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BURNOUT | JJK

street racer jjk x fem! reader

part one

wc: 11059

His devotion to you isn't because of your pretty curves or how the neon lights shine beautiful casts off your skin, it's an obsession that keeps him breathing. An obsession that makes his hallucinations freeze. An obsession where his mind is so spiritually connected to your soul that he starts to feel everything in you. His body moves to yours in a way that helps your benefit. You're petrified of him, just like anyone else. But when will that terror turn into curiosity? When will that curiosity turn into love?

story is severely unrealistic but who the hell cares? i don't.

Jungkook will be written as Jeongguk.

Jeongguk is rude at first, he's a broken soul who struggles to interact. You'll watch, slowly, as he begins to fix his demeanor.

Vante is Kim Taehyung. Other BTS members will also have names distinct from their real selves (ex: Yoongi -> Yoonki). Once masterlist is up, I’ll make a character list.

warnings: jk is quite literally unwell, angst, obsession fast burn dating slow burn, strong languages, hallucinations, abandonment, jk is violent, high obsession scenes, reader will be terrified of him at first, no… he’s not schizophrenic.

a/n: quick note before i start, i do want to answer a question i was thinking myself that no one would probably ask: is JK schizophrenic? short answer: no. long answer: although it does seem like a very interesting topic that i would like to try writing, it's not something that should be romanticized. jungkook and the reader have a MUCH unrealistic bond that i dont want to compare to a real illness people and the ones around them struggle with every day. it would be a nice thing to write about, to spread the message of— but, i fear that i would not be able to deliver that seriousness. give that topic to a much more experienced author and i will call it a day 🤷‍♀️ ill be sat for that, actually. yes, i like to have characters suffer. it's boring if not.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ─ Red.

The color red can mean many things.

Or it could mean nothing to the right people.

But it meant everything to Jeongguk.

Red simply was his color despite his severe want to be swallowed with black.

His car— the same brand, same type, but always fit to the newest year— shines a dark red under the perfect beam of light, its source coat a shining ebony.

His weighted uniform, that leather redness that squeezed every curve and muscle in his body, was a piece of equipment he found himself growing found of over the years. Even if he had to get an exact replacement every few months. Even if the sight of it made him sigh. It was simply just a reminder of what he loves most, racing.

It was the color of the friction—the heat generated by rubber against asphalt until the road itself felt like it was weeping magma.

A passing of fluffy animals and his cheeks are red.

Red. His childhood crush would laugh at him for having such red cheeks, red ears, red neck.

But, red is known to be the paint of disaster.

Red splotched his vision whenever he rubbed his eyes too hard. Red sat still behind his eyelids whenever he breathed under the streetlights. Red danced in his vision whenever he spends too long thinking about the hallucinations.

The thing he saw— absolutely sworn by existing— was red. A scarlet mix of messy shadows and an almost, uncanny-esk human form. He didn't want to kill whatever it was. The only option was to swerve the other way.

A sharp swerve, a sudden move that had nearby racers yelling profanities to the younger male. Anger is red. Anger is a feeling that could have the quietest scream until their throats torn into a raw red.

Red red red, the shocking heat slid down his skin. His vision death with a foggy blur but he could still see the edges of red soaking his whole body.

His car, a dismantled mess of red red red tangled around his limbs.

The officers face a beat red when they told him that thing wasn't there.

His palms marked red from his fingernails, a habit he picked up when he begged for them to understand. For them to look into his eyes, tell him he's not crazy, that all of the sudden hallucinations or nightmares or ghosts or his deteriorating mind was playing on him was all real.

His brain wasn't rotting red.

There was no way.

His brain is still intact. He's right here, standing under the neon lights with a jacket too tight on his limbs. Tight enough to become uncomfortable. Tight enough that came as a reminder that he was still physical and solid. That he was cold and hungry.

That he sat bounded by the laws of physics.

He closed his eyes, pleaded for black, received red.

He wanted to be swallowed, erased, to exist somewhere that held no colors to distort. No hallucinations to fight. No memories of the crash that haunted the back of his mind.

But red comes like wine spilled over a white table cloth. It stains. It sticks to an orbit that has breathing shallow, body working, mind racing on how to get the red out.

To see the beauty of the cloth without the wine.

To see what he looked like before the wine stained him.

He opened his eyes. The world jumped, jittering like a glitched film. A figure sat illuminated under the colors, the hard lines of his face becoming more apparent as the sudden wave passed. Until Jeongguk felt normal again.

The man with dyed red hair.

Jung Hoseok.

Phone pressed to his ear, mouth curved into that permanent beam as his voice echoed off the streets behind him. Loving nicknames like 'Sweetheart' and 'Baby' softening that stale air that existed around him. His eyes held a glint in them that most don't have, a glint that would send Jeongguk over the edge if he stared at too long.

It was pure jealousy, that's why, and Jeongguk didn't dare to keep his feelings about it buried. He knew he loathed the man for radiating in happiness Jeongguk wished on every fortune cookie to have. A pure happiness that had Jeongguk questioning if he was an act. If he, too, saw things. If everyone around him was telling a lie, giving him a huge prank. That they see them too. That he's not insane.

"Of course you can bring your friend," Hoseok chuckled, the sound feeling way too real for a mind like Jeongguks. "The more the merrier. I give you full bragging rights as i'm out there. Shake your friend's shoulders and scream 'That's my bestie out there! The sexy, yet adorable man that dominates the streets!' Yeah, that's me."

He imagined for a dangerous second, that this whole world was nothing more than a stage—that Hoseok was a puppeteer, reciting lines to see how much of the script Jeongguk could handle before he finally shattered.

Hoseok turned then, his gaze sweeping across the dark, grease-stained floor of the lot. He didn't look at the car Jeongguk leaned against— he looked over it, at the man staring back at him with red cigarette embers burning between his tatted fingertips. Jeongguk.

His expression quietly shifted back to the familiar bright grin. He waved, an easy gesture that made Jeongguk's blood turn to ice.

"Yo, Ghost!" Hoseok hollered. "You racing tonight, my boy?"

A simple shake of his head. That's all he needed to do. A simple movement of his head that gave others a hint of relief. A movement that has them thinking 'Oh, he doesn't wanna speak. I won't make him speak'. But he knew Hoseok was different. Hoseok could chow an elephants ear off if you asked him to.

Hoseok pressed the phone back to his ear. "Yeah, i'm definitely winning tonight. Set your bets, i'll have you earning loads. I say... maybe about a couple hundred? You could buy that coach bag you've been begging me to get you, you know? The expensive ass thing that will probably break because of your clumsy ass. Okay, okay, I'm sorry-"

Jeongguk kept his eyes trained on Hoseok. He saw that blur of paleness slightly crawl up onto the man's space like deathly radiation. It moved to him so fast it had Jeongguks head feeling light, reaching for the man that had no clue it was there.

