flashbulb moment. 

your hands wrapped tight about the wheel, foot running the gas pedal into the ground. the needle wiggles, toeing the line between too fast to function and just right. the rearview mirror is blinding as the headlights from behind hit the glass. you can see the confetti, the hoards of people. the taste of champagne is too sweet upon your tongue as your engine roars. you can see the leader of your team at the edges of the finish line, smiling in that affectionate way, but with eyes hungry for the win.

and that's what you've just done.

you've won.

                                                                              ...


everything is lime brown, a writhing wave of heaving bodies pressing against the confines of metal walls. the atmosphere feels akin to the tension inside of a jack-in-the-box, pressing at the sides, clawing to escape. a man stands in the middle of it all, bathed in the stale glow of the meat lamps above. he wears a tan mottled suit, squessing in a bulbous belly, furious curly hair forming a lion's mane around a cherry red face. squinting eyes are pressed inwards by swollen cheekbones, everything pinched. he bears a microphone, perspiring as he looks to his staff across from him. his "staff" is but a mere cameraman, all in black with a cap brim shielding his eyes, and anothe rshadowy figure that hoists a boom, neck twitching. 

the man inhales, buttons of his jackets swelling to the farthest extent they can go. a stubby tongue swipes out across thick lips. he smacks them together twice, cleras his throat. one two three are you looking at me ? he points to the camera. a red light flickers on from the shadows.

"welcome, welcome ! you're in for a treat tonight !" he's glowing, gesturing to the crowds, pearly grin illuminating the rest of his face. "we've got an underground favorite here, yessirree !"

women are howling, banging against the barriers. they're throwing bodies and clothing, snapping necks just to get closer. some are crying, long rivers of tears rolling down their faces, pooling at their feet, mixing with the sweat along their skin. fingernails slide along the metal railings, grasping for a purchase. nothing is close enough. the men are chanting, gnashing teeth, pointing their noses to the moon and pricking their tails, ready to pounce but also just as prepped to throw themselves to the floor and beg for mercy. 

"that's right, lads and ladies !" the man in the center snaps his eyes to the crowds, gesturing broad and wide and extravagant. "you know 'em, you love 'em .. here's the crew of the nation ... spitfire !"

wailing, screaming. the banging intensifies as the bodies pile one on top of the other to climb against the confines. they've reduced into puddles of sludge, sloshing around in grated containers, salivating all at once. but they're no match for the brilliance of the shining members of their salvation. the doors slide open, they trickle in like sugar to water. they're blinding, brilliant, sparkling and new. they stream through the toxic waste to make their way to the safety of the center.

in front is a young woman, chin tilted to the heavens with shoulders bearing an imaginary cape (if you squint and tilt your head to the right, you can juuust see it). her eyes sweep over the crowds, face betraying nothing besides pure power, hips swaying to the beat of her personal drum, each footstep knocking the common folk down a tier. her fingers curl into balls, shoulders hesitating to jump up to her ears, cheekbone twitching. her footsteps are quicker if you watch closely.

behind her is a young man- no, adonis- that floats above everyone else. smoky eyelids fluttering over dark irises, porcelein skin shining with platinum blonde hair flopping over his eyebrow. long strides, a swing to his swagger. he breathes in and everyone else suffocates, scrounging for air. he his lips slowly, surveying the location. his eyes flicker to the man in the middle, but it's hardly worth noting, his pupils jumping away too quickly to catch.

in the shallow imprints of his footsteps bounds a man with a sharp downbeat, footsteps clacking like razor blades, coy grin curling like a cheshire cat- poisonous. he's waving with a garrish extravagance, strutting as if he's on top of the world, lips moving in the sea of people, spouting out garbage that makes him laugh but no one else. obnoxious. he's all dark turtlenecks and leather, pointed toe shoes scuffed at the sole.

