Inside me

ASSHOLE WITH BMW ~

IRIS’S POV-

Coffins are the best beds—at least they promise some sleep.My room is weirdly quiet tonight. It smells like burnt coffee and bad memories, and no matter how hard I try to drift off, my brain keeps replaying those shitty incidents from my past. The room isn’t small or huge, just the usual collection of bed, drawers, cupboard and random furniture, but tonight everything looks off, like the walls themselves are inching toward me.

AGAIN.

That voice again. Someone calls my name from the terrace, soft and teasing, like they already know I’ll come.

“Oi, Iris… come on. See the moon. It’s pretty.”

Once, this voice used to terrify me. Now it just settles on my skin like old cigarette smoke. Fear has this messed‑up habit of getting dull when it visits too often.I drop back onto the bed with a thud, frustration buzzing under my skin.

My legs hang a few inches above the floor—I’m short, thanks for the reminder.

“Shit.”

I push myself up, twist my sleek black hair into a messy bun, my bangs falling perfectly into place like they’re the only part of my life that listens. I yank on a random black hoodie, shove my feet into sneakers and step outside.

Chicago nights are quiet in a way that feels wrong, the kind of quiet that makes you wonder what’s hiding underneath it. I still can’t believe October can be this cold; white smoke spills out of my mouth every time I exhale, like my secrets are finally escaping.I was walking aimlessly, lost in my own messed‑up thoughts.When I reached “Burnham’s Hearth”, my favourite spot to crash and eat, I didn’t feel like stopping, so I just kept going. I was thinking so hard I didn’t even bother to check left or right before crossing the road; it was dead empty anyway—no cars, no bikes, nothing.

I paused halfway across because I swear someone called my name.

There was no one.

My brain zoned out again, right there, in the exact middle of a fucking road, which has to be one of the worst places on earth to overthink.

Suddenly a roar ripped through the silence. A sleek black bike came flying toward me. I froze; my body refused to move, and the bike’s white light slammed straight into my face. Everything blurred. The only real thing was the sharp blast of the horn that reached my ears a second too late. For a heartbeat I accepted it—this is it,

this is how I die—

until the biker slammed the brakes.The screech of tires sliced through the quiet street as the bike wobbled to a stop, just inches away from my useless life, saved by friction and pure BMW magic.The biker swung off the bike in one smooth motion. He was tall—so damn tall—and muscular, wrapped in a black leather jacket. He pulled off his helmet with a snap, revealing a sharp jawline and deadly black eyes under black puffy hair, flattened and messy from the helmet. His face card was INSANE. I had to admit it, unwillingly: he was so fucking hot.

Hot as hell, just like his BMW bike, and the single piercing in his ear was only making this annoyingly hot~…Then his expression snapped from blank to something halfway between fury and disbelief.

“DAMN IT! ARE YOU BLIND? Couldn’t you see this shit coming toward you, huh?”

His voice was deep, dark‑silk kind of deep, the kind that should have sounded like a sexy greeting, except he was currently ripping my head off. I stood there like a statue, face completely flat, just staring at him. His eyes were… deadly. Gorgeous, but deadly. My calm, detached face clearly pissed him off even more. I knew I should’ve apologized, but my stupid introverted brain went straight to Plan B: ignore and escape. My social skills were beyond fucked. So I just turned around and started walking away. Big mistake. His anger boiled over. He stalked after me and cut me off, towering over me with his at‑least‑six‑three frame. He snapped again, voice sharp enough to cut.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? You got a death wish or what? Ever heard of tiny words like ‘sorry’ or ‘thank you’?”

I met his glare, saying nothing, my silence sitting between us like a loaded gun.

“Oh, you’re dumb? Should I use sign language or something?”

His voice punched the air, louder this time. Yeah, I was at fault—but he was seriously crossing the line now. He looked me over, eyes narrowed, like he was dissecting me. Then he spat,

“Can you tell me HOW THE FUCK your eyes are two different damn colors?”

I flinched, my gaze locking with his. One forest‑green eye, one icy‑blue, both staring him down. Had this guy never opened a science book? How does someone not know what basic heterochromia is? I forced my throat to work.

“I’m heterochromic,”

I said, each word slow and careful.

“So my eye color varies.” He actually grinned, like I’d passed some stupid test.

“Great. You’re not dumb, at least.” Heat crawled up my neck, but I gathered whatever courage was left in me.

“I… I didn’t mean to,” I muttered. “I just zoned out.”

He laughed, low and cruel.

“You didn’t mean to. ME TOO, I also didn’t mean to slam my brakes because you were daydreaming in the middle of the road. Woah.”

My jaw clenched . He leaned in, voice dripping with fake concern.

“Should I drop you home? It’s getting dark. The mental hospital isn’t very far.”

This guy was digging his nails straight into my nerves. To be brutally honest, I wanted to kick him and his precious BMW into the next century. And in that moment, standing on that empty road with my heart still racing, self‑control felt like a sport for saints—and I was nowhere near that **league**.Before I could scrape together a halfway decent comeback, another engine roared, slicing straight through the tension. A second bike skidded to a halt beside us, gravel and dust swirling around my shoes like a tiny storm.

The new rider yanked off his helmet and—much to my disbelief—PINK HAIR. ! spilled out. PINK . HAIR.

What kind of cracked universe had I stumbled into?

He swung his leg off the bike and walked over, and up close he didn’t look American at all. Tall and muscular like the first guy, but his features were softer: light skin, monolid eyes, that quiet kind of face that could’ve been Korean or Japanese. Where the first one was all sharp edges and rage, this one looked… softer. Gentle, even. Which made the contrast funnier, because his friend was being a loud asshole.

