Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“hiiiiii!”

you look up from your phone to see a very giggly, very drunk soonyoung, his cheeks red from the shoey he had earlier and then the drinks you’re sure seungcheol and joshua piled him with. he finished second today, and that definitely warrants your congratulations and attention, no matter how you feel right now.

“hello, red bull’s undisputed shining star.” you say, quoting the articles that had been released post-press conference. soonyoung colours even redder, and pushes himself into your embrace. you laugh, your first one since today’s prix, and hug him back, arms wound tight around him. “you were incredible today.”

“thank you.” he replies, looking pleased. he finally gets off of you, sliding into the booth and sitting beside you instead. “you’re not celebrating?” he motions to your coke.

you give him a pinched smile. “no, not today.”

soonyoung’s face turns serious and he seems to sober up within seconds before he asks, “you’re not pregnant, are you?”

you smack him on the arm for that, “the fuck? no! you better pray no one heard that, you goof, or i’ll never hear the end of it!”

your friend pouts, rubs on the area as if you did actual damage, “then why aren’t you drinking? jeonghan-hyung won, didn’t he?”

“i know he won, i was in the paddock.” you sigh, and fiddle with the tissue that came with your soft drink can. “i’m just not really feeling it right now.”

soonyoung leans into your side, pretzeling himself so he can tuck his head into your shoulder. it makes a comical sight you’re sure, since soonyoung, despite being adorable off-track, has a few good inches on you, but you couldn’t care less. you do need a friend right now. “what’s wrong, my baby?”

“do you know what date it is today?”

“duh, the twenty-fourth.” he answers easily, “it’s a sunday— oh my god, it’s your anniversary.”

you wonder how it is that your friend, who is wholly unattached to your relationship, can figure it out in a second, and your actual boyfriend can’t.

soonyoung looks up at you, hesitance lacing his tone. “did jeonghan-hyung forget?”

you turn away, and it’s answer enough. the first time he did was in france three years ago, then two and then one and now. he’s forgotten your anniversary four times. four for four. you don’t know if you want to stick around for a fifth, but you’re not brave enough to say it aloud right now.

you understood the priorities jeonghan had when you agreed to date him. racing was his number one, and you’d have to settle for the numbers after that. you didn’t mind at first, his passion and drive were some of the things you fell for, but it’s been four years, and the novelty’s worn off. you don’t want to keep having to move your life around for someone who can’t stay in a country for more than three months, and someone who’s settled somewhere you don’t know you’ll ever go to.

“do you want me to go kick his ass?”

you let out another laugh, but this time your half-sob seeps through, and god, isn’t that embarrassing? soonyoung takes your hand away from the tissue and tucks it into his instead. he rubs the back of your palm.

your boyfriend is a three-time world champion. he’s just won his fifty-second win in monaco, and is probably off getting insanely drunk at the other end of the club mercedes has rented for their star driver and his p4 teammate. and you’re here, tucked into the corner of this establishment lamenting the potential end of your relationship.

“i don’t know,” you respond, and wipe your eyes with your other hand. soonyoung frowns at that, slings his arm over your shoulders. “i just— i don’t know what i’m doing here. it doesn’t make any sense. i have a fucking job and a fucking family on the other side of the world and i’m here,” you gesture at the raging dance floor, “watching formula one drivers get drunk and high on my fucking anniversary.”

soonyoung stays quiet throughout your rant, just rubs on your shoulder. when you finally calm down and take a sip of your drink, you face him. “sorry. i’m ruining your winning weekend. you’re so fucking good, soonyoung. p2 is fucking incredible. you—“ you huff. “you might be giving jeonghan a run for his money. your first world championship if red bull is smart enough to keep you.”

“hey,” your friend says firmly. “you’re not ruining my weekend. you’re my friend. i care about you. and i’m gonna kick jeonghan’s ass for you on the track at azerbaijan, okay? cheer for me.”

you manage a watery smile, “i don’t think i’ll be there for that, actually.”

soonyoung makes a confused noise. it takes him a few seconds to understand the implications of your words. “fuck.”

“yeah.”

“you’re sure?”

you shrug, “i don’t think i can do this anymore.”

soonyoung nods at that, albeit slowly, and gives you a small smile. “you’ll still visit? those fucking concrete cows won’t be as fun without you.”

you laugh again, feeling a little lighter with your confession. “i’ll do my best.”

“that’s all i ask.” he says, “you’ll be okay, champ. i know you will.”

you swallow down the bitterness that comes with that nickname, and try your very best to believe it.

-

jeonghan stumbles into your hotel room at half past four. you’re already tucked in bed, curled into yourself. your vision is half covered by the sheets over your shoulders, but you watch as jeonghan gets into the shower and emerges in his sweater and sleep shorts. he dives under the covers with the finesse of a baby gazelle, giggling quietly to himself. it’s still endearing to you. you wish it weren’t.

you close your eyes, and feel as he stills. his breathing evens out, and it's only then that you open your eyes again.

how can someone so close feel so far away? how did this face become so unfamiliar? how did a lover become a stranger?

you decide you can’t lie there and pretend nothing’s wrong anymore. so you get up and walk out of the bedroom. you sit on the couch, and stare at the digital clock on the television stand. the numbers change as sure as you breathe.

you don’t know how its come to this.

you started dating jeonghan when he was still with renault, watched as he moved to mercedes and started winning more than he could have ever imagined. you watched as he climbed up the rankings and won world championship after world championship. you watched as he became easily the face of formula one. you watched as he slipped further and further away from your fingers. you watched as he stopped hugging you good morning and goodnight. you watched as he stopped kissing you before getting into his car. you watched as he became untouchable, even to you.

and still, you don’t know how it even happened.

it’s six forty-three when jeonghan emerges from the bedroom. he’s never been able to sleep well without you in bed, no matter that you’ve been sleeping with your backs to each other for a while now. you hear it as he hesitates when he spots you. you half wish he’d turn around and go back to bed, but he eventually sits down beside you.

the room is reflected in hues of pink, the sun beginning to rise. it’d be romantic if you two weren’t husks of the people you used to be.

“you’re up early.” jeonghan finally says, his voice rough from sleep.

“couldn’t sleep.”

the conversation lulls, and you want to scream, how are you fine with this?

“i think,” you start. “i think i’m going home today.”

jeonghan startles a bit, but nods. “that’s okay. i’m gonna stay and practice for a bit then maybe i can squeeze in a trip home in two weeks—“

“jeonghan,” he stops, looks over. the expression on your face must say it all, because your boyfriend pales. “i’m going home.”

“i’m not following.”

you stubbornly keep your eyes on the clock. six forty-seven. “i wish you wouldn’t pretend you don’t understand.”

jeonghan fiddles with his hands, looks down like he does when he’s scared. “can— can i ask why?”

“are you joking?” you spit out.

jeonghan flinches. it carves the hole in your heart even wider. his hand’s wrapped around the knife, and pushing.

“look at us,” you say, and feel the familiar burn of tears beginning to form in your eyes. “we can’t even hold a proper conversation. i don’t know who you are anymore, and i’m sure you feel the same. we’re just,” you feel wetness on your cheek, “we’re just in it now because we’re both cowards who don’t want to end it, but i’m sick of it. i can’t live like this, jeonghan. i’m,” you let out a shaky breath. “it’s like i’m dying here.”

jeonghan starts shaking his head. “i’ll go home with you. i’ll visit more often. i’ll cut back on the hours. i’ll move back—“

“this isn’t about you living in monaco, you jerk.” your voice is croaky now, and you wipe at your nose with your sleeve. somehow this feels more familiar. the fighting. at least in this terrain you know what to do. “did you know today’s our anniversary?”

his face goes ashen, and he opens his mouth to explain, to apologise, but you won’t hear it. “that’s four for four now. four years you’ve forgotten, and four years i’ve just fucking pretended that it’s fine when it’s not. do you think i deserve this?”

he doesn’t answer, so you barrel on. “seungcheol's won wdc four times and he goes home after every race. he has a wife and two kids. hell, mingyu remembers every single fucking date him and nayeon have gone on. she tells me about it all the time and i have to pretend it isn’t an insult to me that you don’t put in half the energy you do on that track for me.” you cry out, “i’m not a fucking selfish person, jeonghan, i just. i want something. i want something besides the absence of absolutely fucking everything.”

it’s silent, before—

“i don’t think i can give that to you.” jeonghan whispers. it cleaves your heart right into two. “i thought i could. but now, i just—“ he cuts himself off, “i can’t slow down now.”

“i know,” you tuck your face into your knees. “i’ve never hated you for loving this, you know that, right?”

“sometimes i do.” he confesses. “sometimes i hate myself for loving this so much. sometimes i wish—“ he cuts himself off, but you hear it all the same.

“i wish you loved me more, too.”

you let your tears flow freely down your cheeks now. it’s like wave after wave of emotion are hitting you, and you can’t stop them no matter how hard you try. you want so desperately to be okay with it, to be the partner gracious and loving enough to be second place, but you can’t. you can’t.

you feel jeonghan’s hand around your wrist, feel as he pulls you into his chest for the first time in forever. you feel as he presses kisses onto your temple, your forehead, your cheeks, wherever he can reach. you feel as he starts to rock you back and forth, as his own tears drip into your hair.

you feel as you two break apart, as sure as a mercedes down a track.

-

jeonghan hasn’t got much to say as a three-time world champion. the papers say he’s got a silent confidence about him, an easy demeanour that only comes out when he’s having a good time. but jeonghan will tell you this—

he’s sorry. he’s so fucking sorry.

he’s sorry. he’s sorry his first love is racing. he’s sorry his second love is you. and he’s sorry. he’s so fucking sorry it couldn’t be the other way around.

he’s sorry when he helps you pack, and sorry when he drives you to the airport. he’s sorry when he kisses you for the last time, and sorry when he watches you disappear into the gate. he’s sorry when he searches for your face in azerbaijan before remembering you haven’t got a reason to be there anymore. he’s sorry when soonyoung sends him a glare daggers deep, and when joshua gets out of that damned yellow car, their rivalry be damned, and asks if he’s okay.

he’s sorry when he wins, and sorry when he keeps winning.

jeonghan doesn’t lose. but here’s what the papers won’t tell you— he lost when he lost you. he doesn’t think he’ll ever recover.

Chapter Text

in hindsight, you knew agreeing to visit was a bad idea.

it didn’t matter how many years it’s been, or how much you insist that no, you’re not not coming to the race because of him, you should’ve never come back to monaco. not after what its taken from you.

but soonyoung and mingyu had pleaded, and wonwoo, despite remaining entirely still, had betrayed the slight tenseness of his jaw that meant you really, really should go down there. because wonwoo, with all the stresses and pressure ferrari in monza had pushed onto him, was one race away from a nervous breakdown. mingyu’s words, not yours.

so you had packed enough for a week’s stay and hauled your ass to monaco, where they’d be while they trained for singapore. the boys had all met you at the airport, and mingyu had swung you around so much you swore you got airsick. you don’t know how he fit into that papaya car, you swear.

“we have to go train.” soonyoung said apologetically after you finished your meal. “but i’m only going to check on the car! i’ll be back for drinks after dinner!”

you waved them off, “go. i need to unpack and nap. doyoung told me to call when i got to the hotel anyway.”

that gets wonwoo’s attention. he puts his spoon down and asks, “doyoung?”

“um, my boyfriend.” you said. mingyu stopped shovelling food in his mouth to gape at you. “i swear i told you guys about him before, why are you acting like this?”

“you told us you’d been messing around with someone called doyoung,” soonyoung corrected, “messing around is not dating.” wonwoo nodded along.

“well, now we’re dating.” you say defensively. “it’s not serious yet but—“ the guys make unsubtle eye contact over their novelty plates of monegasque beignets de fleurs de courgettes, “okay, what is it, you jerks? tell me.”

soonyoung narrows his eyes at mingyu and jerks his head over at you, willing the taller man to talk. they engage in a silent battle of wits before he eventually gives in.

mingyu faces you, expression placid and patient. you already hate where this conversation is going.

“we just thought you know, that while you were here you’d want to see—“

“nope.” you interrupt before he can even finish. you know exactly who they mean. “i’m here for you three assholes, because i’m insane for being your friend.”

“but—“

“but what?” you dare soonyoung to continue. “i’m here because i wanted to spend time with my three friends who i only ever get to see when you go to albert park.”

“but he’s on hiatus this season and isn’t doing anything!” mingyu whined. the audacity of this man, you swear. “he has time to show you around and you can’t spend all this time here just watching us practice!”

“i was going to go shopping.” you defended.

“alone?” wonwoo deadpanned. “who’ll hold all your bags and give you their opinions because you’re indecisive?”

“you think jeonghan will carry my bags?” you snort, “the only time he did that was when i twisted my wrist. and salespeople exist for a reason.”

soonyoung gives his beignet another obnoxious chew before pushing his plate aside and taking your hand. you look away immediately. you were not immune to kwon soonyoung’s pleading, beady, traitorous little eyes.

“y/n,” he begins solemnly, “you know i only want you to have fun and be safe while you’re here right?”

you ignore him and continue picking at your plate with your unoccupied hand.

“and me, mingyu and wonwoo are still busy during offseason. we still have to train and test the cars, and that means we can’t always be around to have fun with you. we know you came all this way to see us and we’re very thankful.” as if on cue, mingyu and wonwoo nod seriously. “but it’ll make us worry if we don’t know you’re in good hands.” they nod again. “and who else knows monaco more than jeonghan-hyung? he’s lived here longer than all of us!”

“because he’s a little bitch.” you mumble under your breath.

soonyoung pokes you so you turn to look at him. bad move. he cranks his puppy dog eyes up to a million. he kind of looks like a baby tiger, actually. maybe you could convince him to try on mingyu’s papaya orange shirt for comparison.

