Chapter Text
Bahrain is always so fucking hot.
Yunho had never gotten quite used to it, even after so many years of racing here. It was February, not even March, but somehow despite being in what was supposed to be winter, Bahrain never failed to feel like the worst of summer. So much sand. So much sun. You almost had to wonder if you’d woken up and found yourself in a bad dystopian film, being in Sakhir. The race last year sure felt like one, at any rate. If he had his say he’d never race another day here.
But he’s getting ahead of himself now.
Having the number ‘1’ on his car doesn’t make any of it less hellish. Yunho hates this place. In a week, he’ll take to the track, watch the red lights blink out, and go racing once more. He doesn’t intend on losing.
Today, though? Today—
It’s the start of a new season. The cockpit is nothing more than a cocoon. Yunho’s ready for rebirth. He feels famished for it, actually.
That is to say: the W16 is so warm under his hands. It is just like him. Some kind of skittish animal, waiting for the cage to unlatch. So hungry it could eat itself whole. Lying in wait. Always wanting.
Desperately needing to become more.
The lights above the starting line aren’t on today. No need for that when it’s only testing. But still, he watches them get closer as he thunders down the straight. Maybe it’s an aftereffect, or perhaps wishful thinking, but he can almost see them blinking, nothing more than a red glint in the hazy air. All-seeing eye of providence, or some similar kind of poetic bullshit.
Whatever. Yunho doesn’t have time for things like that right now. He’s got fifteen corners and three hours ahead of him. He’s got laps to put in, times to beat. He’s got a car to drive.
Speaking of which—it’s rumbling now. Under him. Around him. With him.
Yunho steps on the pedal and lets it rip. Growling will get you nowhere. Who will hear you if you don’t roar?
2025 BAHRAIN GRAND PRIX
[FIA THURSDAY PRESS CONFERENCE - BAHRAIN]
DRIVERS - JEONG Yunho (Mercedes), LEE Mark (Ferrari), KANG Daniel (Red Bull), CHOI San (McLaren), KWON Soonyoung (Alpine)
Q: Let’s start with our reigning world champion. Yunho, I’m sure you’re the talk of the paddock right now. I hope it’s been a good winter break for you? Last year, we saw that the development with Mercedes had its ups and downs. How are you feeling ahead of the first race? Did the car feel promising at testing?
JEONG Yunho: That’s a lot of questions in a row! First off, I just want to say that it’s great to be back. Winter break was definitely needed to reset, but I’m all ready to get racing again. And about the car… hah, ups and downs is one way to describe what we had going on last year. Some tracks the car felt like it could be as fast as the Red Bull and the Ferrari, some tracks it felt like we were nowhere near the pace. I think it’s too early to tell where we are with this year’s car. Last year’s testing was tougher, though, and look where we ended up. I think there’s still anything and everything to play for.
Q: And does it feel good to be driving the number 1 car this year?
JY: Well, it certainly doesn’t hurt. It’s shiny, isn’t it? (Laughter from the crowd)
Q: Mark, we’ll come to you. Last year you were so close to the championship by the smallest of margins. Do you think this is your year? I’ve got to say, the scarlet Ferrari looked mighty quick in testing.
LEE Mark: It’s okay, you can say it. Losing a championship by four points isn’t exactly how I wanted last year to go either. Would have been won if not for this guy. (He nudges KANG Daniel, who is sitting next to him, who nudges back playfully.) The car this year is just as fast as it was last year. I think where the difference will matter is in my mindset. Last year I was just coasting along because the car was fast. This year I know what needs to be done. You can say I’m loaning the #1 out to Yunho for now. It’ll come back to where it belongs soon enough.
Q: On that topic, Daniel, how are you feeling after last year? I hate to have to rehash the past when we’re just starting a new season, but you were pretty frustrated the last time we saw you in Las Vegas. Has the winter break refreshed your thoughts on that?
KANG Daniel: Haha, Mark and I have talked about it and made up. It was unfortunate, what happened in Las Vegas, but it’s how racing goes sometimes. It sucks, of course, to be looking at a possible championship going into the final race and then take both you and your biggest competitor out because of some unlucky lock-up. I’m not going to let the points be close enough this year for that to be an issue again, that’s for sure. The winter break was good, went skiing in Switzerland, took some time off to be with my family. I’m ready to get my head back in the game. I’m just focused on the race ahead now. Last year we won here by a pretty big margin. A repeat of that would be a good start to the season.
Q: San, how has development been going on at the MTC over the winter? We saw a rough start for McLaren in 2024, but the car showed some serious pace towards the end of the year and you were up there fighting for podiums and even wins. Will we see you up there in the front of the field this year, maybe even getting that elusive first win?
CHOI San: I feel like I say this every year, but I’m excited this year, I really am. The car felt smooth to drive in testing, and you saw how it looked. It’s pretty fast. Yeah, for sure I think we’ll be up there fighting for podiums and wins this year. The end of last year showed that the age of Red Bull domination is over—no offence, Daniel—Mercedes and Ferrari are already in the mix. What’s to say McLaren can’t be up there too?
Q: Soonyoung, perhaps a question on the other end of the spectrum. You’ve signed a new multi-year contract with Alpine over the winter. Could we get some details on that? Or is that still top-secret? How do you see the season playing out? As San was saying, the playing field is still unknown. Do you guys have an ace up your sleeves for the year?
KWON Soonyoung: I’m incredibly grateful to Alpine for the opportunity they’ve given me. I’m committed to bringing them back to the top of the grid for the next while. It’s a long contract, that’s all I can say! As for the season, I think it’s too early for us to be fighting among the fastest teams, but I think we can fight for some good points and a podium here and there. It’s too hard to predict where the season will go yet. We know the Red Bull is fast, and the Ferrari and the Mercedes guys were consistently up there too. While these guys (he gestures at other 4 drivers) take each other out, I’m sure we’ll find a few miracles here and there.
Q: Yunho, let’s go back to you. This year, you’re defending a title, not on the attack for one. Does it feel any different to be walking back into the paddock knowing that?
JY: Hmm, obviously it’s not too different. The paddock is still the same with a lot of old faces, and I’ve raced here a ton of times, but I do feel more eyes on me. Seems like I’ve suddenly made a lot of enemies over the winter. It’s like I’ve got a walking target on my back. Guess I better watch out. (He laughs.)
Q: Do you think this will be another year for the Silver Arrows to be on top?
JY: Like I said, it’s difficult to tell so early on. I know there was a lot of… talk, last year, with the way I won. I don’t mean to demean the results of the team, but I think we all know it wasn’t really a year where we were ‘on top’ of anything, so to say. But on the other hand, of course people will say that I only won because of luck, or because Daniel took Mark out in Las Vegas, but they’re free to say anything they want when they haven’t driven a day in the kind of car we have. Yeah, I got lucky, but I worked hard to get myself into a position where that luck could pay off. In the end, I did what I could and it just played out in my favor. There’s no point thinking about ‘if’s. ‘If’ the car was faster I would have won the championship three races before when I did. ‘If’ I hadn’t had that shunt in Austria last year it wouldn’t have come down to the last race. You see, you can say anything as long as you tag ‘if’ in front of it. I don’t think about those things. I’m more focused on what’s to come.
Q: And is what’s to come another championship for you?
JY: That’s the question everybody’s asking, isn’t it? I hear that most people are saying no. As it happens, I’ve got twenty-four races to prove them wrong. That’s a lot of time for them to eat their words.
Q: Do you think the negativity will fuel you to do better? You’ve said before that you actually drive better when you’re angry. How has the situation around your championship last year affected you?
JY: I’m not blind. I see what they’re saying about me. Let’s just say I’ve got plenty of anger left in me. All that’s left is to put it on the track.
Q: I certainly hope to see your year end in champagne showers. Mark, moving on to you…
And, well, all that big talk is good and all, but in reality—
The race is a shitshow. It’s bad enough to be starting the race in third, but an errant Red Bull tapping him in the back into Turn 1 sends him skittering down the order before the first lap is even over, and he spends the next thirty laps of the race trying to get himself out of the midfield back towards the front. The car has enough pace advantage for him to cruise past the Alpines and the Williams easily enough, but the McLarens get feisty with him and he wastes too many laps trying to make the same overtake down the pit straight until he finally gets it to stick by Lap 42, and by then it’s too late to make anything proper out of what’s left of the race.
Worse than that: The car is absolute shit too. He’d been playing it cool in the interviews, but it wasn’t as though everybody hadn’t heard him and Jinyoung bitching about the crazy amount of bouncing the car was doing around every corner for all three days of testing last week, and it hadn’t been enough time for them to figure out a proper fix. At least they managed to get the balance better so they weren’t wildly oversteering in the left-handers and then understeering in the right, but the car is pure torture to drive, and it’s only because Bahrain’s corners are comparatively wide that he’s making it through at all. The pain at the base of his spine has long since radiated out until he can feel it in every bone in his body, gritting his teeth as he sets off after the slower Ferrari in the race, snarling at his engineer to stop giving him irrelevant information while he tries to chase down what is clearly a faster car.
It takes another five laps for him to catch up to the fight between the Ferrari and a Red Bull ahead, screwing his eyes shut every time the pain in his back flares up and ignoring the crackle in his ear from whatever the hell his engineer’s telling him.
Sixth-place. He reminds himself. All this bullshit and he’s still in sixth fucking place. If all he walks out with today is a crappy P6 and 8 measly points, he might break something and he’s going to make sure it hurts.
Lap 50: the Ferrari ahead is within sight. He launches a surprise attack that almost lets him sneak by in Turn 4, but the Ferrari is a rocketship down the straights and he’s not close enough to get it to work.
Lap 51: ahead, the Red Bull backs the Ferrari up and he has another go, trying to go the long way around Turn 1. No luck. His tires are completely fucked after a bad strategy call to swap early to undercut which only let him out into more traffic, and with DRS enabled for the car in front giving it a boost he doesn’t have a chance.
Lap 52: closer, even closer. The Ferrari makes a lunge for the Red Bull and he follows suit, banking on one of them making a mistake. The track here is wide enough they can go three-wide if there’s enough space, so he makes an impulsive move down the inside that gets sealed off pretty quick and has to back out of it lest he loses a front wing. His engineer turns on the radio with some vague implication he should complain about something, anything to see if they can stick a penalty and gain a position that way, and he makes some insincere protest over how the Ferrari is moving under braking ahead of him just to appease them. He says something rude right after to get them to shut up and leave him alone.
Lap 53: he tries the same move again. Sealed off, again. God fucking damnit.
Lap 54: he’s only four-tenths behind this time and he floors it into Turn 1. The Red Bull’s peeled away a little, though it’s still dragging the Ferrari along with DRS, but it doesn’t matter, if Yunho doesn’t make the move now he’s not going to get another change with how his tires are going off. Cutting into the inside lane, he deploys whatever’s left in his battery in a fit of desperation. The rear of the car threatens to slide out under him in a horrible wobble when he cuts in front of the Ferrari, but he just barely manages to hold on to fifth place by the time they’re emerging from Turn 2, grimacing as he realises the Red Bull has taken off far enough to be out of the 1-second DRS range. The Ferrari will come back at him in Turn 4, he knows, but a bad exit out of Turn 3 means he’s forced to take the outside line. The car is a piece of shit that feels undriveable, barely turning in the corners when he’s asking it to and turning too much in others, but he’s just got to keep his head down if he wants to salvage anything out of this race. He’s just got to—
[SKY SPORTS LIVE: 2025 BAHRAIN GRAND PRIX]
YOO Jaesuk: Kim Jongin makes a risky move down the inside, and oh, that’s a nasty lock-up from the Ferrari. He’s still trying to make the move work—oh! Oh! There’s contact between the two, he’s just driven right into the side of Jeong Yunho’s Mercedes!
KIM Jaejoong: That’s both of them out of this race, isn’t it?
YOO: Yunho is trying to get his car moving again, but there’s got to be a massive hole in the sidepod where the Ferrari just kind of barreled into him. His race is over. The first race of the year, and the defending champion is out of the race on Lap 54 out of 57. He’s not going to be a happy camper about that one.
KIM: Hold on a second—we’re just now getting the confirmation that both drivers are ok.
[KIM Jongin Radio Transcript - Lap 54/57]
KIM: Ah, [s**t]. I crashed, sorry.
PIT: Red flag, red flag. Are you okay?
KIM: Yeah, I’m okay. Ah, [f**k]. Sorry guys, don’t know what went wrong there. Just understeered. [S**t]. [S**t]! Ah, I’m so sorry.
PIT: No worries, Jongin. We come back stronger next week. Switch the car off, repeat, please switch the car off. There’s debris on the track. It’s not likely the race will resume.
KIM: Did Mark get overtaken?
PIT: Negative. He is P1 right now.
KIM: Copy that. Is Yunho okay?
PIT: We are checking.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 54/57]
PIT: Yunho, are you okay?
JEONG: What the [f**k]? What the [F**K]? He just drove into me!
PIT: Yes, Yunho, we saw that. It’s been reported.
JEONG: For [F**K]’s sake, is he blind? What the [f**k] was that?
PIT: It’s okay, Yunho, still early in the year. Switch to Mode Blue, Mode Blue, and then climb out of the car.
JEONG: Unbelievable. Just un-[f**k]ing-believable.
YOO: Haha, looks like Yunho’s more than fine. Wow, he’s not usually one to get fired up so aggressively. He’s generally pretty sunny, isn’t he? He did seem pretty short during the Thursday media pen. Wonder if the stress is getting to him.
KIM: I mean, you’ve got to feel for him. He's the champion, but it doesn’t feel like that at all. If anything, Mark’s the guy everybody’s putting their money on. If I was him, I’d be feeling like I’d have a lot to prove too. And to be taken out of the first race like that—it can’t be a good feeling.
YOO: What was it he said in the press conference? That he drives better angry? If it’s anger he’s looking for to fuel him through this season, I’m sure that will have just topped the tank right up.
KIM: Well, he’s got to get back up to speed fast. That’s ten points down the drain—while his main rivals are in 1st and 2nd. It’s going to sting, watching his teammate round out the podium for today.
YOO: It’s official: the race will not restart. It’s a good day for Ferrari as their driver takes the first win of the season, and an even better day for Red Bull as they run away with the biggest haul of points in 2nd and 4th. Park Jinyoung from Mercedes will go home with a trophy, while his teammate—the defending champion—will go home with nothing at all.
KIM: It’s an interesting start to the season, isn’t it?
YOO: Very interesting indeed, Jaejoong. We’ll have to wait and see how Jeong bounces back from this next week, when we’ll be going to Jeddah, down in Saudi Arabia. Up next, we have…
Was Jeong Yunho’s championship just a fluke? F1 is back—and its reigning champion is out in the first race
3 March 2025
SAKHIR, Bahrain - It’s lights out and away we go at Bahrain International Circuit, where the sun is setting in the distance as twenty of the world’s fastest drivers line up in front of the starting line for what is sure to be an exciting season of Formula 1.
After the debacle in Las Vegas last year—where reigning champion Jeong Yunho clinched the championship by only four points over rival Mark Lee after an incident between Lee and Red Bull driver Kang Daniel saw both of them crash out of the race—all eyes were on Jeong as we headed into the season opener.
Jeong has been subjected to much criticism since the end of last season, with many refusing to acknowledge his title as world champion. Heading into the 2024 season finale in Las Vegas just over twenty points below then-championship leader Lee and fifteen below Kang in second, it seemed like Jeong Yunho’s championship hopes were to be dashed for the second year running. But the pendulum swung in his favor when a Lap 43 incident between Kang and Lee sent both of them into the barriers and out the race, while Jeong cruised home to take the championship for the first time.
The twenty-five year old Mercedes driver has commented on all the controversy surrounding his championship win.
"People will say whatever they want to say,” Jeong said, in an interview with Motorsports.net last December, a week after his championship win at Las Vegas. “I know, and everybody who has been on this journey with me knows, that it wasn’t just luck that got us the trophy.”
However, it seems this year he won’t have the same luxury of ‘luck’ on his side, after a lackluster qualifying where he had the third fastest time, two-tenths slower than Lee in his Ferrari and Kang in his Red Bull. Contact with the other Red Bull of Sung Hanbin caused him to have to pit early for a nose change, and he exited the pits in 13th place. He would climb his way back to P6, tucking up behind the Red Bull of Sung and Ferrari’s Kim Jongin, who later crashed into him on Lap 54, effectively ending both of their races.
Jeong was frustrated after the race, which was won by Lee, with Kang coming in second and Mercedes teammate Park Jinyoung in third.
“It was just so unnecessary. I had made the move in an earlier corner fair and square, and he (Kim) came back at me in Turn 4 trying to push me off the track.” he said. “First the contact with Hanbin, and then with Jongin. It’s just been a weekend to forget.”
When asked if he suspected that the aggression had ramped up due to his status as world champion, Jeong refused to comment.
“Let’s not make rumors and accusations out of nothing,” he said. “I’ve always gotten along well with Jongin, and he’s already apologised to me. It was racing that was on the limit, and a little over the limit as well, but in the heat of the moment you go for all the moves that you get. I’m not happy about how the race ended for us, but it is what it is.”
It was certainly a departure from his attitude after the crash, when he said over the radio that Kim was “f***ing blind” and “stupid, just so stupid”. Jeong has since apologised for those comments. Kim similarly waved them off in an interview, citing that he understood how high emotions can run during a race.
Lee sailed across the finish line four seconds ahead of Kang to take the first win of the season, racking up 25 points on the scoring board. He added an extra point to his total by also taking home the fastest lap, with a 1:33.127 on lap 38.
“It’s unlucky for Yunho and Jongin,” he said in the post-race press conference. “But a perfect weekend on my end, so I’m not going to complain.”
Kang, two-time world champion (2022, 2023), was also disappointed after the race.
“I thought we had the pace to do better,” said Kang, who won the race in Bahrain last year by a comfortable eight second margin. Red Bull have consistently been the leading car since 2017, having won the Constructors’ Championship every year excluding 2021, where Mercedes clinched the title with the help of 2020 and 2021 champion Jeong Yuno.
Jeong Yuno—or Jeong Jaehyun, as he later announced a legal change in name—is reigning champion Jeong Yunho’s cousin. In fact, the current champion is the third of his name to make it to the highest echelon of motorsport, following 2010 world champion Jeong Yunho (born 1986) and F1 legend Jeong Yunho (born 1944), who won four championships with Lotus (1969, 1971, 1972, 1974) and was the youngest world champion in F1 history at the time.
Jung Sungchan, another cousin, is participating in this year’s NASCAR championships. Jeong Seunghwan, currently racing with Prema Racing in F2, is also part of the family.
Back to the present: are Jeong Yunho’s hopes for a second championship already gone, after just one race? He goes into this season with a lot to prove, and a lot riding on his shoulders. Jeong has stated he will prove to those who call his championship win a fluke that he can earn the title without relying on others’ misfortune, but with an ironically unfortunate end to his first race this year, we’re left to see whether he will sink or swim.
We head to Jeddah in Saudi Arabia next week, where Jeong and the other 19 drivers will get another chance to battle for gold, and the sweet taste of champagne at the end of 50 laps of one of F1’s trickiest circuits.
2025 SAUDI ARABIAN GRAND PRIX
Jeddah goes… better, but that’s hardly any consolation with how much of the weekend he spends miserably dragging the car through the tight and twisting corners of one of the narrowest circuits on the calendar. The bad news had broken on Tuesday: the engineers back at the factory were completely baffled over the issue with the excessive bouncing, which hadn’t shown up on any of the simulators, and now the two of them were stuck with the current set-up for the foreseeable future. Somehow, the car feels even worse here than in Bahrain, porpoising front and back through the hairpin turns like one of those playground attractions.
The only small scrap of good news he gets all weekend long is that the Ferraris are also struggling, with how quickly the low speed corners were eating up their tires. Mark had been right on his tail towards the start of the race, but had quickly reported severe graining on his front left, and had dropped away as the race wore on. Yunho starts the race in fourth, and an unlucky slow pitstop for Jinyoung and a good overtake on Daniel has him hunting down Hanbin for the lead of the race by Lap 38. He doesn’t expect it to go anywhere, with the tire degradation ramping up each lap and having to defend from faster cars behind, but he manages to bring the gap down from five seconds to three by the time they cross the finish line, and after the disaster of last week Yunho’s just happy to have finished the race with his car still in one piece.
Whatever joy he can scourge up at being on his first podium of the year is dulled by the dull pain in his lower back as he crawls out from the car, and he fights the urge to rub any knots and sores until he’s in private, unwilling to give the cameras any discomfort to pick up on. All the fighting on track meant he was distracted enough in the second half of the race to get his mind off how much the car was throwing him around with every minor bump or turn, but the residue ache from last week and all the new hurt that had bloomed in the wake of the last three days stacked together to create an excruciating cocktail of exhaustion-pain-irritation that was hard to ignore.
He’s dreading it when he gets herded towards the media pen, schooling his face into a smile when the microphones around his station all swivel in his direction. When Nayoung had come to pick him up at parc fermé, she had tutted disapprovingly at the grim look on his face, and Yunho knew she was expecting him to keep any furious comments about the car to himself. It wasn’t as though she was completely heartless. She had congratulated him on the second-place and kindly brought along a new bottle of ice water for the heat. She hadn’t even said anything when he had poured it all over his head, gingerly stepping back when he shook it out of his hair, sending a spray of droplets everywhere. But the look she shot him right before they entered the media pen was nothing if not a blaring warning to behave.
And, well, as mouthy as he’s gotten in the last few months, he’s still not brave enough to risk pissing her off. They liked each other decently enough, and Yunho wasn’t a particularly fussy charge compared to some of the other characters on the grid, but she was Yuno—Jaehyun’s PR manager before he had retired and Yunho had joined in his stead. Sometimes, Yunho catches her looking at him weirdly, her eyes distant, and he wonders if she’s seeing somebody else where he stands.
In truth, it was a common pattern with most of Yunho’s side of the garage. Nobody had expected Jaehyun’s retirement. He hadn’t said anything to anybody before the sudden announcement at Yeongam, a month before he’d win his second championship. Yunho, as the successor to his seat, had naturally inherited all of his mechanics and engineers, including Junmyeon, who had been Jaehyun’s race engineer since 2014.
Yunho likes to think he’s bonded with them since joining the team three years ago, but it’s… odd. Odder still, that Jaehyun is his cousin, and they practically share the same name. Yunho wasn’t particularly close with his cousin, but it didn’t take a genius to see Mercedes had built itself around Jaehyun during the five years he spent with them, and his absence was still sorely felt. When he won his first championship in 2020, and was on track to win a second in 2021, people were looking to him—the team was looking to him to win a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. He was supposed to be the one to lead them into another era of domination, after the disaster seasons of the mid 2010s. Instead, he had made his mark and bowed out gracefully.
It was… complicated, to say the least. Sometimes, Yunho still wasn’t sure how he felt about it all.
Contrary to popular opinion, Yunho hadn’t been privy to Jaehyun’s retirement beforehand either, cousin or not. Like everybody else, he had been entirely blindsided by the announcement. He was still driving for Williams then, lying in wait for a seat at Mercedes to open up, but anybody could have seen that he was vastly outperforming the car, and it was time for him to move on. It made him guilty to think about now, but he had been in talks with a few other teams at the time, talking with Renault, talking with McLaren, talking with Red Bull. It had been apparent, back then, that as much as he wanted to stay with Mercedes, there was no space for him in the near future. There were years until Jinyoung was old enough to think about retirement, and Jaehyun was world champion. Yunho was young, hungry, and desperate for a car that fought for more than P13s and P14s every weekend. He wanted podiums and wins, not to be congratulated on barely making it to the points.
If he had known Jaehyun was looking to hand the mantle down, he wouldn’t have spent so much time looking elsewhere. It hadn’t even taken 24 hours for the news to break before Kyuwook had come to him, and the deal was done before the weekend was even over. Yunho still remembers that day in vivid detail, the overcast skies, the way his hand had shook when he signed the contract, and, well, everything that happened right after.
But that’s a story for later. The point is: Yunho is undeniably the first driver at Mercedes. They had been favoring him, even before he’d done anything to deserve it, just by proxy of being Jaehyun’s cousin. Even when he was new to the team, their eyes were on him, not Jinyoung, to deliver another championship. It was no secret that the 2023 car was built to accommodate him, even if it all went to shit in the end.
Mercedes is Yunho’s team. But still—there’s a part of him that wonders if it’s only that way because it was Jaehyun’s team first, and with him gone, they had simply settled for the next best thing.
Really, Yunho tries not to think about it that way. It’s been years since he’s joined the team, and they’ve welcomed him into the fold long ago. It wasn’t fair to look at every passing person with suspicion, analysing if they were seeing him or somebody else, keeping them at a distance until they met his entirely arbitrary criteria. Even so, there was a part of him that he hates to admit exists which can’t shake the thought that it would have been better if it had been Jinyoung’s side of the garage he had inherited.
But, well, there was nothing to do about it now.
A camera flashes in his face, breaking him out of the train of thought. Focus, he scolds himself, trying to parse together whatever question had been asked of him. It was mostly standard, and he fields the questions about the race easily enough. It wasn’t like he had done anything particularly noteworthy. He gives some basic affirmations that he expects to be back on the top step soon enough, and that it’s early enough in the season that the title could go to anyone. True enough, but nothing more than fluffy bullshit to get them off his back. What did they want him to say? Did they want him to cuss and vow vengeance on the other drivers? The Netflix crew who were probably hiding around with mics in their hands would love that, but he didn’t feel like giving them the satisfaction today.
It’s not like he could have gotten away with it, anyways. There were drivers on the grid whose career could survive a really bad tantrum, and Yunho knew he wasn’t one of them. Jaehyun was perhaps the most polite driver the sport had ever seen, and definitely the most soft-spoken world champion in the last few decades. He never picked a fight, barely cursed, had a weird sense of humor that seemed to endear him to the masses rather than ostracise him. Some had called him boring for it, but regardless there were expectations for Yunho to live up to the same, especially when he had essentially assumed Jaehyun’s position after his retirement.
In the next beat, one of the reporters makes a passing reference to dogfighting and whether he feels like it compares to the current state of racing, and Yunho fights to keep his smile without having it contort into a grimace. His answer comes wooden and short, and he can feel Nayoung’s burning glare at his back, then comes the subtle nudge for him to get his shit together. Yunho doesn’t scowl at her, no matter how much he wants to. It wasn’t his fucking fault some newspaper article had compared him to a golden retriever when he had been seventeen and somehow it had stuck. He had been far greener then, young enough to still be mooning over the reality that he was a Mercedes driver on the right path to Formula 1. Back then, it felt like he couldn’t stop smiling.
The thing with the dog comparisons—Yunho honestly didn’t mind it that much, when it all started. It did wonders for his image to be linked to connotations like friendly and affable and easy-going. When you’re likeable, you’re marketable, and that was the kind of thing that could make the difference when you’re—in nicer terms—job hunting in a sea of other hopefuls.
Besides, it wasn’t as though he was going to complain about an easy branding opportunity, at the very least. Smack a doodle of a cute golden retriever in a helmet on a hoodie, mark the price up, and watch those suckers fly off the shelf. He was making revenue with very little effort on his part, if nothing else.
But as time went on, it started to simmer under his skin. Not in the sense that it wore out—on the contrary, his popularity was at an all time high, and he couldn’t go anywhere without fans coming up to him with dog plushies and t-shirts and all sorts of unimaginable things (he’d been asked to sign a packet of instant noodles, once) for him to autograph, but more in the sense that friendly and affable and easy-going became less of selling points, and more of expectations. He wasn’t just friendly and affable and easy-going, he was always friendly and affable and easy-going. And on the off chance he let the mask slip, the blowback for one frown or critising word in an interview was worse than what others were getting for career-ending fuck-ups.
The dog thing started to bother him, after that.
But still—a dog cannot help having teeth, dull as they may be. It is only natural that it bites, when pushed to the limit.
2025 AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX
Cali5 21 3 @fastlap · 53m
jesus christ is Jeong trying to kill somebody??
Formula 1 @F1 · 46m
LAP 14/58
⚠️ 10 SECOND PENALTY TO JEONG YUNHO FOR CAUSING A COLLISION ⚠️
Mercedes’ porpoising issues continue in Australia! The Mercedes is currently running in P3 and will have to serve his penalty at his next pitstop.
#F1 #AustraliaGP
Mercedes Updates @SilverArrowsNet · 44m
🎙️| Pit to Yunho:
“You have been given a ten-second penalty.”
Yunho: “For what?”
“The contact with Sung in Turn 4.”
Yunho: “What the fuck?”
“We will wait to pit. Keep your head down, Yunho. Still a lot left of the race to go.”
Lara @yunhocentric · 23m
holy shit do you guys see how much the car is bouncing? that shot from the cockpit looked insane
Cassie @11alltheway · 19m
Jinyoung’s been on the radio complaining since lap 4 🚬🚬 it’s so over i fear
forza sempre @ferrarired · 14m
lollllll and they said Jeong was going to have this year’s championship in the bag
Mercedes Updates @SilverArrowsNet · 8m
🎙️| Yunho:
“I’m understeering like crazy here. The car is fucking undriveable, man.”
He is currently in P5…
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 58/58]
PIT: P6, Yunho, well done. That was the best we could have gotten this weekend.
JEONG: Ah, the [f**k]ing penalty. The car is seriously [f**k]ed, man. We need to fix this.
PIT: Copy that, Yunho. Let’s discuss this later.
JEONG: Late—[f**k]ing hell, guys. We don’t need to wait until later to see that the car is [s**t]. I can’t turn without feeling like I’m going through a bad patch of turbulence. We’re not going to win anything like this, I can tell you right now.
KIM Kyuwook: Yunho, we know. We’ll talk about it at the debrief. Just park the car and we’ll talk about it.
JEONG: …Fine. Whatever you say.
He’s in agony when they lift him out of the car, breathing heavily as he gets weighed and then set free, unbuckling himself from the HANS as quickly as he can and shoving it into the hands of the first mechanic he sees. He sighs out loud when he sees Nayoung coming around the corner to pick him up, already rehearsing the standard answers that won’t get him in trouble. A weekend to forget, we’ll come back stronger, the track didn’t suit our car. Anything but the car is a piece of shit and I don’t want to drive it, which was the truth of the matter.
At least Jinyoung is there to commiserate with him. They bump shoulders on the way back to the motorhome, exchanging complaints and painful grimaces, too exhausted to even summon up a smile after the circus that had been post-race media. Despite the brisk weather, with the light breeze and plenty of sun, Yunho cloaks himself in the most oversized windbreaker this year’s team kit had to offer, hiding the way he has to hunch over to minimise the pain in his back when he walks. Jinyoung’s doing even worse than him, and between the two of them there’s enough misery to power a city.
Thankfully they’re left mostly alone, and debrief is a clinical affair that ends in flowery assurances that the car is going to get better soon and they’ll be fighting for the championship this year, never mind that they’re already more than thirty points behind Red Bull and Ferrari in the Constructors’.
“It’s been three weeks already,” Jinyoung mutters to him, when they’re finally released from the farce and allowed to return to the privacy of their driver rooms. Yunho fidgets with his phone, sending a text to Hyunwoo to let his trainer know debrief was over and he could come up now. Every muscle in his body hurt, and he desperately needed a massage to iron out the knots in his lower back and neck. “You’d think they’d have a more concrete fix for the car by now.”
Yunho allows himself to groan. There was nobody but Mercedes staff around to hear him bitch about the car, and after today’s horror show they would all turn a blind eye and ear. “Fuck, I know right.” It wasn’t like last year’s car was the fastest either, but at least it was serviceable. Driving to make it through a full race in this year’s car felt like some kind of prolonged torture he hadn’t signed up for. “Let’s hope it gets better in time for Japan. Spending my week in the simulator, I guess.”
He feels more than sees Jinyoung’s sideways glance at him. “You’re flying to England right after? I thought we weren’t scheduled for the sim until next week.”
They weren’t. In fact, they were supposed to have the rest of the week until Sunday off, when they were needed back in the factory at Brackley to prepare. “Nah,” Yunho waves Jinyoung off before he can misunderstand. “I’m gonna head in on Tuesday, though. If the car’s still going to be as shit at Suzuka then the extra practice might help. The engineers will appreciate the feedback too.”
Jinyoung makes an interesting face, his nose scrunching up. Yunho can’t tell if it’s in approval or disgust. “You work too hard, man. Let them figure out the car. I think we’ve earned a few days at home after what they’ve put us through the last month. Chill out, relax a little.”
Yunho didn’t know how to explain that he didn’t have anything better going on anyways, and frankly, he couldn’t chill out, not at all, not when the latent anxiety of being so far behind his competitors was gnawing at him every waking moment. He was sixth in the standings. Sixth. He hadn’t been this far back even during the disastrous season he had in 2023. The talk around his championship was ramping up, and it felt like he couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the doubt in everybody’s eyes. It was driving him crazy.
He laughs Jinyoung’s comment off awkwardly, trying to find another topic to latch on to as a lifeline. He could just let the conversation die there, they were close enough to their rooms anyways. But he didn’t want Jinyoung to see the worry on his face. It would feel too much like he was conceding the last word.
Digging deep, he tries to come up with something trivial to ask. He saw from Instagram that Jinyoung had gone skydiving in Queensland the week before, and there was that show they were both vaguely watching which made for good banal conversation fodder during the long flights. Or maybe something about the song he’d been hearing through the wall all weekend. Their driver rooms were right next to each other, of course, and Yunho had been listening to the same beat playing over and over again from the room over. He had even caught himself humming it when he was waiting for FP3 to start. There was something familiar about the melody, even if Yunho could swear he’s never heard it before.
He opens his mouth, but waits a beat too long to say anything, and the moment is lost. By his side, Jinyoung opens the door to his room, offering him an acknowledging nod, and disappears inside, leaving Yunho standing there alone in the hallway.
Yunho exhales, breathing out through his nose. His infallible ability to miss the right timing had struck again. Wrongfooted, he slinks into his own room, relieved when he realises it’s still empty. Perhaps Hyunwoo and Yukwon had gotten tangled up. More likely, they were probably pulled aside by Kyuwook, who would undoubtedly come with a request that they wrangle Yunho back into the prim, proper and polite Mercedes-AMG Petronas or however it went driver he was supposed to be before the next weekend.
Slumping down onto the bench, he thunks his head back onto the wall, closing his eyes and letting the disappointment of the race wash over him. A minute or so later, the same opening notes he’s been plagued with for the past four days start reverberating again, and the sound that gets filtered through the divider comes tinny and distant. Jinyoung’s considerate enough not to be blasting it at full volume, but it’s still loud enough that Yunho can’t exactly tune it out. It’s not a particularly loud song, soft guitars and a steady beat, with some vocals that Yunho can’t make out the lyrics too. It’s nice. Not really his taste in music, but enjoyable enough for him not to have told Jinyoung to tone it down yet.
Without anything better to do, he pulls up Shazam on his phone, sticking it as close to the wall as possible for the best quality. Whatever. If he’s going to be haunted by this song for the foreseeable future, he might as well add it to his own playlist.
The loading bar on his screen seems to taunt him, and he holds his breath as it spins around once, twice, shuffling his phone so the audio input is facing the wall instead, if that even makes a difference. Listening for music. Searching for a match. Expanding search—
Tunnel
SONG MINGI
From: Desire (2024)
Ah.
Well, that would explain the familiarity.
Yunho sits there, feeling a sudden chill settle over his body, permeating through his bones, his blood, like the sun had suddenly shrivelled up outside. A few minutes later—though truthfully he didn’t know how much time had passed—somebody knocks on his door, and he scrambles to exit out of the app, swiping it out of his history before shoving his phone into the waistband of his fireproofs clumsily.
“Coming!” he calls, tasting iron in his mouth. It takes him a moment to realise that he’s bitten his lip hard enough for it to bleed.
INTERLUDE: THE MINGI THING
Alright, so. Mingi. It’s kind of a long story.
The thing about racing is that there’s always a story there, as long as you try to find it. As far as childhood racing rivals go, they found their way to each other in pretty typical fashion, not different from how other kids in their sport tend to meet.
Let’s run it back: Despite driving in all the same categories, Mingi started karting a year after Yunho did, so it wouldn’t be until 2012 when they met properly on track, becoming teammates for the first time. They’d spend the next three years advancing up the ladder as teammates, all the way until they joined different teams in Formula 4, back in 2015. By then, Yunho had just been picked up by Mercedes’ Junior Team, and not half a year later had Mingi been announced to join Red Bull’s. All eyes were on them to become the next hopefuls to make it to F1, and Yunho had no reason to doubt it, not when Mingi was the only competition who came close to beating him all those years, the two of them locked in fierce competition for the top step every race.
Racing Mingi had been the most exhilarating periods of Yunho’s life, one of the few things he can remember from the karting days. Besides winning, of course. He did a lot of winning. He had won nearly every category he’s ever competed in, besides two odd seasons when he’d been competing against kids much older than him in karting. By the time he arrived in F1, there was so much anticipation attached to his name it felt like he could fly, at certain moments.
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Back to Mingi—he’d quit at the end of 2016, just two seasons into single-seaters. Nothing had been the same after that. Back then, Yunho was certain they’d be able to stay friends, but he quickly found that without racing, there wasn’t much for the two of them to talk about, and they’d lost contact besides the occasional text. They’d both become too busy, Yunho with the rapid speed he was rocketing through the categories and Mingi with finishing high school and then university. The last Yunho had heard of him had been a congratulatory message when he won F3 in 2018.
That should have been the end of that. It had been a freak chance that had set them on the same paths again, when Mingi’s mom would run into Yunho’s at a mall a week before the 2021 Korean Grand Prix. They’d started talking, and it just so happened that Yunho’s brother and his girlfriend weren't available to attend the race, freeing up two tickets out of Yunho’s allotted number. Out of nostalgia, or whatever sudden strike of inspiration had hit her that day, Yunho’s mom had given Mingi’s the tickets, free of charge, and she had brought him along with her. And so, the two of them would meet again on a rainy afternoon on a weekend that would end up becoming one of the most hectic and significant events of Yunho’s life. After that, well—
Let’s just say it got a lot more complicated. It would take far too long to try and describe to you what the next three years would hold for them. How do you begin to explain what they did to each other? Mingi moved halfway across the world for him, Yunho came close to winning a championship, then they fell apart without having gotten together in the first place.
On that last one, Yunho will take the blame for. He knows now he’d been a fool not to put a name to what they had been doing.
But hindsight’s a bitch, and Yunho would still defend his choices knowing what he does now. There are too many details, too many minute events that could give him some justification, some reasoning as to his role in how it played out. Mingi understood how important racing was to him, how much he was willing to give to the sport, how ruthless Yunho had to be for a taste of victory. Besides, it wasn’t as though Mingi had fought for them, at the very end, when Yunho had asked for a break. Even if he was rightful in his reaction, after all he’d already done for Yunho, he still could have—
You’ll get the details later. But for now, you might ask: what’s so complicated about that? It just sounds like a messy break up, if you could even call it that.
Okay, so maybe it isn’t a long story at all. Maybe it only takes a quick synopsis to spot where it all went wrong.
To sum it up: They were something, something good. For two and half years, and maybe the nine before that, Yunho had it nestled right in the palm of his hands, shaped like the dip between Mingi’s shoulder blades. It wasn’t entirely tangible, and though at times Yunho felt a furious desire to twist the thread between them like he could wring the emotion out, it wasn’t particularly violent either. No—looking back, it had been really quite gentle, a chasm of longing that ran deeper than either of them knew what to do with. Right beneath the surface, there had been a pulse of hope that was desperately treading water, just beginning to see the light, almost ready to become more.
And then Yunho fucked it all up. Go figure, honestly. In literature, it’s the kind of thing they might call a fatal flaw—you’ll notice quickly that Yunho lives by precision, moves through life through a series of calculated perfections that are engineered to get him what he wants, even if it comes at the cost of his sense of self. It’s what makes him such a good driver, that ruthless willingness to sacrifice whatever it takes for the greater picture. But when it comes to the things that matter… well, if there’s a mistake to be made, Yunho tends to make it. By this point, regret is less of a consequence and more of an expectation.
So, he let Mingi walk away. Nine months and a championship later, he’s still reeling from the aftermath, stuck in freefall. He’s waiting for himself to hit the ground, however painful it may be, just so he can be put out of his misery.
Still, though, at the heart of it, maybe it’s not about the inevitability of the impact, the sudden death of the fall, all the hurt that will spring from the brunt of it. Maybe what Yunho is really worried about is whether or not there even is going to be a landing.
After all, Song Mingi is not exactly the kind of guy you move on from. Yunho probably should have realised that before he went and broke both of their hearts.
Go fucking figure.
2025 JAPANESE GRAND PRIX
The most horrifying thing about this whole ordeal is: once he starts thinking about Mingi again, it feels like he can’t stop.
It doesn’t help that they’re in Japan now and his face is everywhere, on billboards and posters, plastered over every street and shop window. He had just released a single with Yoasobi and it was playing on every single radio channel, every single day. Yunho couldn’t even find any reprieve in his own hotel room—his window had a view of a huge LED screen which played a thirty-second clip from Mingi’s last music video six times an hour.
Yunho knew Mingi had held concerts here in Nagoya and in Tokyo not two weeks ago. How? Besides the alleyways of posters that had yet to be torn down, Mingi was actively posting stories and pictures from each stop, thanking fans for stopping by. It wasn’t like Yunho was stalking him, but it wasn’t like he could unfollow Mingi’s account on his main, when he had 12 million followers that would go as far as to track whose photos he’s liked and how long it’s been since he’s posted. And everybody knew he and Mingi were friends, seeing as Mingi had attended pretty much every race from 2022 to 2023, until their… fallout.
Naturally, this was before Mingi’s big break. He had released Desire three months after the unnamed thing between them imploded and it had blown up, shooting right to the top of the charts. Yunho still hadn’t listened to it. When the album came out, the way things had ended was still too raw of a wound, and he was more focused on the championship than ever. At least, that was the justification he gave himself at the time. Afterwards, he just kept making excuses not to. He didn’t want to sound egoistical, but it was hard to dodge the assumption that at least a few of the songs were about him. He didn’t want to hear what Mingi had to say about him. He was too scared to, when he was sure there was nothing good left to be said.
But now, with Mingi’s newfound fame, it was getting harder and harder to avoid him. Even in the paddock, there were posters of him around. Apparently, he had been made ambassador for some brand of beer that was one of the main sponsors for the race, and there were flyers and posters of him chugging a can of it tacked onto every other vendor and stall.
It’s between FP1 and FP2 when he finds himself staring at one of those, resisting the urge to do something stupid and insane, like reaching out to trace along the edges of poster-Mingi’s smile. Despite everything, there was a sharp twinge of fondness that sprung in his gut when he saw how rigid’s Mingi’s matte smile looked. It seemed he still wasn’t used to being on camera just yet. Yunho kind of hoped that he would never grow out of it.
“Are the two of you still fighting?” He hears.
He whips around to find San standing there sipping the last dregs from a can of Monster. The man in question glances dubiously at poster-Mingi’s awkward grin as he strides over to come stand shoulder to shoulder, making the world’s least subtle gesture at his manager to give them some privacy.
“We’re not fighting,” Yunho snaps back before he can take the words back, irked by San’s callousness. It’s true, they’re not. How can they be fighting if they haven’t spoken in ten months?
San raises a brow. “That’s not what he said when we caught up over the winter.”
Oh, fuck him. Yunho was going to apologise for accidentally impeding him during FP1, but right now he’s more likely to strangle San with his bare hands than ever say sorry. What the hell did San know? As far as Yunho was aware, he and Mingi weren’t particularly close. Despite being the same age, San had spent most of the junior years one category behind him and Mingi since he started late, and Yunho hadn’t remembered him as more than a footnote in those years. If anything, Mingi had always been closer with Choi Jongho, who had gone off to race in NASCAR a few years ago.
“And that concerns me, how?” He snipes back, containing the frown that was beginning to crease over his face. Even in the paddock, it wouldn’t look good if he started to yell, and he was aware he was on thin ice with Nayoung after how sullen he had appeared in interviews the last few races.
It wasn’t always like this. Up until last year, he would have confidently said that San was his best friend on the grid. They had always gotten along like a house on fire, and though San couldn’t entirely fill the void Mingi had left when he had quit racing, Yunho was glad to have somebody he could stick by at parties and occasionally invite over to his hotel room to play FIFA with. It helped that McLaren hadn’t been in the championship conversation at all until very recently, and with a rookie teammate and an unreliable car they still weren’t really in contention to win either championships this year. Without the threat of competition potentially murking up the boundaries between what happened out on track and what went on off it, San had always been a safe choice of friends.
Yunho used to be friendlier with Mark—they had been teammates in F4—but they had talked less once Mark had been fast-tracked from Sauber to Ferrari only a year into F1, and even less when Yunho had been promoted to the big leagues as well. By the time they were competing for the title last year, Yunho would have called them cordial at best. It was hard to dislike somebody as easygoing as Mark, but it was hard to like him too, when he was the biggest obstacle between Yunho and the Drivers’ Championship.
At the start of last year, San and him were as tight as two peas in a pod. When they had come back from summer break, San had turned frosty, treating him with an uncharacteristic snarkiness. Summer break was, of course, when he and Mingi had their argument and subsequently fell out with each other. Yunho could only assume Mingi had told San about what went down, or maybe San had reached out after seeing nothing but silence on Mingi’s social media during the month after, but the damage was done regardless. Unless Yunho had committed some offence he didn’t know about somehow in the same time period, he couldn’t imagine what else he had done to piss San off so badly. Yunho wasn’t sure how it made him feel, to know that Mingi and San were still in relatively close contact.
Next to him, San reaches to straighten out the poster Yunho’s been looking at. The wind had blown it crooked, and Yunho bites down words that would only be more incriminating as he watches San smooths down the flapped over corner.
“Whatever,” San says, all faux casualness. Yunho can see the way his jaw is tight, though. San’s always worn his emotions on his face. “I don’t know why I even bother.”
Then, he goes, sticking his hands back into that obnoxiously orange—it’s not papaya, you pretentious fuck—hoodie of his and stalking off. Yunho waits five minutes, until he’s sure San is well out of sight, before he turns to follow, refusing to give the poster one last look as he leaves.
Focus. He reminds himself. He didn't know what he was thinking, stopping for so long. Reminiscing is for people stuck in the past, and Yunho has to face forward now. What else can he do, when all the past held were memories he’d rather forget?
[CHOI San Radio Transcript - Free Practice 2]
CHOI: [F**k]ing Yunho is in my way again.
PIT: We saw that, San. It’s been reported.
CHOI: Does he think he owns the track or what?
PIT: The stewards have noted the incident, San. We’ll talk to them afterwards.
CHOI: Good. Next time I won’t be so nice about it.
[NAKAMOTO Yuta Transcript - Free Practice 3]
NAKAMOTO: Ah, [f**k], I had a Mercedes in the middle of the track.
PIT: Nice save, Yuta. Do you have damage?
NAKAMOTO: I don’t think so. Might want to check the floor though, I had to go over the grass to avoid him. Was that Jeong? I don’t know what the [f**k]’s gotten into him this weekend. He’s driving like he’s blind.
PIT: Yes it was. Not sure what’s up with him. Box this lap for tires.
NAKAMOTO: Got it. Tell Jeong to wake up before he ruins somebody else’s lap.
[PARK Jinyoung Radio Transcript - Qualifying 3]
PIT: Good job, Jinyoung, good job. We are P2.
PARK: Woo! Back on the front row! Feels good to be up here again.
PIT: Great lap, watch out for the Alpine behind. They are on a timed lap.
PARK: Are the Red Bulls lapping faster?
PIT: Negative. Kang is P4 with a 28.8. Sung is crossing the line right now. He goes P5.
PARK: Wait. Where’s Yunho then?
PIT: He had a spin at the hairpin. Currently P9.
PARK: Is he going to have time to—never mind. Okay, copy.
Junmyeon tries to cheer him up when he makes it back to the garage, chattering about how there’s plenty of overtaking opportunities in Suzuka, and that the race was long and there was all the play for tomorrow. Yunho appreciates it, but he’s really not in the mood, and even Nayoung gets the sense to ease off him for the moment, letting him walk out of media after only answering three questions instead of the usual minimum of five.
Kyuwook pulls him aside after a frigid debrief, during which everybody was awkwardly skirting around Jinyoung’s P2 in hopes of not pissing him off, which just ends up pissing him off even more. He gets it, okay? The car was showing speed for the first time since the start of the season, and he had fucked it before the race had even begun. P9. It could be worse, but everybody knew it could be a lot better. Yunho’s not the strongest qualifier, but he should have been up there. At least he should have been ahead of the McLarens and the Red Bulls. They were going to be pains in the ass to overtake tomorrow, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Something about Kyuwook that Yunho really likes is how he’s straight to the point. Even during the awkward and, in hindsight, extremely embarrassing period last year following the mess that was summer break when everybody was treating Yunho with kid gloves, Kyuwook had always been straight to the point. Yunho always had a good relationship with him, even before he had become Mercedes’ team principal. Back in F4, when Yunho was still an up and coming name, Kyuwook had been the one to pick him out of the lineup of all the other hopefuls for Mercedes’ Junior Team. Yunho hadn’t desperately needed the funding that came with being in a Drivers’ Academy, but it had given him a clear promotion line with Prema in F3 and F2, and then Williams in F1. Driving for Mercedes, ever since they had picked him up, had always been an expectation.
The same straightforwardness applied here.
“Yunho, you’ve got to get it together,” Kyuwook tells him, a line of frustration running through his brow. Yunho bows his head and nods, feeling mortified that he had been fucking up badly enough for even the team principal to step in. Still, this sort of scolding is far preferred to any kind of attempt at gentleness. If Kyuwook had sat him down and asked him if everybody was alright, Yunho didn’t know how to respond. Somehow, telling your boss about how you were still hung up over your sort of ex after almost a whole year and it was gravely affecting your performance at work didn’t seem like the smartest idea.
He lets Kyuwook drone on about how he knows they got off to a bad start this year with the car, but the engineers back at the factory were working hard to fix it, and now Jinyoung had proven that their efforts weren’t in vain, but Yunho was their champion and they were looking to him to snag another trophy. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but still, a streak of guilt runs down his spine as he listens to Kyuwook talk about how many hours the engineers and the mechanics were putting in. The last few years had been tough on them. With regulation changes and Jaehyun’s retirement, they had struggled badly in 2022, and 2023, and the first half of 2024. Yunho might have won the Driver’s Championship last year, but he hadn’t been able to make up for the difference in points to bring home the Constructors’ as well. He had gotten his glory, but all the staff back at the factory had yet to see their hard work rewarded.
The entire team was trying their best. It wasn’t fair for Yunho to be caught up in personal matters, especially if it was bleeding over to his driving. He’s always prided himself on being somebody who can set aside his emotions once he was in the cockpit, that he would do whatever it takes to win. In truth, he’d been forgetting himself. The unexpected championship victory last year had given him a big head he hadn’t earned and he was being childish about the whole thing. It was one thing to act prissy in the media—even if it had been made clear to him that he was supposed to project a certain image as a Mercedes driver—it was another thing entirely to ruin results for the team that were working so hard to give him a better car.
“I’ll do better,” he mutters when Kyuwook finally finishes his spiel, feeling rightfully mollified and cowed. He has to. He did it last year, when he sealed any and every emotion and memory relating to ‘Song Mingi’ away and then won three races in a row. He wasn’t sure why this time felt even more painful, now that he’s had nine months of distance from the blowout, but he just has to do it again.
Kyuwook nods at him, firmly clapping him on the shoulder. “Keep your head up, okay? I know it sounds like I’m being harsh on you, but I’m only saying this because I know you have more in you. I believe in you, Yunho. We all do here at Mercedes.”
“Thank you,” Yunho replies softly, and finds that he means it. It was time he got his head back into the game. Kyuwook walks him out and leaves him with a reminder to get a good night’s sleep, and Yunho promises he’ll be on the podium tomorrow, no matter how difficult it would be to claw his way back up there from P9.
In the solitude of his driver’s room, he lets himself curl up on the cot, grateful that Yukwon had let him off without saying much, echoing the sentiment to get some rest before tomorrow’s race.
Yunho closes his eyes, and envisions staring down the starting straight. His terrible qualifying means he’ll be starting further back than he’d like. It was around 400 meters flat out down to Turn 1, and if he got a good jump off the line he could make up a few places before they’d even exit out of Turn 2. Getting a good line into the Esses of Turns 3, 4 and 5 could sneak him by another car, and then he’d just have to hang on to the position until the hairpin at Turn 11. They had changed the track configuration slightly this year, and it meant he would have to break earlier going into Spoon Curve. The new racing line scraped over too much of the kerb for his liking, with how bouncy the car was already, but he’ll just have to grit his teeth and deal with the pain after. More than one person had hit the barriers at Casio this weekend, and Yunho wasn’t looking to join any of them, so he’d have to be careful there as well.
He runs through each braking point individually, the way the engine would sound as he went up and down the gears, which corners the car was turning well in and which ones it was not. He liked the asphalt in Suzuka. It yielded a nice grip once the tires got up to temperature, and though the issue with the porpoising was still prevalent, the new upgrades Mercedes had brought to this race had the car turning much better now. It was fast in a straight line, that much Yunho could say. Some corners, Yunho could even get her to purr.
There was no space inside his head for Song Mingi anymore. Yunho missed him, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. But he couldn’t look back anymore. He had a race to win.
More than that: he had already given Mingi up for racing once. He knew how this part went. That feeling of loss—it was practically an old friend by now.
[SKY SPORTS LIVE: 2025 JAPANESE GRAND PRIX]
YOO Jaesuk: And a stunning move by Jeong Yunho as he gets past the Ferrari of Kim Jongin in Turn 1! He’s made it into the podium places now, what a race he’s been having!
HWANG Kwanghee: We weren’t expecting this from him, huh? He’s been having a tough weekend, with the shunt in FP2 and then the spin in qualifying, but he’s been showing us exactly why he’s the world champion since the race has started.
YOO: He’s chasing down his own teammate now, for second place. There’s a five second gap between the two of them. With seventeen laps to go, he’s got a lot of ground to make up.
