It's a Friday night, and it's coming up on about ten PM, so if I'm not mistaken, he should be making his move soon. And it turns out I'm right, as Lucian gets up from the sofa, tells me he's got something to do, wishes me a good night, and heads out, leaving me alone in the apartment. This is something that has been a regular occurrence with him, with him disappearing late at night on various days—Fridays being the most consistent one—and so far, I've only been wondering what he's up to without wanting to actually find out, but tonight, I want to find out. I know I shouldn't really be worrying about this. He's such a sweetheart, he takes care of basically all the monetary problems, if he does have some weird hobby he engages in at night, he should be allowed to engage in it without having his boyfriend snooping. But god damn it, there's a jealous streak in me that just won't allow me to let this go. So I very quickly follow him.

Honestly, I'm not sure how he's not spotting me. I am not a stealthy person, and I mean, I know I've done up my coat and put on a hat—which I had prepared beforehand to not lose time—to hide my identity so he doesn't immediately know it's me, but still, he's got to notice there's some guy keeping pace with him at a distance, right? Well, I suppose I shouldn't be looking a gift horse in the mouth here. I keep following him for about five minutes, passing through various streets until we finally arrive at a side alley in the industrial district that seems to be home to a set of garages for rent, and I see him punch in a code on one of the keypads and head inside one of the garages.

With the darkness, I lose track of him and get closer to the entrance, wondering just what the hell is going on here. And then, out of nowhere, the roar of an engine and bright headlights coming on from out of the garage scare the shit out of me, causing me to let out a frankly embarrassing yelp and land squarely on my ass. But just as I got scared by it, the motor turns off again and I can hear a car door opening, followed by a very confused Lucian. "...Ron? What... What are you doing here?" he asks. He doesn't even sound mad, just confused. Scrambling back to my feet, I try to stammer out some sort of explanation, but I'm drawing a complete blank, allowing him to offer one instead. "Did... you think I was cheating on you?" he then asks, and the words strike right into my heart.

God damn it, that's what this is, isn't it? I'm being a jealous idiot, that's all. Why else would I stalk my lovely boyfriend when he leaves me alone at the apartment and goes to enjoy a hobby on his own time? Fuck. "I... I'm sorry..." I mutter, feeling like I'm going to cry.

But immediately, Lucian rushes out of the car and to my side, wrapping me up in his arms. "Oh, no, no, honey... don't cry. I'm sorry, that was mean of me to say. I'm sure you were just worried about me, and I should've trusted you, told you what I was up to..." he whispers, gently caressing my cheek and wiping tears from my eyes. He's so sweet, even when I do something stupid like this, he's just incapable of being mad at me. I really don't deserve him, but who am I to argue with him. For a bit, I just let myself lean on him, coming down from my sudden burst of sadness. When I dare look him in the eye again, he has that smile on his face, that smile that tells me even when I do dumb stuff sometimes, even when I get weepy on him, he still loves me. And I love him. "C'mon... let me show you, OK? No more secrets between us," he says, taking me by the hand and leading me into the garage, where he flips a switch on a nearby lamp, illuminating what he's truly here for.

There, in the middle of the garage, stands a fucking sports car. Painted bright pink, girly motifs plastered across the sides, decked out with a spoiler, custom hood and everything. Wait... bright pink sports car? Something about that is so familiar, where have I heard about that before. Oh, wait. "Don't tell me..." I start, but can't quite put the words together.

Again, he just seems to know what I'm thinking. "Yeah. Your boyfriend is the Blonde Devil. Racing ace and scourge of the streets. I know you've read about it in the news. People hate the girly car because it emasculates these wannabe hard drivers when I make them eat my exhaust. Wanna take a look inside?" he asks, and I'm just following along right now, still processing it. The inside looks just as stunning as the outside, everything kitted out like crazy. There's hardly any extra weight in here, either, so it's optimized for racing, too. "This is my baby. It was originally a gift for my 18th birthday, when it was just a standard sports car, but over the years, I've been tuning and customizing it. Swapped in a new engine, too. And it drives like a dream, let me tell you. So... you wanna come along to the race?" he then asks. Is this really happening? Not only is my boyfriend an elite illegal street racer, he wants to have me tag along for a race? In response, all I can do is nod. And with that, he turns the key in the ignition, causing that engine to roar once more, and he drives out of the garage and onto the streets of the city, en route to the start of this race.