“please? i’ll text jeonghan for you. all you have to do is show up, i swear! you get to do everything you want to but he’s just there to, you know, make sure you don’t die.”

you sigh, and pan your eyes over to your other friends. they both make praying hands, as if they’re not both agnostic. you hate them so much.

“fine.” you grumble, and soonyoung lets out a little cheer. “but fuck you, and you’re also going to call my boyfriend now to let him know i’m going to be hanging out with my ex-boyfriend.”

mingyu laughs, loud and uncaring of how the other customers have looked over at him. “oh, dude, dohwan’s gonna kill you!”

“doyoung.” you correct, and punch in his number into your phone before shoving it into soonyoung’s hand. the man looks like he’s about to die, and you smile angelically at him. the line connects. “go on.”

soonyoung brings the phone up to his ear with the finesse of a prosecuted criminal. “hello?”

“um, who’s this?”

“kwon soonyoung.” he answers sulkily. wonwoo tries his hardest not to break into giggles. “from red bull racing.” he adds on, as if doyoung isn’t glued to the television on sunday. “also y/n’s best friend.”

“debatable.” mingyu says.

“yes, i know who you are.” doyoung replies, sounding slightly amused. “she landed safely?”

“she did.” soonyoung responds, before taking a deep breath, “also, you know how she was supposed to spend the week with us?”

“‘us’ being?”

you rolled your eyes. doyoung needed to stop playing dumb and just say it if he was irritated you flew across the world to see three guys.

“kim mingyu from mclaren and jeon wonwoo from ferrari.”

“no choi seungcheol?” doyoung did like seungcheol a lot. you wondered how he’d react if you told him you had in fact slept with him before you even got together with jeonghan.

“he’s in paris with the wife.”

“and where is this conversation going?”

“well,” soonyoung says, making a face at you that signalled his first impression of your boyfriend— a mix of begrudging approval and sourness at his tone. you got that, doyoung was occasionally just miffed-sounding. “we won’t be able to hang out with her with all the testing happening before singapore so we thought it’d be cool if jeonghan came and hung out with her?”

quiet on the other line. you took a sip of your bellini. you love that you could day drink in monaco and no one would think you were a raging alcoholic.

“yoon jeonghan?” doyoung clarifies, as if there’s any other prominent figure named similarly right now. “mercedes yoon jeonghan?”

“yeah, yeah, five-time world champion whatever.” soonyoung waved a hand, clearly still bitter at missing the title last year, even though the gap was over one hundred and eighty points.

“obe yoon jeonghan? like medallions from the queen yoon jeonghan?”

“god,” mingyu huffs, “what other fucking yoon jeonghan is there?”

“the ex-boyfriend?”

“that’s the one.”

“can you pass the phone to my girlfriend, please?”

soonyoung handed the phone to you, and you took another swig of your drink before taking it.

“hey, babe,” you greeted, trying your very best to act unaffected by the entire ordeal.

“jeonghan? really?” doyoung just says flatly.

“look, i didn’t know either—“

“i understood when you hopped on a private jet to monaco to see three guys but—“

“oh, just fucking say it, kim.” you snap. wonwoo’s eyes widen marginally. “stop beating around the bush, already.”

“are you cheating on me?”

doyoung’s always been blunt. you’ve never shied away from that. that’s the only thing he and jeonghan have in common.

“no, i’m not cheating on you.” you respond. soonyoung nearly grabs the phone back from you, no doubt to yell in your boyfriend’s ear and defend your honour. “i told you before— i dated jeonghan, i made friends along the way. i’m not dating jeonghan anymore, i’m still friends with them.”

“i get that,” doyoung says, in a tone that suggests he really doesn’t, “but you have to understand where i’m coming from. imagine how it would feel if i was hanging around four girls, one of which was my ex.”

“i wouldn’t give two shits, doyoung.” you run a hand through your hair, and send a middle finger off to mingyu, who’s trying his best not to react too wildly to everything you’re saying. “i really wouldn’t.”

doyoung’s silent on the other line for a bit, before he opens his mouth and goes, “fine. sorry, but i don’t think we’re going anywhere with this.”

“this conversation or this relationship?”

“both.”

like you said— blunt.

“i think we should break up.” he continues.

you find that to be optimal as well. you don’t really want to be with someone who isn’t self-assured or trusting. “sure. let’s do that.”

he sighs, “alright, then. see you at work after monaco? be safe.”

another thing you like about doyoung— he’s able to keep his personal and work life separate. you were the exception, and both of you should’ve known better than to think it’d go well. you’re probably better off as friends anyway.

“i will. thanks, doie. see you.”

you hang up, and plant your phone face down on the table, right next to your cocktail. “so i just broke up with my boyfriend for this trip. you all better send me home with pretty gifts. maybe i’ll get a new suitcase while i’m here.”

they don’t even protest.

-

soonyoung drops you off at the hotel with one last squeeze and kiss to your temple, which’ll no doubt stir up the tabloids watching his every move in monaco. he’s red bull’s shining, rising star, of course they would. you just roll your eyes and shoo him away.

you get a few hours to yourself after that, unpacking and thinking about how quickly your relationship had ended over something so trivial. you wouldn’t lie and say you felt nothing for doyoung, you had liked him. you liked how he smiled with his eyes and his teeth, how cute he was when he was drunk (in another life, you know him and soonyoung would be best friends), how he had ‘gentleman’ soaked into his bones.

you’d consider the explanations for why you weren’t sad even after all of that later.

for now, you had to think about what to wear to get your knighted five-time world champion formula one driver ex-boyfriend to regret every single mistake he’s subjected you to. you’ll admit to wrecking your room for the perfect outfit. your three brats hadn’t told you you’d need to face jeonghan after all.

it’s half past seven when someone knocks on your suite door, and you’re prettily dressed up in an off the shoulder white wrap shirt and pinstriped trousers. you’re very glad donghyuck convinced you to bring your chanel flap as well, you forgot how insane monaco was.

you spritz on some perfume before taking a deep breath and letting the smell of vanilla and jasmine soothe your senses. you make your way to the door, checking your reflection in the mirror and adjusting your necklace, and open it.

then there, for the first time since that last look in the airport of nice, is jeonghan.

five-time world driver’s champion yoon jeonghan. three wins away from breaking lewis hamilton’s record yoon jeonghan. knighted by the queen obe yoon jeonghan. the second highest paid person in motorsports history yoon jeonghan. the third most decorated driver in formula one history yoon jeonghan.

it’s funny, because years ago those titles wouldn’t come to mind if you thought of jeonghan. it would just be yoon jeonghan, love of your life. yoon jeonghan, your boyfriend. and now there’s all this baggage.

“hi,” is what you settle with saying, years after he broke your heart cleanly in two.

“hey,” is what he settles with replying, years after you dealt with the final blow.

jeonghan looks older. his hair is longer now, curling past the nape of his neck in dark tresses. he must be letting it grow out while he’s on hiatus, because the second his hair grew past his ears when he was driving, he’d ask you to trim it. he’s wearing a black turtleneck under a giant brown coat, horn-rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. he’s just as breathtakingly gorgeous as he was then.

“you look good,” he continues, eyes twinkling with something similar to mirth. “for someone who just broke up with their boyfriend not three hours ago.”

you roll your eyes, and gesture for him to move back so you can exit the suite. he does so, laughing a little when you mutter “asshole.” under your breath and lock the door behind you, swinging your bag over your shoulder. “soonyoung needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut.”

“if your boyfriend was insecure enough to break it off because you were going to hang out with your ex, he doesn’t deserve you.” jeonghan responded, trailing behind you as you made your way to the elevator. you turn to face him, narrowing your eyes.

“kiss me if i’m mistaken, but didn’t you spend half the season glaring at seungcheol when you found out we slept together once?”

jeonghan leans in to press a kiss to your cheek, making your breath hitch just the slightest bit. you inwardly chastise yourself for the slip of tongue, you had gotten too used to saying the phrase like that around your friends, who’d just laugh it off. but jeonghan wasn’t like that.

he moved away, and his scent of bergamot lingered around you, “it was three races.”

you try your very best to remain unaffected, and the elevator doors ding open, “whatever.”

jeonghan walks in after you, presses the ground button, and studies you, “i’m not joking by the way, you do look good.”

you tuck your hair behind your ears, and smile, pleased, “i know.”

“you’re not going to say anything about me?”

“your ego’s already big enough.” you sigh, “and i’ve seen you. i was at abu dhabi last year.”

you watch as jeonghan freezes from the corner of your eye, “you were at abu dhabi?”

“yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’. “saw you take home the checkered flag and everything.”

“you didn’t say you were coming.” he says, right to your back.

“why would i have told you?” you ask frankly, watching as the numbers on the little screen go down, “i haven’t spoken to you in years.”

mingyu bets it isn’t true, but you really haven’t spoken to jeonghan since your break up. not even when he won his fourth and fifth championship. not even when the tabloids had him on their cover page, headlines screaming “yoon’s new girlfriend? find out everything you need to know about the newest addition to the mercedes paddock!”. not even when you were in the same country, same city, and knew he was in town.

the fact of the matter is— you’re good at compartmentalising. you tuck your past into little tiny boxes marked ‘do not open’. you keep history where it is because that’s where it’s supposed to be. you don’t unpack, you move forward. that’s how you’ve always been. you don’t dwell much on your failed relationship, there’s not much to be said. you tried, he did too, not so much towards the end, and it fell apart.

“still,” jeonghan insists, and the door fall open. you walk out, and his presence is a steady shadow on your back. his hand moves to the small of your spine, lingering but not touching, as he guides you out towards the valet, “i would’ve come and said hello.”

you peer over your shoulder as the valet hands jeonghan the keys to his, you guessed it, mercedes, “jeonghan, you couldn’t spare three minutes with me in the paddock post-win when we were dating, why would i think you’d say hi when we had nothing to do with each other?”

you tug open the door to the shotgun seat, slide in easily. it’s a new model, one you saw seokmin test drive for, but it smells worn in. like bergamot. jeonghan closes the door for you, and walks over to his side.

the car ride is quiet as jeonghan drives you to some swanky restaurant upstate that soonyoung had sent you the link of. it’s on the smaller side, with stone walls and a pretty interior and so, so jeonghan.

he doesn’t say a thing until you’re seated across him, the candlelight warm and providing a small glow, “i would’ve made time.” he suddenly says while you’re flipping through the menu.

“what?”

jeonghan puts a hand on the glossy book in your hold, pushes it down to reach the table so you can look him in the eyes as he says, again, “at abu dhabi. i would’ve made time.”

you know exactly what he’s insinuating. maybe it comes with having been with him for four years that it makes two seem like nothing.

you laugh, quiet and a little mean, “sure.” you flip the page, “i don’t think that’d change anything.”

“you don’t?”

you close the book entirely, give jeonghan an up close and personal, front seat view to your face when you say, clearly, distinctly, honestly, “no.”

“why?” he pries, just like you know he would. you sigh. “no, tell me. why? were you already with whats-his-face then?”

you scoff, “first of all, his name is doyoung. second of all, no, but it wouldn’t matter, because like i said, it wouldn’t change anything.” you put the menu down, “i was there for soonyoung, wonwoo and mingyu, because unlike some people i know how to be there for others—“

“you don’t think i know how to be there for others?” jeonghan sneered, leaning back in his chair. now this jeonghan, you were far more familiar with. not the formula one sweetheart, not the knight, not the multiple world champion. this jeonghan. the one who lashed out when he heard something he didn’t like, the one who’s every bit as hypocritical as the rest of the world is. “it’s like you’re rewriting history. i wasn’t the one who walked out—“

“oh, you’re trying to pin this on me?” you ask incredulously. “when i was the one who supported you for years and didn’t expect shit in return?”

“but you did, didn’t you?” jeonghan said, looking certifiably smug, “you did towards the end. what was it? you wanted something more than the glaring absence of everything?”

“fuck you,” you laugh out, and push your chair back. it makes an undignified screeching noise against the marble of the floors, but you pay it no mind. you stand up, pick up your purse and throw your napkin down onto the table. you can’t believe he’s just made a mockery of one of the worst nights of your life. “you’re an asshole.” you run a hand through your hair, “i should’ve fucking— fuck.” you don’t even know what to say anymore, your vision becoming blurry with angry, angry tears. jeonghan gets up too, expression bleeding into alarm because you don’t cry. if there’s one thing you don’t do, it’s cry.

you’ve only cried, really, really cried, like heart in hands, squeezing cried, in front of him thrice— the time he was slammed into the barriers at silverstone, the day you broke up, and now.

“no,” you step back when he reaches out to touch you. you wipe the tears away with the back of your palm, uncaring if your makeup smudges, “i hope you rot in hell. i hope you spend every fucking waking moment remembering that at the end of the day, without those fucking titles and the fucking records, you’re all alone.”

you turn on your heel, ignoring the pointed looks of the waiters and maitre-d, and storm out of the restaurant. monaco this time of year is brisk, and you immediately regret not bringing your jacket. you hate this fucking city. you wish you never came.

you start walking, too caught up in your whirlwind of emotions to even consider calling one of your friends because they did this to you. they said it’d be a good idea and it wasn’t. and now all your perfectly-labelled boxes in the corner of your mind are unpacked. it’s like two years ago on a flight back home, with nothing but your raw, bleeding, empty heart for company.

you curse as you stumble on a stray pebble. these shoes were not made for terrain like this, but you don’t give a fuck. you want to leave as soon as possible.

suddenly, a hand reaches out to grab your wrist. on impulse, you shake it off, your bracelet clinking against your skin.

jeonghan’s breathing heavily through his nose, eyes wild and in disarray, “you can’t just fucking take off like that!”

“watch me.” you turn to keep walking, but he tugs you to his chest, making you place your hands on it and hitting, “fuck off!”

“you need to hear me out—“

“i don’t need to do anything!”

