Gateway To Dream

Jacques quickly swerved to evade a massive cargo truck, his reflexes sharp and instinctive.

"Damn it! I can't let him win! That femboy is mine!" Mourice growled, ripping off the glass cover from a button on his dashboard and slamming it down in desperation.

It was his emergency turbo speed booster—installed just in case. The engine roared, firing with a double ignition as the mechanism kicked in, rocketing Mourice forward.

His motorcycle surged ahead, reclaiming the lead and leaving Jacques in the dust.

Victory now back on his side.

"Ugh... speed booster, huh?" Jacques look at the map and notice that it's still 20 kms away, he laughs in relieved, "thank God he's a beginner."

Know that he still got enough time to pace up. Jacques take it easy, he got strategy. Predicting that Mourice's speed is at 90, and his maximum speed is at 120. He can made it. Besides, He also got speed booster waiting to be used.

While driving to Mourice's side, Jacques take his time to check his engine, and he can tell that the racing motorcycle, will only topped out around 90 km/h, which is why Jacques was able to catch up quickly—after all, he had stolen the engine from a real racing motorcycle.

It seemed like his father had bought him a regular motorcycle, then modified it so it sounded, looked, and felt like a real racing bike.

Which made sense.

Traffic accidents happen often, and letting a 15-year-old kid drive without a license already violates the law. Anyone with a hot-blooded, high-ego son like Mourice would think twice before giving him such a dangerous toy. But Mourice didn't seem to realize yet that his motorcycle was fake.

It didn't matter.

Thanks to that, Jacques felt the need to find a real high-end racing motorcycle—and he was lucky enough to stumble upon one in a parking lot.

That speed booster Mourice used?

No way his dad installed it. That'd be like sending his son straight to hell.

Relaxed, knowing he'd eventually win, Jacques drove without pressure. He effortlessly caught up to Mourice again. He could see the red light on the back of Mourice's motorcycle. And since Mourice had already used his only speed booster, this would be the end for him once Jacques passed.

All of a sudden—

A flash of memories overtook Jacques's vision.

He was racing, on a highway.

Real, dangerous bikers were eyeing him with vicious, intimidating stares.

One of them—spiky green-dyed hair, tattooes, piercings on his ears, nose, and lips—looked especially deadly.

"If you win, I'll let your friend go."

The highway climbed onto a flyover flanked by two towers, forming a gateway into a star-lit sky.

And as if it were fate—That night, the sky was clear of clouds. It glittered like a distant city glowing under the shadow of the mountains.

Jacques could feel it…The stars were calling him.

He didn't know exactly what had happened back then, but he remembered feeling broken, desperate, dead inside. That race had awakened his soul.

And that sky full of stars—it reminded him of who he truly was.

His dream.

And he cried.

"I'm sorry!" He said to himself, hands trembling in anger and regret as he make promise to himself; "I won't abandon you again!"

As the flashback faded, a chill ran down Jacques's spine. His reflexes snapped him back just in time to dodge a vehicle veering into his lane. Mourice had already sped ahead; his taillight was gone, no longer gleaming in Jacques's mirror.

"Wh-what just happened?" Jacques gasped, returning to reality as the vision vanished. "When did that happen?"

But before he could answer that—The flyover loomed before him.

The map said to turn left. But the flyover stretched out straight ahead. If he chose to enjoy the flyover, he might lose the race for taking the longer route—and Mourice would snatch Ethan away.

So, it was his choice: Ethan… or the sky?

Ethan's words crossed his mind: "I can do it myself, I don't need your help! Go ahead, don't think about me!"

And he showed that he could—even with shaking legs.

So, Jacques drove straight—onto the flyover, closer to the sky.

Yes, he would be fine.

And as the thoughts of Ethan left his mind, Jacques could feel it.

The sky welcomed him, like a hero returning home.

Triumphant.

Like confetti falling in slow motion.

That's where I belong; among the stars!

The fire in his heart ignited again, blazing as the flyover climbed higher and higher, like a ramp to the heavens.

Jacques ripped off his helmet, letting the wind snatch it away. It tumbled down to the asphalt.

He stretched his arms wide, like a ship's sail catching the wind. He wanted to feel it—on his torso, his face, through his hair.

And he roars.

Damn! This was freedom!

Freedom from the fear of crashing and burning.

Freedom to live the way you want it.

Freedom from law.

Freedom to be me.

Jacques laughed from deep within, heart soaring. It was the most satisfying laugh he had ever had.

And then—

He spotted the road to the left, intertwining with the one toward the finish line. The road that brings him back to the finish line where Ethan waits. He took it. He has to finish what he start.

Taking the turn, crossing the dangerous lane where trucks and fast cars are crossing his way. Jacques has no single doubt in his blood, rushing to that road, even the highlight and the sound of the truck's horn barks him from behind.

He doesn't care, he is back on the track, and he's rushing to the finish line now.