he's a tough act to follow, the man with the feline griin, but nevertheless a girl shrinks behind him. she's swallowed up in a polo a size too big, tucked into a tennis skirt that just brushes over top of her knees. her socks sag around her ankles, mirroring her shoulders as her hair sweeps by like a brush of caramel. her edges are rounded, like a peach (she's just as fuzzy now that you think about it) and her lips are a personal kind of pink- a valentine kind of pink. she glows like a candle on a windowsill, illuminating the path through the crowds, absentmindedly nibbling on her thumbnail.

looming after comes a man who feels stretched out compared to the girl's petite frame. he's old school greaser, pony boy flare with a leather jacket and kickass boots, hair curling up along his forehead like a lollipop swirl. he's wiggling his fingers at all the girls, sticking his tongue out, winking. he's cackling, head thrown back and arms outwards so he can swallow everyone up. one bite is all it takes.

then there's the next young man who echoes the faint calls to greaser life, but falls short with the perspiration dribbling down his sideburns and his glistening eyes that are trying to absorb too much at once. he's shifting his gaze between the people and the cheshire cat a few people ahead, fingertips rubbing beneath the firm crisp sleeves of a white labcoat. he's pushing up spectacles that belong to your grandfather, legs stockily attempting to break into a jog through finely pressed pants. he looks too clean to be in a hellhole like this, too much like seoul to be in this mess. 

bringing up the rear comes someone who is all limbs, legs the length of namsan tower and arms long enough to reach outer space. he's all suited up in a ragged flannel that seems close to death and ripped skinny jeans, black beneath everything. a black snapback sits backwards on his head, dull eyes barely blinking as he maneuvers. at times he casts a look to the grabbing hands through the barriers and the muscles in his face have a spasm. he tries to catch up to the coattails of the shivering figure in front of him.

as they're walking up to the center, the woman in front firmly shaking hands with the man waiting for them, the man who held the boom finishes setting up seven chairs, receding back into the shadows. the leading woman gestures for everyone to take seats. four go into the back row, three stay in front. look at your cue card! (yearbook photo - front row: (left to right) im youngji, damien cho, adrian park. back row: shin taekjo, allura, daniel chae, jo ilhwa)

"alright !" the man takes a seat a foot away, applauding generously with furious nods. "once again, everyone. spitfire !"

frantic clapping and hoots. the small girl shrivels.

"well, it's truly an honor to have you with us today," the man looks to the camera with a million dollar smile. "i'm your mc for the evening, hwang."

mr. hwang quirks an eyebrow, upper lip shining. when he breathes you can almost see the clouds of water vapor. he's scanning the faces. where's the most leeway ? which of these s will have the most potential ? cogs are turning. he looks to the cue card.

"so it's really an honor to be sitting down with you guys," he starts up. "do you realize how prolific you are around here ?"

spitfire fidgets. taekjo and adrian have eating grins. youngji's jaw jumps.

"let's get to know about the team beyond the stellar races," mr. hwang smacks his lips. "what's the overall dynamic in your group ? are you all as tight as you seem ? or is this more... like business."

"we're family."

youngji is quick to answer, voice blurting out in a hurry. she's staring at mr. hwang steadily, palms curling inwards and releasing. damien's eyes dart over to her for a millisecond and then they're gone. taekjo is chuckling, adrien giving a dopey grin as daniel continues to chip away at his wrists. ilhwa puts his hand over daniel's though his eyes remain on youngji. daniel opens his mouth, but quickly clamps it shut. only allura receives the statement positively, small smile curling her lips as she plays with her fingers in her lap.

"everyone is so different, and we're all racing for different things, but ..." youngji nods once, twice. "we are a family at the end of the day."

mr. hwang watches her, sees her arm make its way to sit on damien's shoulders. he doesn't react to the touch, sits motionless and pristine like he has since the beginning. adrian clicks his tongue in a monotonous rhythm like a clock.

