CYNTM CHAPTER 86

“It’s real, of course,” Winston replied.

“Hahaha! Meeting you has been my luckiest break yet!” Hunter suddenly bent down, grabbed Winston’s legs, and hoisted him up.

“What are you doing?” Winston pressed firmly down on Hunter’s shoulders.

“Blu told me I should ‘cling to your thigh,’ and I felt a little wronged! But I couldn’t exactly argue back, so here I am—taking it literally!” Hunter squinted and laughed without a care in the world.

Winston looked down at him, seeing his own reflection filling the eyes of this big kid.

Unique. As if he occupied Hunter’s whole world.

As Hunter prepared to put him down, Winston tilted his head and, with a cool look, said, “Then don’t put me down if you’re so capable.”

“Eh?”

“I kind of like this height. You can put me down when I’ve had enough.”

“Wait, what? I was only joking. Are you actually mad?” A flicker of panic crossed Hunter’s face.

Seeing that flash of concern sparked an inexplicable satisfaction in Winston.

“I’m not mad. I actually like the joke. Why don’t you just let me enjoy it a bit longer?”

“You’re kidding… You’re upset just because I picked you up?” Hunter looked like a lion cub who tried teasing an adult lion, thinking the lion wouldn’t take him seriously. But then the lion slapped him on the waist, leaving him stuck in an awkward position.

“As long as you keep holding me like this, I won’t be angry.”

Winston’s face showed no expression, with his hands resting lightly on Hunter’s shoulders.

Passersby glanced at them occasionally, casting curious looks.

Hunter felt embarrassed at first, but then, with a resigned expression, he gave Winston a small bounce.

“Alright, if you like it, I’ll hold you.”

Surely, with all these people watching, Winston would ask to be put down soon.

But as it turned out, Hunter had underestimated Winston. This man seemed perfectly capable of blocking out anything that didn’t matter to him.

Five minutes passed, and Winston didn’t budge.

While handling an F1 steering wheel takes serious arm strength, Winston wasn’t exactly light—and he was tall for a driver, with plenty of muscle. After holding him up for a solid fifteen minutes, Hunter was finally… unable to take it anymore.

“Uh, this is getting a little boring. Why don’t you pull out your phone and put on some music or something?” Hunter suggested.

“Your arms are shaking a bit. Feeling like you can’t keep up?” Winston asked.

“Me? Can’t keep up? I’ve handled two-hour races no problem; this has only been a few minutes!”

Hunter’s pride took a hit.

“I see.” Winston glanced at his watch. “It’s been about fifteen minutes. So, an hour and forty-five to go.”

Hunter’s whole body trembled.

“You’re way heavier than a steering wheel…”

“Thinking about setting me down?”

“Yeah…”

“Then go ahead.”

Hunter let Winston down as if finally released from a dream.

“Let’s go. Weren’t you saying something about checking out a strip club?”

Hunter quickly followed, his arms still slightly sore, though he couldn’t resist leaning closer.

“Hey! You’re not mad, are you? I heard you have a bit of mysophobia and usually don’t let people touch you. Is that why you’re upset?”

Winston suddenly stopped, and Hunter bumped straight into him.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Can’t remember…”

“If I had mysophobia, I’d have turned around the second I stepped into your apartment.”

“Oh… that makes sense…”

“And I wouldn’t be okay with sleeping in your bed at night, either.”

“…True.” Hunter had a “that makes sense” look on his face.

“And you’re covered in sweat after dancing, so I wouldn’t let you hold me for that long.”

“Right! So, you must not have mysophobia!”

“Now, where’s the bar you mentioned?”

“You’re really going?”

“To learn.”

“Learn what? How to do a striptease?” Hunter was beginning to lose track of Winston’s logic.

“How to run a bar.”

“Oh… wait, are you seriously opening a bar?”

“Mm.”

“I’m starting to feel like I’m friends with a millionaire.”

Winston’s suggestion settled it, and Hunter reluctantly decided to take him to a high-end bar to “broaden his horizons.”

