Partners in Speed - ver.2 (also Street Racers #2)

SR 2. Taehyung

When Wooshik asked me out for the first time – officially – he asked what sort of dates I liked. I blanked out. How can I like any sort of date when I haven't been on one? I tried to come up with something, but all I ended up telling him was the truth. Which turned out to be a good thing, because he was just as clueless.

We decided then we'd just do things together, whatever came to mind, sometimes calling it dates, sometimes not, and we'd learn what we like doing. Separately and together.

Tonight, we've driven to the city outlook. The cursed outlook I took Yeeun to over half a year ago. I still like this place, despite this memory. It's peaceful and quiet, not many people know about it.

"I think there's a golfing club if you go further down the road."

"I'm not into golfing. Are you?" Wooshik asks.

"I've never tried. But I'm rather into different sports."

We sit on the hood of my car, looking down at the city. It's dark already, the city lit up.

"Really?" he asks. "Like what?"

"Soccer. I've played soccer since middle school," I say.

"You still do?"

"Sometimes with Jungkook. But I'm not a professional anymore."

His smile grows. "You used to be one?"

"I mean, if I compare myself to other kids, I definitely was."

"I'm not a sports guy at all. I hated sports classes in school. I've been to exactly one ever since middle school."

"I didn't like the classes, either. Just soccer. And I wouldn't like it if Jungkook wasn't playing," I say. This – talking – comes to me so easily at this point. I've come to terms with the fact he wants to know every possible thing about me. I like it.

It turns out I craved this kind of attention. I only realized when the person was right.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Cause I was an asshole and no one else wanted to play with me. He was immune to it." I chuckle.

Wooshik sighs, looking ahead. I keep looking at him, like I still can't believe it's real. "I mean, if you were in my school, I wouldn't skip a single class you'd be in, either," he says.

"If we were in one school, everything would be different."

Our eyes meet. "You think we'd like each other fifteen years ago?"

"Of course." I lean back, planting my hands on the warm hood. "We'd be best friends, always sitting at the same desk, and then it would turn into a crush for one of us."

"We wouldn't be in the same class," he says. "I'm older than you."

"You're older than me?" I ask. It somehow slipped my mind to find out how old he is. At the back of my head, I assumed he's my age all this time.

"I think I am," he says. "I've heard from people you're 25."

"I will be, this year," I say.

"When?"

"25th July. How old are you, then?"

"Plus three."

Twenty eight. Not much difference, technically, but there's something appealing about it.

"That's good," I say. "I like older men."

"I'm not that much older than you."

"But when I turn 27, you'll be 30. That'll be very hot of you."