Fire meet gasoline

"This is Nakajima Yuto", Takaki says. And Yamada waits, because that name explains nothing at all.

Takaki may be little bit too fond of strangers, but bringing one to the workshop is almost as intimate as inviting him home. Maybe more.

Yamada takes in the new guy. Tall, black-haired, handsome. He instantly hates the vaguely amused look of those pretty and dark eyes.

"Newly arrived from L.A." Takaki points out.

And Yamada would never have guessed.

Nakajima's skin glows under the colorful neon display of pachinko advertisements that line up the street; not the dark tan one would expect from sunny California but an almost translucent milky white.

"Long way from home." Yamada's voice is harsh, but Nakajima doesn't engage in the aggression.

In its stead, the ghost of a crooked smile haunts the corner of his lips as he sighs, a cool whisper in the hot August night.

"Not really." Not a trace of accent in his voice.

Takaki chuckles. "He's from Tokyo, originally."

Takaki leaves it at that and Yamada examines this prodigal Tokyo boy before him. Black skinny jeans wrapped around slim and long legs, clean-cut dark red leather jacket that accentuates his narrow waist and a plain deep blue T-shirt that looks haphazardly thrown in; but Yamada knows better.

Nothing about this Nakajima character is careless. There's nothing random about him. Not in the way his hair looks a bit too perfectly ruffled, not in the way he stands up, either. His clothing and his attitude reek of money.

Pretty rich boy, and, Takaki's words notwithstanding, too far away from home.

"And he is tagging along because...?"

"Well..." Takaki grimaces, but doesn't elaborate. And maybe his boss has never been the most articulate human being in this world, but Yamada is getting more frustrated than usual about the lack of information.

He eyes Nakajima, who has the nerve to stare him down, even if he does look a bit appalled in his stubborn silence.

"He all but totaled the FTO." Finally, it is Chinen who answers.

He had been so quiet while sprawled on the hood of Takaki's red Miata that Yamada forgot he was there all along.

Takaki lights up a cigarette and takes a deep drag. Yamada just gapes, forgetting about giving Takaki a hard time for smoking when he said he was going to quit. Again.

"I am going to need the longer version," Yamada finally manages to force out, resisting the need to pinch himself.

Because this has to be a nightmare. Or a prank. The Mitsubishi FTO is Takaki's baby. He has invested more money and time in that car than he has on his hair and clothes during all of his life. A 1.8 base model from 1994 completely retrofitted, with a roaring Galant VR4 twin-turbo engine, remapped ignition chip, and fast road cams. Last time Takaki rode it, it got past 60 mph in just a bit over 5 seconds without even resorting to the first NOS charge. Beautiful, even if Yamada always thought the fire dragon paintwork was a little bit tacky.

This just can't be happening.

"Hotshot here," Chinen begins and nods in Nakajima's direction as he sits up, "picked a fight with Hikka but didn't have a ride to back up his mouth when he dared him to a race. So Yuya offered him the FTO."

"With Hikka?" And now Yamada is pissed. He takes two quick steps in Nakajima's direction, but Takaki is already there, and halts Yamada before he can punch Nakajima. "What the... Yuya!"