"well, that's always nice to hear, y'know," hwang chuckles a bit. "but surely there's gotta be some disagreements between you guys. anything worth sharing ?"

youngji makes to open but adrian flops himself over damien (to which damien jolts, but merely sighs), locking eyes with hwang and beginning to speak.

"i can't stand anyone here if i'm to be completely honest," his words slur just a bit, toppling over each other to get out of his mouth. "youngji's the only decent one here. spitfire is as inefficient as it gets-"

"we're efficient," damien cuts in. "but of course, everyone has different lifestyles, personalities, and opinions."

hwang's toes jump on the cement floor as damien gently props adrian back into his respective seat. a smile wavers on the blonde's lips, but it's already sliding off by the time he turns to face the camera once again. 

"and what do you mean by that, damine ?" hwang tuts. "i mean, we all know you're from a pretty impressive background. you come from practically royal roots."

damien twitches at "background", a vein in his neck wiggling at "royal". it seems to take effort to keep his face from souring. the corners of his mouth turn down, but otherwise he seems unfazed. 

taekjo, on the other hand, buzzes from the back. he's jiggling his leg, bouncing it as his fingers play cat's cradle with themselves. he has a frown on his lips before he begins to sweep over each one of his fellow members. they linger on the two tall figures to his left, sliding down allura and coming back to damien. a spark flickers in his pupil, fingers tracing the lines of his collarbones. 

"i didn't mean anything by it," damien stares at the camera lens with a certain intensity. "i'm just stating facts."

hwang leans forward. "but-"

"i'd like it if we don't talk about this," youngji stares at him, eyes cold. "please."

"damien is damien," adrian pipes up from the side. "it's old news."

said "old news" gives adrian a pointed look, but makes no move to counter what he said. hwang holds his hands up in surrender, falling back to youngji's demeanor. time to switch plans. abort path a. time for-

"alright, alright," hwang starts up once again. "what i'm really interested in is your strategist. not many groups have mahy of those. tell us a bit about yourself, allura."

youngji turns, whispers something to allura, tenderly pats her knee before turning to face the front again. allura fiddles with a bow on her neckline, swallowing hard as she brings her eyes up to her interrogator. (there's a tug on the line. is this a winner ?)

his neck tingles. his eyes slowly drift over to taekjo sitting next to her. oh . taekjo is staring at him head on, eyes widened just enough to  see the whites of his eyes. a disturbing curl twitches on his lips, pulling his face into a bewildered smile. something clamps on hwang's throat.

but.. allura !

"um... i'm studying physics and the science of motion, momentum, speed... et cetera." she mumbles. "i use the formulas and notes hee- my studies to make the best end result for spitfire."

hwang opens his mouth but taekjo is faster. 

"yeah, our little allura is pretty in' awesome !" he wraps her up in a hybrid of a hug and a chokehold. "i mean, i've got natural talent but she really helps turn the tables from 100% success to 200% success."

allura flushes against his embrace, knees knocking together as a watery smile takes place on her features. daniel watches her with a dazed expression, palms slick as they slide against each other. 

"using science to help ensure wins. revolutionary," hwang beams, smile jerking. "and not only that, but you've got a medic on staff as well, i hear."

"that's our daniel chae !" taekjo hops in again, reaching behind allura to give said doctor a slap on the back. "he's our salvation to be quite honest. couldn't survive without 'im !"

daniel attempts to laugh but merely chokes, a deer in headlights as he flounders from the question. ilhwa's brows knit together and his lips purse. the words are almost visible as he holds them back, fingers gripping his seat.

"daniel !" hwang glows like weathered gold. "tell us about your job here with spitfire ! must be pretty crazy patching up these guys."

a question of occupation. daniel nods, composing himself in a blink.

"well, it definitely keeps me on my toes, if you know what i mean," he gives a dazzling grin. "you never know what's gonna come through that door."

hwang chuckles, scanning his cue card. "i can see that ! how do you handle the tougher jobs ?"