KIM Jaejoong: But his tires are so much fresher. Eight laps fresher than Jinyoung’s, and ten laps younger than the mediums on Mark’s car. Right now, the best thing he can hope for is that the fight between the two cars ahead will slow them down enough for him to capitalise. He’s just set another fastest lap, nearly half a second faster than Mark and Jinyoung. At this pace, he’ll be catching up to the back of them in eight laps or so.
HWANG: Well, he’s going to have to be careful not to burn his tires out just trying to get close! He might just have to be happy with his P3. It’s a great result, seeing as how he started in P9.
YOO: Haha! Have you met the guy? I don’t think Yunho is ever happy with anything less than a win.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 40/53]
JEONG: What’s Jinyoung lapping?
PIT: 34.3.
JEONG: And Mark?
PIT: 34.2. This is good pace, Yunho, keep it up.
JEONG: How many laps are left?
PIT: 13 laps to go. We’re expecting you to get right behind them with six laps left.
JEONG: Alright. Let’s go get ‘em.
YOO: And another blistering lap set by Jeong. He’s lightning quick through the final sector right now. He’s just set a 33.7! One more lap, and he’ll be in DRS range.
HWANG: He’s been reporting that his tires are still fine. Meanwhile, Mark’s been complaining about his front right for the last few laps and you can see the graining on Jinyoung’s. Is this going to be a surprise comeback from Jeong to take the race?
YOO: If you were sitting on the pit wall at Mercedes, what would you be thinking right now? Would you be thinking, maybe it’s time to ask Jinyoung to slow down a little and give him that DRS so he can catch up and have a go at Mark? It’s not an easy thing to ask. Jinyoung qualified better, and he’s ahead of Yunho in the standings right now. Jaejoong, what would you do? You ran into situations like these back when you were fighting for championships.
KIM: It’s definitely not something you want to hear on the radio, when you’re the driver in second-place trying to get past the guy in first. If the call comes, Jinyoung’s not going to like it at all. I remember how difficult it was to move over to let my teammate through, every time I was asked to. And he’ll be giving up a podium position too.
YOO: Well, Jinyoung’s always been a good team player. If Mercedes want to have a shot at winning this race, they should be betting on Yunho right now. I mean, he’s just so fast!
HWANG: Yunho’s gotten into DRS range this lap. Let’s see what he does on the next one.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 48/53]
PIT: We will swap the cars next lap. Repeat, we will swap the cars.
JEONG: No need. Permission to fight with the other car?
PIT: Checking.
PIT: Granted. But keep it clean. We want both cars back in one piece.
JEONG: Copy. Tell Jinyoung he isn’t expected to let me through.
HWANG: WHAT A MOVE BY JEONG YUNHO! He swoops round the outside of the other Mercedes in Turn 1 and slots himself right behind the scarlet Ferrari. We’re looking at a race to the finish line right now!
KIM: That was a great move. And he did it so cleanly without any kind of contact, on his own teammate, no less!
YOO: I thought he was insane when he turned down the team orders a few laps ago, but he proves me wrong with that, moving up into P2. Three laps to go, let’s see if he manages to get one over Mark in the end.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 52/53]
PIT: Last lap, Yunho. Come on, let’s get him.
YOO: Yunho’s going for it, he’s going for it! AND HE GETS PAST AT TURN 11! Seven corners left, and he’s taken the lead of the race! Mark will try to come back at him at Casio, but I think it’s over, I think he’s won this!
HWANG: From P9, Jeong Yunho is now leading the race! That was a crazy move he just did there, braking so late into the hairpin, and it paid off.
KIM: Mark wasn’t expecting that one at all! He gave Yunho just enough space to slip by, and Yunho wasn’t going to let that one go. He’s going to be beating himself up over that one after the race is over.
HWANG: They’re out of Spoon Curve and onto the overpass now, just the three corners of Casio left before the finish line. Mark’s trying to make a move, but Yunho saw that coming a mile away. They’re turning into the straight now. Two-hundred meters, and Jeong Yunho will taste champagne from the top step for the first time this year.
YOO: Downhill round the corner, and it’s a straight line to the chequered flag for the reigning world champion, who takes his first victory of the year here at Suzuka. He returns to the front of the grid after all the difficulties he’s had since the start of the year, Jeong Yunho wins the Japanese Grand Prix!
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 53/53]
JEONG: [F**K] YES! LET’S [F**K]ING GOOOOOOO!
PIT: Brilliant drive, Yunho, what a masterclass!
JEONG: WOOOOOOO! Ah, [F**K]! That felt good. Ah, [f**k], thanks so much to the guys back at the factory for getting the car back into shape. I don’t know what miracle you pulled, but it felt pretty [f**k]ing miraculous out there today.
KIM Kyuwook: Congratulations, Yunho. We celebrate this win in style tonight, my friend.
JEONG: Hahaha! First round’s on you then! We’ll invite all the guys out, your treat!
KIM: Maybe we need to make the car intentionally worse during practice, if this is what you produce after such a difficult weekend!
JEONG: Don’t you dare! Haha! [F**k] me, I needed that.
KIM: Soak it in, Yunho, you deserve it.
JEONG: God, it feels good to be back where I belong.
They take him out to some nightclub in Nagoya. Yunho downs the first shot when it’s pushed into his hands, and then the second one, and then the third. He loses count by the seventh or eighth, jumping into the crowd and dancing until the room is spinning and the lights glare too brightly for his head to handle.
He stumbles back out into the clear air some time in the night, arms slung around two of his mechanics as they make the arduous hundred-meter journey up the road back to the hotel. They definitely cause a scene in the lobby with how hard they’re all giggling, sending each other off with proclamations of love and eternal devotion, all three of them laughing so hard they’re tripping over their own feet.
Yunho collapses in bed, still laughing, cracking up over everything and nothing. Has his ceiling always been so funny? He fumbles for his phone, exclaiming in delight when he finds it in his pocket. There was an incredible high zinging through his veins, from the alcohol and who knows what else he took in the throng of the party, and the adrenaline that was still running at max from the race. He had won today. They were all waiting for him to fail again, to prove that last year’s championship was nothing more than a fluke, and today he had shown that he does have what it takes, that he’s one of the best drivers on the grid, that he’s the world champion.
He taps a shaky message to his manager to let Yukwon know he’s gotten back safely, though it’s nothing more than a jumble of letters that’s not making any sense right now. Grinning, he opens up Instagram and scrolls through the videos of everybody celebrating, double tapping hearts on everything he can see. Swipe, video of one of his mechanics crowd diving back at the car. Swipe, photos of the team celebrating after the podium ceremony. Swipe, an official post from the Formula 1 account congratulating him on his win. Swipe—
Mingi. The small paragraph he’s attached to the story was incomprehensible to Yunho right now, but the location tag said he was somewhere in Thailand, and the picture showed him taking a selfie with a crowd of people under the stage, smiling as he threw out a peace sign. Bangkok, thanks for all the love tonight!, the larger caption read, when Yunho squinted at it more carefully. You were amazing.
Yunho blinks. Mingi. That was right. He had been thinking about Mingi before the race. He wouldn’t have been in such a bad mood this whole weekend if he hadn’t been thinking about Mingi this whole time. He clumsily pokes at his screen until he finds the contact app, scrolling to where Mingi’s number is still saved under Favourites.
He shouldn’t be doing this. He definitely shouldn’t be doing this. But he was still giddy from the victory, and even now, there was nobody he wanted to share that joy with more than Mingi. He just—he misses Mingi so much, damnit. He misses Mingi so, so much. He wanted to curl up against the warmth of Mingi’s body again, wanted to hear the sound of Mingi’s laughter again. He wanted Mingi to be his, not quite again, but not quite for the very first time either. He wanted—he just wanted so much.
His heart in his throat, he clicks on Mingi’s name, waiting for the call to go through. Mingi might not pick up. It was late, and there was a large chance he was already asleep. But Yunho wanted to hear his voice so badly.
The phone rings once, twice, and then the call goes through. Yunho waits for the ringtone to start, but it blares only once before immediately cutting off.
The number you have called is not available.
Mingi blocked him.
Mingi had fucking blocked him.
The excitement and happiness of the entire day disappear in the blink of an eye. The feeling he had felt back in Melbourne comes over him again, leaving him unbearably cold and inexplicably lonely. The room was too big and too small all at once, and the shadows shifting over his ceiling were no longer that funny. They weren’t funny at all.
Yunho felt so sick, all of a sudden. He barely made it to the edge of the toilet bowl before he threw it all up.
2025 CHINESE GRAND PRIX
Shanghai. Let's not talk about Shanghai.
2025 VIETNAMESE GRAND PRIX
[SKY SPORTS F1 - POST-RACE INTERVIEW - JEONG YUNHO - HANOI, VIETNAM]
Q: So, Yunho, P5. How are you feeling?
JY: I’d be lying if I felt great about it. It’s just. Argh. Frustrating, really frustrating. I don’t know what to say. Better than last week, I guess. But anything would have been better than last week.
Q: Speaking of last week, do you think those two incidents in Shanghai affected your performance here? I’m very glad to see that you’re okay, by the way. You had quite a scary crash during the race.
JY: Yeah, Shanghai was just a disaster. It was so disappointing, after the high we had in Suzuka. So little points on a sprint weekend is not where we want to be. I was hoping for more coming into this week. On paper the track looked like it suited our car well, but in reality it didn’t translate quite so well.
Q: Mercedes have been suffering from an issue with excessive bouncing since the start of the season. How has it been, dealing with that?
JY: It’s definitely been something we’ve been having problems with this year. We’re still trying to figure it out. It’s difficult to tell where we went so wrong in development. While the other teams are focused on bringing upgrades to make their car faster, we’re spending all our time trying to correct mistakes in the fundamental car design. The car’s just too unpredictable to drive right now. You saw how the race ended for Jinyoung today. He didn’t make a big mistake. Just a snap of oversteer and then he was in the barriers. It was the same for me last week.
Q: Mercedes is 70 points behind Ferrari in the Constructors’ Championships right now. And in the Drivers’, you’re quite a way behind Lee and Kang as well. Is that something you’re thinking about, going into the second half of the races before the summer break?
JY: It’s definitely weighing on my mind. It feels like it’s a pattern with me, struggling in the early races and then getting into the groove by race 8 or 9. But it’s so competitive this year I don’t think I can get away with these earlier missteps again.
Q: Is championship your goal for this year?
JY: Of course. Both championships. I really want to get the Constructors’ this year too. You know, Mercedes has supported me and my career since I was 16. I wouldn’t be here today if they hadn’t campaigned for me so hard. I’ll do whatever I can to repay that.
Q: I know you’ve got to a lot of places to be, so I’m going to let you go. One last question: it feels like this year we’ve heard you be a lot more… colorful, on the radio. Anything to say about that?
JY: Hah, is that what we’re calling it now? I don’t have much to say about it. It’s an emotional year. It really is. I want the championship so bad. And when you’re racing, every minor thing feels like the world’s biggest event. I always clear it up with the team afterwards, though. They know how I don’t mean half the things I say in the car. I’m still committed to bringing Mercedes back to the top, where they deserve to be.
Q: Do you think this new development with the vocabulary will last?
JY: Maybe this isn’t a new development. Maybe I was holding back before. Who knows?
2025 MIAMI GRAND PRIX
Miami? Miami goes fine. A mechanical failure takes Jongin out of the race and he gains a few positions by pitting under the safety car, netting him second place, a welcome reprieve from the terrible races he’s been having. On the podium, he smiled and waved and let the sweet fizz of champagne distract him from the growing point discrepancy in the championship. Despite this, it had still been a good weekend for the team, and Yunho had tagged along dutifully when Kyuwook suggested going out to celebrate, making the smart decision to let himself get so drunk again.
All that to say: the weekend is uneventful. The track itself is alright, bordering on boring, though the atmosphere is always fun. There were a bunch of celebrities around, a ton of athletes from different sports, and unavoidably, a few politicians to shake hands and smile at. A few days ago, Yunho had filmed some marketing thing with Sky Sports to take tennis player Kim Mingyu out on a hot lap around the circuit, which was one of their more surprisingly fun ideas.
But what’s not what matters. What matters is—
“Mingi, please, can we just talk?” He can’t help how frustrated he sounds as he stalks down the hallway, chasing after the rapidly fleeing person in question. You’d think this wouldn’t be so difficult, considering his long legs and the fact that he regularly chased down faster targets for a living, but every five seconds there’s somebody wanting a photo or an autograph. It’s an unforeseen obstacle that slows him down significantly in his pursuit.
And look—he hadn’t expected Mingi to be here. Here being some cushy Petronas event that Nayoung had made clear he was expected to attend, non-negotiable. As the face of the Mercedes F1 team, he was just there to brush elbows with some of the higher-ups, assure them that the championship was well in grasp, and make sure they were happy to keep working with (read: funding) the team. He didn’t have an excuse to skip since he was already in the States and it was just a short flight up to New York. It was a written clause in his contract that he show up to certain events, so he had just swallowed any complaints and sucked it up. Dior had been kind enough to send him a complimentary suit, since it was partially their event as well, and he had shrugged it on without a second thought and made his way over.
It hadn’t even made it into his attention that Dior was under LVMH, which also owned Chaumet, of which Mingi had been made brand ambassador three months ago. This sort of lateral thinking was far beyond the typical ongoings of Yunho’s thought process, much less anything deserving of scrutiny. Nayoung might have warned him, if he had thought to ask, but Yunho was in the business of keeping her as far away from the ongoings of his personal life as possible. She already had a finger in everything he did while he was on the clock, with the exception of the minutes he spent under the helmet and in the car. The thing with Mingi—it wasn’t the sort of thing he needed her professional opinion about. It was just a standard Petronas event, anyways. He had attended tens and hundreds of these. They were usually nothing more than a monotone evening of fake smiles and fake greetings and fake promises to catch up.
And that was how his night had been going, at least for the first two hours. There are so many people who want to talk to him now that he had the fancy title of world champion, and Yunho grins and bears it. Men who have never gone above 150 kph talk down to him about driving technique and ladies old enough to be his mom fawn and coo and touch him more than what is necessary. He knew he had to keep smiling.
It was fine, though unpreferable, if he looked a bit sullen before and after the races. Yunho was a sentimental person, everybody knew this. He cried for hours after his first win, most of which was documented on camera and subsequently posted to every social media platform in existence. It was just that prior to this year, the range of emotions he allowed himself to show on camera didn’t typically involve anger.
Here, though? Here, smiling was a requirement, not a request. He was a Mercedes driver, and that came with expectations and images. Yunho was used to playing by the rulebook. He probably could have gotten away with his moodiness in any other team barring Ferrari, but that was a whole separate burden he was glad he didn’t have to shoulder. Hell, Red Bull would probably cheer as he threw tantrums and pitched fits. But it wasn’t like that at Mercedes. At Mercedes, he was expected to behave, and Yunho had been doing a piss-poor job at this so far this year.
It wasn’t all bad—there was a STEM program for children in underprivileged countries that Petronas was hosting and Mercedes worked regularly with, and Yunho was always willing to show up and surprise the kids. Over the winter break, they had made him attend some kind of ‘women in motorsport’ event that Yunho felt very awkward showing up to, considering he was very much a man, but they turned out quite delighted to see him and thanked him for his support. Yunho hadn’t seen the need to correct the sentiment, he was really quite happy to be there.
Tonight, though, is one of the bad ones. Even so, Yunho knows his place. As such, he’d shut his mouth, nursed the same glass of champagne for two hours until it had gone flat, and shook hands and made banal conversation with whoever came his way. It wasn’t difficult, but it wasn’t easy either. By the third hour, Yunho could feel exhaustion tugging at his bones, and all he wanted was to collapse into bed and pass out until his flight to Canada tomorrow. He had just about enough time leftover to be a tourist for a day.
That was, of course, until he saw Mingi.
Which led to now: Yunho chasing him down this corridor, letting the din of the crowded ballroom fall away behind him as they twisted away from the main conference. It was late enough his absence could be excused, and eagle-eyed as Nayoung was, she trusted Yunho to conduct himself at these sort of events. He’d never had the desire to disappoint her, until now.
It’s good that Mingi had led them away from the crowd. He doesn’t want to imagine what sort of headlines it would create, no matter what particular tone this reunion took on, and Yunho had been careful to be inconspicuous in his approach. What wasn’t so good was Mingi spotting him when he was twenty-feet away, immediately turning on his heel and practically bolting. Yunho had caught a glimpse of his face before he could hide it away fully, and the stormy expression on there was enough to let Yunho know that maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea.
Still, you should know by now that Yunho is nothing but a creature of fallacy. He’s a racecar driver. This meant that self-preservation was trained out of him young, and he would always take the risk of crashing out if it came at the possible gain of even just one more millisecond of speed. Formula 1 was not a thinking sport, not for him. It was one that lived on impulse and instinct, where the slightest tingle of your senses told you more than the numbers on the dashboard, and the jump in your pulse was truer than any reading on the monitor, any chart or graph you could come up with the quantify a feeling too big to be contained in logic. Racing did not ground itself in fact, and Yunho had been unmoored for years. It’s the only way he knew how to drive.
So he chases after Mingi. What else is he supposed to do? Once again, he’s a racecar driver. That means he’ll always, without fail, do whatever it takes to close the gap.
Mingi has a head start, but Yunho has the advantage of general athleticism and having been in the venue before. It only takes a few more minutes of this ridiculous farce before he manages to catch up, snagging one of Mingi’s wrists and pulling him around so they can face each other.
There are a million emotions that roar in his chest. Yunho could not begin to make sense of any of it if he tried. The bitter taste in the back of his throat might be guilt, or shame, or some kind of anger, but really, he just mostly felt—
Empty. He was so empty. It had been too long since he had seen Mingi face to face. Avoidance only ignored the elephant in the room, it didn’t make it disappear. How could you solve a problem you refused to acknowledge existed? Yunho thought he had been—as much as he could—getting over Mingi. Even from the start, before it had really sunk in that he had ruined the best thing to ever happen to him, he knew there was no going back from the chasm he had created, this gap which would never fully close. But he had thought that, somewhere along in those ten months of trying to patch his heart whole again, at least some of it had been filled.
Now, looking at Mingi again, he knew none of it had ever repaired itself. And all of a sudden the emptiness made itself apparent. Where his heart had torn itself out of his chest—it was standing opposite him now, and Yunho didn’t know if he could ever get it back.
Mingi is the one that breaks the silence. There’s none of the warmth he used to treat Yunho so easily with. “Let’s not do this here,” he says quietly, tearing his hand away from Yunho’s grasp. He’s not quick enough to hide the mild wince he makes, or maybe Yunho still remembers how to read him better than anybody else, and the emptiness and all that comes with it dies in a flash.
“I’m sorry.” It bubbles out of him before he has a chance to consider anything that would be less painful to hear. Fuck, why did he say that? Sorry about what? Sorry was nothing more than an open-ended road that only led to more questions. Sorry for hurting you? He could already imagine Mingi’s answer. For which instance? Yunho didn’t have a reply to that. There were too many to count.
Mingi’s face twists. He smooths it out again, but not before Yunho sees the slice of pain that cuts through it. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he curses himself, hating himself more with each second. What the hell had he been thinking, chasing after Mingi like this. Hadn’t he already caused enough hurt between the two of them? Yunho hadn’t been thinking when he followed. All that was running through his mind was: I want to see Mingi. God, please let me see him again.
But that was exactly his mistake. He should have remembered. The way he always jumped into the fray and put his foot in his mouth before his brain had a chance to catch up—that was what hurt Mingi the most the first and the second time around.
“Yunho, please.” Mingi sounds so exhausted. “Let’s not do this here. Please.”
Yunho was tired, too. He was tired of hurting Mingi. The emptiness in his chest warped in on itself, and in its place he could see just how selfish he’s been. “Okay,” he agrees, almost tripping in his haste to step back. Fuck, he hadn’t changed at all. Once, Mingi had been willing to give him the sun, and Yunho had taken too many liberties with it. “I’m sorry, though. I really am.”
He looks down at the floor, so he doesn’t have to see whatever expression Mingi’s making. Furious, probably. Mingi had every right to be angry at him. Yunho had taken him for granted time and time again. An apology could not even begin to encompass all the things that had happened between the two of them.
Mingi turns to go. “Congratulations on the championship,” he says at last, and Yunho lets the pointedness of it sting as it should. He deserves it, after all. “I’m glad you got what you wanted.”
He leaves. Yunho doesn’t stop him. It was a familiar pattern for the two of them by now, anyway.
────────────────
All that to say: Formula 1 is a game of instincts. There’s nothing in the fine print that says they have to be good ones.
2025 CANADIAN GRAND PRIX
He’s quiet in Montreal.
It’s just as well. The weekend was overcast with dark clouds along the horizon, and more than once practice had been postponed to wait out the bad weather. The crew, sensing the morose air about him, were back to treating him with caution. They’re shifty around him, and for once Yunho doesn’t quite mind the delicate handling. He feels like he needs it, at any rate. Even Nayoung takes it easy on him this week. She hadn’t scolded him for the one-word, monotone answers he’s been feeding back out to the media, and had even praised him for his efforts at the Petronas event last week. Apparently he had made a good impression.
If only she knew.
Racing, at the very least, helps to take his thoughts off it. The car is bad around here, they had expected it to be, but Yunho finds himself not minding that as much either, when it gives him more of a chance to be fighting with the cars ahead and behind. With the rain pouring down and the spray so thick he can barely see more than a meter ahead of him, there’s no time to think about anything more complicated than when to brake and when to go on throttle, and where you could push a little harder in and where you absolutely should not. More than one driver had already suffered crashes at the Wall of Champions since Friday started, and even Mark had a weird engine failure in FP3, though he bounced back quickly enough to take pole a few hours later.
Yunho liked racing in the rain. He was good at it, for the most part. It was raining when he took his first win in Sochi back in 2022, and it was raining when he won in Spielberg last year. The rain amplified everything he loved about Formula 1. The radar can tell you how heavy the rain is, how long it’s expected to last, but when you’re actually driving in it, you could only rely on yourself to know when to brake, how much to turn. Sometimes it was just a matter of blind faith. Once, in the middle of a storm at Interlagos, he had closed his eyes in certain corners and let muscle memory guide him through. Yunho didn’t trust his instincts outside of racing much. The fiasco with Mingi was proof enough. But on the track, he knew they were real and true, and he knew they were good.
So he let that truth tether him, letting himself float through the weekend. He’s third by the time he crosses the chequered flag, though nearly twelve seconds behind the two leading cars. It was a decent result, considering he had started too far back to really make an impact, but the team had made a good call to pit a lap earlier than everybody else for wets and he had undercut two cars by the time they fed back out.
On the podium, he laughs as he sprays champagne all over Mark, congratulating him for the glory of a home win. It was his fourth victory of the year, but Yunho wasn’t in the mood to be jealous. He knew he was falling behind in the championship. He just didn’t have the energy to care in the moment.
It’s pouring even worse when he emerges from the press conference to make the trek back to the Mercedes hospitality, which at least seems to have dissuaded the fans who were still roaming around the paddock. Yunho really, really did not want to run into any of them right now. He makes Nayoung go back ahead of him. She had only brought one umbrella, and Yunho wasn’t about to make her share, when she barely came up to his shoulder. He wanted a brief respite, anyway. He’d be expected at debrief soon enough. There was no harm in taking a few minutes to himself. He wasn’t sure what face he had been making when he made the request, but whatever she found on her face had her agreeing unusually easily. She’d been grateful to have the entire umbrella to herself on her dash back to the motorhome, anyways.
He can see the teal highlight of the Mercedes hospitality just fifty meters away. If he sprinted, he could probably make it in under a minute, and only get minorly soaked for it. In the middle of the road, there were a few Ferrari mechanics dancing, uncaring of the wind and the rain, and Yunho smiles as he watches them celebrate. A fresh sleet of rain batters onto the windowpane in front of his face, and Yunho watches a drop of water slide down the glass until it splits into two.
“Good for them,” he hears from behind, and a moment later San comes to stand next to him, nodding with his chin towards the Ferrari personnel. Somebody had procured a flag with the prancing horse in the meantime, and they were twirling it around happily. Even with the distance, Yunho could hear them cheering. “Italians sure know how to celebrate.”
“San.” Yunho tries to hide his surprise, but he doesn’t do a good job of it. He had thought… Well, after the tenseness of their last interaction, he wasn’t sure where they stood anymore. “Where’s Mark?”
San shrugs. “Drinking himself stupid, if I had to guess. I didn’t feel like sticking around to find out.”
Yunho pauses at that. Tries to be subtle at giving San another look over, but probably does a terrible job at that, too. His brain feels like it’s moving in slow motion. He hadn’t particularly used it a lot throughout the weekend, and he struggles to unpack what happened in the race outside of the blur that had been his.
Ah. He realises. San had come closer to winning today, closer than he’d ever been before. It could, and by all measures, should have been his first win today.
“Congrats on the second place,” he says, instead of any attempt at comfort. Racecar drivers were prideful things. There was nothing that stung worse than pity.
San snorts. Neither of them move, for a moment, as if considering their options, but after the beat of silence passes San leans over to nudge his elbow into Yunho’s. “Asshole,” he says, without any venom, and Yunho knows right then and there that they’re good again.
“It’ll come soon.” Yunho ducks his head down to hide his smile. He wasn’t sure what happened for San to change his mind, but he wasn’t about to shoot a gift horse in the mouth. Friends in the paddock were far and few these days. “This year, for sure.”
Next to him, San sighs, leaving a foggy patch of condensation on the glass. Outside, the rain continues to pour. “Wished it’d be today,” he says. “It—it should have been today.”
And really, Yunho gets it. First wins are magical, miraculous things. A championship is a faraway, intangible dream for most drivers, but a race win is much more achievable. In the recent years, Mercedes, Red Bull and Ferrari have pretty much coveted the top spots at every single race, but with the leaps and bounds McLaren have made since last year to bring their car back to the front of the grid and what was supposed to be a good circuit for their car, it was probably doubly frustrating for San. Yunho had managed to catch some of the battle between him and Mark out on track today with how boring the second half of his race had ended up being, and even from the small slivers of replays he’s seen, he knows it had been close.
“It’ll happen before the year is over,” he reassures, letting himself lean over to nudge San back with his shoulder. An attempt at friendliness, now that the ice has been broken. “I know it will.”
Another sigh. They watch in silence as the Ferrari mechanics finally have enough and dash back into their motorhome, laughing and pushing each other into puddles. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, though. Yunho closes his eyes and listens to the distant rumble of thunder, letting his body relax as the pitter of the droplets hitting glass lulls him to a quiet sort of calm. It didn’t feel like the storm would stop any time soon, but he was having the strangest urge to run out into it, to feel the rain on his face and the wind in his hair.
He almost forgets San standing next to him until he speaks, bringing both of them back into the present. “So…” San starts, just a little guilt in his voice, and Yunho instantly knows where this is heading. “About Mingi.”
There it is. Somehow, Yunho had known this was coming, even if he hadn’t expected it to be this moment. Instinctively, he could feel his hackles rising, and his first thought is to snap something defensive and stalk off, the way he always does when he’s running away from problems he doesn’t want to confront. The thought dies a moment later, though, when that same exhaustion floods him. He’s just—he doesn’t want to fight it anymore. The feelings he had, no, has for Mingi. They existed, whether or not he would look them in the eye. He didn’t have the energy to pretend they weren’t still alive and beating, when he could still taste the misery of having Mingi walk away from him for the third time in his life.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I really fucked up there, didn’t I?”
It’s a good thing he’s not facing San, because he doesn’t want to know what sort of expression he’s making right now. “You hurt him a lot, you know,” San replies, his tone flat, and Yunho can’t help the way he flinches, ever so slightly. He knows, okay? He knows. Unbidden, he thinks of the look on Mingi’s face in New York, half shadowed by desolation and a heartbroken sort of sadness. It was painful, to know he was the cause of that.
“Yeah,” he says again, his heart squeezing in his chest. Once, he had promised Mingi the world. In the end, he couldn’t even give Mingi the three little words he wanted to hear so badly. “I don’t… I don’t have the right to ask, I know. But how is he?”
He expects bitterness from San, something sharp and aimed to hurt. It had been like this every single time this topic of conversation had been brought up, and Yunho knew he deserved it every single time. But this time, San swallows, and out of the corner of his eye he can see San biting his lip so hard the edges are turning white.
“He’s… he’s doing okay,” San mumbles, after a moment. “As good as he can, I suppose. The tour seems to be going well and he’s writing another album now, from what I know.” Another beat of silence. Then, hesitantly: “I don’t talk to him that much anymore. But, um, he told me about last week.”
Yunho fights the urge to groan. Of course. He should have known something must have happened for San to approach him with the intent of broaching this topic. “Fuck,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “I shouldn’t have.”
He pauses, feeling the lump in his gut solidify and sink, sink, sink. He doesn’t have the right, he doesn’t, not after everything he’s done, but still. Still, he has to try. “Can you tell him I’m sorry? I really am. I won’t bother him again.”
San freezes. Yunho tries not to sink into the ground and die on the spot. It was humiliating, to have to resort to asking San for a favor, especially one that was the magnitude of this one, but he wanted Mingi to know.
He doesn’t know where the sudden bolt of bravery comes from, but he turns to look at San properly. He knew what he was asking was out of the regular boundaries of their friendship. They weren’t the type of friends to get sentimental and private with each other. It was difficult to achieve that sort of intimacy with another driver when you were always in some sort of competition with each other. Mingi had always been the sore spot, the chink in the armor between the two of them. It was difficult to swallow down the unease of having to exploit that one weakness, but Yunho would do this, and he would do it properly, if it meant any sort of consolation to Mingi at all.
San twists to face him too. There’s something in his eyes that’s too complicated to decipher, some mixture of appraisal and consideration. A flash of lightning outside startles both of them, but Yunho doesn’t turn away. Mingi, he reminds himself, was far more important than any sort of personal embarrassment. He only wishes he had realised that sooner.
“I’m not supposed to be telling you this,” San says slowly. He hesitates, and Yunho can see the unhappy edge to his mouth. There’s something else on his face, though—an openness that makes the feeling in Yunho’s chest swell painfully, on the limit of bursting. “But… he misses you, I think.”
Yunho’s breath catches.
And, look—Yunho is not a man of subtlety. Fine print and gray areas and semantics were generally beyond him. When caught between a rock and a hard place, he had none of the necessary skills to navigate himself out of them. But even so, he knows that this is one of those lines drawn in the sand, the kind which you toe dangerously until it becomes unclear which side of the line you’re standing on, and whether or not that’s even the side you originally started out on. There was something delicate here, in that simple word, flitting in the wind, perfectly balanced, waiting for the slightest change in the breeze to tip it one way or another.
“Did he…” Yunho makes himself say, the words congealing like molasses in his throat. “Did he say that?”
Something in San’s face twitches. His eyes darted to the side, instantly uncomfortable, before returning. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, guilt personified, like he hasn’t just flipped Yunho’s world on its axis and set it on fire for good measure. “Look,” he bulldozes on, with a finality that tells Yunho that this will be the only time he’ll get this sort of honesty from San. “I’m not going to interfere in whatever the two of you have going on. But… I think that there’s something there, if you want to do something about it. I just know that he’s miserable and you’re clearly miserable and, um, it’s just a feeling I get whenever I talk to him, but I don’t think he’s entirely out of reach. For you, anyways. If you want to… do something about it.”
He trails off lamely, dropping his gaze and scuffing the toe of his boot into the carpet. Yunho tries to remember how to breathe. That feeling—it was so close to bursting now, but there was another emotion that was rising now, something that tasted awfully like hope.
“I guess it’s kind of like that first win of yours,” he tries awkwardly instead, in lieu of anything else, because if he goes for sensitivity right now his heart might just crawl out of his mouth.
“Huh?” San’s voice is all confusion, his eyes snapping up to meet Yunho’s again. But there’s a lightness to him now, like he’s been unburdened from the weight of some painful knowledge. Maybe he has.
“Not entirely out of reach. As long as you try to do something about it,” Yunho parrots, feeling the beginnings of hysteria set in. He wasn’t making any sense. But something about the whole situation was so funny to him, he felt like he could laugh until he cried.
“Oh!” San says brightly, like this is some sort of epiphany and not Yunho being on the verge of a breakdown. “When you put it like that.” He snorts. “Somehow that makes me feel better about today.”
Yunho starts laughing. After a second, San joins him, and they laugh until they’re breathless.
“Let’s go,” Yunho offers, casting a sidelong glance out the window. He could see an end to the clouds now. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, the skies would clear up, and tomorrow, it would be like it had never rained at all.
But he was tired of waiting. He hadn’t even known it himself, but subconsciously, he’d been waiting for something to change. For Mingi to come back to him, for the championship to fall into his lap, for the world to see him for who he is. Sometimes, you just have to take the leap. Maybe you’ll find that the things you want so badly are not that far away, after all.
“Let’s go,” San agrees. “It’s getting late.”
Side by side, they step out into the storm. Just in front of the Mercedes hospitality, Yunho lifts his head and lets the rain wash over his face.
────────────────
There are fifty-two weeks in a year. For Yunho, twenty-four of those are taken up by races, and at least half of what was remaining were dedicated to getting ready for races. He had training camps, events to attend, simulation times to put it back at the factory. Most of his life revolved around the sport. It had to, if he wanted not only to survive, but to thrive in this world, cutthroat and ruthless as it is.
But what little time he did have to himself—well, he could do just about anything he wanted. The only thing that stood between him and what he desired most was resolve.
All that to say: there’s a free week between Montreal and Imola. That’s more than enough time for Yunho to make a bad decision.
Hawk @heartcolored · 4h
just got my wristband for the concert… guys im shaking what do you mean im going to see mingi in an hour
Hawk @heartcolored · 4h
BARRICADEEEEEEE i can’t believe i’m about to live out the wattpad y/n fanfic of my dreams
matcha is seeing mingi TODAY!! @matchachai · 3h
IT’S STARTING OH MY GOD [video attachment]
AJ @nextjourney · 3h
Opening with tunnel is a power move and you can’t change my mind #FIXONINPARIS
riri @desireproject · 2h
IS THAT. IS THAT YUNHO???????
farina @favouritesong · 2h
WHATSICUICSS
riri @desireproject · 2h
IM RIGHT ACROSS HIS SECTION GUYS I SWEAR TO GOD THAT’S HIM [picture attachment]
farina @favouritesong · 2h
NO FUCKING WAY????? IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE WE’VE SEEN THEM TOGETHER… MY BEST FRIENDS… [gif attachment]
MINGI UPDATES @globalmingi · 1h
˹🎶| Formula 1 driver Jeong Yunho has been spotted at the Paris stop of the FIX ON tour!
#MINGI #FIXONTOUR #FIXONINPARIS
[photo attachment]
seven @violetfield · 55m
oh my god… yunho here to support mingi… i’ve dreamed of days like this 🥹🥹
MINGI @fixon_n_on · 8m
Paris, you were magical tonight 🩶🩶 #fixon [picture attachments]
riri @desireproject · 4m
You were so incredible tonight!! looking forward to seeing you again in Barcelona
SAV was at the FIX ON tour @savannahblues · 2m
met yunho while i was leaving the venue… he said he’s going to try and attend as many stops as possible oh my god?
SAV was at the FIX ON tour @savannahblues · 1m
have a video of him jamming to vortex LMFAO that was the most surreal experience of my life [video attachment]
2025 EMILIA ROMAGNA GRAND PRIX
Something clicks at Imola.
It’s not to say the car is good—it’s snappy through the corners, fighting him when he asks it to turn and sliding too easily when it’s not supposed to. But a new upgrade to the rear wing and the front suspension sees them gain the tenth or two they were lacking compared to Red Bull and Ferrari, and as long as Yunho kept the laps tidy and without error he was just about matched in speed with anybody else.
That’s easier said than done, of course. It’s a long race, 63 laps, and with the relatively short and repetitive circuit layout it was easy to let your mind drift off. Still, he manages to put a good lap together in qualifying and lines up on the starting grid in third, staring down the rear end of Daniel’s Red Bull. He’s not too worried. The long runs from practice showed that they had some decent race pace, and they had less tire degradation than the teams in front. With nothing to lose, considering how far behind he was falling in the championship, the team puts him on a different strategy from everybody else around him, and he starts the race on hards instead of mediums, waging his changes on going long in the first stint and then coming back into play later on in the race.
It’s a risky move. It’s difficult to overtake here, and starting on hards means he’ll have to make up positions in the second half of the race once he goes onto a faster set of compounds. With how much time you lose pitting here, a two-stopper would be disastrous, so they’d have to stick with the strategy no matter how it turned out. Right up until the start of the race, there was still fierce debate in the team if Plan A would be to go onto the mediums around Lap 40 or to drag the first stint out even longer and swap to a set of scrubbed softs right around the last fifteen laps.
Yunho hadn’t offered his opinion when they consulted him. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t have an answer for them until they were closing in on Lap 35, at least, when he could feel how burned out the tires were and give them a proper response. No matter that the numbers might project, he needed to feel the car in the heat of the moment to give any real judgement. He said as much, and then went to put his earphones on, his balaclava, his helmet, the HANs, climbing into the car without another word. He flips the visor down so he can close his eyes when the world becomes too much, running through each corner of the circuit in his mind as mechanics flit around the car and do their final checks, waiting to be set free.
It’s a long race. That is to say:
Lap 1: He gets a good jump off the line, just about managing to keep his position after the first three corners of Tamburello. The Ferrari right behind him makes a move heading up into Villeneuve, and they almost collide when Yunho cuts him off on the exit. Junmyeon comes on the radio to tell him that there’s been a minor incident further down the grid, and there was debris on the right side of the track to be careful of, but no pieces big enough to call for a yellow flag. He gets his elbows out and shuts down the Ferrari once more into Minerali.
Lap 7: He’s been watching the Ferrari scuffle with a Red Bull in his rear mirrors for the last five laps, and the Red Bull finally gets past. Ahead, the other Ferrari has pulled away enough to be out of DRS, and Yunho knows he doesn’t have long before he’ll have to cede position. Deep breath. Remember that he’s on a different strategy. Do what he can, for now, to keep the position.
Lap 9: The Red Bull behind catches up and makes a move into Tamburello. Yunho defends this one, while the tires are still fresh enough to put up with this kind of fighting, and holds on to third. The longer he manages to hold up the cars behind him, the better chances he has of overtaking them again later in the race. He’s won by playing the long game before, he knows how this part goes.
Lap 13: He has a small wobble in the turn out of Rivazza that makes him wince, and when the Red Bull takes advantage and presses a move down the straight, Yunho knows his time is up. Still, he makes the other car work for it, trying to make a switch back in Turn 4 before giving the position up. It’s not his race, not for now. Fourth. Still a lot of the race left to go.
Lap 17: Junmyeon tells him the mediums are falling apart faster than expected on the other cars. There’s graining on both fronts on the Ferrari, and the left front on the Red Bull. Meanwhile, their own tires still look good. Jinyoung’s made it past the Ferrari and Yunho gives him DRS down the straight before letting him through cleanly. They’re on different tire plans here. He knows it’ll be repaid later down the line.
Lap 20: Mark pulls into the pitlane for his stop, and that sets off a chain reaction down the line. It’s an early time to box, at least three laps before the ideal pit window, which means if Yunho can pull off his long first stint without losing too much pace he’ll have the greater tire advantage later down the line. Coming around the final corner, he watches as the two Red Bulls ahead duck into the pit entry for their stops as well, and he takes the lead. With no point of reference for how fast he should be on his 20-lap old hards, he keeps his head down and pushes the car as fast as it’ll go. Nothing more he can do now, except drive.
Lap 29: His tires are starting to feel the burn, and he’s sliding a little too deeply into Alta for his comfort. Daniel, on newer tyres, finally catches up to the back of him, and Yunho keeps him behind for the lap before letting him through. The car screeches across the asphalt as he does. He still has ten laps or so to go before he can think about changing his tires, and it’s not worth shredding them for a fight he has no chance of winning right now.
Lap 34: He’s back in third, after Mark caught up in Lap 31. Junmyeon asks how the tires feel. Yunho tries not to wince when he overcorrects the car exiting out of Rivazza. They still feel fine. He says, which is both true and not true at the same time. He holds back another grimace as the car wobbles through Tosa and he picks up way too many marbles by going off the racing line. But even so, whatever the numbers might say, the tires really do still feel okay, and his times are consistent. Junmyeon tells him that the current pace is good. Yunho lets himself feel the vibrations of the car, guiding instead of wrangling through the corners, correcting how early he’s turning to accommodate for the sliding. The car purrs under his hands. He agrees. The pace is good.
Lap 42: He tells the team the tires are gone and it’s time to box. He’s fifth by the time he pulls into the pits, and ninth when he exits. At the last minute, he makes the call to go on mediums. He wasn’t sure he’d last until the end of the race on softs, when other teams were already radioing in to complain about graining on their hards with a third of the race to go. They get him in and out of the pitstop in 2.2 seconds flat. And then there’s nothing left to do but race. It’s all on him now.
Lap 43: The mediums take a lap to warm up, and then all of a sudden he’s the fastest car on track. He overtakes a McLaren going into Tamburello, and then another at Alta with a gutsy switch back. By the time he’s exiting out of Bassa, he’s already set his sights on the Alpine ahead. Seventh. Twenty laps to go.
Lap 50: The car feels—the car feels good. He catches up to the second pack, and makes the overtake on Jongin’s Ferrari without much issue. DRS down the straight. He goes hunting after the next car.
Lap 52: He passes the Red Bull. Next corner, Jinyoung returns the favor and lets him through. Yunho streaks past and goes into third. He goes on the radio to pass his gratitude on before telling Junmyeon not to bother him unless there’s something major. Eleven laps left. He’ll make sure they count.
Lap 58: Mark’s struggling hard. Even with the lighter fuel load, the tire wear on his car leaves him struggling to hold on to the back of Daniel. From behind, Yunho watches him lock up and cut across the grass at Alta and the gap between them falls from two seconds to one. Down the straight, Yunho pulls up side by side and doesn’t let up on the pedal until the very last minute. Mark has to cede position unless he wants to take a trip through the gravel trap, and Yunho goes into second. Five laps to go, just one car left. The tires feel good, and the car feels alive. Yunho, in the cockpit, feels like he’s flying.
Lap 60: Daniel has a lock-up going into Piratella. It’s a shitty place to pass, and the track’s not quite wide enough for both of them to go through like that. Still, Yunho presses the advantage and makes a lunge, if only to unsettle the other car. He doesn’t make it work, but the point gets across, and another opportunity opens up for him going into Alta. He goes for it, because he has to, gritting his teeth as he scrapes across the chicane and comes out still behind.
Lap 61: Tamburello, again. He pulls to the inside and deploys whatever’s left of his battery. He’s on the wrong side going into Turn 2, but that lets him switch back in Turn 3. He just barely makes the corner, and he can taste iron in his mouth. They’re wheel to wheel, and then Yunho gets the racing line and the better traction lets him pull ahead by half a car length as they’re approaching Villenueve. By the time they’re on the straight down to Tosa, he’s made the move stick. Distantly, he can hear the crowd cheering. In front of him, the track is clear, and it opens up beautifully for him when he pushes the car to the limit for the last stretch. Under the helmet, his cheeks hurt, and it takes him a moment to realise he’s grinning. It’s been a while since he’s smiled so much during a race. He’d forgotten just how fun it can all be, when he gets to drive his heart out.
Lap 63: What’s left to say? He brings it home. He brings it home in first.
INTERVIEW: Jeong Yunho: “The beauty of Formula 1 is how human it is”
13 June 2025
By Kim Yonghwan
Photography by Kim Kyungmoon
The great bay of Monte-Carlo glimmers in the sunlight as I take my seat, ordering a cup of coffee and a delectable slice of cherry pie to go along with it. Today, this little cafe situated by the waterfront is filled with locals and tourists alike, enjoying a late morning brunch or grabbing an early lunch. From my view at the window, I watch a jet boat whirl past, carrying a midday party of friends, kicking up a trail of foam in their wake. I entertain myself by counting how many yachts I can spot without turning my head, and get to twenty-three before my guest arrives, apologising profusely for the inconvenience.
He is four minutes past the agreed time. Immediately, a few heads turn in our direction, and a kind waitress brings us to the second floor. Two separate groups of people approach us for a photo and an autograph on the way there, and I am suddenly thankful to whoever at GQ had the foresight to call ahead and book a private room.
Because, of course, we are in Monaco. Perhaps the glitziest place on Earth, and here I am, sitting across from Formula 1 world champion Jeong Yunho on a typical Tuesday, enjoying my espresso.
Jeong orders an americano for himself. Right as the waitress turns to go, she shyly pushes over a napkin and a marker, and he signs it without pause, flashing her a smile. He dutifully leans closer so she can take a selfie as well. Afterwards, he apologises to me again. I wave it off. I’m surprised he’s only four minutes late, if that’s the reception he gets wherever he goes.
“I don’t have one yet,” he laughs, a little bashful, when I mention the counting game I’d been playing before his arrival, and asked which yacht was his in jest. “I’m saving up for a private jet first.”
It takes me a moment to realise he’s joking. In 2024, Jeong’s salary was estimated to be $20 million euros for the twenty-four races he drove for Mercedes. With a championship under his belt this year, his payroll is rumored to have nearly doubled. A private jet might not be as far away as he makes it out to be.
I tell him he should set his targets higher. I’m sure there are islands off the coast of Greece that are for sale. He laughs again, and I’m struck by how boyish the sound is. Jeong Yunho, as a first impression, seems to be a man made out of contradictions. Ever smiling, but we’ve all heard his heated radios earlier this year, following the crash at the opening race in Bahrain and collisions in later races. Only 26 years old this year, but carries him with a put-together sort of maturity that goes beyond his years.
He’s the kind of person that makes you want to get to know him. So I ask away.
You’re third in the championships right now. I say it like it’s a shame, but it’s a great achievement for any driver to be running in third.
I think we both know that third is not what I am aiming for this season. (He laughs).
No, it’s not. How does that make you feel? Are you feeling the nerves?
Nervous? Sure, we could call it that. Of course, I’m very aware of the gap. There’s, what, sixty points between me and Mark now? I want to say it’s still early in the season, but we’re more than a quarter into the season now. More than a-third, actually. It’s definitely not where I want to be, in terms of the standings. But that just means there’s still two-thirds of the races to go. Sixty points is not an impossible distance to make up. I used to worry too much about these sorts of things. These days, I find it’s more useful to just set your eyes towards the future.
You took an exciting win in Imola just a few days ago. Is that your first step back towards the championship?
Everything I do is a step towards the championship. Even the mistakes. On the track, you don’t have the time or capacity to think about difficult things. The team sitting at the pit wall have access to all the numbers that the car is feeding out, but in the cockpit you mostly have to go by feel. The graphs might say that I’m pushing too much or too little in certain corners, but only I can feel if that’s true or not. And people are feeling creatures. We make mistakes. That’s the beauty of Formula 1, isn’t it? How human it is, while standing at the cutting edge of what is technologically and mechanically possible.
In your debut year, you were fairly vocal about trusting in the data. In recent years, we’ve seen you take a shift towards a more emotional approach to driving. Like you said, the numbers don’t equal to what you feel in the car. Why the change?
Well, I’ve grown up a little, I like to think. Now I have more experience and wins, and I know what it feels like to drive at most of the tracks we go to. I don’t think it’s an entirely different way of looking at things. I still agree that the data doesn’t lie. It’s just that I don’t think that the data can encompass everything you feel in the car at that moment. When it comes down to it, I’d rather listen to my gut than to risk it.
And has your gut ever been wrong?
Oh, all the time. In Silverstone 2022 I was convinced I had a puncture. The data said I didn’t, but I could feel the rear left sliding the way it does when something is wrong. My engineer had to go on the radio and knock some sense into me. I’m not saying Formula 1 drivers are rational and always right. We’re often wrong, actually!
Mercedes have had a difficult start to the season. Coming off a good win in Imola, is this the turning point?
Imola was a very good race for me. I haven’t had one of those in a while. The team at the factory are working hard to give us the best car they can, and I’ll always try my best to do my part and prove that their efforts aren’t for nothing. But last week, yeah. It was a great drive, and I’m so thankful to all the people at Mercedes who have supported me since my junior career.
Talking about the season, it’s been a rough one so far. Discounting Suzuka, which felt like one of those miracle races you don’t get very often, we’ve had too many issues. The crash in Bahrain, and then the engine failure in Shanghai, for obvious ones. But we fumbled with our strategy in Melbourne and Hanoi, even without the car giving out on us. Part of the more ‘instinctive’ driving, as you say, is that I’m talking with the team more and becoming more active in determining the strategy and we’re becoming more proactive on changing and letting the strategy evolve mid-race. I disagreed with the team when they boxed me so early in Melbourne, and we paid the price for it. In Imola, I made the call to come in on Lap 42 and swap to mediums, and the team listened. The results speak for themselves.
Speaking about Imola, your team principal has made it clear it was your idea to start on hards instead of the expected mediums. It was clearly a good call, seeing as you won the race. What led you to ask for a different strategy, when it could have costed you a podium?
Well, I had to do something different from everybody else. Sure, if I started on the mediums like everybody else I probably would have safely stayed in third, but I’m not in a position to play it safe. It was definitely risky, to start on the hards, but our readings over the practice sessions showed that we were a little better than the other teams when it came to tire deg, so I decided to capitalise off it. Going long in the first stint is difficult because of the high fuel load you have to carry, but I felt like if I could hang on to the tires and wait out the first stint, then I’d come back with much fresher tires.
Of course, this meant I would lose track position and would have to put those fresher tires to good use and make the necessary overtakes, but it was a risk I was willing to take. The championship is so tight this year, and I’ve already fallen too far behind to not give everything a go. It was quite nice, actually, to know that I was driving a different race than everybody else and just focus on myself. That way, I wasn’t affected by the other drivers pitting or fighting, and could just manage the pace until it was my turn to box.
They say it’s hard to overtake in Imola. But I did it anyway, enough to win the race. I guess in the end, it came down to a matter of confidence.
You’ve been busy away from racing too. It seems you’ve been getting into punk music lately?
Huh? Oh, Mingi? Yes, I’ve been going to his concerts. I had some time before the race last week to go to the shows at Paris and Naterre. It’s only an hour to Milan from Imola by train, so I got in early on Monday and managed to catch that show as well.
You used to race against Song Mingi in the junior categories. It is strange, to see him on stage now?
A bit? We were very close as kids. It’ll always be strange to no longer be racing him, when that part of our lives defined so much of my childhood. I used to think we’ll be racing against each other until we’re old and gray. I’ll admit I don’t know much about his style of music, but I’m happy that he’s found another calling for himself.
You’re planning to go to all the stops?
Yeah, whatever I can, basically. I promised him I would. I’ve dragged Mingi to so many races in the last few years, it only feels right to pay it back.
You know, once I got guilty about taking up so much of his time and asked if he was sick of coming to so many races. I didn’t want to seem like I was rubbing it in his face that I was still driving when that dream was over for him. But he had only smiled and said he could never get sick of watching me drive, and even less of watching me win. It’s the same for me. I go to his concerts and I see how much passion he has for what he does. I don’t think I could ever get sick of watching him perform, either.
We’re sitting at this very nice cafe right now, but by tomorrow the road next to it will be closed off and become Turn 12 of the grand prix. You moved to Monaco at the start of the year. Is there any feeling of a home race for you?
It’s nice to sleep in my own bed, that’s for sure. We can see my apartment from here, actually. Tomorrow morning, I will eat breakfast in my own house and then walk down the road to the paddock. It's pretty cool that the entire country is essentially the circuit. I know it’s considered to be a boring race, but I love racing here. The atmosphere here is always amazing, and I’m happy to call it home now.
You’ve lived in England for nearly a decade, since moving there to be closer to pursue your junior career. Any reason for the sudden move?
Hmm. Just felt like it was time.
And nothing to do with the huge pay raise you got at the start of the year?
(He smiles.) No, not at all.
Well, good luck on the race ahead. We’ll be rooting for you in the championship.
Haha, I bet you say that to everybody you interview. It’s alright. I don’t need luck. I’ll just drive. That's all I can do.
2025 MONACO GRAND PRIX
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 78/78]
PIT: JEONG YUNHO! YOU’VE JUST WON THE MONACO GRAND PRIX!
JEONG: YESSSSSSS! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!
PIT: Back to back, baby! We’re back on top!
JEONG: [F**K]! Oh my god, guys, what did you do to the car? Great drive out there, thank you so much. Thank you!
PIT: You have the fastest lap as well. I believe that makes this a grand slam, my friend.
JEONG: NO [F**K]ING WAY. YOU’RE KIDDING ME. YOU’RE BEING SERIOUS? HAHA!
PIT: I told you you’d make it happen! You owe me a drink tonight!
JEONG: I’ll buy you every single drink in this damn city if you want. Oh my god, guys. Seriously just. Unbelievable how we turned things around. We showed them, ey? Sorry I couldn’t make it more interesting!
PIT: Don’t worry, Yunho. We enjoyed every second of it.
JEONG: Me too. God. Me too.
He’s still flying on a high when he lands in Barcelona, more than mildly hungover when he steps off the plane and onto dry ground again. He checks the time on his phone, and then swipes left to surreptitiously check how his face looks. He can hear the person behind him in line at immigration snicker right after, so maybe he’s not being as subtle as he likes.
Frankly, he doesn’t look great, but it’s not like he can do anything about it now, so he’ll just have to find a washroom to freshen up at before heading to the venue. He checks his face again in the reflection of his phone monitor. Jesus, he’s a total mess. There’s a gauntness to his eyes and a wildness to his hair that suggests he’s just out of an all-night party bender, which wasn’t far from the truth. He had dragged himself out of the club by two in the morning, even if the party hadn’t winded down yet, and forced himself to take a sleeping pill so he could get at least seven hours before the flight.
