It was not the setting most people would have thought of when imagining a large congregation of teenagers, but the dried riverbed beneath the 6th Street Bridge was the perfect place to race without any obstacles, or intervention from the police. People didn't go there much, and when they did it was always for something like a race; that much was visible from the skid marks streaked here and there.

Ivan had brought with him a large, and intimidating support base, that lined his side of the 'racetrack.' His people were mostly tall men, with menacing faces and hands that looked as though they could snap your neck in half if need be. But Ivan, unlike the rest, was his own unique brand of calm. It could very well have been smugness, or an attempt to lure them into a false sense of security , but after all, this was Ivan, and no one could ever be sure.

While Ivan had brought a throng, Francis had a meager following in comparison, and his supporters were not united like Ivan's were; his friends had spread out into their own separate groups. Alfred and Natalya leaned back against the bonnet of the Jones family car and chatted amongst themselves, Elizabeta and Vash ignored all but each other as they spoke together in hushed tones about his god-awful day, and Roderich was somewhat separate from the rest, thinking about just how idiotic the whole thing was and how to broach the subject with Gilbert.

Together, Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio approached Ivan, but growing closer they could tell that he was looking through them, focused instead on Greased Lightning.

"It looks good, much better than the first time I saw it." Ivan said, in a tone that may have been impressed. "But new paint doesn't make a car fast. You won't be changing your mind will you ?"

Gilbert looked to Francis for approval before answering. "Not a chance."

"Good, because we're competing for ownership, okay ?" That had come as a surprise. There had been no mention of anything close to a gamble beforehand. Perhaps Ivan derived some pleasure from stringing Francis along, or maybe he'd seen that Greased Lightning had scrubbed up well and deemed it to be something worth owning. Regardless of the intent, it succeeded in ruffling a few feathers.

Gilbert laughed, dry and false, and did not wait again for Francis' reaction before turning to him and whispering into his ear. "Please wipe that smug smile off that bastard's face."

Feeling put on the spot, Francis raised his hands to politely excuse himself, and pulled his friends away for a quick consultation.

Only metres behind them, Natalya and Alfred rested themselves against the bonnet, seemingly more like observers than supports, but in truth Alfred was more confident than anyone else. He'd seen the work put into Greased Lightning, the combined effort of restoring that old banger, and had absolute faith in his friends' abilities.

Natalya, on the other hand, seemed to grasp the severity of the situation. "It's an awkward position to be in, Francis either risks his car or loses his pride."

Optimistic, Alfred interrupted. "He won't lose."

"We hope," she added.

There wasn't much Alfred could do until Francis decided on things, as sure as he felt that Francis could, and would indeed win, he also understood the dangers involved.
Uncertain as to how long he would have to wait for a decision, Alfred reclined against the car with his hands beneath his head. His feet pushed forward, digging into the gravel and raising dust into the air.

He propped himself up on his elbows, seeing that he had unearthed something shiny by his feet, "See a penny pick it up . . . I tell you Nat, this is a sign." Alfred ducked down and quickly returned with a silver dime between his fingers.

"The universe is working in Francis' favour, is it ?" she said, grinning ever so slightly.

"Exactly." he laughed, twirling the coin between his fingers. "Glad to see we're on the same page."

Alfred made his way towards Greased Lightning. Antonio had his head beneath the bonnet, giving the engine a quick once over before the race, and Gilbert was already seated in the passenger's seat; ready and raring to go.

Francis had draped himself over the car door, deep in conversation with Gilbert. "Yes I'll do it, but just where did this idea of competing for ownership even come from ?" He was accepting the wager, but that wasn't to say his mind was free of worry. He was well aware of the possible consequences, and each scenario ate away at him, tying knots in his stomach.

Gilbert scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe Brigitte is rubbing off on him, she likes cards, gambling, that sorta stuff."

