Street Racer || Yang Jungwon

°•♡•° / 1

—— Seori

The neon lights of the city illuminated the night as I happily strolled down the street, a warm cup of ramen cradled in my hands. The convenience store's fluorescent glow had provided the perfect remedy for my late-night craving. The rhythmic beat of my favorite playlist echoed in my ears, creating a carefree melody to accompany my leisurely walk.

Craving satisfied, I approached the crosswalk, eager to return to the comfort of my cozy apartment. Lost in my thoughts and the allure of the city's energy, I didn't bother checking the sides before crossing the road. My hunger had clouded my usual cautious nature.

Suddenly, the blaring honk of a car horn shattered the peaceful ambiance. Panic surged as I turned to see headlights bearing down on me. Instinctively, I tried to hasten my steps, but it was too late. The car slowed down intensely, and I felt a sharp impact against my leg.

With a gasp, I stumbled and found myself on the cold pavement, the cup of ramen now a sad puddle beside me. Pain shot through my leg, and for a moment, the world seemed to spin. As I winced, I heard the screeching of tires coming to an abrupt halt.

Out of the car emerged a guy, a little older than me, with an air of frustration. His dark eyes held a mix of annoyance and concern as he scolded me for my reckless crossing, mentioning something about losing a race. I winced not just from the pain in my leg but also from his reprimand.

"Hey, watch where you're going! You just ruined my race," he admonished, frustration evident in his tone.

Staring up at him, I managed a weak apology before he softened slightly, asking, "Are you okay?"

His concern felt genuine for a moment, but as I winced and clutched my throbbing leg, he seemed more fixated on his car than my well-being. In disbelief, I watched as he retraced his steps, leaving me sprawled on the pavement. My gaze followed him to the sleek vehicle, and frustration bubbled within me.

"My leg hurts, you know!" I called out, a mix of pain and annoyance in my voice. "You just hit me with your car, and all you care about is the damage to your precious vehicle?"

He glanced back, an apologetic look fleeting across his face, but his attention remained fixated on the scratched paint and dented metal. Anger simmered within me as I struggled to stand, clutching onto the lamppost for support.

"If you're not going to help me, I'll call the police," I warned, my voice firm despite the pain pulsing through my leg. The threat seemed to shake him from his car appraisal, and he finally turned toward me.

"Wait, calling the police is unnecessary. I didn't mean to hit you," he said, attempting to diffuse the situation.

Ignoring his words, I fumbled for my phone, determined to make him realize the gravity of the situation. "You need to take responsibility for this. I could be seriously injured, and all you care about is your stupid race and your precious car!"

He hesitated, glancing around nervously as if assessing the potential consequences of his actions. "Look, let's handle this without getting the police involved. I'll take you to a hospital or something," he offered, his tone more conciliatory now.

Nodding reluctantly, I accepted his offer to take me to the hospital. Despite my penchant for mischief and a facade of immaturity, determination flickered within me. He had gotten us both into this mess, and it was only fair that he took responsibility for it.

As he approached, ready to assist me, I shot him a look that conveyed both vulnerability and insistence. "You're going to take care of me," I declared, my voice carrying a hint of defiance beneath the pain.