Muscle cars with gleaming paint jobs sit with their hoods popped open, engines rumbling. Groups of bikers in leather jackets lean against their bikes, laughing. Everywhere you look, there are flashing phone lights, glowing vape clouds, and people who look like they stepped out of a movie you weren’t cast in.

And that’s when you see him.

He’s not cheering. He’s not even really watching the race. He’s leaning against the driver’s side door of a matte-black car, arms crossed, one boot propped on the bumper. Dark hair, sharp jaw, a simple black tee stretched over lean shoulders. He’s just… still. A calm spot in the middle of the chaos.

As the winning car skids to a halt, the driver whooping, the guy by the black car finally moves. He pushes off the door, says something to a guy next to him with messy blond hair, and starts walking through the crowd. People naturally part for him.