This bar wasn’t as dimly lit as most. Instead, cool lighting created an atmosphere of mystery and seduction. The drinks weren’t cheap, and since they arrived late, they missed out on the prime seating in the center.

On stage, elegant women were already performing on the poles.

Unlike typical strip club routines, the moves here were clearly well-choreographed. Each twist and descent down the pole exuded a captivating allure.

Hunter ordered Winston a signature drink called “Flash” but stuck to a glass of lemonade for himself.

With wide eyes, he watched the performance on stage. It wasn’t long before he jumped off his barstool.

“I need to use the restroom!”

“That got you aroused?” Winston’s cold voice cut through the sultry music and heavy breathing, reaching Hunter’s ears.

Hunter lowered his head, glancing at Winston. “Wow… you’re packing… Don’t hold it in; it’s bad for your health.”

With that, Hunter pushed through the crowd toward the restroom.

Two seconds later, Winston left his seat and followed.

What neither of them anticipated was that the restroom was full—not with people using the facilities but with people clearly up to other activities.

“Seriously… can’t they just get a hotel room?” Hunter’s face turned green.

“So, what’s your plan now?”

Winston’s voice came from just behind him. Hunter turned to face him.

“W…what are you doing here?”

“I could block for you so you can take care of things. Holding it in too long is bad for your health.” Winston repeated Hunter’s words back to him.

Hunter’s expression turned pained.

He turned toward the wall, with Winston leaning against him.

People continued to flood into the restroom, while others pounded on the door, shouting at those messing around inside.

Hunter finished in under a minute.

“That quick?” Winston remarked when he heard Hunter’s zipper.

“I… I can usually last way longer!” Hunter’s voice was tinged with wounded pride.

“Shall I time you when we get back tonight?” Winston said, heading toward the door.

“No way! Are you serious?”

“Of course not. Do I seem that bored?” Winston responded coolly.

“Not bored? Who was the one making me hold them by the thighs in the middle of the street for fifteen minutes just now?”

“That wasn’t me being bored. That was you being bored.”

Hunter was left speechless once again.

When they returned, they found their original spot had been taken, and Hunter’s earlier enthusiasm had vanished.

They walked back home along the streets.

“Hey, after trying out the bar experience, what did you think?”

“Make sure there are enough restrooms,” Winston replied.

Hunter burst out laughing.

Back at Hunter’s small apartment, they booked their flights to England for the next afternoon.

Normally, Hunter fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but tonight he kept getting up to go to the bathroom.

By the fourth time he returned, Winston switched on the bedside lamp. The room filled with light, and Hunter instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Winston’s brows furrowed.

Hunter’s hair was damp with sweat, his lips pale. He looked unwell.

“I don’t know… My stomach feels like it’s twisting. It hurts… and I feel weak all over.” He swayed slightly. “Sorry for waking you.”

Winston reached out to feel his forehead. “It looks like acute gastroenteritis. But we ate the same things all day—unless something was off with that drink you had at the bar.”

“That’s unlikely…” Hunter looked exhausted.

“Did you eat anything after we got back?”

“…While you were in the shower, I drank a cup of yogurt…”

Winston walked over to the trash can, pulled out the yogurt container, and checked the expiration date. Turning back, he said coldly, “It’s three months expired. Didn’t you notice?”

“…Expired? I didn’t realize…”

“Get dressed. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“The hospital…”

“Unless you want to end up dehydrated? You need to recover before the next race.”

Winston’s attitude was firm, leaving Hunter with no choice but to get dressed.

At the door, Hunter bent down to tie his shoes but swayed unsteadily. Just as he sighed, Winston knelt in front of him and deftly tied his laces.

“Thanks… It’s an honor to have the god of Formula 1 kneeling down to tie my shoes… If only I had the strength to take a picture.”

“When you’re better, take as many as you like.”

At the hospital, as Winston had suspected, Hunter was diagnosed with acute gastroenteritis and set up with an IV drip.