No clue that it was a sliver away from touching him.

Jeongguks throat felt dry. Parched. But he swallowed hard, feeling that bone shake in his throat before opening his mouth. But as the words expected to flow, Hoseok met his gaze.

Hoseok noticed his staring.

Hoseok looked over his shoulder, eyes just slightly widened. Jeongguk watched, eyebrows drawn together as the man slightly shook his head to nothingness.

Hoseok understood what he was seeing.

Everyone here understands what Jeongguk can't grasp.

Hoseok sighed before walking away.

Jeongguk didn't move or blink. He simply watched the space Hoseok had occupied—ontop of a graffiti'd rock— and almost laughed at the sudden emptiness. No bright energy. No hallucination.

His hand, still holding the cigarette, didn't shake.

It was a statue's hand.

He brought the embers to his lips, inhaled, and let the smoke exhale into the same images he fought. He flicked the cigarette butt to the ground. It landed in a puddle of oil, the red ember hissing as it died.

His feet move, his body lifted off his car as he started his walk down the vendors. Whispers pooled around him, a mix of worship and fear. The bright 'It's Ghost!' lingering in the same air as the 'He shouldn't be walking around alone.' The 'He's insane' The 'They need to take him away.'

The words became predictable over the years.

"Are you sure you two aren't more than friends?" You smiled at Renee— your best friend also roomate — who had her lips pouted ahead her cars mirror. Applying a thick shade of pink gloss, she smacked them before letting out a short laugh.

"I would like to think we are more than that," she pushed her phone down her shorts pocket, a small picture of a red haired man wearing an orange race jacket peaking out over the edge. "But he showers everyone with pet names. It's just... a friendly thing."

You hummed, throwing your hair over your shoulder. The air had a slight thickness to it, a dizzying sent you could chew. The smell of burnt tires and expensive body spray pressed against your head in every direction you stood.

You had dressed for the occasion, your red, skintight dress echoing in the aggressive of the crowd. It was sleek, sharp, and entirely out of place. Just how you liked it.

"Speaking of, he might be around here somewhere," she said while taking your hand. Her excitement seemed to radiate over the burning air, an excitement that matched the voice you heard on the phone earlier. "Let's go. I think he might be waiting for us."

As she dragged you through the venue, your eyes scanned the perimeter. It was a sensory overload that had your teeth giving a rough grind against eachother. Neon lights flashing everywhere, the revs of engines cutting over the upbeat music , and the raw energy of people who thrived on the edge of a crash.

"There!" Renee pointed toward a cluster of cars gathered near the start of the circuit.

Red hair caught the shine of the overhead lights, the space around too loud to hear his laughter but it was a known fact he had had due to the shake in his shoulders. He turned, his beam turning into a mere smirk. He jumped off his car where he sat, racing over as he placed his orange cap— matching to his uniform— over the red off his hair. He simply looked like the sun. His presence grounded the tight space happening all around you.

"My darling my love!" he cheered, his voice giving Renee a rose tint to her cheeks as he grabbed ahold of her arms. You watched, completely amused as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Renee, Renee, Renee."

"Hobi," She laughed, the sound bitter as if the way his lips brushed her skin consumed her. She pushed his chest away, an action that gave her personal space a bigger orbit. "Meet my bestfriend, Y/n."

Glistening eyes found yours, a pure joy, and he reached out to take your hand. You didn't even have it outstretched, he just stole it from your side and gave a hyper shake.

"Hey, Y/n. It's great to have you here," he greeted you like you were something special to him. Like everyone matters to him, no matter the distance. "As you might know, I'm Hoseok. But you can call me Hobi. Or something else, I don't really care as long if it doesn't hurt my heart."

"It's nice to meet you too," you shook his hand although he had already forced your hand to do so just seconds prior. "Renee talks about you a lot."

"Oh," he smirked then, meanwhile Renee turned bright red. "Really? What does my Renee say about me?"

"I didn't say anything, dont listen to her," Renee giggled, slithering between Hoseoks frame to grab your shoulders once again. A small squeeze. "Anyways, the race will start soon, right? You should go, Hobi, win for me?"

"Ah," Hoseok hummed. "Youre right." Then he turned to face you once last time. "It was nice to meet you although it was a quick second. To hanging out in the future!" He promised before running back to the circuit, the broad of his back disappearing into the fog.

By the time the two of you found yours seats, the roar of the engines was a note that screamed their readying. You watched as Hoseok slid into his cockpit, the car's headlights slicing through the haze. A neon piece of fabric—the starting flag— waved until every vehicle was a whir of motion.

They were gone immediately. Tires screeching and the burn of the ties leaving a thick smoke that suspended into the air. You choked meanwhile Renee just laughed

Her eyes were glued to the receding taillights that danced like lost fireflies in a dense forest. "Did you see that start? He's untouchable tonight!"

You nodded, offering a smile that seemed to boil her excitement to immense.

As the race continued, a high thrill that had the screaming people all around you at the edge of their streets. Renee wouldn't stop screaming for Hoseok no matter the measures– if the stadium gone quiet, if the watchers nearby gave a quick side glance, even if someone else had screamed at her to cheer for his guy– she stayed determined.

The race was thrilling, yet nothing rooted under your veins. You couldnt bring yourself to care. Couldnt bring yourself to scream.

Throat dry, a parchment that dreamed to feel a flow of cold, you turned to look at Renee's profile. Her eyes were wide, hair gone crazy, cheeks and ears completely red. She was completely absorbed in the image of Hoseok's orange car, that merciless swerves and drifts, and you wondered if she even heard you whispering that you'd be back in a little bit. If she even heard your want to get a drink, water or not, literally anything to smooth the sharp rings in the back of your head.

You slipped out of the bleachers, the cold metal that made your thighs sting a burden you left behind. Your palms smoothed the red fabric further down your thighs, concealing any lines or curves your sitting position had revealed for any fortunate men to see. As your hands were at work, you examined the venue until you saw a line of tents crowd in front of the far, dark walls.

You kept your steps steady as your heels clank against the remnants of gravel. A sea of watchers stood nearby and you navigated your way through the maze of mesmerization.

It didn't take long to reach the flaps, the heavy vinyl that swayed just slightly with every passing soul. You walked in, the sudden difference of the air hitting you completely. It was a clear contrast to the noise muffling outside. It was like another world.

You walked to the makeshift cooler, your fingers fumbling for a bottle so cold it had your mouth parting with a barely audible gasp.

You brought the tip to your lips, the cheap plastic coating your taste. You tilted your head back, feeling the immediate relief the water felt against the raw, hard lines inside your throat. A wash of scratchy, dry sand.

