We back get away
Now it’s gonna explode everywhere

The bell ringing is not a usual sound in our house.

Both my father and I have a key to it, so when I reach home—usually just minutes before my father—there aren't exactly many people who need to ring it in order to enter.

But the bell rang, and I rose with a frown.

It was a Sunday, one of the few Sundays when both me and my dad would be at home, but not exactly together. Though we'd grown apart, somewhat, over the years, we would still sit in one room. Not looking up once from our work.

My dad looked up then, as I made my way to the door, trying to hide my confusion. Mail? It couldn't be. Door-to-door salesmen? Maybe.

But what greeted me was the hopeful face of a familiar brunet.

Vernon smiled at me without parting his lips, a habit I'd caught on during hours of walking around the garages with him under the sun. To say I was speechless would be an understatement.

"Y/N? Who's at the door?" My father questioned from inside.

"Uh," I stared at him, who smiled a little wider and raised his eyebrows in question. "It's someone from...college."

Vernon's eyebrows jumped, and he parted his lips, mouthing, you're not wrong.

My hands were fisted, frozen at my sides as I walked back a couple of steps and stiffly turned to look at my dad, who's face was lifted from his newspaper with an expectant expression.

"I just remember I had a study date." I said, trying to sound as natural as I could without giving away any indication that I would be out—probably driving—with someone from the street racer group. "I'll be back in a few hours."

His brow furrowed, but he nodded, though slowly. "Stay safe."

"Sure will." I muttered, forcing a smile onto my lips, and turning back to the door, where Vernon was still standing with a self-satisfied smile taped across his chapstick-ed lips.

I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair I had been sitting on, taking along some of my notes for good measure, and exited the house in a flurry, shutting the door softly after me.

"This better be good," I muttered to him, who only touched my wrist, still smiling, and jerked his chin towards where his car stood.

It was an everyday, commutable model, not the show and pomp you would usually see in the garage of a street racer and recruiter. As I climbed into the passenger seat, waves of the smell of fresh diesel hit me, and I guessed this was only a temporary ride.

And I guessed right. Vernon drive the car to an old warehouse, one of the holes of the gang where most of the change-ups and other...things were stored, and parked it in one of the niches. He turned to me with a grin.

"I've got some things to show you." He said, looking distracted and a little messy, unlike his usual behaviour. I guessed he hadn't forgotten the sort-of argument we'd gotten into the previous day, and though I felt more than a little guilty about it, I was curious about what he had to show.

He walked over to a section with a sliding glass panel, where presumably, another of the racers' collection of sports cars was stored.

"You know the Bugatti Chiron?" He grinned. Sure enough, the inside was decorated with a gleaming yellow-and-black Chiron, looking good as new, so I deduced it wasn't used for races. "Cost our manager around a solid two-point-five million US dollars, even at second-hand."

"Your manager?" I asked weakly. His grin faltered, almost imperceptibly.

"We don't deal only in races, Y/N," Vernon said, looking serious for a second. "But that's none of what you should know about. Just that as one of the highest earners in the Seoul area of Hwang, I get to drive this baby, alongside a few of the others." What he said wasn't exactly clear, and it left more questions in its path rather than answers. But I held my tongue. "You want to drive?"

My eyes widened slightly. I was still in my sweatpants, not having bothered to change, and it felt wrong to step into something so sacred in my attire. "Seriously?"

He smiled at me. "Not yet. But if you spend enough time, maybe you can upgrade to this one after we're done with your, ah, training," He spoke. "And since the other cars are either modified or supercharged, you shouldn't worry that the competition is going to be just as tough, even in this." He gestured to the Chiron.

It seemed too good to be true, but I held what I could of my composure. "Is that why you brought me here?"

"Partly, yes." Flashing me a glimpse of a smile, he turned on his heel and started walking in the opposite direction. "As for the other...follow me."

Frowning, tugging at the loose strings escaping the fabric of my sweatpants, I obeyed, winding after him through other models, new and old, and some partly unassembled engines. In not much time, he stopped in front of a relatively used old car, a model I didn't recognize.

Vernon ran his hands across the top of the car, looking deep in thought. I watched him, shifting in discomfort as I stood there, not sure if I should speak.

Then he looked up, a small, cat-like smile gracing his lips. "Let's go."

──────

"This is amazing!" I laughed, a slightly crazed edge to my voice as my foot pressed further down the accelerator. "How do you guys come up with this kind of place?"