"Hey Francis, got a good luck charm for 'ya." Alfred approached him and handed the coin over, but slipping through Francis' fingers, it landed in the dust.

While Francis was on one knee retrieving it, Antonio slammed the bonnet of the car down. Everything seemed to be in working order, ticking over nice and smoothly. He'd done all he could, and the matter was out of his hands . "If it were in any better condition it would fly."

"Great, so were ready to go, then ?" Gilbert asked, opening the car door and colliding with Francis' head. He'd not heard the faint crack of Francis' nose, and he didn't realise that the sudden crowd had not gathered around him out of excitement for the race, until he attempted to take a step forward and found Francis crumpled at his feet in a heap.

"My god, he's out cold."

"Give him some room to breathe."

Vash dropped to his knees, and pulled Francis' head onto his lap. Though there were plenty of onlookers surrounding him, including Brigitte and various members of Ivan's group, he only acknowledged Roderich's outstretched hand to accept a handkerchief and wipe the trickles of blood from Francis' nose

Impatient, and frankly very worried, Vash shook Francis by the shoulders. "You're scaring me."

It must have only been seconds, but it felt like hours before Francis opened his eyes and blinked through blurred vision.

"Francis, are you all right ? I am so sorry." Gilbert asked, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Though Francis hadn't been out long, each second that ticked by weighed heavily on those around him; Gilbert in particular, who shouldered the guilt.

"Fine, Fine, never better." Brushing off all concerns, Francis attempted to sit up but fell back into Vash's lap out of dizziness.

"You can't drive like this." Antonio frowned. "Gilbert should go in your place."

Reluctantly, Francis agreed. As difficult as it was to hand over such an important task, it would be much harder to steer with double vision.

"You cannot be serious." Roderich had found the whole thing ridiculous to begin with, he'd never pretend to understand the machismo that drove people to strap themselves inside tonnes of metal and compete at high speeds. He'd not found the words to voice his concerns after Ivan announced the conditions of the race, but after Francis' injury, something had to be said. "You've not even begun to race and someone is already hurt. Call this off."

While Francis was escorted to Alfred's car by Vash and Elizabeta, Gilbert took Roderich under the arm and guided him down the riverbed for a more private discussion.

"It's foolish and you know it." Roderich said, shaking Gilbert off him and folding his arms. "Even if you do win, you might wreck the car in the process."

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders. "Look, it's Francis car, it's his call." That wasn't strictly true, he could easily refuse, load the gang into the car and drive off, but of course that would scar his pride, and there was no way he'd deny himself the chance to wipe the floor with Ivan Braginsky.

"No, you're the one driving, it's your call. Put an end to this madness."

"Honestly, it pretty much sounds like you want it to be your decision."

Roderich arms dropped to his sides, his hands balled into fists. As much as he wanted to shout, he had enough sense not to make a scene, and settled for spitting back through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare. Don't try to twist my concern for you into something selfish. This isn't about control, I'm just looking out for you, because as stupid as you are, it would kill me if you were to get yourself hurt."

Gilbert raised his hands in an admission of guilt. "You're right, that was uncalled for."

Roderich scoffed. "But you're not sorry enough to quit this, right ?"

"Yeah. . ." Gilbert would never admit it, but he was far easier to read than he believed, and to Roderich he was completely transparent. "But if it makes you feel better, I promise it'll be the last stupid thing I ever do."

"I somehow doubt that." Roderich said, he didn't doubt that Gilbert meant what he said, but follow through would be a problem.

"Oh ha-ha, but I'm serious. I'm trying to compromise here."

"Noble of you. But compromises are a dual effort, what's my part in this."

"Well if I try to clean my act up a bit, you can try to be less of a stick in the mud." Roderich shot him a glare and Gilbert quickly back peddled. "Kidding, kidding, don't take that seriously. But I guess we've just got to talk this stuff over when it comes up. I suppose part of compromising is figuring out that neither of us are going to change who we are, but we should try to meet in the middle a bit. What do you think ?"