“can you just stop fighting me—“

“you need to stop being a fucking asshole—“

“can you please—“

“you’re such a dickhead, i never should’ve agreed—“

“i love you!”

the confession shocks you into silence. jeonghan’s eyes are blown wide. he looks every bit honest. the thing about jeonghan is— he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. every move he makes is calculative, and it had all the papers wondering if he was the hamilton or the rosberg between him and seungcheol before they transitioned to if he was the vettel or the schumacher once seungcheol moved to the red.

jeonghan’s looking at you, really, really looking, and the cold monegasque breeze ruffles through his hair. he’s left his coat at the restaurant, you note, because he’s shivering slightly. his thin black turtleneck isn’t adept to this, and neither is your outfit. and you know all of these thoughts are stupid, worthless, compared to what he’s just presented to you on a silver platter but you need to think.

because he’s not saying anything. he’s just watching you like you’re a wounded animal about to lash out.

and you come to the easy, easy conclusion, “no, you don’t.”

jeonghan furrows his eyebrows, “excuse me?”

“you don’t love me,” you clarify, a disbelieving giggle on the tip of your tongue, “it’s been years, jeonghan.”

“you’re saying you don’t love me back anymore?” he asks. he doesn’t sound hurt like you’d expect if you were faced with the prospect of an opposite situation. he sounds considering. “that’s fine, i made you fall in love with me once, i can do it again.”

the utter ridiculousness of this makes you burst into laughter, and you assume you’re an insane sight for bystanders, some of whom are whispering to each other and nudging. surely they’ve recognised jeonghan.

“you’re insane,” you whisper once you find him staring back at you with nothing but total seriousness in his gaze, “jeonghan, you’re actually fucking insane.”

“i’m not hearing a no.”

you gape, “jeonghan we broke up years ago. we’re not the same people we were when we first started dating. hell, we’re not the same people we were when we broke up!”

“exactly,” jeonghan says, and he walks up towards you, shortening the gap between you. like this, you can count every single eyelash, the little mole under his eye, how sunk-in his eyes are, and how they’re nothing compared to how tired he was two years ago. “i’m not the same person i was, and i know i can be better for you.”

you shake your head, trying to take a step back. jeonghan just takes your hand, intertwines it with his like he has countless times before today. his fingers are the same amount of callousness, he still has a cut on his right pinky finger. he still feels like home. but you can’t be swayed, not when, “you’re just saying this because you’re on hiatus and you’re bored. the second you get on that circuit next year—“

“i’m not,” jeonghan insists, and takes your intertwined hands to his mouth. “i swear i’m not. look, i’ve been thinking about this ever since we broke up. i haven’t spent a day without thinking of you—“

“then why didn’t you call?” you interrupt. jeonghan’s grip on your hand slackens a little, but his voice is strong when he responds.

“because every single time i heard about you soonyoung couldn’t stop raving about your new job, and your new house and every time i asked mingyu he said you were doing so good. hell, even joshua knew about your life and i didn’t. so i thought— i don’t know, that you were better off without me.”

his admission settles into the air like missing pieces of a puzzle. falling into place.

“why now?” you dare to ask, your words all but a murmur into the short space between you two.

“because you’re here,” jeonghan replies simply, and slowly, gently, presses a kiss onto the back of your hand. “because monza may be for dreamers but monaco is for—“

“redemption.” you finish quietly. “monaco is for redemption.”

you think about it a little. the space between you and jeonghan, and how much you’d rather reach out and touch him than let go and walk away. you think about loving and breaking and having the bravery to do it all again. you think of home in the form of an imperfect man, a man trying to be better. and isn’t what this is all about? finding someone who makes you want to be better? for themselves and for you?

so you muster all the courage you have, and close the distance. you lean up on your tiptoes and kiss jeonghan. he wraps you in his arms once he’s realised, and holds you closer than you’ve ever been held in your life.

there is no fanfare, no screaming crowds, no jets in the sky, no champagne bottles, no trophies, no podiums. it’s just you, jeonghan, and redemption in monaco. everything and everyone else can come later.

-

“and here we are, at the first race of the twenty twenty-four season at bahrain!” the reporter announces as he makes his way around the paddock. “there was quite the controversy happening during the off-season, with ferrari’s own choi seungcheol announcing his retirement from the sport at the end of the year. jeon wonwoo has taken a step back this year as well, switching grid positions like never before. lee chan, previously of alphatauri, has since replaced him. alpine’s joshua hong and aston martin’s xu minghao have been putting pressure on lee seokmin’s mercedes seat, and team principal park jiyoung has mentioned that any replacements are possible if lee does not meet expectations.”

he walks into the mercedes hospitality, where jeonghan and seokmin are talking in the corner, mechanics and engineers whizzing around them.

“and here we are joined by mercedes’ very own prodigal son, five-time world drivers championship winner yoon jeonghan, and his teammate, lee seokmin, who managed to snag a p4 during last year’s season,” the reporter introduces. jeonghan gives the camera a two-fingered salute, and seokmin beams. “let’s start with you, jeonghan. how was your sabbatical, and do you think it will affect your races this year?”

“the break was great, actually,” he responds, fiddling with the zipper of his race suit, hung low on his hips, “put a lot of things into perspective for me, had me re-organising my priorities. but now i’m back and i think better than ever and, you know, ready to win.”

the reporter laughs, a loud booming noise, accentuated by the microphone’s screech, before continuing, “that sounds incredible! is there any pressure from kwon soonyoung of red bull racing who won last year?”

jeonghan just smiles easily, “there’s always pressure from all the drivers. soonyoung is very good, but he won when i wasn’t around, so.”

seokmin lets out a shrill guffaw from beside him, and from far back but within earshot, soonyoung, sitting in the patio of the red bull hospitality, raises a middle finger, which jeonghan laughs off.

“and already you’ve set the standard, your sixth pole position in the bahrain gp, how’re you feeling?”

as jeonghan answers the question, from the back of the shot, seokmin waves gleefully, walking farther out the shot when he sees you, dressed in a puff sleeved short white dress and matching sneakers, a pair of sunglasses on your head and a lanyard around your neck proudly proclaiming ‘MERCEDES, YOON JEONGHAN - GUEST’. you two embrace, and the reporter gasps, no doubt having recognised you.

jeonghan turns at the commotion, and just smiles. his eyes soften, and when you meet his gaze, you smile, too. you spot the camera rolling, and wave a little. you point at jeonghan, and make a number one with your finger. you’re so, so pretty. jeonghan full on beams, and reaches out towards you.

a mechanic blocks the view as he races past the rolling camera, but no one can deny how you two have leaned in. in a few hours, that will be the footage everyone on twitter rewinds and zooms into.

because the last time you were publicly seen at the paddock was almost three years ago in monaco, back when you were dating jeonghan.

the internet comes to their own conclusions, and utterly implodes.

-

nothing quite compares to abu dhabi on a grand prix night.

the lights are megawatts bright and the screams are deafening and it’s quite literally every driver’s dream to win, to be told you are the champion of the world! under the moonlight at yas marina circuit.

unluckily for them, jeonghan was already declared that six races ago at monza. and while the tifosi would have much preferred to see one of their two drivers in rossa corsa on the top step of the podium, no one could deny the utter magic that jeonghan was driving with this season. reporters and commentators and twitter accounts and tumblr blogs and every single form of journalism in between had agreed, wondered— what was it exactly that had jeonghan as intensely focused as he was this season?

but as all drivers know— you’re only as good as your last race.

and today in abu dhabi, soonyoung’s on pole position, his head of scraggly blonde hair tucked under his baclava and red and blue helmet, and as the camera zooms into him, he gives a little wave and makes a claw with his hand. from where you’re seated in mercedes’ paddock, eyes glued to the big screen, all these cars seem so small, inconsequential. but you know better than that. to everyone on the grid, this is everything.

jeonghan’s five spots behind him, having qualified p6, his worst performance all season, but when the camera moves over to him him, he just salutes, gives a little cheek heart as if he isn’t currently the undisputed best driver in the pinnacle of motorsport. you hide your smile behind your palm. he’s so freaking cute.

you weren’t going to lie and say everything’s been rainbows and butterflies since monaco. it’s been work, work, and work. but you two do it anyway, because love is a choice, and you both choose each other every day. jeonghan flies back and forth between monaco, brackley and wherever it is you are. in the time you spent apart, you had been promoted and fly out quite often. sometimes they coincide with prix dates, and sometimes they don’t. however it is, you don’t let it affect your… relationship? too much. you haven’t quite hashed out what exactly you two are, but you’re sure you’ll get there.

you also have a surprise for jeonghan tonight. but that’s for later.

for now, it’s lights out and away we go, and twenty race cars throttle towards the first turn. you watch with barely-contained nervousness as already, a haas and a williams make contact and a safety car is issued. jeonghan’s moved up three places to p3, and soonyoung’s still in the lead, seungcheol’s ferrari wedged between them.

“relax,” seokmin’s sister takes your hand, stills it from shaking. she smiles at you, “jeonghan always does good in abu dhabi.”

“i know,” you say, “it just doesn’t get any less nerve-wracking, i guess.”

she laughs, watching seokmin’s mercedes turn around the chicane, “i know the feeling.”

twenty-four laps into the fifty-eight in, jeonghan pits for tyres, and you watch the flurry of mechanics and engineers work their magic. it takes all but two seconds. soonyoung’s still in the lead, with seungcheol, mingyu and minghao following. jeonghan overtakes mingyu and minghao with a finesse that can only come with experience.

seungcheol’s more of a challenge, though. everyone watches with baited breath as the two drivers, with nine world titles between them, battle it out. but seungcheol’s ferrari is losing speed, has been, throughout this entire season, and jeonghan’s inching closer and closer to his oldest friend’s car. you grip onto the counter as he tries to squeeze between the bright red vehicle and the circuit wall.

“come on,” you mutter, “come on.”

they move through the hairpin, and jeonghan’s black and dark green car just breezes through the gap. the engineers cheer, you let out a deep exhale, and jiyoung smiles, “very impressive, jeonghan.” she says into her earpiece. “kwon’s four seconds ahead. tyre temperatures are good. choi is two point three seconds behind.”

you can’t hear what he replies but knowing him, it’s probably something silly and stupid. jiyoung cackles, and leaves him be, going to talk to seokmin.

“so,” seokmin’s sister says, inching closer to you. you hum, turning to face her. you’ve known her for years and years, seokmin bringing her to the paddock more often than not since he got signed on to the team, “what’s the deal with you two?”

“what do you mean?” you ask, feigning nonchalance.

she hits you on the arm, making you laugh, “you know what i mean! are you guys like,” she lowers her voice, looking around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping, “are you guys back together?”

you shrug, “i don’t know, actually.”

“what you mean you don’t know?”

“we haven’t talked about it,” you admit, “we text and facetime almost every day, and i stay with him when i go out for races and when i come to monaco but he hasn’t brought it up since.”

seokmin’s sister looks both surprised and considering, “to be honest, he’s probably waiting for you to do it.”

at your questioning expression, she continues, “i mean, you broke it off, and he wanted to get back together and you were kind of vague. not that i’m blaming you! you completely deserved to be, that man was a jerk.” the second williams and an alfaromeo collide, and another safety car is issued. you sink further into your seat. only twenty laps to go. “but maybe do you think he’s waiting for you to mention it? jeonghan seems like the type of guy who wouldn’t want to, you know, ruin whatever you have going on right now.”

you think about it. jeonghan had been right last year in monaco, he had changed from who he was when you were together. he left you voicemails and texts when you were halfway around the globe, and cuddled you close when you had the time to share a bed in between your work meetings and his season testing. he waved off reporters who asked questions about you, knowing how much you liked your privacy, and how much he treasured his. he kissed you goodbye at airports and brought you places during breaks and visited your parents. you gave interviews when you were cornered at the paddock. hell, jeonghan liked a few tweets theorising whether you were more than just exes who were able to be friends again. you were as good as ‘back together’. you just needed to take the leap.

“point forty-six from kwon.” jiyoung’s voice shakes you out of your reverie, and seokmin’s sister nudges you to look at the big screen, where jeonghan’s mercedes is right at soonyoung’s back. “try to overtake if possible. opportunity at next chicane.”

however, like jeonghan said all those races ago at bahrain, soonyoung was a very good driver. he doesn’t give jeonghan an inch.

they stay that way for the next sixteen laps, and with only four to go, the chances of jeonghan winning in abu dhabi is slim. jiyoung looks a little distressed, they need all the help they can get for the constructors championship, and red bull is only two points behind. if soonyoung wins, they’d lose.

your hold on seokmin’s sister’s arm is so tight she half-complains about it, whining a little. you apologise, and hold at your pant leg instead, watching as soonyoung defends with everything he has.

“y/n!”

you jump at the call, looking over to jiyoung, who’s just called for you, “yeah?”

“can you come here, please?”

seokmin’s sister raises her eyebrows, and so do you, but you do as she says, walking over to the control. “what’s up?”

to your surprise, she hands you a headset, and when you open your mouth to ask, she cuts you off, “jeonghan needs to get his head out of his ass now. he’s hesitating. say something.”

“me?” you point to yourself, like an idiot. jiyoung looks at you with a deadpanned expression. “how would i even help?”

“i don’t know!” the older woman exclaims, “but yoon always drives better after you guys talk or whatever. how do you think he got through spa?”

hesitantly, you put the headset on, and jiyoung nods for you to talk as it connects, “hello?”

the connection is glitchy at best, and jeonghan’s words are a little jumbled when he says, “sweetheart? that you?”

“yeah,” you respond, sitting down when jiyoung gestures for you to, “you doing okay?”

“‘course,” jeonghan says casually, “i’m a winner, remember?”

you roll your eyes fondly, “well, can you win here please, so jiyoung doesn’t lose her mind?”

“i’m trying, baby,” your heart warms a little at the pet name, “soonyoung got better.”