"We didn't come up with it, just...occupied it," Vernon smiled at me from his seat, subconsciously holding on to the seatbelt strap. "How are you holding up?"

I glanced at him for a short moment, a grin stretching across my face. "Are you kidding? I should have been told about this side of the track days ago!"

This made his smile broaden, and he clutched the strap even more tightly. "I'm beginning to think that too."

My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but I couldn't seem to stop doing it. The road seemed wide and never-ending, snaking between the aligned trees like some kind of ancient dragon's tail. On either side of it were the woods, not very thick, offering little other sight of urbanization, but my mind wasn't captured by that.

The wheel was sturdy and worn under my eager fingers, not too stiff, but turned and lubricated just right. The comfort of the seat and the beated look of the leather told me that this car had been used pretty often, or at least modified, by practising racers. Maybe this was the street equivalent of sparring.

Vernon had said that this part wasn't often used by the commuting population of the city, and was nestled well into the vegetated part that it offered security from both officials and pedestrians. In other words, perfect for a mid-morning joyride.

That, coupled with the good old nineties beats on the car's playlist, was all I felt was needed.

I felt as if I was on cloud nine.

"Hey," Vernon spoke suddenly, his voice soft, trodden with something that seemed almost unrecognisable in my wildness. Hesitation. "I hope you're not pissed off still."

My head turned to face him, confusion flooding me for a moment. And then it hit me, the realisation of what he was referring to—but I was caught off guard, so the only thing I could come up with was, "Oh."

He bit his lip, shifting his hand down the edge of the strap to the buckle. "Well...I didn't mean to make you feel like that, and I kind of didn't realise that you would feel so left out of things." His words were measured, weighed, and genuine. "I'm just not that great at figuring out how to deal with that kind of thing."

His tiny improptu speech made a small smile appear on my face, and without realising, I slowed the car down slightly. "That's okay, since you got me what I wanted, and all."

The gesture had been appreciated, sweet even, and I couldn't help but feel like giving in to him. Vernon had been good to me, gotten me more than I deserved—and when he turned and smiled at me, my chest tightened.

He grinned. "Yeah. I figured you would prefer this to some apology." He said. "All you need is a good mixtape and enough gas."

"Sounds bad."

"The fuel, I mean." He corrected himself, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Where to?"

I shrugged, my attention already caught by the rearview mirror. "Hey, Vernon, didn't you say that this road was practically unused?"

"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Then who's that?" I asked, gesturing to the view in the mirror, which showed a couple of biker a few metres behind our car. He looked up, eyes first registering confusion, then shock, then fear.

"Shit, shit, shit," Vernon muttered to himself, looking anxious as his eyes widened at the scene. "Shit, we have to go."

I frowned. "What? Where? What's up with that?"

As I spoke, the biker gained distance on us, probably being faster than the mph on this car, and due to the fact that I had slowed a little in my confusion. Vernon grabbed the side of his seat, leaning over to me, his knuckles turning white from his vice-like grip. "Y/N, turn around! We have to get out of here, fast!"

His breath fanned over my face from the force of his words, but I was frozen. The bikers—who had fanned out so we could see that there were more than just two in number—had caught up to us, and by their formation, it was obvious that they were beginning to surround us.

But that wasn't what got me.

It was their jackets, as one raced past, turning almost in slow motion—all of them slightly different, customised, but the very familiar logos decorating their black backs.

"Oh, fuck," I whispered.

I hit the brakes, both of us being thrown into the triangular grasp of our seatbelts, and hit reverse. The bikers parted smoothly behind us, and the car moved backwards with equal speed, my other hand clutching the gearhead like a lifeline. Vernon was yelling something, though I couldn't comprehend what—but I backed up in a full circle and drove forwards again.

The engine roared louder, coming to life under my fingertips. Though the feeling should've brought with it the feeling of adrenaline pumping, I couldn't help but feel like a cornered animal, escaping, but ultimately fated to death.

The bikers had stopped, choosing not to follow, but one of them was looking over at us. Even though a helmets hid their face, the message was loud and clear. We'll find you.

We always do.

──────

and we're finally getting into the actual plot ;)

how are you, though? anything you need to talk about? anyone whose ass i need to beat? it's getting cold out, so if it's winter in your country, bundle up and stay safe and warm. or i'll come up there myself and be your personal healthcare companion.

love,
Manx.