Chapter Text
The air-conditioned chill of the Dubai hotel gym was a sharp contrast to the oppressive, sunbaked heat waiting just beyond the glass walls. Vodka adjusted her gym shorts, though she masked the fatigue behind a face of intense focus as she loaded the final plates onto the squat rack.
"That flight was brutal," she muttered, the metallic clack of the iron weights echoing through the mostly empty facility. "I felt like a coiled spring for twelve hours straight. If I don't get these legs moving properly, I'm going to feel like a shrimp! Like those ones with the bad posture, you know!?"
Desire, who had been going through her own workout, stood up and wiped her neck with a towel, her movements fluid and calm. "You worry too much, Vodka. You've been pacing the hotel room since we checked in.. Plus, there's nothing wrong with being a shrimp."
Vodka let out a sharp, breathless laugh, stepping into the rack and bracing her shoulders against the heavy bar. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locking onto Desire’s. "Maybe. But I need to be sure.."
"..Yo, come over here for a sec?" Vodka called out, loading the weights onto the bar. “Can you be my stepper real quick? I need you to catch the bar if I lock up."
”..Don't worry about getting close, just keep your hands ready."
Desire stepped forward to comply, but as she moved into the tight space directly behind Vodka, finding herself pressed into the senior's personal bubble with the scent of adrenaline radiating off her, the crimson haired girl felt her composure fracture. Her cheeks flared into a sudden, deep red, and she cleared her throat, her hands hovering awkwardly near the bar.
"A..Alright," Desire managed, her voice hitching just enough to betray how flustered she was. "Just... give me a count, Vodka."
Vodka took a deep, steadying breath, her hands gripping the cold, knurled steel of the bar with a firm grip. She settled the weight onto her shoulders. "Three reps, Desire. Don't look at me like that, just keep your eyes on the bar’s path. If I wobble, you’ve got me!"
"I..I've got you," Desire promised, her voice dropping to a low, firm register. She stepped in, her boots shuffling into the narrow gap of the gym chair.
The proximity was electric. As Vodka began her first descent, the muscles in her back and thighs flared and tensed, a display of athletic power that was impossible for Desire to ignore. Desire’s hands hovered just inches from the bar, following the weight’s movement, but her attention kept drifting to the way the golden gym lighting caught the stray, damp hairs clinging to the back of Vodka’s neck.
Vodka hit the bottom of the squat, before exploding upward with a grunt of exertion.
"One," Desire counted, her breath hitching slightly.
Vodka didn't break the rhythm. She descended again, her form iron-clad. To Desire, it felt like she was trapped in a tiny, private orbit with her. Every time Vodka exhaled, the sound was harsh and rhythmic, mingling with the scent of cleaning product and the subtle, sharp tang of musk that clung to Vodka's skin.
"Two," Desire breathed, her palms sweating. She was aware of the space between them, if she leaned in even a fraction, she would be pressed completely against Vodka’s back.
"Last one," Vodka rasped, her voice straining under the heavy load.
She dropped into the final rep, slower this time. When she powered back up to the top, her arms were trembling, and her chest was heaving with exertion. As she racked the bar with a loud clatter of metal on metal, she let out a long, shuddering exhale, her shoulders sagging forward.
Desire stayed close, her hands finally resting gently on Vodka’s shoulders to help her stabilize. Through the fabric of Vodka's tank top, Desire could feel the radiating heat of her body, which seemed to burn a little hotter when the crimson haired woman touched her. It didn’t help that her muscular build was blessing her eyes at this very moment, the drops of sweat coating her biceps in a gloss that made Desire feel funny. A holy saintress, with these thoughts? Who could have imagined.
"You did it," Desire said softly, her face heating up as she realized how intimate the contact was. "Perfect reps. Just like you planned.."
Vodka turned around, her face flushed a deep, healthy crimson from the strain, her eyes bright and unfocused as she caught her breath. She looked at Desire, a confident grin spreading across her face. "See? I told you I was ready. No shaking, no wobbling!"
Desire pulled her hands away, smoothing her own hair back to hide her flustered expression, though her pulse was still racing. "You were steady, Vodka. I..I am glad i was of your need."