By morning, his stomach pain had eased, and his complexion had improved considerably. But when he called Marcus, he was thoroughly scolded.

Winston sat coolly to the side, watching with an indifferent expression.

It was clear they wouldn’t be able to make their flight that afternoon, but fortunately, practice sessions didn’t start until the following week.

When Hunter hung up, he let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry… I’ll reschedule my flight to the UK. You should go ahead without me,” he said pitifully, looking at Winston.

“No need. I’ve already rescheduled both of our tickets. We’re flying to the UK the day after tomorrow.”

“Huh? But… Mr. Miller from the Ferrari team is definitely going to hate me…”

“I have a more consistent record and more experience than you. Missing a few pre-race meetings won’t affect my results.”

Hunter’s face showed that same look—defeated yet unable to argue.

After a few minutes of silence, Hunter suddenly spoke. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The most valuable thing anyone has is their time. Thank you for spending yours with me.”

“It’s nothing.”

Hunter turned to look at Winston. “This IV drip is so boring… Can you talk to me?”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“You’re always so cold… I always have to be the one finding something to say…”

“Fine. I’ll pick a topic. Why didn’t you order alcohol for yourself last night?”

“…I’m not old enough. I used an ID that Blu lent me to get in.”

Winston tilted his head, his expression clearly saying: There’s more to this.

“Alright, alright… It’s because of my dad. He used to be a stockbroker on Wall Street, but after a failed investment, he went bankrupt. He started drinking himself into oblivion every day. My mom couldn’t take it and eventually left. I made some money racing karts, and while some of it went toward paying off debts, the rest he spent on alcohol. A couple of years ago, I finally smashed all his bottles. We had a huge fight. He stormed out, determined to buy more, and then… he got into an accident… That’s why I…”

Hunter’s voice faltered, and before he knew it, tears slipped down his face.

Winston watched in silence as Hunter tried to wipe his tears away forcefully.

He wanted to hold it in, but his chest was shaking even more violently.

Without a word, Winston reached over, lifted him from the bed, and pulled him firmly into his arms.

“If you need to cry, then cry.”

Winston’s voice was soft, yet it opened a crack in Hunter’s heart, allowing all the emotions he’d been holding back to finally break free.

Hunter choked at first, then started to sob quietly, and soon his grief poured out in wrenching cries.

Winston’s fingers gently threaded through his hair as he cradled the back of Hunter’s head.

–

“Why are you so kind to me?” Hunter asked as they were leaving the hospital.

“Why did you grab the wrong hand that time?” Winston asked in return.

“Because you just happened to be standing right next to me! I thought you were Miley!”

“It’s because you were beside me. Only, I didn’t mistake you for anyone else,” Winston said.

When they got back to Hunter’s apartment, Winston immediately went to the fridge and began tossing out almost everything inside.

Out went ketchup, cheese, cheese bread slices, yogurt, Mexican hot sauce—even a frozen steak.

He tossed each item with quick, precise movements.

“Hey, hey! That frozen steak definitely isn’t expired!” Hunter protested, trying to save it.

“It expires in a month, and from the looks of it, you won’t be back here within the month,” Winston said, glancing over at him.

Hunter was instantly at a loss for words.

“Check expiration dates before you eat something next time.”

“Oh…”

“But I doubt you’ll actually remember to do that.”

Winston had hit the nail on the head.

They’d booked flights to England for the next day. After finishing their packing that evening, they sat together on the sofa to watch TV.

Winston was clearly uninterested, focused instead on reading a finance magazine.

Hunter wasn’t finding anything on TV particularly appealing either, so he pulled out his phone to play a game. But since he hadn’t charged it at the hospital, the phone died the moment he turned it on, forcing him to plug it in to charge.

“Hey, you’re not using your phone, are you?” Hunter nudged Winston.

“No.”

“Can I play on it for a bit?”

“What are you planning to play?”

“…Match-3.”

“I’m not letting you download a childish game on my phone.”

Hunter’s excitement fizzled. “Fine… I’ll watch TV.”

