, as if neither of them wanted to slow down long enough to deal with what had just happened.
It worked, until the rain came.
The storm hit without warning, heavy drops turning the road slick and forcing them to pull off beneath an overpass where the concrete offered some shelter. Water dripped steadily from their clothes as they stood there, the sound of rain filling the silence that stretched between them.
Gyro was the first to speak, though his tone was more careful than usual.
“You didn’t have to do that back there,” he said, watching Johnny closely.
Johnny’s response came quickly. “Yeah, I did.”
“No,” Gyro replied, shaking his head. “It was just a conversation.”
Johnny stepped closer, his voice lower now. “He was looking at you like he had a right to.”
Gyro’s gaze sharpened slightly. “And that bothers you.”
Johnny let out a quiet breath, something frustrated beneath it. “You think it doesn’t?”
Gyro studied him for a moment before asking, more softly, “Are you jealous?”
Johnny did not look away. “Yeah.”
The honesty seemed to catch Gyro off guard.
Johnny continued, his voice steady but more exposed than before. “I don’t like anyone else touching you, and I don’t like the way people think they can.”
For a second, Gyro said nothing.
Then he stepped closer, closing the distance in a way that felt intentional.
“Then you should’ve said that,” he murmured.
“I just did.”
“Not like that,” Gyro replied, his expression softer now. “Say it like you mean it.”
Johnny exhaled slowly, then said, “I don’t want anyone else getting close to you.”
Gyro held his gaze, and something in his expression shifted, the teasing edge fading.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Because I don’t want them to.”
Johnny blinked, surprised. “You don’t.”
Gyro shook his head. “No.”
The moment lingered, stretched thin with everything they had not said until now.
Then Gyro leaned in, closing the last bit of distance between them.
The kiss was steady and unhurried, nothing like the tension that had built before it, and Johnny responded immediately, his hand settling at Gyro’s waist as if it belonged there, pulling him closer without hesitation.
Gyro did not resist, and if anything, he leaned into it, his grip tightening slightly like he needed the contact.
When they pulled back, the rain had softened, but neither of them paid attention to it anymore.
Gyro let out a quiet breath, then said with a faint smile, “You’re still jealous, aren’t you.”
Johnny did not pretend otherwise. “Yeah.”
Gyro’s smile grew just a little. “Good.”
Johnny frowned slightly. “Why is that good.”
“Because it means you care,” Gyro replied, his voice softer now.
Johnny did not argue.
They crossed the finish line together, not first and not second, but side by side, as if that had been the goal all along.
Later, when someone asked if they were planning to split up for the next run, to improve their chances, Johnny answered before Gyro could.
“No,” he said simply.
Gyro glanced at him, then smiled in that easy, familiar way. “Yeah,” he added. “We ride together.”
This time, Johnny did not deny it.
And he did not let go.