Honestly, he could have skipped. Nobody would have begrudged him. Hell, his manager had looked at him disapprovingly when he noted the flight details Yunho had discreetly logged into his schedule, hoping it would go unnoticed. They were in the middle of a triple header, and even if they weren’t Yunho wasn’t exactly meant to be trotting all over the continent to go to concerts. Hyunwoo had straight up frowned when Yunho told him he was heading to Barcelona a day earlier than planned, which meant he’d have to skip the critical post-race cooldown exercises. He wasn’t even supposed to fly without a manager or a member of the team, to top things off.
He’s letting a lot of people down, he knows. It’s irresponsible, and the Yunho of a few years ago would berate this sort of impulsive behavior. He’d been a horrible stickler for the rules in his first few seasons, too afraid to put one foot out of place in case they would look at him again and realise he didn’t measure up to his lineage. But he’s the world champion now. And world champions were allowed a little leeway, and a few selfish decisions that wouldn’t slide otherwise.
So he books the flight for the day after Monaco, and nobody says anything about it, even if he knows a few people definitely want to have words about the way he’s been conducting himself lately. The two wins recently probably had something to do with that too. There was no point in scolding him, since he was finally delivering the results they wanted to see. It’s a small mercy that today’s concert was held in the very same city where the next race would be held six days later. At least this time, he’d be arriving a day early to the paddocks instead of half a day late.
There’s a company car waiting for him when he steps out of the airport, one of the newer models he was supposed to be marketing. Yunho takes the keys from the attendant, wrinkling his nose as he slides behind the wheel. He tries not to feel guilty as he watches the attendant who had driven the car here scurry off towards the taxi stands. He didn’t want all this fanfare, but he couldn’t find it in him to turn it down when the company had offered either. With how little time he had left to check into his hotel and then make it to the venue, the ease of being able to drive himself there would make everything smoother. Even if it made his skin prickle to have to explain why exactly he was flying into Barcelona a day ahead of schedule to the company, he knew they meant well.
He had insisted on paying for tonight’s hotel room by himself, though. He’d still be sleeping in his own apartment in Monaco if he’d been sticking to the normal routine. After the win he had yesterday, nobody was expecting him to be out of bed by noon at the earliest. If he had let himself party the way he usually does to celebrate a victory, he’d probably still be knocked out in bed, not in a whole different country, trying to figure out the GPS system to plug in the address of his hotel. It wasn’t fair to make the company pay for his own private dalliances, even if they could more than afford it.
The point is, being here is Yunho’s decision, his prerogative, his selfish act of the… day, week, month, whatever. He wanted to do it on his own terms. He didn’t want there to be any murky gray area for somebody to make excuses for what he’s doing. He doesn’t really care what other people have to say about it. He just knows he has to do this.
The hotel room is nice, because of course it is, when he had enough money to buy the building twice over. He takes a quick shower with what little time he has before the concert begins, trying not to cringe at the dark circles beneath his eye or the pallid color to his cheeks when he looks at himself in the mirror. He had definitely drunk too much last night, and it was showing on his face.
It could be worse, he muses to himself, desperately trying to style his hair into something reasonable. He was pretty sure somebody had offered him a line or two at the second club they went to last night, though he had already been too drunk at that point to be fully aware of what was going on. Any other day, he probably would have gone into the back rooms to take them up on the deal. Yesterday, though, he’d been too aware of the flight alert notification on his phone to do anything about it. Greasy hair and paleness aside, he couldn’t stand the idea of adding bloodshot eyes and post-drug haziness when going to see Mingi. He wanted to be conscious and coherent. He wanted to remember everything about it.
The concert venue is only a ten minute drive away from his hotel, so he sets out half an hour before it’s going to begin. He had bought a ticket like anybody else, though he supposes it’s not a dent in his bank account for him to pay for whatever the best ticket scalping could get him. The last few stops he’d been to, he’d been more careful about where he was sitting, looking over the sales males and picking sparser areas that were less packed.
A year ago, he might have had the privilege of getting a pass for the section that held friends and family, but that’s out of the books now, and as crazy as this decision is he still wants to be careful about the whole ordeal. It didn’t—and it hadn’t—stopped fans from coming up to him and asking for pictures and signatures, and now that they knew they could expect him at certain stops they’d only get bolder, but he tried his best, if only to keep Nayoung from having to deal with a PR headache. She’s stressed enough with how he’s acting in the paddock. He doesn’t need to add to it with how he’s conducting himself out of it too.
Somebody at security recognises him and waves him through a separate door, though not without also asking for an autograph and wishing him luck for the grand prix this weekend. He shuffles on his feet, distinctively uncomfortable with the special treatment, but grateful nonetheless, and decides to run with the ongoing theme of just accepting that he gets celebrity privileges.
The concert itself is—magical. He’s seen this setlist thrice now, but he meant what he said in the interview he did last week when he said he doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of it. Around him, there are fans screaming, singing along, crying, who the fuck knows, and Yunho lets himself melt into them, cheering along with the fast raps, humming under his breath for the slower emotional songs, laughing when Mingi does a body roll on stage and the girl in the seat behind him shrieks so loud he goes half-deaf in his right ear for a second. Yeah, he remembers how those look, how those feel, up close and personal. He could completely understand the appeal.
He’s seen it all before, it’s not as if Mingi changes up the show too much between stops. Three weeks ago, right before he had landed in Paris for the first concert, he had binged Mingi’s entire discography to prepare himself, if only because he was secretly terrified and didn’t want to go in completely blind. It would be disgraceful to show up at the concert without knowing a single song besides the one where his sort-of-ex goes I gotta get out of fucking love. Which was another thing Yunho didn’t really want to acknowledge. He thinks he’d rather die than sit down and dissect how many of Mingi’s songs were about him. It didn’t escape his notice that most of them were about heartbreak, which caused his chest to tighten and his breath to go short in a way he didn’t have the bravery to face yet. One step at a time. He was taking this slowly, but surely.
He gives a loud whoop when the last notes of the finale song peter out and the guitarist gives a concluding strum. On stage, Mingi thanks everybody for being here tonight, and blows a kiss to the crowd before the platform descends and takes him out of sight. Greedily, with a longing Yunho has no right to, he chases the view, unable to stop the side of his mouth from tilting up when he sees Mingi tip his head back to enjoy the last vestiges of the moment. He’s far away enough that he can’t exactly tell what expression is on Mingi’s face right now, but he can imagine the exhilaration that was likely on it as clear as day.
Afterwards, two fans come up to him and ask if they can take pictures with him. Yunho poses accordingly, and his smile is genuine when one of them hands a bracelet to him shyly, the gray and white beads clacking as he rolls it onto his own wrist. After that, a group of girls, wanting autographs and a photo. Yunho obliges. He doesn’t want to cause trouble, not here, and he knows the weight of duty as familiarly as the back of his hand. He’s a Formula 1 driver. He’s the world champion. This is a part of it, too.
It takes him a moment to realise that the next people to approach him don’t look like fans, in nondescript black t-shirts and lanyards slung over their chests. He blinks at them, caught off guard, and tries not to imagine the worst case scenario. On that count, he fails miserably. Oh, god, he was about to get kicked out, wasn't he? It probably wasn’t smart to make such a big scene at somebody else’s show. He knew he should have picked an emptier section, even if the view would have been shittier.
“Mr Song has requested to see you backstage.” Is the first thing to come out of the security guard’s mouth when he gets close enough. He’s tall, with a vaguely mediterranean look to him, and looks like eighty kilos of pure muscle. Yunho gulps.
And then the words register, and Yunho can’t stop the way he gapes, hastily closing his mouth when he realises his jaw is practically on the ground. His brain feels like static, the way it whites out when he’s in a high-speed crash. He pinches himself to make sure he’s not in a medically induced coma. It feels real enough.
“Okay,” he says, scrambling to his feet, his heart in his throat feeling like it’s about to crawl the painful way out. He had no idea what the hell was happening. All he knows is, Mingi wants to see him, Mingi wants to see him, and there’s nothing in the world that could stop him from fulfilling that request.
Backstage is a mess of people hurrying from one place to another, boxes full of stage props being carefully carted to a loading area. One man is shouting for somebody to bring him the guitar case, cradling the sleek Fender Mingi had played on stage like the precious cargo it is. Yunho sidesteps a woman nervously running around asking if anybody’s seen the hat that was used in set 2, please and thank you, and follows after his burly guides, almost tripping over an aux cable.
He feels wrongfooted and shifty, like somehow all the alcohol he consumed nearly 20 hours ago is still in his system and wrecking his insides. When he had made the decision to go to the first concert, and then the second one, he hadn’t expected anything to come out of it. It was only supposed to be… penance was the best word he had for it. A way to atone, even if he couldn’t fully unpack that train of logic himself. He had taken up so much of Mingi’s time in the last three years, coveting nearly every second of it for himself and dragging Mingi to all the races. He has always known that he was horribly selfish. Truthfully, it was what made him such a good driver, that when he wanted things he wasn’t above getting cruel to get them. There must have been times when—it makes him sick to think about now, but there must have been times when Mingi probably felt like he was nothing more than a possession for Yunho to toy with.
This whole thing, the going to concerts, was all Yunho could do, sabotage his own schedule and use whatever time he could squeeze out on Mingi, the way Mingi had done for him. He couldn’t skip races, obviously, and he had no desire to, but anything else was free game. Now, with the jackrabbiting creature in his chest painfully straining to be let out, he wonders if he had fucked things up even worse by running into this headfirst without thinking it through. There’s a part of him that had known he’d just been doing all this to make himself feel better, that it was just another selfish play to spare himself from the weight of what he’d done. But there was also a part of him that hoped Mingi would see the commotion, on social media or alerted by his team, and pick up on what Yunho was doing. It was a distant hope, but Yunho wished for him to find peace, in his own way.
They take a few turns, and then the guard knocks on a door before holding it open and gesturing for him to go through. Yunho thinks he’s going to throw up. The guy looks so bored, like it doesn’t matter to him that he’s just been made to play escort for Yunho for reasons he couldn’t possibly know, and Yunho gives him a brisk nod before he walks through the door, wondering how soundproof these rooms are. Tries not to jump, when the door swings close behind him, like some sort of badly scripted death sentence.
He keeps his eyes to the floor. “Yunho.” Never mind, he whips his head up so fast he almost gives himself vertigo, in disbelief that this is real, that this is happening, that he’s standing right here and, and, and—
And Mingi is barely five meters away, his hands folded over his lap where he’s sitting in front of the vanity. His face is bare, but there’s a stubborn streak of black that’s clinging to the corner of his right eye, like he’d wiped off all his makeup in a haste and hadn’t had time to check over himself. His hair is matted with sweat and gel, and there’s a stray piece of silver confetti caught in it, glinting in the low yellow lights when Mingi turns to face him. Yunho wants to pluck it out, wants to feel the texture of Mingi’s hair, the warmth of him, the closeness of it all, so badly, but he holds himself back. It feels like that’s all he’s been doing lately.
He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. Overcompensates and has to screw his face up to avoid coughing, embarrassed and humiliated and humbled all at once, wanting nothing more than to cross that uncrossable distance and set his heart at Mingi’s feet, where it belongs. His chest feels like it could pop at any sudden noise, overfilled and stuffy with emotions he can’t begin to explain. He just, he wants so much, even if he doesn’t know exactly what that desire would look like materialised.
He had a feeling it’d look a lot like Mingi, if it did.
“I don’t…” Mingi starts slowly, and Yunho curses himself internally, as his own incompetence of starting a simple fucking conversation. Fuck, he should be on his knees and apologising, but his body feels like it’s going through quicksand, slow and sluggish and refusing to move the way he wants it go.
Abruptly, Mingi sighs and turns back to the vanity, wiping furiously at the spot of eyeliner. Yunho stares at the stiff line of his back, and feels his heart sink. Say something, he bemoans himself, desperately trying to gather up the right words, any words, anything that could break this horrible silence. He’s made Mingi suffer through enough already, he shouldn’t have to make Mingi suffer through maintaining this pitiful attempt at conversation either.
“I don’t have much time, so let’s make this quick,” Mingi says curtly, closed off and small. Through the reflection in the mirror, Yunho can just catch a glimpse of his face, and he feels himself shrink at the strain he sees there. Even now, he was just causing Mingi more pain. He wonders if his own selfishness ever finds an end. “What do you think you’re playing at here?”
A year ago, Mingi had been picked up by a new label that promised him albums and a tour. He had come home—he had come back to the apartment breathless with delight, giggling as he pushed Yunho down into bed and gave a live demonstration of exactly how happy he was. After, when they’d laid side by side, panting and satisfied, he had curled up against Yunho’s side and mindlessly traced out lines on Yunho’s chest, miming the flight paths he’d take on that mythical tour of his, now more real than ever. France, then Italy and Spain, he had muttered softly, like he wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing. Switzerland will be nice in June, and then… when does Goodwood happen again? he asked, and Yunho had realised all at once that he was trying to figure out how to plan his tour around Yunho’s racing schedule, and his heart had felt so full it had nearly burst in his chest.
I’m gonna go to every single one, he had responded, overstuffed with emotion that felt too big to hold by himself. He turned his face away so Mingi wouldn’t see how suspiciously wet his eyes had gotten.
Don’t be silly, Mingi had laughed, the sound of it muffled into the side of Yunho’s ribs. You gotta race.
His easy dismissal had rankled Yunho, turned him defensive, turned him determined. No, I’m gonna go to every single one, he had repeated stubbornly, convinced he would tear the world apart to make it happen.
Alright, Mingi had replied, sounding very much like he didn’t believe Yunho but thought entertaining his sudden streak of impulsiveness was the way to smooth the conversation over so they could both take the nap they were slowly drifting towards. But he couldn’t keep the thrum of hope out of his voice, and Yunho had heard it loud and clear anyways. Whatever you say.
I love you, Yunho had thought, but hadn’t said out loud. He was a fool. He had been so, so, so stupid. There were things that were so big you’d never catch the fine details if you didn’t put it into perspective. Stare at it face-first, and you’d miss the edges of it, tinged with that same emotion, too small to let go of, so gentle and so violent at the same time. All Yunho had to do was put a name to it. He had it all in the palm of his hand. He just had to, and he hadn’t. A month later, it was all over.
The point is: Yunho made a promise. He’d broken plenty of others, but this one he intended to keep, as much as he can.
He tells Mingi this. As completely as he can, the word stuttering out of him half-formed and without corporeal form. He doesn’t know where to start, if there even is a way to. He certainly didn’t have a fucking clue how it was going to end. He mutters some bullshit about being sorry if his presence has caused any disturbance and how he’d never show up again if Mingi doesn’t want to see him, knowing that a rejection at this point would take whatever’s still left in his chest and smash it into inconsolable oblivion.
He runs out of words at some point. There are only so many words you can say to apologise, and he’s never been the smartest egg in the basket anyways. For all the posh facade he had to project for Mercedes and whatever old money lineage he was supposed to have inherited from his family, he was still the same kid who had been pulled out of school at 10th grade so he could fly all around the world to make it to races. Mingi had always been the wordy one between the two of them. It was just about right he’d gone off to become a lyrical genius in his own right, once he was unburdened from Yunho.
There’s a moment of silence, and Yunho keeps his eyes trained on the floor while he waits for the verdict. There’s a crack in one of the tiles on the floor, and he stares at it like he can mend it through sheer willpower alone, just so he doesn’t spiral any further and say something to mess things up even more. There are so many things he wants to say but no words to carry them. Somehow, he thinks the silence speaks louder than anything he could put into words.
“Yunho.” It takes him a second to realise that he’s Yunho, and that’s Mingi saying his name. He chances a glance at Mingi, finds that he’s turned again to look at Yunho standing there with his hands behind his back and his head bowed down like a chastised child, and the look on his face is—complicated. Yunho doesn’t know what he’s thinking, and that scares him more than anything.
“Can you fucking—” Mingi cuts himself off, frustrated. “Yunho,” he says, and it’s clear that this is not a request. “Stop looking at the fucking floor. Fucking hell, it’s hard to talk to you when you’re standing there looking like I just killed your dog. Look at me.”
Yunho does.
“Look,” Mingi powers on. He’s doing the thing he does when he gets nervous, fingers drumming against his thigh, and there’s a stiffness to his jaw. “I’m only going to ask this one more time. Why are you here?”
I told you, I promised. is the first thing that springs to Yunho’s head, petulant and insistent. He did. He knows he’s failed Mingi in so many other ways, but he hadn’t gone into this with bad intentions, to hurt Mingi even more. There’s precedent for it, but even so, he wants to take Mingi by the shoulders and shake him until he understands. I know I was bad to you, but I love you, can’t you see? Why do you have to assume the worst about me? I love you, I love you, I love you, and I’m sorry.
But more than that—he knows what Mingi is really asking.
“I…” he starts slowly, the words fragile like newborn birds shaking out their wings for the first time. “I miss you.”
And really, that’s what lies at the heart of this whole matter. He’s no good at semantics, at dissecting the fine print and the gray areas, but Mingi had taught him early on that there’s a thin line that stands between wanting something and missing something, and he stands right at the intersection of it right now. Either side of the road leads to Mingi, everything leads to Mingi, but more than wanting him, Yunho misses him. Wanting is easy. Yunho wants a lot. He wants wins, another championship, for people to see him for who he is. He wants so much. But missing is a whole separate beast. To miss something is to admit that you had it once, to acknowledge that you’ve lost it. Grief is not an easy thing to look in the eye. Sometimes, an absence of something is a heavier weight to bear than the sum of it whole.
Yunho misses Mingi. He had everything once, and then he lost it. It was a tough pill to swallow.
It’s only because he’s looking for it that he catches it, the miniscule break in Mingi’s expression. For the briefest second, the unreadable look shatters into something heartbreakingly sad, something that resonates with the ache in Yunho’s gut. He knew, deep inside, that he wasn’t the only person to have lost something that day when Mingi had walked away. It was an even tougher pill to swallow, to know that he had caused Mingi the same hurt.
“Did you mean it?” Mingi says in the rush, the words seeming to shock even himself, spewing out like he hadn’t meant to say it. He blinks once, before clearly his throat awkwardly to clarify. “What you said in that interview. About, um. About not getting sick of watching me perform.”
It’s Yunho’s turn to blink. He knew, distinctively, that somebody in Mingi’s media team must have told him about the article that came out last week. It was probably part of their daily monitoring job, and with his career so freshly in the spotlight Mingi needed to know what was said about him. But he hadn’t—he had been blindsided, when the interview had turned towards the topic, and with the monegasque breeze in his hair he had felt untethered enough to be honest. He’d done enough lying about what Mingi meant to him. He was too tired to lie anymore.
Slowly, he nods. “I did.”
Mingi twists away, but not fast enough for Yunho to catch the look on his face as it breaks apart completely. “Fuck!” It comes out of Mingi guttural and visceral. “Fuck.” Mingi says again, and this time it quavers, with a wet afternote to it that’s alarming. So close yet so far, he watches Mingi curl into himself, hiding his face in his hands. The five meters between them was a chasm Yunho did not know how to bridge. He wanted to throw himself headfirst into it anyways, if there was even the slightest chance he could make it to the other side, take Mingi’s distress and make it his own.
“You are always so—” Mingi sounds distraught now, rubbing at his face like it’ll stop the pain that’s painted all over it. “Why do you have to—I want to be over you so bad. I’m trying so hard,” he whispers, miserable, and whatever’s left in Yunho’s chest shrivels up and withers away.
“Mingi,” he says, helplessly, wanting to make things better, knowing that they might never be. “I’m so sorry. I know I can’t ever make it up to you, but I—”
“Jeong Yunho,” Mingi snaps, furious all of a sudden, and Yunho gets the hint and shuts the fuck up. His breath catches when Mingi pushes himself onto his feet and stalks across that five-meter chasm, until they’re barely half a feet apart, eye to eye. “You don’t know anything.”
“You’re the one that wanted a fucking break,” he spits, the last word acidic, and Yunho flinches but doesn’t step back. He did, and now it was a regret he’d have to live with for the rest of his life. “You decided that all by yourself, so don’t assume you know anything about how I feel.”
“Fuck it. You want to make it up to me?” Mingi asks him, and there’s something dangerous in his eyes now, a desperate sort of abandon.
Yunho does, more than anything. “Please,” he says, more prayer than plea.
Mingi’s eyes scan over his face. The anger on his face cracks open just slightly to reveal that sadness again, just for a moment, before it closes up and seals shut. “Fine,” Mingi tells him, stomping back to his seat to grab something before thrusting it out for Yunho to take. Yunho stares at it, tracing the rectangular shape of it before realising it’s some sort of pass, like the ones he’s entitled to every weekend that grants friends and family full paddock access. Like the ones he had given Mingi, so long ago. “Come to the next one then. Let’s see how long you stick around this time.”
He says it sharper, but Yunho hears it. The same thrum of hope, the way he had sounded when Yunho had offered to come to all his concerts the first time around. It was muted, but it was there, so distant in the background, louder than anything else.
Unbidden, he thinks of what San said in Montreal. He misses you, I think, and that quiet confirmation that Mingi had said as much. There was some sort of truth hidden there, right beneath the surface of those words, that ran deeper and wider than any ocean. It was threaded between those three words, like wisps of silk made out of an emotion too tender to name, too soft to bear. It was the truest thing in the world, more ancient than the sun, condensed into that now one-meter gap that was, perhaps, never as unscalable as he had thought.
“Okay,” he says, and the tightness in his throat isn’t just desolation now. There’s something gentle beginning to simmer in his stomach, something that he was too scared to put a name to yet, while it was still so intangible. He takes the pass from Mingi’s hand, and pretends not to notice the way Mingi shudders when their fingers brush. “I’ll be there.”
2025 SPANISH GRAND PRIX
In Barcelona, he makes it a hat trick. Victory, with three in a row, has never tasted so sweet.
But what tastes sweeter is this: the pass in his bag, entitling him to VIP access for the rest of Mingi’s tour. The champagne and the wine that gets passed around afterwards in celebration are almost as good, but Yunho doesn’t dare to get too drunk.
He had a plan to catch and a concert to watch the next day, after all. Formula 1 was his life, the only thing he’s ever known. Driving was the only thing he knew how to do right, at the end of the day. But there were some promises that meant more than the world.
All that to say: Yunho is not a patient man. You cannot survive in this sport if you spend it waiting on your haunches, second guessing yourself at every turn and every corner. Trust your instincts, let your gut guide you when all else fails. When the gap opens up for you, when the opportunity presents itself to you, you have to take it.
And well, if it doesn’t, then you will just have to create one for yourself. Second chances are not easy to come by. Yunho does not intend to wait and see where the wind blows with the one he had been given. This time, he will take it into his own hands, and he will make sure it counts.
────────────────
Zurich, then Cologne. He doesn’t get invited backstage again, but that’s okay. The same guy checks him in every time, and on the third time of meeting in Oslo, Yunho strikes up a conversation while he’s being led to his seat. He’s one of the overseas managers, apparently, and he reports directly back to Mingi, so it becomes abundantly clear that even if Mingi doesn’t see the uproar on social media every time Yunho shows up at a concert, the news of his presence travels back anyways. The silence on Mingi’s end is unsurprising, and Yunho doesn’t let it bother him. He has to prove himself, before he’s worthy of seeing Mingi face to face again.
Concert by concert, Yunho sits in the stands and watches Mingi give his everything on stage. In Cologne, some fans prepare a surprise video for him, and as Mingi turns to descend down at the end of the concerts, he’s overwhelmed with emotion as he screams one last thank you to the crowd. Yunho tracks down every angle of the moment that ends up on the internet and watches Mingi’s eyes glitter with happiness in every single one, thumbing the soft edge of his laughing face through the glass of his phone screen.
Oslo—there’s a special exit for the invited guests to go through to avoid the crowd out front. The manager comes to get him, and they make easy conversation as they make their way towards the exit. Just as they’re about to say their goodbyes, he leaves Yunho with a Mingi says hi, by the way.
Yunho drives back to his hotel in a daze. It’s only when he gets to brushing his teeth that he realises he’s still smiling.
2025 AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX
[SKY SPORTS LIVE: 2025 AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX]
HWANG Kwanghee: Jeong Yunho makes another good move up at Turn 3, positioning his car just perfectly to shut down any attempt at a comeback from the Aston. He moves up into eleventh.
YOO Jaesuk: It’s a real shame about the collision he had in Lap 1, seeing as he’s having another good race! He had a great day yesterday, coming third in the sprint and starting on the front row for today. I was actually looking forward to it, to see if he’d make it four wins in a row.
HWANG: His race for the podium spots was over the moment had picked up so much front wing damage. Not his fault at all, but sometimes that’s just how the sport goes. We saw the replays, he just had nowhere to go, squeezed on both sides.
YOO: He’s been keeping his cool well, though. He’s been very quiet on the radio. Seems to be completely dialled in on picking through these slower cars in front of him one by one.
HWANG: It’s a Yunho we haven’t seen in a while, ey? He’s very calm and focused right now. He knows his car is faster than the people he’s fighting with, so he’s just being smart about when he makes the moves. Just super methodical in conserving battery and making clean decisions on when to lunge and when to hold back. I mean, it might seem strange to say this about somebody who’s currently not even in the points, but he’s driving like a true champion right now.
YOO: It’s really good to see him come back up to form. He’s making an attack on the slower of the two Mclarens now. Not close enough in Turn 3, but let’s see what he does at Turn 4… and, oh, he’s through, that’s him up into tenth and back into the points.
HWANG: He was P19 nine laps ago! He’s making plenty of progress right now, and he’ll be looking to clear the next few cars as fast as possible. It’s crazy to see him up there. When his entire front wing got shredded, I thought they’d have to retire the car for sure. At the pace he’s going, he could target P6 or P7, maybe even P5!
YOO: He’s been in a great run of form lately. I mean, that win in Imola was just spectacular. He was incredible in Barcelona last week too, where Mercedes weren’t expecting him to be so fast with a track that wasn’t the best for their car. What a win he had there, on a track he’s never even podiumed at before.
HWANG: Look, he’s caught up to the back of the Alpine already. Wow, he’s like a homing missile out there! It must be incredibly stressful to see him in your rear mirrors getting closer and closer.
YOO: Let’s see what he does. If the rest of the race has been any indication, he’ll clear this next obstacle quickly and go after the next car ahead like a dog on a hunt. At the front of the race, they’ve all spaced out and settled into their current positions. But in the middle of the pack, all eyes are on Jeong Yunho right now, cleaving his way through the field with laser-like precision.
HWANG: He’s certainly the most interesting thing that’s happening out on track right now.
YOO: That he is, Kwanghee. And what a joy it is to watch him drive.
────────────────
Glasgow is cutting it close. He flies in just two hours before the start of the concert, going directly from the airport. Seven hours ago, the flight hadn’t even been booked, much less boarded and landed. A media thing he was supposed to attend in the morning had fallen through, and suddenly there was just enough time to make it to tonight’s show. Yukwon is blowing up his phone, asking him where he is and why he checked out of the hotel in Austria early. Yunho texts him back to let him know they’ll see each other in the paddock on Wednesday, and puts his phone on mute. He’ll deal with it later.
He makes it to the venue with just fifteen minutes to spare, in such a rush that he had hailed a cab instead of asking somebody to drive one of his cars to the airport for him to collect. There would be time to do that after. This was more important, by far.
On stage, Mingi delivers another perfect performance. Today, he’s swapped one of the songs in the setlist for another one in his discography, to the delight and shock of his devoted audience. Halfway through the song, he turns to look at the side of the stands that Yunho is at, and for a brief moment, it feels like they see each other.
On this night when even the moon cries, please find it, somewhere in my heart. There’s a message here, waiting to be heard. Somehow, Yunho thinks he’s starting to get it. Is there a place where I can rest?
2025 BRITISH GRAND PRIX
Silverstone dawns with an on-and-off torrent of rain that can never seem to decide if it’s here to stay or not.
It’s miserable, to say the least. FP1 gets delayed by an hour, and FP2 gets red flagged thrice over before they finally call it quits. Everybody seems to be in a foul mood, grumbling as they have to wipe the cars down for the sixth time in an hour, wringing towels out. It’s fucking humid, too, like it wasn’t bad enough with the rain, leaving shirts sticking uncomfortably to skin and socks perpetually soaked through.
Yunho, however, is in a great fucking mood.
He can tell some of the mechanics are side-eyeing him, wondering what the hell is going on to have him in such a cheery mood. He’s downright peppy as they go through strategy for the weekend, which is hilarious, because the car sucks. They’d brought a new front wing to this weekend that they couldn’t test properly with all the rain and running in the wet, so the promised “huge upgrade package” was currently worth jackshit. To make things worse, the one thing they had going for them, their better tire deg compared to everybody else, was backfiring heavily on them here, requiring more time to get up to temp while everybody was warming up their inters within a lap. Yunho’s humming as he comes back from FP2, and he’s pretty sure Nayoung thinks he’s gone straight up insane.
Still, his good mood persists. By Saturday, some of the mechanics had devised a guessing game called what shade of gray will the sky be in ten minutes from now? for lack of any other source of entertainment. Three minutes into FP3, his car has a weird mechanical issue that leaves him sitting out the rest of the session anyways, which would normally piss him off, but honestly he was just glad to get out of the rain. With nothing better to do, Yunho joins in on the betting pool, perched atop a box and watching the engineers tinker over his car frantically. He makes a fairly safe bet of kind of like, an ashy cement, and then cusses when not five minutes later he hears thunder right outside. It’s nearly pitch-black when he sticks his head out of his garage to check. Damnit.
In the background, somebody drops a wrench, and Yunho laughs when he hears the cussing start up. Even with how terrible the weekend’s been so far, it still feels good to be here, on one of his favourite tracks on the calendar. It was practically a home race for Mercedes anyways, now that Germany was no longer on the calendar, with how the factory was only a twenty-minute drive away, and it felt like half the grandstands were in Mercedes black and teal. It felt even better now that he had collected enough results in the season so far to feel deserving of all their support. Across from the pitlane, some of the fans start cheering as they notice him, and he waves back to thank them for waiting so long in the rain. At least he was given the pass to change out of his wet racesuit as soon as he got out of the car, and it felt good to be in dry clothes instead of being stuck out in the rain, where there were still cars braving the weather to try and get a few runs in. For some of the slower teams in the midfield, they had to run their cars, even if it was particularly safe to do so.
Checking the radar, he notices that the rain’s about to get even worse. The wind picks up, and even in the cover of his garage he feels it gusting by, could hear the whistle of it crackle through the air. He winces sympathetically when the first car, one of the Saubers, comes back into pitlane, the driver looking completely soaked through. Waving over one of the personnel milling around, he asks them to get a hot cup of tea for Jinyoung when he gets back. It’ll be sorely needed, for sure.
He waits a minute for the red flag to be called, and then frowns when it’s still not in effect even after a few more minutes of sitting around. The rain was properly pouring now, and it just wasn’t safe to be out in those conditions. Well, if the FIA was interested in seeing people crash in this sort of weather, then it was probably better that he’s tucked up all warm and dry inside his garage. The conditions were so bad there was practically no point for them to be running, when half the data wouldn’t even be usable.
Two minutes later, one of the Alpines spins out at Stowe and punts right over the gravel trap and into the barriers. The yellow flag goes up, but only in Sector 3, and thirty seconds later one of the Williams is in the wall at Abbey. The red flag goes up immediately. Yunho looks at the wreckage on the monitor and tries not to feel vindicated. Hah, he knew it wasn’t going to end well. One by one, he watches the cars file into the pits, and the pitlane becomes a flurry of activity as mechanics wheel each car back into their spots, a well-oiled machine of routine. Minjae passes by just then, sharing an umbrella with one of Yunho’s old mechanics at Williams, and Yunho goes to check up on him, glad to hear that it’s only his ego that’s been bruised and nothing else.
Hours later, there’s still a heavy drizzle when he peels out of the garage for qualifying, the rain streaking down his visor and rendering the world half-veiled instantly. Already, they had delayed qualifying by an hour, but with the skies so dark they didn’t want to risk putting it off anymore. He takes the out lap easy, memorising where the grip was ever so slightly more lenient and where it was downright abysmal, where he could afford to cut the chicane and where he had to brake early unless he wants to end up in the barriers. Wet or dry, Silverstone is always glorious, long straights and gorgeous corners that offer some of the best racing in the entire world. Yunho smiles as he finds the right line through Maggotts and Becketts, just scraping over the kerb through the middle section. Everything felt twice as dangerous in the rain, when the margin of error narrows to near inexistent and one wheel too far over the white line meant the end of your race.
It was just the way Yunho loves to drive. Daring, and right on the limit.
God, he loves Silverstone.
He does another lap to bring his tires up to temperature, this time testing a different line through Copse and snorting when he almost skids through an ocean of rainwater instead, the car sliding halfway across the track before he rights it. He’s sure there’s commentators talking about the moment he’s just had, and how close he had come to shunting, but with no damage to the car it’s only more valuable knowledge for where to drive the next lap and where to not. They could talk shit if they wanted. Yunho knew what he was doing.
The tires are just about right now. It was funny, that their good tire deg was coming back to bite them in the ass now they were on a track that was bone-cold and needed warmer tires to yield any sort of grip through some of the corners, but it was a trade off Yunho would take. Better a car that was risky and fast than a car that was slow. Anything was better than a car that was slow.
Rounding the final corner, he starts his first flying lap, pushing as he tears down the straight, kicking up a spray of water in his wake. He’s fast through the first sector, but there’s a slow-going Haas parked in the middle of Luffield that he has to go the long way around and he grits his teeth as the car wobbles through Woodcote, sliding precariously before he rapidly gets back onto the good line. No mistake in Copse this time, he’s learned his lesson there. The car’s sliding everywhere, and Yunho gives up fighting it, letting it skid a little deeper into Maggotts to get the perfect entry into Becketts, checking the times on his dashboard to see how he’s doing. It feels fast, at the very least. Flat out down the Hanger Straight, then he brakes fifteen meters earlier than he usually does into Stowe and safely makes it through, winding through Vale and Club to finish the lap. 40.1. Not bad, not bad at all. Junmyeon tells him he’s in first for now.
Ducking back into the pits on the next lap, the engineers frantically wipe the car down and make sure there’s no build-up in any of the ducts. He asks for a towel to try and mop up the entire puddle of rain that’s formed on his floor, obediently letting a mechanic give his helmet a cursory wipedown. In the meantime, Daniel logs a 39.7 on the timing sheets, and the Mark clocks a 39.2 right after. Jesus, not as good as he’d been hoping then.
The team rapidly discusses if it’s worth burning through another set of inters to try another lap. He’s in sixth, which is safe-ish, but the track’s ramping up now that more cars have been on it and moved some of the water off the racing line, and in the end they send him out again, too afraid to risk it when people were continuously setting better times. It’s a good decision, in Yunho’s opinion. He’s already missed FP3, so it would be good practice, even if the lap times weren’t great.
Sector 1—there’s more grip to be found out there now, and he’s already three-tenths faster than his last lap by the time he’s exiting out of Aintree. He gets on the throttle down the Wellington Straight, close to flat out, before pulling back right before Brooklands. Down to Copse, he can just about see the dry line, and he hits the apex perfectly. Maggotts and Becketts next, he tries the new line and his sector times fall by two-tenths. He brakes five meters later at Stowe this time, and shaves another half a tenth off his time. Dimly, he can feel a rumbling under his skin, that age-old familiar hunger, that says, here you can gain one more millisecond, and here, if you’re brave enough, you can steal another tenth. Formula 1 is a sport of margins. For all his clumsiness in semantics, this is the fine line he knows how to walk, this is where all the gray area falls away to pinpoint precision, this is where he thrives.
He crosses the line. 37.323. Purple sectors all around, and more than safely into Q2. Slowly, he brings his car around and back into the pits, where that well-oiled, beloved machine kicks back into gear again.
Yunho leans back in his seat, and lets the mechanics fuss. There was plenty left of qualifying to go, and plenty of speed left to find out on track. He closes his eyes, imagining the turn at Luffield, how much he was willing to work with the car’s sliding and use that to push flat out through Woodcote. Down the Hanger Straight, could he brake even later without crashing out at Stowe? All these little changes he could make here and there to improve his time by milliseconds, down to the thousandth. When he opens them again, there’s a mechanic waving him out into the pitlane, and Junmyeon in his ear telling him to get a move on. Out of the pits, he takes his time bringing the tires up to temperature, cutting past some of the slower going cars queuing up to create a gap to the car in front. One more out lap, and then he’s round the final corner and it’s go time, nothing left in the world except the eighteen corners ahead of him. Yunho pushes the pedal to the floor and the world blurs at the edges as he rockets from 150kph to 250 in an instant, setting off once more to chase that miraculous margin.
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He climbs out of the car as soon as he pulls into parc ferme, clambering over the halo so he can stand on the nose, lifting his arms in a celebration of emotion, shouting at the sky. The rain pours over him, seeping into his skin, and he screams again, lifting his index figure up to the heavens. All around, he can hear the glory of the crowd, see the Mercedes flags waving up in the grandstands.
Pole, by four-tenths ahead of the closest contenders, in the middle of a fucking storm. It feels like coming home.
His mechanics catch him when he throws himself across the fence and into their waiting arms, cheering and clapping him across the back, shaking him by the shoulders. One of them slaps him on the helmet, exclaiming something incoherently happy, and Yunho lets himself blabber incomprehensible happiness back in return. He’s a mess through the interviews, barely remembering to thank the crowd for all their support, and he knows the wetness on his face isn’t entirely just rain. It just—it feels good, to put it on pole here, at a race that had always meant so much to him.
There’s another round of applause and cheers and hugs waiting for him and he finally gets back to the garage, and he lets himself feel all of it, the palpable joy that was shared. All of the worries and fears that had been plaguing him since the start of the season, since he joined the team, since he’d been a too-lanky kid in a kart wondering if he’d ever make it to Formula 1, were suddenly gone. Right here, he knew, more than any apartment or house, was home, and this was where he belonged.
“You scared us out there!” Junmyeon complains, coming over to give him a proper hug, ruffling his hair playfully while he was at it. “That was so close at Copse on the last lap!”
Yunho blinks. “Really?” He asks, genuinely surprised. Truthfully, the last bit of it was all kind of hazy. He couldn’t remember much. He’d just been having so much fun.
Formula 1 @F1 · 1h
⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫
⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫
Five lights out and racing is underway at Silverstone!
Jeong Yunho gets a good jump off the line and maintains the lead going into Turn 1—the perfect start to the race for the world champion.
#F1 #BritishGP
Mint @cowboy11 · 1h
YUNHO???? what the hell how is the gap 4 seconds already it’s been FIVE LAPS
Quill1 94 10 @sunlit_trees · 1h
can the rain make up its mind 😭😭 why does every team have something different to say about it??? do we not all use the same radars?
Mercedes Updates @SilverArrowsNet · 53m
🎙️| Pit to Yunho:
“Yellow intensity rain expected in 7 minutes, expected to last for 10 to 12 minutes.”
Yunho: “Copy. Let’s pit for inters next lap.”
“We will wait on inters. Repeat, we will wait on inters.”
Yunho: “Guys, if you want me to have a car in four laps, we’re going to need to pit for inters now. We’re just losing time to everybody else.”
“Copy. Box this lap. Box box.”
Yunho: “Get the wets out too, just in case. I don’t think this rain is going to get any better.”
Formula 1 @F1 · 22m
LAP 41/52
Jeong Yunho comes into the pits again and puts on… a set of mediums? He’s the first driver to go on slicks.
Mercedes are banking a lot on his ability to stay on track! He feeds back out in P4.
#F1 #BritishGP
Steph @youknowyunho · 18m
i thought merc were insane putting yunho on slicks but he’s cooking??? no idea what the hell racing line he’s finding out there but holy shit he’s fast
Mercedes Updates @SilverArrowsNet · 11m
Yunho is currently the fastest man on track! 🟣🟣🟣 in all three sectors, he’s passed Lee to retake the lead of the race.
LET HIM COOK 🔥🔥
Lara @yunhocentric · 7m
LAST FIVE LAPS I’M SHAKING IN MY SEAT
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 51/52]
PIT: Gap now is 4 seconds. You’re all clear. No stress over anybody behind you.
JEONG: Fastest lap?
PIT: Already yours. Don’t go getting any big ideas now!
JEONG: Haha! Don’t worry. I’ll just bring it home from here.
PIT: I’ll see you at the chequered flag, my friend.
[SKY SPORTS LIVE: 2025 BRITISH GRAND PRIX]
YOO Jaesuk: Down the Hanger Straight he goes, just four corners left in his way. He was incredible in qualifying yesterday, and he’s been incredible today, around the 52 laps of this beautiful circuit. He’s seconds away from it now, making his way through Stowe and down into the Vale chicane. Ten years ago, his dreams of one day making it into Formula 1 began right here at Silverstone, when he won the race here in F4 and impressed Mercedes enough to be handpicked for their junior team. And today, he answers that dream in the Silver Arrow, showing the world what Mercedes saw in him that day. It’s been his race from the start to the finish, Jeong Yunho wins the British Grand Prix!
Everything that comes after he climbs out of the car is lost to him. He remembers screaming, laughing, and a lot of crying, most of it being his own, and the next two hours become shrouded in nothing but shimmering memories of joy, pulsing and alive, like a ball of light lodged under his ribs.
Unforgettable, he says, when one of the marketing people points a camera at his face and asks him how he feels. We meant how you feel, not how the race was! she laughs in response, though she lets him off the hook, seeing as how he’s drenched in rain and champagne and probably more than one person’s tears.
Yunho didn’t know how to explain to her that that is his answer to the question. The race was momentous, for sure, though he couldn’t remember any of the fine details he knows that the memory of it will stick with him for the rest of his life, but more than that, he felt unforgettable, filled with an emotion that was not too big to hold, but rather too small to let go of, so precious he could never dream of daring to lose it. There was not a single person here who would forget what he had put out on track today, how he drove, what he had done. This was history, what he had just made.
Nayoung finds him collapsed in the hallway outside his Driver’s room, still clutching on to the trophy like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real. It’s only when she puts a hand to his shoulder that he realises he’s trembling. He doesn’t know why he’s being so emotional. It’s not even the first time he’s won here, but somehow, today feels like it matters more than the rest, like he’d finally proven himself to the world, that he was fast and special and the fucking world champion. It was all too much, to try and dissect that complicated mess of feelings, so he settled for hugging the trophy to his chest, shaking from what could have been laughter and what could have been tears.
“Yunho,” she admonishes him, though he could hear the fondness in her voice. She’s chuckling as she crouches down to get to his level, mindful to keep her knees off the ground which was sticky from everything that was dripping off his body. God, she was so cool. Yunho kind of wanted to be her when he grew up. “Get up off the floor.”
Yunho smiles at her dopey and more than a little tipsy. “Don’t wanna,” he whines, curling his fingers into that gold handle, pressing his cheek into the pointed tip of it, even if it kind of hurt.
She laughs at him, looking very exasperated. But there was no anger in her face, only a soft sort of resigned affection. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mutters, more to herself than anything, before pulling her phone out of her pocket to show him the time. It was a little past five in the afternoon. Yunho didn’t understand what that had to do with anything. There was debrief to do, but he suspected that everybody would be drunk enough that it could be left to tomorrow when they’d all gather at the factory, and surely the team were already planning for where they’d go partying tonight. He was sure there would be things they’d want him to film, some b-rolls of him with the trophy, but it wasn’t like they were in any rush. He’d survived through the hard part of the post-race interviews already.
Nayoung sighs, and then looks at him, really looks at him, and there’s an expression on her face that he’s never seen before, one that looked almost… teasing. “It’s a two hour drive to London.” He knows that much. “You better hurry if you want to make it to the concert.”
Oh.
He can’t help the way his head jerks up and his eyes must go wide and round as he stares at her. Surely, there was no way. Yunho had responsibilities. It was Nayoung’s job to keep him in line with those. He had debrief things to film, comments about the car he should pass to the mechanics before he forgets, probably a few more public appearances to please everybody, some phone calls he’d need to hop on with the investors so they’d feel included enough. It was all par for course, things he had come to expect with the job, with every win. He knew how this part went. Nayoung never strayed from the script.
The side of her mouth quirks up. She tilts her head towards his door, as if to say go, I’m not going to offer twice, taking the trophy from his hands and straightening up before twisting smoothly on her heel to deliver the present back to the team. “I’ll send a driver to wait for you in the parking lot. Please try and tidy yourself up in the car before you get there. People are going to take pictures.”
Yunho picks his jaw up from the ground. Scrambles to his feet and then into his room, already halfway through peeling himself out of the soaking racesuit. It’s fifteen minutes later when he barrels out of hospitality and into the lot, finding the guy who drives him to most of the company functions already by his car. There’s a buzz in his ear that’s got nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the adrenaline in his veins, and he barely feels alive as they turn out onto the road. And then they’re off from Silverstone, towards Mingi, from one of Yunho’s dreams to the other.
Huh. Miracles do happen, every once in a while.
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He’s half an hour late to the start of the concert, which was about as fast as he could have gotten there without asking the driver to run a few red lights. He barely remembers to thank the guy before he’s leaping out of the car, uncaring that for once, it’s his car and not a company loaner. If Barry or Barnes or whatever his name was wants to take it out on a joyride, he was welcome to, as far as Yunho was concerned. He makes a note to give the man a big, big cheque the next time they see each other, and to get Kyuwook to give Nayoung a bonus too, for the spare bag of clothes and basic necessities that she put together for him in every car he owns, in case he needs to attend any sort of sudden event. Dry shampoo was the greatest invention he’s seen since sliced bread and whatnot, and deodorant was God’s gift to humanity. It doesn’t entirely alleviate that he still looks and kinda smells like he just ran a marathon, but he just survived 52 laps in the rain at Silverstone, and this was about as good as it would get.
No overseas manager to check him in today, but he wasn’t expecting it with how late he is. Instead, he wastes another five minutes arguing with the security guard over the authenticity of his pass, before finally convincing him by pulling up his own wikipedia page. The guard had stared at the profile, glancing skeptically between the picture and his face, clearly unconvinced that the ruffled, red-faced mess in front of him was the same guy as the Formula 1 world champion in the photo, before letting him through. It was almost as humiliating at the time he’d been stuck at customs in Austin and had asked the desk officer to google him as proof of his identity. Still, it got the job done. There were perks to being famous, sometimes.
He’s just late enough that the guard asks if he minds sitting at one of the empty seats near the top rather than to disturb the concert by bringing him down to the pen, and he’s so relieved that he’s being let in at all that he agrees without causing any more trouble. He wouldn’t know how to explain it to Nayoung, if he had infringed on so much of her understanding and then hadn’t even managed to actually attend the concert.
The first person who recognises him backstage as he’s being led to his seat visibly recoils, and he shoots her an awkward smile, wringing his hands to hide how nervous he is. There’s definitely going to be noise on social media, when somebody inevitably takes a photo of him and people are going to start wondering why he was ditching team celebrations to be here instead, when five hours ago he was just crossing the finish line to win the British Grand Prix. Already, he’d seen people talking about how many concerts he’d been attending, speculating on why he was showing up so often. Of course, everybody knew him and Mingi were friends. But that also meant the weird year of silence after the fallout last there was definitely noticed as well. Before and after, there had been rumors that neither of them ever addressed, about their friendship, what it meant, if it was anything more. Yunho had always let people come to whatever conclusion they wanted. What he and Mingi were—are—it’s nobody’s business but their own.
Mingi’s radiant tonight, glittering in a new outfit under the spotlights. He’s been slowly and steadily gaining confidence with each stop, and it was magnificent to see, how he blossoms on stage, how it seems to call to him, how he comes alive under the strobe lights and the guitar solos and the energy of the crowd. In Paris, he was almost shy, thanking a European crowd for the first time, and here, six weeks later in London, it was hard to imagine that he could feel any fear, when he was larger than life in leather and mesh, a vision no matter where he stood. It was how Yunho felt when he was in the car, though he doubts that he looked half as good in the middle of a race, compared to the beast Mingi became on stage, feasting on the screams and the cheers.
It’s over too soon, the way it always feels whenever he steps into one of Mingi’s concerts, no matter how many times he’s seen the set-up and heard the songs and rewatched fancams of the better moments. He didn’t have a better comparison for how the energy in the arena felt except how it feels to be in the thick of a race where you’re not fighting with anybody, when the corners were turning into muscle memory and you could let yourself cruise a little and really enjoy the moment. In those moments, you could trust your body to know when to turn, when to brake, let your focus ease up for a second and take in the beauty of what you were doing, to be in one of the 20 fastest cars in the world and doing what you love.
He can feel his phone blowing up in his pocket as he staggers back onto his feet, feeling the exhaustion of the day behind him hit in full force. Down below in the pits, some fans have started an impromptu singing session, and were calling for an encore as they jammed with each other. So high up, nearly in the rafters, Yunho lets himself take in the scale of it all, how much Mingi had built for himself in the span of a year, how much his hard work from all the years before have finally paid off. He spares himself a laugh, some kind of… not exactly remorse, but it felt similar to the shame of wrongdoing. Two years he had spent dragging Mingi around the world to as many races as possible. Would he have achieved all this sooner, if Yunho hadn’t stood in his way?
Somebody’s calling him. He groans and fumbles until he can see who it is, wrinkling his nose when he sees it’s just a phishing attempt. There’s 7 missed calls from Yukwon, probably asking where the hell he was, and a few more from Kyuwook too. There were hundreds of messages clogging up his notifications, and way too many mentions on Instagram that he’ll look at later. There will be time to check over all of it later. He still has enough time to catch wherever the team was celebrating tonight, seeing as they’ll probably be up until the sunrise. A win is always worthy of a good celebration, and a home win doubles the extravagance and excitement. If he got there quickly enough, he might even be forgiven for the faux pas of ditching them to come to this concert.
Text from Kyuwook, telling him that the debrief will be tomorrow morning at the factory, as expected. Text from Nayoung, telling him that she’s taken the liberty of gathering all the pictures he should use for his after-race post, and to do it as soon as he gets back on his phone. Text from Junmyeon, asking where he is, and then telling him which club the team had found themselves at, ordering him to get his ass over there now. Text from—
Yunho stops. Scrolls back up to make sure he’s not dreaming. Double checks, and then triple checks.
[From: Mingi]
(20:18) This message has been deleted.
(20:20) This message has been deleted.
(21:12) This message has been deleted.
(21:36) This message has been deleted.
(21:41) This message has been deleted.
(21:44) Stay where you are.
(21:45) Somebody will come and bring you backstage.
His hands are shaking as he clicks into the profile to check, and there it is again, the silly picture of Mingi halfway through an open-mouth laugh he’d set as the contact photo ages ago. His hair had been white then, and he’d whined and complained about the pain when Yunho had been combing the bleach through his hair, bragging about it afterwards that he barely felt a thing. They were on a grocery run when Mingi had spotted an odd translation of an item that had him cracking up, wheezing for air like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, and Yunho had snapped a picture almost instinctively, wanting to preserve that little moment of joy. It hadn’t been anything special back then, just a photo Yunho had liked a lot and thought was cute. Now, it felt like it was something precious that had gotten returned to him. There are things you don’t think you could lose, until they’re gone.
“Yunho?” he hears, and he whips around to find that trusty manager smiling at him jovially, waving him over. “Congrats on the win!”
They chat about the race as he leads Yunho through a confusing mess of twists and turns, and Yunho answers his questions as best as he can, trying to hide how terrified he is. Rafael, as his name turns out to be, is incredibly enthusiastic about today’s race, and incredibly unhelpful when it comes to dropping any hints on what today’s summon is about. Yunho tries to hedge the conversation towards the topic multiple times to no avail, and he has to wonder if it’s on purpose. For sure, the guy had never cared so much about Formula 1 before.
Like deja vu, he’s brought to a dressing room and unceremoniously waved through, and he gives Rafael one last desperate look before he steps in. Surely they must have built some some goodwill by now. Yunho had even looked up the football standings just so they’d have something to talk about the last time they’d seen each other.
It doesn’t take him long to spot Mingi, carefully packing a guitar back into its case and setting it on a stand. He’s still in stage make-up this time, though he’s traded the leather for a comfier hoodie and a pair of jeans. He looks up when Yunho enters, and something in his expression flickers, ever so slightly, before it smooths back out into that blank, considering expression Yunho’s been on the wrong end of for the third time in a row.
“Hi,” he blurts out, before Mingi can say anything. He’s not sure how to do damage control when he has no idea what the damage is, but for once he wanted to carry the brunt of the conversation, to struggle through the difficult part of saying things out loud instead of leaving that burden to Mingi. “Um, good concert.”
Jesus fuck. Nice going, Jeong. You couldn’t have said anything less meaningful if you tried.
For a moment, Mingi stares at him. He scruffs a foot against the ground, unsure of what Mingi’s trying to find, unsure of what he finds, when his eyes finally dart away and back, the way he always does when he needs a few more seconds to think. Yunho knows he must look like a mess. He’d taken a quick dunk through the hospitality shower before he came, but the tackiness of champagne and sweat would take more than that to wash off, and his hair was a lost cause entirely, clumping together in tangles that stubbornly refuse to be combed out. He was a very, very long shower away from looking half-decent again, and it wasn’t the kind of image he wanted to show to Mingi right now.
But Mingi has seen him looking worse, and more than that, it seems to matter more that Yunho’s here at all. Yunho freezes when he scoffs, before sighing and running a hand over his face, smudging some of his foundation.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mingi asks tiredly, but there’s no hostility in it. If anything, he just sounds resigned and a little amused. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?” He snorts under his breath. “And don’t say you promised or anything like that,” he warns, when Yunho opens his mouth to say just that.
Yunho fumbles with his words, trying to find the right thing to say. He’s so bad at this. Mingi was the only person in his life with who conversation felt effortless, like he could read between the lines Yunho didn’t even know he had laid down. Sometimes, Yunho felt like Mingi saw right through him, when he always seemed to understand Yunho’s intentions before he’d come to terms with them himself. There was an ease to being with Mingi that could never be replicated with another person, and for so many years, Yunho was comfortable to exist in that understanding, that sometimes, he didn’t need to say the words to be seen anyways.
He’d taken so many shortcuts and so many of the easy ways out with Mingi, who had always been so forgiving of him. In the end, it had only chased away the only person who matters.
“I, um.” Words matter. He knew this now. As difficult as they were, he would have to brave through. He’d been plenty brave today, already. What was a little more? “I missed you.”
