Spring Flower (A Seventeen Fanfiction)

Chapter Six: The Road

I think, at the end of this crazy adventure, I should just give Soon Young my phone to keep. Not only has he made himself the self-proclaimed DJ of my tiny car—which he has also named The Tiger's Raspberry—but he's also downloaded all of his favorite games to it. I practically have to wrestle it from him when we stop for bathroom breaks or I need to make a check-in call with my parents.

"Soon Young," I say, my hands tightening across the wheel. "Why don't you plug your phone in to charge? We should be rolling into the venue around six." Two hours before showtime. Two hours until this is all over.

I crack my head as the sun continues its journey across the sky, always hurtling towards its daily death. That's the one and only thing I hate about winter—how short our days are. (That, and daylight savings time; sure, the added hour of sleep is helpful when the days are darker, but when summer comes around? There's nothing I hate more than feeling jet-lagged for days after losing that precious hour.)

"Do you want me to drive?" he counters, a smile playing across his gentle face.

I shake my head. "It's okay, I'm fine." My words are distorted by a betraying yawn.

"Zara, if I can survive driving in Seoul traffic, I can survive driving the rest of the way to the venue. Trust me. I got this."

I grip my steering wheel tighter, unwilling to relinquish my grip on my car. Sure, we had survived Soon Young's driving throughout much of Missouri and Arkansas, but now that we were deep in Texas, I wasn't willing to give up driving privileges to an idol. Especially not an idol who needed to be on stage in less than 12 hours, when we still have another six hour drive ahead of us. And the concert is eight hours away. He needed to be rested up as much as he can be before performing in front of his adoring fans.

"Zara, you can trust me with your car. And I guarantee we'll get there a lot faster if you do."

"I promise you, I'm fine to drive. There's no need for you to exhaust yourself before your concert."

The moment the words escape my lips, I realize I didn't sound as convincing as I hoped I would be. When I gave Soon Young the wheel overnight, I had woken up to see him going 90 in a 70 miles per hour zone. Sure, that had shaved about five minutes off our drive in the long run, but he was so unbelievably lucky that no cops ended up pulling us over. I just wasn't sure that I was ready for him to take over again.

"And I promise you that we'll get into an accident if you keep driving us there. You're falling asleep at the wheel, and it's making me nervous," he replies, one of his hands reaching over to steady the wheel.

Dammit, he was right. Without realizing it, the car had begun swerving into the other lane, causing other drivers to shoot me dirty looks as they zipped by. And my speed had dropped to 60 miles per hour.

I slap my hand against the wheel in frustration. "Fine," I reply begrudgingly. "You win this time; I'll find some place to pull over." Even as I said it, I could feel the weight of my heavy eyelids and the exhaustion in my own voice. I never was one to listen to the obvious signs my body was giving me. I always had to keep pushing, keep running, without looking back—even if it meant dashing mindlessly toward a goal.

Soon Young crows in excitement. "Oh thank goodness. I really was worried you were going to drive us into the field for a second there."

I shake my head, but I can't stop the grin from spreading across my face. It was nice to have someone, outside of my family, worry about me. Now, I just had to ignore the warmth blooming across my chest. And the flush expanding in my cheeks.

*****

"Zara," a warm hand curls around my shoulder, jostling me awake. "Zara, I need you to wake up now." Is it just me, or does the voice sound mildly... Panicked?