“well,” you say, an idea sparking in your mind, “i have a surprise for you.”

“any other day, i’d love to know what you’re wearing under your outfit, but right now’s kind of a bad time, darling.”

“shut up!” your cheeks pink, and several control members look away in secondhand embarrassment. you want to die. “it’s not that!”

“what is it?”

jiyoung gives you a thumbs up, and you look at where she’s pointing on the monitor. jeonghan’s getting faster. the gap between him and soonyoung is getting smaller.

you muster all the bravery in your chest and say, “i’m moving to monaco.”

for a second, all you hear is his tyres against tarmac, before, “really?”

jeonghan’s voice is precarious but worshipping. like he doesn’t want to push too hard. god, seokmin’s sister was right.

“mhm,” you say, “work approved my transfer, but i need someplace to live.”

“that’s funny,” his grip on the steering wheel tightens, and he gains point twenty-one, “i’ve got a spare bedroom.”

“spare?”

“unless you want to really, you know, move in with me. and everything.”

“i want everything.” you breathe out. “i want everything with you. again.”

“yeah?” jeonghan’s crackly voice sounds relieved, like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. “everything?”

“everything. really.” you breathe in, out, and confess, right into the headset, right into jeonghan’s ear, right in front of the world tapped in via the commentator’s box, “i love you.”

and you watch as jeonghan slowly, through the next hairpin, overtakes soonyoung with one more lap to go. jiyoung slams her fist on the table in celebration as soonyoung’s red and blue livery becomes smaller and smaller on the big screen, jeonghan’s mercedes flying through the turns easily.

“i love you too,” jeonghan says, the faint sound of wheels on hot tarmac coming through as well. “i love you. i love you. i love you. everything i do is for you. every win is for you. when we pick up that trophy later, it’s going to be for you, baby.”

you grin, and can’t contain a tear from falling down your cheek. you’re so happy you could burst. “really?”

“everything, baby,” jeonghan’s voice is firm, true, “everything.”

“yoon jeonghan’s shown us a masterclass in winning all season long. he won in bahrain. he won in melbourne. he won in miami. he won in monaco. he won in baku. he won in silverstone, hungary, spa, zandvoort, monza, singapore, and now he wins in abu dhabi! yoon jeonghan is a six-time champion of the world and mercedes wins their seventh constructors championship!”

the garage explodes in cheers.

“jeonghan, that’s p1. that’s p1.” jiyoung says, barely containing her elation. “you’re a fucking rockstar!”

the feed crackles a bit, “thank you, ji. thank you to the team. everyone, thank you so much for supporting me and believing in me. baby,” you smile, “that was for you. i love you.”

everyone cheers as the mix of foreign and current world champions, seungcheol, jeonghan, joshua and soonyoung, do donuts one last time together, smoke surrounding all their engines before jeonghan drives his mercedes drives up to the garage, ignoring the cool off room completely. you just know he's going to get fined for that, but you, and the team, could give less of a fuck. he shoves off his helmet and baclava as quick as he can, unzipping his race suit and jumping out of the car. the whole team runs up to him, you run up to him, and it’s a complete and utter scene.

cameras flash incessantly, constant bursts of light that create strobing effect. team members are slapping him on the shoulders, yelling and screaming and chanting at the top of their lungs. but jeonghan only has eyes for you.

they all get a first class view to your arms flung over his shoulders, his arms wrapped so tightly around your waist before they travel up to your cheeks as he kisses you, holds you as delicately as he did this morning in the comfort of the egyptian cotton of the hotel bedsheets.

“i love you,” he mumbles against your lips. he’s sweaty, race suit still hanging off his hips but you don’t care. “i love you so much.”

“i love you,” you say back, “i love you. i love you. i love you.”

the world will remember this moment forever— of when six-time world champion yoon jeonghan very publicly confesses his love for his significant other, of when yoon jeonghan breaks the record of the fastest lap ever recorded in abu dhabi, of when yoon jeonghan keeps winning and winning and winning. but most of all, of when yoon jeonghan does it with you by his side.

you can thank redemption in monaco for that.

and love
love is mostly ill-advised but always
brave
- bone, yrsa daley-ward

Chapter Text

it’s a simple text, just did you land safe?, but you guess if you’ve spent four years of your life with someone only to have it amount to this, your reaction is warranted.

your reaction being—

you smash your phone screen-side down onto the floor of the car, the noise making your dad and sister yelp. your dad, his hands stuck on the wheel, can only momentarily look back before he has to focus on the road, but he yells out, “what the hell?”

your sister, sitting shotgun, unbuckles her seatbelt to jump over to the backseat, making your dad yelp a second time. “can you guys let me live past seventy? i’m begging you. i thought we outgrew this at sixteen.” she ignores him, picks up your phone to tuck it into her pocket, and cradles you into a hug. you’ve been numb the entire plane ride home, numb since you stopped crying in the early lights of the monaco morning, since jeonghan dropped you off at the airport like you were a stranger and not a fixture in his life, but you let it all out now.

and once the tears start, they can’t seem to stop.

they don’t stop when your dad parks the car in the basement of your family home, nor when your sister guides you into your childhood bedroom. they don’t stop until you’ve cried yourself sick and tired and sticky and gross and have to be brought into the bathtub.

your sister’s sat on the floor by the tub, engrossed in her phone and pretending she isn’t there to make sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself or something. she says your dad’s making dinner, but you know he’s probably texting every single family member to not mention jeonghan at the dinner party happening tonight that he planned three weeks ago.

“jesus fuck,” your sister says under her breath.

your legs are pressed up to your chest, and your head’s laying on them, but you muster up a, “what?” your voice is croaky and dry from disuse. she jumps a little, as if she’s forgotten you’re in the room with her.

“nothing,” she tries, “i’m on level one thousand and sixty-three on candy crush.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” you whisper, “just tell me. it’ll hurt less coming from you.”

wordlessly, she hands her phone to you, and you press down on the screen to look closer at the block of text. it’s jeonghan’s instagram story, a picture of you smiling up at him during offseason, one of the few and far in between times he was able to go home with you. the font is standard, but the message is anything but.

hello everyone,
y/n and i have decided to end our relationship after four years together. we have shared many incredible moments together and she is and will always remain a special person in my life. she is amazing and deserves the best, please respect our decision and her privacy. thank you.

you let out a broken sob, and your sister just manages to take her phone out of your hand before you drop it into the water. then she has to watch you cry again, and promises that when she’s done with yoon jeonghan, he’ll wish he were dead.

-

soonyoung squeals when he sees you.

you’re not joking, he full on squeals, cheeks bunched up and teeth on show, and runs towards you, making grabby arms. it’s hard not to smile when his energy is so infectious. you accept his hug with an ‘oof’, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“i missed you!” he whined, swinging you from side to side like an overexcited toddler. “it’s so boring without you!”

you laugh, and poke his cheek when he finally deems you squished enough to let go, “i’ll tell seungkwan you said that.”

“whatever,” soonyoung waved away, and slung his arm over your shoulder, “everyone knows i like you the best, anyway.”

your chest warms a little at that, and you tuck yourself into his side, smiling a little. you’re glad that at least this hasn’t changed, nevermind that everything else has.

“come on, i bet you’re starving.” you lead the way to your favourite little brunch cafe, secluded in a graffiti-covered alley. soonyoung looks hesitant when you insist he sit on a rickety-looking chair, but once the food’s been brought out, all you hear is pleased sounds and cheerful hums over the sound of his munching.

“so,” soonyoung says once he’s chewed and swallowed the bite of his bagel, “what’s been going on with you? do you think you’ll make it to the race?”

you wince. race weekends were still tough on you, but you could always just switch off your television, or change the channel. but when the race was happening in your own backyard it was more difficult.

“i don’t think i’ll come,” you respond, tucking your hair behind your ear, “it’s just… you know, work and stuff.” you finish lamely, as if soonyoung can’t see right through you.

he purses his lips, “the race is on sunday,” he says, as if you don’t already know that. “you don’t work sundays.”

“soonyoung,” you plead, “let it go, please.”

“you know where i’m coming from, right?” soonyoung asks, fiddling with the end of his puffer jacket, “i’m just worried about you. you haven’t been picking up anyone’s calls. hell, joshua’s asked me if you’re doing okay.”

“well, i’m sorry for being the paddock’s basket case.” you spit out, starting to feel irritation rise up from within you. just how out of touch were these men? “i broke up with easily one of the most famous athletes ever and everyone knew. do you know how many tabloids i’ve had to ignore? how many my family’s had to avoid?”

soonyoung seizes up and leans closer to you, his brow defiant, “you could’ve told me—“

“and what could you have done?” you challenged, “asking people to back off just feeds into it. they’d make up all sorts of shit about you and me and then red bull would be breathing down my neck.”

you sit back, taking a sip of your iced coffee. soonyoung looks thoroughly chastised, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt that rises within you. but you won’t apologise for this. this is more than making an appearance at the paddock, this is your life.

“i’m sorry,” soonyoung says quietly, eyes trained on the wood of the table, “i didn’t think about that.”

you sigh, and take his crumbly hand in yours. you’ll wash it off later. “look,” you start, “you’re my best friend, okay? and i support you. i want you to do well, and win. but i’m just not ready yet to not give a fuck about what people say about me.”

“i shouldn’t have rushed you into it,” soonyoung affirms, and squeezes your hand. “it’s my fault. i’m sorry.”

you let out a small smile, “okay. can we go now? we have tickets to the zoo.”

“the zoo?” soonyoung screeches, and stands up eagerly, “you could’ve started with that!”

you laugh, and let him drag you to the car. he asks excitedly if there was a tiger enclosure, and in between answering his questions about coffee culture in australia, you find solace in this. just you, and your best friend.

you watch the race on sunday on the television, and beam when soonyoung brings home p1. you ignore all the other standings, his is all you care for.

-

“y/n?”

you pause, hand still outstretched onto the rack of clothes in front of you. it takes you a second, two, before you realise whose voice it is, and why it’s so familiar.

you turn around, and meet the eyes of jeonghan’s mother.

“oh my god, hi,” you say, putting the sweater back and walking over to her. she opens her arms for a hug, and presses a faint kiss onto the side of your head, as she had always done before. “how are you? what are you doing here?”

“oh, you know,” she responds, not really answering. “wanted a change of scenery. i was feeling cooped up back home.” a jolt of anxiety shoots up your chest, and you should get better at hiding your emotions, genuinely, because she quickly follows up with, “i’m here alone, of course! just a solo vacation.”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, “wow, that’s nice.” you respond, “are you staying long?”

“two more days before i leave,” she replies, her eyes kind and sweet. they’re wide and lovely, just like jeonghan’s. her voice is still soft, gentle, and falls into fondness when she adds, “we miss you. how have you been?”

and that’s the million dollar question, honestly. it’s a dilemma— do you say ‘terrible’ because you’ve got more work piled up than ever before, and are so busy you can barely find the time to cook yourself a proper meal, or ‘incredible’ because your career is sky high? do you say ‘terrible’ because sometimes you miss jeonghan more than you need to breathe, or ‘incredible’ because you find yourself enjoying the freedom more than you thought you would?

“okay,” is what you lamely decide on. “how’s jieun?” you ask, because you can’t ask about jeonghan.

“she’s wonderful,” she gushes immediately, pulling her phone out her skirt pocket. when she flips the screen you nearly gawk, because that is not the same eighteen year old girl who used to tag along to race weekends during school breaks. “majoring in communications, just like you did.”

you smile at that, your eyes crinkling from the force of your joy at that, “that’s amazing!”

“yeah,” she responds, “she wants to do mercedes pr, she says. come to more races and gain experience.”

“that sounds like jieun, for sure,” you remember when she used to follow you around the paddock watching you say hi to everyone there. “let me know if she ever wants to hang out with the enemy, i think they have more internship opportunities.”

jeonghan’s mother laughs, “you know what she’d say to that!”

“red and blue devils.” you two say in unison.

your heart warms at how lovely she is, still, even with how horribly you and jeonghan ended. you know he must’ve told her, he tells his family everything.

her expression turns doting, “it was so nice to see you, y/n.”

you can’t help but feel a little choked up at that. you used to see her nearly every race weekend, facetime her every so often whenever jeonghan felt like it, call her when you wanted someone as close to a mother was for advice. you forgot this bit— that when you gave jeonghan up, you gave everyone else up, too. sure, there were exceptions, like soonyoung, and mingyu and wonwoo and occasionally joshua, but everyone you knew after him came with him.

“it was nice to see you, too,” you manage to say without letting your emotions get the best of you.

she says nothing of it, of how your nose has started to go pink and your eyes are watery, and just envelops you into an embrace, patting your back and letting you cling onto her. it’s an embarrassing sight, but you don’t even care.

when she has to let go, she tells you in a sweet voice to not be a stranger. you smile, and lie when you nod.

-

hanna @yjh04girl
so is anyone gonna say it or

grace @soonyoungtiger
replying to @yjh04girl
oh my god i thought it was just me

hanna @yjh04girl
replying to @soonyoungtiger
THEY LOOK EXACTLY THE SAME CAN HE BE SERIOUS

casey @ilpredestinato
replying to @yjh04girl @soonyoungtiger
you guys are so annoying leave jeonghan alone

f1 wags @f1wagsupdate
yoon jeonghan seen at the paddock today at baku with a new lady by his side! do we have a new wag? 👀
[twitter.com/f1wagsupdate/status/10040516]

nad @04merc
replying to @f1wagsupdate
oh my fucking god

em @csc88ferrari
replying to @f1wagsupdate
he sooo has a type

jas @mingyuluv
replying to @f1wagsupdate @csc88ferrari
that’s not a type that’s ctrl c ctrl v 😭

nicky @bsktonmartin
replying to @f1wagsupdate
get a job

alice @yjhletters
replying to @f1wagsupdate
she looks exactly like y/n u have to be joking

hanna @yjh04girl
jeonghan showing up at the paddock with someone else after the breakup only to have his new gf… look exactly like his ex girlfriend i’m crying y/n baby you ARE the blueprint

jess @hamilslay
waking up to not only jeonghan dating news but also jeonghan dating news with the carbon copy of his ex gf 😭
like jesus christ i had to put on my glasses

camila @dankeseb
guys that’s why it’s called a REBOUND

you make a noise of confusion when your sister shoves her phone into your face. you scroll through the thread, and raise your eyebrows when you see the girl attached to jeonghan’s arm. when you see her outfit— the wide legged pants and tiny top and the prada sunglasses on her head and the saffiano under her arm, you try your best not to laugh.

