The streets of Michigan held the best car soirees and top dog street races-on top of it all, a life of their own.
What happens when two polar opposite racers collide; the best one from detroit, and one all the way from the city of angels?
It had been a full week since Yeji had walked me home. The memory of that night lingered like a subtle, sweet ache. How could one even forget her words, let alone the way her eyes softened when she told me she'd wait?
I should've felt relieved that she wasn't pushing for more, but instead, I felt...unsettled. It wasn't just her patience that was getting to me; it was the thought of her waiting, day after day, as if I was something worth waiting for.
I didn't feel like I deserved that.
The day after that night, she sent me food, knowing I would settle for instant ramen or anything takeout. When I told her I wasn't in the mood to eat in a restaurant, the next day she cooked me a meal and we ate inside her car instead. We had some laughs, but it was the way she kept the conversation light that struck me. No more deep probing questions, no pressure to open up—just simple, easy moments that I hadn't realized I needed.
Then again, it felt strange having someone pay attention to the little things, like how she noticed my hand was trembling even though I had tried to hide it. She reached over once, gently moving my coffee cup out of my grip before I spilled it all over myself.
Yesterday, she surprised me again, showing up outside my studio building with hotel-made soup as she called it. She claimed it was because she had "accidentally" made too much when she got bored of the hotel food so she decided to cook one, but I saw through that.
I didn't know what to do with this kind of care, this silent attentiveness that didn't demand anything from me. She simply existed in my space, showing up when I least expected it, filling the quiet voids I didn't realize were there.
A part of me started to crave it—her attention, the way she took care of me without even knowing it.
I leaned back on the car shop's worn-out couch, tapping my foot against the concrete floor. Smoke's place was always buzzing with activity—cars in various states of disrepair, the scent of engine oil, the banging sound of tools in the background, and Latinos yelling at each other for god knows what.
Being a regular here, I found it normal. But today, I was restless. I brought my car here for a new paint job and an engine upgrade. Nothing major, just a fresh look and a bit more power under the hood. Something to keep my mind occupied, and something to keep myself away from the cops.
Chaeryeong had been running the café on her own while I was supposed to be resting. I knew she was capable—more than capable, actually—but I couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving her to handle everything. I hated feeling useless, but at least the time off had given me a chance to think. And I had been thinking...
—about what the hell I was doing with my life.
The door to the back of the shop slammed open, and I glanced up. It was Smoke with a client, talking about specific auto modifications. He was the best at what he did, and that's why I kept coming back here. My car was in good hands.
But I wasn't expecting to see her here.
Right. I forgot about his sister.
Katarina stepped out from the backdoor garage, sunglasses perched on her head, a mechanic jumper overall smeared with oil, her tool belt slung low on her waist. Her dark hair was loose and tousled, with strands falling naturally in a way that frames the face in an appealing, carefree manner.
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