"I wondering when you got so insightful, or honest for that matter." Roderich hadn't expected anything like that, the Gilbert standing before him was a far cry from the Gilbert who was too proud to recognise him when the school year began.

"I have my moments." he shrugged. "But I guess I started thinking these things over after we spoke at the drive-in. I ruined to dance by lying, so after we had that chat I figured I needed to be a honest."

"While we're on the subject of honesty, I should mention that I detest the beach."

Gilbert gave him Roderich a congratulatory slap on the back. "You see ? You were compromising before I even brought it up."

They turned to the sound of a forced cough coming from behind them, and found Ivan already seated in his Hell's Chariot. "We haven't got all day."

Gilbert threw his hand behind him, dismissing Ivan, but never broke eye contact with Roderich. "I'm going to go for this, alright ?"

Roderich pursed his lips, he wasn't going to force Gilbert into making the safer, and therefore correct decision, but he wasn't going to say 'yes' either. "If you absolutely must."

Gilbert smiled, in an almost sympathetic manner. "I must."

In the centre of the track stood Brigitte, feeling an odd mix of anticipation and worry all at once. It was true she did like a gamble every now and then, she loved racing and the Grand Prix too, but when it came to others taking risks, it was an entirely different matter all together. Twisting a handkerchief; the makeshift chequered flag, in her hands, she looked back and forth between the two cars in front of her.

"The rules are simple, once I wave this handkerchief you go and don't stop until you reach the red line marked out behind me. Toris, Raivis, and Eduard are waiting there and will declare the winner." Alfred and Natalya had also made their way to the finish line. As friends of Gilbert, they tagged along behinds Ivan's group to ensure a fair outcome. Not that they were needed. Anyone with the slightest bit of insight on those three cousins knew that their bond with Ivan Braginsky wasn't an unbreakable one. It's not that friendship with Ivan was somehow an objectionable concept, it's just that they often found themselves in some less than ideal situations when they were with him.

Brigitte spoke again, her voice coming out harsher than expected. "And I want a nice, fair race, don't try anything underhanded. Are we clear ?"

There was a nod from both men, and with that Brigitte inhaled sharply, raised her arm above her head, and brought down the chequered flag.

Gilbert put his foot down, speeding off, and took an early lead, keeping a few feet ahead of Ivan as they travelled beneath the bridge. Not that he'd noticed his position; he was far too concerned with the finish line ahead of him to look back at how Ivan was fairing, or to even glance down to check the speedometer.

He didn't think it was possible to go any faster, but he forced his foot down on the accelerator anyway. Entirely focused on winning, on leaving Ivan in the dust behind him, he gripped the steering wheel tight, knowing that if winners were decided on determination alone he'd have won long before the race began.

A jolt.

Gilbert looked behind him, thinking that he must have slowed down without realising, and that Ivan must have accidentally collided with the back of the car. But Ivan didn't look apologetic, there was no shock or worry in his expression. No, Ivan was smiling.

Another jolt.

They were intentional. Crashes were accepted as a possible outcome of drag racing, so even Gilbert, as distrustful as he was of Ivan, could have believed that the first collision was an accident. But when Gilbert turned towards him to inspect the damage to the rear of the car, Ivan's eyes were locked on his, taking credit for what he'd done.

Gilbert veered off to left in an attempt to break away from Ivan, and only then could the spectators see what had been done to the car. The bumper was hanging on, just barely, and the paint, which had taken a great deal of care and time to apply, was now scratched and worn after the car's first outing.

The reaction from the onlookers outroared the deafening sounds of the engines, and Gilbert couldn't quite tell if they were rooting for or against him. Ivan's supporters certainly outnumbered his own, but who's to say that Ivan's fans would support his dirty tactics ? Gilbert did his best to block out the sounds and he wouldn't agonise over the motivations behind those cheers . He would allow nothing to distract him.