“fuck the championship,” your sister says in a solemn voice, “you’re the fucking winner.”

-

“he’s looking at you again,”

you resist the urge to whip your head over to the direction jennie’s just nodded towards. instead, you arch your back a bit more, and drink leisurely out of your glass.

“you’re evil,” jennie grinned, “that’s my girl.”

you toss your hair over one shoulder, letting the other shine in the neon lights of the bar hr had very inappropriately chosen for the end of financial term party. jennie almost shrieks in pure delight, but just clinks her tequila sunrise against yours, and takes a sip out of the swirly pink straw.

you’re kind of surprised, to be honest. you’re not saying this in a self-deprecating way or anything, but usually, between the two of you, people were more inclined to chat jennie up. but kim doyoung isn’t just ‘people’.

kim doyoung’s the elusive head of accounts with a waist so slender you wonder if two handfuls would be enough to cover it, who wears his pinstriped suit like he’s walking around shirtless, whose horn-rimmed glasses stay perched on his nose always, and who you’ve probably thought of at night with your hands between your legs more times than you’d ever admit. in fact, you think the only person you’ve fantasised more than doyoung is, well, jeonghan.

that’s another development, by the way. it’s a little weird. how four years with someone can be put away into a little box in your head, not to be thought about again until the skies are dark and you’re six drinks in. lucky for you, this is just your second, so you’re good.

right now, it’s just jennie’s laugh and a dress too short for a quote unquote ‘work function’ and kim doyoung’s eyes searing into your back.

“oh my god,” jennie gasps, her straw mid-way to her mouth. she gapes. “he’s coming over. he’s coming over!” she slaps your arm, and you feel your heart start to race. “okay, call me if you need me to pick you up later. tell me if his dick is monster-sized like chungha said. loveyoubye!”

with that, your best friend disappears into the dance floor of writhing bodies, and doyoung’s right behind you. you finally turn, and meet his eyes for the first time since this ridiculous party.

and all that comes out of your stupid, pathetic mouth is, “hi.”

doyoung raises an eyebrow, and you try very hard not to let your wobbly knees get the best of you. “hi.”

he’s gotten rid of his suit jacket, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. his tie, usually impeccably tight around his neck, is gone as well, and you wonder how many drinks jaehyun from marketing and communications had to hand him for him to do that.

when it’s clear you’re not going to continue the conversation, doyoung leans against the bar, and you do your best not to let your eyes wander to the veins on his hands. “so,” he says, taking a sip of whatever amber liquid’s in his tumbler. you’re willing to bet an arm and leg he’s the type of guy who drinks whiskey neat. “are we going to keep pretending we don’t want to sleep with each other or?”

you roll your eyes teasingly, and inch closer to him, your hip right at his thigh. “who says i want to sleep with you?”

“you’re not subtle.” he responds, and does you one better— turns to lock you against the bar. you’re tucked between his legs, and he’s towering above you. you’re so dizzy with want you don’t even care that donghyuck is letting out wolf whistles from across the room, and that yunjin from social media is cheering, her hands cupping her mouth like a hooligan. “what do you say?”

you nod quickly, and doyoung smiles, “okay.”

-

“don’t stress it,” you say, barely looking up from your phone. soonyoung’s pacing so much he’s nearly made a hole in the rbr trailer. “you just have to make p5 to get p2 in the drivers standings.”

“you’re not helping!” your best friend whines. even with his racing suit on and his baclava in his hands, soonyoung still reminds you of the twenty year old his rookie season in formula one, starstruck by everyone and everything. it’s hard to believe he’s now one of the ones to watch, and fighting for second in the driver’s championship.

“soonie, you’re going to do good.” you level with him, finally putting your phone back in your purse and ignoring the buzzing. “you’re so good. you’re going to knock it out of the fucking park, okay?”

soonyoung still looks unconvinced, but hums before putting on his baclava. “who’re you texting, by the way?” he asks, his voice muffled through the fabric.

you shrug, “no one. don’t worry about it.”

he narrows his eyes, “i don’t believe you one bit! give me your phone!”

“no!” you fling your purse bodily behind you, but soonyoung scurries towards you. “you’re acting like a shitty boyfriend!”

“shut up, you’re my best friend, let me see!”

“soonyoung!” you huff when he grabs your purse. you brace yourself when he pulls your phone out.

“who’s doyoung and why does he want to know what you’re wearing?”

you cover your face with your hands. trust kim doyoung to try to sext you now after hours of tame talk.

“are you dating someone?” soonyoung asked, his tone filled with much less judgement than earlier. in fact, he sounds considering almost. “do you like him?”

you sigh, and come clean. “his name’s doyoung. we’re just… messing around, i guess. i know him from work.”

soonyoung gasps, “a sordid workplace love affair! this is just like in mingyu’s romance books.”

“it’s not a love fair, you doofus.” you snatch your phone out of his grasp. “we’re just, you know—“

“fucking?” he suggests unhelpfully, “or, oh my god are you making love?”

you scoff, and smack the back of his head. it makes an audible thunk, and he cries out in pain. “kwon soonyoung, you’re racing abu dhabi in less than thirty minutes and you want to play around?”

“it’s like you want me to be nervous!”

“kwon in five.” someone raps on the metal door frame, and soonyoung nearly jumps. you sigh, and ruffle the top of his bandaged head on your tiptoes. he was your height the first time you met him. the gall of him to boost up nearly seven inches.

“you can do it. you’re so good. tiger of rbr, okay?”

soonyoung takes a second to settle into the skin of one of the only twenty people who know what it’s like. when he opens his eyes, it’s not soonyoung anymore. hoshi stands, and pats on his helmet. the red and blue armoury glints in the trailer light, and the back of his racing suit reads ksy10 in garish, bright letters.

“i can do it.”

-

jeonghan takes the checkered flag.

no one’s really surprised. he won a few races back, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop. taeil rubs the bridge of his nose, but claps and grins when soonyoung passes the line right behind him. that makes him p2 in the driver’s standings, and red bull second in the constructor’s. it’ll have to do for now.

you watch from the safety of the media trailer as jeonghan accepts his trophy, holds it above his head to the cheers of thousands, his black and mint suit drenched with champagne. his hair’s gotten long, you notice. past his ears. he’s going to want to trim it. his eyes are gaunt, tired. he doesn’t look like someone who’s just won their fifth title.

you forget the thought and cheer ostentatiously loud when soonyoung goes up to take the silver. you can tell from the downturn of his lips and his defeated posture that he’s disappointed, but he smiles and beams all the same when the team hollers. seungcheol takes the bronze, and you can hear kim jungwoo announce the end of the season. someone shoves a mic into jeonghan’s hand, and the world seems to fall silent when he says,

“i’m taking a sabbatical next year. i’ll be back with mercedes for the season after that. thank you for everything, i’ll be back soon. thank you.”

you tilt your head to the side. a sabbatical.

you push it to the back of your mind when soonyoung parades into the headquarters and everyone crowds around him to smack him on the back.

jeonghan wouldn’t last a day in sabbatical.

Chapter Text

it’s raining.

scratch that— it’s not raining, it’s pouring.

the race’s been delayed for an hour, and half the stands are completely empty and yet you’re still here. jeonghan’s still sat with his race engineers, discussing the fucking tire strategy when it looks like your portion of the earth has plummeted into darkness.

“geez,” wheein mumbles from beside you. seungcheol’s wife tucks her hair behind her ears, nudges her shoulder against yours, “what a shitshow, huh?”

“i don’t get why they can’t just cancel,” you respond, sighing.

“money,” nayeon says easily, and you all hum in agreement. “tickets are sold, the people who want to watch are still here, refunds would be a bitch to process and money is king in motorsports.”

“you’ve been spending too much time with joshua,” seungcheol pipes up from behind you three. wheein looks back, and seungcheol kisses her cheek and taps you and nayeon’s shoulders, “i think the race is gonna get green-flagged.”

nayeon rolls her eyes, “told ya.”

you’re disappointed, but wholly unsurprised. the rain isn’t lessening. in fact, it looks as strong, if not stronger, than before. “they’re insane,” you insist. “they want you all dead for drive to survive drama.”

“now they can’t do that, they need me,” mingyu pipes up, his orange racesuit hanging off his hips. “who’s going to be hot on camera for everyone to enjoy?” nayeon digs her elbow into his side, and he rubs it over his race suit before plastering on an exaggeratedly pained smile, “jokes, of course.”

“me, obviously,” it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you don’t even have to turn to know jeonghan’s finally abandoned his team, choosing to instead wrap his arms around your waist and tuck his chin onto your shoulder. “you’re really not as hot as you think you are, kim.”

mingyu feigns moving to clock your boyfriend, but he just laughs and presses a kiss against your neck, “stop worrying,” he says, quietly this time so no one else hears. mingyu and wheein are now talking about aerodynamics in a way you could only hope to understand, and nayeon and seungcheol have wandered off to speak to seokmin in the corner. “it’ll be okay.”

“‘m not worried,” you argue half-heartedly, “it’s just stupid of them to make you do this when it’s this rainy.”

jeonghan tilts his head over yours, so you can lean back against the crook of his neck. from the corner of your eye, you can see the mercedes twitter admin eating this up, her phone up to take pictures and usually you’d shy away but you don’t really care right now. your boyfriend’s about to be send off to a slippery circuit in a metal death trap.

“i’ve done this like, a hundred times, baby—“

“a hundred and six!” soonyoung corrects from where he’s busy gossiping with seungkwan.

“a hundred and six,” jeonghan repeated, “this isn’t the worst weather i’ve raced in—“

“which is insane, by the way,” wheein cut in.

“it’ll be fine,” jeonghan stresses, and finally turns you around so he can look down at you. he smiles, small and pretty and it takes everything in you not to surge up on your tiptoes to kiss him. maybe later, when the f1 twitter admin isn’t right beside the mercedes one with a gleeful expression on her face. “okay?”

you nod, and jeonghan brings you in, kissing you on top of your head.

“we have to go!” mingyu hollers not two seconds later, “green flag!”

you send jeonghan off with one last hug, and all you get is a beam before he runs off to the mercedes garage. seokmin’s sister walks up to you, and you make your way to their hospitality, bidding nayeon and wheein goodbye.

you watch through the big screen as jeonghan and seokmin get strapped in, their baclavas and helmets on. it’s only when crofty announces that it’s lights out and away we go when you realise, belatedly, that you forgot to kiss jeonghan’s helmet good luck today.

jeonghan’s mother smiles at you, soft and sweet, and you try your best to breathe.

-

it’s only lap eighteen of of fifty-two and there have already been two red flags and a restart. chan’s rear wing had been clipped, and it had sent him careening into the barriers, taking minghao and seungkwan with him, and the debris had grained their tires, with mingyu retiring and soonyoung being sent off as well. jeonghan hadn’t managed pole this weekend, his pace nearly two one-hundredths behind seungcheol.

“jesus,” seokmin’s sister mutters under her breath, “they’re insane.” jeonghan’s mother nods in agreement.

two more cars dnf, and that leaves the grid with only thirteen cars, your boyfriend sat snugly in p2.

after that, it’s like a bad movie.

“try to manage them, please,” you hear jiyoung say into her headset. you raise your eyebrow, and it isn’t even a second later when you hear jungwoo’s voice over the sound system.

“radio from mercedes’ yoon jeonghan,”

your boyfriend’s voice resonates throughout the circuit, and fills your entire body with dread, “the tires are gone, i can’t manage them, they’re gone.”

you shoot up from your seat in alarm as jiyoung tries to reply, “checking brakes. brake test.”

jeonghan’s calmness making you borderline hysteric. he sounds so normal about it, not betraying anything, while you’re becoming closer and closer to a nervous wreck. “nothing. gone. what the fu—“

and that’s all you get before the radio cuts off, and seokmin’s sister is gasping, her hands over her mouth as you watch jeonghan’s car spin out, casting out a spray of water. joshua’s front wing clips him before he goes airborne. jeonghan’s mother grips your hand so tight you’d yelp if you weren’t busy being numb.

it plays in your mind in slow-motion, and you can’t stop looking no matter how hard seokmin’s sister tries to get you to stop. the mercedes livery flips. once. twice. thrice. four times before it lands headfirst.

“jeonghan, are you okay?” jiyoung’s voice brings you out of it, even though you hear it like you’re underwater. it’s muffled, and you try not to just lie down there and die when she repeats, “jeonghan, are you okay? jeonghan?”

“red flag, red flag.”

murmurs around the garage erupt, and jeonghan’s mother inhales shakily. you watch with bated breath as the vehicle retrieval team and paramedics begin swarming around the mercedes. the other cars are brought back to the pit lane as they reach out under the halo.

“maybe you shouldn’t see this,” seokmin’s sister tries to say, but you shake your head.

“jeonghan, do you copy? jeonghan?”

the silence stretches on for forever. you don’t think you can breathe like this.

and then—

an arm reaches out of the mercedes, and you let out a breath of pure relief. your knees crumble, and you put your head in your hands when jeonghan finally responds, voice crackly over the radio, “—ah, yeah, i’m okay.”

“oh my god,” seokmin’s sister says, “he’s okay.”