Sure, let’s run with that. It had worked out for him last time, and it was a much safer thing to say than what he really meant. He wasn’t sure he could say those three words without getting decked yet.
“Yunho.” Mingi rolls his eyes, but there’s something that’s almost like laughter in his voice. “You won a race like, what, seven hours ago? Isn’t there anything better you should be doing right now? Debrief? Clubbing? I know you haven’t forgotten how to do those.”
“No,” Yunho replies stubbornly, because there really wasn’t. And then, “You watched?”
Mingi laughs. A real laugh, even if it’s small and he hides it behind a hand, like he could mask what was the most beautiful sound in Yunho’s world. “No, dumbass, I was preparing for the concert. Some of the staff backstage were talking about it. It’s hard to miss, when you win a home race in the same country.”
Oh. That made more sense.
Yunho shifts on his feet. He’s still not sure what he’s doing here, but for the first time since last July, he could feel some of the restlessness under his skin settle, like some kind of animal curling up to rest after a good hunt. Still quick to startle, ready to make a quick getaway if things went awry, but sated for now, and so warm and full it was willing to let its guard down momentarily to bask in the simplicity of the moment. It probably had something to do with the smile on Mingi’s face. It wasn’t so suffocating, that five-meter chasm, now that he was starting to see the top unfolding. For the first time, he could feel that same hope begin to dawn, that one day he might get to see the view from the peak again.
He notices Mingi’s staring at his chest, and then glances down at himself to see that he’s really looking at the pass he had given Yunho a month and six concerts ago. Some of the print was chipped and cracked at one of the corners by now, with how Yunho had started a habit of thumbing at it whenever it was around his neck, too afraid to lose it and still in disbelief it was real. The ribbon strap was a familiar weight around his neck now, grounding and well-worn. A few hours ago, he had a similar ribbon holding a gold medal on his neck, and now he had this lanyard. Both prizes, just of a different sort.
“You know,” Mingi starts, soft like a dream come to life. “I didn’t think you’d… actually come back.”
Ouch. It hurt a bit, how little faith Mingi had left in him, but Yunho got it. He had disappointed Mingi plenty of times before. Somewhere along the way, it was probably smart for Mingi to not get his hopes up.
“I thought you were just… I don’t know…” Mingi trails off, distinctively unsure. “Pulling a last-ditch effort to get my attention or something.” He smiles, just a bit sardonic. “You never did like it much when you lost things.”
Okay, ouch, properly this time. It’s true, as much as Yunho doesn’t want to admit it. He was quicker to anger than most people assumed and had competitiveness bred so thoroughly into him that even the idea of losing made him want to snap his teeth. Of course, it made him a good racecar driver, but it also circled around to make him a not-so-great human being at times. Last year, in July, when he had hurt Mingi the most, he was so hungry for the championship it had blinded him to everything else. Nothing else had mattered, when the championship felt so close, for the second year in a row, and he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers again. In the process of doing so, he’d let go of that other dream, that beautiful dream shaped like Mingi that felt like an impossible wonder at times.
He watches as Mingi’s fingers curl into the hem of his shirt, his knuckles bone-white, giving it a squeeze before unfurling. Second later, he exhales deeply, and once again strides over that five-mater distance to stand in front of Yunho again. “My point is,” he says gently, so close that if Yunho just reached out he could touch the curve of his cheek. “You weren’t supposed to come back. Not in Zurich, and not now. You won a race three hours before the concert, Yunho.” A small snort. “Is the team going to be mad you’re ditching them to see me right now?”
Probably, scratch that, definitely, but—“I don’t care.”
He makes Mingi laugh with that one, properly this time. It felt like the ball of light in his chest had come alive with the sound. “Okay,” Mingi says, shaking his head. “Fine. I guess you proved me wrong, so I’ll give you a chance. Say your piece. I won’t interrupt you until you’re done, and we’ll see where we go from there.”
Yunho fights the urge to jump in surprise. “What?”
“Whatever you’re here for. You’ve clearly got something you want to say to me, if you’re going to keep showing up like this,” Mingi clarifies impatiently, waving his hand. If Yunho had known him any less well, he would have described Mingi in the moment as unflappable, but he knew better, and he could tell from the stiffness in the shoulders and the way he was working his jaw that Mingi was nervous too, just as much, maybe even more.
Somehow, that’s what makes Yunho relax, calms the jackrabbit of his heart and brings him back into the moment. He breathes in, then out slowly, trying to gather up the words. He was so scared, so terrified that he was going to mess it up, but it helped that Mingi was afraid too, that right now, here on each side of their one-meter fissure, they were still them. It was easy to remember how it felt to hold Mingi, through the good days and the bad, how it felt to have the world in his palms, so gentle and so tender.
“I…” he begins, not knowing where he’ll be on the other side. He was so focused on finding the right words, that sometimes he had forgotten that silence was far crueler than any clumsy attempt at bridging the gap. “Last year, when we… when we broke up.” He knows now that that’s what it was, even if he’d been avoiding looking at what he had done in the eye for so long. “No, when I—when I broke up with you. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t—” Argh, he had no idea what to say. He was trying, but he wanted to do better than that.
“I was… really bad to you,” he ends up on, pathetically forcing himself to maintain eye contact and not hide away. “And you deserved a lot better than that. Than me. You gave me so much. Fuck, you moved to England for me. I took a lot of what you did for me for granted. And it was… really shitty of me. I’m sorry. About everything. I don’t have any excuses. Last year, I was… I wanted the championship so much. But I shouldn’t have been so horrible to you. I’m really, really sorry.”
It was difficult to parse out the look on Mingi’s face. It had been thawing as Yunho had gone on and on, but it had closed up again now. “Even though I was such a distraction?” he says slowly, an edge to his voice.
Yunho flinches. That, more than anything, was his worst mistake. “You were never a distraction,” he babbles, tinged with mania. He has to let Mingi know. He didn’t know if he could live with himself if he let Mingi go on believing that all he was, after everything he had given for Yunho, was a distraction. “Mingi, you were the only thing keeping me sane. I didn’t know how to live without you. And then you were getting picked up by a label and talking about moving to America and I was so happy for you but so scared about what that would mean for us. So I pushed you away. Because I stupidly thought it’d somehow be better, if I ended things on my own terms. Like I’d get… I don’t know, closure.”
He bulldozes on. If he stops talking now, he’ll never find the courage to start again. Across from him, Mingi looks stunned, the tension to his mouth gone and his jaw slack. “I didn’t.” It comes out of him in a rush. The truth was so painful to bear, but even worse to live. He had been a fool and a coward, and it had cost him everything. “There was no closure or anything like that. Just… I missed you so much. It felt like it would kill me at times, how much I missed you.”
Here is what lies at the heart of the matter: “Mingi, I should have said it back then, but I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I thought you knew. You probably did, but I should have said it out loud anyways. I loved you. I love you. I always will. You don’t have to give me another chance or anything. I just wanted you to know. You were, and are, the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Mingi’s face shutters, and then shatters apart entirely. For a moment, he looks so, so young, the ghost of the boy Yunho met all those years ago. “Even more than the championship?” he asks, his voice small and quiet.
Yunho laughs. He doesn’t hide how wet the sound is, how his throat feels clogged up, how his eyes sting. “Even more than that.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them speak. They stand in the silence and let the weight of everything between them sink in. And then—
“It wasn’t all bad,” Mingi says shakily, biting his lip in that familiar, nervous way. Yunho longs to be able to touch him, to have the privilege of pulling that bottom lip out of the worrying grasp of teeth with his thumb and smooth over the distress tugging at the corner of it. “Up until the end, I was happy to be with you.”
Yunho looks at him, really looks at him. Takes in the boy he first met at thirteen and lost at seventeen, the man he knew and fell in love with at twenty-two and lost again at twenty-five, and the man he would always love, now at twenty-six and for the rest of time. How far they had come, to stand here now. Yunho doesn't particularly believe in fate. His relationship with his faith has been spotty and convoluted, but there was nothing complicated about this, about this love he felt and knew was true, this love that was his to hold.
“So what do we do now?” he asks gently. The ball of light in his chest flickered, and pulses so brightly it’s almost painful when Mingi offers him a soft, hesitant smile.
“I don’t know,” Mingi tells him, quietly, honestly. “But, um, if you want, I think I’d like to find out together.”
Chapter Text
Yunho spends the first week of summer break glued to his phone.
Well, the first proper week, anyways. The first actual week had been spent mostly at the factory, trying to put in some numbers on the sims so that the engineers would have something to work with, when they came back. Of course, there was no touching the cars at all during the two-week shutdown period, but thinking about it wasn’t illegal. Better to crunch in some numbers, so they could have something to stew on.
The team had been so incandescently happy after his win at Silverstone that his sudden absconding was mostly forgiven by the time he had slunk back through the front doors at Brackley the next day. Kyuwook had eyed him thoughtfully, but ultimately let him off the hook, with the new shiny gold trophy front and center in the display case softening him up. Nobody asked him about where he was the night before, why he had disappeared so fast, why he was missing from most of the celebrations. He had luckily managed to catch the tail-end of it, somewhere around two and three in the morning, stumbling into the club where the last dregs of the team were still partying away, too sober to be any good company but still the man of the hour. He could have made it earlier, but… well, he lost track of time. Him and Mingi had talked, and talked, until Mingi’s manager came knocking at the door with a reminder that they were already past the allotted booking time for the venue, and they should clear out unless they wanted infringement fees. Yunho, in a fit of mania, almost offered to pay them. It made him feel like an asshole even think about, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. Time with Mingi was priceless, in comparison.
Anyway.
Friends. They had settled on that amiably before parting, and Yunho had been so lightheaded from the day’s events he had thrown himself into whatever was left at the Mercedes party and decided to let loose. Yunho was still in the middle of a championship, and Mingi had made it very clear that, under no circumstances, did he want to repeat the same mistake. It hadn’t escaped Yunho’s notice that he hadn’t said those three words back, even if it became apparent that the feelings in question weren’t entirely unreciprocated.
So, friends.
Which is how Yunho ends up checking his phone every five minutes, now that they were texting again. Menial things, mostly memes and some catching up, but more important than the contents of the text chain was the fact that it didn’t die, even when the topics ran dry. Sometimes, it was painful to come up with things to talk about, when it felt like they had reached an understanding with each other without talking about the significant things at all. They hadn’t talked about the break-up at all, beyond that Yunho had blurted out. Avoidance only ignored the elephant in the room, it didn’t stop it from existing. Every once in a while, you could catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye.
But, well, by now you must have learned that Yunho does avoidance like a competition sport. Until it comes to bite him back in the ass, he’s happy to keep playing it by the books.
The sim times were alright. Nothing special, but they hadn’t expected much more out of the car than what it could already give. The fight for the WCC was still on—they were only twelve points behind Red Bull now. One good race could swing the tally twenty points in their favor, and Yunho’s been in a good run of form. Four wins in the last five races, he had halved the sixty-point difference Mark had over him in the same span. There were eleven races and three sprints left in the year, plenty of time for things to change. If he kept the winning streak up, there was a chance he could even lock down the championship before going into the final race.
Though, he’s getting ahead of himself now. It had sucked that they could barely test the new upgrades in Silverstone, having chosen to revert back to the old spec for the race than to run a whole new front wing in the rain. With no race data and barely anything from practice, it was difficult to guess if they were any good or not, and if this was the direction to keep pushing. They still hadn’t fully fixed the problem with the bouncing—it was better now, in the low-speed corners, but they were losing so much time down the straights with how the car kept shuddering whenever it was put on throttle. Honestly, Yunho had started getting used to it. Hyunwoo had put him on a new set of exercises that stretched his back out after races to alleviate some of the sores, and it was helping a lot with the pain. But he wanted the fastest car, and he wanted a car that didn’t feel like a wild animal every time he got into it. If he wanted to play matador, he would have gone to Red Bull instead.
In the other garage, Jinyoung’s struggling with the car. Hard. He’d been ahead of Yunho in the standings up to Suzuka, and then keeping pace until Hanoi, but then Yunho hit his stride somewhere around Miami and Montreal and had taken off in the championship, fully inserting himself back into the frontrunner conversation. Ferrari still had the biggest gap in points between teammates, but it was Kim Jongin in the other car. He was still a three-time world champion, even if he had done it for another team. Even to this day, Yunho didn’t fully understand why he had jumped from Red Bull to a slower car, but he supposes the Ferrari mythos went beyond logic. He’s heard it all before—Mingi had used to dream of driving the red car, was obsessed with it even after he was picked up by Red Bull. Yunho had never seen him abandon practicality like that for anything else. There was something tantalising about the idea of being the one to bring glory back to Maranello. The little prancing horse was practically its own religion, in Italy.
Yunho did not understand much of it. Mercedes was… a brand he was happy to represent, and a team he was proud to be the face of. He loved it here, the people, the history, even the posh image he was sure he would never fully live up to, but that was about as far as it ran. Mark talked about Ferrari like he couldn’t imagine life outside of wearing rosso corsa. It was baffling, and a little unnerving, but to each their own, he supposes. Mark was ahead of him in the championship right now, so maybe there was a little merit to devotion that Yunho wasn’t seeing the appeal of.
Even so, it was difficult to see Jinyoung having such a hard time. It was their fourth season as teammates, and while they’d never been the closest, there had never been any animosity between them. Yunho had been worried out of his mind in 2023, when the team’s favouritism towards him was hard to deny any longer, that the tentative and fragile friendship between the two of them would crumble, but if Jinyoung was harboring any bitterness, it hadn’t shown itself yet.
Still, it must have stung, to be playing second fiddle to two Jeongs in a row.
It’s not that Yunho pities him. Formula 1 drivers were, of course, prideful creatures of old habit, quick to irritate and hard to appease, no matter how nicely they might present themselves. Yunho didn’t pity him, because if Jinyoung didn’t want to be in a difficult position, then he should just drive faster, but he did feel a little bad about being salt in the wound.
So, when Jinyoung asks him if he’d like to join the trip to Greece he’s planned for next week, Yunho doesn’t turn him down immediately. He promises to think about it, and does.
[To: Mingi]
(10:24) Are you still in London?
(10:24) I’m free after lunch.
(10:25) Do you want to meet up?
[From: Mingi]
(10:46) noooo im flying back to LA tonight
(10:46) have an event to attend this afternoon and then it’s straight to the airport from there
(10:47) sorry
(10:47) maybe next time
[To: Mingi]
(10:48) Don’t worry about it!!
(10:48) Maybe I’ll catch you in America haha
[From: Mingi]
(10:49) maybe
(10:50) hmu if ur in the area
────────────────
[To: Park Jinyoung]
(11:11) Hey
(11:12) So, about Greece
SANTORINI, GREECE
So, that’s how Yunho ends up spending the first days in Santorini glued to his phone.
He’s not—he’s not moping, even if it’s been suggested by Jinyoung more than once, sounding thankfully more amused than annoyed that Yunho’s being such shitty company. Santorini is beautiful, even more than usual at this time of year, and Yunho spends most of it at sea, boating around the gorgeous coasts of the island. His phone alerts not six hours into Day 1 and tells him to upgrade to a better data plan if he’s going to be using so much of it in the middle of the ocean, and Yunho pays for it without a second thought, glancing at his phone screen every five seconds like a dog waiting for its owner to come home.
Not that Mingi is texting back every moment. Still, you never know.
Between brisk conversations, Yunho refreshes Instagram obsessively, clicking through his stories at an unprecedented rate to catch any glimpse of Mingi from their mutual friends. He learns a lot about the whereabouts of the grid, at least. Mark’s in Ibiza, and Daniel’s in Tokyo. San’s gone back home to Korea, and has shared roughly 50 pictures of his cat laying on him since yesterday morning. Swipe right. Park Seonghwa crosses the chequered flag at Le Mans to take his first victory with Ducati, leaping off his bike in joy as he pumps his fist up in the air. Swipe right, ad from APM Monaco. Swipe right, scheduled release of some stuff he had filmed for Mercedes a few weeks ago. So on and so on and so on.
Mingi’s been posting too. Mostly from the studio, sometimes from coffee shops around Los Angeles and skate parks. He’s dropped two photo dumps of the European leg of his tour since it ended. Picture 18 of the second one is taken in front of the vanity in his dressing room in London, and in the corner of the photo you can spot a candy wrapper stuck to the side of the bin. Yunho had only noticed it because he had been the one to put it there, missing the rim of the basket but finding the way it was stuck to the plastic lining from static too funny to move. Nobody would understand the significance of the world’s most minor detail, but Yunho still stares at the picture for longer than he should.
He refreshes his feed again, and right on cue, the black and white picture of Mingi’s profile jumps to the front of the queue, the purple circle around it lit up. Below where he was lounging on the deck of today’s yacht, he could hear the soft giggles of whatever girls Jinyoung had invited today, and an outburst of appreciation as one of the guys does something stupid, like cannonballing into the water. He knew he was being a bad sport, tagging onto the trip just to isolate himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
More likely than not, Jinyoung had invited him to pull his own weight. Girls usually flocked in groups at these places, and most of them were more than willing to sleep with a world champion. Since they first arrived three days ago, Yunho had been subjected to far too many interested looks and outright propositions, but he didn’t have any interest in hitting on random girls, much less hooking up with any of them. There were better things to be doing. He clicks on Mingi’s profile pic impatiently, scoffing when his screen goes gray as it loads. He frowns as he swipes out of it, and then tries again to the same result. And again. And—oh, it’s just another picture from his studio, some overhead shot of his mixing equipment. And he’s tagged the same guy again for the third time this week, a Kim Hongjoong who was working on a collab with him. cooking up something for you guys soon, the caption read, right above a small hand making a rock-and-roll gesture sticking in from the side.
Yunho scowls as he swipes out of it. Just the usual, he supposes.
Below, a girl screams in glee, the sound shrilly and sharp, and moments later there’s a loud splash. Sighing, Yunho lets himself flop down onto his deck chair, sprawling out to look at the Greecian sun above. Raising a hand to block out some of the glare, he watches as sunlight dapples between his fingers, leaving a hot stripe over the line of his nose.
Santorini is beautiful. It’s a shame it didn’t have the one thing Yunho wanted most.
[From: Mingi]
(09:43) omg look at this dog i saw today
(09:43) [picture attachment]
[To: Mingi]
(09:45) So cute!!!
(09:45) What a good boy
[From: Mingi]
(09:47) are they still calling u the dog thing
[To: Mingi]
(09:48) Yes.
[From: Mingi]
(09:48) LMFAO
(09:48) prince of the golden retrievers
[To: Mingi]
(09:49) Don’t even get started
────────────────
[From: Mingi]
(12:05) yunhoooooo
(12:05) which of these do you like better
(12:06) [audio file]
(12:07) [audio file]
[To: Mingi]
(12:09) Why are you still awake?
(12:09) Isn’t it 3am?
[From: Mingi]
(12:12) answer the question????
[To: Mingi]
(12:12) the first one
(12:13) Mingi, how long has it been since you’ve eaten anything
[From: Mingi]
(12:14) um
(12:15) okay, so
[To: Mingi]
(12:15) .
[From: Mingi]
(12:17) it’s okayyyyy im going home now
[To: Mingi]
(12:17) Please eat something when you get home
(12:18) This message has been deleted.
(12:21) Get home safe
[From: Mingi]
(21:34) i did
(21:34) thanks
────────────────
[From: Mingi]
(01:27) have you watched the new bleach episode yet
[To: Mingi]
(01:38) Not yet
(01:38) Wait, let me go do that now
(01:39) Feel free to talk about it while I’m watching
(01:39) brb
[From: Mingi]
(01:47) lol go to sleep you can watch it in the morning
(01:48) great episode though
(02:04) i still can’t believe we got to see senjumaru’s bankai
(02:05) cool as shit
(02:05) if kubo didn’t have to have to rush the end of the manga we could have had everything
[To: Mingi]
(02:05) Back
(02:05) Just finished the episode
(02:05) They just killed off the rest of Division 0 like that?
[From: Mingi]
(02:07) ??? wait i thought u were joking
(02:08) isn’t it like??? really late in greece
(02:08) idk my timezone conversions
(02:09) sorry if im keeping you up!!!! go to sleep you can’t be wasting mf santorini like that
[To: Mingi]
(02:10) It’s fine
(02:11) I’m always happy to talk to you
[From: Mingi]
(02:13) not the point!!!!!
(02:13) go to sleep!!!!!!!!!!
[To: Mingi]
(02:14) Fine, fine
(02:14) You win
[From: Mingi]
(02:14) i always do :)
────────────────
[To: Mingi]
(08:01) Hey
(08:04) This message has been deleted.
(08:07) Are you doing anything next week?
[From: Mingi]
(10:43) ??
(10:43) no not really
(10:44) probably just going to be in the studio or chilling
(10:44) not much to do for the album left
(10:45) why?
[To: Mingi]
(14:29) Okay, so
(14:30) There’s a Mercedes thing I have to go to in San Francisco next week
(14:31) I was thinking that
(14:35) This message has been deleted.
(14:36) After that maybe I could come down to LA?
(14:38) If you want me to
(14:42) This message has been deleted.
(14:44) This message has been deleted.
(14:47) No pressure though, of course
[From: Mingi]
(23:16) sorry just woke up
(23:18) uhhhhh wait lemme check with my manager first
(00:08) how long are you gonna be here for?
(01:42) actually nvm
(01:42) are u flying in or driving down?
(01:44) This message has been deleted.
(01:49) i can pick u up from the airport if you need a ride
(01:59) This message has been deleted.
(02:03) see you soon!
LOS ANGELES, USA
Yunho’s flight touches down at LAX at three in the morning, which is objectively and subjectively a terrible decision that he’s actively chosen to make.
He should have just stayed an extra night in San Francisco, all things considered. He had told the team to only book his hotel until the 26th, but it wasn’t as though he couldn’t have just paid out of pocket for another night, or found another hotel to bunker down at. It wouldn’t change how quickly he would get to see Mingi, anyway. Still, Yunho didn’t want to wait.
He wasn’t supposed to be on such a late flight. The San Francisco event, which was only ever supposed to be a small motorsport festival kind of thing, had turned into a much bigger deal once they’d been informed that he was coming. They had sent him an invite, but it was the kind of thing that would generally be considered too low-level for Nayoung to flag as a requirement. She had been extremely confused when Yunho had texted her asking if the invite still stood, but had forwarded him the details kindly. Anyways, it wasn’t the most horrible thing. There were a few NASCAR drivers that had shown up, including Choi Jongho, and Yunho had spent most of the event catching up with him and what he’s been up to since they’d last seen each other. It’s been a while—nearly 3 or 4 years, since Jongho had been left without a drive for 2022 after two seasons of F2 and a seat at Penske had opened up for him.
Jongho seemed pretty happy about the move, cheerily telling Yunho he was welcomed to go watch the Brickyard 400 next week if he was free. NASCAR was a whole separate beast that Yunho definitely wanted to try out one day when his time in Formula 1 came to an end, but he had plans that would hopefully see him in Los Angeles for the next week, so he had to regretfully decline the offer.
Jongho had gotten an interesting gleam in his eye when Yunho had said that. “Mingi says you’re going to be hanging out after this,” he had said, teasingly, with enough insinuation around ‘hanging out’ that it had Yunho turning red. Two hours too late, his brain helpfully remembered that Mingi and Jongho were friends, proper friends, and suddenly the camaraderie that had spanned between them recontextualised itself abruptly.
He doesn’t remember what he said, only that it must have come out in a stammer and sounding way too incriminating. Jongho had only laughed in his face. He was a lot more casual about the whole thing than San, that was for sure. “Don’t fuck it up,” he had left Yunho with, strolling away with a light pep to his step. The again that should have gone at the end of the warning had been left unsaid, but was heard anyways.
The rest of it that came afterwards had dragged out way too long. As usual, everybody wanted a picture and an autograph, and he wasn’t in the position to refuse. What was supposed to be nothing more than an excuse to be in the States snowballed, and suddenly they wanted him to go on stage and speak, just a few words, please!, and he couldn’t find it in himself to deny that either. And then there were so many kids around who wanted him to sign things and talk to him and ask him questions, and there was no way he could blow any of them off, even if he was anxiously glancing at his watch the whole time. His flight was supposed to be at 10, but by 9:30 he was still there, awkwardly leaning over to get in frame as another guy asked him for a selfie. This was the point at which he probably should have just booked a hotel nearby for another night. Instead, he had found the next flight to LA, at half past midnight, and had been glad for the foresight to have asked for somebody to collect his car for the trip from the venue earlier. Hailing a cab down and not having to worry about what to do with the car after was so much easier.
Mingi had wanted to come pick him up, but there was an early thing he had to go to in the morning that made it infeasible, so Yunho had squashed down his disappointment to tell him that it was okay and they could just meet for lunch after he was done. It was maddening, to know that they were now in the same city, so close yet so far. Still, though, he ends up quite grateful when he finally stumbles into his hotel room after tipping the poor receptionist at the front desk for checking him in so late, and catches a glimpse of how tired he looks. Monaco to the west side of America in the span of the last three days was cause for some crazy jetlag, and he’s out like a light before he even knows it.
────────────────
When he wakes again, it’s nearly one in the afternoon. His heart shoots into his throat and immediately he’s fumbling for his phone, flinching when the screen brightness is way too high and blinking through the painful dryness in his eyes. Shit. Shit shit shit. They had agreed to meet at noon.
[From: Mingi]
(09:12) hope you got in okay
(09:13) there’s a good breakfast place by your hotel if you want to check it out
(09:13) [📍Location]
(11:15) okay the thing might end a little earlier than expected
(11:16) i might have something to do at like 2 or 3 though
(11:16) meeting with my label abt some stuff
(11:17) i can push it to tmr if u want tho
(11:49) yunho?
(12:14) okay i think ur still asleep
(12:15) ur flight got delayed right
(12:15) did the jetlag finally hit
(12:39) im going to go see what my label wants
(12:40) text me when ur up
[To: Mingi]
(12:54) Shit
(12:55) I’m so sorry
(12:55) Fuck
[From: Mingi]
(12:56) morning sunshine
(12:57) dw abt it
(12:57) im glad u got some rest
(12:59) i already ate but we can do dinner?
[To: Mingi]
(13:00) That sounds good to me
(13:01) I’m still really sorry
[From: Mingi]
(13:02) it’s ok!!!
(13:03) you can make it up to me by paying for dinner
[To: Mingi]
(13:04) Was already planning on it
(13:05) Somebody recommended a nice Italian place to me last time
(13:08) [📍Location]
(13:09) You want to go check it out?
[From: Mingi]
(13:10) looks fancy
(13:11) sorry i gotta go we’re getting to the company
(13:12) see you at 6?
[To: Mingi]
(13:12) 👍
(13:13) I’ll come pick you up
[From: Mingi]
(13:15) ??? lol with what car
(13:16) yunho??
(13:18) ?????
────────────────
“Nice car,” is the first thing that’s out of Mingi’s mouth as he slides into the passenger seat.
“Huh?” Yunho startles out of where he was staring at Mingi’s jeans. Some of the rips were… high up, to say the least. “Oh, no. This is just on loan from the company. I went and picked it up from the store a few hours ago. They’d probably give it to me if I asked, though.”
Mingi nodded. He threw his bag behind them onto the backseat, waving to his manager, who Yunho could recognise by now. He stretched out, before relaxing back into the seat. He was tapping his foot out of habit, though, and faintly Yunho could tell he was nervous too. “Makes sense. Dunno how much you’d need to pay the landlord for more parking space. Is it still the same guy?”
Yunho stopped dead.
He flinched. He couldn’t help himself, he just suddenly felt cold all over. His hands fumbled from where he was messing with the bluetooth options so Mingi could connect to the aux. Dimly, he could feel something like dread pool in the depths of his gut. Mingi couldn’t—he didn’t—he didn’t know?
“What?” Mingi asked, and there was a muted warmth in his voice, like he wanted to laugh but he didn’t know what the joke was. He raised an eyebrow, playfully, when he saw how Yunho had gone white.
Oh, god. He didn’t know. Oh, God.
Up until the start of the year, Yunho had an apartment in a town between London and Brackley, around half an hour away from the factory and an hour away from the northwest edge of London. It was perfect in a lot of ways. Perfect, in that it was so close to the factory that he could pop in whenever to put in some sim times. Perfect, in that the town was so tiny there was little to no chance of him being followed around, when most of the town were older than his parents. Perfect, in that Mingi had basically moved into it by October of 2022, and they had shared it until the break-up in the following July. It was their slice of heaven, the only place they could let loose a little. Yunho couldn’t parade Mingi around as his boyfriend anywhere, not when he was still a F1 driver. If it was just his image on the line, he wouldn’t have cared, but there was a very real threat of being banned from races in the Middle East if it ever leaked.
So Mingi had to be his little secret. In fact, Yunho had never put a label to what they were for that exact reason, so he wouldn’t be lying if he ever had to deny it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mingi, but everybody and anybody had a camera in their hands these days, and there were contractual clauses he couldn’t breach. Racing took precedence before everything else in his life. Mingi had never complained about it, so Yunho had never pushed. He was grateful for Mingi’s understanding. Now, he could only despair over how much of an idiot he’d been.
Mingi didn’t know. Probably, he had avoided news of Yunho like the plague after Yunho had hurt him so badly. Yunho had done the same, and he wasn’t even the one who had been wronged. Yunho had assumed San or somebody else would have told him, or he might have seen the news somewhere, but Mingi didn’t know. Didn’t know that Yunho had—that he had—
“I moved to Monaco in January,” he blurts out, all in one go, ripping off the bandaid as fast as possible. He knew Mingi would hear what he was really saying. I sold our apartment.
Silence. It was so deafening that it made Yunho’s ears ring.
“Oh,” Mingi said, quiet and small. “I didn’t know. Um. Congrats, I guess.”
Yunho holds himself back from taking his hands off the wheel to hide his face in them. He wanted to bury himself into a ditch and die. Less than five minutes, and he’d already messed it up.
At least driving gave him an excuse to be looking away from Mingi. Eyes on the road and all that.
“I do, um, have a new car though,” he rushes out to fill the silence, thoroughly horrified once the words register. Holy shit, the way to seem less like an asshole is not to rub how much money you have in his face, Yunho. Fix it, fix it. “The company gifted it to me after, uh, last year.”
More silence. Yunho was about to roll the window down so he could scream.
Discreetly, or at least he hopes so, he chances a glance at Mingi. It wasn’t like road safety really applied to him, anyway.
Mingi’s had been smiling when he got into the car, small and hesitant but real, but it was sort of frozen stiffly in place now. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, if he was already regretting agreeing to tonight. The light at the next intersection turns red, and Yunho pulls them to a stop just in time, wincing as the both jolt forward. Half-shadowed, Mingi’s expression twists for a moment, so fast Yunho would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it, before smoothing out as he comes to a conclusion.
“Well, you deserved one after the year you gave them,” Mingi’s tone sounds forced, like he was chewing through something sour, but at least he was saying something. “Surprised they didn’t make you buy it though.” He laughed, but it sounded brittle even to Yunho’s ears. “Monaco, huh? That’s a big step up. How much are they even paying you now? Thirty? Thirty-five?”
Yunho didn’t know if telling him the truth was the smartest idea, but he didn’t think lying was the right call either.
He told Mingi the real number.
Mingi whistles sharply. “Damn,” he said, and Yunho couldn’t tell if it was in appreciation or apprehension. After a year apart, it was so difficult to tell if he still reacted in all the same ways. Yunho used to think he could tell every single one of Mingi’s moods apart, that he could figure out what Mingi meant based on inflection alone, but he was now starting to doubt if he ever had it in hand the way he was confident he did. “Light’s green, by the way.”
Yunho doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. Hastily, he tears his eyes off Mingi from where he’d definitely lost the illusion of discretion, and steps on the pedal to move them back on the road.
“So,” Mingi starts, after a few more blocks driven in excruciating silence. “New car?”
Yunho swallows. He hadn’t expected it to be all smooth sailing, but this was… a minefield he hadn’t expected. Mingi had sounded so easy-going over text. Yunho had thought that he almost actually sounded a bit excited about the whole thing. But texting was easy, when you could type and delete and retype until you had the perfect thing to say. Face to face, it was like they didn’t know how to be around each other anymore. Was this a test? It felt like a test, but he hadn’t remembered Mingi ever being this cruel. He could be petty and whiny and downright terrifying when angered, but he was never cruel for the sake of being so. Or was it just small talk? If it was, then how much of it was purposefully leading them towards a territory where he knew they’d argue?
Yunho tries to take it at face value. “Yeah, the new CLE. They lent me a few models last year and I liked the way it drove, so they gave me one after the season ended.” In truth, Yunho had asked for the price from a helpful employee when they were at the end of season debrief. Two days later he got a letter in the mail saying his new car would arrive by the end of the week, and that was that. He wasn’t about to tell Mingi that, though. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how to feel about it himself yet.
Mingi snorts. Yunho tries to tell if it’s genuine or mocking in vain effort. “Let me guess, you got it in silver?”
Yunho tries not to melt, but he could feel himself softening up around the edges. Maybe he was reading too much into this. He was trying so hard. Maybe Mingi was trying, too. “You remembered?”
Mingi makes another one of those braying laughs, objectively ugly but subjectively the most beautiful sound in the world. Yunho’s too focused on driving to see if he’s loosening up, or if he’s just going through the motions. “Yunho, we fell out last year, not a decade ago. Besides, all your cars are the same damn color. It’s not the hardest assumption in the world to make.” Okay, so Yunho was kind of partial, because he had never quite gotten over that childhood wonder of knowing one day he would drive for the Silver Arrows, but it still felt sweet that Mingi had kept that knowledge. “For fuck’s sake, man. You’d get a Ferrari in silver, if you were allowed to.”
More silence, but this time it’s because Yunho’s cheeks are burning.
Necessary context: At the end of last season, with a bonus bigger than his paychecks from the last three years combined, Yunho had gone on a bit of a… shopping spree. In character, he did the horribly predictable thing and bought a bunch of cars and a garage just outside London to keep them all in. Among his purchases had been the AMG ONE, because you all know by now he’s nothing if not painfully loyal, and because his manager had suggested lightly that even if he never drove it around, just having one in his collection was enough to create the ‘proper’ image, whatever that meant. Yunho didn’t even want a ‘collection’ to keep a car he wouldn’t drive in, but then the rest of the PR team had chipped in and made he was aware that not having one was out of the question if he wanted the world to see him as world champion, never mind the very real, very heavy trophy that was on its way to the factory in Brackley.
Anyways, all that to say: in a fit of rebellious energy, he had tagged a Ferrari Roma onto his order. In titanium gray, of course, because you’d remember that he was still a creature of habit.
Mingi catches on quickly. “No way,” he says, mirth in his voice, too full with it to be completely faked. “I bet you got one of the boring ones that barely looks like a Ferrari.” Yunho counted his blessings that they were almost at their destination, fighting the urge to screw his eyes shut lest he threw himself out of the car. The worst part of this conversation was how Mingi wasn’t even wrong, but Yunho still felt hurt. He was trying, he really was. He knew he was terrible to Mingi before, but he was trying, and did Mingi really have to make this so difficult? “Shit, what did they call it? Italia Silvia or some posh bullshit like that?” Argento Nurburgring, actually. Yunho had gotten it because of the weak connection to Germany, and once again, he’s a loyal Mercedes corporate sellout. “Since when did they let you do that?”
Since I won them a world championship, is the answer that’s at the tip of his tongue, but fat load of good honesty’s done him so far. He chooses not to say anything at all. At this point, he just wanted to get to dinner without any major blowouts.
He feels more than sees Mingi look over. After a moment, when it becomes clear Yunho isn’t laughing along, the snickering dies down abruptly, and Yunho bemoans his inability to ever know what the right thing to say is. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should have moved from this topic ten minutes ago. Money has always been a sensitive topic with Mingi. Yunho should have known that talking about cars was a field of eggshells and landmines he didn’t have the grace to navigate.
“Ah,” Mingi says softly. It would be hard enough to tell what he means by that even if you were looking straight at him, and completely impossible now that Yunho was keeping his eyes trained on the road in a rare demonstration of road safety. It wasn’t Mingi’s fault, he wasn't even trying to be mean on purpose, but Yunho had the feeling that he had turned to look right now he would start tearing up. “I see.”
The rest of the drive passes by in silence.
────────────────
The first half of dinner passes by in the same, stifling awkwardness.
The food is excellent, if nothing else, and even Mingi warms up a little after the second glass of wine. He had a wide-eyed deer in headlights look about him when he had gotten out of the car and had seen the actual restaurant, as if finally taking in the nicer button-up and slacks Yunho had worn for the occasion. His face, which had been set in something bordering on a scowl for the last ten minutes of the drive, looked embarrassed all of a sudden, staring down at the scruffed tips of his sneakers. Yunho realised his mistake all at once and had to hold back a wince when he saw Mingi picking at one of the rips in his jeans, as if he could make the hole any smaller through sheer willpower.
It was, of course, a very nice restaurant. Too nice, in fact, for a casual meet-up between friends. Yunho hadn’t considered how it might look from the outside, had only remembered how Seungyoun’s eyes had glittered as he raved about how good the food was and how you could call ahead and ask for a private room, but it was quite apparent from the moment that they pulled up that this was a bring-your-date kind of restaurant and not a friendly get-together at the local burger joint. Mingi, in his oversized hoodie and baggy jeans, looked incredibly out of place, and Yunho was sure if he wasn’t waving around a black card they might have gotten kicked out already. He was pretty sure he saw somebody wearing a tux on the way to their room.
But the food was good, really good, and Mingi had decided he didn’t give a fuck about social niceties by the time the waitress had come around to ask if they’d like anything to drink to ask for more of the complimentary focaccia. Yunho couldn’t tell if it was a facade or not, but it was incredibly convincing regardless. She had taken one look at the number of rings on his fingers and bolted back to get them their refills.
He was glad for the privacy of the room by the time the entrees had arrived. It was bad enough that they had definitely been recognised, but Yunho trusted the reputation of the restaurant enough to not worry about gossip. But still, he couldn’t imagine having to display this awkward, hanging silence in front of a room full of other diners. At least their lack of conversation was confined to these four walls, with only the servers for occasional witnesses.
Yunho pushes his risotto around his plate with the flat of his fork. As wonderful as the food was, he didn’t have much of an appetite, and he would need to watch what he was eating anyways. Three weeks until the end of summer break. He’d already been slacking on his training routine, though he did make a point to spend a few hours in the gym every day just so Hyunwoo wouldn’t be completely pissed at him by the time he went back. But more than that, the quietness of the room was curdling his stomach.
“I guess this is the kind of thing you’re into these days, huh,” Mingi muses, tearing into another piece of focaccia with his hands, uncaring of the sheen of oil it left behind on his fingers.
He didn’t sound particularly sharp, just curious, but it has Yunho looking up at him sharply anyways. “I’m not—” he cuts himself off, warning himself to mind his tone. He felt rankled and on edge, and he couldn’t help the way it made his voice sound brittle. He had spent time planning this, and it sucked to see how wrong he had gotten it once again. It had never been this difficult with Mingi before, but now he was doubting everything that had transpired between them. Maybe Mingi had only gone along with all of Yunho’s plans because he thought it would make Yunho happy, and this was coming out now that he didn’t have to put up with Yunho’s shit anymore. “I thought this would be nice, Mingi.” Never mind the desperate edge to it, like he was pleading for Mingi to see his side.
The abstract piece of art framed up behind Mingi’s head made for a great point of focus when Mingi looked up at him too, dropping his forkful of pasta back onto his plate. “I wasn’t—” he says, sounding actually surprised and a bit taken back at Yunho’s tone. “Yunho, I…” he trails off, several emotions warring over his face. “Is this about what happened in the car? I’m sorry if I said something wrong.” He looked genuinely distraught. “I’m… I know I haven’t been acting like it, but I am enjoying myself. With you, I mean. The, um, the food’s really good. I don’t get to eat stuff like this very often.”
The fight bled out of Yunho in an instant. Suddenly, he just felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry about the…” He made a general gesture towards the everything around them. “I should have told you it was a bit of a fancier place. I didn’t… um. I didn’t bring you here to like, humiliate you or anything like that.” Jesus, Jeong. Shove your foot in your mouth any harder, would you? “I’m… I’m enjoying myself too. With you.”
Mingi smiled, wry but genuine. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. You can just tell me I’m not being very good company, you know.” He snorts, and Yunho watches as some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. “Sorry. About the car thing. I was holding something that’s not your fault against you. This really is very nice of you, Yunho. Thanks for taking me here.”
Yunho bites his lip. Sometimes, he hated it, how easily Mingi always seemed to put his emotions into words, how disarming it was every time. “I’m sorry too.” He settles for lamely, bisecting an innocent piece of rice with his fork. “For, um, everything.”
Mingi laughed. But it wasn’t out of meanness, only the sound of somebody who had been caught off guard. “Okay, new rule. Let’s stop apologising to each other for things that happened in the past.” Yunho wasn’t sure how fair this rule was. He was the one with far more to apologise for, after all. “We’re not going to make any headway if we keep stepping on each other’s toes. Ah ah, don't look at me like that. You’re not doing a very good job at making it up to me if you just look like a kicked puppy every time I open my mouth. Smile a bit. I’m not that ugly to look at, am I?”
“What, no!” Yunho fumbles immediately, indignantly. “Mingi, what are you talking about? You’re gorgeous.” He had thought that, even when they were sixteen and Mingi had sprouted up overnight, moving around sluggishly like he didn’t know what to do with all that new height, even before Yunho had realised he was into boys, or more specifically one boy in particular. Even more so when they had met again at twenty-two, and Mingi had grown into his height and his body. Yunho had seen him coming in from the side of the garage, his hand clasped in his mom’s to guide her in, and had stopped mid-sentence to stare at a man who looked so much like the same boy Yunho used to put into headlocks, all wide shoulders and sharp-smiled. His throat had dried so abruptly the aerodynamicist guy had asked him if he was okay.
“I’m just joking!” Mingi defends, but Yunho noticed that his ears had turned slightly red. It made something warm and fuzzy spark in his chest, that familiar ball of light. It wasn’t the risotto, that’s for sure.
“Anyways, I’m just saying,” Mingi says in a rush, flustered, and the sight of it made Yunho want to grin like a fool. “Let’s just… okay, calling it a fresh start would be stupid, but let’s not get hung up over the past so much. I’m glad you’re here, Yunho, I really am.”
The last few words were tinged with a strange vulnerability that felt far too honest for the moment. Yunho tears off a piece of focaccia to have something to occupy his mouth with as he mulls that over, letting the truce Mingi was offering sink in. They would have to talk about it eventually. Yunho wanted to be honest with Mingi this time around, wanted to make it clear where they stood, wanted this love to have a name and a home to return to. He couldn’t wear it like a brooch or a pocket square, obvious and with the intention of inviting questions, but he didn’t want it to be hidden away either. It could just be there, tacked to his sleeve, recognisable to anybody who was looking for it but still private. He wanted to know if that was what Mingi wanted too.
“I’m glad I’m here too,” he says slowly. “With you.”
Mingi snorts in that snuffling way of his. “Is that going to be our thing now?” There was a speck of black sauce clinging onto the corner of his mouth—he was having squid ink tagliatelle—and Yunho wanted to wipe it off so badly. After a moment, it occurred to him that he could. Friends. It made him want to laugh. They were terrible at being just friends. Of all the things they’d been to each other in their lives, rivals, teammates, lovers, they’d never quite managed to be normal enough about each other to talk about each other the way friends do. It was cute that Mingi thought they could settle for that now. It was understandable, of course. Yunho had hurt him badly, and he’d have to prove that he was worth letting in again, and Mingi was giving him the chance to do so under the facade of friends. But they both knew what this was.
Yunho reached over and used his thumb to wipe away the smear. If Mingi thought he wasn’t serious about this, he’d have another thing coming. Yunho had spent the last five months trying to convince people that he deserved his championship, showing the world exactly who he is, listening to the crowds scream his name as he put the car in first. He was getting very, very good at proving people wrong. What was one more, in the grand scheme of things?
Mingi went bright red. He jerked his head back like he’d been burned, and then flushed even more when Yunho licked the sauce off his own thumb. But he didn’t complain, just stared at Yunho’s finger like it held all the answers in the world.
“Still so messy,” Yunho tsked, ignoring the way his heart rate had definitely also just spiked in his chest. He was being bold, but he knew Mingi liked it more than he would ever admit. It didn’t stop himself from also getting nervous about it too, though.
He smiles at Mingi, giddy over his own daringness. Slowly, but surely, Mingi smiles back.
The ball of light in his chest exploded into fucking fireworks.
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They go on a walk after dinner. Yunho drives them out to the beach and they spend two-three-four hours by the sand, listening to the waves roll in. This late at night, there’s nobody around except a few stragglers, and they sit on the sand and talk and talk and talk, without worry of being overheard. Yunho learns all about what Mingi’s been up to, how surprised he had been last year when his album had blown up, how he was still learning to deal with the fame. He’d been chasing this dream ever since racing had fallen through, and it was still insane to him to have achieved some part of it, with the concerts and the tours. He tells Yunho all about his lawyer, this old, weathered woman who had helped him negotiate a great deal on his contract, and about how he was excited to be able to give back to the community around him.
All of a sudden, there are seagulls screeching in the distance and it’s past midnight, too cold to be out any longer in their thin clothes. Yunho hauls himself onto his feet, and Mingi’s palm is warm in his when he takes the offered hand, gritty with sand and calluses from playing guitar. With nobody around to see it, Yunho lets himself be fearless, pulling Mingi up and close to his own body to hear his surprised gasp of laughter, delighted when Mingi swats at him playfully and turns to race him back to the car. Grinning, Yunho sets off in chase, after that miraculous, miraculous margin.
The drive back to Mingi’s place is quiet. Not the suffocating, unbearable kind they had suffered through on the way to the restaurant, but considering, almost melancholic, as if aware that the magic of the night was about to ebb like the tide. Mingi taps his fingers against his windowsill, leaning against the glass as he watches the streetlights pass by, and under his breath he’s humming along to the song he’s put on. He’s dozing lightly by the time Yunho pulls up to his building, startling awake inelegantly when Yunho shakes his shoulder to wake him.
“Thanks for today,” he mumbles as he retrieves his things from the backseat, making a big show of checking for his wallet and keys like he was trying to stall for time. “Even if you were late and ditched me for lunch.”
“I paid for dinner!” Yunho whines in response. He fiddled with the aircon settings to give himself something to do. He was stalling for time, too. “You said we’re even on that.”
“Well, that won’t do,” Mingi drawled. He was flipping through his wallet to see if all his cards were still there, for fuck’s sake. “I gotta have something to hold over you, to make sure you come back.”
A few hours ago, those words would have stung. It would have felt like a reminder of all the wrongs Yunho had done by him, how he had failed to hold onto the best person he’d ever met, how the trust between them was so tentative now when it had been unshakeable before. Now, it only filled Yunho with hope. Hope that it could all be rebuilt, as long as he tried.
“Well, what do you suggest then?” He didn’t want to sound too forward, but he couldn’t keep the teasing edge out of his voice. He remembered how most of this sort of banter ended.
Mingi smiled, coy and sharp. They hadn’t been apart long enough for Yunho to forget how his smile looked, when he was trying to flirt. This, at least, was familiar territory. “Do you want to come up for a drink? I’ve got an idea or two how to keep you indebted to me, if you’re open to hearing them.”
Yunho was open. Yunho was very, very open.
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Morning. Yunho cracked open his eyes and stared blearily at the shadows shifting on the ceiling, the blinds wavering in the breeze from the open window.
Next to him, Mingi groaned, trying to reclaim the blanket from where Yunho’s stolen it. The slice of sunlight that cut in from the outside painted the bare curve of his shoulder a pale golden, like fine silk, or waves washing over sand, or some poetic bullshit Yunho wouldn’t have the right words for even if he was more awake.
Mingi had a lot of freckles everywhere. Yunho would spend a lifetime counting them all, but the gentle warmth of the morning was making him feel syrupy and loose and molten, and not at all smart enough to string together numbers beyond five. By his side, Mingi shifted a little in his sleep, and over the jut of his collarbone Yunho could see a black and purple bruise painted over his clavicle, like a flower that had bloomed under a mouth. His mouth. Yunho had put that there.
Closing his eyes again, he rolls over and into Mingi’s body. Chasing the sun, he curls up and hides his face into Mingi’s hair, letting the steady rhythm of breathing lull him back towards a kinder place. Five more minutes couldn’t hurt. The moment was beautiful and the moment was his. He wanted to live inside it forever.
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Monday: They don’t get out of bed until noon. Mingi has to drop by his studio to finish recording a few things, so Yunho sleeps off the rest of the jetlag in his bed, as the sun shifts from east to west. Yunho’s awake, for the third time of the day, by the time the horizon shifts to orange and pink, and he makes a pitstop by his hotel to pick up a few sets of clothes. Debates bringing his entire suitcase over to Mingi’s place and decides against it at the last moment. In the end, he picks Mingi up from his company again, and it’s dark by the time they hit one of Mingi’s favourite diners in the area. The burgers are greasy, fatty and fucking delicious. Mingi makes them split a milkshake because too much dairy upsets his stomach, and Yunho agrees because he’s a little queasy from how many calories he’s consuming all in a row. Hyunwoo was going to kill him when he got back to Monaco. Looking at Mingi’s crinkling eyes as he stifled laughter over how stupid they looked, two grown men sipping from straws stuck into the same tall glass, Yunho couldn’t find himself to care at all.
Tuesday: An early schedule saw Mingi dart out of bed with an apologetic smile and a kiss to Yunho’s cheek for the morning, and Yunho spends it lazing around the apartment, dozing off on the couch again with the tv droning on in the background. He makes himself a simple breakfast by rustling through Mingi’s kitchen, but he’s not ambitious enough to cook lunch lest he wants to burn the building down, so he orders Chinese and Mingi picks it up on his way back. Across steaming containers of xiao long bao and chow mein, they crack open beers and watch the rugby match that’s on. It’s a new interest of Mingi’s, and Yunho has no clue about any of the rules at all, so they end up mostly distracted as Mingi tries to walk him through each play badly in an attempt to seem knowledgeable that Yunho sees through immediately but is too endeared by to expose. Nighttime, they go by K-Town and get sizzling skewers of beef tongue and chicken liver, hearty containers of tteokbokki and doenjang jjigae, and make the drive out to a spot Mingi says is the best, sharing their bounty under the distant surveillance of the Hollywood sign. It’s a cold night out, and they end up sharing body heat more than anything else, huddled so closely that their sides press together and their breaths mingle when their mouths find each other. On the way back, Yunho reaches his hand across the center console to slide it up the inside of Mingi’s thigh, and Mingi’s breath hitches but he does nothing to remove it. It’s late when they go to bed, and even later by the time they’ve satisfied their insatiable hunger for each other to go to sleep.
Wednesday: Earlier on, Mingi had vowed to drag him out of the apartment so they can go see the sunrise at the piers of Santa Monica, but ends up oversleeping his own alarm. Yunho, knocked out cold, doesn’t stir at all, and neither of them have the willpower to crawl out of bed until the sun has long gone up. Awake and conscious, Mingi complains all about the aches in his hips and Yunho’s more than happy to play fetch with everything and anything he wants. Mingi screeches when Yunho hauls him up and out of bed, but he clings out tightly all the way to the bathroom where Yunho sets him down and cleans both of them up. In the afternoon, Yunho finally gets to meet the elusive Hongjoong, this tiny, spunky Korean guy who takes one look at the state of the two of them and wrinkles his nose in mock disgust. Yunho would feel more offended by the this is the guy you rave about so much, Mingi, really? that comes out of Hongjoong’s mouth if he wasn’t busy being too delighted that Mingi talks about him at all to his friends. By the time the day ends, he and Hongjoong are following each other on Instagram, on both public and private accounts, and Yunho just feels stupid for all his petty jealousy from before. Mingi laughs when Yunho admits this to him, and then rides him hard into the mattress the same night to prove that he never had anything to worry about at all in the first place.
Thursday: It’s closer to sunrise than dark out by the time they’re asleep, so they end up missing the timing for Santa Monica again, but Mingi’s less mad about it this time, in such a good mood that Yunho was sure he’d be skipping if he hadn’t stood up from bed and immediately wobbled on his legs. The plan had been to go cycling around the beaches, but Mingi had looked at him incredulously when he had brought it back up and gestured to the general shakiness of his lower body. Yunho was too proud of his own handiwork to feel too apologetic about it, and Mingi smacks him on the chest when he catches him smirking to himself. Instead, they drive out to the closest park and spend most of the day just walking through the trails. Yunho’s two shades darker and definitely breaking out into a sunburn across the bridge of his nose by the time they get back, and Mingi has the distinctive shape of his sunglasses tanned onto his face. They’re still laughing at the image they make in the mirror as Mingi whips something simple up for dinner. After, they put Pacific Rim on the tv, but end up falling asleep on the couch before it’s even midway through.
Friday: The couch is just uncomfortable enough that they both end up waking up at half past four in the morning when Yunho’s head slips off the headrest and he almost falls onto the floor entirely. Mingi laughs so hard he almost cries, the asshole, and they take advantage of their bleary awakeness to finally go and see the Santa Monica sunrise. They stop by a breakfast house and have pancakes for lunch, then grab gelatos by the boardwalk. More than one person ends up recognising either of them, so they escape the crowd to drop by Yunho’s hotel and pick up his suitcase entirely. Mingi looks a bit put off when Yunho says he won’t bother paying the cancellation fee for the two days he still had left in his booking, but had forgotten about it entirely by the time they pull up to Malibu for dinner, sharing tapas and paella from a small Spanish restaurant by the shoreline. The owner definitely knows who they are, but she only gives Yunho a wink as she ushers them into a more private corner, and Yunho leaves a huge tip when they’re done, just because he can. The night is warm and young, so they go to dip their toes in the ocean, smart enough to have packed flip flops in the car just in case, and the sex that night is slow and tender, passed between gentle hands and yielding mouths. Yunho falls asleep to the sound of cicadas outside the window. In the distance, a bird shrills its morning call.
