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Summary
"You're a good rider," Geto comments as he passes by. The visor's tipped up, just enough for his voice to come through, muffled. Just enough to catch a little glint in his eyes, too. "Thanks for showing me how you race. I'll be keeping it in mind."
Geto winks, a quick flash. A dampened laugh follows after him, almost swallowed up by the ticking engines, while Satoru is left there. Sitting still, watching, blood running too hot.
Gojo is a simple man. There’s just three things he needs: adrenaline, novelty, and for Geto to stop winking at him after late-night rides.
Incidentally, he’s set down the path of finding out how Geto really rides.