Since the charging cable was too short for him to use his phone on the couch, Hunter leaned back, watching TV with growing boredom. After flipping through more than a dozen channels, he somehow ended up on a shopping channel advertising men’s unique products, including… a fleshlight.

The host was passionately promoting it, hyping it as if it were the best invention on earth.

Hunter’s eyes filled with longing, and he sighed, “I really want to buy one!”

Just then, something hit him on the head.

“Ouch!” He looked down and realized it was Winston’s phone.

“Take it.”

“You’re letting me download Match-3?”

“Yes. Download it. Just change the channel.”

Hunter blinked, then burst out laughing, clutching his stomach, and happily began playing his matching game on Winston’s phone until its battery ran out.

The next day, they arrived at Silverstone Circuit. Hunter rejoined his team, only to get called a “blockhead.”

During the free practice session, Hunter found that his recent gastroenteritis hadn’t affected his performance much, and he felt a wave of relief. Seeking a bit of peace away from Marcus’s nagging, he slipped off to a secluded spot. With eyes half-closed, he leaned back on the steps and stared up at the sky.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed—it was a text from Winston: Where are you?

Hunter chuckled, sent back his location, and added, Why are you looking for me?

Winston replied: To smoke.

Hunter couldn’t help but laugh.

A few minutes later, Winston appeared by his side.

“You’re so slow, I’m almost done with this cigarette!”

Winston sat down, and Hunter handed him another cigarette that was already a bit crumpled.

“Hey, I didn’t think you were the kind of person who needed a pre-race cigarette to wake up or relax. Don’t you have a great handle on your emotions,” Hunter asked curiously.

“It’s because you need it.”

“Hahaha, so you’re just here to keep me company?” Hunter draped an arm around Winston’s shoulder. “Then every race, wherever I sneak off for a smoke, I’ll send you a text.”

Winston said nothing.

In this race, Winston managed to beat both Owen and Ciel, while Hunter finished in sixth place.

Afterward, the two of them met up for dinner. Midway, something crossed Hunter’s mind, and he veered off toward a flower shop.

“You’re buying flowers?” Winston asked as he walked beside him.

“Yeah. Marcus insists I send some to Audrey Wilson—hoping she’ll write something good about me in her article.” Hunter shrugged with a hint of helplessness.

“Are you sending roses?”

“No way! Roses are for the person you like!”

With his hands in his pockets, Hunter casually browsed through the arrangements.

“Ah, Winston, you’ve got good taste. Help me pick something, would you? If I don’t take this seriously, Marcus will never let me hear the end of it…” Hunter sighed.

“You know, you don’t actually need to send her flowers.”

“Oh?”

“Just beating me is enough.”

Hunter laughed but went ahead and picked out a bouquet anyway.

The shop clerk handed him a card, and Hunter bit the pen cap, stumped for what to write. After a long pause, he scribbled a few casual lines.

Leaving the flower shop, they strolled back toward the hotel.

Under the soft glow of the streetlights, Hunter suddenly clapped Winston on the shoulder, squinting with a grin. “Hey! I met you. I remembered you. This world was made for rivals, and your soul was made for mine.”

“Where’d you read that?” Winston frowned slightly.

“The back of the card I just wrote!” Hunter laughed.

“You got it wrong,” Winston replied.

“Wrong? So you’ve heard it somewhere?” Hunter protested.

“‘I met you. I remembered you. This city was made for love, and you were born for my soul.’”

Winston’s voice was low, his words almost drifting away with the evening breeze.

“Tsk… And where’s that from?”

“The Lover by Marguerite Duras.”

“Hmm. I still think my version fits you and me better,” Hunter replied nonchalantly.

“I prefer the original.”

“The original is indeed great. If it were me…I’d save it for a proposal! Who knows, maybe it’d seal the deal! Hahaha!”

Hunter’s carefree laughter echoed down the street.

They reached the hotel entrance, but Hunter stopped suddenly.

“Ah… I’m not really in the mood to go back to sleep.”