"tougher jobs ?" daniel gnaws on his lower lip. "i, uh, have quite the artillery in spitfire's headquarters for the use of more strenuous procedures."

"oh? like what?"

"medicine and the like," daniel attempts a carefree shrug. "i supply spitfire with what they need. kind of like a home pharmacy."

interesting. "really now. a pharmacy ? right out of spitfire's garage ?"

daniel nods.

"that's a little risky, don't you think ?" hwang his head. "unprescribed medications that are unapproved by the government for consumption are strictly forbidden. you know that, don't you ?"

the doctor begins to sweat, fingernails digging into his palms. taekjo's eyes dart over in his general direction and he opens his mouth to say something, lips already curling in a scowl-

"street racing's already forbidden."

everyone's eyes drift up to allura, who immediately withers under their stares. she only continues with the urging of taekjo in her ear.

"spitfire's already participating in an illegal activity," allura's voice barely carries. "daniel distributing much needed antibiotics is hardly a crime pitted next to what we do on a regular basis."

she wobbles on "we", but continues nonetheless. youngji seems to give a sigh of relief, nodding and looking to hwang for his next move. 

hwang shrugs. "point taken."

he shuffles the cue cards, ignoring the prickling tension over the racing crew. (if you have the proper pin, you can pop it all without much gusto) move past the formalities now, we're running out of attention.

"now, let me ask you guys a real serious question," he lowers his voice, sobering. "is there anyone in the group you feel holds you back."

youngji sputters "nonsense!" as taekjo erupts into laughter. hwang latches onto taekjo with animalistic hunger, eager to see what he whips out. youngji gives him a pointed look, tries to reel it all back in but oh no taekjo is ready to roll.

"i can think of someone."

damien shoots a look at someone in the back row as adrian chuckles, calling out a "saaaaame". allura's hands move up to her ears, as if waiting to cover them and muffle the noise. daniel looks pleading at the man about to be the pin-

"i'd throw my hat in for jo ilhwa for starters."

there it is.

youngji growls out a low "taekjo" as ilhwa frowns, arms moving to cross over his chest as he curls inwards. daniel sends more signals to taekjo that vaguely read "s.o.s"

"ilhwa, huh ?" hwang smirks. "and what makes you say that ?"

taekjo chortles, leaning over to try to catch ilhwa's eye. "i think the racing statistics speak for themselves."

adrian emits a low "ooohhhh~" as ilhwa fiercely locks eyes with the other man down the row. youngji waves her arms, eyes narrowed.

"that's not true. we all know ilhwa is a valuable member of our team," she looks to hwang. "we need him as much we need everyone in this group. isn't that right, bbypink."

and taekjo snorts, falling back in his chair, crossing his arms and huffing like a toddler. "fine. take his side like you always do."

hwang vaguely thinks who the hell is bbypink- before he's looking to ilhwa. the young man is looking at the ground, fingers patting down his pockets, but finding nothing. daniel's eyes are playing ping pong between taekjo and ilhwa, leg jiggling as it bounces. 

"mr. hwang."

damien's voice rings clear through the air, affirmative and strong. he's looking at hwang dead on, before drifting his eyes over to the camera.

"i feel as though these questions are purposefully leading us to create slander against ourselves," he raises an eyebrow. "an interview like this just isn't beneficial for both parties."

youngji falls into a small smile.

"thus, i'd like to conclude the interview now," damien looks to youngji. "if our leader is willing."

no no wait-

"i agree with my partner," youngji stands, arms crossed. "this isn't for the good of spitfire so we're just wasting our time. we're better off training for our next races and refining our skill sets."

"but-"

"thank you very much, mr. hwang."

and with that, one by one, each member of spitfire went out after their leader. taekjo and adrian continued to chatter and entice the crowd, but the remaining members left in silence. there's a sharp "give me my ing cigarettes already" before they depart the warehouse, exiting back into their kingdom.

hwang scowls, throwing his cue cards to the ground as he signals to his cameraman to cut.