He took a twisted zig-zagged path to keep Ivan from ramming the back of his car again, but wherever he turned, Ivan was hot on his tail. He was beginning to wonder if Ivan was more interested in destroying him and the car than winning. The former would most likely bring about the latter; Ivan could travel at a snail's pace, practically crawl to the finish line while Gilbert lay half dead in the flaming metal carcass of Greased Lightning and it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference towards the outcome.

If he didn't do something drastic soon, Ivan would crash into him again, or at the very least, overtake him. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Gilbert steered the car up the sloped concrete riverbank. Predictably enough, Ivan followed; there was not a hope in hell that Ivan would give up without a fight.

In what had become a literal uphill battle, Gilbert pushed on forward, silently begging gravity to punish Ivan, and only Ivan. He was on the home stretch, he only needed to hang on for a little while longer and he'd be home free. But Ivan would not go down easily, if he couldn't outdo him, he'd employ a new underhanded move; he slammed his palm down on the horn.

Gilbert's ears rung, but he managed to keep his hands on the wheel, never reaching to cover his ears, despite his reflexes. Ivan continued honking, and it was clear to Gilbert that he would do anything to ensure a win.

And so would he. Maybe he was pulling himself down to Ivan's level, but frankly he didn't care anymore. If Ivan was willing to play dirty, then Gilbert was just levelling the playing field. The moral high ground would have made a great place to look down his nose at Ivan, but winning the race, by any means necessary, was his foremost priority.

Still travelling along the riverbank, Gilbert looked ahead for a window of opportunity, for anything that would stop Ivan dead in his tracks. He was desperate, well and truly desperate. Try as he might to hold onto his lead, Ivan was gaining on him, and he had no way of knowing whether he'd crash into him or overtake him.

Maybe Gilbert was more ruthless than he thought himself, because it didn't take him long to find an opening. There was a drainage pipe up ahead. He'd been playing on turning back onto the riverbed when the time came, but maybe he could hang on a little longer and turn away at the last second. If all were to go according to plan, Ivan wouldn't have time to react and would crashed right into it.

Of course, that plan came with its set of risks and challenges. Gilbert could miscalculate, make his turn just a little too late and crash himself. And who's to say that Ivan would fall for it ? He could easily take the opportunity to overtake Gilbert, and even if he did fall into Gilbert's trap there was no guarantee that he would crash. But Gilbert had to try it. Even if he lost, he knew he'd regret not giving it his all. If he didn't chance it, and lost, the "what if's" would plague him for years to come.

Gilbert fought the urge to shut his eyes as he approached the drain, and fought against every instinct that told him to turn away. He kept driving, growing closer and closer until there was only inches between him and it, and then he swerved.

He drove down onto the riverbed and on towards the finish line, the sound of his racing heartbeat overwhelming all else, until a mighty bang came from behind him. He could have turned around and got a good luck at Ivan's demise, but he wouldn't allow himself to indulge until he'd crossed that finish line.

Alfred rushed over to greet Gilbert as soon as he passed the red line, with Natalya following behind, not quite as energetic as Alfred, but no less pleased with Gilbert's win.

Before Gilbert even had a chance to exit the vehicle and find his legs again, Alfred was upon him, throwing an arm around his neck and congratulating him on his win. "Gosh, what a race, it was like something out of the Indianapolis 500."

Natalya raised a brow, "You've been ?"

"No, but I've tuned in on the radio."

While Alfred and Natalya chatted amongst themselves, Gilbert took the opportunity to survey the damage done to Ivan's car from a distance. The front bumper was crushed and had fallen off, as had a hubcap, the hood of the car had popped open; presumably upon impact with the drain pipe, and the scratches seemed to mar the entire surface of the vehicle.

Gilbert didn't get long to stand and stare; Francis and Vash were quick to make their way over to him, despite their earlier troubles. Francis gushed and lavished Gilbert with praise, working in plenty of unfavourable remarks toward Ivan and his behaviour. The crowd grew around him, and soon enough he was sitting in the front seat, with Francis riding shotgun, ready for a lap of honour.

