“Your name is so unique, I don’t know that I would be able to condense it without cutting a piece of you away.” Taejo’s ears are attuned to the distant sound of engines, piercing the quiet dark where they sit, somewhere along the peak of a spot that only Speed Racer could be so bold as to drive along.
“Much of you is unique, but your name is carried out in what you do, who you are when you find yourself in the heart of the race. An intensity, a concentration. 바퀴에 악마. “Devil on Wheels”, or perhaps “Demon”, for the Americans who are faint of heart.” At that his eyes sparkle, catching Speed’s gaze if only to deliver him this bit of humor in an exchange of many starts and stops, a hesitancy that just doesn’t exist for the leading man of East Asia’s racing circuit, one would think.
“For me? I think I’d like to call you friend, if that would be alright.
His heart flutters, as it always does when Taejo compliments him. The man is not free with compliments. Speed knows this is because of his family, his father in particular, as they have spoken many times.... intimately on the subject of family. Taejo has become close with the Racer family, himself and it is that which has prompted the openness. Speed never pushes or pries, nor does the rest of his beloved family, but there is something in him that makes people want to open up.
This is one of those cases. It isn't a display, in front of thousands of cameras and microphones. They aren't their track personas. Speed and Taejo, at this moment, are just a couple of young men enjoying the other's company. He reaches and grasps Taejo's hand and squeezes.
"Call me whatever you want," he says, his smile becoming mischievous, "just don't call me late for dinner."
give my muse a nickname - no longer accepting