A slow, almost restrained movement caught your eye. The type of movement Ulysses had– attaching himself to the ships mast– the bone and muscle working together keep him from falling into a nearby Sirens melody. A restraint that had his mind clawing at his skin. A restraint that physically burned him from the inside out.

The movement had your eye flickering to the silhouette.

Charcoal eyes, hollowed by a fatigue that went deeper than just sleep, met yours.

It was the eyes of a man who your brain has never processed before. An unfamiliar figure that seemed to hypnotize you into the lock of your bones, the stillness of your entire body to stay fixated on the darkness of his eyes.

No dreams, no lingering thoughts, no casual gaze slip– it was a man you've never seen before– but still, the intensity of his focus made you feel as though he had been noting your existence for years.

He shouldve looked like a casual stranger.

But yet, he looked like a man who had finally found the piece of a puzzle hed been screaming at for an eternity.

He was a masterpiece of jagged edges and shadow, his red leather jacket absorbing the flickering light rather than reflecting it. The few overhead lamps buzzed over the silence between the two of you, a high pitched sound seeming to irritate him from the twitch his shoulders slightly gave after every flicker.

You couldn't tell if he was looking at you or past you.

The only thing behind you simply was the wall of the tent, stained with grease at the edges. It was something normal. Something expected in a place like this. So if he were to be looking past you– why so intense? Why look like he was a hungered, cold man grasping for something that shimmered away with every pass?

So if he was looking at you, why does it seem like– to him– you were a presence that physically hurt his existence? His eyes, so dark in brown that they were black, stared at you or past you with the gone of a dead man. A phantom that struggles to exist.

When his eyes fell down to your dress, that's when you realized he was looking at you.

For a split second, the haunted look in his eyes softened into something akin to awe.

Your skin suddenly felt scratchy. Your dress felt too tight. Your body swallowed in a sudden, sheer wave of heat.

It was obvious.

From his exhaustion.

From the raw scars dripping down his knuckles.

From his cigarette bud mere centimeters away from his skin and yet he was as still as a statue carved from gemstone.

Whoever this man was, he wasn't normal.

That you weren't safe.

That the silence heavy between you two was a bait. He was waiting for something – a reaction, a retreat– but his eyes were still so far gone. But intense. So so so unreal and odd, a mystery that churned your stomach until you felt a sudden need to leave.

You turned, refusing the wait to see if the red haze behind his eyes would consume him or if he would finally reach out. Your water bottle slipped slightly in your grasp but you didn't look back.

It's just one instance.

Hes a stranger that will stay in the back of your mind.

A memory you'd tell your friends.

Nothing bad will happen.

You wove through the line of spectators, your eyes scanning the shifting sea of faces until you spotted the flash of brown hair.

"Renee!"

She turned, her expression brightening as she saw you, though it quickly shifted to concern when she realized the time. "Hey! You were gone for a while. I was about to go hunting for you. Did you get your water?"

You held the plastic up until she let out a small laugh, pulling you into her side and shielding you from the jostling crowd.

"Come on, Hobi's car just came back around the bend–look!"

You couldnt bring yourself to focus.

You just continued to glance back to the tent, not out of terror, but out of a sudden ache of curiosity that you were already beginning to dread.

Silence.

Jeongguks apartment baked in silence.

The walls yearn to reflect the old melodies he'd play from his phone speaker for hours at end. His two next door neighbors— a couple in their early fifties with sweet eyes but rotten attitudes— now reduced to no complaints from their end. And the space Jeongguk is supposed to call a living comfort feels more like a holding cell.

Everything was minimalist, devoid of any personality, it was simple. If he left too much of himself in a room, the edges start to fray.

Jeongguk sat on the floor in the center of the living room, his back pressed against the cold wall. He was supposed to be practicing laps. He was supposed to meet his mother two blocks down at the cat cafe that held baby pink walls. He was supposed to have a silent mind. His mind was supposed to blend into the complete mute of his own, squared home.

It was anything but.

He was staring at his own hands. They were steady–mostly– like always. Anything needed done to keep people from glancing at him with worry or pain. They shouldn't look at him and see broken glass. They should divert their eyes in fear, call him a mountain of pure, monstrous ruin.

His mind was stuck on a perfect loop, a high-definition fragment that refused to fade.

Not the usual distortion , the flashes of pain and rush until it left him dizzy and nauseous.

No, it was calm.

No loop was calm, but somehow, it was as if the basic laws of code were broken in the quiet storm of his mind. An image of a skin tight (red) dress. It was picture clear, your face existing in an unknown calm against a world of distortion.

No human should be able to see the way a pulse pounded against one's skin. That flickering of nerves, it was so incredibly, maddeningly, stationary. Was he hallucinating again? Were you just the first ever image that didn't look back at him with haze?

No, you were real.

Solid.

Functioning perfectly as if the laws of physics hadn't messed up completely in his heart.

He groaned, his head dropping back against the wall with a dull thud. He wanted to scrub the perfect image from his mind.

He wanted to forget the way the air had stopped vibrating the second you stepped into his orbit.

But the memory was stuck to him like a pure red wine stain.

He stood up, his movements stiff and practiced, and walked into the kitchen. He didnt need to turn on the lights, the sunlight filtering through his windows were nearly enough. He poured a glass of water, his fingers brushing the glass– the cold, hard, solid glass. Solid. Solid Solid Solid.

It should've taken him two seconds to take a gulp. The coldness scraping down his throat, the pain, the greed, it felt like a casual two seconds away from his day.

But the clock read 4:17 in the morning.

His hand first wrapped around his water bottle at 4:11.

He moved to the window and peeled back the corner of the blind, peering down at the street below. The city was waking up, a blurred, bustling mess of people and movement. He watched them with a detached, hungry fascination. They were all so anchored, so sure of their place in the world.

He leaned his forehead against the glass, letting the cool surface bite into his skin.

Your image was perfect and calm.

But real.

That's impossible.

Nothing is calm. Not anymore. The last time he felt calm was before the crash. Before his world completely shifted on its axis.

You shouldn't be real.

You're another hallucination. You have to be.

But you felt so real. He could smell your taste– dark cherries after soaking in a gloomy days rain. That sweetness, the real frutiness that had his mouth watering. The sudden crave to reach out and smell the cherry in you until he realized you were fake.

You flowed like reality.

You baked under the neon lights like a solid figure.

You're real.

You're fake.

The sight of you completely stilled his mind.

Was it obsession?

It cant be, he doesn't even know your name.

But he wanted your orbit again. He wanted to simply be your orbit, nothing else. A devoted soul completely kneeling to feel the way it stilled when you stared at him. To smell wet cherries, to terrorize himself over the idea if he should look at you or the world you stilled around him.