"I always need you," Vodka replied, her tone shifting from playful to something startlingly earnest. She reached out, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, her gaze lingering on the crimson haired woman. "Especially with this race coming up. Having you here, it makes the pressure feel a whole lot lighter, y'know?"
The weight of the upcoming Al Maktoum Challenge hung in the air between them; a race that, in history, would eventually lead to a frightening hospital visit for the senior runner due to a severe nosebleed. For now, however, that reality was just a shadow on the horizon.
Desire felt her heart melt at the admission. She reached out, grabbing a fresh towel and pressing it on Vodka's forehead. "T..That is very sweet of you, Vodka." She exclaimed, making gentle, precise movements with one hand, and moving the stuck strands of hair away from her forehead. "Maybe it is best if we change now, the race starts in half an hour."
It was difficult for the brunette to focus while being tenderly cared for by the woman in front of her; Letting herself be engulfed by the warmness of her touch wasn't on her bingo card for today, but it was clear to the crimson haired girl that Vodka was surely enjoying the care. After a short moment, Desire pulls away; throwing the used towel into a short, spacious bucket in the corner of the workroom.
"I guess you're right," Vodka chuckled, grabbing the water bottle from the ground. Taking a long sip, the cool liquid doing little to dampen the fire in her eyes. With a sly movement, the brunette gripped Desire's hand softly, leading them out of the gym. "..Let's get out of here. It’s time to suit up!"
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The walk to the locker room was short, but the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The gym’s heavy, rhythmic sounds gave way to the hum of air conditioning and the clinical smell of sanitized benches and laundry detergent.
Inside, the room was empty, save for the two of them. Rows of gleaming metal lockers lined the walls, reflecting their silhouettes as they moved to their designated spots.
Vodka tossed her gym bag onto the bench and began unzipping it. She let out a long breath, finally letting the physical tension of the workout recede, replaced by the mental preparation for the Al Maktoum Challenge.
"You know," she started, pulling her racing jersey from her bag, "I still haven't fully processed that we’re actually in Dubai. One day we’re at Tracen, the next we’re halfway across the world, staring down a Grade 1 dirt track. It’s surreal!"
Desire stood at the locker opposite her, already slipping out of her gym tank top and folding it neatly, her lean build mirroring itself through one of the lockers. She paused, looking over her shoulder at Vodka with a thoughtful smile. "It is. But the track is still a track, right?" She added, quietly slipping into her racing silks. "Four turns, dirt underneath our feet.. And the same finish line we've chased a hundred times before."
"Spoken like someone who didn't look terrified when we stepped off the plane in this heat," Vodka teased, a playful smirk touching her lips as she tugged her thigh-highs up.
Desire chuckled gently, though a flush returned to her cheeks, partly from the heat and partly from being called out. "I wasn't terrified. I was... acclimating. A holy priestess has to be calm at all times!"
It was clear to Vodka that she was slowly trying to adopt her delinquent mindset, that Vodka herself is still trying to achieve. But she felt flattered, she saw herself in her; the way she idolizes Gimlet, she wouldn't have imagined that it would come back to her; especially as a crimson haired saintress that saw her as an idol.
"Of course," Vodka laughed softly, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls. She began fastening the buckles of her gear, her focus narrowing. The playful banter died down, replaced by the quiet rustle of fabric as they transitioned into their racing silks.
It was a routine they had both done countless times, yet there was a different weight to it today. The Dubai air was much different from home, the flight itself giving them enugh anxiety to last a whole senior year. Nevertheless, being with her senior somehow made it less terrifying.
Desire adjusted her own outfit, smoothing the fabric over her shoulders before turning back to face Vodka. The tomboy looked completely transformed, the gymwear replaced by the sharp, formidable armor of a champion. She looked ready to take on the world, even if there was a lingering, subtle fatigue in the set of her shoulders.
"You look sharp, and very.. Cool," Desire said, her voice dropping the playful tone for something sincere and steady. "I admire your style very much, Vodka.."
Vodka finished tightening her boots and looked up, catching Desire’s gaze. For a second, the banter was entirely forgotten. "You look even cooler, Desire!" She paused, her hands resting on the edge of the bench. "Let's make sure we both run the race we know we're capable of. No holding back!"
