Part I

The white Mitsubishi squealed around the corner with surprising speed as Seiji slammed it into gear. The Evo's stocky body rocketed forward when he mashed the accelerator to the floorboard. Needles dipped frenetically in the luminous gauges as the force of the turbo flung the WRC bred car from stoplight to stoplight. Seiji ground his teeth in pure rage, gripping the steering wheel so hard that he left faint impressions in the slightly spongy material.

"Fuck! FUCK!" he cursed over and over as he ignored stop signs and blew through orange lights. "I can't believe it! Fuck!"

Frustrated and unable to adequately express his fury with his limited vocabulary, the Tochigi driver took it out on his car. Again and again he was pushed back in the Recaro seats by the sheer force of acceleration, and then thrown against his harness as he screeched to a halt for red lights. Earlier in the night, he had lost an important race to a relatively new team from Maebashi. Even as he drove he could barely remember their team name…Sky-something. He glowered darkly. It had been a simple race against an R34, and he had made a complete fool of himself. And to make matters worse, Kyouichi had chewed him out in front of the whole team, even going so far as to call him an idiot to his face.

"That bastard Sudou! Who the hell does he think he is? Fuck him!" he shouted, his ears crackling slightly in the enclosed space.

But deep down, he knew he couldn't exactly blame him. It wasn't Kyouichi's fault that he had lost. Even so though, he wasn't about to admit he was wrong. Not now, not yet.

Shingo sighed as he took another swig of beer. He had had the proverbial day from hell. The hotel had been hosting a conference of some kind, resulting in a multitude of curt businessmen coming and going at all hours, which had kept them busy for most of the day. And then, just as the event was drawing to a close, and all the staff was getting ready to breathe a collective sigh of relief, the most awful thing had happened: one of his coworkers accidentally slammed into the corkboard that held all the keys to the cars in valet parking. The board had been knocked off its hook, and the keys scattered all over the floor. It had been disastrous…no one knew which keys went to which car went to which customer. Add a flock of irate men in business suits to the mix and they had a mess the size of a small nuclear holocaust to clean up. He had wanted to leave there and then…just sneak out the back with the commotion to screen his exit. But unfortunately, after having been with Mr. Don't-do-that-it's-gasp-wrong-Nakazato for some time now, he'd actually developed a conscience.

"Fat lotta good it did me," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Michi grunted, weaving slightly as his eyes focused on Shingo.

"He's still grumbling about work. Aren't you?" asked Keichi, nudging him with a lopsided grin.

The EG6 driver glared at him.

"It's not funny!"

Keichi merely laughed at his teammate's irritated glare.

"Come on, man. Get over it; it's just work. And besides, we've got the whole weekend ahead of us!"

Shingo frowned. The trouble was, it wasn't "just work", as if his job was a separate entity from the rest of his life. A couple months ago, the hotel had made some serious cutbacks in both staff and salaries to make ends meet. Consequently, the staff had been forced to work longer hours for lower pay. This eventually led to the continual lack of funds and the stacks of unpaid bills that were stressing him out to the point where his patience, already notoriously non-existent, was stretched to the point of snapping. Unfortunately, the first person within snapping distance was usually Takeshi, and he knew his heightened irritability was taking a toll on their relationship. He was starting to feel as if his life were nothing more than a set of cascading dominos.

"Hey guys! Listen to this!" Michi demanded, jarring him out of his reverie. "What did one shepherd say to the other?"

Keichi rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"Let's get the flock outta here!" he answered, laughing at his own joke with the hilarity of one who had had quite enough to drink.

Shingo and Keichi emitted identical groans of pure agony.

"So Shingo, where's Takeshi?" asked Keichi, pointedly ignoring Michio and changing the subject. "Didn't you invite him?"

"Oh, he said he was busy."

"Geez, he's busy all the time these days," sighed the 180 driver.

"Yeah, I guess his office really needs him."

"We need him too!" Michio asserted, sloshing beer on himself in his zeal.

Me too, Shingo didn't add.

For some reason which he failed to fully understand, Takeshi needed to work practically fourteen hours a day, six days a week. He was never around anymore, and frankly, Shingo missed him. But he knew better than to mention it. Takeshi didn't need him whining about not spending any time with him when the GT-R driver obviously had more important things to worry about. Besides, more often than not whenever they were together, they wound up fighting anyway.

"That's true," Keichi replied to Michio's drunken though accurate comment. "It's like he doesn't have time to run the team anymore. I mean, when was the last time he came to a meet? Does he even practice anymore?" The last question was apparently aimed at Shingo, because both drivers turned to him expectantly.

"I don't know, and I don't care." Both Night Kids drivers frowned. "Takeshi's personal practices are none of our business."

"They are when they affect the team," Keichi stated, Michio nodding his agreement.

"Give him a break, it's not like he isn't under a lot of pressure. Besides, don't you think he feels bad enough without us rubbing it in?"

After his crushing defeat by Emperor, the GT-R driver's morale had hit an all time low. Takeshi was quite the resolute optimist, but even he couldn't withstand so many losses without some damage to his confidence.

"Shingo, you're acting like it's no big deal. Do you realize that's three big losses in a row now? If this keeps up, we'll be the laughingstock of Gunma…if we aren't already. I know you two are like…whatever…but even you have to admit, something's gotta be done."

He glared at his companion, suddenly extremely annoyed. It wasn't so much that Keichi was wrong, it was that he was right. As much as Shingo cared about and worried over Takeshi, he was sick to death of defending him from his friends; and, he decided he just wasn't going to do it any more.

"Look, I don't want to talk about this," he said, bringing the conversation to an abrupt close. "Why don't you take this drunken bastard home? I've got some stuff to do, so I'll see you guys later, ok?"

For an instant, Keichi's eyes locked with his in an intense, almost hostile gaze, and then Michio slid under the table with a crash. Tensions eased as the 180 driver shot him a wry grin.

"Sure, I'll take him home."

Shingo pulled out his wallet, but Keichi shook his head.

"Naww, I'll take care of it," he drawled, tossing a few bills onto the table.

He frowned.

"Are you sure? I can pay…"

"I said I'll get it," Keichi insisted.

Shingo suddenly realized that in his own way, Keichi was apologizing for having put him in a situation in which he had to defend his lover from his friends.

"All right," he conceded. "I'll buy next time."

Keichi nodded.

"See you later."

"Ja!"

With a final wave, he exited the crowded bar.