“Oi, Kyle. What’s happening?”

the pink‑haired guy asked, voice firm as he glanced between Leather‑Jacket Boy and me. So. The loud asshole had a name. Kyle. Kyle snapped his head toward him, then back at me, fury still buzzing in his eyes. He shoved his hands into his leather jacket pockets like he was holding himself back, then jabbed a finger in my direction.

“This little bi—”

“Language,” I cut in, my own voice sharper than I expected. He barked back immediately,

“Language? My bike almost died because of you!”

“I apologized!”

I shouted, hands curling into tight fists at my sides. The word echoed between us, small but stubborn, refusing to back down.The pink‑haired guy lifted his hands, trying to slice through the tension neither of them really understood.

“Guys, let’s calm down and talk,” he said carefully.

“Shut up,”

Kyle snapped, not even looking at him. I swear, this punk was drilling straight into my last nerve. He stepped closer, shadows from the streetlights carving sharp lines across his face.

“You don’t even know who the fuck I am,” he growled.

“I’m not interested in knowing about you,”

I shot back. “I already apologized.”

He smirked, head tilting. “What the fuck did you say?” The pink‑haired guy moved in quickly, a hand landing on Kyle’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey, you both—calm down. Kyle, let’s go,” he murmured, trying to pull him back. Kyle shrugged his grip off like it was nothing and leaned toward me instead.

“You know what?” “Fuck off,”

he blurted out.. my brain couldn't stop my mouth. Introvert, my ass. In moments like this, my tongue came with no safety button.

“YOU fuck off,” I snapped louder, stepping into his space now.

“A minute ago you didn’t even know what heterochromia is. Ever been to school? Opened a book? You uneducated ASSHOLE.!”

Pink‑hair’s eyes went wide, while Kyle’s lips twitched into a grin before he let out a low laugh.

“Asshole?” he echoed, almost amused.

“Aw, little nerd is so into -education.”

He said it while pulling a mocking face, like this was all some comedy show and I was the joke. For a second I just stared past them, at the long empty road stretching out behind their bikes, the streetlights buzzing like tired bees. Then the perfect line slid into my brain and I couldn’t stop my mouth.

“Humans are deuterostomes,” I began calmly, like a science teacher starting a lesson. “It means that when we develop in the womb, the anus forms before any other opening. Which basically means that at one point, you were nothing but an asshole. And some people never really grow past that stage.”

I tilted my head“ .. and.. you are one of them.”

Silence dropped. Both boys just stared at me, twin looks of shock painted on their faces, like someone had slapped them with a biology textbook. I turned around, shoved my freezing hands into my hoodie pocket, and walked away down the empty road, leaving both punks standing there—stunned, offended, and probably a little bit **traumatized**

Kyle’s POV ~

I was stunned. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this…whatever it was. Embarrassment, maybe. Irritation, definitely. Who the hell was that girl, anyway? I’d never seen her in Chicago before, and I would’ve remembered those eyes.

“Oi, Akio, let’s head back home,” I muttered. We swung onto our bikes, helmets on, engines growling back to life as we pulled onto the empty road. Wind slapped my jacket, but my head was louder.

“Kyle, you know what?” Akio yelled over the noise, laughter in his voice. “It’s the first time someone’s roasted you that brutally.”

“Shut up before I punch you, Akio!” I snapped. He just laughed harder. That girl, though… she’d been pretty. Those mismatched eyes, that short height, the messy bun she clearly didn’t care about—annoyingly cute.

“I was just trying to be calm,” I shouted toward Akio, more to convince myself than him. She wasn’t normal. Usually girls threw themselves at me; this one threw science facts and attitude, and roasted the hell out of me in the middle of the street. Instead of yelling at her, I’d just stood there like an idiot, letting her walk away. I slammed my bike’s brakes in front of my mansion, tires hissing against the pavement.

“Oi, Akio. Get in for a minute,” I called.

“It's literally 2:34 man ! ..Fine, fine,”

he said, pulling off his helmet and following me inside, while my brain replayed one line on a loop— *Humans are deuterostomes…*

Akio is my childhood friend. There are exactly two things in this world I trust—Akio and my BMWs. We grew up rich and spoiled, the kind of boys people called “super popular” while rolling their eyes. Girls were always around, noise was always around. Akio isn’t fully American like me; his mom’s from Japan, which somehow just makes him even more annoyingly perfect. We headed straight to my room—a huge space that looks more like a showroom than a bedroom. I dropped onto the bed while Akio flopped onto the couch, stretching like he owned the place.

“Have you ever seen that girl in Chicago before?” I asked, staring up at the ceiling.

“Why? In love with her already?” Akio replied, grinning.

“Of course not!” I shouted and hurled a pillow at his face. He caught it one‑handed and laughed.

“Nah. I’m seeing her for the first time too,” he said. “And it’s literally midnight, Kyle. Never seen a girl just out walking around here at this hour.”

I nodded slowly. The image of her standing in my headlights wouldn’t leave.

“She’s… SUSPICIOUS!,” I muttered. Akio laughed again.

“Of course she is. I just never imagined a girl roasting you, *asshole*.” I shot him a glare.

“I swear I’m gonna kill you before her.” He only smirked. I’d thought I’d seen everything life could throw at a rich, spoiled jerk like me. But tonight, something very **interesting** had walked straight into my lane—and crashed right into my world...