Saturday: Mingi feels alright enough to go biking, so they head out to the Strand, happy to let the clunky helmets and goggles obscure their faces from the rest of the world. Mingi’s a vision to see in skintight lycra, and Yunho feels severely underdressed in his t-shirt and shorts, but when they round a crest and decide to take a break to munch on the wraps they put together in the morning for lunch, Mingi turns to make sure nobody’s around before kissing him right there, out in the open, and Yunho would have felt like a million bucks even if he’d been wearing a trash bag. Rather than heading back so early, they keep biking along until they hit Torrance Beach, and end up exhausted enough that they decide to call it a day early and take an uber back to the car. The driver is a fan of Mingi, not Yunho, and they strike up conversation about Mingi’s latest tour and his next album while Yunho’s content to listen in, playing with Mingi’s fingers from where their hands are clasped together easily. They spend the night in, and actually watch Pacific Rim this time before tearing apart the sequel together, bemoaning all the horrible directing and creative choices. Yunho goes to the gym to put in an hour before bed and Mingi decides to join him, and they’re both sweaty when they load into the shower together. Somewhere in between scrubbing each other off their wandering hands turn dirty and they never end up making it to bed at all. When Mingi clings to his body and tells him to go faster, harder, damnit, fuck me like you mean it, Yunho is helpless but to obey. Bodies, at the end of the day, were an easier language to speak than words, and far more honest too.
Sunday: It all feels so easy. Too easy, almost, but why shouldn’t it be? They’ve had plenty of practice in the past with being with each other, and it feels like falling back into an old routine, settling back into their roles. Yunho calls Yukwon to tell him that he’s spending a few more days in LA, and instead of heading back to Monaco first he’ll go straight to the factory in Brackley on Thursday to put in his sim times, ignoring the disapproving tone in his manager’s voice as he gets a lecture about how he shouldn’t let himself go so much. In the past, Yunho has always been diligent in the break, taking only one or two weeks of it for himself to go home and see his family or to go on vacation before committing himself to training camps and the like. Last year, after the breakup, he hadn’t taken any other time off at all, instead throwing himself into training for the races to come, but frankly, he didn’t know how much good it had done for his season in the end, when he ended up just having to capitalise on others’ misfortunes to claim his championship. This year he knew he could win with or without the extra help, so why not enjoy what little time he still has left with Mingi? Hyunwoo is more sympathetic, sending over some gym regimen for him to follow while he’s here, and Nayoung leaves him a long and wordy voicemail that says something along the lines of this behavior could reflect badly on you later on, but I trust that you can make this decision for yourself on if that’s something you’re willing to live with. Inexplicably, she had ended the four minute speech with I’m glad to see you so happy, Yunho, and Yunho had to take a few minutes to compose himself. Mingi hadn’t commented on how red his eyes had looked at breakfast, and they spent most of the day lazing around in the apartment, marathoning through the new season of an anime Mingi’s been meaning to watch. Neither of them mention how Yunho’s flight was supposed to be tonight, and the original boarding time passes without them talking about it at all.
Monday, again: They go to the zoo. Mingi was confident that it would be sparser on a weekday and he was right, though they still have to stop every once in a while to sign hats and take pictures. Most of them are kids who are fans of F1, towing along starstruck parents who keep wanting to shake his hand and wish him luck in the next few races, but after lunch hour most of them thin out, and Mingi drags him from exhibition to exhibition, attentively reading each piece of information off the plaques. It’s not the first time he’s been here since he moved to LA, but he treats it like he is, his eyes round with wonder as he stares at the giraffes ambling by. Yunho watches him flitter from each safari with all the excitement of a kid, happy to just keep following along and buying overpriced bottles of water every once in a while to remind Mingi to hydrate. By the time they’re leaving the front gates, Mingi’s exhausted himself, and their original plans to catch a movie by the Boulevard end up getting sidetracked. Instead, Yunho buys them hotdogs and finds them a bench a little farther out in Griffith Park to enjoy them. He’s done with his food before Mingi’s even halfway through his dog, so he entertains himself by slowly chewing through his fries in slow bites so neither of them feel too left out. Next to him, Mingi barely seems to notice, talking Yunho’s ear off about the kangaroos and the salamanders, and my god, Yunho, did you see those tigers? He goes on and on and on, ranting about the elephants and the gibbons and the flamingos, talking about the national parks and how he hears there’s wolves out there too, and oh, I wish we had enough time to— before abruptly cutting himself off and falling quiet when the words register. In the ensuing silence, Yunho’s mouth feels dry and cold, and the soggy fries suddenly become too difficult to swallow. A breeze passes by and Mingi shivers in the wind. Yunho wipes his oily fingers on a napkin before shuffling closer over to awkwardly to drape an arm around the broad span of Mingi’s shoulders, and after a moment, Mingi leans over to press his cheek to Yunho’s chest, burying his face into the side of Yunho’s neck. Against his pulse point, he can feel Mingi’s eyelashes flutter as he squeezes his eyes shut. They don’t talk about it.
Tuesday, once more: Yunho wakes up bright and early. He’s forced Mingi out of bed and into the car before he’s awake enough to complain, barely remembering to pack their hats and sunglasses and slinging the bag from biking that they’d thankfully forgotten to unpack into the backseat. Mingi’s a little more aware of his surroundings by the time Yunho comes back with coffee and breakfast from a cafe downtown, and he’s just rumbling to full consciousness by the time they peel out of the city of Los Angeles and onto the highway. By the time the scenery outside the windows becomes more countryside than city, he’s of enough mind to ask where they’re going. Yunho shushes him and drives on. Two hours later, they’re pulling into the parking lot of Antelope Valley, and Mingi gasps as the desert of the national park spans out below them, practically bouncing on his feet as they quickly buy some hiking gear so they’re not completely unprepared. Yunho probably could have packed better, but he had spent the night staring at those shadows on the ceiling before the idea had come to him spontaneously, and he knew this was the last day he had to make this work. They share the food on the grass of the Poppy Reserve—it was too late in the year to see the full brunt of the rolling fields of poppies in bloom, but there were still plenty of wildflowers bursting through the grass. Mingi carefully snaps a few of them off, wrapping them in the napkins from their breakfast burritos, and under Yunho’s curious gaze he explains that he wants to go back and press them into bookmarks, so he can remember the day. So fond it felt like he was melting under the heat of it, Yunho helps him throw away his wrappers as Mingi fusses over two nearly identical buds of lupines, eventually setting on eenie-meenie-miney-moe to decide on which one to take home. They go hiking over the dunes in the afternoon, uncaring of the sweltering sun above, and though they don’t see any wolves—not that there were any to begin with, that was a bit of a pipe dream—they do end up spotting quite a few of the wildlife, including a few cottontail rabbits bounding over the prairie. At some point, they even spot a coyote in the distance, though Yunho’s too cautious to approach and holds Mingi back from doing stupid. Above head, birds swoop past them, and Yunho thanks his lucky stars he had brought a pair of binoculars along, passing it between the two of them as they tried to identify each species from a guide they pulled up on their phones. Sparrows were common enough, but there were more than a few hawks and kestrels flying low too. Sunset, they trek to the car and make their way back to the city. As the lights of Los Angeles come into view in the distance, drawing closer and closer with every mile, Yunho sighs and looks over at Mingi napping in the passenger seat, his head swaying with each bump in the road. Though it goes against every instinct in his body to just floor it, Yunho slows their speed so Mingi can rest easier, smoothly bringing them back towards the city, where the real world awaits. They’re too tired to do anything more than kiss before bed, their bodies lazily intertwining until it would have been difficult to tell where one started and one ended. The gentle passing of mouths over each other is nothing more than a reminder that they’re both still here. They still don’t talk about it.
Wednesday—
Well. Wednesday.
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“Have you seen my socks?” He calls out, frowning as he digs under the bed to make sure it hadn’t gotten lodged under somehow.
“Which pair?” is the response from the living room, muffled through the half-open door. He hears the rumbling of pots and pans from the kitchen a moment later, then the opening of the fridge. Seconds later, the crisp crack of a can being popped open.
It didn’t sound like he was trying to help Yunho look. Yunho swallows back a growl of frustration and continues in his search. It was nothing more than a generic black pair of exercise socks, but he was quite fond of them and often wore them to the gym. Of course he could just buy another more, but this particular pair had softened up in a specific way that made them so much comfier, and he really wanted them back. He wasn’t going to get a chance to stop by his apartment in Monaco to pick up any refills of clothes, with how he’d pushed his flight back as late as possible, so he would have to make do for the rest of the week with what he’s got. There was just enough time on Monday while they were flying the cars out to Hungary for him to layover in Monaco before the race, and he winces as he remembers how long it’s been since he’s watered the pitiful plants he had gotten as a housewarming gift.
His mom had been calling on and off since last week, and Yunho had been guiltily putting off actually answering as much as possible, leaving it until it was late in Korea before he’d pick up and rushing to end the conversation quickly. It was strange for him not to go home at all over the break, when he typically always dropped in for a week or so in July, and he quashed the horrible guilt down as he reassured her that yes, everything was fine, and yes, they would see each other soon. He was flying both of his parents out to the next few races in Europe, and of course they would be at most of the upcoming races in Asia. Since he’s made it to F3, there’s never been a year where one of them has skipped the home race in Korea, and he imagines this year will be no different.
Finally, he catches sight of the stubborn socks, shoved to the corner of the room and with one of them trapped underneath the desk chair. He tugs it free, wincing when he stretches it out more than necessary, and crows triumphantly as he goes to where his suitcase is in the living room, balling them up so they won’t get separated again. He still wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to actually close the suitcase from how the hurricane of clothes inside was bulging out, but he’s sure he can figure out a way. Worst case scenario he just pays the airline to upgrade his baggage option to the biggest one. No harm done.
Mingi’s lounging on the coach as he emerges from the bedroom, his eyes following Yunho as he crosses the room to bundle the socks in with the others, shoving them into the depths of his suitcase and running through a mental checklist to see if he’s missed anything. Nothing he can remember, and he spends the next three minutes wrangling with the zipper, tugging it centimeter by centimeter until it finally zips all the way shut, breathing out a sigh of relief as everything within gets sealed away safely.
And then he’s done packing, and there’s nothing left to do before he has to head to the airport.
When he turns to look, Mingi hasn’t moved an inch from his spot, still watching Yunho with those careful eyes. The last week, or at least after Santa Monica, he’s been so open and happy, his body molding easily to Yunho’s like they had never separated, his laughter real and warm. But today, it was like they had both slid back into the characters they were playing last year in the lead up to July, like two predators coming across each other in the middle of a hunt and circling each other uncertainly, cautious and wary. The deadline of Yunho’s time in LA was upon them, and they could both feel the bubble on the edge of bursting, their little piece of paradise the last ten days have been on the verge of crumbling apart.
They hadn’t talked about it. Any of it. Not about the break up, and not about what the thing between them now was. They had agreed on friends, but Yunho was pretty sure friends didn’t fall into bed with each other at the end of each day, only some of those nights resulting in anything physical. Friends didn’t touch each other the way they’ve been touching, kiss each other the way they’ve been kissing, love each other the way they’ve been—you get the idea. And there was no doubt in Yunho’s mind after all this that this was love, between the two of them, not quite the same as what had first formed at thirteen, but only grown since. They hadn’t put a label on it last time, and Yunho didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
“Mingi,” he starts, hating the way his voice comes out unsure and insecure. He knows what this is, what stretches between them, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the five-meter chasm had opened up once again. Mingi’s been so quiet since the morning, barely talking when Yunho had taken them out to late brunch. He’d fallen mute since Yunho had remembered to pick up some sleeping pills from the drugstore around the corner for the flight, staring at the box like he couldn’t properly understand what they were for. Worse than that, he was giving Yunho these little miserable looks whenever he thought he wasn’t looking, like he was already in mourning. It would have been better if he looked betrayed, or upset. At least Yunho knew what to say to that, could reassure him that this wasn’t the end and he intended to see it through this time, that he wanted this to be something serious, but he didn’t know how to deal with a Mingi that seemed to think it was already over.
“I think we should talk,” he manages to force out, proud of the way his voice doesn’t stutter. His flight was in five hours. There was enough time for them to get lunch and maybe take a quick walk after, but brunch had only been an hour ago and Yunho was still full from the food. They needed to have this conversation now. If it went well, then they might have time to go get an afternoon snack before heading to the airport. He had already pushed and pushed his flight back for as long as possible. This way, he would land in London in the early morning tomorrow, and be at the factory by noon. Jinyoung had arrived a day ago and was already putting in times on the sim. Yunho was very, very late. Last year, he had been at the factory three days earlier than now, to offer any feedback or thoughts he had to the engineering team, pouring over strategy and communication styles with his pitwall. This year, Kyuwook hadn’t sent anything to reprimand him yet, and he probably won’t, but Yunho could feel the disapproval that was coming his way regardless.
Mingi’s face does something interesting. The look on it—it’s not quite blank, the way it was when he had been so cold to Yunho in Miami, but it was scarily complicated. There was a dazed sheen to his eyes, like he was just waking up from a long dream, and Yunho doesn’t miss the way he avoids eye contact when he stands. He’s quiet as Mingi steps across the room to stand in front of him, that ever elusive five-meter gap gone in an instant. But he knew that distance was more metaphorical than physical, more of a ravine of emotion than the displacement between their bodies.
Slowly, Mingi draws a hand up, and cups it around the curve of Yunho’s jaw. He leaves it there, and Yunho leans into it, pushing his cheek into the warmth of the palm, closing his eyes and he feels nails skitter over his face in that familiar, nervous tapping pattern. And then he feels a shadow fall over his face, and warmth over his lips. “Later,” Mingi whispers, so close the words practically have no space to cross, and their mouths find each other with a desperation that comes alive. The slowness of the morning screeches to a halt and hangs in the balance for a moment, and then rockets into full throttle, the way it feels when you turn a corner onto a long straight and get to go flat out, watching as the world whizzes by you in a blur.
Yunho doesn’t know how they manage to find their way back to the bedroom, only that his shirt has been lost alongside Mingi’s pants by the time he’s pushing Mingi backwards onto the sheets and crawling up and over, settling into Mingi’s lap where he belongs. He realises a moment later that his hands are shaking from where he has them framed around Mingi’s face, drawing him in closer, closer, closer, feeling the jump in Mingi’s pulse beneath the pads of his fingers, so real and warm that it makes him want to cry.
Mingi gets his arms around Yunho’s body and rolls them over in a swift move until he’s on top, lying between the open spread of Yunho’s legs. Groaning, he presses his mouth to Yunho’s cheek, to the corner of his lips, to the jut of his Adam's apple, down and down and down, leaving a trail of fire in his wake as he goes. Yunho whines when he hits the first brush of hair over navel, nuzzling into Yunho’s happy trail like a starved man, his mouth feather-light as he kisses over Yunho’s belly-button cheekily, looking so pleased with himself when Yunho’s hips kick up in surprise.
“Get on with it,” Yunho hurries, feeling the stirring in his gut rev up like an engine, that rumbling in his body not dissimilar to how the car feels sometimes, when it smooths into a steady speed. He doesn’t—there was something he wanted to say, but it’s hard to remember anything beyond his name when Mingi tugs his jeans and boxers down in one go to suckle at the head of his cock, those obscene lips of his stretching wide as he takes Yunho into his mouth, into his throat.
Fuck, he was so good at this. Sex with Mingi has always been easy. He hadn’t had a lot of experience before him and Mingi started sleeping together in 2021, mostly focused on getting to Formula 1 and then focused on staying in Formula 1, only ever having been with the rare girl here and there. Mingi had gotten off a bit more, having been more adventurous in his time at college. He even had a few stories from his military service that he had told Yunho about once when he had been very, very drunk, and Yunho hadn’t known what to do with himself, bright red between a confusing mixture of desire and jealousy, thankful that Mingi had been so wasted he barely remembered any of what was said the night before after he woke up. Yunho would never have these experiences for himself. He was never going to go to college, now that his career was entering its peak and he had more money than he knew what to do with, and his championship win last year had granted him exemption from active service for the rest of his life.
In fact, Mingi had been the first guy he’s kissed. The only guy, since Yunho had slept with a grand total of zero people since they splitted last year. He had tried once and only once, to hook up with some random girl at a club in Monaco, and had gotten so sick to the stomach before they’d even made it off the dancefloor that he threw up when he got back to his apartment. He hadn’t even known he was attracted to men before he had seen Mingi again at twenty-two. He just remembers that rainy September day in Yeongam, the way Mingi had looked so grown up when he had walked into the garage, and Yunho had felt a rush of desire so heavy it had almost knocked him over where he stood. He didn’t have a name for what the hazy, sepia-toned filter that plastered itself all over every single memory they shared was called until last year. He knows what this is, now.
Right on cue, Mingi sucks him down to the base, and Yunho moans as he feels the warmth in his gut pool far too quickly, considering he’d been having more sex in the last ten days than he’d been having in the entire year prior. Actually, he realises dimly, as Mingi did something with his tongue that felt heavenly, it has been almost exactly a year since the break-up, just a week or two off. He wonders if Mingi was thinking about the same thing, with the wet, desperate look in his eyes as he took Yunho down again and again, uncaring of the way his throat spasmed around the intrusion.
Yunho’s heart hurt. It hurt so badly it felt like it was being torn out of his chest, like somebody had been carving away at his guts bit by bit until there was nothing left, only a hollow space left behind in the cavity of his ribcage. He wanted to fix this, wanted Mingi to look at him with those happy, carefree eyes again, see that beautiful smile of his light up, wanted to banish this horrible, suffocating feeling of finality that was shrouding the afternoon to an unreachable, faraway place, but he didn’t know how.
Maybe that’s why he says what he says next.
“You should fuck me,” he blurts out, the words all of a sudden out in the open before he has a chance to consider what they mean.
Mingi’s on a downstroke when Yunho opens his mouth, and Yunho feels him choke before he hears it, scrambling up to make sure Mingi’s okay when he hears him cough violently, patting his back to get the worst of it out. “What?” Mingi asks frantically when he regains the ability to speak, staring at Yunho like he’s never seen him before.
Which, well, Yunho gets it. In all their years of being together, of sharing a bed, they had only done it one way. It’s not as if it was negotiated. The arrangement between them had started out with Yunho topping and had evolved in every other direction than the most basic one. It wasn’t as though Yunho thought it was too emasculating or anything. He just didn’t particularly feel the need to try, when the sex already felt so good, and Mingi had never said anything about it either, happy to be rolled and bent over any surface at any time of the day. God, Yunho didn’t deserve him.
“You should fuck me,” Yunho repeats, a bit more stubbornly this time. Now that he had some distance from the mind numbing pleasure of Mingi’s mouth around his cock, he feels more lucid about his words, and more sure of himself than ever. It felt like a natural progression of what they’d been leading up to this whole time, what they’d been building up to in the last days. This was about trust, and about giving himself over to the feeling. What better way to show it? The body was an honest language, the only one which Yunho knew how to be fully truthful in. He wanted to show Mingi exactly how serious he was about this.
Something dubious passes over Mingi’s face. “Are you sure?” he says slowly, hesitantly, and for some reason, his doubt made Yunho’s gut curdle and his hackles rise.
“Of course!” Yunho insists, reaching over to the nightstand where the bottle of lube they’ve been using liberally hadn’t even had time to find its way back into its spot in the drawers yet. “I trust you.”
He means it too, and maybe it’s something on his face, but slowly, Mingi reaches over to take the tube from his hands, popping the cap open. Yunho turns over to make this easier for him, and because he doesn’t think he’ll survive he has to make eye contact during all this as well, so he doesn’t see the look on Mingi’s face when the mutter of “alright” comes a second later, pressing his face into the pillows that smelled like the familiar scent of Mingi’s shampoo.
The first brush of a finger over his rim has him jumping, his hips twitching away instinctively before he remembers himself, brushing fiercely as he returns them to the original position, raising them a little to make the angle better. “Shh,” Mingi hushes him, and Yunho feels a warm palm slide over his back until it stops at his shoulder, pushing him into the mattress to keep him there. “Let me take care of you.”
It feels a little overwhelming, to hear those words from Mingi right at this moment, and Yunho can feel his eyes stinging a little, never so thankful for the sanctity of Mingi’s pillow to hide his face. He doesn’t think he needs to say the words for Mingi to understand that Yunho’s never done this before, that this is a first he wants to give, freely and of his own will.
The second brush feels a little better, now that he knows what to expect, even as the tense, niggling nervousness in his stomach doesn’t ebb. He lays there, forcing himself to be as still as possible, as Mingi rubs over his hole with his thumb until he deems it loose enough to slip a finger inside, and the stretch of just the first two knuckles has Yunho keening, panting open-mouthed into the pillow, probably leaving a large patch of drool behind. Mingi shushes him again, drawing circles over his shoulder blade to soothe him, making little reassuring noises like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. Maybe he is.
One finger turns to two, and slowly Yunho feels some of the tension in his body fade, and that white-hot feeling of pleasure returns when Mingi finds his prostate, nudging at it with the tip of a finger. “Yeah?” Mingi asks him, and Yunho’s so relieved to hear some of the sunlight trickle back into his voice that he can’t help the way he nods rapidly, feeling the first tears spill from his eyes. Speaking of, the bedroom was painted a muted white from the afternoon sun outside, those familiar shadows shifting on the wall as the blinds hid them from the outside world, from the reality they would have to return to once this was over.
It felt sacred, and somehow more intimate, to be doing this in the light of day instead of the dark of night. The last few days, they had made themselves so busy that they had no time for sex except in the evenings, and Yunho hadn’t been brave enough to test the boundaries of the tentative thing that was going on to initiate anything in public or outside of the confines of this apartment. It felt safe to be doing it here, where nobody could see or judge them, where they could just be themselves with each other.
Behind him, Mingi shifts to replenish the lube on his fingers before he slides the third one in, stretching him out in earnest now. Yunho could hear the unsteady noises of his breathing, heavy and half-gone, and it sounded so hot that it was getting him off more than anything Mingi’s fingers were doing. “Hurry up,” he urges again, feeling his bones turn to jelly when Mingi angles his hand right just and hits that little bundle of nerves again, sending sparks down the column of his spine.
“Okay, okay,” Mingi says, sounding a little frustrated with how rushed Yunho’s being. Yunho didn’t understand. They didn’t have time, didn’t Mingi see that? It was sure to be three or four now, and in an hour or so they would have to make the drive to the airport unless Yunho wanted to miss his flight. He would, if Mingi asked, even if it was going to get him into a lot of trouble with the team, but he had shelved racing long enough that it was about time he got back to it. There was a part of Yunho, as much as he loved Mingi, as much as he wanted to give Mingi the world, that was raring to get back in the car, to feel that miraculous gift of speed that only being in a Formula 1 car could offer.
Yunho lays there, trying to catch his breath, as he hears Mingi shuffle to finally take his own underwear off and then the telltale rip of a condom packet. He almost wanted to tell Mingi to stop, that he was clean, that nobody had touched him here before, and that he wanted to feel Mingi in his entirety. But the little rational voice in his head told him they didn’t have time for the clean-up if they went raw, so he keeps his mouth shut and screws his eyes close again, telling himself to be still and be good, so Mingi would understand what Yunho wanted to tell him.
Movement above him, and then he felt Mingi’s weight settle between his legs as he tucked Yunho’s knees underneath him, propping his hips up. Yunho flushed more, if that was even possible, at how the position left him exposed and open, too ashamed and turned on to say anything about it. The apprehension made his stomach flip, and he could feel the nerves pinging inside his body, ricocheting through every bone and muscle. He couldn’t help the way he tensed up when he felt the head of Mingi’s cock tap against his hole, behind the latex barrier of that stupid, stupid condom.
“You gotta relax,” Mingi tells him, with just a touch of forced gentleness in his voice, smoothing his hands over the planes of Yunho’s skin. One of his thumbs was rubbing reassuring patterns into the side of Yunho’s hip, and he made no move to push in, even when Yunho made a wet noise of confusion.
But Yunho couldn’t. He could feel his body getting tighter and tighter with every passing second where nothing happened, suddenly insecure about the whole thing. He couldn’t—Mingi was big, really big, and Yunho didn’t know how it was going to fit. He had never—he didn’t know how this worked, and the uncertainty was getting to him, making him overthink and spiral, filling his head with thoughts that he couldn’t chase away as much as he wanted.
“Just do it!” he snaps, mortified a heartbeat later when the haughty tone of his own words registered to himself. He could feel the tears begin to gather again in the corner of his eyes, sour and without the same pleasure of the earlier ones that had fallen.
“Yunho…” Mingi said slowly, and Yunho didn’t have to look at him to know that he was frowning. Desperately, he reaches back to keep Mingi close when he feels him begin to retreat, the fear jumping up high into his throat when he feels some of that warmth leave him. His body had gone cold now, that warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach turned to lead, and it felt like he had just swallowed a jagged piece of stone.
“Don’t—” he babbles mindlessly, feeling like he could throw up at any moment. “Please just. Please. I want you.”
Silence, and he almost sinks into the ground and cries in relief when he feels Mingi returning, feels the heat of his body behind, before a blunt pressure presses against his entrance once more.
Mingi drives forward ever so slightly, and Yunho’s world turns to white when the crown pops in, his rim stretched around something this size for the first time. His body convulses, closing up, and he claws at the bedsheets, desperate to get away from the intrusion before remembering himself, letting out wet, half-broken gasps into the pillow. A sob rises in his throat, the most damning thing in the world right now, when Mingi freezes up at the sound. And then he’s out and gone. Yunho makes a noise that he doesn’t want to admit is a whimper when gentle hands come around his ribs to turn him over, and he cries even harder at the devastated look on Mingi’s face when he sees Yunho properly.
This wasn’t—this wasn’t what Yunho wanted, not the broken look in Mingi’s eyes when he scrabbles up the sheets to tuck Yunho into his chest, his arms wrapping around Yunho’s shaking body. He wanted—he wanted to fix things, not make them worse, but he had messed this up again, with his body’s failure to cooperate, with his own inability to do anything right.
Mingi whispers meaningless assurance into his hair as Yunho cries it out, rocking him back and forth. “Sorry,” Yunho whispers, when his throat clears up enough to talk. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what could be done, didn’t know how he was supposed to tell Mingi about the feelings in his chest now that they had been painfully buried back deep, underneath the fear and the insecurity. “We can… we can try again, if you want.”
“Yunho,” Mingi says sharply, and his voice is stern now, with a hard edge to it. He sounds a little angry, and Yunho’s at a loss again. Was Mingi mad, because Yunho couldn’t give him something so simple, something that Mingi gave to him all the time?
“Yunho,” Mingi tries again, a little more urgently this time, and he sounds properly upset now. Yunho feels his body getting manhandled until he’s sitting up and they’re eye level, face to face with each other. Mingi has a manic look on his face, something wild and dark in his eyes, as they dart over Yunho’s face, as if to check that he’s really okay. “Yunho, listen to me,” he pleads, and Yunho straightens up. This is important. This feels important.
“Yunho,” Mingi repeats for the third time, with an air of finality to his voice. “I am not going to fuck you because you want to prove a point.”
And that’s—that’s—
Preposterous, is what Yunho wants to say to that. Wants to snarl, actually. How dare he. How dare Mingi take what was supposed to be an attempt at honesty and twist it like that, when Yunho was trying, he was trying so hard, he was trying his best, and couldn’t Mingi just see that? He wanted to be good, and he wanted to fix things, and he wanted this horrible, suffocating silence to be over so they could fall back into each other. He just—he didn’t want this love to be so difficult. Feeling it, for Mingi, was the easiest thing in the world. He didn’t know why trying to actualise it felt so hard, so impossible, like an unreachable, unattainable wisp of a fantasy he couldn’t hold on to.
But then the fight bleeds out of him when he thinks about it again, and realises with a sinking gut that Mingi’s right. His face falls, and that cold feeling washes over him again, and the silence between the two of them sits heavy in the air as they both digest the situation they’ve created for themselves. With a sudden jerk, he tears his eyes away from Mingi’s face to look elsewhere, landing on the bedside clock. 4:32. They had half an hour to leave if Yunho was going to make it to the airport in time. The clock was ticking down.
After a few more moments of tense silence, Mingi sighs, and Yunho hears him get out of bed. A second later, the condom thunks into the bin, and then the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled up. When Yunho glances at him, he’s fully dressed again, picking Yunho’s underwear off the ground and setting it next to him. Wordlessly, Yunho gets dressed, going through the motions as he shoves his limbs through the fabric. Outside, the sun begins to shift towards a brilliant golden hue.
Yunho doesn’t remember how they get into the car, only that they do. He almost thinks Mingi will make him leave on his own, will show him to the door of the apartment that had been a haven for the two of them in the last ten days and close it on him, but he’s surprised and a little relieved when Mingi follows him down the elevator and into that loaned car which now held too many memories. If Yunho ever came here again, he would ask for a different model from the company, to make sure he’d never have to drive the same one again.
“Yunho.” Mingi is the one who breaks the silence, because of course he is, when they turn out of the main city area and into the sparser factory roads near LAX. “It’s not your fault.”
Yunho wants to scoff, but he just feels tired, so tired. He wanted this to be over already, to fast forward past the painful knife of rejection that was surely about to come, now that he has royally fucked his second—no, third chance so badly.
He wanted to say something cruel in response, but he didn’t have the words. More than that, Mingi didn’t deserve any of his vitriol, when the only person it should have been aimed at was himself. “I’m sorry,” he says uselessly, because what else does he have to fall back on? And then, desperately, like a lost child trying to find a lifeline: “I don’t want to lose you.”
In the passenger seat, Mingi startles fully. “Huh?” he says, and his eyes are wide as he turns to Yunho, worried and scared. “Yunho, what—what? I don’t—I’m not—do you think I’m the kind of asshole who—” he cuts himself off. He pauses, and Yunho watches as some kind of realisation dawns on his face through the mirror. “Wait,” he continues on, and there’s an accusing tone to his words now. Yunho feels himself go even colder. Great, now they even had to end this fiasco on an argument. “You thought I was going to—you’re just running away again, aren’t you?”
Yunho doesn’t say anything in response. He didn’t have anything left to say.
Mingi’s eyes are fiery when they pull to a stop at the next light, reaching over to tug Yunho’s body towards him until they’re facing each other. “Is that it? We run into a little problem and you’re just going to run away from it when it doesn’t go the way you want it to, when it doesn’t all work out perfectly like the way it does in your head? News flash, Yunho.” He spits the name like acid. “The world isn’t perfect and neither are we. I thought we were—I thought we were trying to—trying for each other, and that it was enough for the both of us. I was so—” Horrifically, his eyes are a little wet. “I was so happy, these last few days. Weren’t you?”
Yunho’s heart lurches in his chest, suddenly in that long freefall again. “Of course I was,” he says, urgently, desperately. He needed Mingi to—he had fucked up the language of bodies, but he still had his words, and he needed Mingi to know. “I’ve—I’ve never been so happy, in my entire life, to be here with you.”
Mingi’s smile is real, even when it wobbles at the corners. “Even more than when you won the championship?” he asks weakly, in the world’s most obvious attempt at a truce.
Yunho does his best to smile back, even if he feels himself on the verge of crying again. “Even more than that.”
Whatever Mingi was going to say gets lost as the light turns green, and Yunho makes the final turn in the row, riding along the airfield to the gleaming hub of LAX. In the setting sun, the architectural design of it shimmered, and in the distance there were planes taking off. In just an hour or so, Yunho would be on one of those, and Mingi would be staying here in the city where he now belongs.
They don’t speak even when they pull up to the airport, even when the Mercedes attendant Yunho’s arranged to take the car back to the shop shows up to reclaim it, even when Yunho checks in at the express line, the boarding pass like a death sentence hanging between the two of them.
“Look I—”
“I think—”
They speak at the same time over each other, breaking out into nervous laughter when they turn to look away. It hurt to look straight at Mingi right now, like he could feel the hole in his chest more present than ever. It was a familiar feeling by now.
“I think I need some time,” Mingi says at last, when it becomes apparent that Yunho has to go.
Yunho feels his head snap over at that, his heart jumping into his throat, a sudden fear seizing him. “What do you mean?” he croaks, almost tearing his pass in two in a fit of hysteria.
Mingi’s face is slightly bashful, but his jaw is set, like he’s determined to get the next words out regardless of how they’re going to be received. “I need some time,” he says again, reaching over to take Yunho’s hand in his before he can jump to worse conclusions. “Yunho, the last few days have been… wonderful, so wonderful, and I never wanted them to end. I think we both know how I feel about you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop, but sometimes I just…”
He sighs. “I love you so much that I don’t think I’m thinking clearly whenever I’m with you. I love you so much I could agree to just about anything, if you were the one asking. I just… I’ve loved you since I was fourteen, since we were still in karts, and it’s been so long that I don’t remember what it feels like not to love you.” His eyes are soft, something sorrowful lingering in them. “It’s not that I don’t think you feel the same. But I just… I need some time, to know that this is what we both want, to know that I’m not just getting in over my head about what this means to you all over again, to make sure I’m not just stumbling into something that’s going to hurt me more in the end.”
“I love you, Yunho,” He finishes softly, and his fingers flex in Yunho’s grasp, holding on even tighter. “I just… I can’t jump into this so fast. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us, I think.”
“Okay,” Yunho replied, because he understood. He got it now, what Mingi had been trying to tell him this whole time. He had been selfish again, so focused on what he wanted to say that he’s not been listening properly in return. And then, because he can and it’s true: “Mingi, I love you.”
Mingi’s expression flickers, and then he laughs once, resigned and exasperated. His smile is watery when he turns it to Yunho, and Yunho smiles back helplessly, like Icarus to the sun. “I know,” he says slowly, and they both let that sit in the next heartbeat of silence. For now, in this moment, that’s enough, and that’s all it has to be. “I know.”
2025 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX
[SKY SPORTS LIVE: 2025 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX]
YOO Jaesuk: Five lights and away we go, and Formula 1 is back racing again at the Hungaroring! Jeong Yunho gets a good jump off the line and maintains his lead going into Turn 1, and they’re all filing through hairpin one by one now. They’re being quite well-behaved today, not jostling with each other too much, and they’ve all safely made it through Turns 1 and 2, though we’re about to see quite a few lunges being made going into Turn 4.
HWANG Kwanghee: It’s a hard track to overtake at, isn’t it? Out in front, Yunho’s already opened up a gap to Mark in second. He’ll have two laps to get out of that critical DRS range, if he wants to convert his pole into a win.
YOO: He’s positioning that car beautifully right now, as we see Mark try to make a move into Turn 12. He won’t have many chances later on in the race, once Yunho starts taking off down the road, and he’s shut down, as Yunho demonstrates that defensive driving he was so well known at Williams for instead of being on the attack for once.
HWANG: He certainly is. What are your thoughts, Taeyeon? You have a special relationship with Yunho, having been a strategist with Williams Racing during his time there. Do you think this will be another race in the bag for him?
KIM Taeyeon: Yes, Yunho’s always been a very smart driver, but I think this year he’s really stepped it up, especially since Imola. He used to be very careful with his moves, only making moves he thinks he can stick, but he’s been showing a lot more aggression this season, going for moves that seem unlikely. And somehow, he always seems to make it work for him. It’s been really great to watch.
HWANG: He’s changed a lot from his days at Williams, hasn’t he? I mean, I remember interviewing him when he was still driving for them, and he was so polite, so quiet. This year, we’ve heard every emotion from him on the radio. It seems he’s finally learned how to have a bit of bite to him.
KIM: That he has, Kwanghee, but I disagree that he’s changed too much. Back then, when I was working with him, he was so young and so sweet, always trying to help out, but there was a sharp ruthlessness to him when it came to racing. Of course, these drivers all want to win, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody as hungry for it as him. I think what we’re seeing this year is the real him, and he was just being polite and quiet back then because he was worried racing would be taken away from him if he wasn’t. You should have seen the tantrums he threw back in the old days after a bad race when he thought people weren’t looking. It’s kind of funny, looking back on it. He was always so apologetic afterwards, after he’s gotten a good cry out. But you can just tell that he loves racing, truly loves it, and it’s so incredible to see him shine now.
YOO: And what about his championship chances this year? Are you rooting for him?
KIM: Oh, I have my money on him, all the way. If there’s anybody who I trust to bring it home, it’s got to be Yunho. He’s just something else, you know? Something out of this world. When you watch him drive—I don’t know how else to explain it—but doesn’t he kind of make you feel like you’re right there with him?
[SKY SPORTS F1 - POST-RACE INTERVIEW - JEONG YUNHO - BUDAPEST, HUNGARY]
Q: Congratulations on another win, Yunho, how does it feel?
JY: Haha, hello to you too! Good, I would say. It feels really, really good!
Q: You’ve been having an incredible string of races right now. Three wins back to back, and then that amazing win in Silverstone as well. And now, another win here in Budapest. How has that been for you?
JY: Well, can I say really, really good to that too? Haha! In all seriousness, it’s been really great. It feels like the team’s really worked on the car based on our feedback, and the car is just such a great drive. It’s not perfect, of course, but if I can eke out that little more in it to put it in the front of the grid, then I’ll always do my best.
Q: You’re now the only driver this season to have won more than five races, counting sprints. Is the championship charge on?
JY: When has it ever been not? Of course, I am still behind Mark in the championship right now. We had a really rough start to the season, I won’t lie, but I’m closing that gap slowly and steadily. A few more races like this, and we’ll be right up there with him.
Q: Speaking of Mark, how has that relationship been? You’ve tangled a few times this season in on-track battles, but have yet to come together in a major incident. Is there a layer of trust there, to know that you’ll both keep it clean on track when you two come wheel to wheel?
JY: Mark’s a great driver, and we’ve been having many battles since our karting days. We’ve grown up together, being of the same age, and I know what kind of driver he is, the same way he knows what kind of driver I am. He’s always been incredibly quick and tricky to overtake, and I’m so proud to be fighting for a championship with him. And yeah, we’ve had many great battles on track this year so far, and I’m looking to many more in the near future.
Q: Obviously we’ve just come back from a long summer break. How was that for you? Refreshing? Or just keeping busy, training for the rest of the season.
JY: A bit of both, I’d say? But yeah, it was a really good break for me. Feels like I really needed it to… reset? In a way. I was in Greece with Jinyoung for a bit, and then flew out to LA. Saw a lot of cool sights and ate a lot of good food. My trainer was really mad at me when I came back a kilo or two heavier! But yeah, I loved my time there. It was just what I needed, before heading into the second half of the season.
Q: But now you’re back on track and ready to roll.
JY: Of course. Didn’t I just prove it out there today? I’m here to win races, not to dawdle around. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me on that top step before the end of the season, I reckon.
Q: Okay, we’ve got to let you go Yunho. One last question, how do you feel about your championship chances?
JY: Haha! You’re just going to make me say it again! Good, I would say. Really, really good!
2025 BELGIAN GRAND PRIX
On Friday, Spa is sunny with some clouds with some fluffy clouds scrolling by slowly, and Yunho goes first in FP1 and FP2. The data for the long runs were especially promising, and he films some media thing with Jinyoung after FP2, and they make a competition trying to temper Belgian chocolate. It’s stupid, it’s silly, and Yunho fails at it miserably, but he’s sorta delighted that for once the marketing team had come up with something more interesting than making them answer trivia for once. He was pretty sure they had hired some new blood over the summer, a Jung Wooyoung or something like that, who was re-energising their social media platforms by leaps and bounds.
On Saturday, the summer breeze is warm and gentle, and up above there is nothing but an expanse of brilliant blue, stretching on for so long it feels like it would never end. FP3 goes well, and qualifying even better when he puts it on pole for the third race in a row. The car feels like it’s on rails, storming up Eau Rouge with a fury, thundering down the Kemmel Straight like she’s on a mission of her own. Going through Blanchimont feels like a dream of its own. He felt like he was on a whole other planet. In the end, he’s two-tenths up on his own teammate in second, and the garage erupts into celebration when the two of them walk in. A Mercedes front row lock-out, it’s the perfect way for the weekend to be going. Between hard claps to the back and wide smiles, he and Jinyoung agree to have a good fight out there during the race, and promise the team they’ll bring home the maximum haul of points. He gets dinner with his parents, only bragging a little about how good he’d been out on track today, and discreetly pays the bill before either of them can think to ask for it. By eleven at night, he’s out like a light.
On Sunday, the skies come crashing down.
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[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 3/44]
JEONG: The rain is [f**k]ing crazy out here. What the [f**k] are they doing? Red flag, red flag!
PIT: VSC is now in effect. Repeat, VSC is in. Change to mode yellow.
JEONG: [F**K]! Red flag the [f**k]ing race! Somebody’s going to die out here.
PIT: Keep your delta positive—ah, double waved yellows in Sector 2. One of the RBs hit the barriers in Turn 13. He is in the middle of the track, there is a lot of debris.
JEONG: Is he OK? Why are we not red flagged yet?
PIT: Driver is OK. Red flag now, red flag.
[SKY SPORTS LIVE: 2025 BELGIAN GRAND PRIX]
HWANG Kwanghee: Oh dear oh dear. That’s a big crash down at Campus. That’s Keum Donghyun’s front wing in about a million pieces all across the track. The driver is out of the car and okay, but that’s his race over. And still, the rain seems to only be getting worse.
YOO Jaesuk: It does seem odd that the race was only red flagged so late, wasn’t it? Honestly, we were all expecting the start to be delayed. We saw that incident between the Haas of Han Seungwoo and the Sauber of Choi Minho come together in the opening lap, and it was only yellow flags as they cleared the cars off track. And those two are seasoned drivers, used to driving in the rain. That says a lot about the conditions out there. Three drivers out of the race and we haven’t even finished the third lap.
HWANG: We’re just getting the news from race control that the race will restart in 10 minutes, and it will be a rolling start. The safety car will lead them through on those wet tires for a few laps to move some of the water off the road. But that feels awfully fast, doesn’t it?
KIM Jaejoong: Yes, it does. The rain’s picking up now. From the commentary box here we can see all the clouds in the distance. It’s only getting darker and darker out there. Maybe race control is seeing something different on their radars, I don’t think restarting the race any time soon would be a smart idea.
YOO: The notice has just come that the start will be delayed by another 5 minutes. That still feels awfully soon to me. Let’s go down to Lee Jangjun in the pitlane. How’s the activity down there?
LEE Jangjun: It’s just a riot! Most of the drivers are already out of the car already, thinking it’ll be a while until the restart. I’m right outside the Mercedes garage now and it looks like Jeong Yunho isn’t very happy about the news. He’s been talking to his team principal for the last few minutes. Apparently he has some damage from driving over the debris. He’s asking why the red flag wasn’t raised sooner.
YOO: That’s the question everybody wants to know. These are dangerous conditions out there, and it’s so slippery in the corner leading up to Eau Rouge. This could have been a much, much worse accident I think.
HWANG: Race control has just confirmed the race will restart in 15 minutes. Let’s see how it goes.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 5/44]
PIT: Rain will continue like this for five more minutes, then lighten up to Class 2 for three to five laps. Lots of water in Turns 1 and 11, be careful.
JEONG: This is [f**k]ing stupid. Somebody’s going to get seriously hurt out here.
PIT: We know Yunho, we are talking with race control. A lot of the other drivers are complaining about the same thing.
JEONG: It’s going to be too late to complain when one of us ends up in the wall.
YOO: It’s now Lap 11, and race control has seemed it dry enough for the safety car to be coming in this lap. It still looks pretty wet out there, doesn’t it?
KIM: Yes, and of course the drivers are on the wet tires right now, which will help to keep them within the white lines. The clouds have lightened up a bit, but it’s still raining pretty hard over the circuit right now. And it looks like there’s only going to be more to come.
HWANG: Safety car will be in at the end of this lap. For now, Jeong Yunho leads them through Blanchimont, coming into the final chicane. He’ll have to be smart about when he gets on the throttle and sends the race underway again.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 17/44]
JEONG: Visibility is really, really bad, man. I can’t see a [f**k]ing thing out here.
PIT: Do you think we should pit?
JEONG: I think we should [f**k]ing stop the race, mate. There’s going to be big crashes like this. We can’t keep the car on the road.
HWANG: Oh snap! There’s a McLaren tumbling down the order, what has happened there? It’s… that’s Junseok, isn’t it? He seems fine, just tapped the barriers at Les Combes. Let’s see what happened there in the replays.
YOO: He just touches the white line a little and completely loses control of the car, doesn’t he? Just a bit too much on the throttle, and then he’s off the road and into the tire barriers.
HWANG: Do you think he can get going again? The car should be fine, but he’s in the middle of a very large patch of gravel. You can see his wheels spinning as he tries to get back onto the road, but that car is not going anywhere.
KIM: No, I think that’s his race over. And if race control doesn’t decide to red flag the race for now, he won’t be the last DNF. This is getting really, really dangerous now.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 25/44]
PIT: Yunho, thoughts on inters?
JEONG: NO. It’s [f**k]ing undriveable out here. We stay on the wets.
PIT: Okay, Yunho. We think the Ferraris will swap to inters.
JEONG: That’s stupid and they know it. They’ll kill both their drivers that way. Why the [f**k] are we even still racing?
YOO: It’s perilous out there, as the rain starts getting heavier again. Jeong Yunho’s still leading the race for now, as he’s the only frontrunner who hasn’t gone into the pits for inters. That will give him a huge gap to his teammate in second.
HWANG: He was very adamant he wasn’t going to swap off the wets, wasn't he? It seemed like the track was drying up a bit just now, and everybody except him ducked into the pits to put on a set of inters. But it looks like he was right. The track’s still too wet out there for the inters to fire up properly. It’s supposed to be, what, 2 to 3 seconds faster a lap on the inters? But they’ve been making no progress on him at all. Now as the rain is picking up again those inters are just giving no grip at all and they’re all going to have to peel back into the pits for new wets.
YOO: It’s a very smart move by Jeong, isn’t it? He’s just saved himself two pitstops.
KIM: Yes, but dangerous too. The rain radar is reading a lot of heavy rain for the next five to ten minutes, and his wet tires must be shredded after doing all that running in the semi-dry. A lot of the tread has got to be rubbed down by now, and he’s already sliding around a lot. I think Mercedes would be stupid not to put him on a new set of wets too. He’s already a pitstop ahead of them, there’s nothing to lose.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 32/44]
JEONG: Boxing this lap for new wets. Get the tires out.
PIT: Stay out, we will stay out.
JEONG: Are you serious? Mate, the tires are gone. It doesn’t matter how far they’re behind me, I’m like a sitting duck here. I’m coming in at the end of this lap.
PIT: We’re not ready for you, stay out, stay out!
JEONG: Argh! Guys, we need to be reacting quicker!
PIT: Sorry about that, Yunho. Box next lap.
────────────────
When Yunho was eleven, he had his first big crash.
Honestly speaking, he’d been lucky to have avoided any major altercations until then. Lots of the kids get one bad crash when they’re seven or eight and they end up quitting, or their parents pull them out. But he’s not had any big incidents up until this point besides spinning out a few times and bumping wheels with a little more aggression than necessary every once in a while, and his dad had even said he had the ‘mark of a true racer’ when he had managed to win a race in the rain a few months ago, so Yunho was filled with what he felt was a well-deserved confidence.
This year, it hasn't been so easy for him. He had won basically every single race bar one or two that he was in last year, so they bumped him up two categories instead of one, and he was driving with kids way older and way bigger than him. His mom had double-checked with him thrice that he was okay with this, but in Yunho’s head, all he was thinking about was that he was another step closer to Formula 1. Besides, he reasoned, he was quite tall for his age, even if he was willowy and light. Looks wise, he fit right in.
But getting fast tracked out of driving with his age group also left him with no friends, and he spent many of the weekends alone, dedicating his time to fixing up the kart even as he shot envious glances over to where the other boys were playing soccer. Jaehyun, though he was still Yuno then, was often with them too, though he was still a category ahead. More than once, Yunho’s parents had encouraged him to go along with his cousin, to go and kick the ball around for a bit too. But Yunho felt embarrassed to be a year or two younger than everybody else, and though Yuno was kind they weren’t very close, so he would rather stay behind and tune up his kart with his dad to make sure everything was fine. Whatever. If the other boys didn’t want to play with him, he’d just make them eat dirt out on the asphalt.
It was another one of these weekends. It was a rare race where they were at Yeongam, not Inje Speedium, and everybody was buzzing louder than usual, excited to be driving on a track where real F1 drivers had driven earlier in the year. It wasn’t really, of course, the actual F1 circuit was a few hundred meters down the road, but it still felt like the karting track could have been the real thing. Yunho had been in Yeongam only a few months prior to see the first grand prix that had been held here, and he’d even gotten to sit in the championship winning Mercedes, the one that was being driven by the other Jeong Yunho. The older one. Everybody had cooed over the sight, little Yunho in big Yunho’s car, and wasn’t that just adorable?, snapping a million and one photos. Yunho, who would usually throw a fit over this sort of treatment, hadn’t said anything at all, because he was too busy trying to memorise the feeling, thinking to himself, this will be me someday. It had felt like the undeniable truth. One day, this will be mine.
Speaking of, Jeong Yunho had been at the race too. The older one. Yunho wrinkles his nose as he thinks about it. It was too complex to refer to somebody else as Yunho in his own head, even though he was well aware they were both named after the same guy. Technically, they were cousins a few times removed, but Yunho already has a Cousin Yuno and a Cousin Yeonho and a Cousin Yoonha, and that was too many people with the same initials with him to wrap his head around. He was a part of the most uncreative family in the history of the planet, who had a Formula 1 legend as a common ancestor and collectively decided to make it their entire gimmick. He was pretty sure he had girl cousins named Yulhee and Yeonhwa too. Like, seriously, it was getting out of hand.
Back to older Jeong Yunho—Yunho did not want to call him Cousin Yunho. He didn’t even want to call him Uncle Yunho, which was more apt seeing as there were 13 years between them. There was so much disconnect there it was making Yunho’s brain short circuit. So he decides to refer to the older Yunho as Uncle Jeong, close enough that it still registered in his head as family, but with enough distance to lessen the niggling feeling that he would never measure up to the first or the second guy with the same name. There was some stereotypical filial bullshit associated with the name, something about only how sons of sons of sons and so on were allowed to use it. It was supposedly an honor to be part of the ‘main line’, whatever that meant, and to be named Yunho, not Yuno or Yeonho or Yoonha. Honestly, it just made him feel weird when people would compare him to a great-grandfather he’s never met. He was eleven years old.
Uncle Jeong had never been at one of Yunho’s karting races before, though Yunho’s heard before that he has gone to a few of Yuno’s. It felt good, really good, to be doing well enough to earn the attention of a Formula 1 world champion. He had won the first race on Saturday handily, getting a great jump off the line and speeding over the finish line way ahead of the rest of the pack. It was feeling like another weekend where he’d walk away with two trophies, though this time he was hoping to get a few minutes of Uncle Jeong’s time too, to ask him about how it feels like to win a championship. He wanted all the advice he could get, if he was going to achieve the same one day.
The second race is more difficult right from the start. Some of the kids had heard that the world champion was here, and everybody was showing off more than usual. It wasn’t the first time somebody had said something about how Yunho was only racing in such a high category because of who his great-grandfather is, but it stung more than usual, when he knew Uncle Jeong was around to hear at least some of it. He was dying to prove the naysayers wrong.
The crash wasn’t his fault. He’ll defend it to the day, because he knows it wasn’t. It was his corner, he was way ahead at the apex, and the other guy should have backed out of it, because it was Yunho’s corner. And Yunho never gives up on a corner when he knows it’s his.
He doesn’t remember the details of the incident, only that he had been making the turn, his foot jamming the pedal to the ground for full power, and briefly he noticed the shape of somebody barreling towards him on the right. Past the actual collision, he had been airborne for a solid second, and his kart had flipped onto its side on the way down, skidding across the grass. Through the thin strip of his visor, he could tell the barrier was getting closer and closer, but he was stuck in his seat, helplessly trapped in the machine that he had trusted, the machine he had so painstakingly helped put together, the machine that, up until this moment, had been his friend. He hadn’t been strapped in, but his foot was jammed under the bent hull, still uselessly stepping onto the accelerator. Sideways, his head hit the ground and his helmet bounced right back up, and his neck was bruised from the whiplash for weeks after. But there was nothing he could have done to stop the impact.
So, without anything better to do, Yunho closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.
Afterwards, the medics had come and picked him up, and shone bright lights into his eyes to confirm that he was definitely concussed and had cracked a rib or two, and had set him free into his parents' waiting embraces and a hospital bed to recover. Over his head, as the painkillers kicked in and the drowsiness set in, he could hear them talking about pulling him out of karting, making him quit, finding him a different hobby, and his tongue had been too heavy in his mouth to protest like he wanted.
In the morning, Uncle Jeong came by and asked if he was okay. He sat down by Yunho’s bedpost and told Yunho that it was okay if he felt scared, and if he wanted to stop driving. He says he had felt so terrified after his first bad crash that he had almost dropped out, and he didn’t want any pressure on Yunho to force himself to keep going. It sounded very awkward, and very rehearsed, like he’d been a puppet parroting words from Yunho’s parents.
But Yunho hadn’t been scared. Helpless and in a lot of pain, sure, but not scared. Mostly, he felt betrayed. He had thought that winning was a partnership between him and his kart, and that they were both on the same page, putting in their fair share of effort. His kart has misbehaved and stepped out of line before, but it had never betrayed him fully the way it did yesterday.
Yunho wasn’t scared. He was pissed off. He wanted to see how many pieces his kart was in and put it back together and then teached it how to behave, properly this time. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he could have died, if the angle of his crash had been slightly different.
He told Uncle Jeong this. Uncle Jeong’s face had done a very interesting thing, at least six emotions Yunho was too young to recognise flitting over his expression, and then he was quiet for a bit before slapping Yunho on the shoulder and telling him to rest up. Through the thin barrier of Yunho’s door, he could hear Uncle Jeong talking in hushed tones to his parents. He wasn’t sure what was said, but afterwards, they never brought up making him quit ever again.
