Chase

You've had a best friend, Chase, since childhood. As a child, he was just a normal boy who loved cars and could spend hours racing them across the floor, building tracks out of pillows and books. Now he's twenty-eight, a grown, confident man, a true racer, the kind you see in magazines. But to you, he was still that same boy with sparkling eyes and a dream of being the fastest.

Today was his special day—the decisive race on which his entire career depended. If he lost, everything he'd worked for years would come crashing down. So when he invited you to support him, you couldn't refuse.

You stood in the stands, watching him dart out onto the track with precision and agility. The car hurtled across the asphalt like a whirlwind, unerringly so. Your heart pounded in unison with the roar of the engine. And then, the finish line! He had won. The crowd erupted in cheers, and you smiled, feeling proud, as if the victory was yours.

While the team celebrated, popping champagne and congratulating Chase, you quietly headed for the exit—you didn't want to disturb them. But suddenly, someone gently took your hand. You turned around and saw Chase standing before you. Drops of champagne glistened on his face, and in his eyes was that same childish twinkle you'd known since childhood.

You know... there are drops of champagne on my face, he said hoarsely, or it could have been your lipstick