It was the same desperate, clawing hunger that drove him to push the car to its breaking point on the track.

He needed to know if it was false. He needed to know if, by standing near you again, the world would finally stop its violent dances.

He grabbed his keys from the counter, the idea of seeing the (red) sit on you again completely filled his hazing mind. He didn't want to speak to you yet, but to see if you were still as real as he remembered.

He felt like a man who discovered a hidden gravity, and he couldn't help but orbit the only thing that kept him from spinning off into the void.

One more look, - he thought, his pulse quickening with a terrifying anticipation. If I can just be in the same room as her.

The drive to the arena wasn't long. Jeongguk's fingers tapped in a deep fidget on the leather of his steering wheel, an absentminded jolt that helped him breathe properly through the haze.

Mist of figured— mostly the same maroon red you wore last night— apprehensions danced on the nearby sidewalks lined around him.

It was always a gamble when his foot pressed onto the level. What type of breathing would he feel for this session? Long and rugged? Short and raspy?

But this morning, he was thinking of your (red).

It wasn't hurting him.

It held a grounding right onto his lungs. A stable yet stern grasp that didn't make his throat feel raw and scratchy. It was semi... normal.

Once he reached the arena, he felt like an entire new man. A man that was sure that his life wasn't made for what he thoguht it was crafted for.

A maybe— just maybe— that it was made for worship.

And he knew exactly who the goddess would be.

Red hair flashed his vision, and he snapped his head over to an alley— where he saw Hoseok sitting right where Jeongguk expected him to be.

Under the tall balcony that casted shadows through the neon lights. Smoke burning from his lips and fingertips, a nervous habit Jeongguk realized the man possessed whenever his mind and mouth had gone quiet. The smoke completely drowned his face, taking him right under, and he didn't dare to move.

As if it was an offering.

Hoseok heard Jeongguk's shoes scrape against the gravel. He felt the sudden change in atmosphere– calm to a sudden chaos– a pulling sensation that had most cowering in fear.

Jeongguk stared down at him, the angle catching a pale glint to the raw, jagged scar just under his cheek. Hoseok believed he looked unreal. Not because he was an epitome of a ghost, no, it was because Jeongguk wasn't the type to just approach someone like this.

The familiar curve indented into Hoseok's lips.

He had someone to talk to.

"Hey, bud," Hoseok greeted him, dark gray clouds spilling from his lips in thin sheets. "A new person take over your body? Whatsup?"

"Don't call me bud." Jeongguk snapped, his chest giving a sudden ache. "Makes it sound like you know me, like I hadn't heard you talking to the others about me."

"And still, you haven't punched my skull in like the others," Hoseok replied, his tone still slick in that usual playful tone but his eyes held a completely different story, Sharp. So emotion held that it made Jeongguk feel personally dizzy. "You wish for me to be your bud, or you wish for a bud. Its prolly one of those two. Hey, if you're looking for a friend– i'll be more than happy to escort you to this one friend of mine who's slumping around a lot these days. Hoe broke up with him. Ghost, you're a complete opposite of her energy... maybe itll get his mind off of her, y'know?"

"I'm not looking for a friend," Jeongguk kept his tone flat. His eyes scream dismissal. His shoulders slightly tilted the other direction like he was always braced to walk away. "But I am looking for someone."

"Oh?" A raise of Hoseok's eyebrow and suddenly the man was way far into the conversation. "Who then? I guess I'll help you."

"Beauty in red," Jeongguk replied, his chest now feeling light. "She silenced everything. Made the world stop."

"Uh, okay?" Hoseok's brow raised as he burned his cigarette on a nearby platter, it's fumes flowing through the space between them. "I fear that description wouldn't help me find her. I need better things, bud. Who did she go with? Alone? Was she a social butterfly? OMG! You better not be thinking of Renee, she looked gorgeous in her red skirt. Dude, back off."

"No," Jeongguk snapped. "Red dress. Skin tight."

The playful glint in his eyes sharpened into calculation. He rested his chin between his fingers, caressing his skin as if the dude actually was thinking hard.

"A red dress," Hoseok repeated slowly. "A girl came with Renee last night....uh ah, Y/n? Yeah, Y/n. I don't know, bud, that's the only red dress person I remember. Ah, I shouldn't have told you I can help, I don't really have an eagle's eye or picture perfect memorization. Darnit, I'm so sorry, buddy."

"Y/n," he repeated, your name feeling like soft sugar against his tongue. "Did she have skin that shines under the lights like moonlight on water? Pretty lips? Captivating eyes?"

"Uhh, no?" Hoseok dragged his voice, keeping his tone hard. "I don't really look at other women that way-"

"You're no help." Jeongguk snapped, dragging a hand through the charcoal of his hair. "Invite her again for tonights race. Wanna see if it's her."

"And if it is not her?" Hoseok asked, burning his cigarette out on the metal barrel he sat ontop of. It smeared with a hiss, the red ember curling around the air between them for a quick second before snapping. "If you can't find this... woman?"

"I will."

"You sound very sure of yourself, bro."

"I fucking will, Hoseok."

You didn't know why you couldn't stop thinking about those eyes.

The eyes that looked bottomless, voided, hurt in a way it almost left you curious... but the body that possessed the eyes didn't seem that way.

His body fit perfectly in the dark red of his leather jacket, a formation of his muscle that left an almost hypnotizing haze. His raven hair sat messily over the piercing in his brow, giving him a complete look at had your insides squeezing.

No.

You know he's not something great.

Just one look at him — with a women's sick tutuion— and you knew he isn't someone you should breathe or even exist around.

You sighed, the sound barely audible over the loud clatter of forks and slow, classical jazz music. You kept your blinks straight, a desperate attempt to drive your focus away from your little interaction just the night prior.

Your eyes were heavy, your mind completely snatching sleep away from you until it was a better option to just stay awake.

Why was your mind so fascinated in him? You didn't know, and very well didn't want to know the answer.

The doors and windows of Ristorante opened today, leaving a hot summer breeze to stain against your body. You were sweating under your heavy clothes— dark blue striped flared pants with a matching white undershirt and dark blue vest. Your hair tied up into a bun, a few loose strands from your exhaustion falling over the white cuffs of your top.

The outfit hugged your body like no other and although was very simple and normal— it outlined your form completely. An exposure of your body curves that had men nearby second glancing to you.

Although the dining place was nothing less than a legitimate italian restaurant, a few instances came here and there where you were met with lingering eyes. You've learned to ignore it completely. Nothing bad has happened yet anyways.

You carried a black tray just an inch over your shoulder, your palms steady and flat on the underside. Four drinks of freshly poured whisky splashed slightly with every sway of your hips and clank of your heels. Nothing ever spilled. You were almost completely still with no shaky movements, almost a mechanical trait you picked up over the years here.