Spa, fifteen years later—it’s raining, it’s raining so hard it felt like he was in the middle of a flood, and he almost bins it going through the final chicane. His tires are sixteen laps old at this point, and there’s zero grip to be found anywhere. There’s a fucking waterfall pouring down the road up to Eau Rouge. Going up the slope, the wind hangs still before suddenly gusting in the other direction. In response, the car wobbles, ever so slightly, and then he feels that beautiful machine of his betraying him once more. One wheel over the white line, that’s all it takes before he’s off the road, his front wing crumpling like paper as it meets the barriers. A game of pinball with the world’s most expensive car, he ricochets off, stuck in a tailspin with his suspension broken and next to useless, and through the spray he can just about make out the dark shape of the wall getting closer, closer, closer.
Without anything better to do, Yunho closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.
────────────────
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 35/44]
PIT: Yunho? Are you OK?
PIT: Can you hear me? Yunho, are you OK?
PIT: Wait right there. Medical is coming to get you now.
JEONG: … [STATIC] …
PIT: Yunho? Can you hear me? Are you OK?
JEONG: … [STATIC] … [HEAVY BREATHING NOISES] … [STATIC] …
PIT: Yunho?
YOO: And—OH God. Oh, God. That’s a huge crash up in Eau Rouge, and that is Jeong Yunho, the reigning world champion, into the barriers. Oh, God. That’s a big one.
HWANG: Oh, christ. He’s… His car’s nearly in half. His engineer, Kim Junmyeon, is radioing him to ask if he’s okay. He hasn’t said anything yet. There’s a medical car heading his way right now.
[CHOI San Radio Transcript - Lap 35/44]
CHOI: What the [f**k]! I told you, I TOLD YOU. We should have red flagged this race ten laps ago.
PIT: Switch into S3, S3. Red flag, red flag.
CHOI: Yeah, too [f**k]ing late on that! [F**k], man. Is Yunho OK?
PIT: We don’t know right now, San. We will update you once we have more information.
CHOI: [F**k]ing hell.
[PARK Jinyoung Radio Transcript - Lap 35/44]
PARK: What the [f**k]. Is Yunho OK?
PIT: Red flag, red flag.
PARK: I don’t give a [f**k] about the red flag, mate. Is Yunho OK?
PIT: We are checking.
PARK: Is he still in the car?
PIT: He is still in the car. We are checking his onboards now.
PARK: [F**k], tell me he’s OK.
PIT: I will come back to you as soon as we know more.
[CHO Seungyoun Radio Transcript - Lap 35/44]
PIT: Red flag, red flag, dash positive, dash positive.
CHO: Ah, [f**k], I almost went off at, um, Turn 12. What happened?
PIT: Big crash up at Eau Rouge. That’s Jeong in the Mercedes. There’s a lot of debris on track, please be careful as you go through.
CHO: Holy [sh*t]. That looks… that looks really bad. Is he OK?
PIT: … [STATIC] …
CHO: Huh? I said, is he OK?
PIT: No info yet, Seungyoun.
[LEE Mark Radio Transcript - Lap 35/44]
PIT: Red flag, red flag. Big crash at Eau Rouge.
LEE: Jesus—Is that Jeong?
PIT: Yes, debris on track, be careful.
LEE: Dude, there’s bits of carbon fiber at the bottom of the hill. What on earth—Is he OK?
PIT: No info yet.
LEE: [Sh*t]. Should I pull over? Why is he still in the car? He looks like he needs help.
PIT: Negative, Mark, negative. Do not stop the car. The marshals are with him. Delta positive, come back around and into the pits. The rain is increasing. Be careful.
LEE: Jesus can’t you check his onboards or something? [F**k], man, I told you it was too dangerous to be out here. Tell me as soon as he’s OK.
[KIM Minjae Radio Transcript - Lap 35/44]
KIM: Oh my god. Oh my god. That’s a big one. Who is it? Is he OK?
PIT: We think it’s Jeong Yunho. Repeat, it is Jeong Yunho.
KIM: My god. Is he OK? Has he said anything yet?
PIT: Not yet. We’re not seeing any footage. I will come back to you when I have more information. Pit now, pit now.
KIM: Yeah, copy. Is he out of the car now?
PIT: We are not sure.
KIM: What do you mean you’re not sure? Is he out of the car yet?
PIT: We’re not sure, Minjae. We… we haven’t seen any more footage so far.
YOO: The red flag is now up. Far too late, in my opinion. It’s practically a river out there on track right now. It feels like this accident could have been avoided if race control had just been a bit more prudent with their decisions.
HWANG: There’s marshals all around Yunho’s car now. They’re trying to talk to him, but I don’t think he’s hearing any of it. But good news, we’ve seen him moving around. He’s still in the cockpit for now. We saw that he tried to lift himself out a few seconds ago but it looks like the headrest was stuck, so he’s sat back down. That was a big hit that he took. The marshals are trying to help him get out of the car now.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 35/44]
JEONG: Ah… [HEAVY BREATHING NOISES] …Ah. [F**k].
────────────────
It feels like deja vu three hours later when the medics had released him into his parents' waiting embrace and a hospital bed to recover.
He was concussed badly enough that staying overnight was necessary, but anything beyond that was optional. Clear headed, he probably would have opted out, but he had been drugged up on enough painkillers that Yukwon had stepped in and made the decision for him, prolonging his stay to three nights instead of one. Anyway, even if he hadn’t been there, Yunho would probably have made the same decision, if only to appease his mother, who was beside herself with worry. She hadn’t left his bedside at all until visiting hours were over, even if he was dozing off from the meds. She had even asked if it would be possible for her to sleep in a cot in the same room, but was thankfully convinced otherwise.
Nothing was broken, which was a miracle in of its own. If he’d broken a rib, or worse, a hand or a foot, it would be game over for the next six to eight weeks, and his championship chances down the drain for good. His mom had looked at him blankly when he had told her this cheerily, and had gone very quiet for the next hour. Yunho felt bad about scaring her, but honestly, he felt that he had been in very little danger of actually dying. Formula 1 cars were surprisingly safe these days, despite the fact that they were rocketships on wheels. He had a mild concussion which had petered out to a terrible migraine, and a lot of bruising, but other than that he was mostly fine. With a week’s break between Spa and Zandvoort, he’d even have time to get back in shape for the next race. Hyunwoo, who had come to visit a few hours ago and had given him a careful hug, was already writing up training plans for the next two weeks.
His neck and back do hurt horribly though, and he asks for some painkillers to knock himself out faster. It’s not the first time he’s crashed this year, but it’s been a few years since he’d had a crash this bad. The data team had said that he'd apparently gone 45G into first barriers, and then 35G into the next one. Two big hits right after the other, the HANs had probably saved his neck from snapping. At this point, his mom had gone white and stepped out of the room for a moment. Yunho had winced, as did the mechanic who had been telling him the news a second before.
It’s past noon when he wakes up again, his head still buzzing with that bad headache. They’ve drawn up the curtains around his bed on the window side to give him more shade, which he appreciates greatly because holy fuck, the world has never been so bright, and there’s a pair of sunglasses by his bedside that he pops on near immediately. A nurse comes in and checks on him, running some quick tests. She assures him that his reflex speed will come back quickly when he fails to catch a tennis ball she tosses at him, but Yunho is still frowning when she leaves. His fingers, clutched around the ball, had shaken minutely, but she hadn’t said anything about that.
Yukwon is the first to visit him that day, bringing along some actual hot food. He looks amused when Yunho takes to it like a dog, taking huge bites of everything, but there was a tightness to the corner of his eyes that Yunho disliked seeing there and disliked being the cause of even more. Yukwon had kept his voice level as he was telling Yunho how the rest of the race went—race control determined that conditions were too dangerous to restart, and so Jinyoung had won the race since more than three-quarters of the laps were completed—but Yunho could hear the mild quiver in his manager’s voice as he talked about how they had lifted the wreckage of Yunho’s car from the side of the barriers.
Fully awake, slightly less concussed, and more in control of his own senses, Yunho had asked to see the pictures. He felt like he was missing something, and he didn’t like this feeling of being out of the loop. He just—he couldn’t grasp why everybody was treating him like he was made out of glass. It was a worse crash than usual, sure, but he’s walked off plenty of shunts before. He needed to see, to understand why Yukwon, his mom, even the Mercedes mechanics who had come by, all had that same haunted look in his eyes when they saw him sitting in that hospital bed.
Yukwon had hesitated, but had dutifully pulled his phone out when Yunho pointedly mentioned he would look for the photos on his own later anyway. Everybody was being far too dramatic for his liking. It was just a crash.
And then he saw the pictures and went bone-white.
It looked… it looked bad, really bad, and it was a testament to how bad it looked that his first thought wasn’t can they fix the car up in time for Zandvoort?, but a startling awareness of his own aliveness all at once. He dug his fingers into the sheets, feeling the linens become clammy with his own sweat, as he listened to his own radio, how long he’d been silent, how desperate Junmyeon had sounded, the horrible gurgling noises he was making before he said anything coherent at all. He hadn’t remembered that part. The doctors said it was normal to lose a bit of memory after a concussion, so he hadn’t thought it was a big deal. Most of what he remembered was in bits and pieces. Trying to get out of the car, the headrest being jammed, giving up and waiting for the marshals to help him out, insisting on making the walk to the medical car by himself, closing his eyes on the drive over, and then waking up again in this bed.
He hadn’t—it looked bad, from the outside.
Yukwon had left him to stew in that, promising to send his parents as soon as possible. In the reprieve, Yunho had leaned back in his bed, and stared up at his ceiling.
The thing is: he didn’t feel scared. He was in a lot of pain, and kind of helpless, but he wasn’t scared. It’s been too long since he was that kid who had just been pissed off after the worst crash of his life anymore, who had just wanted to get back into the car and beat it into submission. Right now, his back hurt, breathing was a little difficult, and he wanted to sleep for another three days in a row. But older, more experienced, and with a championship under his belt, he felt just as fearless.
Still, sitting there in his hospital bed, he has a moment where he thinks to himself: I could have died yesterday.
He’s gentle with his mom when she comes flying through the door a few minutes later, hugging her to his chest. His father isn’t one for waterworks, but he sits by Yunho’s bed and holds Yunho’s hand in his own for a while, staring at a bruise imprinted onto Yunho’s elbow for far too long in silence. The doctors come in at some point and tell him he’s recovering well, but Yunho hears all of it like he’s underwater, nodding sluggishly along. Both of them had protested when he said he would be racing in Zandvoort two weeks later. His mom wants him to fly home to South Korea for the time being, but it’s infeasible for that to happen, so his parents make plans to stay in Monaco with him for the rest of the week. Yunho wanted to protest, he had training plans to get back to, and a recovery program to hop on, but he remembers those pictures again, the way his car hadn’t been much of a car by the time they had retrieved the pieces from the TecPro barriers, and keeps his mouth shut. He thinks he wants them close for a while, too.
The afternoon sun kicks in at this point and they leave him to nap a little more. Dinner is unappetising slop that he wolfs down, despite its lack of color or flavor, and finally, they give him his phone back, assured that he won’t make his concussion any worse with the bright light.
Somebody’s helped him keep it charged, probably Yukwon, and Yunho gratefully unlocks it. He’s shaken up enough from the day that he doesn’t even register how his hands tremor until it takes face ID a few tries to work, and his notifications blow up once he manages to unlock it. Phone calls, texts, mentions from a thousand and one apps, he watches as the bubbles pop up one after another, becoming an unintelligible maze he doesn’t have enough energy to navigate right now. Mostly, he just wanted to post something on Instagram before he went to sleep so people know he’s alive and decently well, even though he’s sure Nayoung or somebody from the team will have released a statement saying he’s fine. In fact, she had left him a message with a generic statement to post if he wants, underneath some messages wishing him a quick recovery and telling him to take his time getting better.
He thinks about just copying and pasting her paragraph onto his story and calling it a day, but then thinks twice about it when he remembers the gaunt looks on his parents’ faces. Instead, he flips the camera around so he can take a bad selfie, messy hair and all, getting an angle where the lighting deceptively hides how pale he is, and posts it with a simple caption. Live to see another day 👍👍. It was a bit on the nose, and not half as eloquent as Nayoung’s response, but he felt like it said what he wanted to say. He was alive, and that was enough.
He groans as he scrolls through his notifications, endlessly long. The brightness kind of hurts his eyes, so he thinks he might just shut his phone off to sleep and deal with it all later, but then one catches his eye.
[From: Mingi]
(20:29) yunho? are you there?
He startles back into full awareness immediately. He coughs when his breath catches in his throat, his ribs smarting through the shockwaves. He’s clicked into the chat before his brain’s caught up with what he’s doing.
[From: Mingi]
Yesterday
(17:22) yunho
(17:24) are you okay?
(17:28) This message has been deleted.
(17:31) i just saw what happened
(17:32) hope you’re not hurt too badly
(18:02) please text me when you’re okay
(18:43) This message has been deleted.
(19:07) This message has been deleted.
(20:23) just saw the statement from the team
(20:23) glad you’re alright
(20:24) rest up and recover well
(21:07) This message has been deleted.
(21:09) This message has been deleted.
(22:27) jesus i just
(22:27) i keep looking at the video
(22:27) and the pictures
(22:48) and the fucking radio
(23:03) they should have stopped the race
(23:04) why didn’t they
(23:04) This message has been deleted.
(23:53) you’re probably asleep
(23:54) it’s late there
(23:57) and your team would say something if you weren’t okay
(23:58) right
Today
(00:03) what the hell am i doing
(02:24) just
(02:24) when you wake up and get these can you text me back
(02:24) a thumbs up reaction would suffice actually
(02:25) im going for a run. not that you need to know that.
(05:38) [picture attachment]
(05:39) cool bird i saw on my run
(06:06) This message has been deleted.
(06:06) This message has been deleted.
(06:06) This message has been deleted.
(08:46) can you please just tell me you’re okay
(11:34) okay fuck fine
(11:34) im going to sleep i can hear you judging
(11:35) dk if i’ll be able to but
(11:36) fine. you can win this one.
(14:13) seeing the
(14:13) This message has been deleted.
(14:13) never mind
(14:13) sorry i’ll stop spamming now you’re not going to want to wake up and see all this
(17:45) im just
(17:45) really sorry
(17:46) about LA i mean
(17:47) i wanted to
(17:47) This message has been deleted.
(17:49) i don’t even know
(17:50) i’m just really sorry
(17:51) This message has been deleted.
There’s where the trail goes cold. And it’s. It’s—
The thing is: Mingi hasn’t texted him since Los Angeles.
It’s not that Yunho’s mad about it. Really, he isn’t. Mingi asked for time, and time was the only thing Yunho had left to give. He’d wait a lifetime for Mingi, if it came down to that.
He wasn’t worried about Mingi disappearing without a trace, either. Mingi hated leaving things unfinished. He was fine with abandoning things if he didn’t like them—Yunho could count how many shows they had started and never watched to the end because Mingi deemed them too boring—but when it came to the important things, he always saw them through. If Yunho’s fatal flaw was that he could never figure out how to salvage the things that matter before they became ruined, Mingi’s was that he could never figure out how to stop going back to something after it's already been ruined.
And Yunho knew, in his heart, that this was something that was important to the both of them. Even if the answer was no, which would break his heart, Mingi would have the grace to come back and tell him himself.
He hits call. His fingers shake. Only some of it is because of the concussion.
Mingi picks up within seconds. “Yunho?” he asks, sounding breathless, disbelief and relief incarnated, and something inexplicable bubbles up in Yunho’s chest at the sound of his voice. Mingi just—he sounds so worried. And somehow, that’s what gets it to click, yesterday, the rain, the race, the crash, it all sinks in at once. Everything feels too overwhelming all of a sudden, and the numbness that had settled in ever since Yukwon showed him the videos felt raw and ragged, like a wave that had been suspended in time crashing onto shore with a vengeance.
“Yunho, are you there?” Mingi’s voice crackles across the line, tinny and metallic, but it’s him, it’s really him, and he’s here. The only thing in Yunho’s life as real and as true as racing. The only other consistent. The one person Yunho loves as much as this sport.
Yunho gasps, wet and broken, and then realises with a start that he’s crying. “Mingi,” he says slowly, feeling each sob reverberate around his bruised ribs painfully, each inhale feeling too immense for his body. Something in his chest feels all torn apart, like it was more than his car that had shattered into a million pieces when he hit the barriers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,”
“Oh, Yunho,” Mingi murmurs gently, and Yunho wants to lean in the hand that Mingi would have cupped around his face if he was here so badly, so desperately, that he tilts his head anyways to feel the ghost of the touch that had once been his to have. The hospital room, which he had privately agreed with his mom was a bit too small hours ago, was all of a sudden too big for him to be in. He felt very small and very alone, and he wanted Mingi here, to feel the heat of his body and the beat of his heart. He wanted—he wanted Mingi to press his fingers into the jump of Yunho’s pulse in his wrist, his neck, his chest, and tell him, in that infuriatingly irrefutable way of his: Yunho-ah, look, you’re still alive. That confirmation, coming from Mingi, would feel like salvation.
He cries for a while. Mingi stays on the line the whole time, even though Yunho can tell from the timestamps of his texts that he hadn’t slept at all and probably had better things to be doing, muttering quiet assurances that barely make any sense through the haze of the tears. Yunho had held it together all throughout the day, had held it together after yesterday, had held it together while everybody looked at him with those pitying, mournful eyes. He felt like he had to, if he wanted to remain whole, if he wanted to be able to walk away from Eau Rouge still in one piece. But here, now, Mingi says his name, says Yunho like it’s a prayer, like it’s a privilege, and Yunho crumbles apart. And really, what a privilege it is, to still be sitting here, to still be able to talk to Mingi, even after everything. He could have lost this forever, yesterday, in Barcelona, in Miami. In July last year, when he let Mingi walk away.
“So… yesterday was scary, huh?” Mingi says lamely, when Yunho runs out of tears and instead just starts sniffling pathetically. Yunho snorts, though it comes out wobbly. Understatement of the year right there. He slides down until he’s horizontal again, curling onto his side, lest a nurse comes in at this moment and sees him like this, leaning his cheek against the too-soft hospital pillow. Like this, with his phone right next to his ear, it almost feels like Mingi’s in bed with him. “I know it might be a bit insensitive to ask, and you’re free to not answer if you don’t want to, but are you okay?”
Yunho doesn’t really have an answer to that. He feels—fine, as in his body hurts but his heart keeps beating, as in his ribs hurt when he breathes but he’s still breathing, as in the car betrayed him yesterday but he’ll crawl back into it a few days later and do it all over again. But he doesn’t know if—if okay is the word to describe it all. “Still alive,” he tries instead, weakly, knowing Mingi will be able to read between the lines.
Mingi’s quiet for a moment. And then: “I don’t know if this is the right moment to say it. But, um, can I tell you something?”
Yunho nods, like Mingi can see him, and then remembers himself and makes a wet noise of assent instead.
“I just…” Mingi starts, sounding pensive. “I had some time to think after yesterday, and I kept thinking about LA. Not about how nervous I’d been before you showed up, or how I thought you might have just been joking about the whole thing, but about—you remember that fucking coyote? On the second to last day. We saw it and I wanted to run towards it like the fucking idiot I am, and you held my wrist and pulled me back. And I turned around right then, and your eyes, you were just—you looked so scared. And I thought, wow, he really cares about me, that he’s so scared for me.”
“But then you—you got into that crash, yesterday, and I realised that—that yes, you were scared for me, but there was a part of you that was scared for yourself too, when you saw me trying to approach a freaking coyote, right?” Mingi’s voice is all choked up, and Yunho wishes he could reach across the distance to smooth out the worry that must be tugging at his mouth. “Yesterday and today, I—I was so scared, for you, but I was scared for myself too. Because I was—I was so scared to have to live without you. And I don’t… I don’t know how to. And that terrified me, more than anything, the idea that one day I might wake up and never see you again.”
Yunho closes his eyes, turning his face further into the pillows. In the shade of the hospital room, with the curtains drawn around his bed, this space felt sacred, to be laying here, after a brush with death, listening to the sound of Mingi’s voice.
“When I saw the news yesterday, I kept thinking to myself that this kind of thing can happen to you any moment, and then I’d have to live with it,” Mingi barrels on, the words coming out in a rush now, like he needs Yunho to understand. Yunho hums. He thinks he already does. “I don’t—I don’t want my last words to you be ‘I think I need some more time’. And before that, if you hadn't decided to come to Paris, then I wouldn't have wanted what I said to Miami to be my last words to you either. And even before that, if you hadn't come up to me in Miami, I would have hated myself if all the horrible things I said to you in London last year were the last of what you heard from me.”
“Do you even know, Jeong Yunho?” Mingi sounds cross and exasperated and fond and in love, all at once. Something begins to unfurl in Yunho’s chest, something that has wings and a beating heart, shaking out its feathers for the first time in a very long while. “What you are to me? What you mean to me? I feel like I’m always thinking about my lasts with you. I'm scared all the time, worrying about when it will be the last time I get to talk to you, the last time I get to see you, the last time I get to have you. That's what it's like, being with you. Always chasing after a future that might be the last, wondering when it’ll finally be the end.”
“And then you—” Mingi whispers, and even across the line and so many miles and a whole ocean, Yunho feels so close by, like he would just reach out and touch the soft curve of Mingi’s cheek. “You showed up in Paris and Barcelona and London and somewhere along the way, I stopped worrying. So don’t… I mean something to you, I know it. What I'm trying to say is, don't let this be the last time I get to talk to you, and don't let tomorrow be the last either. I want to start thinking about firsts. I want to think about a future with you. I want to hope again.”
“Mingi,” Yunho says softly, a name made into a prayer made into a promise. He feels so full of that emotion, too big to hold, too small to let go of, that creature in his chest stretching its wings out, staring up at the bright, open expanse above.
“I’m—I’m going to be in Milan,” Mingi tells him, his voice full of light. “The week after Monza, I’ll be in Milan for fashion week. If you want, you could… you could come see me?”
“Yes,” Yunho says, quickly, surely. Strangely, his face feels wet again. “I’ll be there. I want to—I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” Mingi whispers, like it’s a secret just for the two of them. “I’ll see you in Milan?”
“Yeah,” Yunho agrees. It only feels right, for him to be crossing that chasm, the ravine, that distance that was never that unreachable all this time. He feels ready to feel the sun on his face again. Sunlight would taste so sweet, he knows it. Somewhere in his chest, the winged creature leaps, takes to the sky, and soars. “I’ll see you there.”
2025 DUTCH GRAND PRIX
[SKY SPORTS LIVE: 2025 DUTCH GRAND PRIX]
YOO Jaesuk: And now we see Mark Lee making a move into Turn 1, trying to make the overtake on a Mercedes. It’s been a bit unfortunate for him, getting a puncture from an incident with Sung Hanbin on Lap 38 and having to duck into the pits prematurely for a new set of mediums.
HWANG Kwanghee: Yes, and the car he’s trying to pass right now is championship rival Jeong Yunho, who’s been having a difficult race of his own too. Mark’s not quite close enough to make the move stick this lap, but you get the feeling it’s only a matter of time because he gets it done.
YOO: They’re quite far removed from the front of the pack, ey? We’re watching the championship frontrunners jostle for P4 right now, and they’re twelve seconds behind the next closest car.
KIM Jaejoong: You’ve got to say that Yunho has looked very uncomfortable in the car all weekend. He had a disappointing day, only fifth in the sprint, and then fifth again in qualifying yesterday, after three races where he’s been on pole. He was quite conservative throughout some of the corners, not pushing the car as much as we’ve seen him do. It’s not quite the same Yunho we’ve been seeing since Imola, is it?
YOO: Yes, and you have to wonder if that nasty crash he took in Spa has anything to do with it. He had an extended stay in the hospital, didn’t he? But the team’s cleared him to race again, so physically he must be fine. Mentally though… Jaejoong, what are your thoughts? You’ve done a few races and taken a few crashes in your time.
KIM: Yes, definitely it was a terrible crash last week. I think the data came back and it was around 40G? 45G? And then a second shunt into the other side of Eau Rouge. Which is a huge amount of impact, and certainly he’ll be thinking about it as he goes through Zandvoort now. I don’t know how much it’s weighing on his mind, but when you take a crash like that, you lose a little trust in your car, and the competition’s so tight this year that a little margin will take you from winning to the midfield. I feel for him, that’s for sure.
HWANG: He did say in the pre-race conference that he’s not fully back up to 100% yet, but there’s just something so… off about the way he’s driving right now. We see Mark’s making another move into Turn 1 again now, and he makes it pretty easily. Yunho didn’t fight that one too hard at all, did he?
YOO: It’ll be tough for him to keep his championship hopes alive if he keeps driving like that. If they end the race like they are now, Yunho will end up nearly forty points behind Mark now with 8 races and 2 sprints to go. That’s not an impossible gap, of course, but it’s bigger than it was over the summer break.
KIM: Well, it’s not over until it’s over. I don’t think he’ll give up until the end, at the very least.
YOO: You’ve really turned around on him, Jaejoong. I remember at the start of the season you were backing Mark for the championship all the way. I’m sure this brings back some memories for you. It wasn’t that long ago when it was you in the scarlet Ferrari battling against a Jeong Yunho in a Mercedes for the championship.
KIM: Haha, there are parallels for sure! But no, I think this Jeong Yunho is very different from the one I drove with. Objectively speaking, I still think that Mark has the best chance of winning the WDC this year, if I’m being honest. But subjectively… I don’t know. There’s just something new about Yunho this year that I don’t think we’ve seen before. Something more. Something in my gut tells me that we’re watching something special.
HWANG: Well, he’s going to have to get back into shape quickly, if he wants to keep this championship fight alive.
KIM: That he does. It would be a shame, I think, to see him stumble here, when he’s just on the cusp of proving to the world just who he is.
2025 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX
Monza is a shitshow that he doesn’t want to talk about.
He makes a stupid mistake in qualifying that has him starting P9, behind a fucking Sauber of all things, and spends most of the race playing catch-up. Sky Sports call it uncharacteristic. The official Formula 1 account calls it a whoopsie and the tweet gets 70k likes. Motorsport.com thinks his championship hopes for the year are over and his entire career is fucked and he should move to a farm in rural Australia if he wants to ever make a living for himself or whatever dramatic bullshit they’re on today. On and on and on.
He crosses the chequered flag in P4, which is a testament to how fast the car is and nothing else. In Silverstone and Budapest, the car had felt like it was a rocketship, smooth and easy. Even in Spa, before the crash, she had felt like a dream, cornering with a ferociousness that made Yunho feel like he was a predator on the hunt. But in Zandvoort, it had fought against him in every turn, every corner, like a scared animal lashing out for survival, and he spent all weekend trying to tame it into something manageable and walked away still without a handle on it.
Raw speed, at the very least, it could still produce, but being in the cockpit felt like they were back in Bahrain all over again, the car a piece of shit that just wouldn’t listen. It had felt like, after Imola and especially after Silverstone, that he had finally figured the car out, had gotten it working just the way he liked, felt like they were working together instead of against each other for once. And then Spa had reversed all of that progress, when he shunted into the barriers and left the carcass of his car behind in the wreckage.
At least most of the attention is on Mark, who is definitely having some sort of religious revelation in front of the roaring crowds of red as he stands on the top step. Yunho’s almost glad that he doesn’t end up on the podium when it allows him to slip away faster, floating through post-race media and reciting the textbook answers Nayoung feeds to him. She’s been looking at him concernedly ever since Spa, telling him to take it easy, and it feels so odd coming from her that it just circles around to make Yunho feel worse. Nayoung is supposed to be the one person who doesn’t make excuses for him, to kick his ass into shape, to put him through his paces. How bad did he look, if even she was coddling him. He knows Hyunwoo had made his original recovery plan easier, when Yunho had gotten into the gym for the first time after the crash and winded up exhausted after fifteen minutes only, his ribs hurting like crazy and that background dizziness was ever present. His reaction times were the slowest they’ve ever been since he made the jump up to Formula 1. The tennis ball exercises, which was usually his bread and butter, felt horrible with how he kept messing up.
Kyuwook tells him to stay behind after the debrief and asks if he’s doing alright, and Yunho doesn’t have an answer to that, so he just nods and waves his boss off. He makes some bad excuse about not having slept well, and his gut sinks when Kyuwook frowns, but lets him go with a knowing look in his eyes. It felt too much like pity for Yunho’s comfort. He didn’t like it at all.
His parents aren’t making it any better either, shadowing his every move and step. They had gone to every single one of his PT sessions since Spa, crashing at his apartment in Monaco, and Yunho felt like he didn’t have any space to breathe away from them. But he didn’t want to turn them away either, when it became apparent that they needed the time together even more than him. Yunho had only put his foot down when he heard them making plans to go back to Monaco after Monza, when they were supposed to be flying home. He didn’t know how to explain that he was flying to Milan instead of Nice, and luckily they had listened to him. He’d see them again in Singapore, and then for the race in Incheon, he was sure, but he needed some time to—to do something important, for himself.
Milan: Yunho flies in on Tuesday, on the same day Mingi is attending for Off-White. It’s mid-day when he gets in, but Mingi’s expected to be busy until very late at night, so there’s not much for Yunho to do as he waits. They had coordinated so Yunho could book a room in the same hotel as Mingi’s just to stave off any suspicion, but a manager had come and given Yunho the keycard to Mingi’s room a few hours ago, and he didn’t really want to stay alone in his stale, cold hotel room by himself, so he made his way to Mingi’s room a few floors up instead.
Of course, this just means he spends most of his day in Mingi’s stale, cold hotel room by himself, watching as dust motes flit through the air through the swath of Italian sun. The room’s not very lived in, seeing as Mingi had only arrived the day before himself, though there are a few clothes strewn around to indicate that he must have left in a hurry this morning. There’s a terrace attached to the room, and the view from it is spectacular, looming over the sprawling streets below. From it, Yunho can see a nice looking cafe just around the corner, and he goes to grab himself a late afternoon snack and a drink when the waiting becomes too boring.
Dinner rolls around, still without a word from Mingi, and Yunho gets up to order himself room service. He ends up getting it sent to his own room and bringing it up to Mingi’s to eat, too worried about the small chance a staff member would talk. The hotel was prestigious enough he didn’t think it was likely, but he didn’t want to take the chance anyways.
When the door finally swings open, a little past eleven at night, Yunho is dozing off again in that armchair, not knowing if he’s allowed to get onto the bed, with its sheets still rumpled around the shape of where Mingi had slept yesterday night. Halfway through the wait, Yunho had wanted to put his nose to the pillow and sniff, just to see if it might carry a trace of Mingi’s shampoo, but had felt like it was a bit too weird and had instead resorted to shooting it pathetic little glances every once in a while.
Yunho is up on his feet before Mingi’s all the way through, calling out a goodnight to his manager. And he looks—so fucking good, all smokey eyeshadow and leather pants that look painted on, like some creature of the night come to life. Yunho, in baggy sweatpants and an unbranded plain t-shirt feels way, way underdressed.
But then Mingi sees him, and his face shatters into a myriad of emotions—relief, disbelief, happiness, heartache, all at once—and somehow, all the distance of the six weeks becomes erased all at once.
“Yunho,” Mingi says, like he can’t believe it, like he hasn’t come to terms that this is real, that they’re both here and still alive. Yunho takes a step towards him, then another, and Mingi moves towards him too, and they meet somewhere in the middle, crashing into each other the way the wave meets the shore, hands askew as they pull their bodies into the same orbit, breathing it all in.
And really, Yunho tries to make himself speak, tries to unglue the gordian knot in his throat and put together a sensible string of words, but it’s a futile effort, blubbering half-syllables that make no sense at all. In the end, he resorts himself to turning his face into the waiting warmth of Mingi’s neck, burying his nose against that steady pulse point, clinging onto Mingi like a lifeline.
“Shh,” Mingi hushes him, clutching him back just as tight, one hand cradling the back of Yunho’s head as the other draws a soothing line down his spine. “It’ll be alright. I’m here.”
Yunho cries. There’s no pretty way to talk about it, so he won’t even bother. He cries like a fucking baby, sniffling and snuffling and sobbing and all those ugly descriptions, as Mingi holds him. It feels safe to fall apart here, when he knows gentle hands will put him back together afterwards, and he cries and cries until he has nothing left to give. The last month has just been—so hard, with the crash and the recovery and how the car felt like it was slipping out of his control again, how his reflexes were shot and his hands still shook sometimes, how everybody was looking at him like he was about to break. Even Mingi’s silence, as understandable as it is, had been weighing on him.
When Yunho finally stops crying, his chest raw and ragged around the edges, he pulls his head back, trying to look Mingi in the eye. He needs to—he has to—he just wants to—
“Mingi, I…” he starts, and then immediately trails off, trying to figure out where the sentence wants to go. I missed you? No, not quite. I love you? Yes, but it doesn’t encompass everything he wanted to say. What he really feels is: Mingi, I need you. I thought racing was the only thing I needed, and then you came into my life and made a home for yourself there, and now I don’t know how to live without you. You remember how it feels to drive, when we were racing against each other? In the moment, the only thing you can trust is your instincts, in yourself, to know what is real and what is true. That’s what loving you is like. You are—you are real, and you are true. You are the truest thing I know. I love you, I love you, I love you. More than that—I need you.
Mingi’s expression is soft, so soft. “It’s okay,” he says, when it becomes clear Yunho has no words to give. His hand slides from Yunho’s hair to his jaw, holding him there, his thumb sweeping along the jut of Yunho’s cheekbone. His eyes, dark and gentle, feel like forgiveness. “I know.”
Yunho stands there, looking at him, looking and looking. This was the boy he met at thirteen and lost at seventeen, the man he first fell in love with at twenty-two and lost again at twenty-five, and the man he would always love, now at twenty-six and for the rest of time. If there was a red string of fate that stretched between them, Yunho wanted to take it into his own hands and weave a fucking tapestry. He never wanted to let go. He didn’t think he could live without it.
When Mingi pulls him in again, Yunho goes, helpless to the draw of his gravity. Mouths and hearts and hands find each other, and after that, words become obsolete. Bodies were, of course, an easier language to speak, and sometimes the most honest of them all.
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“Could you…” Yunho starts hesitantly, as Mingi towels off his hair for him and dries it too, throwing it somewhere out of sight. The lean shape of his body is incredible, all defined muscles that tapered into the world’s most sinful waist, and Yunho looks his fill as Mingi rumbles around the room, searching for something more comfortable to wear to bed.
They’d already gone a round in the shower, where Yunho took his time helping wipe the make-up off Mingi’s face, reveling in the privilege of having Mingi so close and pliable. Under the hot spray of water, Mingi had sunk to his knees and put his mouth on Yunho, the warm heat of his mouth a reminder of all the time they’ve lost, and afterwards Yunho had gotten a hand around him and jerked him off to completion too, the water washing away the evidence of their coupling. They kissed for far too long after that too, though Mingi does feel a bit guilty about driving up the water bill and Yunho had waited as he fumbled around awkwardly for the tap before going back to ravish each other.
Now, Yunho felt strung out and satisfied, the way he always feels after a good orgasm or race, but laying here, watching Mingi flit around so casually, so carelessly, he wanted—he wanted.
“Could I?” Mingi replies teasingly, frowning as he manages to find the pants but not the shirt to his pyjama set, underneath one of the too-many pillows in this too-big hotel room. He mumbles unintelligible under his breath, too quiet for Yunho to hear the exact details of, but so homey and domestic that it makes him feel all soft and gooey inside anyways.
Yunho inhales. Feels his chest expand, and then compress as he expels it all in one long, deep go. He wanted to be brave, and he wanted to be bold. With Mingi, it was so easy to take the plunge. “Could you…” He tests the words in his head. Fuck felt too vulgar for what they were doing, but top rendered it too clinical, too impersonal. Yunho wanted it all, the warmth and the longing and that emotion, too big to hold and too small to let go of. “Could you make love to me?”
Across the room, Mingi freezes, and then slowly, he turns around to stare at where Yunho’s lounging on the bed. He blinks once, blankly, and then they meet eyes. Yunho wants to hide away from the weight of his gaze, but he keeps himself steady, even if he feels his ears getting red. He feels shy, but not embarrassed, by the magnitude of what he’s asking for.
“Could I—” Mingi stutters, the expression on his face shifting from stunned to hungry in an instant, and all at once Yunho feels like prey caught in the direct line of sight of a predator, his heart rabbiting in his chest.
“Could I,” Mingi repeats, snorting, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “Oh, I can,” he says, dark and deep, desire incarnate. Closer, closer, ever closer. “I will.”
Yunho smiles, and lets the heat of the night wash over him. There are worse ways to die than coming too close to the sun, he thinks.
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One finger, then two, three, and Yunho’s gasping into the sheets, whimpering as Mingi angles his hand just right and hits that miraculous margin, stars shooting across his vision.
“Fuck,” he says shortly, almost biting his own tongue off, and then: “Fuckkkkkk,” drawn out long this time, when Mingi does it again, and again, and again.
It’s late, and outside midnight was slowly ambling by the streets of Milan, ambling towards another day. They were high up enough that Mingi didn’t feel the need to draw the curtains completely close, and the huge floor-to-ceiling windows let just a slice of moonlight cut in, pale and watery, waning with each flick of the breeze. Leaving a huge patch of drool on the pillows, Yunho feels about the same, writhing as Mingi takes him apart piece by piece.
He’s almost pissed off about it. Why the hell was Mingi so good at this? He can kind of understand why Mingi had been so eager every time, if this is how good it feels, at the cost of little to no effort on his own part. Mingi had, understandably, been hesitant when Yunho had handed the lube over to him, clearly thinking about the last time they tried this a month ago and how spectacularly that failed, but Yunho had brought out the one exploit he knew Mingi was weak to, the tried-and-true puppy dog eyes, and Mingi had folded faster than a piece of paper.
“Last time, you said you’d take care of me,” Yunho had pouted, watching the conflicting emotions war on Mingi’s face. He waited until Mingi nodded, looking pained, before continuing on. “Won’t you try again? I promise I’ll let you, this time.”
Somehow, that felt like a confession that ran deeper than I love you. Those three words were easy enough to say now that they were in the open, acknowledged and seen, but the rest of it was still a fight to get through. Yunho was terrible at letting people in, at handing over control, and Mingi never knew when to stop pushing. It felt like a middle ground, to extend this olive branch, to say: here are the reins, and I want you to have them.
It wasn’t a collar, and it wasn’t a leash. Just a piece of thread, frayed and worn, but still pulsing with light, tied between their hearts.
He watched as desire won out on Mingi’s face, laughing at the dumbstruck look he was making, like Yunho had just handed him the entire world, cradled in his hands. In a clearer state of mind, Yunho might have paused to muse that maybe he had. In this one, he giggles when Mingi pushes him down into the sheets, and then he’s not laughing at all, because there are much better things to be doing with his mouth.
Which led to now, wailing as Mingi hits that little spot over and over, pleasure-pain-pleasure dancing up his spine. He almost wants to tell Mingi to hurry up, but there’s something about the night that feels endless, like they have all the time in the world, and he did say he would let Mingi set the pace. Waiting a lifetime had felt much easier when it was metaphorical. Right now, Yunho didn’t know if he could wait five more minutes for Mingi to get a move on, when he can already feel that tell-tale rise of heat in his stomach, too close to the edge when they still have so much to do.
It’s a relief when Mingi finally withdraws his fingers, letting up on where he’s been keeping Yunho pressed into the mattress by the shoulder. Yunho inhales desperately, trying to catch his breath as he hears Mingi shuffle over the side of the bed, setting in search of presumably a condom. Sound of a zipper being opened. Rustling. A low noise of frustration. Zipper being closed. Footsteps travelling further away to where Yunho remembers the suitcase is. Another zipper. More rustling.
“You don’t—you don’t have to.” It takes a moment to realise he’s the one saying it, curling over from his position on the bed to watch where Mingi’s bent over his luggage, digging through the small compartments. There’s a pang of jealousy for a moment, when he wonders why the hell Mingi was keeping condoms in his luggage, until he remembers that Mingi only got in yesterday and had already made plans to meet up with him today from way before, and warmth floods his chest. “I wanna feel you.”
Mingi makes a punched-out noise from where he is. “Fuck,” he mutters into what looked like a bag of toiletries. “This fucking guy,” he curses after that, but there’s no anger in it, only affection. Yunho makes grabby hands towards him, trying to speed him along. The night was young, and it felt fun and easy, and there was something fresh in the air, like they were relearning all the steps to a new dance. Yunho wanted to explore everything, all over again, for the very first time, as long as it was with Mingi.
He does laugh, when Mingi comes tumbling back into bed, jumping up onto the end of it and crawling up and over Yunho with a dangerous look in his eyes. “What’s so funny?” he asks, though he’s on the verge of laughing too, and Yunho doesn’t even mind the slippery trail of lube Mingi’s fingers leave on his face when he grabs Yunho by the side of his neck to wring him around gently.
“Nothing,” Yunho says, because really, he’s not laughing at anything particularly at all. He’s really not. And then, honestly: “Just happy to be here. With you.”
Mingi snorts. “You’re determined to make that a thing, huh?” he asks, leaning down to nip Yunho on the mouth and ignoring the resounding yelp as he rolls the two of them over until Yunho’s the one on top. For a moment, they fall quiet, staring at each other, the feeling in the air new and unfamiliar at the same time, over a decade of love stretching between them, ever since Yunho first laid eyes on the skinny kid who was going to be his new teammate. Silently, Mingi reaches up to brush the back of his hand over Yunho’s cheek, and Yunho lets himself lean into the warmth of it, closing his eyes when it gets too overwhelming. How wonderful it is, to be seen.
“Are you sure?” Mingi’s voice is so gentle, even as he adjusts them so Yunho’s better positioned over his lap, letting out a breathy sigh as he gives himself a stroke, lining the two of them up. Yunho’s eyelashes flutter when he feels the slightest of pressure at his entrance, gently prodding against it, without slipping in.
Of course, is the instinctive answer that almost fires out of Yunho’s mouth, but he holds himself back, letting himself really feel. Back then, in Los Angeles, when they had come so close to this, Yunho had laid there, hoping this act of sacrifice would destroy those terrible memories Mingi had of him, raze the barriers all to ground zero and wipe away the pain. He had stupidly thought that it was the only way Mingi could learn to forgive him, if he knocked down those walls and left nothing standing in the rubble, so Mingi could see him still standing there on the other side.
But now, right here, in the moment, Yunho didn’t want destruction. He was tired of it, of how it had ruined the precious thing between him and Mingi, how much it had taken away from him. He didn’t want to lose a single memory of the time he had spent with Mingi. Some of it was bad, most of it was good, and all of it was his to keep and his to own, threads of light woven into a tapestry of their own. Forgiveness was not looking away from what had happened, the pain and the hurt, how Yunho had almost lost all of this. Salvation, at the end of the day, was rebuilding, making something better out of what was left.
“Yeah,” he says at last, watching the sunrise dawn on Mingi’s face in the dead of night. It was—all of it was—incandescently weightless, like the gossamer of butterfly wings against your fingertips. “I’m ready.”
Mingi grins. It looked just the same as it did when he saw Yunho for the first time, as some gangly thirteen year old kid, and somehow so new at the same time, separately by an ocean of emotion. “Yeah?” he says, holding Yunho by the waist to make sure he doesn’t fall. Yunho understood all at once that Mingi was leaving it to him, to take the final step, to take them full circle.
Yunho can’t help but smile back. The warmth in his chest felt so nice. He wanted to curl up in it forever, as long as the two of them could stay there together. Slowly, he brings his hands up to Mingi’s shoulders to stabilise himself, an anchor in the night. For the first time since Spa, they were steady and still. “Yeah”, he confirms, light and love made into one. And then he sinks down, beneath the tides, and brings them home.
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Morning. Yunho wakes up freezing, and mumbles in discontentment, reaching out in search for Mingi’s warmth. Leaving the curtains half-open yesterday had been nice when it let the moon in, but now, the Italian sun was too bright to bear, piercingly white even through Yunho’s closed eyelids.
He stretches a hand out, patting towards where Mingi had fallen asleep, feeling that loose, syrupy ache in his hips, his thighs, the soles of his feet. He had never quite felt like this before, but he thinks he could get used to feeling it.
Only—there’s no warm body waiting to be curled up into, and his hands find nothing. Jolting, he sits up abruptly, ignoring the ping of pain in his head at the speed, and wrenches his eyes open, suddenly fearful, suddenly frigid. There’s nobody in bed with him, only the rumpled shadow of where Mingi had lain, and even that had gone cold. The air in the room was still and stale, and Yunho’s throat felt dry and painful all at once.
He’s graceless when he scrambles out of bed, his legs almost crumpling underneath him as he stands up too quickly, wincing when what was once a nice, strung out languidness turns to sharp ache and in an instant, his eyes wild as he searches around the room. There’s nobody by the foot of the bed, and no noise from the bathroom, and Yunho can feel his heart sinking in his chest. He thought—he had thought—
The last of the summer breeze sweeps across the room, and he shivers from it, turning to look at the windows. Through the hazy opaqueness of the curtains he can just make out the terrace, and a dark shape beyond them. Yunho feels the prey animal in his chest seize up, and then fall quiet. Slowly, he searches around for a bathrobe until he finds one and ties it loosely around his bare body, stopping for a moment to stare at the bruises littering up the inside of his thighs. Out of some sort of morbid curiosity, or to make sure that this was real, he pokes one, hissing when it stings. Okay, well. Real enough.
Mingi doesn’t turn to look at him when he steps out onto the balcony, though he does shuffle over to give Yunho some space to stand. They shouldn’t be standing here, so exposed, where anybody could look up and see them, but Yunho doesn’t care. He looks at the spot Mingi leaves for him, and then decides he doesn’t give a shit, slotting behind Mingi inside and sliding his arms around Mingi’s waist, hooking his chin over a broad shoulder. Below, the busy streets of Milan are in full swing, nameless faces scurrying from one street to another, cutting through alleyways, clutching briefcases and purses and coffees, each of them living their own stories out. Right now, if the wrong person was to notice them, they’d end up splashed on the cover of a million trashy magazines and news sites, and before the end of the day Yunho would probably have a very stern talking to from the company coming his way. He couldn’t find it in him to care, though. This, right now, to have Mingi’s warmth so close by, felt like the only thing that mattered.
Mingi doesn’t startle. Instead, he leans back, resting the back of his head against Yunho’s too. Hungry, exhausted, and a little ruffled from the previous scare, Yunho decides it’s okay to let himself go for the moment, to put down that carefully curated public persona and just be himself for once. “I’m cold,” he mutters, a little peevishly, annoyed to have been shocked out of bed so early. It looked like, by the color of the sky, that they were closing in on mid-morning, but if Yunho had it his way, they’d stay in bed until at least noon, just enjoying themselves.
He feels more than hears Mingi exhale deeply, though he just sounds exasperated. “Sorry,” he mumbles in return, twisting his head so he can press the tip of his nose to Yunho’s cheek. “I just needed to be alone, for a moment.”
Yunho can understand that. “Thinking bad things?” he asks, hoping it doesn’t sound as insecure as he feels. He had thought, after last night, that they had laid themselves bare to each other, but there were still things left unspoken, things that they had to tell each other, things that required words, not actions, to get across. The five-meter chasm had dwindled and dwindled, until now it felt like one big jump could get Yunho across, but it was still a leap of faith, a dive into the unknown, not knowing if there would be anything to catch him. A soft landing was all he could hope for.
Mingi hums. “Nah,” he says, untangling their bodies so he can take Yunho by the hand and lead them both back inside to privacy. Like an afterthought, he leaves just a sliver of the sliding doors open, so some of the wind can flow in and freshen up the room a little. “Just thinking.”
They’re both quiet as they pick up their strewn clothing, and Mingi lets Yunho borrow a spare shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The bathroom is big enough for them to brush their teeth side by side, and Yunho takes a quick shower while Mingi fiddles with the coffee machine and tries to whip something up for the two of them. When Yunho steps out of the bathroom and goes to collect his mug, Mingi leans over to press a caffeine-addled kiss to his cheek, and Yunho, for the first time since waking up, breathes a little easier.
They curl up on the armchairs just by the door to the terrace, and then there is no more stalling and no escape, and only a very difficult conversation to have.
Yunho watches as Mingi’s eyebrows furrow, as he tries to come up with something to say, the way he always does, and decides to take the initiative for once. “Last year,” he starts, feeling too tense to even laugh when Mingi jumps a little before focusing on him. “When I told you I wanted a break, I was lying to you. I didn’t want a break at all. I wanted you to stay with me forever, and it felt like that was slipping out of my hands. You were talking about going on tour and moving to America and I just—I didn’t know how I fit into all of that. It wasn’t about the championship at all. I got scared, and I could see you getting more and more exhausted as you tried to go to all of my racing things, and I had this terrible feeling you were going to end things. So I decided to put a stop to it, because it was easier than having to listen to you tell me you didn’t want me anymore.”
He swallows, feeling choked up, and a little better, now that it was out in the open. This was what he had been carrying with him for the last year, this unsolvable guilt, this depth of feelings that wouldn’t leave him. There was a part of him that knew, no matter how tiring it got, Mingi was willing to make the effort to be with him, but Yunho didn’t want that for him. He wanted Mingi to thrive, to make the music he wanted and to put on the concerts he wanted and to have people love him the way he wanted. He had stupidly thought that by cutting them loose, he was setting them both free to do what they wanted, Yunho with his racing and Mingi with his music. The sacrifice Mingi was putting in for him—it felt like too high a price to make him pay.
But now, after Paris, and Milan and Barcelona and Oslo and London and the other ones that came in-between, he knows—that sacrifice, it’s one he would make too, if it meant he got to be with Mingi. Mingi was worth all of it and more. He was worth the sun.
“I’m sorry,” He blabbers, feeling the familiar sting of tears in his eyes again. Jesus, he was crying so much, it felt like he could wring an ocean out of his body. Mingi used to laugh at how easily he cried, calling him a crybaby, but now, he just looks stricken, fingers clasped bone-white against his mug. “I should have just… talked to you. But I was scared, and I ruined things, and I don’t know why you’re still willing to deal with me, but please don’t—please don’t leave me.”
He screws his eyes shut, waiting for the verdict. Slowly, he feels the clink of ceramic against wood as Mingi sets his cup down, and then a hand reaches across the gap to take up one of his own, loosely curling around his palm.
“Yunho,” Mingi says quietly. “Can you look at me?”
Yunho does. He’s helpless to do anything but.
Mingi sighs. He looks down at where their hands are conjoined, rubbing his thumb across the bump of a vein on the back of Yunho’s hand. “You know, you’re not completely wrong,” he starts with, frowning slightly. “It was getting really tiring to go to all of your races. I wanted to be there, but I also wanted to live my own life too. It was exciting at first, to be toted around the paddock with your pass on my neck, but then it started to wear on me. I could be the arm candy, but not the boyfriend. I had a spot in the garage every weekend, could cheer for you like anybody else, but I couldn’t kiss you after a race well done. In Saudi Arabia and Abu Dhabi, you wouldn’t even look at me, terrified that one wrong glance could be misinterpreted. Of course, I understood. I knew we couldn’t be public, getting into it. Still, I was willing to bear the burden. I liked—loved you so much, that it didn’t matter how, as long as I could have you in some capacity. But it… it hurt, when you picked racing over me. And then, in the end, when you told me you needed a break, because of the championship… well, it felt like you had made your final choice.”
Oh. Of course.
You know that saying, out of sight, out of mind?. If you put a bigger object in front of a smaller object until it escapes the direct line of your vision, you can almost pretend the smaller thing doesn’t exist at all. This is kind of like that. Except in this case, there’s two elephants in the room, and the one that’s trying to hide behind the other one is bigger and less forgiving. At some point, it had become easier to look the smaller, easier elephant in the eye, and pretend that they’ve dealt with both problems along the way.
The smaller elephant is simple: that emotion, too big to hold, too small to let go of.
For such a long time, that elephant didn’t have a name. Yunho had looked pointedly away from it, as if ignoring it would stop it from happening, would erase it from existence, but even so, he’s never managed to put it out of its misery. He knew it was there, standing in the corner of the room, waiting for him to acknowledge it, but he stupidly thought that if he kept his gaze low and never named it, he could be absolved from the weight of it. Now, he knows that he was never free of it, that this creature named love would never be free of him, that stepping out of the gilded cage has opened up the world to him. He already has everything he wants, as long as Mingi smiles at him and they both know that this love is real and true.
In LA, it became apparent that neither of them were looking away from that elephant anymore. But in the process, they’ve willfully blinded themselves to the second one, just meters behind, too big to be hidden, too big to even look away from. This elephant is not cruel or harmful, nor is it even particularly lively. It simmers under the skin, a crucial fundament that neither of them can deny but don't have the heart to confront, because looking at it was too much of a painful reminder of why the fissure between them had formed in the first place.
In the end, it always came back to racing.
That is to say: Yunho loves Mingi, more than anybody else in the world, wants labels and names and the real deal, but he needs racing, and that’s a behemoth of a truth you cannot kill.
“When you left LA,” Mingi continues on, pensive, like he has to get the words out now before they’re lost forever. “I was so—so happy. And then a few days later it sunk in that you were gone again, off to go racing, and I got pissed off, thinking about how we can only have times like this when you’re on break from Formula 1. I’m just… so sick of coming second in your life. So I stopped texting back.”
“Mingi,” Yunho says, feeling alarmed. He didn’t—racing was everything to him, ultimately, but he hated that he had made Mingi feel swept to the side, in the process. Once, he could have said that all he needed was racing. But he had gone and grown up, and now, he knew, that there were other things that mattered just as much.
“No no, let me finish this,” Mingi cuts him off, looking hurried now. “Let me just—I have to say it, just listen to me. Yunho, I—I have to tell you something. I’ve been lying to you, about not seeing your races. The truth is—I’ve watched every single one since last July.”
What?
“Isn’t that just funny?” Mingi laughs, sounding very self-deprecating. “You’re the one that dumped me, but I couldn’t stop watching your—watching you, doing what you loved. Hongjoong thought I was mental when I told him I had to skip on a recording session to stay up at fuck-o-clock in the morning to watch Las Vegas last year. I celebrated your championship like it was mine when you crossed the line. It was genuinely the most insane form of self-torture I have ever put myself through, watching you thrive at the one thing you loved more than me. But I just—I couldn’t stop.”
