George is the son to parents that own a multi-million dollar eco friendly car company. Cars have never been George's favorite subject. He knows which are the most expensive on the market because of his father but he's never understood the hype.
Aft...
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"Fight so dirty but your love 's so sweet" Teeth 5Sos
Both of George's ears ached accompanied by the involuntary haze of vision because fuck the sun for being so bright. The drag strip was burning with mirage meters away the vision only warped further with Dream in the middle. A Hoodie and tight pants held him together with his tiresome untouchable façade. It was freezing but the sun was determined to scorch a mark onto the pavement, George didn't understand US weather. Hot. Cold. Raining. Sunshine. Dream crossed his arms like a vexed father peering at George through his windshield with that damn mask on. If anything it was a demonstration of how terrible this lesson had gone for both of them.
The fiancé's, as they called themselves, continued to mindlessly burn rubber in the background surrounded by the daytime group at Las Nevadas. George wanted to be there, but he was captured by blond hair and lassoed with the need to prove something to himself. Maybe he'd finally gone manic.
"Just drive slow, straightforward, and don't hit me!" Dream called from a good 30 meters away. Asshole. His effortless ego was waxing George's nerves the longer they continue this. "A foot away pull your break and turn!"
George didn't fucking know the US metric system and had expressed that to Dream. He'd scoffed and walked down the strip. George's left hand groaned with irritation from the amount of sheer force used to grip his steering wheel. George couldn't tell what irked him more, his father, himself, or Dream's annoying apathy. Shifting gears, the car sped down the drag strip.
His Porsche devoured the asphalt underneath his speeding tyre and buzzed adrenaline into George's heart. It spread and burned like it usually would deep in the coals of his chest and reverberated into George's crowded mind. Going 75 mph towards a moving person was terrifying enough, but George was supposed to skid all while avoiding the possibility of gutting the masked man. Simple.
10 meters away George pulled the break. It was his first mistake on the evening. The wheels screamed in patent agony before he twisted the wheel to the right. Skidding appeared way easier when he watched everyone else do it. When George attempted, his car only spun him like a top and shot him into his steering wheel with an abrupt stop. His bumper was maybe an inch away from Dream's knees at the end of the strip. Once the inertia of his body found center again he let out a frustrated groan and both fists made contact with his wheel. The horn beeped pathetically.
Dream wasted no time to take a dig into his ego, "what the hell was that!"
The slam of the man's hands on his car caused a flinch before George's emotions hardened. Messy thoughts seemed to turn into fight or flight.
"George!" His voice muffled from the build of his car.
Silence settled deep in George's chest while Dream walked to his rolled down window.
"That was the opposite of what I fucking asked you to do." George didn't have a reply. Instead, he unhooked his break and restarted the dead engine. "I know you have anarchist tendencies when it comes to rules but if you don't follow these you'll get hurt or hurt someone else."