You walked up to a table of three men and a woman, the usual polished smile curling at your lips. You leaned down to place the crystal ahead of their frames, greeting them with that usual formal hint to your tone that everyone adored.

You turned, the tray balanced perfectly on your palm, and moved back toward the bar.

As you walked, you couldn't help but scan the room. You checked the windows. You checked the gaps between the tables. You found yourself looking for a jagged and dark silhouette in a room full of soft shadows.

You were acting like someone who wanted to be haunted, and the thought was almost as unsettling as the man himself.

Seriously? Why are you acting like it wasn't just one, small stare down? That's all it'll be. He's not here, he doesn't even know your name and you know it.

Many hours later, the restaurant had died down to a slow, quiet feast. The heat was gone now, just leaving a cool night breeze that goosebumped your skin under your blouse. You hummed under your breath, eyes still heavy, as you gathered your stuff and walked out of the glass swinging doors.

You almost collided with a frame.

"Woah!" Renee's voice rung in your ears, her hands reaching out to grab your shoulder before you could loose your balance.

She was beaming, her hair windswept from the evening breeze, and she was already dressed for the night—a short, shimmering skirt and a leather bomber jacket that suggested she had no intention of going home to sleep.

"Renee? What are you doing here?" you asked, blinking against the sudden brightness of the streetlights. "We live together, y'know? You could've just waited until I got home..."

"I need you! It's urgent!"

"I just clocked out. I'm exhausted, seriously."

"You're not going home," she declared, linking her arm roughly around yours. She didn't give you any room to argue— just started to steer your weak, tired body to her car. "I promised Hoseok we'd be there. He's racing the final heat tonight, and he specifically asked if you were coming. It's a huge night, and you need to live a little!"

"Why does Hoseok care if I go?" You whined, leaning your head against her shoulder as she dragged you along. "He don't know me..."

"Hoseok loves everyone, okay?"

"I just need my bed," you groaned. "I'm not built for that place tonight, love. I'm tired, I'm sore, and definitely the last thing I want is to be around engines and crowds."

Renee stopped walking and turned to face you, her expression shifting from playful to pleading. "Please? Just for an hour?"

"Rene–"

"You know my problems with Hoseok," she pleaded. "I can't be anywhere in that place or near him alone. I promise, I'll hold you allll night long so I can keep your bones rested. Just... please!"

"One hour," you bargained, your voice sounding weary even to yourself. "And then you're driving me straight home. No exceptions."

"Deal!" She chirped, her mood instantly brightening as she pulled you into the passenger seat.

The drive to the outskirts of the city was quick, the familiar skyline giving way to the dark stretch where the illegal circuit thrived. As Renee pulled into the lot, you were suddenly very quick to regret your decision.

You climbed out of the car, stretching your stiff back.

The night air was cooler here, and the atmosphere felt even more frantic than the night before.

You scanned the perimeter, your eyes instinctively searching for that black, red shadowed car— the one you noticed last night, sitting alone near the man you couldn't get your thoughts away from.

It wasn't in its usual spot.

"Ah," Renee beamed, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the front of the crowd. "Another day here. I have a feeling this will be our new life."

"Oh, how great," you said sarcastically, dragging your tired words. Then, you looked down at your work outfit. "I look stupid."

"You look gorgeous, my love."

"I'm showing up to some illegal racing venue still wearing italian restaurant work clothes. It's... off."

"But the outfit is still so adorbs, I can't even lie," she shrugged, smoothing out one of your cuffed fabrics before smiling impossibly wider. "Look! There's Hobi!"

Hoseok was standing near his car, his red hair covered by an orange cap. He waved when he saw you, but as he jumped over, you noticed he wasn't looking at you—he was scanning the crowd behind you with somewhat a guarded expression.

"You made it!" He cheered. "You both did! Oh, how this is the best day alive!"

"We can hear you," a nearby racer— wearing blue— muttered as he walked past.

"Be as loud as you want, Hobi. People are just boring as fuck," Renee reassured him, also reaching out to fix his jumper. "I think that's what makes you so cool?"

"Do you have... nevermind," He sighed, reaching out to hook his arms around yours and Renee's. "I'm not racing tonight, my ladies. It looks like we will both have a fun night all together."

"You're not racing?" You frowned then, relaxing your arms in his strangely tight grip. "Did I come for nothing? I have no one to cheer for.."

"Come for nothing my ass!" Hoseok immediately screamed in response. "Don't ever say that stupid sentence near me again! Racing isn't nothing, it's a life for some of these men out there. Ghost, like for example, bud has no life. It might mean nothing to you, but it could be some of our life support. If he were to ever hear you, I'm sorry, i'm not saving your ass-"

"Hoseok." Renee snapped. "She didn't mean it like that. She had no sleep last night and is exhausted, I dragged her out of work."

"It's funny," you laughed. "That immediate response was hilarious."

His expression didn't soften, even as you laughed. He just tugged at your arm harder and you thought for a second he was playing with you, but his smiley persona was all gone.

He squeezed your shoulder—a little too hard—before letting go. "Stay put, okay? Renee, keep her in the lights. I see a few people I need to talk to before the final heats start. Do not—and I mean do not—wander off toward the back tents. The lighting is bad, and the people are worse."

Renee nodded, already distracted by the sight of two cars lining up at the starting grid, their headlights piercing the swirling smoke. "Go, go! We'll be right here."

As you sat down next to her on cold, lengthily bleachers, you watched Hoseok's frame disappearing into the sea of mechanics and neon lights. You almost swore you heard his voice shout "Fuck! He's out!" But you weren't sure if it was your exhaustion getting to you.

You sighed and leaned closer to Renee, your eyes heavy as you watched black car with red—almost claw like— streaks go without any mercy on the sharp curves.

"Woah, that dude has a death wish," you heard Renee gasp.

Five minutes passed, then ten.

Heat had started to become stifling, the volume enough to make your head throb. The world felt like it was tilting on its axis but you continued to stare at the fast, unbeatable car burning its tires on the tracks.

Your tiredness was simply becoming unbearable.

You needed five minutes of silence, away from the screaming engines and the blinding reflections of the neon signs.

"Renee, i'm sorry, I want to leave-"

She was gone.

"Are you fucking serious?" You cursed under your breath, turning away from the track and muttering half-assed apologies to the men mumbling about you shoving past their personal space.

You scanned the building, frustration taking over you as you called out Renee's name. Another lap, then Hoseok's. Third lap, both of their names.

Nothing.

Your eyes flickered to the lot, a sigh coming from you as you spotted her car was still here. Unmoved. Clearly present.