“he’s okay,” you say to yourself, and let her pull you up to your feet. “he’s okay,” you repeat, hushed.

“we’re going to the hospital now,” jeonghan’s mother says, and takes your hand again to lead you out of the paddock. the cameras swarm you, but security tucks you both into the backseat of a company car, and it isn’t long before you’re zooming on the highway to the hospital. “he’ll be fine,” she says, sure, “he’s always fine.”

you just nod, not trusting your voice.

-

jeonghan’s mother lets you in first.

“i need a second to calm down,” she insists, pushing you into his room when the doctors give you the green light. you don’t have the heart to tell her you’re not calm either, but you suck it up and walk into the sterile, white-walled room.

jeonghan’s sitting upright, awake and fiddling with the tv remote. his eyes brighten when he sees you, “hey, baby!”

you can’t even respond. you scan the expanse of his body— the cut on his nose, his arm in a sling, the bandages wrapped around his collarbones. you don’t waste a second before you’re rushing over to his side. jeonghan grins, extending his uninjured arm, only for you to sock him on the bicep.

“ow, what the heck!” he whined. “that hurt!”

“yeah?” you ask, voice scratchy from disuse, “imagine that, but like, six thousand times harder. that’s how i felt.”

jeonghan sighs, and it grates on your nerves. it’s the same sigh as when a reporter asks him about contract renegotiations, or how he feels about his newest teammate when he’s shown nothing but support. it’s dismissive.

“it’s not so bad,” jeonghan says, “the doctor said the cast can come off by the end of summer break, so jaehyun will probably do testing but—“

“i don’t give a fuck about testing!” you interject, voice veering on the edge of hysteria. the fact that jeonghan doesn’t get it is insane to you. “jeonghan, you could’ve died. i—“

“i could die any time i get into the car,” jeonghan interrupts, as if it helps at all. he’s so nonchalant about it, like he isn’t dangling the concept of his fleeting mortality in front of you. “i don’t understand—“

“okay,” you cut him off, and breathe through your noise. there’s the steady beeping of jeonghan’s heart resonating through the room. you plop down on the seat next to his bed, but when he reaches his hand out you don’t take it. “remember when me and soonyoung got drunk and he drove me around barcelona?”

jeonghan knits his eyebrows, “no.”

“yeah, i didn’t tell you.” you continue, “he crashed the car into a lamp post and i was unconscious for two minutes—“

“what the fuck?” jeonghan’s face goes sheet white, and his hand grips on the hospital bed frame so hard you can see it bend. “why didn’t you fucking tell me? what’s wrong with you? you could’ve—“

“i could’ve died,” you complete for him, and your eyes are watery, “that’s right.” you close your eyes, sniffle. and then you let the tears you’ve been holding in since jiyoung asked about jeonghan’s tires drip down your face.

jeonghan’s eyes go wide. he’s never seen you cry before.

“baby—“

“i know,” you say, wiping away your tears quickly. you’re still not looking at him, “that this is just a day on the job for you. i’m not going to ask you to stop. but i’m just saying, that maybe before you say ‘hey, baby!’ and act like i’m fucking crazy for caring, that you think about how you would feel if it was me.”

it’s quiet for a bit, before jeonghan reaches for your hand again. this time you let him take it, let him tug you out of your chair and into his chest. it’s a little awkward, what with him being hooked to the iv drip, but he makes it work, jostling himself over to the edge of the bed so you can climb in, too. he runs his hand through your hair, nestles his nose on top of your head.

“sorry,” jeonghan murmurs, “i’m sorry.”

you breathe out against his hospital gown, the sound wet, and laugh a little, “okay.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. i knew what i signed up for when i joined the f1 circus.”

jeonghan let out a huff, and kissed your head. “i can’t believe you didn’t tell me about barcelona.”

“i didn’t want to worry you,” you defended, “it was last year from when the car was shit and—“

“and i told you six or higher,” jeonghan finished, looking regretful, “that was stupid of me to even suggest. stupider of you to assume you’re not always a ten to me.”

you roll your eyes, though the pink in your cheeks is hiding absolutely nothing. it was crazy how you’d been with jeonghan for over two years now and he still had the ability to make you feel like a teenage girl in front of her crush, “charmer.” you bite out.

the door opened, and you tried to scramble upright, but jeonghan, with one hand incapacitated, still seemed to be leagues stronger than you, holding you in place as his mother and sister came into view.

“hey,” he said casually, like he wasn’t holding you hostage and embarrassing you in front of his family, “who won the race?”

jieun ran up to the bed and smacked jeonghan on the back of his head, her eyes wide and tinged with red, “you’re an idiot!”

“i’m hurt! and you’re hurting me even more!” he whined, “mom!”

“you are an idiot,” his mother said, though she smoothed down the back of his head and responded, “they red-flagged the race until the rain subsided. seungcheol won behind the safety car. joshua second and seokmin third.”

“seokmin third is good for the team,” jeonghan replied, fingers tapping against your waist, “seungcheol first, fuck, the gap in the championship—“

“oh, shut up,” you grouse, “fuck the championship. you’ll be back after the summer break, anyway. now just focus on getting better.”

-

“we are here in zandvoort for round fourteen of the season, back after the summer break!” jungwoo said into the microphone as he did his regularly-programmed pit walk, “choi seungcheol of ferrari currently leads the championship with an eight point gap from kwon soonyoung from red bull. third goes mercedes’ yoon jeonghan twelve points behind that. he’s back in the car after recovering from a racing incident at silverstone,”

jungwoo continues walking down the lane over to the mercedes hospitality, where seokmin is chatting with his race engineer, “seokmin, do you have time?” when seokmin nods, jungwoo passes him the microphone, “how do you feel after the summer break? you’re currently 6th in the championship standings, do you think this week’s upgrades will do you any good?”

“yeah!” seokmin beamed, “as you said i’m 6th currently, and the pace in free practice was good, so we’re aiming for a podium finish this week, we’ll see!”

“that’s lovely,” jungwoo nodded, “how do you feel about jeonghan back in the car?”

“jeonghan-hyung’s always been persistent, that’s for sure,” seokmin responded, “he’s healed well, got the okay from the doctors, and if previous experiences have taught any of us anything, it’s to not underestimate him. he’s still p3 in the standings, and not too far behind from redbull and ferrari, so i still have faith he could get another title.”

“thank you, seokmin, great stuff, good luck for qualifying later!”

the cameraman zooms in further back into the corner, where you’ve got your noise-cancelling headphones on around your neck, and you’re looking at jeonghan as he discusses something with jiyoung. jiyoung walks away with a smile to you and a pat on jeonghan’s back.

jeonghan hates pda, so do you, but you’d make an exception again today. you’ve been fidgeting for hours, nervous about jeonghan getting back into the car that almost killed him, but he’s been calming your nerves with kisses. little ones, just to make sure you’ve got the edge off. he presses one to your temple, cuddling you into his body, uncaring of the red blinking dot on the camera signalling the live broadcast.

and when he finally has to go, putting his baclava over his head and then his helmet, you make sure to press a kiss right where his forehead would be. jeonghan’s smile is bright enough for your worries to subside into your chest.

jeonghan’s first love is racing, sure, but you might be the first person to ever challenge that. (whether you’ll succeed is another question.)

-

jeonghan wins the race by over a ten second gap, and in one fell swoop, returns to p1 in the championship standings. as he stands on top of his car, arms raised above his head, martin brundle proclaims, over the outrageous cheers of the crowd, a nickname that would follow jeonghan throughout the remainder of his career.

“angel!”

Chapter Management
Edit Chapter

Chapter Text

monaco, year of sabbatical

“you know i have to leave, right?”

your hushed voice is muffled against jeonghan’s bare chest. it’s the first thing you’ve uttered since you tumbled into bed together, hands gripping fabric, re-exploring skin, remembering what your lips felt on his.

jeonghan hums, and you feel it reverberate through him. his arm tightens around your waist, and he tugs you in, in, in until you’re almost half on top of him. once you’re close enough, he presses a kiss against your hair, onto your temple, your cheekbone, before settling back down against the pillow, “i’ll visit.”

you’d like to believe him, you really would.

“okay,” you say quietly, because you don’t want to fight. you’ve had your last memory of jeonghan ruin you completely, you don’t want to taint this.

but sometimes you forget jeonghan knows you better than that, knows your every change of tone and every inflection. he looks down at you, raises his hand to lift your chin up, “i will,” he insists. “i prom—“

“don’t,” you interrupt, and tuck your head into the crook of his neck. you kiss the skin there. “don’t promise me anything. just prove me wrong.”

jeonghan swallows, and nods, “okay.”

then he flips you over, presses his lips against yours, and nothing more is said.

-

melbourne, year of sabbatical, one month after monaco

“you should’ve told me earlier!” you groaned, trying to weave your way through the traffic. the cbd was terrible, you think to yourself, and push on the horn.

jeonghan winces at the noise, but remains your dutiful little passenger princess. he doesn’t comment on how awful of a driver you are, and just continues scrolling through your spotify, trying to find a song he knows, “then it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?”

you scoff, but it’s all just for show. when you had left monaco, jeonghan’s lips all but a phantom touch against your cheek and hand, you were sure that was the closure you’d get after all these years. one last perfect month with jeonghan before you could move on, for real this time.

you took another week off work when you got back to australia, and spent it in bed, remembering what it felt like when jeonghan smiled at you from across the dinner table, rested his chin on your shoulder, placed his hand on the small of your back. you packed it up in tidy little boxes in your mind, and put them in a cupboard, right beside the memories from the first time, and thought they’d never see the light of day ever again.

when you clocked into work that monday morning, a bouquet of pink peonies were waiting on your desk. doyoung shrugged when you gathered the courage to ask him. you shouldn’t have underestimated your ex-boyfriend. if you were good at compartmentalising, he was a god at it.

“there’s been one delivered since last week,” he said, swiping on his phone like he was telling you about the weather, “but no one at the office wanted to disturb you, so.”

you had fingered the soft pink petals, the thick paper embossed ‘yjh4’, and asked your assistant to throw it out. by the end of the third week, the bouquets were still coming, and soonyoung was whining to you that jeonghan was texting him every day to ask how you were liking them.

stop sending me flowers you finally texted jeonghan, acrylics tap tap tapping against your phone screen with such a vigour that doyoung looked up from his laptop in vague concern. they’re stinking up the office

do you like them though jeonghan’s response read three hours later, sorry, in brackley for testing. jiyoung wants me to help dev the car next season, apparently seokmin isn’t doing too good

whatever you had responded, before following it up with, yeah ur reserve isn’t doing too good either lol

you watch the races?

i never watched them for just you you had rolled your eyes, and gotten promptly glared at by your boss. you pocketed your phone, and sat idly as it buzzed all throughout your meeting.

and now—

now jeonghan’s in your passenger seat, three months since monaco. he’s here, in australia, finally visiting you like he said he would. it had taken a moment, two, to realise he was standing at your apartment door, his suitcase in his hand and a pair of obnoxiously rimmed sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.

“you chose the worst time to come, honestly,” you continued whining, “my sister’s going to kill you!”

jeonghan’s kilowatt smile dims a little as a compilation of your family’s greatest hits plays in his head. there was the time your sister sent him a very, very strongly worded instagram direct message after learning you two had broken up, including the phrase “if i ever see you again i will personally drive up to brackley and trash whatever car you’re making and ruin your career.”. then there was the time your dad had blocked his number. which was terrible because he was really the only father figure jeonghan ever had, and your dad knew that. his number was still blocked to this day, actually.

“it’ll be fun,” jeonghan said, trying to be optimistic.

you rolled your eyes, but patted his hand before moving yours back to the gearstick, “i’ll tell jiyoon to replace you with jaehyun jeong.”

jeonghan gave you a look of utter betrayal, “i knew you thought that kid was cute.”

“not just cute,” you pulled up in front of your family home, parking your car securely by the curb in front of it, and checked your reflection in the rearview mirror, “fucking drop dead gorgeous.”

then you opened the door on your side and got out, leaving jeonghan gaping for a few seconds before he got out himself. “kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you?” he murmured.

you laughed, and raised a hand to knock, only for the door to swing open before your knuckles could make contact against the wood.

“did i wake up in an alternate dimension?” your sister demanded, completely ignoring you to squint at jeonghan. “did i time-travel to the past?” she asked again, “do i need to get the ancestral sage? begone demon!”

“always a pleasure,” jeonghan responds dryly, giving your sister a two-fingered salute.

“oh my god, it speaks.”

“cut it out,” you sigh, pushing past her. jeonghan follows, and your sister keeps staring.

“dear god, you’re back together, aren’t you?”

you roll your eyes, and jeonghan braces himself for the night ahead of him when he catches your father’s eye. also the way he’s gripping his steak knife.

this was going to be a fun weekend, it seemed.

-

melbourne, year of sabbatical, three months later

it took three months for your sister to stop asking if you were right in the head, or feeling unwell, when you walked into the room with jeonghan.

it took another two for your dad to stop glaring at him from across a dinner table.

jeonghan wouldn’t say he was settling with your family, or getting anywhere near their good graces, but any improvement was welcome. anything was better than his first reunion with them.

tonight, you (and by extension, jeonghan) were invited to your dad’s fifty-second birthday. jeonghan got him a bottle of aged whiskey that had been distilled and kept for fifty-two years. it was a cute touch, you had assured him. it also cost forty thousand grand, but jeonghan wasn’t going to go around saying that.

you were dressed in a matching top and skirt set. not meshki, you had rolled your eyes when your sister made a face. fuck off, you dug your elbow into her side, before giving jeonghan a beam that he swore made his heart stutter.

“sweets!”

the moment was utterly ruined by one of your aunts. which one, jeonghan had no clue. and given your face, neither did you.

“hi!” you had greeted back nonetheless, opening your arms up for a hug. the woman held you tightly, letting go to cup your cheek.