"I'm glad you are feeling confident," Desire replied, a flicker of that competitive fire igniting in her eyes. "I pray to the goddesses for our victory."
Vodka nodded, satisfied. She reached out and grabbed her gold band, wrapping it gently around her left ear.
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The Nad Al Sheba dirt was not like the soil of home. It was lighter, coarser, and beneath the unrelenting Dubai sun, it felt like running over a bed of hot, pulverized glass.
Vodka stood inside the metal confines of the starting gate, her breathing steady, but tight. She could feel the heat radiating off the metal, syncing with the fire that usually burned in her own chest. She rolled her shoulders, her jacket clinging to her back, already damp with sweat. Vodka was trying to drown out the roar of the crowd, which sounded like an ocean trapped in a storm. She knew Desire was nearby, just a few stalls over. She could feel her presence, that intense, quiet awareness that Desire always directed toward her.
Vodka didn't look. She didn't need to. She tightened her grip on the rails and waited for the world to turn into nothing but motion.
Desire felt the vibration of the track through the soles of her shoes. She was locked into a state of hyper-focus, her eyes fixed on the narrow gap between the stalls ahead of her. She had watched Vodka train for weeks, had memorized the way her senior shifted her weight before a sprint, the way she tucked her chin to minimize a late start. Today, she was going to match that rhythm.
Today, she was going to be the mirror that reflected back all the intensity Vodka poured into the track. She took a deep breath, the Dubai air stinging her lungs, and centered herself.
The start was an explosion of sounds and melodies.
The gates rang open with a metallic shriek that signaled the death of thought and the birth of raw instinct. Vodka launched herself forward, her boots tearing at the dirt. She didn't hold back. She surged to the front, taking the inside rail with an aggressive, possessive lunge. The pack was chaotic. She could hear the rhythm of Al Shemali and Allybar surging up to her, their breathing loud and frantic. Vodka gritted her teeth.
Mine, she thought. This rail is mine.
Her heart was hammering against her ribs. The first turn came up fast, the force trying to drag her off balance, but she dug her cleats into the dirt and pivoted. But even then, at the very start, there was a strange, subtle hesitation in her limbs. A faint pulse beat behind her eyes, a throb that she dismissed as nothing more than the heat. She pushed harder, driving her stride, forcing the pace to make the others work for their position.
From her position, she had a perfect view of Vodka. Her senior was running beautifully, her stride powerful, but Desire’s eye picked up an anomaly. Vodka was slightly wider on the turn than usual. She was fighting the dirt more than she was gliding over it. Desire narrowed her eyes, a flicker of concern piercing through her focus.
Vodka’s forcing it, she realized. Why is she forcing it?
By the halfway mark, the intensity of the race was suffocating. The desert sun seemed to focus its light directly onto the track, turning the sand into a blinding, golden glare. Vodka’s world began to narrow. The rhythmic pounding of the boots; her own compared to the others, began to feel sluggish, disconnected. The metallic taste she had felt in the gym earlier returned, but this time it wasn't a phantom. It was sharp, visceral. She swallowed hard, trying to clear the sensation, but her throat felt dry and raw.
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She tried to accelerate, to call upon that deep, reserves of energy that had carried her through dozens of victories, but when she commanded her legs to lengthen their stride, they responded with a sluggish delay.
Come on, she hissed to herself, the effort making her vision blur at the edges. Move!
She could only see the encroaching dark.
Desire felt the shift before she saw it. The pack was compressing. She saw Vodka’s silhouette stiffen, saw the way her senior’s head dipped slightly, a micro-adjustment, but a fatal one in a race at this speed. The gap was there, staring her in the face. It was the chance she had been waiting for, the opportunity to claim the lead. But as Desire engaged her legs for the final push, she looked at the brunette one last time.
Vodka was losing her line. She was drifting toward the center of the track, her arms slightly loose, her form no longer the disciplined, razor-sharp edge of a champion. Desire felt a cold, jagged spike of fear cut through her heart. She didn't want to win like this, not if the price was her senior losing herself in the dust.
