Spring Flower (A Seventeen Fanfiction)

Chapter Two: The First Song

The night seems to have encased us like a blanket. Albeit it's a large, chilly blanket. Soon Young and I walked the remainder of the distance to my car in silence, with both of us having stuffed our hands into our pockets to keep our fingers from freezing. I was concentrating on keeping us out of trouble as less savory Chicago citizens began making their way out of bars and into the streets. Soon Young spent most of the time happily walking by my side while humming a tune to himself.

We approach my car. It's a little sedan, a 2010, with paint scratches and a small dent above my driver's side wheel. Rumor had it the previous owner let his 16-year-old do most of the driving and that clearly ended well for the car. But, she does the job and that's all that matters.

"Have you listened to any of our songs before?" Soon Young asks suddenly. Snow begins softly drifting from the sky, dusting the top of my car.

My key slips against the door frame, missing the lock. Just another grey scar carved into the side of my car. "I haven't."

I catch his gaze from across the top of my car. "Even though your sister is a carrot?"

I frown. "She's not a carrot."

"No, no. C-A-R-A-T," he explains, shaping the letters in the air with his index finger. "It's the name we gave our fans. Seventeen Carat? Get it?"

I give him a small smile. "I get it," I respond. This time, I succeed in unlocking my car. "I told her to keep her fangirling and music to herself. I just... I just haven't had an interest in the genre."

Then again, I don't have an interest in many things these days. Sometimes, it's better to just keep to yourself and to the identity you've crafted versus turn yourself into something everyone expects you to be. In this case, since I'm Korean-American, almost everyone expects me to be a mindless k-pop fan. But that's not who I am or someone I ever was. I'm simply Zara Kang, an aspiring journalist in the Midwest.

I toss my purse into the backseat and climb behind the wheel. I run my hands across the fuzzy steering wheel cover—one of the few things that helps to keep my hands warm in the winter months. I plug my phone into the charging jack and wait for it to boot up.

Hoshi climbs into the passenger seat. He watches me silently as the screen lights back up, momentarily blinding my retinas with an uncomfortable burn. My phone vibrates in my hand, attempting to dance its way to the floor of my car. It certainly wouldn't be the first time my screen cracks because of it falling onto another hard surface.

Are you on your way home? This time, it's my mom. Most likely, she got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and was concerned by my ever-prolonged absence.

Yes, I'm on my way. I'll be home soon. No need to worry her about my celebrity stowaway. Right? I'm sure we'll be on the road again before anyone else has even gotten up to go to work. Or, at least, that's how the best-case scenario has been working out in my head. Get Soon Young to my house. Get in contact with South Korea. Return Soon Young to his group. Then, I can return to my normal and completely uneventful life.

I'm not going to sleep tonight, am I? Well, it wouldn't be the first time I went to work after pulling an all-nighter. Looks like I'll be spending another half of my paycheck on overpriced coffee from Starbucks again.

"Can I see that?" he asks, gently taking the phone away from me.

"Sure," I say, even though he already has a firm grip on the device.

His slim fingers dance across the screen, deftly opening up apps. What is he searching for?

"Can I talk to you comfortably?" he asks, his eyes briefly flickering up to meet mine.