"What the fuck?" You whined, clenching your hair into your fists as you stumbled over to the concession stand. "Hey!" You called out to a worker, who was already staring at you. "Jung Hoseok? A racer? Do you know where he is? He says he isn't racing today, so where is he-"

"I don't know," she smacked her lips, her voice barely even audible over the complete, drowning noise of cheers. "If he's not around, he's not around."

"Okay... we'll have you seen my friend? She's a bit taller than me, dark brown pin straight hair-"

"I can't help you with that. Find security or something." She shrugged. "Best of luck."

"Fuck it," you snapped, walking away as you dug into your purse. "I'll just call a taxi- What the fuck?"

Your wallet and phone was gone.

"What the hell is this shit?!" You groaned in frustration, threw your bag to the ground, got mad at yourself for throwing the bag, and cursed the heavens above as you bent down to gather your scattered things again. People around were staring but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You needed home. You needed sleep.

"Can you find somewhere else to whine, lady?" A nearby teenager asked, tongue swirling around his plastic straw in a deliberate way it made you gag.

"Bitchless boy," you muttered under your breath, not even thinking as you rounded down a row of makeshift tents used for spare parts and storage.

One of them— one tucked away— caught your eyes. It was quite dark, and oh so most importantly, empty.

You slipped inside, the heavy fabric of the tent flap dropping shut behind you, muffling the race into a hum. It smelled of motor oil and something almost cedar-like.

There was a dusty couch in the corner.

Wishing deep down that this wouldn't be the ultimate cause of your death, you collapsed onto the couch. You were beyond frustrated at Renee and Hoseok but before you could slap some sense into them, you really needed rest.

The surface was hard, but it felt like the most comfortable bed you'd ever known. You barely had time to pull your knees toward your chest before the exhaustion came in.

Just a quick nap and you'll walk your way home.

Marking periods and an unnerving amount of sharp corners that made Jeongguk's head spin later, his knuckles throbbed as he clutched the edge of his car door. The cheers and music almost knocked him clean off his feet, his breathing clawing desperately at his to feel real.

People were congratulating him, cowarding in fear - just a basic human interaction that Jeongguk loathed every single day.

A hand brushed his shoulder.

A bright, instant flash that sealed his eyes shut.

He stumbled back, his feet scuffing violently against the gravel while his hand flew up to shield his eyes as if he'd been struck. The air around him seemed to warp, the sound of the crowd compressing into a high-pitched whine that made his teeth ache.

A camera flutter following by the sound of Vante's low, fist clenching voice that turned heads nearby.

The flash was blinding, a moment that would seem like a nuscience for anyone nearby - a simple paparazzo hunting for the perfect shot of the circuit's most elusive legend.

"Don't," Jeongguk snarled, the word tearing out of his throat, raw and defensive. His knees buckled slightly, his balance betrayed by the violent vertigo that always followed his races.

"You're vibrating, Jeongguk."

The camera lowered, followed by the sight of dark, asymmetrical eyes.

Vante was always a fixed point. A presence so grounded and hard it was like bedrock. He was calm although for the rumors spreading all around him, his thumb brushing loosely on the leather of his vintage camera.

"You're thinning out," another movement of his thumb, another flash. "You're getting weak. You're going to shatter."

Jeongguk straightened, his hands clenching the steel of his car door. They begged to lash, to attack, but Jeongguk knew he had to be calm if he were to see you again.

"Stay out of my head, Vante." Jeongguk responded, his throat tightening despite himself. "I don't need a reading. I need to leave."

"You won, why would you want to leave?" Vante lowered his camera again, stuffing the object under his arms until the loose fabric of his shirt bunched over the leather. "People beg to be in your position. They pray to whatever is above our heads to have a winning streak like yours. They want everyone to congratulate and touch them like people do to you. They despise you, Ghost. They say you don't deserve any of it. They say you should act like you're grateful, happy. You're art, Ghost. It's a need... want, for you to be pictured on my walls."

"You picture disturbances," Jeongguk pulled the weight of his dark red helmet over his head. His curls, a now messy mullet, plastered a tight cling to the sweat beading at the edge of his hairline. "Crashes."

"And...?" Vante tilted his head.

"Things before disaster."

"Isn't that what you believe you are?" Vante replied. "A broken disaster? Why thrash at your mind every second of the day only to breathe otherwise when my camera flashes your soul? Why the sudden resentment to your thoughts? To the plain, cold truth that feels like icy needles to your skin?"

Jeongguk's jaw clenched.

"Last time you got my picture, I crashed."

"But I fear this time is different," Vante countered. "You know I don't only hold pain? It's a rare moment but I tend to capture moments before fate. Moments where lives could change... a change for the better."

His helmet dropped from Jeongguk's fingers, a splatter of mud. cold and sharp, painting up his leg.

Vante tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over the horizon, over the dark warehouses where the shadows looked like ink blots on a map.

"I didn't take the photo to capture your win," Vante said, his voice dropping into that unnerving straightfowardness. "I took it because the air around you just changed. It turned... static. Like something caught in the teeth of a gear."

Jeongguk's breath hitched.

He felt it too—that sudden, inexplicable shift in the atmosphere. The suffocating red that usually blanketed his world had pulled back, just a fraction, it left a strange emptiness.

He thought it was all in his mind.

But now, here Vante was, speaking as if what Jeongguk felt was real.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jeongguk muttered, though his eyes darted toward the row of tents on the outer edge of the lot.

His heart suddenly hammered against his ribs with a new purpose.

"Fate is a heavy weight for a man who's already trying to erase himself," Vante continued, ignoring the denial.

He reached out, his hand hovering near Jeongguk's shoulder but not touching it. Vante could sense the energy—the way Jeongguk was unraveling—but there was something else now.

A line connecting him to his tent.

"You're hunting for something. Or maybe... you've finally been found."

Jeongguk's jaw worked, his teeth grinding together. He felt the heat of someone else's existence calling to him, a siren song that sounded like silence.

"You're playing with my mind," Jeongguk snapped. "You know how I am, everyone does. Predicting my crash back then was fucked enough, but now? You're poking at the thing your very prediction caused. Nothing's real anymore-"

"Why would I do that?" Vante smirked. "I picture greatness."

A flash to Jeongguk's face.

"And if you walk to that tent, greatness is to come."

Vante's tone was neither mocking nor pitying. It was purely observational, the way a scientist might describe a collapsing star. "And I see an anchor. Be careful, Jeongguk."

Jeongguk shoved past the rambling photographer without even thinking, his mind completely empty in a white seethe. His mind was clouded with the sudden desire to move to his tent, to chase that weight that promised controlled breathing. And he obeyed, his feet weightless although for the congratulations snarling around him.

His knuckles throbbed, a reminder of his own fragility.

He walked past the final group of mechanics, reaching toward the tent flap like a desperate hand. He felt the air cool, the static in the atmosphere intensifying until the skin on his arms burned.