Back towards the starting line, Roderich stood alone, as Elizabeta made her way towards the celebration. His heart pounded, not yet having calmed down from the stress of the race. Even as a spectator, it was completely and utterly terrifying to watch, yet exhilarating all the same. He was enthralled by it, despite his earlier misgivings, though he'd never tell Gilbert as much.

"Elizabeta wait."

Elizabeta turned, a small frown appearing on her lips. "Upset about the race ?"

"Actually, no." Roderich replied, sounding almost surprised with himself. By all rights, he should have been upset, he was not long ago, even. But his fury seemed to melt away the instant the flag went down. He didn't fancy himself a newly awakened petrolhead, but there was a palpable adrenaline rush that he couldn't ignore, perhaps Gilbert's recklessness had rubbed off on him. Or maybe it was all in the spirit of compromise, because when you care about someone, their happiness becomes your happiness. It doesn't matter how philistine you find their hobbies, the very fact that you love them is enough to make their most boorish interests seem appealing, and ...
Love ? What a thought.

"Then what is it ?" Elizabeta asked, her face softening.

"I was wondering if we could go back to your place ? I need your help with something."

Class let out, another Summer arrived, and a whole year of students passed through the school doors for the very last time. As per tradition, the season kicked off with celebratory carnival. A usually barren field on the school grounds grew lively, packed with countless rides, amusements, and hundreds of students to enjoy them.

The Ferris wheel turned slowly, giving young friends or lovers a chance to reminisce about their past years, or the chance to plot out their future courses together. The bumper cars drew a louder crowd; the people would whoop and holler after a particularly good blow to another driver, but it didn't much hold a candle to Gilbert's race against Ivan.

Gilbert strolled in, passed the strongman game, passed the ring toss, and made his way towards the bumper cars where Francis and Antonio were standing. He looked barely recognizable; gone was his typical leather jacket, replaced by a white letterman sweater adorned with a bright red "R" for Rydell.

"Did you raid the lost and found ?" Francis asked, gesturing towards Gilbert's torso. "Where did this come from ?"

"I was on the track team for a week, wasn't I ? I earned this." Gilbert replied, swatting Francis' hand away. At least he felt he'd earned it, was a week enough ? It was too late to return it at this point.

"Well I'm not going to pretend to like the emperor's new clothes, you don't look at all yourself." Francis frowned, scanning his eyes over Gilbert's outfit, considering his sudden changes. "Really Gil, why are you dressed like that ?"

Gilbert shrugged, trying to downplay his actions. "Roderich and me are two really different people. I'm just trying to show an interest in the stuff he likes. We're meeting in the middle" Was it really that hard to understand ? Francis himself was in love, infatuated with, whatever, with Vash, and they were totally different. Shouldn't Francis get it ?

"And Roderich's interests lie in knitwear ?"

"He does wear a lot of sweater-vests." Gilbert protested feebly. Maybe he hadn't thought everything through enough, but he was trying. "Dumb move ?"

Antonio, a bystander to Gilbert and Francis' discussion, found his eyes wandering through the crowds, searching for nothing in particular. But something, rather someone caught his eye. At first he couldn't be sure if he was seeing who he thought he was, but their entourage gave it all away. In shock, he elbowed Francis in the arm to draw his attention.

Francis looked to where Antonio had directed him, and his eyes went wide. He immediately turned back to face Gilbert. "Maybe it was, but it looks like you're not the only one with ridiculous notions."
Elizabeta, Alfred, Vash, and Natalya were making their way over, with Roderich in the centre of them, he himself having undergone a style change. Instead of his usually, wholly unremarkable attire, he was decked in leather, from his jacket right down to his skin tight pants.

"Roderich ?" There was a catch in Gilbert's throat. "You look different."