...

"why'd we even agree to this, anyway?" 

adrian's looking at youngji from spitfire's sofa, lazily sprawled out on it as his eyes fight to stay open. youngji's leaning against the wall, not meeting eyes with anyone. a large exhale. she lets her shoulders slump.

"i thought it would be a good idea for us," youngji frowns. "but...i don't think that was a good decision."

"how were you supposed to know the interviewer was gonna be ?" taekjo jumps onto the couch, nearly landing on adrian (but adrian wouldn't mind either way). "we had no clue he was gonna be making anti-spitfire propo."

youngji shrugs, face remaining pinched with worry. damien is seated a way away from her by their makeshift dining table, back upright as he watches their leader. his foot gently taps.

"how about taekjo's comment for ilhwa, though ?" adrian grins from between the couch cushions. "taekjo is a ing savage."

"about that," youngji whips around, hand on her hip. "i'm not having that anymore. especially during a televised interview."

taekjo sits upright, eyebrows sharp above his eyes, knuckles white as he begins with a childish "oh yeah??"

"we all know it's true, okay ?" taekjo frowns. "what good is he besides paying for all of our ?"

adrian laughs from the bottom of the cushions, a leg kicking up in agreement. damien remains stoic. youngji's hands curl into fists and instantly taekjo's hopping up, stabbing a finger in the direction of her hands.

"what are you going to do, huh ?" he grins. "go ahead. punch me."

for a second, youngji's hand shifts from her side, jumps up for a bit. damien jolts from his chair, hopping to his feet. adrian rises from the cushions, eyes curious and wide. taekjo has that stupid old smirk on his face again just begging to be hit. 

"no," youngji turns on her heel. "i'm not hitting you."

taekjo groans. "what, backing down again ?"

youngji shrugs, motioning to damien to stand down holy . "it's just bbypink being bbypink."

... 

he's lost them again, hands scrambling through all of his pockets with no luck. allura's staring at him, textbook open across her lap as she follows the path of his hands with her eyes. he scoffs when he comes up empty.

"what are you looking for ?" she asks quietly. she already knows the answer.

"my cigarettes..." ilhwa gives himself another once over. "have you seen them ?"

it burns when he says it. she flinches to prevent it from lingering. she erases the scene from her mind of the boy and the ashtray.

"no, no i haven't."

it's too quick to be honest. he knows that. he watches her as she messes with the page corners. his throat itches. (two paths. he can throw a tantrum and get his way or he can .. he can..)

"whatever," the tight ball that he clenches his hands into says otherwise. "let's just get onto the equations."

she clears , ready to dive into a world that she's comfortable in (finally) when the door swings to the room swings open and daniel stands in the doorway. he's shed his labcoat, standing in that pastel dress shirt and pressed pant combo- the dapper dan getup.

his throat itches.

"hey guys..." daniel shifts awkwardly before them. "what are you doing ?"

allura gives him what she hopes to be a reassuring smile. "ilhwa and i are working on new strategies for his races. what are you up to ?"

daniel shrugs, fitting his hands into the pockets of his pants. "waiting to see what happens between youngji and taekjo."

both of the kids on the bed share a glance with one another before looking back at daniel. to this, daniel drifts his gaze over to ilhwa, who plays with the watch on his wrist that could probably pay for a house on all its own. he's stiffer than usual- and that's saying something.

"ilhwa," he starts, voice shaking. "you aren't-"

"i have to work on my strategy." ilhwa says flatly.

daniel is taken aback for a second. the tone is off. allura mindlessly flips through the textbook. 

"oh," daniel's backpedaling, reaching for the doorknob. "oh."

the door shuts. allura doesn't look at the boy in front of her. it's not time to solve that equation yet. she taps the book. 

"let's begin."