Mature content: strong language, violence, sexual themes, and drug use. Reader discretion advised. Everything is fictional!!
Aaron
It's been three days.
Three long, dragging, sleep-deprived, what the hell was that supposed to mean kind of days where every hour feels heavier than the last, where I keep telling myself I've already thought about it enough but somehow my brain still finds a way to circle back, to replay it, to stretch it out until it feels like it's still happening.
And I still can't get it out of my head.
I've tried, I really have, in every possible way that usually works for me, throwing myself back into training like nothing happened, pushing harder than usual, riding longer than necessary, taking risks I normally wouldn't just to feel something else—anything else—but none of it sticks, none of it replaces the memory the way I need it to.
Because every quiet moment—
Every second where I'm not actively doing something, not moving, not focused on the track or the engine or the next turn—
My brain goes right back to it.
To him.
To the couch, to the weight of him, to the way his hands felt like they belonged there, like it wasn't wrong even though it should've been, like my body knew something my brain is still refusing to accept.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face as I lean against the wall outside the house, the music inside loud enough to shake the walls, bass vibrating through my chest in a way that should be grounding, should be distracting, but somehow just makes everything feel more chaotic instead.
This was supposed to help.
It was Mason's idea.
"Dude, you've been away too tense, you need a distraction," he had said earlier, already halfway out the door before I could even argue, tossing me a drink like it was a solution instead of a temporary cover-up. "Come out, have fun, hook up with someone, get your head straight."
Get my head straight.
Yeah.
That's the plan.
That's why I'm here.
So here I am, standing at a party I don't even want to be at, surrounded by people I barely recognize, holding a drink I haven't even tasted, scanning the room like I'm searching for something specific, something that will fix this, or at least make it quieter for a while.
Find someone to hook up.
That's the point, right?
Find a girl, hook up, prove to myself that everything is normal, that I'm normal, that whatever happened a few nights ago was just a mistake, just adrenaline, just something that got out of control and doesn't actually mean anything.
"Okay, you've been standing here for like five minutes looking like you're about to either fight someone or have a breakdown," Mason says, appearing beside me like he always does, already relaxed, already in his element, like this is exactly where he belongs.
"I'm not—" I start, then stop, exhaling as I push off the wall, my shoulders tense. "...I'm just looking."
"For what?" he asks, glancing around dramatically, like he expects the answer to be ridiculous. "Enlightenment? Inner peace? A sign from the universe telling you to loosen up?"
"For someone interesting," I mutter, stepping into the crowd.
Mason grins immediately, like that's exactly what he wanted to hear. "There we go, now we're talking. Any preferences, or are we just going full chaos mode tonight and seeing what happens?"
"Shut up."
"I'm serious," he insists, walking backwards in front of me, weaving through people with ease while I follow, more rigid, more aware of everything. "Blonde, brunette, someone who looks like she'll ruin your life just enough to make it interesting?"
"I don't care," I snap, a little too quickly, a little too sharp.
He raises an eyebrow at that, clearly picking up on it. "You should care. That's kind of the whole point of this."
"I said I don't care."
And that's the truth.
That's the problem.
Because none of this feels real, none of it feels right, and the more I look, the more obvious it becomes that I'm not actually searching for anyone—I'm just trying to prove something to myself that I don't even fully understand.
My eyes keep moving anyway, scanning faces, bodies, interactions, trying to land on someone, anyone, who could make this easier, who could make me forget for even a few minutes—
And then—
I see her.
Lexi.
She's across the room near the kitchen, and something is off immediately, something sharp and wrong that cuts through everything else, because her posture is tense, her shoulders tight, her hands moving as she talks—no, not talks, argues—with some guy I've never seen before.
And he's too close.
Way too close.
I straighten instantly, my entire body going rigid as something protective and immediate takes over, drowning out everything else without hesitation.
"What?" Mason asks, noticing the shift.
"Lexi," I say, already moving before he can say anything else.
I don't wait.
"Fuck, not again.." Mason sighs.
I push through the crowd, ignoring the way people bump into me, the music, the noise, all of it fading into the background as I get closer, the scene sharpening with every step.
"...I said I'm not interested," Lexi is saying, her voice tight, controlled, but there's an edge there, something strained.
The guy laughs.
Actually laughs.
"Come on," he says, leaning in closer like she didn't just shut him down. "Don't be like that. We were dancing five minutes ago."
"I was being polite and giving you a chance," she snaps, her tone sharper now. "Now I'm telling you to back off."
He doesn't. Instead he takes a few steps closer to her.
Something in me snaps.
"Hey."
My voice cuts through, low and sharp, as I step between them without hesitation, placing myself directly in front of Lexi, blocking him completely.
The guy looks me up and down, clearly annoyed. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone telling you to walk away," I reply, my tone flat but edged with something dangerous.
"Relax, man," he scoffs. "We're just talking."
"She said no," I shoot back immediately, my jaw tightening. "That means you stop."
He smirks.
"Or what?"