“When you race, Yunho, you race with your whole heart. I was so—so miserable you had broke things off, but Formula 1, of all things, felt like it was the only way I could still connect to you,” Mingi tells him, shifting the hand holding Yunho’s until their palm to palm, intertwining the fingers. Yunho listened to him, feeling something in his chest quiver delicately, like it knows how important this is. “I would listen to your radios like some fucking lunatic, you know? The happy ones, the sad ones, the angry ones, it felt like I was seeing the truest form of you, the only version of you that I had never quite managed to have for myself.”
“I just—when you had that crash a few weeks ago, when you were still in the hospital and wasn’t texting me back, I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning like it was me who had just hit the barriers.” Yunho tastes salt on his tongue. Mingi’s face is wistful as he brings his free hand up to wipe at where Yunho's begun crying in earnest, so tender it could kill a man and build a home where they stood. “And then stupidly, I went back and listened to your radio in Las Vegas, when you crossed the line and your engineer told you the championship was yours. You sounded—so happy, so free, and I sat alone in my room and wondered if it was all worth it to you, if I was worth less to you than that stupid fucking trophy. But then you called me, and said that you missed me, and I had this thought that you—you sounded just the same as you did in Las Vegas, when you won the championship. Like you were just given everything you had ever wanted. And then I realised that it could be a bit of both. It didn’t have to be either or. It could be—Yunho, it could be both.”
“Jeong Yunho,” Mingi tells him, and something in how he says the name tastes like hope. “Last year, when you picked racing over me, you hurt me a lot. When you came back in my life this time, I got obsessed with it, trying to make you pick again, trying to make you pick me this time. But I think I get it now. It wasn’t a choice to you, was it? Racing is—racing is a part of you. I was never in any competition. But it’s not because I’m losing to this fucking sport, it’s because you were trying to tell me the whole time that you had already chosen me, when you showed up in Paris and Barcelona and London. I’m not the necessity in your life. But you showed up anyway. And somehow, I think that matters more.”
“Before, I was so bitter. I think there was a part of it that came from how I had to give up racing, when I used to love it just as much as you, and seeing you pick it over me felt like salt in the wound,” Mingi concludes, and he sounds so light, so unburdened. “But now, all I want to say is, I love watching you race. I’m not going to tell you to stop racing, Yunho, not for me, and not for anybody else,” Mingi snorts, distinctively amused, and Yunho could see the smile on his face as bright as day. “How could I, when it’s a part of you, and I love all of you?”
“Mingi,” Yunho says, his heart in his throat. There’s so much he wants to say, so many words that he could put together, but he doesn’t think any of them will be the ones that will make the difference. The feeling encased in his ribs feels too large for his body, straining at the seams, trying to escape, trying to find a place to belong, and it feels like the right time to finally set it free. It was a fatal flaw, the way he overcomplicated and overthought, until the threads tied themselves into nooses and found their tragic ends, but he thinks this could be the simplest thing in the world, if he just let himself feel it. “I love you, and I want to try again.”
Across from him, Mingi laughs. “Okay. Let’s try again,” he agrees easily, and that ever-familiar feeling finds its way into Yunho’s chest again. This was the truth that laid at the heart of the matter: what Yunho feels for racing—too big to hold; and what Yunho feels for Mingi—too small to let go of. All this time, he had the answer right in front of his face, and all he had to do was lift his head and look it in the eye. It could be both. It’s already been both, for so long, since Mingi had handed him that pass in Barcelona, or before, when he had saw Mingi again at Yeongam in 2021, or even further back, when Yunho had laid his eyes on the boy who would become so much of his world one day for the very first time. It was a love that didn’t need a beginning or an end, only a place to come home to.
“Just…” Mingi says, a little sheepish, a lot amused, and all of it loving. “Leave a little space for me this time, next to the racing, okay?”
Yunho blinks. A thought springs to his mind, something that could either be the best or worst idea he’s ever had. “Mingi,” he starts slowly, as the idea spirals and begins to snowball. “Do you trust me?”
Mingi snorts. “What?” he says, still caught in the tail-end of his laugh, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “You know I do,” he continues, his laugh fading out when he realises Yunho isn’t laughing with him, and then his eyes turn playfully wary. He knows Yunho well enough to know what it looks like when Yunho gets a bad idea. “Why?”
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“Why the fuck do we need to be in England for this?” Mingi complains as they touch down in London, carrying nothing but backpacks. They could make the trip back to Milan to collect the rest of their stuff after this. There was just something Yunho wanted to do first.
It hadn’t been a long flight, only two hours or so, and it was comfy enough, since Yunho had decided to pull the trigger and book them for business class for the next flight over. It’s just past seven when they land, and if they make good time on this, they could be heading back to Milan on a midnight flight. Luckily, Mingi was meant to stay in Milan for an extra day anyways for sightseeing, but he had a schedule on Friday that he couldn’t miss, and Yunho was expected back at the factory in roughly 36 hours, so this was the only window of time they had to make it work.
“You’ll see,” he says cryptically, as he waves down a cab. Too late to get somebody to drive one of his cars to the airport for him to pick up, and that wasn’t the point of this, anyway. He ignores Mingi’s curious whines and questions as he chatters off the address, located in a factory district just outside London. Mingi falls quiet as they pull into the streets, watching as the houses and the buildings roll past.
Being in London felt dangerous, after all the history that had transpired between them in this very city. There was the concert in July, but before that, in 2022 and 2023 they had spent a lot of time here, especially in the winter, when padded coats and wooly hats could hide their identities better, sneaking in secret dates while blending in with the crowd. There was the apartment, too, in that quaint town that they once could have called theirs, with new inhabitants who would never see the marks they had left there, the stains from the cooking disasters, the soda spills on the couch, that little patch of wallpaper in the bedroom that had chipped off, when they had flicked a dollop of lube onto it during a tryst and it had dried weirdly, taking the print with it when they peeled it off the next day. Yunho had stripped all of it down and repainted everything when he sold it, unable to bear anybody else laying their eyes on their little sanctum.
But there was still one place in this city which held what remains of those memories. Mingi’s eyes are wide when Yunho herds him out of the cab and tips the driver generously, tangling their hands so he can lead Mingi up the pavement. His eyes widen even further when Yunho punches in the passcode and the doors swing open, his jaw dropping when he takes in just where Yunho’s brought him.
He’s never been here before, of course. Yunho had only bought this place after he sold off the apartment, months after they had broken up. Hell, Yunho’s barely been here before, only once or twice since he’s started paying the rent.
“Is this… your garage?” Mingi asks, strangely cowed, as Yunho leads up through the rows of cars. There weren’t too many, only six or seven, but there was a lot of empty space if Yunho wanted to fill it with more one day. He wasn’t in a hurry to do so. He had the money, but didn’t really see the appeal of keeping too many cars he wasn’t going to drive. His apartment in Monaco only had the parking space for one, and he kept his CLE there, for day to day activities, but the rest of them were here, collecting dust, in this offshoot, discreet warehouse off the side of London.
Yunho nods. “Uhuh,” he replies, distracted as he digs through his wallet for the key to the cabinet containing all the fobs. He knows it’s in there somewhere, Yukwon was the only other person with a copy, and Nayoung always made sure he went everywhere with all his stuff in order. It’s just been a while since he’s used this exact key, and there’s two that look quite similar that he debates over before giving up and just trying both.
It’s not the first one, but the second one gets the glass door to open up, and he makes a crow of victory as he surveys his selection. The Roma would be slick, and the sleek Lamborghini Aventador looked like it was right up Mingi’s alley. He had a few classics, all Mercedes-Benz, of course, including the 300SL with the iconic gull wing doors. He had brought it a few years ago, when he had made the jump up to Mercedes and got a huge pay raise on his contract, and luxuries like this became available. But really, he knew what they were here for. There was only one car in here that would really send a message.
Except, when he looks up to where Mingi should be waiting by his side, he finds only an empty space. A quick glance around the space lets him locate Mingi hanging around the entrance, crouched next to some cardboard boxes, and Yunho almost calls out to him before he remembers with a start exactly what is in those boxes.
When Yunho had moved to Monaco, he had sold most of the stuff that had been in the apartment alongside it. The dining table and chairs he had left for the next owners, as well as some cabinets he didn’t have any use for. He had trashed the bed, because the idea of anybody else sleeping in it was terrible but the thought of sleeping in it alone anymore was even worse, and ended up giving the couch to donation. But there were a few things he couldn’t bear to part with, and the wound was still raw enough that if he had to see bits of the life he had lived and could have had with Mingi in his shiny, impersonal Monaco apartment, he would have fallen apart, so he packed them up in boxes. Without anywhere better to put them, and with far too much space in a garage that will never be filled to the brim, he had left them here. He was barely around, he reasoned. It was easier to deal with than the unfailing truth that he was just too weak to throw them away.
And now, Mingi kneels besides those same boxes, his hands digging through the memories. Yunho hadn’t even thought to tape them up. He couldn’t. It felt too terrible to seal Mingi away like that, like he was a facet of the past Yunho could move past. He just—he couldn’t.
He pockets the fob he was looking for, moving across the room to where Mingi’s eyes are soft and fond as he flips through a photo album. There were more things in those boxes, trinkets and knick knacks from countries they visited, and things from everyday life Yunho couldn’t let go of, like the one specific pair of chopsticks Mingi liked to use for every single meal. Seashells from Ibiza, keychains from Geneva, that one pebble Mingi had picked off a mountainside in Norway because it was shaped kind of like a heart. It was all here, those memories of light, that Yunho could never have forgotten.
“We were so young here,” Mingi says, laughing as he shows Yunho a photo of them when they must have been fourteen or fifteen, in the ugly neon racesuits their old karting team used to make them wear, their arms around each other, grinning like madmen. Yunho remembered exactly when that had been taken. Right after their first year as teammates, when they had brought the championship home, and it felt like they were on the top of the world. Mingi had been the most fascinating person to Yunho back then, the only person who matched him in speed, the only person to have ever beat him repeatedly. Too young to know what that feeling was, he spent most of those years hating Mingi for winning half the time and desperately wanting them to be friends forever the other half.
Yunho watches as he flips through the pages. Most of the photos were of them as teenagers, pilfered from one of their moms’ collections, but there were a bunch from 2021 to 2023 too. The pigeons from Bangkok, the architecture of Athens, the sprawling city of Berlin, the sunset in Miami, the view from their apartment just outside London. So many beautiful memories, collected in one place.
But today, Yunho wanted to look to the future. “Come on,” he says, pulling Mingi to his feet. He ignores how Mingi slips the photobook into his backpack when he thinks Yunho’s back is turned. It’s not thievery if it half-belongs to him already, anyway. “I wanna show you something.”
Mingi’s face is unreadable as Yunho steers him towards the back of the garage, where his AMG-ONE is waiting, gleaming in the low lights. It’s a beast of a car, the only one in his collection that had the look of real speed. Titanium gray, of course, because Yunho was a creature of habit, with teal streaks running along the fenders and the rear wing. A real silver arrow, if he could find the irony to laugh about it. Though he’s never tried, it could go up to 350 kph, as fast as a Formula 1 car, and hit 100 in under 3 seconds. Despite the extraordinarily inordinate amount of money Yunho had paid for it, he had only ever driven it twice.
Mingi startles when Yunho throws him the fob, fumbling with it. When he finally realises what it is, he stares at it like it’s a foreign object, his gaze darting between Yunho and the key like he’s short circuiting.
Yunho leans against the hood. “Get in,” he orders, gesturing towards the driver’s seat. Mingi only freezes up even more. This wasn’t something they did. Yunho was, predictably, a total control freak when it came to driving. He hated being in the passenger seat, unless it was totally necessary. Unfailingly, Yunho drove pretty much everywhere he went. Not once, in their entire history, has Yunho ever gotten into a car which Mingi was behind the wheel of. And now he was offering it right up.
“What?” Mingi asks him dumbly, like Yunho’s just taken away all of his brain capacity.
Yunho shrugs, trying to seem casual, even if he knew and Mingi knew how big of a deal this was. “I’m trying to prove to you that it can be both,” he settles on, and they feel like the right words. Mingi stares at him for a moment, before suddenly breaking out into a laugh.
“Oh, you’re on,” Mingi grins, a challenge in his voice. He’s silent as they both get into their seats, though he smirks when he notices Yunho gritting his teeth as the car revs up. God, Yunho seriously, seriously hated being in the passenger side. Wordlessly, Mingi watches as the garage doors open up with the press of a few buttons, kicking the car into motion as he smoothly brings them out of the doors and onto the road, where it was late enough to thankfully be deserted.
Factory areas like this, the roads were simple in design, long straights that went around in square blocks. This meant that there was nothing ahead of them but asphalt for at least a mile, and nothing underneath them except a car that was rumbling, growling, snarling at its restraints.
Next to him, there’s a sigh, and when Yunho looks over, Mingi’s got his eyes fixed forward. He had expected some kind of confliction on Mingi’s face, a few different emotions, maybe nostalgia, maybe nervousness, but he’s wholly unprepared for the sheer hunger in Mingi’s eyes, the excitement that was tugging at his mouth.
“This,” Mingi says, slowly, measuredly, like a predator just about to pounce for its next meal. “Is going to be so much fun.”
And then he floors it into the night. Through the windows, the world blurs at the edges as they set off after that miraculous, miraculous margin.
(“Holy fucking shit,” Yunho gasps, more to the benefit of himself than Mingi, when they finally pull back into the garage. His heart felt like it was beating a million miles an hour in his chest. He was so glad they were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, because they definitely would have gotten complaints and a few fines from the way Mingi had been driving, dangerous and right on the limit. Yunho drove the fastest cars in the world for a living, hit 300kph every other weekend like it was no big deal, but Mingi drove so wildly Yunho had actually felt fear in a few moments, his life flashing across his eyes as they barely avoided crashing or skidding off the road.
Mingi parks them back onto the original spot, silent as he switches the car off and the roaring of the engine dies down with a whimper. Yunho inhales, exhales, reminds himself that they were both still alive somehow, and tries not to show how close he had been to shitting his pants on multiple occasions in the last hour.
“Yunho,” Mingi says hushedly, full of meaning, and Yunho turns to face him. They look at each other for a heartbeat, meeting eyes in anticipation, and then all of a sudden they’re both cracking up, bending over as they giggle and cackle and snort with joy. Outside, the night stretches on. Here, together, on the other side of that chasm, they laugh and laugh and laugh until they’re breathless.)
2025 AZERBAIJAN GRAND PRIX
Baku goes better than the last few races, though the car still feels like it’s some kind of untamable animal, fighting against him in every corner, threatening to slide out underneath him every time they have to make one of those tight, ninety-degree corners this circuit loved.
He starts third and ends third, spending most of the race in purgatory, too far away from the leaders to make a bid for the lead and separated enough from the cars behind that the biggest fight he has throughout 51 laps is mostly with the car itself, wrangling it through each corner. On the podium, he clinks his bottle of Ferrari Trento against Mark’s and Daniel’s. The gap between him and Mark was over 50 points now, and with this win, Daniel had overtaken him in the standings again by one point. What was it that the one commentator had said at the start of the year? The highs were high and the lows were low. It was only the second win of the year for Daniel, compared to Yunho’s six, but they were nearly equal on points. The last slew of bad races in a row hadn’t done Yunho’s fight for the championship any favors. Still, it isn’t over until it’s over.
Afterwards, when the circus winds down and he’s back in his hotel room, Mingi calls him. The race had been at an inhumane hour in the morning for him, but he had woken up to watch it anyway, sending Yunho a congrats for the podium before knocking out again. Now, it was nearly noon in Los Angeles, and Mingi still sounds sleep-creased and morning-warmed, and two oceans apart Yunho could just about picture the way he looked, hair mussed up and bleary eyes, his face half-turned into the pillows to steal some more darkness as he lets Yunho ramble about the race.
“You know,” he says, when Yunho’s done complaining about the car, sounding like he was on the verge of falling back asleep. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you do this thing—and I only know because I watch all your interviews like a freak—but when the car is good, you call it a she, and when it’s bad, it’s just an it. I’ll be real, I don’t gender my cars like a fucking weirdo, but I know this kind of stuff matters to you, so I thought I’d point it out.”
“Huh,” Yunho says, consideringly.
“I dunno,” Mingi mumbles, like he isn’t reshaping Yunho’s worldview right in front of his eyes. He was inexplicable like that, sometimes. “Take it from somebody who has spent most of their life wanting to be seen by you. The car’s just a car to me, but it’s a friend to you, a partner.” He makes a noise, and Yunho could imagine the way his nose would be wrinkling in vivid detail. “I guess that makes me the third person in this relationship, what the hell. Anyways, I’m just saying. Good or bad, the car’s still the same car. Maybe that’s all it wants, like me, to be seen by you.”
“Huh”, Yunho says again, and this time, it feels like he’s understood something.
“I do know a thing or two about driving, ya know,” Mingi tells him haughtily, when he thinks Yunho’s silence means that he’s being made fun of, and Yunho hurries to tell him that it’s not the case. No, it wasn’t like that at all. In fact, right then and there, he felt that same sort of seen Mingi had been talking about.
God, he loves this man so much. He tells Mingi this, and even across the line, across the miles and the oceans, he could see the way Mingi flushes, pink and pretty, the way he always gets when Yunho does his job and makes him happy.
2025 SINGAPOREAN GRAND PRIX
[FIA THURSDAY PRESS CONFERENCE - SINGAPORE]
PART ONE - JEONG Yunho (Mercedes), SHIM Changmin (Aston Martin), LEE Anton (Sauber)
Q: Let’s start with you, Yunho, since you’re the closest to us. How does it feel coming into this weekend? You’ve had a hard string of races, but you seemed to find your footing a little in Baku, with the podium. Do you think Singapore will be the race for you to be back on the top?
JEONG Yunho: I’ll try my best for it to be. Honestly speaking, I still feel a little out of touch with the car. The team has done an amazing job and we’re bringing a new package of upgrades this week, so I think it will come down to me to make the difference. The field is so tight right now. Red Bull won the last race and Ferrari won the race before that, and even the McLarens are looking really quick. We’ve got a field where any of us can have a realistic chance of winning.
Q: It’s been two months since your last win. Right now, as the championship stands, you’re in third, fifty four points off the leader. Still, you are the driver with the most wins this season, with six races and two sprints left to go. Does that give you the confidence to try and win a consecutive championship?
JY: Of course, I’ll fight for the championship until the end, whenever that may be. Until it becomes mathematically impossible, I’m always still in the fight. I’m not concerned about the gap right now. I’m more focused on just doing what needs to be done out on track. That’s all I can do. The rest will come with time, I think.
Q: Changmin, let’s go to you. Singapore has historically been quite good for you. You’ve won multiple races here, in 2013, 2015, and 2016. You took a podium for Aston Martin in Budapest, the last race Yunho won. Will this weekend be a comeback for you as well?
SHIM Changmin: That’s one way to segue into a different question! It’s hard to say. This year, the pace just hasn’t been there for us. We’ve been slowly improving, of course, and now you see me and Chenle scoring points pretty consistently, but I think it comes down to the midfield being too competitive and the top teams being too fast. It’s hard to really separate yourself from the pack when we’re all scrapping for those last point positions. But yes, Singapore is a track I love and am very familiar with. I’ll definitely be relying on some of that experience this weekend.
Q: Not to bring Yunho into this again, but you are of course, the last person besides Jeong Jaehyun, to win consecutive championships with Mercedes. Any advice for him as he aims to do the same?
SC: He’s sitting right there, you know. And well, I’ve known Yunho for a long time, and I’ve known his cousin—the other Yunho—even longer. He’s a great young driver with a good head on his shoulders. I think he’s already shown this year that he is championship material. Besides that, I don’t really have much to say.
JY: [Sarcastically] Thanks, mate.
[Both laugh.]
Q: Anton, let’s go to you. It’s been a difficult year for Sauber, but we’ve seen some improvement over the last few races. Ahead of the weekend, do you think Sauber can be in the conversation for some points?
LEE Anton: I’d love to say that for sure, but it’s difficult conditions here. One of the hottest races on the calendars, and we know that the tire deg here will be particularly bad for us. The goal is really to make it into Q2 and hope some of the guys out in front crash—joking, joking. But I’ll definitely try my best. My dad’s here today, and I always seem to do better when he comes to a race, so maybe that will be the push I need to score some good points. I’m sure Yunho would know—
JY: Really feeling the love here, guys. [All laugh.]
LA: As I was saying, I’m sure Yunho would know how it feels to come from a family with a long history in racing. When you grow up like that, it feels like racing is all you know.
Q: And do you have anything to say about the rumors that we might see you make the move to Ferrari next year?
LA: Haha, no comment. Mark and Jongin are doing a fantastic job there. It might be a little before my time for now.
Q: Yunho, let’s circle back to you. You said last week after Baku that the car was good, but it felt like you just weren’t in sync with it. Do you think that was a set-up issue? Or was it something more to do with how you were feeling in the car.
JY: No, not about the set-up at all. I gave a lot of feedback to the aero and the suspension teams after FP1 and FP2, and they tuned the car up for me well. I did have some issues with brake balance, but it wasn’t anything crazy. It’s more to do with the feeling, as you say. I think I’m still coming back up to terms with the car. It’s very different than what we brought to Bahrain, that’s for sure.
Q: And is the crash at Spa still affecting you? Physically, mentally?
JY: Physically, no. I’m lucky enough to have a wonderful trainer and a physical therapist who have been helping me to be in my best condition. The concussion was difficult, and came with some side effects that I hadn’t expected, but I think it’s been healing well. Mentally… I’m not sure. I’m still working through it. This year I’ve been talking more to a sports therapist, which has helped me immensely in getting my mind in shape before races. I used to think that racing was a purely physical thing, but I’ve learned that the mind is a tool that you have to maintain if you want to get good results as well. It’s a very human sport, Formula 1. I don’t think it would be half as interesting if robots were driving the cars.
Q: Do you think you’re in a good place, then?
JY: Wow, that’s an open-ended question. Uh, if you mean about the championship, then yeah, I think I’m right where I need to be. Do I wish I was higher up in the rankings? Sure. But I’m not out of the fight yet, and that’s all that matters. Physically, I feel pretty good. I was all banged up after Spa but even the last of the bruises are gone now. Mentally… well, I’m happy, that’s all I can say. I’ve had something good happen to me recently, and I’m excited to see where that goes.
Q: Sounds mysterious! Changmin, this year there will be a new DRS zone down at…
Singapore is brutal, as it always is.
It’s hot, it’s humid, and every year, despite promising that this will be the year the problem is contained, there are monitor lizards all over the track, disrupting practices. It’s kinda funny, at least, to watch the marshals chase after the lizards with nets. Those fuckers can run fast, who knew?
The race itself has always been the most physically taxing on the calendar, but it was extra terrible this year, the air thick with moisture that makes even fifteen minutes in the car feel like some kind of bad waterboarding experience. The inside of his helmet fills with sweat and fogs up his visor over and over, and even the brief reprieve of the water inside his car is terrible, his drinks tube overheating and nearly melting into the side of his engine on the first day. His internal temperature gets shot to all hell and even dunking himself into the nearest ice bath every session wasn’t good enough to fully recover.
The car itself is—it’s fine. It was twitchy as all hell in FP1, and they had made some tweaks to the set-up that made it feel more driveable by FP2, and then another few changes to the wing pressure that had it feeling like a proper car by FP3. It’s tough to get through here on a one stop, and with any luck the Ferrari’s shit tire deg will implode on them for once. The McLarens, of all cars, are like lightning through this circuit, both of them shooting to the top of the timing sheets throughout practices. It was shaping up to be a crazy race, and Yunho just wanted to get through it unscathed.
First, though, he had to get a handle on the car. It’s not even that it was undrivable, but there was something distrustful about being in it, like he was stuck in a cage with a scared animal who was still deciding if fight or flight was the best option. It’s fast, but that was about it. In the corners, it fights him, bucking like a bull in the chicanes and spluttering through the straights. It felt like a foreign creature, so distant from the friend Yunho had come to get used to, the partner he could count on. There was something amnesiac about the whole process, like he was relearning all the facts about a loved one after waking up from a long coma.
There was something about it that felt terribly familiar, though.
When Yunho had been seventeen going on eighteen, he had made it to F3, his first fully international season that took him out of the country for more than two-thirds of the year. Right before the season started, his family had bought a dog, meant to be a companion for his brother while Yunho went off globe-trotting. Before the puppy had come home, Yunho was insistent that he wouldn’t care for it—he had more important things to be doing, like settling the details on his contract with Mercedes, than to care for some small, dependant, whiny creature. But then, when the crate opened up and the little snivelling bundle had come padding out, Yunho had to eat his own words, head over heels in love at first sight of those wide, shining eyes. December and January, he spent all his time cradling the puppy to his chest like some overzealous mother hen.
Pudeongie, as he named the puppy, loved him. Right from the beginning, he was nipping at Yunho’s heels, stumbling as his stubby little legs tried to chase after Yunho from room to room. Gunho hadn’t been too mad. Honestly, he didn’t really care for animals, and had only gone along with it to make their mother happy. She was very good at buying things in an attempt to clear up problems, and very bad at actually solving any of them. A dog, as it turned out, was her way of trying to make it up to Gunho, who had just quit racing when he couldn’t get picked up for F4. Neither Yunho nor his brother had the heart to tell her that Gunho didn’t give half a shit about racing the way Yunho did, and would probably have been much happier if she’d just gotten him a PS4. It was a way cheaper investment in the long run, too.
Anyway—Pudeongie became something like Yunho’s shadow, trotting after him everywhere he went. Yunho adored him. He had cracked on Day 1 and gone against his mother’s very specific wishes to not let the dog sleep in his bed, and though Pudeongie shed like hell it was a small price to pay for the absolute joy the puppy brought him. Between December and January, it was hard to find Yunho anywhere without the damn dog, obsessing over what next trick to teach it. He had gone crazy with it, looking up the best brands of dog food, all the best exercises for a golden retriever puppy, brought a fucking book on dog care.
And then the season started, and Yunho had to fly out to Bahrain. There were long breaks between the races, but Yunho had opted to spend most of it in England, now that the Mercedes contract was finalising and they were in talks about maybe skipping him up to Formula 2 a year earlier. Of course, Yunho would go on to win the F3 championship that year, making the jump up necessary, but back then it felt great to know he had Mercedes’ attention and respect, that they were considering him a serious contender for an F2, then an F1 seat. Mark, who had been his teammate last year, had been fast tracked to F2 directly with the help of Ferrari, skipping F3 entirely, and Yunho was desperate to catch up.
He had spent spring and most of summer sleeping at Yukwon’s apartment in London, and it hadn’t been until August when he finally went home to Seoul. Exhausted from the season, and exuberant from his championship win in his rookie year, he had gone down onto his knees in the doorway and waited for the pitter-patter of claws against the tiles to rush up to him, the way Pudeongie had loved to leap up and lick at his face when he came home.
But there had been no wet tongue to greet him, nor even a bark. Yunho had frowned, but then his mom told him to go put down his stuff so they could go out for dinner, and he didn’t have time to investigate the case of the missing dog until it was way later at night. He had confirmed with Gunho over dinner that they hadn’t just gone and sold the poor thing, and his brother had looked at him like he was stupid. Of course, even if nobody in the house really cared for the dog, they would never sell it. It would reflect their household’s failure to provide care for a pet, and that was an unacceptable image to project.
So Yunho had gone hunting, and found Pudeongie on the back porch, napping in what looked like a very expensive bed. Relieved, and glad that the reunion was only delayed because the dog had been stuck outside, he had reached his hand into the opening to give his beloved pet a good pat and maybe a cuddle, only to recoil backwards when Pudeongie’s eyes had snapped open and he had started growling at Yunho, like he was a stranger.
What’s wrong, boy? It’s just me, Yunho had begged, fearful all of a sudden. Over the last seven months, Pudeongie had grown up and was no longer the little runt of a puppy Yunho remembered, and was at least six times the size he had been when Yunho had left for the season. He was almost unrecognisable, if not for the fact that he was so well-fed and groomed that he could only have been the Jeong family dog.
Yunho had been dumbfounded. This was the sweet puppy he had raised for the first two months of its life, had hand fed it milk and chewy chunks of minced meat when its first teeth came in, had let sleep in his own bed. But he was stubborn to a fault, and though his dad came by to tell him to come inside he was determined to make the Pudeongie like him again, so he sat by the dog bed until slowly, it stopped growling and started sniffing curiously instead, reaching out with a wet nose to investigate the tentative hand Yunho reached in his direction. And then he gave a low whine, his memory jolting in as he remembered the scent, and pushed his snout entirely into Yunho’s waiting palm, nuzzling into it once more, loving.
This—that feeling of loss and rediscovery all at once—was how being in the car felt right now, some skittish animal that was slowly coming around to Yunho again. She knew who he was, and he knew what she was. Beyond driver and machine, they were equals, partners, friends in the truest meaning of the word. That connection, faint but still flickering, was just beneath the surface, waiting to break free. They just needed a little time to get used to each other again.
The race, it happens, that’s all Yunho can say about it. He spends the first half of it entirely detached from any of the on track battles. The first 27 laps of the race are nothing more than a conversation between him and the car, coaxing it around the corners, letting it do what it wanted down the straights. Guiding, not wrangling, it through the chicanes. She tells him, here, the traction isn't so good, and he replies alright, so let’s make the turn a little earlier, and she listens. Back and forth. You remember me, and I remember you. It’s still us. What are we going to do about it?
On Lap 28, they pit for hards, and two laps later when they warmed up properly, the familiar feeling of speed began to trickle in again. We’re way faster, she tells him, when they make their first overtake and leave the other car behind in the dust. All of a sudden, Yunho realises they were, in fact, going really fucking fast, and that there were only four cars between him and the lead of the race. I wanna do that again.
Alright, Yunho responds, pressing the pedal to the ground and letting her go wild the way she was raring to be. Let’s go get 'em.
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Second place. Not quite the return to glory he wanted, but it felt better than some of the wins he’s had this season, when he climbs out of the car and strokes down the nose of it reverently. Closer, closer, he could feel it, that miraculous margin was almost in reach once more. Salvation, after all, was rebuilding. They were getting there.
In the celebrations afterwards, he’s exuberant, laughing as San starts crying from the moment he crosses the chequered flag and doesn’t stop until the cooldown room, and then starts up again on the podium before they’ve even handed the first place trophy to him. I told you, Yunho had shouted at him when they found each other in parc ferme, their helmets knocking as they pulled each other into a hug. It was a hard, tough race, and in the end Yunho hadn’t been able to make the move before the laps ran out. But it had been a great fight until the end, and Yunho felt alive with the adrenaline.
On the podium, he stares out into the roaring crowds, and knows that somewhere out there, there’s another pair of eyes on him, curled up underneath the morning sun of Los Angeles. He inhales, smells the rubber and the asphalt and the acrid scent of smoke still clinging to his fireproofs, and expels it all in one go, until there’s nothing left but the joy of racing zinging through his veins. And then, as the world in front of his eyes lit up with the spray of sparklers and the glittering starlight of confetti, he shakes his champagne as hard as he can, making sure to get a real nice frothy foam in there, and dumps the entire bottle down the back of San’s racesuit.
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“You’re getting closer to it,” Mingi mused sleepily, sounding like he was inches away from drifting off into sleep again. Yunho had tried to tell him that it was okay for him to rest up and they could just call when the timezones lined up well for them, but Mingi had been insistent that he wanted to talk as soon as Yunho got back to his hotel.
They’ve been doing this more often, to stave off the distance. Calling, sometimes as short as five minutes, just to hear each other’s voices. Most of it was mundane, just sharing about their day, about the shitty producer Mingi had to work with during a collab with somebody else, about how Kyuwook had almost spilled coffee on an important set of blueprints and ensuing group freak out today.
They hadn’t put a label on it yet, what they were doing with each other, but Yunho was happy to wait. He was learning to live in increments. Closer, closer, closer, until he could bask in the sun once more.
“Next race, I reckon,” Mingi yawns over the line, sleep-tousled, and Yunho’s heart grows to twice its size at the sound. “You’re gonna find what you’ve been looking for this whole time.”
2025 MALAYSIAN GRAND PRIX
Sepang. Sepang is—
The weekend starts out normally enough. Media duties as usual, and there are a lot of Mercedes fans here, because of Petronas, so he cracks jokes about how this could practically be a third home race for him and watches as the crowds go crazy. The PR team has them film a boring trivia quiz about the history of Petronas in the lobby of the twin towers, and then a much funner video of them trying to play a traditional Malaysian board game, in which Yunho completely humiliates himself. FP1, the car is subdued, tentative in the corners, but listening well, and he makes some set-up changes to the brake balance that has him feeling much better in FP2. The data is promising, and their long runs look good, but the Ferraris are bouncing back after a tough weekend in Singapore and San was up there as well, somehow finding pace in that McLaren out of nothing.
Even so late into the year, the air here is unbearably hot, and despite the clear skies it feels wet like a monsoon. Yunho’s engine shits itself right at the tail-end of FP2, leaving him stranded at Turn 7, and he catches a ride with a marshal back to the pits, shrugging helplessly as his engineers rush around in a panic. Of course, the engine that had been in his car in Spa had been completely destroyed, and it’s only been four races since they’ve fitted the new engine in, but he still had spare parts to use. Though it was only the ICE that needed a replacement, Yunho makes the call to overhaul the whole thing after some tense discussion, using up the last of his MGUs and TCs. Kyuwook had been unsure, hoping to save at least a few components for the final few races in case of another crash, but Yunho had insisted. It was close enough to the end of the season that he was willing to take the risk, even if it meant he’d have to be ultra careful from then on out, to make the parts last five races. It was for the best, anyway. The team had already broken curfew for him once all the way back in Shanghai, and he couldn’t afford grid penalties anymore. Five races and two sprints left, and the gap was back down to 36 points. Closer, closer, closer.
Qualifying is a tight, nerve wracking thing. He gets fed out into a bad patch of traffic in Q1 and almost gets knocked out entirely, squeaking through by two-hundreds. The team sends him out early instead in Q2, as if trying to make up for the previous mishap, and he gets a decent lap in while the track is clear. The car feels a slightly different with the new engine, rumbling louder than ever, and he was still coming to terms with it, trying to figure out how to shave off a little more time in each corner. The heat was making the tires shred like crazy, and instead of rubbering in, the asphalt was turning greasy. With track conditions deteriorating, the early time he set ends up being the fastest of the session, and Q3 is delayed by 10 minutes as marshals sweep the track and clear it of gravel and debris.
Q3: They had a bad spot in the pitlane this year, too far down the order, which means he’s last in the queue as they go out for their final flying laps. He’s 6th on the timing sheet as he picks up the pace coming out of the hairpin, and has dropped to 8th by the time he crosses the flag to start his lap. 20 seconds left in this session, he won’t get another chance to try again if he screws up. Turn 1, he brakes as late as possible and scrapes the kerb. Give and take, he comprises the apex slightly to get a better entry into Turn 2, just skimming by the bollard. Almost flat out into Turn 3, slinging it around the corner and hurtling into Turn 4, easing off the pedal slightly to get as close to the white line as he can. Underneath his hands, the car purrs, smooth and easy, as he weaves through Turn 5 and 6. A little wobble through 7 and 8, but nothing major, and all par for course from 9 to 14, and then he makes the corner into the back straight and there’s nothing but wide, open road ahead of him, like he’s the only car on track. He gets on the throttle, pushing as much as he can, and he throws caution to the wind as he brakes late, late, late at the hairpin at 15, his body jerked forward into the seatbelts as he goes from 300 to nearly stationary in the span of a second, hanging in the delicate balance. Right at the apex, it feels almost like time has stopped right where he is, and then the corner is made and the road opens up in front of him again. Slamming back onto the throttle, he rockets down the straight, hands outstretched, and feels his fingertips just brush against the underbelly of speed.
1.29.809. It’s a monstrous time, almost three-tenths ahead of the rest of the field, and the only time to dip under 1:30. It’s the new track record by nearly half a second. They tell him he should feel satisfied by it in the interviews. Yunho, heart in his mouth, shaking with that feeling, doesn’t understand at all—he only feels hungrier than ever.
The race—
He remembers it in fragments.
Afterwards, they tell him it was probably the greatest performance of his life, the best of his career so far. Everything that could have gone wrong had happened. There had been a collision, multiple safety cars, even a freak rainstorm that had shown up on none of the radars, but he had ‘soared above the adversaries’ and ‘showed the mark of a true champion’ to take the win. For years and years onwards, though he ends the race still 18 points behind in the standings, this is where people point their fingers when the age-old question of where the winds of the championship had shifted in his favor popped up.
Yunho does not remember it like that. Even years later, those two hours he spent in the car was still doused in white noise, a blank spot in his memory. Every once in a while, a piece of it would chip off and come back to him, and he’d be thrown into that memory of pure white all over again, recalling the heat of the race, the smell of burning smoke, the rain in the air. It would take him nearly a decade before he ever watched a single replay of this race. When he had finally did, there was a yawning gap of disconnect between himself and the pixels on the screen, even if he could physically remember the sensations of being in the car and going through the laps. It was, to this day, one of the only distances in his life that he knew could never truly be bridged. The videos, as detailed as they were, didn’t—couldn’t—capture even half of it.
But in the moment:
There is only him and the car. Him, in the cockpit, and her, quiet under his hands. All the good work they had put in yesterday had been ruined in the span of a single corner, sending them tumbling down the order into 15th, 16th, who gives a shit. It hadn’t been either of their faults. All it took was one stupid miscalculation from somebody else to send them skittering across the grass, and by the time they make it back onto the track, three-quarters of the field had pulled ahead. Junmyeon tells him a few laps after that it had been written off as a Lap 1 racing incident, and no further action has been taken.
Furious. She’s furious, and he is too. The anger floods through his veins, sharpening it until his vision is nothing more than a blade that cuts where it lands. The world, bracketed within the sliver of his visor, screeches into high contrast, and everything seems brighter and clearer as he gets into gear and goes hunting. He snarls, baring his teeth, and tastes iron in his mouth. The cars ahead are not his prey, they are inconsequential, collateral damage as he chases after something more guttural, more visceral, more ancient than the sun.
That miraculous margin—he could almost touch it.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 13/56]
PIT: Good job, Yunho, that’s P8 now. We are thinking about Plan B, thoughts?
JEONG: Car feels good. Do whatever you think is best.
PIT: Okay, do you think you can go until target plus 4? We think the overcut will be strong here.
JEONG: Yeah, I can.
PIT: Alright. Next car ahead is Kang, lapping 35.4 right now. You are half a second quicker—
JEONG: No radio unless necessary, please. I don’t need it today.
Lap 23: somebody hits the wall and goes off, and the safety car comes out, bunching them up again. The distance between him and the frontrunners of the race goes from twenty seconds to six car-lengths, and he jumps the Ferrari ahead at the restart, bullying his way through at Turn 1. He has to go wide at Turn 2 to compensate for it, and his tires scream as they ride across the asphalt, groaning with effort as he rights the car and sets off once more. One wrong wheel off the line and it could have been another trip through the same patch of gravel for him, but he’s not thinking about that as he lunges for the next car. Five cars ahead, between him and that gleaming, phosphorescent light.
[SKY SPORTS LIVE: 2025 MALAYSIAN GRAND PRIX]
YOO Jaesuk: Wow, we are watching Jeong Yunho on the charge right now. He’s already gotten past the slower of his title rivals, and is right on the gearbox of the other. Fifteen laps ago, he was down in 16th! What a great recovery drive he’s been having today.
HWANG Kwanghee: It feels unthinkable, huh? We were disappointed when that Lap 1 collision that ended Kim Jongin’s race also sent Yunho wide, causing him to lose so many places. I was quite looking forward to seeing him dominate the race today. It feels like he’s been in a different gear than everybody else around here. Yesterday, he was lightning fast in Q3, faster than anybody’s ever been around here. It feels like he’s unlocked something this weekend, and we’re seeing his true form start to come back since Spa.
KIM Jaejoong: I disagree. I think this is better than anything we’ve ever seen from him. Just look at him out there right now. He’s perfect. Every corner is so well-calculated, it’s almost like he’s not even thinking in the car right now, just feeling. I don’t think we’ve ever seen him come close to what he is doing right now.
YOO: It certainly feels like the season has been leading up to this, hasn’t it? We saw pieces of this in Suzuka, in Imola, in Silverstone. Now, we’re watching as all of it comes together.
KIM: Remember when I said I think we’re seeing something special in the making back in Singapore? I think this is it.
Lap 30: In the span of two minutes, clouds darken the horizon out of nowhere and the rain comes pouring down, some freak of nature come to life. Junmyeon comes on the radio all panicked, asking if he wants to make the switch to the tires for the second stint, nearly eight laps before he’s meant to go on them. No, Yunho says, the car still feels good, and it’s only half-true, because unbelievably, something about the car feels even better. The storm won’t last long enough for this to go to inters, but ahead of him both of the two cars remaining duck into the pits to make their stop early. Yunho keeps his head down. There is no need to overreact, not when the car is so alive. It feels, as he rounds the hairpin, almost like she’s smiling at him. Down the main straight, he can see the end of the clouds already, and right over the edge is that clear, unshatterable blue. He breathes in, and feels that inexplicable feeling fill him again, too big to hold, too small to let go of. All it ever had to be was both. The rain, as it washed over him, felt only like rebirth.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 39/56]
PIT: We are now P3. The cars ahead of you are Choi and Sung. Gap is four seconds to Sung, and five to Choi.
JEONG: Got it.
PIT: Alright, I don’t think you need me to be buzzing in your ear about the times, so I’ll leave you to it. Go make us proud, Yunho.
JEONG: Thanks. I’ll see you on the other side.
Let’s go back to a lesson long learned: you are only what you are. A dog, no matter where it is and who it is, will always be a dog. It may have been taught not to bite, but still, it cannot help having teeth.
The thing is: a dog who has only been hand-fed its entire life does not—will not—know what to do with the blood on its maw. It is only animal instinct to lick at it, but the dog is smart and weary, and the dog knows that the hand that feeds him is only gentle as long as he whimpers and whines in front of it.
But here’s what they don’t tell you—when you are hungry, so hungry it feels like you could swallow the world whole and come out the other side still starving, you aren’t thinking about the hand. You aren’t even thinking about the blood, though the metallic aftertaste fills you with a thrill you cannot put a name to. Thinking about your next meal is a luxury that a dog like you isn’t privy to.
All you know is this—the emptiness in your stomach, this bottomless pit of hunger, this gnawing, salivating beast coming alive in your body, telling you the only truth you can afford in the moment: that you must eat, eat, eat—
YOO: From 16th, Jeong Yunho retakes the lead of the race for the third time! He had it at the start, he had it before his pitstop, and he has it again, here at Sepang with eight laps till the end. It's been an electrifying race for him today, storming up the order, and he’s making a bold statement in his bid for the world championship this year with this one!
HWANG: Unbelievable, just unbelievable. He was fearless through the rain, when so many people stopped early to get onto a grippier set of tires to wait it out, and it's paying off now in the last stages of the race. With tires that are nearly ten laps younger than the ones on the cars now behind him, he made quick work to get to the front of the grid again. He is performing miracles out there!
YOO: If there was any doubt how he’d fare in the rain after that crash in Spa, he has silenced them here. He's in a race of his own right now. I don't think he even knows that there are other cars out on track, the way he's driving right now.
KIM: This is history in the making. How fortunate we are, to be the lucky spectators.
The car is real and the car is true. There is only him, only her, and only them, made into one. She is a heartbeat, a pulse, and he is the blood that flows through her. Together, they are raw and wild and alive, and as untamable as the wind. Slowing down is an unthinkable concept. Just the thought of it feels like blasphemy.
A memory comes to him, unbidden.
2016—the last time he and Mingi ever raced against each other. It happened right here, on this very asphalt, at the closing race of the F4 SEA season. Going into it, they had been separated by just three points, with Yunho a fraction ahead. There were three races, two on Saturday, and a final one on Sunday.
On Saturday, Yunho wins the first one, and not three hours later Mingi takes the second one with a decisive lead. With an unlucky pitstop on Yunho’s side leading him to trundle in at only P3, they go into the final race level on points. Due to a technicality with numbers of podiums, it would mark the first and only time Mingi had ever been ahead of him on the standings in any of the five years they had raced in the same category. The final race, less than twenty-four hours later, would determine the winner between the two of them.
But before that—Saturday night, they had snuck out, making secret plans to enjoy the last day before the season ended. With anybody else, Yunho wouldn’t have given them the advantage of exhausting himself before a championship race, but it was Mingi who had asked him to go, looking uncharacteristically shy, and something about the look in his eyes had Yunho agreeing without a second thought. Mingi had been acting all faux-casual back then, acting like Yunho’s answer didn’t matter to him. But his shoulders had sunk down in relief when Yunho said yes, and as hard as he tried to hide it he couldn’t completely disguise how happy Yunho’s easy acquiescence made him. Looking into his bright, gleaming eyes, Yunho couldn’t fathom how he could have ever said no.
At the start of the season, Yunho had been worried that this was the year when the friendship between him and Mingi would finally shatter. All of it, from the start to the end, felt too good to be true, like he had found the one person in the entire world who saw him for who he was. Mingi was—so much, to him. A teammate, a rival, a friend, and sometimes it felt like they transcended the boundaries of that, where no words could describe what stretched between them. Soulmates was the closest word he had for it, but even that felt like it couldn’t encompass all the feelings in his chest when he was around Mingi. When he was racing with Mingi, it felt like they were the only people in this world that mattered.
Of course, so much of their friendship was hinged on the fact that Mingi had never beaten Yunho. In individual races, yes, but not ever in a championship. To this day, he doesn’t know if they could have survived so long if Mingi had had better luck a few years earlier and snatched one from his hands. Mingi, at the end of the day, had always been a better person than him, and the bigger person when it came to winning and losing.
Still, the fight had never been so close. And that night, as he was tiptoeing across the hotel room trying not to wake his dad in the other bed, Yunho had the startling thought that if he and Mingi were both disqualified from the race tomorrow, the championship would go to Mingi.
That had almost been enough to stop him in his tracks. He looked at his phone, which buzzed with a message from Mingi asking where he was. The idea of turning back around, slipping into bed, and pretending he had fallen asleep too early, came to him. But then he pictured Mingi standing alone in the hotel lobby, his foot tapping impatiently, his eyes round with badly-concealed worry as he kept glancing at the elevators, and the thought had been so unbearable that his heart ached. He had carefully shut the door behind him and slipped his feet into his sneakers before he even knew what he was doing, giving himself one last patdown to make sure he had everything he needed, keycard, phone, the emergency cash his mom had given him just in case.
Mingi met him downstairs, making a big fuss about why it took so long, but he slipped his hand into Yunho’s as they made their way down the street, and Yunho knew all was forgiven. By the corner store, they bought popsicles that were definitely not on the diet plans, and giggled as the sweet treats melted in the summer heat and left their fingers sticky with sugar. Laughing, they ran down alleyways in the dark of the night, in such a quiet part of town that it felt like they were all that was awake, stopping briefly to pet a few of the stray cats that came passing by in search of food.
It was late, so late, and if either of their parents found out they were going to be in so much trouble. But right then, Yunho couldn’t care less. He was brimming with happiness, as Mingi swung their hands between them, to be right here, with his best friend in the entire world, skipping down these Malaysian streets with names he couldn’t read. Tomorrow, when the sun dawned and they put on their respective race suits, they would be title rivals, and only time would tell if their friendship would survive the results. Right now, he just wanted to live in the moment.
Twenty-four hours later, he would know why Mingi had been so insistent, had invited him out on a race night, when for as long as they’d been friends Mingi had been the one to take regulation and habit seriously, sticking to his routine like clockwork. But Yunho had been young, and naive, and so filled with happiness that the world felt magnified, and when you were looking so closely, the details become blurred at the edges. He wasn’t thinking about the unusualness of the request, or how every once in a while the conversation would stutter to an awkward quietness, or the way Mingi was looking at him every time he thought Yunho couldn’t see him. All he could think about was how there was no place he’d rather be.
On the way back to the hotel, they had fallen into a comfortable silence, still holding hands, when they came across an odd set-up of tents, camped outside what looked like somebody’s home. It was gleaming under the streetlights, the tarpaulin scattering spots of light across its shiny surface, and from inside, they could hear the racket of people, and what sounded like music.
Though it had been past midnight, so late that they needed to get back to their rooms if they wanted to be awake at all for the race in the afternoon, they exchanged glances and wordlessly agreed to creep closer, to peek into the tents and see what was happening. Thinking it was some sort of wedding, based on the flowery wreaths surrounding the encampment, they snuck closer and closer, hearing the sounds of talking get louder and louder. Ten-meters away, they could see the circle of people gathered around long tables of what looked like food in shiny foil trays, and colorful paper streamers tacked along the walls. Somewhere in the back, it looked like there was even dancing.
It wasn’t until far too late that they discovered it was actually a funeral, when somebody by the door had looked up at the two of them in confusion, and the sticks of incense became apparent. Mortified, the two of them had bolted, streaking down the streets until they ended up back in front of their hotel, panting, now too sweaty to go to sleep comfortably.
“Oh my God,” Yunho had murmured, feeling embarrassed and chastised by their own overstepping, sliding down against the wall to catch his breath.
“Oh my god,” Mingi had repeated, though he looked far more amused than Yunho thought the situation warranted. Unfairly, he didn't look half as exhausted as Yunho felt. “What the hell was that?”
“Don’t say that,” Yunho had hissed, horrified by Mingi’s easy usage of the word hell. “What if that’s like—against their religion or something.”
Mingi snorted. “I’m pretty sure they’re Muslim here, dude. Anyway, why don’t we have funerals like that in Korea. That looked really fun inside.”
Yunho was too busy being stupefied by the second half of the sentence that he didn’t have the energy to tell Mingi that he thinks Muslim hell is an actual thing. “What is wrong with you?” He asked, though he could feel himself grinning too. “Why would you even think that?”
“Dunno,” Mingi drawled, stretching his arms above his head as he yawned. “I think it’d be neat, if at the end people celebrated the life I live and not all the things I never had. It’d make me happy, to know that I lived a good and worthy life. I’m not going to live a life with regrets. Why should people have them in my stead, when I’m gone?”
And there it was again, that feeling, still unnamed, that flickered to life in the cavity of Yunho’s chest. Mingi sometimes said the most inexplicable things, that turned him from some lanky seventeen year-old to something too beautiful to be around. He had the tendency to be poetic at the weirdest moments, about the weirdest things, but there was something so earnest about him that made Yunho’s heart beat faster whenever they were close enough to touch. Frankly, Yunho didn’t understand what Mingi saw in him, to have stuck around so long. He didn’t know how to deal with all of that emotion, when it felt like it could swallow him whole if he looked it in the eye.
“You’re crazy,” he had said, instead of all the other insane things that could have come out of his mouth. Mingi, let’s be friends forever. I want to keep racing together until we’re old and gray, and then we can pick a retirement home to spend the last of our days in. You are my best friend, my rival, and the only person who makes me feel seen. Mingi, I think I could love you. Sometimes, I think I already do.
“You just don’t get it,” Mingi pouted, but duly reached down to yank Yunho back onto his feet. Their hands, where they were clasped together, felt like a promise. “C’mon. Let’s go to sleep. There’s a race I gotta beat you at in a bit.”
Sepang, still Sepang, almost a decade later—Yunho thinks he finally gets it.
Above, the sky is clear, not a single cloud in sight, as he closes his eyes and is reborn. What was it he called the cockpit so many months ago, at the start of the season? A cocoon? Well, this is it, the chrysalis, the result of a lifetime worth of metamorphosis, leading to this moment, when he would break free from his shell and beat his wings in that first flutter. The world was too big and too small at once, and all of a sudden he felt like there was not a single thing in the world that could contain him. This—this was what Mingi had been talking about—a celebration of life at the end of the road.
Under the helmet, Yunho laughs. For so long, his faith has been troubled and muddled, too complicated to make sense of. But here, it feels clearer than it’s ever been, painted in sharp, blinding clarity. He knew then and there that this emotion, pulsing inside his chest, was the sacred truth, too big to hold and too small to let go of. This was all that was, and all that there is. No God, whoever he might be, could ever compare to this feeling.
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“I don’t think I’m ever going to have a race like that ever again,” he admits in the dark of his room, watching the seconds on the ongoing call tick up.
Mingi was up early today, and Yunho listened to the sounds of him rustling around his pantry, muttering about where the hell he put the pancake mix. Closing his eyes, he could almost picture it all in his head, how Mingi would look, how Mingi would feel, if Yunho was there with him, in that sun-bathed kitchen. Even in his imagination, the warmth of him made Yunho feel unbearably happy.
“So what?” Mingi replied, once he had found the pesky box. It was finally located behind the spices, which had caused a long string of curses Yunho was still giggling over. Flatly, like he was trying to explain a very simple concept to a toddler, he added: “You’re always going to have this one.”
Well. When you put it like that.
Yunho laughed. He felt overcome with that feeling, too big to hold and too small to let go of. Mingi made a very good point sometimes. There were so many beautiful things in the world that were already Yunho’s to own, and Yunho’s to keep. Nobody could ever take them away from him. “Yeah,” he said softly, thinking of bright blue skies and endless horizons. “I guess you’re right.”
2025 KOREAN GRAND PRIX
A home race, wherever it might be, always felt twice as special as all the other ones.
It’s not like this one is unique to him. Up and down the pitlane, plenty of drivers were experiencing the exhilaration of being in front of a home crowd, and this, more than any other race on the calendar, felt like a true coming together of the sport. So many drivers and teams were represented among the grandstands this weekend, and the crowds were dressed in so many colors it almost made his head spin. Ferrari red, McLaren orange, Red Bull navy, even so many in the neon Sauber green. Anywhere he went, there were people shouting for his attention, shoving caps and who knows what in his direction for him to sign, asking for selfies and pictures. Of course, Yunho gave special attention to anybody dressed in Mercedes black and teal, and even more to the people who had the number 1 or 11 on their caps. It warmed him to the bone, to know that they were here for him.