“you look so beautiful,” she cooed, “doesn’t she?” she looked around for agreement, and who was jeonghan to refute? your sister wrinkled her nose. “how’s the boyfriend? what was he, again? the one who worked in your office!”

your sister snorted.

you laughed awkwardly, “oh, doyoung? we’re not together anymore. it was just for a little while. we still work together.”

“oh,” your aunt frowned, “shame. he was a looker, that one. what about the other one? the… speed skater. the one with all the trophies.”

jeonghan frowned, knitting his eyebrows. he looked at your sister, who was trying her best not to burst into audacious laughter. when she caught his eye, she promptly choked on her drink, and moved her gaze to the wall.

“oh!” you bit your bottom lip, feeling a cloud of embarrassment wash over you, “um, na jaemin. that was just for a little bit, too. did my dad tell you? he blabs so much but he’s never fully right, auntie! it’s just…”

your conversation slowly faded away from jeonghan’s ears. he stood there, feeling a little stupid.

jeonghan hadn’t realised that while his world stopped, yours hadn’t. it was easy not to ruminate so much, not to let his thoughts wander, when he was in a car almost every weekend. he hadn’t realised while his universe went hollow, yours continued to expand.

“um, this is jeonghan.”

he snapped out of it, and a smile slid onto his face. polite as.

“hi,” he said charmingly, reaching out a hand to shake. your aunt took it, looking questioning. “not sure if you remember me.”

you let out a laugh, your first authentic one since this conversation started, and jeonghan soaks it in like a top-step podium. “yeah, we were together for years. but maybe that was when you were off traveling, auntie.”

your aunt rubbed her forehead, “jeonghan. where have i heard that name?”

“he drives in formula 1,” you said, “maybe you’ve seen him on tv.”

“no, no,” your aunt waved off, before putting a hand over her mouth, “you’re the one her dad curses all the time. like during thanksgiving a couple years back, it was all ‘fuck jeonghan this’, ‘fuck jeonghan that’—“

“okay, auntie,” your sister finally deemed it a worthy time to intercept, “why don’t we top up your glass?” she gave you a sly wink before herding the woman away.

you rolled your eyes, “ignore her, she’s been away for years.”

jeonghan sighed, and took you in his arms, being careful to not overstep in such a public setting. you seemed to curl into his hold, though, leaning your head against the firmness of his chest.

“so have i,” jeonghan mumbled into the crown of your head, “didn’t realise how much i missed.”

“what, the doyoung and jaemin thing?” you laughed against his shirt, “you jealous?” you asked, half joking, half not.

jeonghan took a leap of faith, and in a small voice, admitted, “kind of.”

you paused, peering up at him and willing him to continue.

“i don’t know,” he shrugged, “i always thought we were a package deal, kind of. who i am isn’t possible without you. i thought it’d be the same the other way around.”

“she’s old, jeonghan,” you reminded, though his admission warmed you a little. “she forgets everything. she asked dad where she parked this morning.”

“yeah,” he let it slide, and pressed his lips against your forehead, tightening his hold on your waist, “i should remind her. everyone.”

-

abu dhabi, year of sabbatical

you feel a sense of deja vu as you settle back onto the sofa, watching soonyoung pace.

your best friend’s motorhome isn’t large, so he’s really just walking in circles, his race suit hanging from his hips.

“you’re gonna do good,” you said, watching him take a deep breath, “you’re on pole.”

“i am,” soonyoung affirmed, sounding like he was reminding himself. “i am on pole.”

“you’re going to win the championship,” you continued, tucking your hair behind your ears. “just drive.”

“i’m going to win the championship,” he repeated. “i just have to drive.”

“exactly,” you stood up, picking up your purse. it was a few minutes before the formation lap, and this would be the last time you saw soonyoung before he was going to be kwon soonyoung, one-time world champion, and not just kwon soonyoung, red bull driver, your best friend. “it’s going to be okay.”

soonyoung stopped pacing, seemingly calmer than before. he stood in front of you, and for a second, you didn’t recognise him. the look of determination on his face was an expression you saw often, all throughout his racing career, but the way he was so assured, so utterly confident made you smile.

“yeah,” soonyoung nodded, “it’s going to be okay.” his expression softened, “thank you for being here.”

“where else would i be?” you shrugged, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning up on your tiptoes. “you’re going to be a world champion. i’m so happy to see it.”

your best friend nuzzled his head against your hair, making you laugh. “i know. but i know it isn’t easy being here.”

you scrunch your nose up against the smoothness of his race suit. you didn’t quite know how to drop this message.

“um,” you pull away slightly, rubbing your nose, “i’m going to be here way more often next year, i think.”

soonyoung’s eyes brightened, his cheeks bunching up, “really? that’s great! we’re gonna hang out so much. i’ll let everyone know you can have your red bull pass again.”

“yeah,” you smiled back, before taking a deep breath, “about that.”

soonyoung leaned back, quirking up an eyebrow. he looked comical, and you’d laugh if you weren’t so nervous, “what? what are you hiding? don’t tell me mingyu got you mclaren passes. i hate that orange team.”

“oh, so do i,” you grimace. unfortunately for your other friend, you were a born and raised tifosi, and that meant hating papaya was in your veins. mingyu, bless his heart, wasn’t going to change that. “but no. i’ve got a mercedes pass.”

soonyoung took a second to digest what you had said. then another.

before he screeched.

you covered his mouth with your hand, before quickly retracting it, making a face of disgust. you smacked him on the shoulder, “why is your mouth so wet, freak?”

“why are you back with your ex, freak?” soonyoung hit you right back.

“oh my god,” you wiped your hand against his neck, pinching the skin of it lightly, “why are you so loud? and you were the one who told me to hang out with him in monaco last year!”

“because we were all busy, not because we wanted you to get back together with him!”

“oh, please,” you rolled your eyes, “you were all gagging for it. you were not subtle.”

“wait, how long has this been going on?” soonyoung demanded, his eyes narrowing, “all throughout the season?”

you braced yourself for his reaction. “yes.”

“and you didn’t tell me?”

“soonyoung, two minutes.” someone knocked on the door of his motorhome, making him groan.

your best friend cradles his head in his hands, “i can’t believe you’re telling me this right now.”

“oh, whatever,” you waved him off. “i’ll tell you everything you want to know if you win the championship.”

“when i win the championship,” soonyoung corrected. “now i have a bigger incentive.”

you smack your hip against his, and he throws an arm over your shoulder, letting you open the door and let him into the chaos.

everyone pats him on the shoulder, jostling you around, though soonyoung never lets you go. finally, he’s in front of johnny, who ruffles the top of his head.

“you can do it, dude,” his team principal says, ever eloquent. “we all know you can.”

soonyoung smiles, and lets an engineer hand him his helmet. you watch as he puts it on over his balaclava, and the man in front of you changes instantly. he’s going to win today, you know it. you think everyone knows it.

“you’re gonna kill it,” you whisper as he gets into the car. quickly, before any camera can see, you drop a kiss to the top of his helmet, pat his visor. it’s something you’ve only ever saved for jeonghan, but you’re sure he’d let you make the exception.

soonyoung’s eyes widen through the gap in his visor, before they soften. he’s smiling underneath his helmet, you can tell.

“love you,” you can hear, muffled and all.

you tap on his helmet three times, “love you, too.”

you watch as his car zooms out of his garage, and take your spot beside his parents. his mom gives you a smile, loving and sweet and so, so soonyoung.

“he’s going to win today,” you say for what seems to be the thousandth time. you don’t think you’ll get sick of it. your best friend is going to be a world champion. “i know it.”

“i think so, too.” she says to you, a little quieter like saying it aloud would shift the universe on its axis.

you take a breath, and watch soonyoung start the formation lap, his car smooth and sure. you feel your heart beating out of your chest. you don’t think you’ve been this nervous since jeonghan’s move to mercedes.

“calm down.”

you nearly jump when a hand reaches over your nape, rubbing the back of your neck gently. it’s only when you realise who it is that your shoulders relax. you sigh. if there weren’t cameras before, there definitely would be now.

jeonghan slung his arm around your waist, leaning his chin against your shoulder. he waves soonyoung’s parents hello, nods at johnny, who rolls his eyes at him playfully, and noses against your neck.

“behave,” you snipe, though you lean your head slightly so he can press a kiss against the length of your neck.

jeonghan gives you one more kiss before letting go, and you miss his touch instantly. he just smiles down at you, intertwines his hands with yours, even though they’re clammy.

“relax,” jeonghan chides. the lights go red, orange, green. soonyoung goes racing. “he’s winning.”

and somehow, jeonghan’s trust in him makes you really, truly, believe.

fifty-eight laps later, soonyoung crosses the finish line a world champion. jeonghan holds your hand the entire time.

-

post-bahrain, year of sixth title

you’ve gotten careless in the past few years. but you guess that’s what happens when you hide out in the red bull hospitality and don’t walk about the paddock like you used to in the past two years.

“hey!”

mistake one is looking back. mistake two is smiling hesitantly.

one thing about f1 interviewers is that they’re like sharks. a single sniff of blood and they pounce.

“hi, jungwoo.” you greet, nodding at the blonde haired man. at least it was him and not will buxton. god, you hate will buxton.

“got a second?” he motions to his cameraman, and shownu gives you a little wave. he doesn’t wait for you to answer before forging on, “you haven’t been here in a while!”

“i guess so,” you answer lamely, fidgeting with the skirt of your short white dress, “but it’s always nice to watch.”

“of course it is!” jungwoo says enthusiastically, making up for your lack thereof. “what team are you here for? some birdies said you stayed with the silver arrows the whole time, but the last time you were spotted, you were with the red bulls!”

you forgot just how invasive this all was, like your loyalty somehow lied with one team and not with your friends. nonetheless, you try to muster up some interest in the conversation, “oh, i’d never tell.”

jungwoo lets out a laugh at your not-so answer, and sidles up to you conspiratorially, like he’s your long lost best friend and not another sky sports f1 reporter who wants the scoop, “there were some interesting pictures and footage of you and mercedes golden boy yoon jeonghan—“

“no comment,” you cut in before he can finish asking.

“but you were kissing his helmet—“

“no comment, jungwoo,” you repeated, more firmly this time. you weren’t live, so you could afford to be a little stern without the entirety of the internet and audience pouncing on you for not being cooperative enough for an interview. “really.”

jungwoo knitted his eyebrows, and for a fraction of a second, you thought he’d have enough sense to stop. instead, he takes a breath before pushing along, “so what’s the relationship between you and jeonghan here? because last i heard you two were broken up—“

“i think that’s enough, jungwoo,” you’ve never been so glad to see mingyu in your life. he’s in his team kit, the glaring orange bright and ostentatious in the bahrain sun. “she doesn’t want to do the interview.”

jungwoo barrels on, “what happened during your spin in fp2? your team principal mentioned something about the delta being off, but there’s no data to back it up. do you feel threatened since lee jihoon finished higher than you in the standings last year—“

“jungwoo.”

you turn your head to see jeonghan walking over, his sunglasses perched over his nose and a can of monster in his hand. you’d nag at him for the caffeine intake if you weren’t so in tune with his emotions. his eyes were covered, but an idiot would know he was angry.

mingyu rolled his eyes at jungwoo’s question, a latent and kind answer for such an appalling question, “jungwoo, you’re ridiculous. expect an email from my press officer.” the taller man presses a hand to your shoulder, leaning down to touch his cheek against yours (so european, you’d mock him later, much to nayeon’s delight), before walking off, nodding to jeonghan as he passed him.

“sooyoung,” jeonghan called out, and his own press officer seemed to materialise out of thin air. you’d feel some sympathy for jungwoo if you weren’t so upset over being haggled. “can you—“

“yup.” sooyoung was one hundred and sixty-eight centimetres of pure professionalism, and in her block heels, an additional ten. she looked at jungwoo, head on, and you swore you saw the interviewer gulp. “come over to my office, jungwoo,” she gave shownu a glance, “you better delete the footage if you know what’s good for you.”

jeonghan takes the opportunity to take your hand and slip you out the space.

“vultures,” he grumbled, rubbing circles against your palm. “fucking kim jungwoo.”

“it’s fine,” you huffed, blowing your bangs out of your face, even though it really wasn’t. “i signed back up for the circus.”

jeonghan softens, pauses right in front of the garage, where all his mechanics zipped around, completely ignorant of you. that’s what you liked about mercedes— all professionalism, no fuss.

“and i’m glad you did,” he said, so quiet you could barely hear it over the whirring over at seokmin’s end of the garage. “i’ll make sure to take care of you.”

-

monza, year of sixth title

“i love your outfit,” nayeon complimented, walking into step beside you.

you smiled, “i love yours,” you fingered the end of her sleeveless top, “réalisation par?”

your friend looked at you with admiration in her eyes, “i’ll never understand how you just know.”

“it’s a gift and a curse,” you respond, sounding ostentatious on purpose. nayeon laughs, tucking her hand into the crook of your elbow. from a few people away, you spot jimin, chan’s girlfriend, and minjeong, jeno’s girlfriend, standing stick-straight in line for coffee at the ferrari hospitality, their slicked back ponytails shiny in the monza heat. you feel a sudden pang in your chest. that used to be you, wheein and nayeon all those years ago. “i miss whee.”

“same,” nayeon sighed, leading you to the mercedes hospitality, “she’s gonna pop in like, a month. we should plan a trip to switzerland.”

“another baby girl,” you cooed, “your turn to be godmother.” you smiled, thinking of wheein and seungcheol’s first baby girl, gowon, who was also your first goddaughter.

“thank god,” nayeon tucked her hair behind her ear, “i’m getting sick of you boasting about gowon.”

you laughed as she let go of your arm right in front of the silver arrow area of the paddock, wrinkling her nose at the mclaren hospitality right across from it, “why can’t mclaren just be black and white? the orange is ruining my eyesight, honestly.”

