SLIPSTREAM

chapter 1

The smell of motor oil clung stubbornly to your clothes, a familiar badge of hours spent elbow-deep in car engines. 

You wiped the black streaks from your hands onto an old, threadbare rag, its fabric stained with years of grease and hard work. 

The garage door groaned open behind you, spilling out a dull orange glow onto the cracked pavement. 

You stepped forward, the uneven ground crunching under your boots as you tilted your head skyward.

Tokyo sprawled above you in its electric glory. Skyscrapers stabbed through the low-hanging clouds, their windows alive with flickering light. 

Neon signs blinked on and off, each color painting the concrete in hazy blues, reds, and pinks. 

The hum of the city never stopped here, a far-off roar of cars, trains, and chatter weaving into the cold night air. 

For as long as you could remember, this skyline had been your ceiling, this garage your world.

Your cousin's garage had always been a sanctuary, a place where you could find comfort in the whirring of machines and the hiss of air compressors. It was small, tucked away between taller, glossier buildings, almost forgotten. 

A hidden gem in the mess of Tokyo. Inside, the scent of motor oil and rubber wrapped itself around you like a favorite sweater. 

You had spent so much time here you felt like part of the machinery, part of the walls.

"Take the day off," your cousin had said earlier, grinning with a wrench dangling from his hand. He was always the optimist, even when his fingernails were stained black and grease smudged across his forehead. 

"You're always here, kid. Go find some trouble for once."

You'd rolled your eyes at him, muttering something under your breath about how there was no point. 

But his words lingered at the back of your mind as you wandered further away from the garage, the buzz of the city pulling you in like a moth to a flame.

"Where are you going without me, huh?"

You startled at the familiar voice and turned to see her leaning against the doorframe of the garage, arms crossed. 

Rina, your coworker and the closest thing you had to a best friend, smirked at you, a half-wiped smear of grease streaked across her cheek like a warpaint badge.

"I thought you were busy fixing up that Civic," you said, raising an eyebrow.

Rina's lips curled into a grin. "Civic's done. Unlike you, I don't take all day with the easy stuff." She bumped her shoulder into yours playfully, hands now tucked into the pockets of her oversized hoodie.

Rina had always looked like she belonged at the garage worn-in, kind of pretty, her jeans torn not for style but from hours of work on car underbodies, dark hair always tied back with a bandana.

You snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You don't have to follow me, you know. I was just walking."

"Walking where?" she challenged, a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes. When you hesitated, Rina's grin widened like she'd already won. "Actually, forget it. I have a better idea."

"What?" you asked, your voice wary.

"There's this race tonight. Street racing. I overheard some guys at the garage talking about it huge scene, crazy cars, the whole underground thing." She paused, letting the words settle. "Let's go check it out."

You blinked. "Are you serious? Rina, we look like we just crawled out from under a car. Plus, that sort of stuff never ends well. Don't you remember what happened last time?"

Rina's expression shifted briefly, something fleeting, almost unreadable before she rolled her eyes.

 "So what? If you keep living in the past, you'll never build a life for yourself." You crossed your arms. Typical Rina, always trying to make you think of the future as if you weren't still fresh in your twenties.

"And besides," she continued, "I've got just the thing to fix our current... situation." She grabbed your arm and tugged you back toward the garage.

"You're ridiculous," you muttered, but a laugh escaped you as you followed her lead.

Back at the garage, Rina rifled through her locker, producing a worn duffel bag she kept for occasions you never quite understood.

 "What's in that?" you asked, watching her dump the contents onto the workbench: a crop top, ripped jeans, a slick bomber jacket, a mini black dress, and a small makeup bag.

"My emergency 'I'm hot as hell' kit," Rina quipped, shimmying out of her oil-streaked hoodie. "I always come prepared."

You snorted but couldn't hide the smirk creeping onto your face. "That dress will barely cover anyone's ass."

"Good thing you're wearing it!" Rina shot back, tossing the mini dress at you. "Now clean up your face. I always forget how hot you are when you're not covered in oil."

"There's no way in hell I'm wearing that," you said, voice firm.

"You'd rather show up in those grease-streaked overalls? Trust me, I've heard from some of my girlfriends that this is where the hottest men are. You never know who you might see." Rina raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself.

Despite your hesitation, you relented. 

Ten minutes later, your grease-streaked clothes were swapped for something sexier than you were used to. You tugged at the hem of the dress, praying it covered more than it felt like it did.

"We look so sexy! I'll be going home with a hot street racer tonight," Rina declared, popping a dab of lip gloss onto her lips and tossing the tube at you. "C'mon, we're gonna be late."

"Late for what?" you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "It's not like we're racing."

"Not yet," Rina teased, slinging her jacket over her shoulder and pushing you toward the door. "Now let's go see what Tokyo nights are really made of."

She fell in step beside you, the rhythm of your knee-high boots tapping softly against the pavement as you moved deeper into the heart of the city. You didn't know what the night held, but something about the neon lights and the hum of distant engines told you it was going to be one hell of a ride.

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Author's notes: hi I promise future chapter sill not be this short I just wanted to get a feel into writing! anyways hope you enjoyed