Mason appears somewhere behind me, I can hear him starting to say something, probably trying to de-escalate, but it's already too late because the second that question leaves the guy's mouth, something in me decides for me.
I step forward.
"Or you leave," I say, my voice lower now, quieter, but heavier.
"You don't tell me what to do," he shoots back, irritation turning into something uglier.
"Just leave my sister the fuck alone then." I snap.
"Maybe she doesn't need you defending her when she hadn't put a fight when my hands were all over her minutes ago, she wasn't complaining back there," he says, glancing past me at Lexi like she's not even part of this anymore.
My fist moves before I even think about it.
It connects hard with his jaw, the impact sharp and immediate, sending him stumbling back as the entire room seems to react at once.
He swings back almost instantly, catching me in the shoulder, and suddenly we're both going at it without thinking, fists flying, bodies colliding, the crowd around us shouting and moving back, creating space like this is entertainment instead of a problem.
Someone yells.
Something crashes.
I don't register any of it properly.
All I feel is the rush, the same kind of adrenaline as the track but messier, less controlled, spilling over into something reckless and raw, something that doesn't have rules or structure, something that just is.
All the frustration.
All the confusion.
Everything I've been trying to ignore.
It all comes out here, and maybe I'm just taking it all on him...
He lands another hit, and I shove him back hard, slamming him into the counter, a glass shattering somewhere beside us, the sound sharp but distant.
"Aaron, stop!" Lexi's voice cuts through, but I can't, I don't, I'm already moving again—
"Aaron!" Mason this time, louder, closer.
I'm already tasting blood.
Hands grab me, pulling me back, dragging me away as I try to lunge forward again, my chest heaving, vision sharp but unfocused at the same time.
"Dude, that's enough!" Mason grunts, holding me back with actual effort, locking his arms around me as someone else pulls the other guy away.
"Let go—" I snap, trying to shake him off.
"No!" Mason shoots back. "You're done!"
I struggle for another second, then stop.
Not because I want to.
Because everything in me burns out all at once.
The adrenaline crashes hard, leaving behind nothing but heavy breathing, throbbing knuckles, and that same hollow, frustrated feeling sitting in my chest.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Mason mutters, still holding onto me like I might go again.
I don't answer.
Because I don't know.
All I know is that I came here to forget.
And somehow everything just got worse.
The second Mason gets a proper grip on me, he doesn't even hesitate—he just drags me.
Just straight up hauls me through the crowd like I weigh nothing, one arm locked around my chest, the other pushing people out of the way as the noise of the party swallows us and then slowly fades the closer we get to the door.
"Move—move—seriously, move!" he snaps at someone, shoving past them as I half-stumble, half-walk beside him, my legs still catching up with the fact that the fight is over even though my body clearly hasn't gotten the message yet.
"Let go of me," I mutter, my voice still rough, still carrying that leftover edge.
"Not a chance," Mason shoots back immediately, tightening his grip when I try to pull away. "You're not going back in there."
"I wasn't going to—"
"Yeah, you were," he cuts me off, pushing the door open hard enough that it slams against the wall on the way out.
Cold air hits my face like a slap.
We barely make it a few steps outside before Mason finally lets go of me, but he doesn't step back, doesn't give me space—he just turns, hands on his hips, staring at me like he's trying to decide whether to yell or punch me.
"What the hell was that?!" he snaps, and there's no humor in his voice this time, no teasing, no lightness—just pure frustration.
"I told you—he was—" I start, but he cuts me off again, sharper this time.
"I don't care what he was doing!" Mason throws his hands up, pacing a step away before turning back. "You don't just start swinging like that, Aaron! Not like that, not over nothing!"
"Nothing?" I repeat, my voice rising immediately, disbelief hitting hard. "You think that was nothing? He was all over her—"
"And you handled it," Mason interrupts, pointing at me. "You stepped in, you said something, that should've been it! But no, you had to escalate it, you had to take it there!"
"She's my sister!" I snap, the words coming out louder than I intend, sharper, defensive.
"I know that!" he fires back, just as loud. "But that wasn't just about Lexi, and you know it!"
Before I can respond, the door opens behind us again.
"Aaron!"
Lexi.
Her voice cuts through everything, and when I turn, she's already walking toward us, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression somewhere between angry and... hurt.
"Are you serious right now?" she demands, stopping a few feet away, her eyes scanning over me like she's trying to figure something out.
"I was handling it," I say immediately, still defensive, still keyed up.
"I didn't need you to handle it like that!" she snaps back, her voice rising. "I told him to back off, Aaron! I had it under control!"
She always says that even when it's clearly a lie.
"He wasn't listening to you—"
"And you think punching him fixed that?!" she cuts in, throwing her hands up. "You made it worse! Now it's a whole scene, people are talking, and for what?"
"For you," I shoot back, my jaw tightening. "I was looking out for you!"
"I didn't ask you to!" she says.
And then Mason steps back in, like he's been waiting for this exact moment.
"You wanna know what this is actually about?" he says, his voice lower now, but sharper, more pointed.