The internal conflict lasted for only a heartbeat. In the arena of Grade 1 racing, hesitation was a death sentence. Desire swallowed the lump of anxiety in her throat, tucked her chin into the collar of her crimson silks, and shifted her weight to the right.
It all felt so blissful.
The acceleration was instantaneous and violent. When a late surger drops their stance for the final spurt, the physical sensation is akin to being shot out of a cannon. The heavy heat of the Dubai air seemed to split in half as Desire sliced through it.
Her stride lengthened, each impact with the dirt sending a powerful shockwave up her spine. The world around her blurred into a dizzying smear of beige dirt and flashing silks as she effortlessly dismantled the gap between herself and the front-runners.
She pulled alongside Raise Your Heart, then left her in the dust with a single, devastatingly long stride. Allybar tried to respond, but Desire’s closing speed was absolute. She was flying, her heart hammering a ecstatic rhythm against her ribs. The sheer thrill of peak athletic performance surged through her veins.
Yet, even as the intoxicating euphoria of the lead enveloped her, her racing instincts forced her eyes to glance back toward the back of the race one last time.
She expected to see Vodka. She expected to hear the roaring, familiar thunder of her senior, chasing her down to turn the final straight into a legendary duel.
Instead, Vodka was gone. Her blue and yellow silks were swallowed up by the mid-pack, drifting further and further into the dust, completely unable to match the blistering tempo of the spurt. A piercing pang of worry struck Desire’s heart, a sudden contrast to the competitive fire burning inside her.
Please... just stay on your feet, Desire thought, her eyes stinging from the dust.
But the finish line was right there, a white line painted against the sand, representing the absolute pinnacle of international glory. Desire locked her gaze forward, gritting her teeth as she threw her entire body into the final three strides. She crossed the wire alone, a clear, definitive length ahead of the field.
And for once, it all felt worth it.
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In the Team Spica clubroom, the atmosphere had been a powder keg of noise just moments prior. Goldshi was leaning so far over the back of the sofa she was nearly upside down, while Spe and Teio were practically glued to the glass of the monitor, gripping their respective drinks. But standing right in front of the screen, her arms tightly crossed and her twin-tails twitching with manic anxiety, was Scarlet.
"What is that idiot doing?!" Scarlet had yelled just a minute ago, her voice cracking as she watched Vodka cede the rail on the final turn. "She trained for weeks just to leave a gap that wide?! Push, Vodka! Push! Holy shit!"
But as the broadcast shifted to the final straightaway, the shouting in the Spica room evaporated into a heavy, suffocating silence. They watched Red Desire launch her explosive late surge, but their eyes stayed glued to the blue-and-yellow silks drifting back into eighth place. When the camera finally panned over to the rails and caught the unmistakable, dark trail of crimson dripping down Vodka's face, Spe let out a soft, horrified gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.
Scarlet froze entirely. Her fierce, competitive expression shattered, her eyes widening as the color completely drained from her cheeks. She couldn't even speak; she just stared at the screen, her chest tightening with a terrifying realization that something went horribly, devastatingly wrong.
Across the campus, in the specialized lounge for Team DREAMS, the energy was entirely different, at least initially. Espoir stood near the back of the room with a knowing, confident smirk, while Lorraine and ForeverY were tracking the splits on a tablet.
"There it is!!" Loves Only You cheered, clapping her hands together as Desire unleashed her signature, blistering back-half execution. "Look at that stride! She’s completely pulling away from everyone!"
As Desire crossed the finish line a definitive length ahead to claim international glory, the lounge erupted into proud applause. Lorraine let out a breathy laugh, nodding in deep satisfaction at the flawless execution of their teammate's late surge. It was a massive victory for Team DREAMS on the world stage.
But the celebration was cut incredibly short. Desire bypassed the stewards and sprinted straight down the track. When the broadcast zoomed in on the emotional embrace, showing Desire softly wrapping her arms around a bleeding, trembling Vodka. The cheers in the DREAMS lounge instantly died down. City’s smirk vanished, replaced by a grim, respectful frown. LOY slowly lowered her hands, the room settling into a quiet hush.
