The Grand Prix Ticket is only a few hours from finding its rightful owner, and everyone is working hard on making Jungwon's car perform at its peak. "Did you tighten the screws on the left wheel hub?" You ask, your hands busy with the tools scattered across the workbench.
"Yes." One of the mechanics replies and you nod, still focused on what needs to be done. The garage is so crowded and everyone is buzzing with activity, fine-tuning every detail of the high-performance machine that will soon tear through the racetrack.
And yet, the moment he steps inside the garage, his presence commands your attention and you stop whatever you're doing to glance at him. Only he can command your attention in such a manner.
He's dressed in a black shirt and black sweatpants, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, evidence of the training he underwent earlier. Despite his hair being tousled and the grease stains on his clothes, he's irresistibly, undeniably attractive. He's always been able to turn heads, not just on the racetrack but off it as well.
And as much as you hate him, you fucking admire him. It's infuriating, really, how effortlessly he can disrupt your focus with just a single glance, how he can make your heart race with a mere presence.
"I need to know if the fuel pressure is within the optimal range." You tear your gaze away from him, forcing yourself to focus on his car, not on him.
There's no room for distractions, not when the Grand Prix ticket is on the line. But no matter how hard you try to ignore him, Jungwon has a way of seeping into your thoughts, his presence a constant distraction.
"It's within the optimal range." Someone responds and you nod, dusting your hands against the back of your pants before moving away from the car. But then you feel someone grab your arm and it only takes the way he touches you to know exactly who it is. Yang Jungwon.
"Hey," He addresses you, his voice cutting through the noise. The single word makes your knees wobble but you turn to him with a raised eyebrow as if his mere presence doesn't affect you in the slightest.
"What is it?" You ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the butterflies rioting in your stomach. You'd be lying if you said you want him to let go of you. You really don't.
Jungwon's grip on your arm tightens slightly, and he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "We need to talk," he says, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. You pull away, avoiding his gaze, unwilling to let him see how much his proximity affects you.
"Talk about what-" And he's pulling you out of the garage and into one of the backrooms where no one can interrupt. The door closes behind you, muffling the sounds of making Jungwon's car the best damn car out there on the track. "What's there to talk about?"
You and Jungwon have always had a complicated working relationship. As a crucial part of the team responsible for getting his car race-ready, you often find yourself at odds with the racer. Today, it's no different.
Jungwon runs a hand through his disheveled hair, frustration evident in his eyes. "I don't understand why you insist on making changes without consulting me first. This is my car, my race, and I should have a say in what modifications are made."
You let out a sarcastic laugh, the sound echoing in the confined space. "Your say? Jungwon, I'm not here to stroke your ego. I don't have time for your whims, I'm here to ensure a better performance of your car."
He steps closer, the proximity bringing back the memories of countless arguments. And countless almost-makeout sessions. "Better performance? Or are you just trying to prove that you know better than I do?" His words are like a slap in the face, hitting a nerve that you try to keep buried.
