Rosé didn't even know when it began.

Actually, she did. She could recall the specific day, the specific time, the specific car models they both used, and even the specific color of the bandana that dropped to signal the start of the race and was waved to announce the winner.

It was a tie that day. No matter how many times they played and replayed the video, their cars crossed the finish line at exactly the same time - to the second. It drover Rosé's competitive crazy.

So now Rosé is left wondering, left asking questions because she couldn't figure it out.

Rosé didn't know was what drew her in - what was so irresistible about her long time rival that had her pocketing her car keys and leaving her 20 year old custom Mustang in a dark parking lot and hopping into the passenger seat of the even older and more modified Camaro that she just raced against.

Lisa just watched her with half-lidded eyes and an easy smirk - one that looked like it held the secrets and explanations as to all the questions that was bothering her.

Why was she doing this? Why was she being so reckless - more so than her usual recklessness of driving at 250 kph in abandoned alleyways and dried up creeks in Seoul, against numerous laws and regulations?

Why was she going home with Lisa?

The closed the car door behind her, seated herself in the uncomfortable passenger seat of the Camaro.

(Cars for street races were usually stripped bare and made light - where the exteriors were flashy, the interiors were bereft of comfort because the prime was on functionality.)

Lisa faced her, watched her get in the car, lips coated with the sugar of victory.

Well, what was a bigger victory than this?

"Nervous, Princess?" Lisa teased, ego inflated from the fact that the girl she's been racing up against, been compared to by the community, is coming home with her like a good little kitten.

Rosé met her gaze and mirrored her smirk.

Lisa liked that about her, the way she never backed down from a challenge.

"Why would I be nervous? If anything, you should be worried about leaving…" Rosé her lips, raked her eyes up and down the length of Lisa's body, settled the intensity of her stare on Lisa's face, "a good impression."

Lisa was thrown off by the reply - the same way she was thrown off the moment Rosé first stepped out of her car after beating her in their first race (how could someone who looked so dainty drive like a demon in a bulldozer?).

So she just chuckled and shook her head, raised an eyebrow and asked, "is that a challenge, sweetheart?"

To which Rosé responded, "you bet it is."

Lisa just shook her head and smiled. The Camaro pulled out of the parking lot smoothly - like a hot knife cutting through butter. Lisa went from 20 kph to 80 kph in a blink and Rosé is left unaffected - used to the speed, used to the rolled down windows and the wind slapping against her arm and messing up her hair; used to feeling like she's being warped in a tunnel of time and space.

Rosé is used to the feeling of being invincible - like she's flying with wheels on the ground.

She closed her eyes.

Maybe that's why she's obsessed with street racing.

It made her feel untouchable. It gave her the euphoria that comes with feeling infinite and endless - the high from knowing that you're too fast and too good of a driver that even death and danger can't catch you.

Somehow, Rosé had the instinct to look to the side, to her driver for the meantime.

Lisa had her eyes on the road, had her hands on the steering wheel steady and had a smile on her lips like she was riding an invisible wave of ecstasy.

Rosé thought of how many times they've gone head to head, how they alternated wins in all their matches (the score is 6-6 with one tie as of tonight).

She watched the slight clench of Lisa's jaw, the movement of as her rival swallowed and the relaxed rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

Breathed in the wind, breathed in the speed, breathed in each passing second of time and every inch of space overcome in this race against no one but her own pleasure.

Rosé watched Lisa but saw herself driving.

Maybe they weren't so different after all.

In the span of time that Rosé got in Lisa's car to their arrival at Lisa's auto shop and apartment, Rosé realized they could be one person with how much the two of them were the same.

Lisa got off the high, too, chased after the feeling of invulnerability and invincibility, like she was bigger than the laws of nature and of man.

Lisa loved the taste of being untouchable, too.

They pulled up and parked in Lisa's big and now empty garage. It's 3:42 am on a Thursday and she wouldn't be open to customers (fellow custom car freaks and speed junkies) til 4:00 in the afternoon.

The vibe was totally different when they got to Lisa's apartment. Where Lisa drove like a madwoman running from her executioner, she now took her sweet time in leading Rosé into her room; where Lisa's turns where sharp and jarring, her grip on Rosé's hand was gentle; where her eyes were focused and fiery on the road, now her eyes seemed softer in the dark.