“papaya,” you corrected her, just to watch her make a face. “i’ll see you after quali?”

nayeon waves her fingers at you before disappearing into the sea of orange uniforms, ducking into the building. you turned on your heel, entering the mercedes hospitality. you smiled at kahi, who was looking very stressed as she barked instructions into her phone.

you catch sight of each other as you round the corner into the garage, jeonghan’s eyes catching you despite being in the midst of a conversation with seokmin, and a softness instantly comes over his eyes as he reaches for you, almost on instinct. it’s the kind of thing that only invites teasing from the other drivers and the kind of thing that makes their girlfriends smile— you love it, love that he’s so soft for you, that it’s the same after all these years. he kisses your temple, leaving his arm over your shoulder, keeping you close as seokmin departs to his own half of the garage.

you lean into him, his smell obscured slightly by the clean smell of his new fireproofs, the fabric smelling faintly of laundry detergent and plastic packaging, but underneath that he smells distinctly warm, slightly of jasmine, a hint of sweat. his skin is warm, as always, and you nestle your head under his chin, your cheek pressed to his collarbone, soaking up his natural heat. you’re aware of the camera’s glare, catching the casual intimacy as jeonghan asks you where you’d gone, listening to your answer despite the lack of time, despite the fact he should really be getting in the car. his voice hums against you, reverberating through his skin.

“jjong, you need to go,” you remind him, pulling back to look at him, always fretting your way through race weekends.

he nods, starting to shrug his suit over his shoulders as you pick up his gloves and balaclava, handing over each item as he needs them, watching him go through the familiar routine. you hand him the helmet, finally, and he pulls it over his head, the visor up so that he’s peering down at you through the slot, his face squished up. you stand by his car as he hops in, not sitting yet. you smile at him, “have fun in quali, hannie.”

he seems to smile at the comment, signalling to his helmet— never one to leave the garage without a kiss. you kiss his helmet, as requested, your makeup leaving a print on the side, but jeonghan is pleased, tucking himself down into the car.

three sessions later, jeonghan’s on pole position, his tenth of the season. everyone’s bored of it, you know, but you never will be.

jeonghan ends the weekend a six-time world champion in front of a crowd of rosso corsa, and unlike three years ago, when you were sat idly on the side as your boyfriend cheered with his team, jeonghan pulls you into the mercedes group picture, front and centre.

your dress is soaked in champagne, wet and sticky against your skin, but you don’t care. it’s a joy you never thought you’d get to feel again, and you’re so happy you get to. jeonghan watches you with nothing but love in his eyes, and wonders how he ever got so lucky.

-

the 24th, year of sixth title, seven year anniversary

your seven year anniversary creeps up on you.

it’s the twenty-fourth of may, and jeonghan’s just won the monaco grand prix again for a record-equalling fifth time. you don’t think you’ll ever truly understand the magnitude of jeonghan’s career— a record-equalling fifth monaco win. your… jeonghan will be written in the history books, right next to ayrton senna and charles leclerc.

seven’s a big number, especially since you spent years five and six apart, but you’re trying to keep it breezy. you’re failing, by the way. horrendously.

“have another one,” nayeon chides, sliding a shot of tequila across the bar top, “stop looking like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

you snort, before taking the glass and downing it in one go, sucking on the lime slice to get rid of the burn. truth be told, you would rather be anywhere but here. you’ve hated jimmy’z since the first time you stepped into it, even back when martin garrix and lando norris would deejay. you and jeonghan have bumped into max verstappen more times than you could count, and had to sit through two hours of the four-time champion’s rant about the downforce at sainte-dévote.

you hated it then, and you hate it now, watching mingyu and soonyoung engage in some sort of dance battle, seokmin and seungkwan barely fighting the urge to join in. still, you laugh when nayeon’s oaf of a boyfriend attempts a headstand, before minghao promptly shows him up, doing a spinning axel. you don’t think anyone would ever expect a generation of formula 1 drivers so in touch with their unserious side.

you sigh, “i can’t believe this is our lives.”

nayeon takes out her phone to record the scene, “i know. i could be running a hedge fund right now.”

you wrinkle your nose, looking back at your friend, “didn’t you repeat ninth grade math twice?”

“are you bullying my girlfriend, sweets?” mingyu bellows from the dance floor, pointing a finger at you. you could combust from embarrassment. the crowd follows the direction of the mclaren driver’s finger, and suddenly, all eyes are on you and nayeon. “fight back, na!”

nayeon just rolls her eyes, “stop embarrassing me!”

you stick your tongue out at him, “big talk for p5!”

mingyu feigns a hand to his chest, stumbling back dramatically into seungkwan’s arms, “how could you?”

“she’s big dick on campus, don’t you know?” seokmin joked, and you looked at jeonghan’s teammate with an expression of betrayal, “she calls all the shots!”

you feel your face getting red from all the attention, and cover your face with your hand, tucking yourself into nayeon’s side, “i’m going to kill your boyfriend.”

“he’ll have deserved it,” she responded solemnly, rubbing your arm with her free hand. “oh, heads up.”

you looked up to see jeonghna wading his way through the crowd, thankfully taking the spotlight away from you. he accepts a drink from minghao’s hand, smiling for a picture when some sponsor’s son asks for it.

it’s all fair game until he starts towards you, and suddenly everyone’s phone flashlight is on, either on record or just for lighting.

“dear god,” you mumble, “i hate jimmy’z.”

nayeon lets out a chortling laugh, and like the traitor she is, tugs away from you, pushing you towards your him. jeonghan approaches you with a beaming smile, cheeks pink from drinking and dancing and his hair curling down the nape of his neck. long, like the day you met him.

“come on,” he takes your hand, “i wanna show you something.”

and because you’re just as gone for jeonghan as he is for you, you go without question, just shyly smiling at everyone and waving at someone who shouts your name.

jeonghan guides you through the massive throng of people, sidestepping you guessed it, max verstappen himself. you have enough manners to tell him to send your wishes to penelope and lily before jeonghan pulls you past a corner. it’s another near-brush with alex albon, george russell, lily, and carmen before you find yourself out the back door of the club.

the sounds of waves crashing against the monaco harbour is something you’ve grown to love. it’s something you’d have never admitted to yourself a few years ago when you visited jeonghan every now and then, but now you feel brave enough to say it out loud, to recognise the beauty in something not previously planned.

“i love that sound,” you hum contentedly.

jeonghan pulls you into his side, lets you tuck yourself into the crook of his neck.

“hey,” he says into the crown of your hair. you look up at him through your eyelashes, and you watch as he smiles, soft, precious, and all for you. “happy anniversary.”

you let yourself grin, and rise up to your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “happy anniversary.”

“let it rip, soonyoung.” your… jeonghan says, as loud as he can.

you watch in complete confusion as a figure down the harbour runs across the dock, three other people following behind him. you make soonyoung out right as he presses on a button, and the sky explodes with fireworks— red, blue, yellow, white, and then pink. on the beach, mingyu, nayeon, and seokmin cheer, hands cupped over their mouths.

“well, what do you think?” jeonghan asks, bumping his hip against yours. your face is illuminated by the colours, and he wants to feel this moment forever, frame it and put it in the deepest chambers of his heart. when they cut him open, he hopes everyone knows it’s all for you, that he’s lived this life because of you, and for you.

“i love it,” you breathe out, trying not to cry. traitorously, you feel heat in the corners of your eyes. you let out a choked laugh, sniffling, “i made a big fuss to nayeon for nothing.”

“you didn’t think this was it, did you?” he turned to face you completely, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you wiped a stray tear off your cheek, “it’s not?”

“come on,” jeonghan led you across the street, “i’ve got seven years worth of anniversaries to make up for.”

-

post-abu dhabi, year of sixth title, choi seungcheol’s retirement party

seungcheol’s retirement party isn’t at a club, thank god. but you knew that already, wheein was far too classy for that. instead, the four-time world champion gets mohammed ben sulayem, jeonghan’s number one enemy, to get him a reservation at the nicest restaurant in abu dhabi. the old geezer outdoes himself, and flies everyone and their plus fives to dubai for dinner at the burj khalifa.

you’re sat calmly in joshua’s private jet, gowon on your lap and wheein to your right, helping your goddaughter colour in a card for her dad.

“red,” she says decisively, “like daddy’s car.”

wheein shares a look with you, “being a tifosi starts young.”

“bless her heart,” you hand her the red colour pencil, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “she’ll need it.”

“she wants to start karting,” wheein says, running a hand through her hair, “i’m gonna be back at the paddock in twenty years.”

“me too, at this point,” you laugh, jutting your chin out at jeonghan, who’s having an impromptu photoshoot with his championship trophy, seungcheol and mingyu directing him while joshua takes pictures on his new phone. “he’s gonna be fifty in that mercedes.”

wheein smiles, starts tying up gowon’s hair so it’s not in her face. “and are you okay with that?” at your hum of question, she continues. “i don’t know, being at the paddock forever? i got tired of it after the eighth year, i think. exhausted after gowon. i don’t know how hanna or egle did it.”

you think about it for a second. you’re not the same twenty-one year old running around the red bull hospitality. but then again, you and jeonghan just found your way back to each other. you don’t want to think about it just yet.

“i don’t know,” you answer truthfully, “but right now, i’m just happy we’re all here together.”

wheein smiled, leaned her head against your shoulder. “me too,” she said, “i miss you guys so much,” she scrunched her nose at nayeon, who was conked out in the seat across the three of you, her gentle monster sunglasses perched on her nose and haerin, her five month old goddaughter, asleep on her chest. “even that one.”

“ahem.”

you roll your eyes, looking up to see seungcheol staring down at you, “what do you want, choi?”

“is it a crime to want to sit with my wife and daughters?”

you smacked his stomach, primly getting up and kissing gowon on the cheek, “see you later, baby. your dad’s being such a grouch right now.”

“grouch,” she repeated faithfully, before slashing on a g-r-o-w-s-h on the card right over the crudely drawn ferrari. “grouch.”

wheein laughed, “good job, honey.” seungcheol glared at you as you walked over to the other side of the jet, plopping down on the sofa next to jeonghan, who promptly pulled you into his side, letting you lay your legs over his lap.

“missed you,” he mumbled into your neck, smelling faintly still like champagne. “you were so far away.”

“you want me to be a deadbeat godmother?” you poked your… boyfriend in the chest, though you wrapped your arms around him so he could fully lean into you. “what if gowon doesn’t develop strong female bonds because i was off galavanting with her deadbeat godfather?”

“fighting a four year old for time with you wasn’t something i ever thought i’d have to do,” jeonghan said, playing with the end of your sweater. “are you excited for the party? seungcheol said the food’s really good.”

“i can’t believe you’ve never taken me to dubai before,” you said, your voice dripping in mock disappointment. “hungary, france, korea, japan… not dubai.”

“you wanna make a bucket list?” your boyfriend grinned into your shoulder, “where do you want the next gp? don’t say another american one. i’m sick of vegas already.”

“shut up,” you pat his cheek, “another asian one would be nice.”

“yeah. we’ll get to cross that one off soon, i think,” he said. jeonghan tucked himself out of your neck, looked over to the other side of the plane, where joshua was now bouncing haerin and mingyu was conked out right beside nayeon, her face buried in his chest. “i think they’re doing a thailand one for albon.”

you fist-pumped. “nice. do you think lily’ll finally tell me where she gets her nice tabis?”

“i don’t know what that is,” he laughed, “but sure, sweetheart. we can ask her.”

you two fall silent after that, watching seungcheol smile as gowon finally presents him her card. the glaring 88 decorated on every blank spot of the paper makes your eyes a little misty. seungcheol’s had a great career, but you don’t think it nearly compares to his life offtrack. wheein beams at her husband, her dimples deep, and kisses him chastely. his eyes are soft, loving.

you think jeonghan’s fallen asleep, but his voice, hesitant and quiet and somehow so unlike him proves you wrong.

“do you think i should retire?”

you make a noise of confusion, angle your face downward so you can see jeonghan’s face.

your boyfriend’s eyes are planted firmly on the chois. haerin’s been passed over to seungcheol, who runs a hand down her swaddle as he nods at whatever gowon’s saying.

“i think i want that,” jeonghan continued, “a family.”

“you have that,” you say softly.

“i know,” he takes a breath before looking up at you. jeonghan’s always had a baby face, you think, but you’ve never seen him look more his age than now. he wasn’t old, just thirty, but that was racking up for an athlete. you know he doesn’t want to be fernando alonso, lewis hamilton, racing around in circuits all over the world past forty. “but i want a family with you. it feels… silly to not have it all now.”

you took his hand, pressed your lips against his knuckles. “hey,” you say, making sure he was listening. he is. he always is. “we don’t have to rush it now. i’m gonna be here as long as you want to be here, too. and i think we both want to.”

jeonghan nods, vigorous. he asked you about paint swatches and redoing his monaco apartment right after the race.

“we don’t have to do the marriage and baby thing right away,” you say, “and i think i’d like it if you were 100% around if we had a baby.”

“i’d want that, too,” jeonghan agreed. “i don’t want to be racing while you’re raising our kid.”

“then it’s settled,” you say simply, “in a few years, maybe. when you don’t want to do this anymore, or when i think i’m ready. we can have a baby.”

“and i’m gonna put a ring on it before that,” he said cheekily, flipping your intertwined palms around and tracing over ring finger. “you’re going to be mrs. yoon before you’re ‘mommy’.”

you scoff, but your burning ears give you away.

jeonghan grins, and sits up. you can hear the cacophony of obnoxious boos already starting, but you don’t care. jeonghan kisses you right then and there, in joshua hong’s private jet on the way to choi seungcheol’s retirement party, and promises forever.

there are several things jeonghan told you when you met:
1. he was going to be a world champion
2. he was going to make sure you were happy
3. he was going to marry you

he had checked off the first two multiple times over. you couldn’t wait for the third.