He stopped at the edge of the tent, taking a deep inhale in.

Vante surely was messing with his mind.

He had to be.

This felt just so... something his mind would claw at him to feel. A bitter trick that laughed at himself, his brain a betrayer that never acts right.

He gripped the edge of the tent and pulled.

You were lying there, completely knocked off your conscious, breathing normal as you snuggled up on the hardness of his couch.

His knees gave out, dropping him completely to the straw floor as he stared up at you frantically, breathing irregular as his hands and kneecaps bruised to the ground below.

He didn't more or dare to make a sound. He simply was paralyzed, eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at the normallacy of your slumber.

You were a masterclass in stability.

You didn't blur at the edges. You didn't flicker like the neon lights outside or warp like the faces of the people in the stands. You were just... you.

Is this the betrayal? - he wondered, his heart hammering against his ribs. Is this just the brain playing its final card? Giving me something so beautiful, so perfectly still, just to watch me reach for it and find smoke?

He forced his hand to move. It was an agonizing process, his muscles coiled with a tension so extreme he could feel the veins in his neck straining.

He reached out, his fingertips hovering a mere inch above the fabric of your blue vest.

Blue.

Blue blue blue

Blue?

You're wearing blue.

His eyes dropped back down to your chest, body locking in pure hypontize. His irises traced the pretty indigo that strained around your breasts, the fabric stretching softly with every inhale and exhale from your lungs.

It was jarring, a violent difference from the red madness he lived in, yet it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He didn't even realize he was mimicking your breathing until his mind screamed at him to take a note of how his shoulders rose and fell in perfect, agonizing unison with yours.

He felt like he stepped outside after years of gasping in a fogged, humid bathroom.

inhale exhale inhale exhale

He felt alive.

The thrill he feels in his veins when he curves to hard on a graveled road. A sandy cliff. A sidewalk where pedestrians stare at him as if he's crazy.

But you're not wearing (red).

Red is what usually calms him down, no matter how much he hates to see the splotch blur in his vision.

Why blue? Blue blue (red) you should be wearing red. Why aren't you wearing red?

(Red) is, what he believed for the quick couple seconds he first saw you, is your color.

But the blue looked so good against hint of your skin, a starling contrast that made his mind stutter.

Why aren't you wearing red?

He shouldn't breathe— looking at you makes him unable. But, he's copying your chest movements. He feels like he can breathe, his lungs hurt like he can't.

Is he breathing?

Inhale. The cool night air hit his lungs. He should be taking a shower, should be washing all of the dirt off of his body.

Is he drowning?

He should be breathing.

Should be.

Exhale. He felt his heart stutter, a wet thump that seemed to echo in the hollow space behind his ribs.

He was drowning, and you were the only surface in sight.

"Why.." He muttered but had no clue what he was loosing himself over. Why what? Why blue? Why was his body acting this way? Why couldn't he bring himself to stop breathing the same way you did?

You're cool and soft— something all blue. You're not burning in his vision, you're healing it.

You should wear (red), he simply just wants you to.

You looked so... soft. He wanted to reach out and collide the hard of his palms to the soft of your skin. Feel the small friction of skin against skin as he feels your warmth on him. Feel the weight of your body lean in against his and chase the grounding storming through his veins.

Could his touch leave marks?

What if he pressed his tongue onto the point of body where neck curves to shoulder, align his craving tastebuds with your cherry taste until there was a damp spot? Would you wake up? Would he cry from the beauty of it all?

What if you woke up and ran away? What if you try to hide so far from his line of sight that he would never be able to breathe calmly again?

The thought felt like a literal, physical blow to his gut. It made his breath hitch and his heart skip a sudden beat.

If you left, the unwelcome red would rush in. He wouldn't feel calm. Breathing would be something unknown to him.

He would loose his existence.

What if he couldn't stare at you like this again- a starving precision of a man looking at a miracle he didn't deserve?

Sweat dripped down his temple.

His chest loosened, a pull that made his lungs feel fresh.

His index pulled over and over on the skin on his thumb until he felt a harsh pang. A sting that made his left eye slightly twitch.

His eyes burned, tired, completely begging with a salty gloss to be closed. To give just one blink. To let the slight red staining the corner of his pupils fade by closing his eyes, to let the darkness finally take him, but he was afraid that if he blinked - you would be gone.

He hadn't even realized you awakened.

Tired eyes met yours and it felt like he had pinned you down physically. The sight of the same man you couldn't stop thinking about - that eerie presence - made your blood run cold.

Was he... staring at you sleep?

"That's not red,"

A deep, almost a raw rasp had cut through the warm haze ringing in your ears. You watched as the man moved his hands to his side, a small droplet of blood catching the flickering light overhead.

"...But it feels right."

A small gasp had fell from your lips, the soft deliver of the sound almost knocking Jeongguk over. You ran a hand through your hair, as if the drag of your soft locks between your fingertips could calm you down.

"What ... is this your tent?"

A nod.

"Shit... I am so, so, sorry," you said frantically, scrambling out of the hard couch while trying hard to ignore the way his eyes made your skin crawl.

Every instinct you possessed was screaming at you to run, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and this man, but his presence was a physical barrier.

He stood between you and the only exit, his silhouette looming large against the pulsating red glow of his monitors.

"No," his voice dropped.

"I... I just," you stammered, your hand still caught in your hair, gripping a clump of it tight enough to hurt. You were backing up until you felt the rigid edge of a workbench behind you. "I got separated from my friends. I didn't know whose tent this was. I was just - I was so tired, I just needed to close my eyes for a second."

"Friends.." He repeated.

"Jung Hoseok? Jay? You know him? My friend forced me to come and-" you motioned your hands towards the almost empty arena outside the tent. It was almost completely black outside. "They... left."

He didn't respond.

"Can you.." You took a step closer, only to pause when he refused to move. "Move please?"

No response again.

You were close enough to see the smear of engine grease on his cheekbone and the way his hands were trembling, his fingers working that raw and bleeding patch on his thumb over and over again.

"Who are you?" you whispered, the question escaping before you could check it.

He didn't answer right away. He walked toward you with slow steps and you flinched, but he stopped at a distance that felt like an act of restraint. He was looking at your blue blouse, at the way your hair was disheveled from sleep, at the way your hands were fidgeting nervously.

He looked mesmerized, as if he were trying to commit every detail of your appearance to memory to prove you were real.

"Ghost," he finally said, though the name sounded like a hollow joke coming from his own lips. "Or Jeongguk. Whatever is left."

"Jeongguk," you breathed, the name feeling heavy. "And ghost..?

"Race name."

"Ghost," you repeated again, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I need to go."