Roderich snorted. "I could say the same to you."

Gilbert did his best to pick his jaw up off the ground, Roderich's outfit stunned him, but he still liked to play it cool. "Well, I did say I'd clean up my act. Compromises and all."

"We seem to have had similar ideas." Roderich looked down at his outfit. He was boiling, he chaffed, he wondered how on Earth anyone could function while wearing leather."You did say something about me being less of a stick in the mud. I'm compromising too."

"Compromising usually means talking things over, you know, not raiding each other's wardrobes." Vash snickered. There was no malice in his tone. Honestly, he was beginning to find it somewhat endearing how completely out of their depths they seemed to be when it came to matters of the heart. Maybe it was comforting to find a pair who were worse when it came to their feelings than he was.

"He is right," Roderich said, removing his jacket and passing it back to Elizabeta. "I just look silly dressed like this. I feel silly dressed like this."

Gilbert nodded, not agreeing exactly, it was more that he could relate. "And I'm just not a sweater type of guy."

Gilbert chuckled. "But I am."

"Do you want it ? I'm never going to wear it again." Gilbert said, taking the sweater off and tossing it to Roderich.

"That wasn't a request I-" The words died on Roderich lips, it was a nice gesture and he should just accept it.

There was a silence then, an uneasy moment with two people not knowing who should bare their soul first. It grew more and more uncomfortable with each passing second until finally Gilbert took the plunge.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly the kind of person you'd want to bring home to your parents, but I'm trying to be the kind of guy you deserve." Gilbert looked down to his shoes, breaking eye contact until he knew what to say next. "Changing my look was pretty stupid, but I'm trying."

"I'm glad to hear it. Because I've got my heart set on you, Gilbert." Roderich knew his words were cheesy, but they poured out of him like a torrent. "When I moved here, all I wanted was to finish up the school year and go back home again. But things change, and now you're all that I want anymore."

Roderich couldn't say how exactly he ended up in Gilbert's arms; whether he'd made the first step or not. The brain filters out useless information, and Roderich's had unconsciously decided that the moments leading up to it were irrelevant. The fact that they clung together, face buried in the crook of the other's neck, swearing unending devotion to each other through heartfelt whispers, was all that was worth recording. He'd have agreed, if he were to have reviewed the footage himself.

The rest of the group stood off to the side, awkwardly attempting to strike up conversations amongst themselves while they gave Roderich and Gilbert some privacy, and collectively they made a great show of seeming interrupted when they couple finally pulled apart and returned their attention towards them.

Alfred was the first to speak. "So that's everybody back together in time for graduation, huh ?"

"Who's everybody." Roderich's brow narrowed.

"That would be us." Francis said, slinging an arm around Vash and squeezing his shoulder. "It may have taken a concussion on my part for him to realise his feelings, but here we are."

Vash clenched his jaw, forgiving Francis' words on account of his aforementioned concussion.

Sensing the mood, Elizabeta quickly changed the direction of the conversation, playing peace keeper as she always did. Things really were getting back to normal. "We have a whole Summer ahead of us, what are we going to do with ourselves ?"

"Go to the beach, I guess." Alfred said, striking up nausea inside Roderich.

"We could drive the new car past Ivan's house." Francis suggested, chuckling to himself."After we get it fixed up, of course."

Elizabeta laughed too, and wondered how many more of those moments they'd share. They'd have a Summer together, sure, but come September they'd be expected to go out into the real world and act like the adults they only felt they were on paper. "Let's make this Summer count, I don't want us to ever drift apart."

"Nah, that's never going to happen." Gilbert replied, looking towards Roderich. The unlikelihood of their particular group of friends forming astounded him, eight friends, mostly first-generation immigrants, had somehow ended up in a single location and became a beautiful collective. When last Summer ended, Gilbert fully expected to never see Roderich again, but there they were, against all odds.

People find their way back to each other.

The End