They were proud of Desire's monumental win, but as they watched their teammate protectively shield the fallen champion from the cameras, they knew the victory ceremony was the furthest thing from Desire's mind.
||| RED DESIRE! RED DESIRE WINS THE AL MAKTROUM CHALLENGE ! RED DESIREEEEEEEEEEEE! |||
The moment she crossed the finish line, the world slowed down into a symphony of heavy breathing. Her chest heaving violently as she tried to pull the dry, scorching Dubai air into her burning lungs.
For a handful of seconds, she just let herself exist in the quiet space of her own mind. She had done it. She had conquered the Al Maktoum Challenge. A brilliant, breathless smile tugged at her lips, a deep sense of pride and happiness swelling in her chest because she had executed her race perfectly.
The cameras could wait.
As soon as she caught her breath, the soft, caring nature that defined her completely took over. Her eyes scanning past the shouting officials to find the one person she truly looked up to.
Down the track, Vodka was slowing to a halt near the outer rail. She was slumped forward, her shoulders shaking slightly as she reached up to touch her face.
Desire’s heart dropped. Bypassing the racetrack stewards who were trying to steer her toward the winner's circle, Desire dismounted seamlessly, her boots hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. She ran straight toward the eighth place finisher, completely ignoring the reporters calling her name.
"Vodka!"
Vodka’s ears twitched at the sound of the soft, frantic voice. She was staring down at her hand, which was already smeared with a bright, terrifying crimson. The severe nosebleed was unyielding, a sudden and frightening betrayal of her own body. "Desire... don't look," Vodka rasped, her voice thick and raspy. "Go... you won. Go get your trophy. You.. You looked so cool out there.."
Desire didn't listen. She stepped into Vodka’s space, completely disregarding the dirt, the sweat, and the blood, and threw her arms around her senior in a tight, fiercely protective hug. With a gentle movement, Desire lifts Vodka's head up, the sun lightly coating the brunettes face as Desire continues to hold her grip so the blood wouldn't continue to pool out of her nose.
Vodka froze, her breath catching as she was pulled against Desire’s chest. The sweet, familiar scent of Desire’s perfume immediately cut through the metallic smell of blood, acting as an instant remedy for the panicked champion.
"I don't care about the trophy right now," Desire whispered close to her ear, her sweet voice trembling with a mixture of awe and deep, underlying fear. She squeezed Vodka tighter, letting her senior lean her full, exhausted weight against her. "You ran so hard. You held that rail for as long as you could. I'm so proud of you. A- Are you okay!?"
A shaky, wet exhale escaped Vodka’s lips, her forehead resting heavily against Desire's shoulder, staining the clean crimson silks. The tough, unyielding senior persona completely fractured in the safety of her junior's arms. "Mn..I'm fine..I couldn't... I couldn't breathe, Desire. The track just... disappeared."
"I know. I've got you now," Desire murmured softly, her fingers gently stroking the back of Vodka's hair, trying to soothe the trembling she felt in the older girl’s frame. She pulled back just a fraction, using a clean corner of her sleeve to gently wipe a fresh streak of blood from Vodka’s upper lip, her eyes filled with an incredibly tender, soft devotion. "The medics are coming, alright? I have to go stand on the podium for just a few minutes so they don't cause a scene, but I promise you, the absolute second it is over, I am coming straight to the hospital. You won't be alone, okay?!"
Vodka looked up, her eyes glossy and vulnerable, but a tiny, incredibly proud smile managed to break through the exhaustion on her face. "You... you really flew out there on that straightaway. You looked amazing, you..you were so cool, Desire."
Desire's cheeks caught a soft, genuine flush, her heart fluttering despite the gravity of the situation. With a gentle motion; the crimson haired girl lowered the others head, pressing her forehead gently against Vodka’s for a fleeting, intimate second. Only to pull away when the presence of the medical professionals was already on the track. "T..Thank you, Vodka.. Now, let the medics help you. I'll see you very soon, I promise."
As the medical team finally arrived with towels and other equipment, Desire reluctantly stepped back, her hands lingering until the very last moment. She took a deep breath, smoothing down her silks, and turned back toward the bright lights of the winner's circle. Her heart was still on the track with her senior, but she walked toward the podium with her head held high, carrying the strength of the promise she had just made.