You darted toward the flap, but he moved with a speed that was impossible, his hand catching the tent fabric just above your head. He didn't grab you, but the way he blocked your exit was telling.

You can't leave. He'll drown. He'll die. He'll become nothing. He needs to see your (red) although you were stained in blue.

"They left."

Your face drained of color. "...What?"

"I saw them," he explained, his eyes refusing to tear away from yours. "She followed him out."

It was as if a sudden hit of betrayal had stabbed you dry.

You had allowed Renee to drag you out of your comfort zone, promised that it was just a night of fun, only for them to vanish into the night without a word to leave you stranded with a man with bottomless, searching eyes.

He slowly pulled his hand back from the tent fabric, his fingers twitching in the air before he shoved them into his pockets like it was as if to keep himself from reaching out.

He watched you with a mix of genuine concern and a desperate, lingering need to keep you within his sight.

You bolted out of his sight without thinking. A mix of curses fell out from your lips just as your ears gave a pitched ring mixed with the sounds of his deep footsteps following after you.

"I am seriously going to punch Renee in the face," you groaned, crossing your arms as you stepped out into the empty lot. "That little bitch. She made me come because, and I quote, she can't be alone with Hoseok. What does she do? Runs away to be alone with that bastard! Oh! And my fucking stuff is missing!? How much worse can this go?"

He suddenly stepped ahead of your path, freezing you to your halt.

"Seriously? Why do you keep on blocking me off?"

He took a breath in, only to not speak.

"Can I borrow your phone?" You flinched when you asked him, immediately regretting your words when his jaw clenched. With a sigh, you continued. "Please?"

"It's dead."

A lie.

A lie that almost knocked him cold off his feet.

You let out a frustrated, shaky breath. Jeongguk watched the action, his expression flickering with something that looked very close like relief.

"My car is at the edge of the lot," he said, his voice quiet. "I'll take you."

"I don't even know you," you countered, your fear warring with the practicality of the situation. "Why are you helping me?"

He didn't answer for a long time.

His eyes flickered down to your chest.

Your arms snapped up to cross over your work uniform, your eyes narrowing. "What the hell are you doing? Eyes up."

"Breathing," he muttered, the word hanging between the two of you.

Your cheeks flared, a burning heat of nerves. You were trapped in an empty, darkened lot with a man who had the intensity of a live wire, and he was staring at your chest, talking about breathing like he'd forgotten how to do it himself.

"Breathing?" you repeated, your voice rising. It was a mix of fury and alarm. "Yeah, I know what breathing is, genius. You don't have to watch my lungs to figure out how to do it. Have you never seen a girl before? Or is this just some weird, twisted hobby you have? Because if this is how you flirt I have some really bad news for you—it's actually terrifying. Look, Mr. Ghost, I am not trying to be a jerk, but this has been the worst night of my life. My friends ditched me, I have a massive headache, my phone is dead—which, by the way, how is your phone dead? Everyone has portable chargers, or, you know, wall outlets? Do you live like a nomad? Is this the 1800s? Why am I even asking? I just want to go home, SLEEP and forget this entire night exists."

"First Hoseok and now you?" Jeongguk muttered although he hadn't moved an inch.

"Excuse me?"

Jeongguk continued to block your path, hands buried into his pockets. Yet, you could see his hands bunch under his trousers, a movement that screamed the clench of his fist.

"You're rambling." He said.

"I'm nervous!" you snapped, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "Listen, some black market hoes might have my belongings while I am stranded in an empty parking lot with some bastard who can't breathe properly. The same bastard that is blocking my path. Is this because I fell asleep in your tent? Well I am fucking sorry, okay?"

"I can breathe properly!" He snapped, taking half-step forward, and you flinched, your heels clicking against the gravel as you took two steps back. "I am normal. You're real, wearing blue."

He looked down at his shoes for a second, his jaw working as he done so, before his gaze snapped back to you. It was a look of starving desperation, though to you, it just looked like he was losing his grip on reality.

"Oh, hell to the fuck no. I'm out of here."

He reached out—so fast that you didn't even have time to scream—and grabbed the strap of your bag, gently pulling you toward him. You gasped, your hands flying up to push him away, but his grip was firm, not violent, but immovable.

"You're getting in my car." He snapped. "I'm driving you home."

"No-"

"Yes!" He screamed.

Silence suffocated you.

You stared back up at his face - that usual ghostly stillness was gone - was replaced with a twisted outburst to his rage. His knuckles were bone-white where he gripped the strap of your bag.

And he didn't release your bag. Instead. he walked away, dragging you with the strap until you were following after him completely held hostage. Your heels scraped against the gravel, the sound hurting your ears.

"It's too dangerous out," he said with a deathly calm in his voice although anger was radiating off of him. "I need you to be alive."

He slid into his drivers seat after letting go of your bag, slamming the door shut with harsh movements. You followed after, bucking your seatbelt with trembly fingers.

He didn't check to see if you were ready. He turned the key, and the engine snarled to life. He threw it into gear, and the car lurched forward with a violence that snapped your head back against the headrest.

"Drive slow," you managed to choke out, clutching the door handle as he navigated the uneven exit of the lot.

"I know how to drive," he spat.

"If you're going to get salty with me, then why are you forcing yourself to take me home? Needing me to be alive, my ass."

He didn't look at you.

He swung onto the main road, his black and red car hitting the midnight like a blade. The way he drove was mechanical, completely harsh but yet so careful.

You sat in the passenger seat, your knees pulled tight to your chest, watching his profile. The dash lights cast him in a crimson glow that made the scar on his jaw look like a fresh wound. Every few minutes, he would glance into the rearview mirror— at the backroad as if checking for something that wasn't there.

"Is there a murderer on the loose or something? You look at caution. Oh, so you're just doing a good deed- driving me home to keep my ass from bleeding out although you're being a dickwad. Okay, cool."

"No."

You chose not to respond, turning your head to look out of the window.

The rest of the drive baked in tension. He didn't speak. He didn't turn on the radio. He didn't even adjust the vents when you began to shiver from the blast of cold air hitting your face.

His gaze was intense on the road as if he were tracking a predator.

As he pulled into the familiar line of your neighborhood on behalf of your directions, he slowed his car, pulling idly at the edge of your driveway.

"I'll find your belongings and return them to you," his hand tightened around the wheel.

"Thank you," you said, already reaching for the handle and wishing for the night to be over.

You didn't look back. You hurried up the walkway, your shoes clicking on the concrete and you weren't breathing until you were inside your house and had the door locked behind you. You leaned your back against the wood, listening as the black car roared to life and drove away, the sound of the engine fading.

God, he was rude.

Cold.

Terrifying.

You were afraid of the way he had looked at you.

You were afraid because you knew, deep down, you knew it wouldn't be the last of it.