I don't answer.
"You've been off for days," he continues, stepping closer. "Ever since the race, ever since—you've been acting like you're about to explode, and tonight you finally did. This?" he gestures vaguely back toward the house. "This wasn't about Lexi."
"Stop," I warn, my voice low.
"No," he says firmly. "Because I'm tired of pretending I don't see it. Something's going on with you, and instead of dealing with it, you're just—what? Picking fights? Looking for excuses to lose it?"
"I said stop."
"And what, you're just gonna keep saying that until it magically fixes everything?" Mason presses. "That's not how it works!"
"Guys—" Lexi tries, but neither of us listens.
"Maybe if you actually talked about it—"
"Talk about what?!" I snap, the words ripping out of me before I can stop them.
"About whatever the hell is messing with your head!" Mason shoots back immediately. "Because this? This isn't you, Aaron!"
Something in me cracks.
"You don't know what's me!" I fire back, my voice louder now, sharper, my chest heaving as everything I've been holding in for days suddenly pushes to the surface all at once. "You don't know anything!"
"Then tell me!" he snaps.
"I can't!" I shout, and the words hang there, raw and exposed in a way I didn't mean them to be.
That shuts him up.
For half a second.
"Why not?" he asks, quieter now, but more serious.
Because I don't understand it myself.
Because it doesn't make sense.
Because it's him.
I laugh, but there's no humor in it, just frustration, just exhaustion, just too many thoughts with nowhere to go.
"I lost the race," I start, pacing now, my hands running through my hair as I try to grab onto something that feels real. "My dad's been on my back about it, acting like I threw everything away, like I don't care, like I'm just—wasting it all, and I'm trying to fix it, I'm trying to focus, but I can't—"
My voice falters.
"I can't," I repeat, quieter now, more frustrated.
"Why?" Lexi asks softly.
That's the question.
Why?
I stop pacing.
Look at them.
Then away.
"Because every time I try," I say slowly, my voice rough, uneven, "every time I try to focus, I just—"
I cut myself off, shaking my head, laughing again like that'll fix it.
"You just what?" Mason presses.
I swallow hard.
"He's there, messing with my head." I admit, the words quieter now, but heavier than anything I've said so far.
They both freeze.
"Who?" Lexi asks.
I hesitate.
"Tyler."
Silence drops between us, thick and immediate.
"And I don't know why," I rush out, the words spilling now, faster, messier. "I don't know why he's in my head all the time, I don't know why I can't just ignore him, I don't know why it messes with me this much, I just—I can't—"
I stop, breathing uneven, my chest tight like I've just run a mile.
"I can't get him out," I finish quietly.
Neither of them says anything.
And for the first time in days—
I've actually said it out loud. Not everything but still...
The silence stretches.
I can feel both of them looking at me, waiting, trying to piece together what I just said, trying to understand something I barely understand myself.
I shouldn't have said that.
I shouldn't have said any of that.
I drag a hand through my hair again, pacing once, twice, like if I keep moving I won't have to deal with the way my chest feels like it's been cracked open.
"Okay..." Mason says slowly, like he's choosing every word carefully now, like one wrong move might set me off again. "So he's in your head. That's... weird, but not—like—not world-ending, you know?"
I let out a short, sharp laugh.
"Yeah," I mutter. "Not world-ending."
Lexi hasn't said anything yet.
That's worse.
Because when I finally glance at her, she's just... watching me. Not angry anymore. Not yelling. Just quiet, like she's waiting for something I haven't said yet.
"What?" I snap, more defensive than I mean to be.
"You're leaving something out," she says, her voice calm, too calm. "I know you. That's not everything."
I look away immediately.
"It is," I lie.
"It's not," she presses, taking a small step closer. "Aaron, you don't spiral like this over nothing. You don't lose a race and suddenly forget how to function. Something else happened."
"Drop it," I mutter.
"No."
My jaw tightens.
"Lexi—"
"No," she repeats, firmer this time. "You don't get to explode, get into a fight, drag us into it, and then just shut down when we ask what's actually going on. If something's messing with you this bad, you don't get to deal with it alone." Me and sister have a complicated relationship.. but I know she's here for me no matter what.
"That's not your decision," I snap.
"It kind of is when you start punching people in the middle of parties!" Mason cuts in, frustration creeping back into his voice. "We're here now, man. You don't get to just—shut us out."
I shake my head, pacing again, faster this time, like I'm trying to outrun the words sitting at the back of my throat.
"This is stupid," I mutter. "It doesn't even matter."
I stop.
My hands clench at my sides, my jaw tight, my heart beating too fast for something that shouldn't feel this big.
It's just words.
Just one sentence.
So why does it feel like everything changes if I say it out loud?
I exhale slowly.
Look at the ground.
"We kissed."
The words land hard in the quiet, heavier than anything else I've said tonight.
Neither of them moves.
Neither of them speaks.
And I don't take it back.
I just stand there, breathing uneven, staring at nothing, as the reality of it sits between us.
Now it's not just in my head.