Archive of Our Own ^beta

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The tension on the track was always palpable. Everyone was fighting to become world champion, tearing each other apart for that number one spot. And that’s what Buck loved most: destruction. The race had been brutal, almost violent. Buck finished P1 again — this time, at the hottest race on the calendar: Singapore. He stepped out of his car in his orange suit, a cocky smile playing on his lips. The crowd adored him. Girls were sweating for him, and so were the guys. But there was one person who hated him with a burning, sickening intensity. Every time he saw him, it was like his skin melted with rage — as if Buck had personally taken his place: Eddie. While flipping through a magazine, a Sky Sports interviewer approached him. — "What do you think about Buck’s great race?" The question made his voice drop, sharp and venomous. — “Of course he’s winning,” Eddie snapped. “He’s McLaren’s golden boy.” He covered his mouth instantly. He knew that line could cost him contracts. Without another word, he walked away. But as he reached his paddock, his mechanic was already there, looking pissed. — “You’re seriously an idiot, Eddie. Not only did you miss the podium, but you also just insulted the most popular driver in F1 right now.” Eddie rolled his eyes. — “It’s just a fame phase. People forget. They always do.” And he knew that better than anyone. He’d once been the most famous. The most reckless. The most goddamn beautiful. But after thirty, that spotlight starts to dim. And maybe that’s why he hated Buck so much — a kid barely into his twenties, with brilliant strategies, global fame, and a face that was… really fucking pretty. It was impossible not to envy him. Everyone wanted to fuck him, kiss him, get their hands on any part of him. And that was the most twisted part. Because Buck was ten years younger than him. And Eddie couldn’t stop staring

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Eddie didn’t talk to anyone for the rest of the day. Not to his mechanic, not to his engineer, not even to the reporters who tried to follow him into the bathroom. They all got the same cold look that said try it and die.

But honestly, he wasnt mad at them.

Just at himself.
And at Buck.

Especially at Buck.

The humid Singapore night still clung to his skin when Eddie finally reached his hotel room. His hands were still shaking—he didn’t know if it was anger or the leftover adrenaline of having Buck so damn close. Too close. Way too close. Close enough that Eddie could still smell burnt rubber and victory clinging to his neck.

“Make me shut up then.”
The memmory burned like acid.

—Idiot —Eddie muttered as he dropped onto the bed, still half in his race gear.

He didn’t sleep.
He coudn’t.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw that grin.
That fucking grin.

The next morning was media day. Eddie hated media days; they were long, fake, full of people who didn’t know the diference between a racecar and a gof cart. But that day was worse, because Buck was everywhere.

Like McLaren had decided to put him in every hallway, every room, every panel.
An orange ghost.

Eddie walked toward the hospitality with his usual aura of don’t talk to me. It worked almost always.

But not with Buck.
Of course not.

Just as Eddie turned into the main hallway, he heard the voice he’d spent the whole night trying to forget:

—Eddie? Did you finally lern to think before speaking, or are we still improvising?

Eddie stoped. Closed his eyes for a second. Breathed.
When he turned, Buck was leaning on the wall, arms crossed, wearing the team shirt. The orange suited him so well it felt like an insult.

—What a surprise, you sticking your nose where it doesnt belong —Eddie said, walking past him.

Obviously, Buck followed.

—I don’t stick my nose anywhere. I’m just where everyone wants me to be.

—And you think I care —Eddie snapped, stopping abruptly. Buck almost ran into him.

—Oh, Eddie. You care more than anyone.

Eddie clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.

—You’re not even on my radar.

Buck smiled like he'd just heard the best joke.

—Then you should check it. It's broken.

Eddie shoved his shoulder to move past him. Buck didn’t budge. Instead, he stepped closer.

—Why do you do this? —Eddie asked, exhausted—. Why don’t you go smile at your fans or sign hats or whatever you do to feel important?

Buck tilted his head.
A small gesture.
But on him, it looked lethal.

—Because this is fun.

—Annoying me? —Eddie growled.

—No. Watching you fight something you can’t control.

Something twisted in Eddie’s chest.

—And what exactly can’t I control? —he asked, low, challenging.

Buck held his gaze. Didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk.

—Your reactions to me —he said.

Heat rose up Eddie’s neck.

—You mean nothing to me —he lied effortlessly.

Buck raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

—Sure. That’s why yesterday you almost smashed me into a truck.

—You asked for it.

—I always ask for it —Buck said, and Eddie swallowed, throat tight.

That tone. That damn tone.

—Let me ask you something, Eddie —Buck said suddenly, stepping even closer, close enough that Eddie leaned back without meaning to.

—Don’t ask me anything.

—Too late —Buck grinned—. I want you to stay like this.

Eddie frowned.

—Like what?

Buck looked him over slowly.

—Fierce. Impossible. Dangerous.
I don't want the diplomatic version of you. I want this one.

A knot twisted in Eddie’s stomach.

—Why do you even care?

Buck stepped back—finally. But before he left, he gave him a small, almost private smile.

—Because if I’m gonna beat you… —his voice dipped— I want to beat all of you.

Eddie blinked.
The hallway tilted.

—I’m going to destroy you —he said quietly.

Buck shrugged.

—Then destroy me, Eddie.
But stop doing it only in your head.

Eddie froze.

And Buck walked away, leaving him breathless.

Eddie spent the rest of the day with the frase bouncing in his skull.
Stop doing it only in your head.

Because Buck didn’t know. He coudn’t know.
…Could he?

Night fell over Singapore. Eddie went up to the 18th-floor terrace to clear his mind. The city glowed beneath him like a giant, living thing. He leaned on the railing, breathing in the hot air.

A door opened behind him.

No.
No, no, no.

—Here again? —Buck asked casually.

Eddie didn’t turn.

—Are you following me?

Buck stood beside him.

—No. The universe just has great comedic timing.

Eddie sighed. He really coudn’t deal with this. Not today.

Buck spoke first.

—Why do you hate me so much?

Eddie opened his eyes.
He hadn't expected that.

—I don’t hate you —he lied.

Buck smiled without looking at him.

—Eddie… I’m not stupid.

Silence settled between them.

—I don’t hate you —Eddie repeated, quieter this time—. It’s just that…

Buck waited. Too patient.

—You’re a reminder —Eddie finally said.

Buck frowned.

—Of what?

Eddie inhaled sharply. Almost said it.
Almost admitted the truth he never told anyone:

That Buck was proof that time moved on.
That someone younger, faster, brighter had arrived.
That the world didn’t orbit Eddie anymore.

But he didn’t say it.

—Of nothing —he muttered.

Buck watched him for a long second.

—Let me tell you something, Eddie —he murmured—. I didn’t come here to replace you.
I came to compete against you.

Eddie swallowed hard.

Buck stepped back.

—Tomorrow in practice… —he smirked— I’m not letting you breathe.

—Good —Eddie said—. That’s exactly how I like it.

Buck gave him one last look, eyes shining like trouble.

—Get some sleep —he whispered—. You’ll need it to keep up with me.

And then he left.

Eddie watched him go.

And he’d never admit it, but his heartbeat didn’t calm down for a long, long minute.