Where Lisa was untouchable, suddenly she was vulnerable in her own space, suddenly unsure and hyper aware of the stranger she brought home on impulse and without a second thought.

It wasn't like Lisa was new to this - she's brought home numerous girls on different nights.

But somehow Rosé was different in a way Lisa couldn't explain.

Maybe it was how Rosé felt like an equal in every way - how the girl seemed to be able to read her on the streets in every race and match her acceleration and anticipate her every move.

And true to how she is as a rival, Rosé seemed to sense her sudden uncertainty now.

So, Rosé carefully stepped into her space and held her eyes with her own, as if asking permission. Lisa just gave her the slightest nod, feeling shy and small.

A warmth of affection is inspired in Rosé's chest, so she leaned in and dipped her head, touched her lips against Lisa's in the slightest press.

The kiss sent warm tingles to their stomachs, shivers of cold up their spines, and little sparks of electricity in their brains.

It was enough to spur Lisa to action.

Lisa kissed her back slowly but her lips and tongue heavy with intent. She finally saw her goal, knew what she wanted. But unlike racing, she decided that she was going to make Rosé savor both the journey and the end.

And Rosé ceded the reins to Lisa, slipped out of the driver's seat and into the passenger's, easily allowing Lisa control.

There was no urgency in their movements, no air of hurry, no sense of impatience. They both took their time, feeling each other, enjoying every sensation, slowly feeding the fires burning inside of them.

Lisa ran the tip of her middle finger from Rosé's tailbone up to the tip of her spine to the nape of her neck and elicited a gasp.

She worked Rosé up slowly with soft caresses and long, nimble fingers. She somehow knew how hard to press and when. She proved herself to be as skilled as a mechanic as she is a driver, with Rosé being the engine.

She had Rosé humming and thrumming in every which way she wanted, little sounds filling her room and adding to her own arousal.

Until Rosé was gasping in want and squirming in need.

For more.

And as if switching gears, Lisa's touch became different - where she skirted around heat, she plunged right into it; where she teased, she was now purposeful and sure; where she was gentle and soft, she became rough and firm.

And it was just what Rosé needed.

It was perfect.

Rosé's every request, every prayer and every plea was finally met.

More.

Harder.

Faster.

Yes.

There.

Rosé was helpless asphalt and Lisa left skidmarks and smoke. Their bodies melded together like burning rubber. The friction between them was delicious and hot, increasing and increasing until it was too much.

And like the moment before a crash, Rosé gripped the sheets and saw white.

Then she came undone.

And then it was black.

When Rosé finally came to, a few minutes later, Lisa was lying beside her on the verge of sleep. She shifted to her side and faced Lisa fully. Lisa was roused and pulled out of her barely conscious state, awakened by the movement.

"Hey," Lisa greeted, voice lazy and sleepy.

Rosé smiled and blushed.

"Hi."

Lisa hummed and closed her eyes.

"Satisfied?" She asked, letting pride slip in.

Rosé just nodded in the slightest, blinking slowly.

"Yes." She admitted with a chuckle. "Very."

Lisa laughed a little, too.

"Good."

Then Rosé sat up and leaned over Lisa, who moved to lie on her back. She pressed a soft kiss against plump lips, gentle and feather-light, much like their first kiss that night.

Lisa closed her eyes and savored it. Rosé leaned back.

"Thank you."

Lisa smirked.

"You're welcome." She said. "But are you thanking me because you have to go?"

Rosé shook her head.

"No. I'm just thanking you because that was way better than I expected."

Lisa chuckled.

"Good. Any time." She winked.

Rosé raised an eyebrow.

"Is that an invitation for another night?"

Lisa shrugged.

"Could be. I wouldn't mind you here again."

Rosé smiled.

"Good." She leaned back down to press another kiss on Lisa's lips, this time longer with more pressure, lingering.

"You know what," Rosé started, after leaning back and breaking the kiss. "I'm not really racing to be anywhere right now. I'd love to return the favor, if you wouldn't mind."

Lisa smirked.

"You know, I'm not in any hurry to be anywhere, too, so I'll take you up on that."

Rosé still didn't know how and why she got here - why she went home with her street racing rival, the only woman who could keep up with her and match her speed.

But by now she no longer minded.

Not when Lisa was now the one squirming underneath her.