He thought he will expecting Mourice on the finish line, and he thought he has to fight to help Ethan get out of situation that he doesn't like.

He wasn't really wrong. Mourice was there, his red light on the back of the motorcycle is seen. He is speeding up, but his speed is nothing compares to VOLARE, and Jacques won't let him win.

So he speed up, as fast as he could, he would break the speedometer if he should, and he burn the road as he cross the finish line, almost make Mourice fell to the asphalt, because he was shocked. 

From the mirror, Jacques saw Ethan jumping up and down, celebrating his victory.

Jacques let the motorcycle glides, gradually slowing down as he turned and rolled back to the parking lot, where Ethan waited, and Mourice sulks.

Overjoyed, Ethan ran and threw himself at Jacques, arms wrapping tight around his neck.

"You did it! I was so worried he was going to take me somewhere by force!" Ethan said, dramatically tearing up.

"Isn't this the right time for you to kiss me?" Jacques teased, knowing Ethan, he would go rage mode and tell him to behave.

Unexpectedly, Ethan cupped Jacques's face, leaned in fast, and—without thinking—kissed him on the lips.

Just for a few seconds, wet lips pressed against his, sucking gently. It hit harder than wine.

Jacques felt his cheeks burn. He couldn't look away from Ethan. "Wow... I knew it. You're in denial about me."

"Shut up," Ethan muttered, and kissed him again.

Watching the scene unfold, Mourice slammed his helmet onto the asphalt with a loud thud and shouted, "You're disqualified! You took that flyover—that's not the route!"

Jacques tapped Ethan as a signal to stop the romantic scene. Ethan pulled back, but instead wrapped his arms around Jacques, hugging him tight and resting his head on Jacques's shoulder.

"I took that road because I wanted to give you a chance to win," Jacques said, shrugging. "Since you already used your speed booster. A fake racing bike wouldn't stand a chance against mine anyway."

You hurting, Mourice? Let me add more!

That, of course, only humiliated Mourice even more. He lunged forward, grabbed Jacques by the collar, and yanked him away from Ethan—fist cocked, ready to send him straight to the hospital.

"Easy, Mou," Jacques warned, pushing him back. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't care anymore!" Mourice screamed.

But before he could swing, Ethan grabbed Mourice's wrist with his leather belt. With a quick motion, he pulled Mourice back from Jacques, looped the belt around his neck, yanked his face down toward a fist—and locked the buckle tight.

Before Mourice could react, Jacques grabbed Ethan's hand, hopped on the motorcycle, and the two sped off from the parking lot.

"Hey!!" Mourice's face turned bright red as he watched them disappear into the distance—exhaust smoke in the air, and defeat lodged deep in his lungs.

"That was the most fun thing that happened at the festival tonight," Ethan shouted over the roar of the bike, clinging tightly to Jacques's torso and laughing from the thrill.

"You know... since you kissed me," Jacques grinned, "how about we escalate?"

"What?" Ethan blinked, confused—then his eyes widened. "Oh no. No!"

That was the kind of no someone uses to stop a misbehaving dog.

But Jacques wasn't a good boy.

***

VOLARE was parked safely in the lot outside Ethan's flat. Just a few bucks for the overnight fee when Jacques left in the morning.

Clothes lay scattered across the floor. Ethan was on the bed, belly down on the sheets, cleaning his round eyeglasses. He glanced at Jacques, who sat at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone—browsing motorcycle engine blocks on an online marketplace.

Ethan rolled over, wrapped his arms around Jacques from behind, and rested his head on his shoulder. He peeked at the screen."What are you doing? Buying an engine block? You don't even know the owner of the motorcycle you stole from."

"I'm thinking of selling it on the black market... or dumping it in the river," Jacques muttered. "But I'd need to buy another one to replace it first. That thing wasn't cheap."

His face had gone serious. He knew—if the police started investigating the stolen engine, things could get dangerous. Whoever owned that racing bike wasn't some broke amateur. And people with money? They always find a way to hunt you down.

Jacques knew he'd messed up. He thought that once the race was over, he'd have time to return the engine.But the mood had been right. So instead of heading back to fix his mistake, he'd gone straight to Ethan's flat.

Now, he had no idea how to get out of this mess.

Ethan could tell Jacques was more troubled than he let on.

He looked at the clock. 11 p.m.

"Is it too late to go back to the festival and return the engine?" Ethan asked gently.

"I don't know..." Jacques sighed.

He had swapped the engine block. Machines these days were easier to assemble and disassemble than they were centuries ago—back when Earthlings still lived on their home planet. That's why the original owner might not have noticed yet. Unless they were a pro.

"I'll go with you. Come on, at least we try," Ethan said, getting up and pulling his clothes off the floor.

When they returned to the festival grounds, Mourice was gone—and so was the owner of the stolen engine.

Jacques looked even more defeated now. The weight of it all sinking in.

The prize was sweet, but the price was sour.

He won big earlier, but now?

He might have to pay even bigger.

Should he run? Or face what's coming?