“So what would you rather do?” Winston asked.

“How about a movie? I noticed a little theater on our way here!”

Hunter must have remembered Winston’s strict routine, regular enough to rival a monk’s. How could he expect Winston to agree to a midnight movie?

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Hunter’s eyes lit up, and he shamelessly threw an arm over Winston’s shoulder, saying, “Oh no! I’m getting used to having you around! What’ll I do if you marry some bossy wife one day?”

“Then I just won’t marry.”

“Perfect! You should marry me instead.”

“You’re not capable of marrying me.”

“Just wait, I’m going to leave you in the dust on the racetrack one day!”

“That’s not the kind of capability I mean.”

“What then? Are you saying I’m not rich enough for you?” Hunter said defiantly.

Winston lowered his gaze. “Mr. Hunter, who came in less than a minute, thinks he’s qualified to marry me?”

“I was bursting after holding it in, and couldn’t use the toilet!”

“If I held it in, I’d make sure you couldn’t get up for the rest of your life.”

“Fuck!” Hunter flashed a big middle finger.

They arrived at the “little theater,” which turned out to be mostly showing indie films, so it was quiet. The small screening room had fewer than three rows of seats, and by the time they entered, only the back row was free.

The first two rows were occupied by couples cuddling, and from the unmistakable smacking sounds, clearly in the middle of some passionate kissing.

Hunter was completely unfazed, flopping into his seat with a lazy sprawl.

Winston took the seat beside him.

The movie “High-Speed Murder” had won several awards. Hunter had chosen it partly because both main characters were race car drivers and partly because one of the protagonists was also named Hunter.

The plot was tragic, so much so that Hunter had to look away, but he still couldn’t help but keep watching.

Only when the two drivers sped off toward the screen’s edge of the screen did Hunter finally exhale a deep breath.

By then, it was past two in the morning.

They walked in silence for a while, until Winston suddenly asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“I was just thinking. If one day we both leave F1, would we drift apart? Just get lonelier and lonelier?” Hunter lowered his head, his expression serious.

“No.”

“What do you think would happen to us?” Hunter asked curiously.

“We’d travel the world.”

“Oh? Where to? I haven’t even properly explored the UK!”

“Then we’ll start with the UK.”

“Perfect! I want to ride the London Eye. Let’s do it tomorrow!”

“Sure.”

“What else?”

“Sapporo. For the hot springs.”

“Just thinking about it sounds amazing,” Hunter sighed, closing his eyes as if he could already feel himself relaxing in the hot water.

“Dubai, for some dune bashing.”

“I’d love that!”

“And diving in Tahiti.”

“Do you even know how to dive?”

“I do. I’ll take you with me.”

“Alright! What else?”

“Santorini. You can watch the sunrise on the left and the sunset on the right.”

“Why does that sound like a honeymoon? Your future wife is going to hate me!”

“With you around, I probably wouldn’t marry anyone else.”

“Hahaha! Thanks—and sorry to future Mrs. Winston.”

Hunter suddenly stopped walking, and Winston turned back to look at him.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking… life feels like a Formula 1 track. Lap after lap, the same corners over and over. I’ve been chasing after you, hoping to catch up. But… what if we miss each other somewhere along the way?” Hunter’s gaze was intense as he looked at Winston.

“In the next lap, I’ll catch up to you.”

Under Winston’s gaze, Hunter smiled as if he’d just been given the greatest gift.

“Then you have to make it happen, no matter what…”

Hunter looked at Winston with a rare determination.

“No matter what, I’ll catch up to you.”

Because you are my finish line.

They continued walking side by side under the streetlights.

---

The author has something to say:

Winston: Maybe you’re also obsessed with me…

Hunter: We’ll meet again in the next lap.

In the next chapter, I want to write a side story for Owen and Ciel—not necessarily a romantic one. Or maybe some lovey-dovey, domestic moments with Winston and Hunter as a couple. Hehe.

Translator’s note:
Author-nim decided to write the Winston and Hunter extra first! It should be up this weekend.