After Sepang, it felt like the attention on him had… shifted, almost. He had been too busy to look at any of the news articles, considering how many PR activities and marketing things the team wanted him to film, but he had seen enough to know what they were lauding him as the championship frontrunner right now.
Still, he was behind in the standings, in the one place where the numbers game did hold real weight. Feelings, as big in magnitude as they might be, did not count towards the cold hard facts of the championship. But he was closer than ever, closer than he’s been all season, and he’s already proven once in Imola this year that he goes from race to race with momentum. Right now, it felt like there was an invisible force propelling him from behind.
Seoul is crazy. Everywhere he goes, there’s a poster or a sign with his face on it, and he even gets invited to be the voice of the station announcements on the train to the circuit. It was the first time the race had been held in Incheon, in a push to generate more interest in large sporting events by the federation. Though Yeongam was, in truth, closer to Yunho’s hometown of Gwangju, he was excited for a street race in his home country, where the crowds would feel even closer than normal and he could really feel their energy. Anywhere else, he would have complained—he much preferred traditional tracks—but here, he wanted to show off in front of his people.
There’s eight million and one events and stages and things they want him to be at, and he flies in from Singapore almost immediately after the race. Wednesday, he drops in at Yeongam first for another hot lap video, this time with model and Louis Vuitton ambassador Kang Yeosang on the behalf of Mercedes. Thursday, he takes an early drive to Incheon, and has photo-ops with at least three-different girl groups, including one his brother is a fan of. Gunho, who originally had been very reluctant to spend most of his week going to the paddock, became very interested when he heard Aespa would be in attendance, suddenly all profuse gratitude when Yunho had gotten him a photo and an autograph with them. It was probably the first time he had ever been so polite. His mom and dad had even brought Pudeongie along for Thursday, who quickly achieved overnight fame in the paddock, but the excitement was a bit too much for the old boy, and he had to stay at home for the rest of the weekend. Everywhere, the paddock was filled with celebrities and idols, who were much more inclined to take the short journey up to Incheon than to Yeongam.
Hell, even fucking Jeong Yunho—the older one, Uncle Jeong, whatever you want to call him—is here. He’s in the Mercedes garage, obviously, and it had been kind of funny to watch him spin around on his heel midway to the garages and surreptitiously avoid the Sky Sports pen, where Kim Jaejoong was reporting on duty this week again.
On Friday, Yunho’s the first to take to the track, weaving his Mercedes through the streets of Incheon for the very first time. The car grumbles as he takes it through the corners, annoyed at having to take it slow as he gets familiar with the circuit, but with each lap he learns a little more. Honestly, it wasn’t the greatest track layout, with way too many slow corners and too little overtaking opportunities, but Yunho couldn’t care less, as he streaked past the screaming fans. This was the one weekend on the calendar where he would truly let himself be part of the spectacle, happy to just be here and to be able to deliver results.
The only downside is how overfilled the paddock is. As delighted as he is to be out on track, trying to get from his garage to the hospitality is a nightmare, with what could have been a five-minute walk turning to a twenty-minute trek each way. He lost count of how many autographs he had signed, how many smiles he had plastered on his face in time for a selfie, how many cameras were pointed his way. It was almost a relief, when he finally made it back to the garage for FP2 and put his helmet on, getting ready for another outing. He loved the crowd here, but mostly, he just wanted to drive. Holy shit, it felt like every single person in South Korea had shown up.
An hour later, he climbs out of the car, happy with the progress, and nearly runs headfirst into 2020 and 2021 world champion Jeong Jaehyun. Yunho feels his jaw drop. Jesus fucking christ. Every single person in South Korea might not have been an understatement after all.
It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to gather his wits, when he realises just who he’s standing in front of. His helmet’s still on, and he has to make the awkward ordeal of taking it off, except it’s still clipped into the HANs and gets stuck halfway, and then he has to jam it back onto his head if he doesn’t want to suffocate, fumbling with the straps until he can get the entire thing off. His balaclava has shifted to a weird position during this whole ordeal, with the eye hole somewhere in between his forehead and his hairline, and he gets a noseful of his own sweat as he pulls it off as well. His hair is an absolute mess when he glances at his reflection in a spare sheet of carbon fibre, and no amount of taming seems to get it to lie flat.
“Yun—Jaehyun.” Fuck, his voice cracks when he realises his faux pas, trying not to sink into the ground in mortification. It did not take a genius to come up with a few reasons as to why a man named Yuno might change his name, when he had a Cousin Yeonho and a Cousin Yoonha and and a few Cousin Yunhos to spare. He hadn’t even announced it, really. Just changed his instagram handle, and nobody had known quite what to make of it until K-Pop soloist Lee Taeyong had called him Jaehyunie on a livestream, cajoling that his beloved dongsaeng had so much more time for him now that he was retired, easy as that, and everybody else just kinda had to adapt.
The thing is—Jaehyun sort of disappeared from Formula 1 when he retired. Plenty of drivers, after retirement, moved to other series if they were still young enough and could find a seat. For drivers who bowed out willfully, like Jaehyun, many of them stayed involved in the sport, whether it be via consulting with a specific team or commentating. Almost none of them went completely off the grid. Even now, Yunho often bumped into 5-time world champion Kwon Jiyong on the streets of Monaco, with how small the country is. He was in the Red Bull garage every other weekend, though it was unclear what his actual role with the team was.
But Jaehyun had retired, and basically vanished into thin air. Yunho had heard through the grapevine—which was insane, considering they were family, and close family at that—that he had moved back to Seoul instantly after the 2021 season ended, only twenty-four years old, and he hadn’t attended a single race since, not even the ones in Yeongam. He had, very briefly, showed up at Goodwood in 2023, but apparently had only done it as a favor to Kyuwook. Yunho had seen him around a few times, all at family gatherings, but never like this. Not at a race, that’s for sure.
And here he is, in the flesh. “Yunho,” Jaehyun greets him warmly, like they’re particularly close, a demure smile on his face as he watches Yunho panic and try to fix his hair. Outside, he was sure there is a Sky Sports camera trained on them, and he loathes to hear what Hwang Kwanghee might be saying about this.
“Hi!” Yunho blurts out, trying not to make a fool of himself. He peeks to the side, hoping an enthusiastic mechanic or two would save him from having this conversation alone, but they’re all busy with the car, fussing around this and that. An engineer, maybe? But they were all surrounding the car too, pointing at the streaks of fluorescent flow-vis on his rear wing. Fuck. Where the hell is Kyuwook? Where the hell is Junmyeon? Shit, where the hell is Nayoung?
It just—it feels wrong, to be in the garage that had once been Jaehyun’s with him, knowing that so many of the bits and pieces in here were left down from him. Yunho had tested for Mercedes, before they promoted him, but only ever in Jinyoung’s car. He had never had the chance—not until after the retirement.
All throughout 2022, Yunho couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been driving Jaehyun’s car. Of course, most of the car was different, to go along with the new design concept for the year. They had kept the same chassis as 2021, though, so it became a game of Theseus’ Formula 1 car. How many parts could you switch out until it was no longer the same machine? Until when did it stop being Jaehyun’s, and start being Yunho’s? If you replace the pilot, but not any of the mechanical parts, is it still the same car?
2023, they had trashed the old chassis, going for a pull-rod suspension for the first time, with their spectacular failure of a zero sidepod concept, and well, the less that had been said about that year the better.
2024, they had practically rebuilt the car from scratch. It probably wasn’t until then, did Yunho start feeling like the car was his and only his.
And now, Jaehyun was here, standing right by Yunho’s car, and he couldn’t stop the old surge of insecurity rising in him again. It wasn’t as though Yunho had taken these things from Jaehyun. In fact, Jaehyun had given them up himself, but somehow it felt even worse, for Yunho to know that he only had been given the car and the team because Jaehyun didn’t want them anymore. At least, if he had to kick somebody out in order to make it to this seat, he would have felt like he had earned it, to be seen as more worthy. To have it be handed to him like this? It was a special kind of purgatory in hell.
Jaehyun laughs. He’s classically handsome, the way almost all of their family can be grouped under. “Sorry,” he says, and Yunho has no idea what for. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I was in the area.”
Yunho tries to stop the way he can feel his feet nervously tapping on the floor. He holds himself back from a scoff. In the area? As far as he’s aware, from what he’s parsed from Instagram and the occasional news, all Jaehyun’s been doing since his retirement has been releasing an EP of piano music every six months or so. He had no idea what Jaehyun was doing here, but he can’t help feeling like he’s being judged. After all, this was Jaehyun’s team first. Maybe he was here to check that Yunho hadn’t screwed it all up.
“It’s good to see you,” Jaehyun continues on, waving at a mechanic passing by. He’s talking so casually, like they’re good friends, when Yunho had to learn about his retirement from the internet like everybody else. A heads up would have been nice. Back then, he had been filled with so much guilt every time he met with a team principal who wasn’t Kyuwook, but he had just been so desperate for a decent seat that he had to look elsewhere. There was a part of him that despised Jaehyun, more than anybody in the world, for having the Mercedes seat, for being world champion, for being the better driver who was born just a little earlier. It felt like he would never measure up to Jaehyun’s success. It was the talk of the family, how a boy named Yunho was being outraced by his own cousin.
But he couldn’t hate Jaehyun fully, or at all, really. After all, Jaehyun was just doing what Yunho was doing—racing to the best of his abilities. And that, more than anything, was something Yunho had to respect.
As if the world hates him, Junmyeon chooses to appear right at this moment, lighting up in a beam when he spots Jaehyun standing there. Yunho is thereby saved from having to navigate through the conversation himself, but finds himself in a worse situation, sidelined as his race engineer chatted happily to his predecessor, saying all these nice things. You look great! How have you been? I’ve missed you so much.
At some point, Kyuwook comes over too, and Yunho tries not to sink into the ground. He makes some dumb excuse about having to go talk to the aero team for some set-up changes, though the car feels pretty good, and gets turned down as Kyuwook starts ranting about how he could afford to take a little break, to enjoy some family time. Even Jinyoung pops up, chatting happily with Jaehyun about what he’s been up to and how his life’s been and wow, so lucky that you didn’t have to drive the 2023 car, buddy!
It felt like everybody was making a big show out of it, overcompensating for reasons beyond Yunho’s understanding. Here’s the car, Jaehyun, don’t you wish you were driving it? Look, it’s all your mechanics and engineers! Hey, remember how Kibum here used to be one of your engineers at Williams? He’s working on strategy for us now!
On and on and on. Like Yunho wasn’t standing here, and that wasn’t his car and his mechanics and his strategists.
It takes a while before somebody asks the golden question.
“So, Jaehyun,” Kyuwook starts, and if the new name gives him any trouble to compound at all, he hasn't shown a lick of it. “Why are you here?”
Yunho, sullen and feeling a little left behind, pretending that he didn’t care as much as he did, tried not to look too interested in the answer. It’s just—he didn’t understand why Jaehyun had to show up now, when it was finally shaping up to be his year.
“Oh!” Jaehyun laughed, and in a surprise move, reached over to clap Yunho on the shoulder once, firm and friendly. “I’m here to cheer Yunho on, of course! I’m excited for him to win another championship.”
Yunho blinked. He blinked again. And again.
“I wish I had managed to make the race last year,” Jaehyun barrels on, like he can’t see the way Yunho had just physically blue-screened. “I wanted to be here, for the next Mercedes’ championship, but I had a thing come up. I’m thinking of maybe flying out to Las Vegas this year, actually. It’ll be fun, to see him win there.”
Yunho stared at him. Jaehyun looked, to the naked eye, very genuine. “You… think I’m going to win this year?” he croaked, hoping it didn’t sound as shaky to everybody else as it did to him.
Jaehyun smiled at him. “Of course.” All prim and proper, the way Yunho had never been able to copy or emulate. “Who else would I be rooting for?”
All of a sudden, Yunho was struck by the urge to laugh. Everything felt hilarious all of a sudden. Helplessly, he thinks of what Mingi had said in Milan, how part of his anger had come from his own feelings of loss. He felt, standing there, like he had been a bit of an idiot. Yeah, no shit, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mingi’s rang in his head. Projecting much?
Yunho cleared his throat. Emotional maturity, as it happened, was still an area he had much to improve in. “Thanks,” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Racer to racer, the implication in Jaehyun’s words had been clear. Who else would I be rooting for? No prefix, no suffix. Not since you’re family, or for the team, but who else?. Nothing more than simple belief, in Yunho’s ability to drive. Formula 1 drivers were prideful creatures. They conceded to no one, even when they were in the wrong. But still, there was respect that could be earned.
“I’d be happy to see you in Las Vegas,” he adds on, trying to usher in as much of an apology as he can in those words. He was doing the thing again, the bad habit where he naturally assumed the worst out of people. All this time, Jaehyun had simply seen him as an equal.
Kyuwook made a loud, delighted noise at that, taking some of the attention off Yunho. In the brief moment of reprieve, he inhaled, exhaled, and let the world shift back on its axis. “Should we get a picture?” Kyuwook asked, waving one of the photographers closer. He looked so excited he was about to vibrate out of his skin. “Our champions, side by side? You two are my champions, you know!”
Oh, Yunho thought, feeling very stupid. All this time, it could be both.
“I was right when I said you had to get him for the seat, wasn’t I?” Jaehyun laughed, nudging Kyuwook with his elbow as he got into position for the picture. He wrapped an arm around Yunho’s waist and stuck his hand out in pose as the lights flashed, V for Victory. The sound made him seem younger at once, more human, just some guy, no larger than a concept. Since they were children, Yunho had looked up to him, chasing after him through the categories, desperately trying to catch up. Now, it finally feels like they’re standing on even ground. For the very first time, the seat felt like a gift, not a hand-me-down. “I told you, Yunho was always meant to be a champion one day.”
(“Hey,” Yunho asked, right as Jaehyun was about to leave the garages to go grab dinner with his parents. He bowed politely to Auntie and Uncle, but pulled Jaehyun aside, so he can ask the burning question that’s been at the back of his mind. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you retire so early? You could have gone on for so much longer.”
Jaehyun, who had been shaking his head to demonstrate the lack of offence the question had caused, turned red. He looked, all of a sudden, very sheepish.
But really, Yunho wanted to know. He couldn’t imagine quitting so soon, much less quitting while you were in such good form. Now that the embarrassment of having judged Jaehyun wrongly for so long was wearing off, he was mostly just sad they had never gotten to race together properly. They shared the same track in 2020 and 2021, sure, but Yunho had been in the shitbox of a Williams back then, so it didn’t make for much conductive racing. He was genuinely, and not out of malicious intent, curious about which of them would have been faster.
“Ah,” Jaehyun started, fiddling with his hands. Yunho noticed, with a start, that there was a band of silver around his left ring finger. “Um, I wanted to get married.”
Yunho can’t help it—he chokes on air.
“You can’t tell anybody else,” Jaehyun rushes to add, patting Yunho on the back to get the last of the hiccups out. “It’s not… the family doesn’t know. My parents do, but that’s about it.”
There were so many more questions Yunho wanted to ask. Who? was only the tip of the iceberg. But, faced with a dilemma, all he could think to say was: “You didn’t have to quit racing for that.”
Jaehyun stared at him. Yunho stared back. And then, abruptly, Jaehyun snorted. It was, in Yunho’s entire memory of him, the first time he had ever looked anything less than perfect. “I kinda did,” he confesses, twisting the ring around his finger. The motion was so fluid Yunho didn’t think he even knew he was doing it. It was just second nature. “He’s—ah, he’s a very precious hyung to me.”
Yunho doesn’t recoil, but it’s a near thing. He thinks, dimly, about an Instagram live, about a ‘beloved dongsaeng’, and the dots connect on their own. It takes a big, conscious effort, to not let his jaw hit the ground, for the second time in the day.
“Oh, um,” he fumbles, his inability to ever act normal in an emotional conversation kicking in as usual. “I’m, uh, very happy for you.”
Frankly, he still didn’t quite understand. He didn’t have any plans to stop racing anytime soon, but he also wasn’t going to wait until he was 40 to ask Mingi to marry him. He wrinkles his nose. It could be both. But he looked into Jaehyun’s eyes and found only peace, and a quiet sort of acceptance. In the end, that was something Yunho could respect.
“Thank you,” Jaehyun said, his voice light and grateful, and Yunho thought that for once, maybe, just maybe, he had said the right words after all.)
Formula 1 @F1 · 42m
🟢 GREEN LIGHTS ON FOR QUALIFYING 🟢
Join us as we head into the first ever qualifying round the streets of Incheon!
#F1 #KoreanGP
puffyfish @underwaterway · 31m
whatttt the fuck crack is yunho smoking
pinky @bealright · 30m
HE’S NOT REAL??? HOW IS HE SO FAST???
sollux @redbluehoney · 22m
ah yes, the classic AWS graphic telling me that one of the RBs was “super close” to the barriers. bro, he’s in the wall.
Mercedes Updates @SilverArrowsNet · 18m
🎙️| Pit to Yunho:
“Double waved yellows in Sector 3.”
Yunho: “Yeah, I see it. Is he OK?”
“Driver is OK. We will pit this lap.”
Yunho: “We won’t do another run?”
“A-firm. We think this time is good enough to get through to Q3. Currently P1.”
Yunho: “Shame, I think I have a bit more pace than that.”
Formula 1 @F1 · 5m
POLEEEEE FOR JEONG YUNHO!
It's a front row lock-out for Mercedes!
#F1 #KoreanGP
kay1 @solarplexus · 2m
is that. guys. DID YOU SEE THAT. IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS IN THE MERCEDES GARAGE.
Yunho’s grinning as he jumps out of the car and rushes to where his mechanics are waiting, laughing as he gets the celebratory patdown treatment. It’s only qualifying, of course, and the points are handed out on Sunday, not Saturday, but it feels good, to have taken pole do decisively. Only a tenth up, and he’s had bigger gaps this season, but the field was tight, and in the midfield there were six cars separated by four-hundredths, so yeah, a tenth felt pretty fucking special.
He tries to contain how delighted he is in the post-qualifying interviews, but he thinks it shows through anyways, when he’s practically bouncing on the spot. The crowd goes crazy when they hand him a t-shirt cannon to fire a few signed shirts into the grandstands, all of them rising to their feet for him. He feels on top of the world.
The impromptu excitement causes him to be held up going back to the garages, so he’s forced to make the trek alone after Jinyoung and San go ahead, but he’s happy to be delayed, cackling when some girl in the paddock club chucks a cap down for him to sign and he misses the first few throws back up to her. There’s a camera nearby that’s capturing this humiliating failure, but he’s in such a good mood that he only manages to find the fun in it.
He’s got his arms outstretched as he enters his garage, mustering the cockiest expression he can make on his face. His team is waiting for him, and somebody pops a bottle of—soda water, probably?—in a mock celebration, and sprays it right in his face. Yunho makes a fool of himself as he fights back weakly, groaning in annoyance as the liquid seeps through his suit and his fireproofs. He gives the mechanic who did the deed a hard smack on the back, getting his revenge by dumping a full bottle of water over his head. There are actual party poppers that get involved. It felt kinda childish, to be celebrating so much for what was essentially just a pole, not even any actual championship points, but he felt so happy in the moment, to have been the first in the history to have the quickest time around here. They’d never be able to take that away from him.
He’s still laughing as he’s finally given enough space to walk towards the inside of his garage, where his family should be waiting. His mom is going to be horrified when he gives her a hug with soda water still dripping out of his hair, but he thinks it’ll be a small price to pay to share in his delight. He’s pretty sure his dad had won a bet with Junmyeon about how much he’d win pole by today, so he’d be looking extra happy to see Yunho too, and his brother—eh, his brother is probably on his phone, playing League or whatever it is he’s into these days.
He turns, looks, and stops dead.
Oh. Um.
“Hi,” Mingi says, looking very amused as he leaned against the fence. Yunho’s brain helpfully replays his behavior back to him in his head, giving him a full play-by-play of how much of a douchebag he’s looked like in the last five minutes. In front of Mingi. Who was watching. Because he was here.
“You have something on your—wait,” Mingi continues, ignoring the way Yunho had frozen up and was staring at him in some mixture of shock-horror-disbelief. Then, easy as day, he reaches out and plucks a piece of confetti off Yunho’s cheek.
“Uh,” Yunho says, extremely smartly. He discreetly tries to pinch himself on the thigh. Based on the way Mingi’s smile gets a little sharper, he’s not half as slick as he’d like to imagine.
“Yunho!” Ah, and there’s his mom, throwing herself into his arms, shrieking when the droplets in his hair dripped onto her designer clothes. Yunho almost stumbles trying to catch her, his gaze still fixed on where Mingi was standing, looking content to watch on as Yunho’s mom smothered him.
His dad comes over and claps him on the back, and even Gunho offers a reluctant sounding congratulations, and between the three of them he has his hands full. All throughout the half-conversation, half-wailing his mom was subjecting him to, Mingi just stands there, seeming quite pleased with himself every time he catches Yunho trying to sneak glances towards him. At some point, he even wanders off to go talk to Jinyoung, in what looked like a genuinely fruitful conversation about his music. It was—it was ridiculous.
“Mom,” Yunho hisses, when the crying became really a bit too dramatic. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even won the race yet. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, distracted once she realises her makeup’s smudged, and drags his dad along with her to go fix it up. Gunho, without a mediator, almost instantly disappears back towards the hospitality.
And then—and then there’s only him, and only Mingi, leaning against the wall, a small smile on his face as he watches Yunho get closer, closer, closer.
There are cameras here, but Yunho couldn’t give less of a shit when he crushes Mingi to his chest, soaking in the warmth of him once more. He turned his face so he could hide it in the crook of Mingi’s neck, breathing in that familiar scent. He didn’t know what was happening, how this was happening, why Mingi was here, only that he was real and true in Yunho’s arms. His heart swelling, he could feel the shake in his chest when Mingi gave a small chuckle and wrapped his arms around Yunho in return, laughing under his breath when the wet fringe of Yunho’s hair tickled his chin.
He hadn’t—they had talked, a little, about the possibility of Mingi going to a race before the year ended, probably Austin, maybe Las Vegas. It was only an idea Yunho had floated once, and when Mingi had made a noncommittal noise at the prospect, he had largely given up. He knew Mingi was busy, that there was a new album in the works, and then another tour next year that required preparation, and as much as he wanted to see Mingi at a race, there was a part of him that was worried they weren’t quite ready for it yet.
But now, Mingi had taken that step, crossed that distance once more, and here he was. Yunho didn’t have to ask him why he was here. Deep down inside, he already knew.
“Hope I’m not too much of a distraction,” Mingi teased, and there was no frustration, no anger in his voice. Only playfulness, and something that felt an awfully lot like happiness. “Seeing as I showed up unannounced and all that.”
“Don’t even say that,” Yunho complained, sulking internally as he had to let Mingi go, before it started to dip towards an undeniable territory. He was all too aware of the cameras that were trained on them, but there was a part that wanted to say fuck it and take Mingi’s hand in his anyway. Soon. His driver room was only five minutes away, and they could have all the privacy they wanted once they were there. “You know I’m always happy to see you.”
And then, quietly, just in case there were microphones around: “I missed you.”
The corner of Mingi’s mouth tilted up, minutely. He glanced around, to where Yunho’s mechanics and his engineers were definitely trying to act like they weren’t looking, and then seemed like he was trying very hard not to smile. “Me too,” he said quietly, and by his side, his hand twitched, like he was holding back all the same compulsions Yunho was fighting not to give in to right now. Yunho wanted to kiss him so badly it felt like the earth was about to split apart underneath his feet.
Fighting against his own instinct, he forces himself to look away. Another second of looking at Mingi and he would do something irreversible, and he was still, very technically, at his place of work. Clearing his throat, he turns around awkwardly, meaning to go around and say thanks to the team, for all their efforts of getting the car into such good shape, and instead meets eyes with Kyuwook, who was doing a terrible job of hiding the way he was smirking. There was something in his expression, as they flitted between Yunho and where Mingi was standing, that looked almost… proud. When he noticed Yunho staring, he lifted his chin in a gesture of go on, and started a rambling call to all the mechanics and engineers and strategists for their hard work, loudly exclaiming how it wouldn’t be possible without any of them and effectively rounding them up.
His chest filling with gratitude, Yunho takes the offered escape easily, grabbing Mingi by the elbow so he can lead him deeper into the garage, away from the cameras. There was so much he wanted to do and so much he wanted to say, and he had no idea where to start, but he thinks some mouth-to-mouth time might get the basics of the message across.
Nayoung cuts them off just as they’re one turn away from exiting the garage. “Mingi,” she says, her voice sincere, and she leans up to give Mingi a brief hug when he makes an excited noise and steps forward to greet her just as warmly. “It’s been too long.”
“Yeah,” Mingi laughs, and he nudges Yunho with his shoulder. “It’s all this one’s fault. You can blame him for any and all disappearances on my end.” Despite the words, his voice was light. “It’s good to see you again, Nayoung.”
Yunho hadn’t even been aware that they talked, much less were as close as they seemed right now.
Nayoung, his professional, uptight PR manager Nayoung, looked past Mingi to tst at Yunho, giving him one of those disapproving head shakes. “Do better,” she tells him, and laughs along when Mingi cracks up. Yunho pinched himself again, to make sure this wasn’t some sort of alternate reality. He was pretty sure he was dreaming. She turned to face Mingi again. “I’m very glad to see you back. Not just a visit, I hope?”
She sounded very purposeful, and Yunho burns when he realises that everybody knew what was going on. Kyuwook, Nayoung, Hyunwoo, they all likely picked up on enough clues to extrapolate. Yukwon definitely knew. Hell, as Yunho thinks back to how unsurprised he had seemed at Mingi’s presence, Jinyoung probably knew. Somehow, the thought warmed him on the inside. Nobody had said anything, but their actions spoke louder than words. Here, at the very least, they could exist under the unspoken veil of normalcy, but they didn’t have to go out of their way to hide. Everybody saw what this was. It was the kindest sort of understanding that they had been given, freely and without cost, by the people in his life.
“Nah,” Mingi replies, and he shoots Yunho a glance, his gaze darting away shyly when he realises Yunho’s already looking at him. His voice was filled with an unspeakable softness, that tangible tenderness, that nameable emotion. “I think I’m here to stay.”
────────────────
(They bump into San on the way back, trying to sneak between the motorhomes to attract as little attention as possible. This endeavor is slightly hampered by the way neither of them can stop giggling, and the way Mingi howls with laughter when Yunho nearly gets stuck in a narrow gap almost makes the entire thing a lost cause. Yunho’s not doing much better, though he tries to act indignant for the sake of his self esteem. It wasn’t his fault the motorhomes were packed so closely together, okay?
They get close to making it all the way back to the Mercedes hospitality scot free, despite all the racket they’re causing. Yunho could practically see the shiny black exterior looming ahead. They’re right behind the McLaren motorhome, debating if they could fit through the tiny sliver of space between the fence and the wall, when someone clears their throat loudly above them.
Yunho turns to look. Leaning out of a window, looking very amused, is San.
“Sup!” Mingi calls, like they’ve not just been caught somewhere where they definitely should not be. Yunho is pretty sure there’s regulations against this kind of thing, in case of corporate subterfuge or some fancy jargon like that. It hadn’t been that many years since Spygate. “Congrats on the first win!”
It’s impossible to hide the way they’re holding hands. But it’s just San, and between friends, there’s no need to fear. Yunho is pretty sure San had understood the true magnitude of the frayed thread between him and Mingi before he came around to it himself, anyway.
Jesus. He could be really fucking slow sometimes. Not out on track, but still.
Two stories up, San laughs, tilting his head up towards the side as if to tell them to get a move on. “Thanks,” he grins wryly. Mingi’s beaming, and Yunho’s helpless to smile along, so close to the sun. “Congrats too. You know what for.”
Oh, Yunho knew. This time, he was very sure he knew.)
────────────────
“How the fuck did you get here?” He’s laughing as he pushes Mingi into his driver’s room, being a little louder than he should be, but who gives a fuck. They had run into Jinyoung leaving on their way in, and Yunho had already texted Yukwon to give him at least half an hour of alone time, so they were clear for a short period of time. They only have so long. His team would cover for him, but even if Yunho could dodge the masses of fans outside he’d still have to face his parents, and it would be the end of the world for him if they walked in on anything untoward.
Not that he was… hypothetically… thinking about doing anything untoward. Mingi deserved better than this shitty, cramped room, where Yunho’s clothes from the morning were still strewn around, and the tiny foldaway cot he had in here for his massages. Yunho has a moment of relief when he remembers that he does have a hotel room, despite his mom’s insistence that he stayed at home. It still wasn’t as good as his apartment in Monaco, or Mingi’s in Los Angeles, but it’d be a good starting point.
Mingi giggles, pulling the cot out so he can hop onto it, and when he does he spreads his legs in an invitation that has Yunho near immediately walking back on his resolution to keep this PG. “Took a plane, duh,” he drawls, the corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly when he catches Yunho staring at his thighs. Really, can you blame him? He’s just a man who has learned how to appreciate what he has. “How else do you think people get from continent to continent? Teleport?”
Refusing to deign that with a response, Yunho busies himself with stripping out of his fireproofs and into something more comfortable, shoving himself inside his shirt—Mercedes team kit, of course—and finding the wrong hole, his head constricted into a tight band of pressure before he squawks and sticks it through the right way. Mingi does nothing to hide the way he’s cackling at the sight Yunho probably provides, hair messy, still sticky from having been in the car and the soda water, flushed from the adrenaline of racing and just having Mingi here. Despite the sweat crusted into it, he kindly reaches over to tidy up the tousled nest of Yunho’s hair, helping him brush it back into something reasonable, though he does make a face when he withdraws his hand. There’s a suggestive eyebrow raise when Yunho pushes the suit off his body and kicks the jammers off too, but it’s not like they have the time for it. It’s nothing he hasn’t already seen before, anyway. Yunho was sure some of the novelty had to have worn off by now.
Mingi’s quiet as Yunho packs up his stuff. He wants to get out of here quick. If they were fast about it, they might have an hour or two before Yunho would need to meet his parents for dinner, and he can think of a thing or two they can do with that time. “Sorry,” Mingi yawns, his mouth stretching open, and smacks his lips together cutely after the tail-end of it. “Kinda jetlagged right now.”
Yunho doesn’t even need to calculate the timezone difference. He had already memorised how many hours it was between here and Los Angeles, in preparation for this race. “Is this why you were ignoring me all day yesterday,” he teases, trying to locate a cap so he can jam it over the mess that is his hair. He had noticed Mingi going dark on him through most of the day, but had just attributed it to some long studio bender or something similar. Just last week, Mingi had disappeared for 48 hours straight and then came back with three new songs for Yunho to listen to. Yunho wasn’t sure it was federally allowed for anybody to be consuming so many energy drinks in a row, but Mingi seemed to sleep it off all fine.
“Mhm,” Mingi hums, his eyelids drooping shut. Yunho can tell he’s starting to space out, the way he gets when the sleepiness starts to hit. There was something so endearing about the way he was clearly trying to fight it, stubbornly trying to blink the drowsiness away, and Yunho subsequently rearranges their plans for the next two hours to a hot shower and a long nap. They had all the time in the world for the other stuff now, anyway. “Wanted to…” he breaks off into another yawn, getting midway before remembering himself and clamping his jaw shut. Yunho almost wants to coo at him, if he wasn’t sure he’d get his head chewed off for it. “Wanted to be here with you.”
Yunho laughs. He crosses the five-meter distance so he can slide a hand over the back of Mingi’s head, where his hair was matted from spending half a day in a plane. Deeming the new shirt clean enough, he leans forward until Mingi can lean his cheek against Yunho’s sternum without having to crane his neck uncomfortably. And Mingi does, giving a pleased sigh as he presses his forehead to Yunho’s chest, over his heartbeat, his arms coming up to wrap around Yunho’s waist in a loose hug.
“You could have waited until Austin, you know,” Yunho says gently, stroking down the long line of Mingi’s nape. Mingi settles underneath his hand, turning his face up so they can see each other, eye to eye. “I wouldn’t have been mad.”
“I know,” Mingi replies, sounding cheerful despite the sleepiness. He looked so soft like this, weary from the long journey and just about to knock out from exhaustion, but still, so happy it was impossible to miss, his eyes bright and shiny as he gave Yunho a smile. For the last month, Yunho had been imaging the exact curve of it, tracing the edges of it in his mind. No camera or screen could capture the half of it. To be in such close proximity to it once more, felt like seeing the sun again after a long hibernation. “But, well. I wanted to be here, where it all started. Besides, I…” he trails off, considering, and when he speaks again there’s a tinge of shyness coloring it. “I didn’t want to wait any longer.”
Yunho leans down, just enough so he can leave a chaste kiss against Mingi’s temple. He lets himself linger for a moment, closing his eyes as he buried himself into that familiar warmth once more. Outside, the world bustled on, so many moving parts in this well-oiled machine that he knew and loved. Here, with Mingi, all he had to be was himself.
When he draws back, Mingi chases after him, almost toppling off the cot. Yunho swoops down to catch him, marvelling at the closeness he’s privy to once more, and pulls Mingi to his feet. Side by side, heart to heart, he looks at the boy he met at thirteen and lost at seventeen, the man he first fell in love with at twenty-two and lost again at twenty-five, and the man he would always love, now at twenty-six and for the rest of time. He felt his chest swell with that feeling, now so familiar it felt like he could hold the shape of it in his hands and mold it into something that weighed a lot like forever.
Here they were, over a decade apart, still here, still together. There was so much history between them, and so much of the future to come, built upon a well of memories that was theirs to own and theirs to keep, tied together by a length of knotted thread that would never snap again. So many years behind them, and so many more ahead. They were infinitesimal and infinite, all at once. It could be both.
“I love you,” he blurted out, the words riding on a surge of that nameable emotion. He found that he couldn’t—didn’t want to wait anymore, either. He wanted so much, wanted the magnanimity and the smallest details, wanted the good and the bad and everything that came in-between. Once, he had thought that giving something a name was a premediator to loss, that as long as he looked away from it he could avoid the pain. Now, he just wants to call Mingi his. “Be my boyfriend.”
For a moment, there’s only silence, and the sound of two hearts beating out of time. And then Mingi gasps, so close that Yunho can feel the hitch in his breath, and he feels the world slot back into place when Mingi smiles, looking exasperated and heartachingly tender all at once.
“What?” he laughs, batting at Yunho’s chest, and Yunho takes the chance to snatch his hands out of the air, pulling him in by the wrist. Closer, closer, closer, until the distance between them dwindles to one inch, then less, breathing in tandem as their mouths brush against each other. Carefully, he lifts a hand to cup it around the curve of Mingi’s jaw, cradling the world in his hands. Mingi inhales, and Yunho feels his chest shift in response. The featherlight fan of Mingi’s eyelashes across his thumb as he blinks felt like a gentle shower of rain.
“Don’t you think you should ask me after the race?” Mingi whispers, leaning into the warmth of Yunho’s palm, soft-cheeked and love-bruised, exhaling long and deep. “I know I’ve been joking about it, but I really don’t want to distract or—”
“You aren’t,” Yunho cuts him off, before the misconception takes root once more. He had been so stupid back then, saying the most hurtful things he could think of to chase Mingi away. It was a mistake he knew he’d be trying to make up for for the rest of their lives. “You couldn’t.”
Here is the underlying truth, at the heart of the matter: “Mingi,” Yunho says, a name made into a prayer made into a pulse of pure light, thrumming with a lifetime of love, of beautiful memories. Yunho couldn’t wait to make more. “When I race, all I see is you.”
Something in Mingi’s face cracks apart, the way the earth does when a sprout bursts through the soil and reaches towards the heavens. He looked—incandescently happy.
“Alright,” he said, tilting forward, or maybe Yunho does, and they meet somewhere in the middle, just a gentle passing of mouths over each other, nothing more than a promise of the future. “I’m all yours.”
INTERLUDE: THE YUNHO THING
Alright, so. Yunho. I think we’ve established by this point that he’s not exactly the most reliable narrator.
There are pieces of the puzzle here, fragments that have been hidden right underneath the surface, just out of sight. A well-worn path of memories that stretched back to 2012, when Yunho had trundled up the stairs to the team motorhome and laid his eyes on Mingi for the first time. You might have picked up on some hints and connotations along the way, but so far, Yunho has kept the depths of them hidden away, clutching them so tight to his chest so that nobody could take them away from him.
But now, on the other side of love, he felt ready to loosen his grip a little. There was a part of him that wanted to see where the wind would blow them, if he would just open his palm and let the breeze carry them away. For the first time in his life, he felt ready for honesty.
Okay. He might as well get this over with.
Ladies and gentlemen, I now present: a montage of those light-filled memories, as told by Jeong Yunho, circa 2025.
Here we go.
YEONGAM, SOUTH KOREA — 2012
The metal steps of KQ Racing rattled underneath his feet as he skipped up them, his racing boots softening the harsh clang. He took the two flights of stairs quickly, striding over them two at a time, in a show of personal un-safety that would probably have his mother screeching with worry. The race suit he had on was brand new, and it felt a little too big for his body, but it was all okay. He’d grown into it soon enough.
It was great weather to go racing today, he mused to himself, as he finally reached the top and continued his merry way, locating the team principal’s door by memory. The last time he had been here, his dad had brought him and made him sit down in the corner of the room as he had a serious sounding talk to the team’s head and coach and left with a bunch of signed papers . Yunho, hadn’t been listening too closely to know all the details. From his seat, he could spot part of the team’s own track, and there were kids even younger than him practicing. He spent most of the meeting critiquing where they could have shaved off some time, and wished he was allowed to go down and join them.
He’s happy to be here, anyway. It was an up and coming team, with great facilities and a good reputation. They were just starting out, but already had a few drivers make it to single seaters. Yunho’s dad had initially been sceptical when they reached out hoping to sign Yunho on, seeing as a few other teams had sent in offers, but Yunho had convinced him in the end.
It had been a bit of a surprise to the rest of the family, that he hadn’t gone to Star Motorsports, who were arguably the best karting team in South Korea. Yuno was currently racing with them, and older Jeong Yunho had been a graduate with them too. It had seemed like a no-brainer that Yunho would join them, now that he had reached a high enough rating in the lower categories to start racing with a team.
But there was something about the offer from KQ that had called to him, when he had looked over the statistics. He felt like the numbers spoke for themselves. SM took in hundreds of young hopefuls every year, but only a very small percentage of them ever got enough support to race in single-seaters. KQ, by comparison, only took as many drivers as their competing team had seats for, but had already produced two F4 drivers in the short time since their establishment. Of course, Yunho understood that this was only a pitstop in his journey to Formula 1, and the main point now was to get the attention of one of the Drivers Academies, but he wanted a team he could call his own, one that had his back and trusted in him to bring results home.
Which brings him here, knocking on the door. He had gotten a bit excited and came dressed in his race suit, though it had been made clear to him that there was only a small chance they’d be actually testing out the karts today. There was a part of him that hoped the team would see his enthusiasm and soften up enough for him to get some track time in.
The door swings open, and the kind face of Coach Kim peered down at him, laughing when he sees what Yunho’s wearing. “Excited?” he asked, and Yunho nodded so quickly his neck hurt. His heart felt like it was about to burst inside his chest. This was it, the true beginning of his climb to the highest echelon of the sport. “I’m glad to see that. Come on, come meet your teammate.”
Yunho startled, and whipped around to find another boy in the room, waiting awkwardly by the table. His shoulders were hunched forward, and his legs were kicking underneath his chair in a distinctively nervous fashion. When Coach Kim beckons him closer, he hops off his seat and meanders over, looking down at the floor.
That’s the guy was supposed to be his teammate? Yunho wanted to scoff, but his manners kicked in and he thankfully managed to hold it back. He didn’t understand. He wanted a challenge, somebody to keep pushing him forward, somebody to have a good fight with. This guy, just by the way he drags his feet as he walks, gave off the vague likeness of a snail. Maybe a turtle, if Yunho was to be nicer about it.
“Yunho,” Coach Kim introduces, laying a hand on both of their shoulders. “I want you to meet Mingi.”
The boy—Mingi, looks up at this, meeting Yunho’s curious gaze shyly. Yunho had raced against a lot of guys in his life, kids that were older and bigger and meaner, and Mingi didn’t look like he measured up to any of them at all. He dimly registers that Coach Kim was still talking, blah blah blah, you’re the same age and blah blah blah, he’s from Bucheon and blah blah blah, he started a year later, but we’ve decided to skip him up a little earlier.
That, at the very least, gives Yunho a little pause. You can’t move people up categories just like that, unless they scored enough points to jump the rankings. It wasn’t very easy to do so, and not many people managed to achieve it. Yunho would know. He had tried to do the same himself.
Blah blah blah, I hope you two get along.
Mingi’s face took on a pinched quality at that, meekly sticking his hand out in greeting. He looked kind of terrified, but Yunho decides at this point to give him a chance. He must be really good, if he had managed to rack up enough points to skip a category. Thinking he was going in for a handshake, Yunho reaches out his own palm, but ends up jabbing the tip of his fingers into Mingi’s closed fist, where he had actually been trying at a fistbump.
For a moment, both of them are stunned. And then across from him, Mingi makes a snorting noise, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle laughter. He fails miserably only two seconds later, giggling as he stared at where their hands were still hanging mid-air awkwardly.
Yunho stared at him. Dimly, he noted that Mingi had dimples, and that his laugh sounded very, very nice.
“Hi,” Mingi said, when his laughter finally died down. Coach Kim, on the other hand, was still howling with it, looking very pleased at the two of them. “I’m Mingi, but you already know that. I’m looking forward to racing with you. Let’s win the championship this year!”
The lines sounded a little stiff and rehearsed, as if he’s practiced them a few times before. But there was a hopeful shine in his eyes as he looked at Yunho, and his lopsided smile was so earnest it was undeniably genuine.
Yunho snorted. Get a load of this guy, honestly. For one, he still had his freaking hand suspended mid-air, still closed into a fist. Yunho felt, all of a sudden, very, very endeared.
“We’ll make them eat dust,” he replied, reaching over to tap his own fist against Mingi’s. A bolt of electricity zinged through Yunho’s body at the point of contact. “We’re going to be unstoppable.”
(They whine and moan and complain until Coach Kim lets them try out the track downstairs, looking resigned to his fate as he unlocks the shed and hauls two karts out for them to race in. Mingi skips off to the bathroom to change into his suit, and he comes back with his helmet tucked under his arm.
“Ready?” Yunho asks him, nudging their shoulders together playfully as he finished fiddling with the balance of his kart until he had it just the way he liked. Next to him, Mingi was doing the same, methodologically going through the steps like he had done them a million times before. Most of the other kids their age didn’t bother with this step themselves, letting their dads or their mechanics do it for them, but Yunho had always needed to be very hands-on. There was a part of the process, when he was checking the brakes and adjusting the handles, that felt like he was having a conversation with his machinery. He liked that Mingi was the same.
“Yup!” Mingi said cheerily, and they pushed their karts to the starting line, pulling their helmets on and revving up the motors. The sputtering smell of petrol felt more familiar than home.
Coach Kim counted them down, and next to him they had gathered a small crowd of kids who had come over to watch. It wasn’t anything like a proper race day, but Yunho felt himself starting to get excited about it too. He liked winning in front of people, sue him. He was thirteen and thirsting for victory. It felt like it was the highest he could go.
Three! Coach Kim was shouting. Yunho looked at the track, at the first corner, imagining the racing line he would take through it. Two! Then the next corner, which had a tricky chicane. He would have to stay low and make sure he didn’t spin out. One! Was Mingi feeling it too? The electricity in the air, the rush of blood in his ears, the yawning maw of hunger in his gut?
Go!
He shot forward, slamming onto the accelerator. He could feel Mingi right next to him, as they flew down the straight, leaving behind nothing but a trail of gusted-up sand.
Going into Turn 1, they were side by side, and then Mingi went deep, purposefully running Yunho right to the edge of the track, and took the lead. It was a beautiful move, one that Yunho had done many times before himself, and he heard Mingi’s whoop of joy he moved past. If they weren’t in the middle of a race, Yunho was sure that Mingi would have stuck his tongue out at him as he pulled ahead.
Oh, you’re on, Yunho thought to himself, grinning underneath the helmet. He felt alive and young and hungry, and he wanted this feeling to last forever. In front of him, Mingi cut to the inside to prepare for the next corner, and Yunho followed suit, chasing after that miraculous margin. If this was going to be the rest of his life, Yunho had a feeling that he could get used to it quick.)
SEPANG, MALAYSIA — 2016
He was on Cloud 9 as he skipped down the Prema motorhome, waving at the mechanics who gave him warm pats to the back as he passed them. They were jubilant as they praised him for the race he had today, and he was equally delighted as he thanked them for the amazing year they had spent together. There was so much exhilaration running in his veins that he felt like he could start floating, and he was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.
He wanted to find Mingi. One of the engineers had said that he saw Mingi heading back to the prep room, and Yunho wanted to speak with him before his parents took him out to dinner to celebrate his win. It was another championship for him, his fourth in a row, and everybody had been congratulating him everywhere he went. A representative from Mercedes had even come to the race to cheer him on, and Yunho felt like all eyes were on him now. With this win, he had assured that he would move up another category next year, and that was another step closer to the final dream.
It had really been too bad for Mingi. Yunho had been looking forward to it all day, after waking up from their impromptu adventures through the streets of Sepang last night, but in the end some other guy had crashed into Mingi on Lap 1 and taken him out of the race entirely. It was a stupid way for the championship to be decided, and Yunho wanted to tell him as much. He wanted a close race, to feel Mingi chasing right behind him all the way to the chequered flag, to take this victory by his own hands, but still, he couldn’t deny that it felt good. Besides, he’d have plenty of other chances to race with Mingi in the future. It wasn’t the end.
He checks a few rooms before he finds Mingi in the trophy room, staring at the cabinet. There was an empty space there, hollowed out in the middle where their gold and silver trophies from this year would go. Strangely, though it had been over an hour since the race ended, he was still in his suit and had his helmet clutched under an arm.
Yunho’s smiling when he enters the room, rushing over to knock their shoulders together, slinging a friendly arm around Mingi’s shoulders. When he first met Mingi, nearly five years ago at Yeongam, he hadn’t expected that they would stay teammates for so long, that they’d get so close. But nowadays, he couldn’t imagine being apart. He knew already that Prema had F3 seats for both of them next year, so it looked like they’ll be doing this song and dance all over again. He couldn’t wait for them to get back on track together again.
“Sucks about the DNF, huh?” he says, running a hand down the line of Mingi’s back. Mingi was stiff to the touch, and Yunho realised he was more upset about the race than he had let on, more than when he had come over to give Yunho a hug and congratulations after the race. Yunho wanted to speak to him then, but he had the podium and the championship interview to get to, and his parents had quickly rushed him off to get him looking presentable again, so the conversation had to wait until now.
“Hey,” he says, frowning when he realises Mingi’s unusually silent next to him. He peered over, relieved to find no tears in Mingi’s eyes, only a downcast kind of acceptance. “You okay? It’s just one bad race, you know. It’s not the end of the world.”
Usually, that kind of ribbing made Mingi feel better after a bad race. But today, for whatever reason, it seemed like it only made things worse, when Mingi made a noise like a kicked dog and turned his face away. “It’s nothing,” Mingi said brusquely, when Yunho lit up in alarm and turned him back around so they were facing each other. A bad feeling started to sink in when Mingi still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Yunho asked, desperate to understand. He didn’t like not knowing why Mingi wouldn’t look at him.
Something in Mingi’s face twitches. He sniffed, rubbing at his nose, and twisted to look at that empty spot in the trophy cabinet again. “I just… I wanted to race with you in the end. Feels shitty that I got taken out so early, is all.”
Yunho couldn’t see the problem. He was, as always, looking too closely, and missing the fuzzy details at the edge of the issue. “You’re being so dramatic,” he replied, relieved that that was all it was. Mingi usually wasn’t so sentimental. They’d have to wait a few months, sure, but the F3 season started up in February again. “We can just do it again next year.”
Mingi made another one of those kicked dog noises. Finally, finally, he turned and met Yunho’s eyes. To Yunho’s horror, they were beginning to look a little wet around the corners. “There’s not… Yunho. There’s not going to be a next year.”
What?
“What?” Yunho blurted out, not comprehending what Mingi was saying at all. What did he mean there wasn’t going to be a next year. Yunho already had all these plans for the two of them. F3, then F2, then F1. They probably couldn’t be in the same team in F1, now that Yunho was a Mercedes Junior Driver and Mingi was part of the Red Bull Academy, but surely they’d stick together until then.
“I’m not—” Mingi cut himself off, looking faintly sick. Yunho felt just about the same. “I’m not driving next year. We’re not—I can’t—I’m quitting. This was… this was our last race together. Or, well, it was supposed to be.”
Yunho stopped dead. The world stopped spinning for him, right then and there. He wasn’t—he didn’t—he just couldn’t understand.
Mingi was looking increasingly panicked now, with every second that Yunho wasn’t saying anything. “It’s not—we can still be friends, if you want. I don’t—you’re my best friend, Yunho. Please don’t be mad at me. I swear I wanted to tell you earlier, but I didn’t know how to. I just—I wanted to enjoy our last few races together, without having this hanging over us.”
All of a sudden, Yunho was furious.
“You can’t just—you can’t just quit,” he snarled, satisfied when Mingi flinched, jerking backwards. Since the first day, after the failed handshake-fistbump fiasco, Mingi had never looked scared of him ever again. But now, there was a primal sort of fear in his eyes. “What, you lose again and think you can just leave now? Fuck off, Mingi. If you’re so scared you’ll never beat me then you shouldn’t be racing in the first place.”
He was being unreasonable and cruel, he knew it. But he just couldn’t help himself. He felt lost and scared and hurt, and he wanted Mingi to hurt too. He felt so betrayed that it felt like a stab wound would hurt less. Dimly, he remembered how just this morning, he was searching up things for them to do together over the winter break. It was a bit of a hassle to travel between Gwangju and Seoul so often, but it was a sacrifice he had been willing to make. Had.
Mingi’s expression shattered. He looked like he was in pain—which, good. Yunho wanted him to be. There were a thousand knives tearing him apart on the inside, and he wanted Mingi to feel the same.
“You’re so—” Mingi started, fury taking over his expression, and then he reached out to push Yunho backwards hard, shoving him away. Between them, a chasm opened up, so deep you couldn’t see the bottom of it. “You’re so fucking selfish. You always think the world revolves around you. Oh, Mingi, you’ll never beat me.” He mimed mockingly, fuming with sarcastic anger. “You fuck off, Yunho. Hope you eat shit in F3 next year.”
He turned around on his heel, looking murderous, and stalked right out of the room. Yunho watched him go, leaving behind only silence, only Yunho.
The rage that was simmering in his chest rushed out all at once, and standing there alone, he suddenly felt a chill wrack through his body.
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(“It’s a real shame about the Song boy,” Yunho’s mom mentions conversationally over dinner, making a noise of delight right after as she bit into a succulent piece of lobster.
Yunho pushed a ravioli aimlessly around his plate. He wasn’t feeling very hungry. “What about him,” he said flatly, making little rivers of sauce with the tip of his fork across his plate, which was mostly negative space and not a lot of pasta.
His mom must have been in a good enough mood, because she didn’t scold him for playing around with his food. “About his parents, of course,” she said, sounding genuinely surprised at Yunho’s reaction. “Did he not tell you? I thought he must have, seeing how close the two of you are.”
Yunho blinked. “What about his parents?” he asked, feeling like he was missing something important. He hated being out of the loop.
His mom laughed, a little stilted. She exchanged a glance with his dad, who made a warning shake of his head. Yunho felt cold all over. His appetite had fully disappeared now.
“Mom, please,” he pleaded, with more urgency behind it this time. He felt like he was on the cusp of seeing the full picture for the very first time.
Across the table, she took her time sawing through a piece of broccolini, chewing methodically as if she was going through the motions. “His parents are… separating,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a very small child. At that moment, Yunho sort of felt like one. “They can’t afford all the expenses for Mingi to keep racing, on top of the… other fees.” She paused here, looking like she had swallowed something very sour. It wasn’t the food, that’s for sure. It was, as always, the best money could buy. “Did he… really not tell you?”
“No,” Yunho replied blankly. He realised, sitting there watching his dinner get cold, that he really didn’t understand anything at all.
“I’m sure he had his reasons!” His mom tried to smooth the topic over, high-pitched, but Yunho wasn’t hearing any of it. All he could feel, all of a sudden, was very, very lonely.)
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That night, he lies awake in bed, tossing and turning. The shadows on his ceiling shift weirdly, and his stomach grumbles as he rolls over onto his side, half-burying his face into the pillows and hoping it would make him fall asleep faster.
He could hear his dad snoring next to him, completely dead to the world after all the excitement of the day, and that only made him feel worse. The patch of pillow he was shoving his face into was the wrong temperature, and he had cold clammy feet and an overheating midriff. It was awful.
The guilt keeps churning in his gut, as he remembers the terrible things he had said while he was lashing out. He hadn’t even given Mingi the time to explain, or asked him why. All he heard when Mingi said I’m quitting is I’m leaving you, and it hadn’t occurred to him in the moment that it was probably all doubly worse for Mingi, who had lost Yunho and racing in one fell swoop. Yunho couldn’t imagine losing racing, when it was his entire world. In his head, all he could picture was Mingi standing in front of that trophy cabinet again, and the resigned slump of his back.
Ah, screw it, he decides, when it becomes apparent that he’s not going to get much sleep today either, and slings himself out of bed, letting the cool night air hit his bare legs. He slid his keycard into the pocket of his sleep shorts and stuck his feet into his slippers, creeping across the room until he could turn the handle millimeter by millimeter, in a startlingly similar rendition of the day before.
There was no guarantee that Mingi was still awake, or that he would want to see Yunho, but Yunho knew they were taking different flights tomorrow since his parents wanted to take the opportunity to go visit Thailand as well, so this was his last chance before they might never see each other again. He texts ahead, just in case Mingi’s up, but receives no reply. Shocker. If he was Mingi, he wouldn’t want to talk to Yunho right now, either.
Sneaking across the hallway, he finds Mingi’s room number, which he was sharing with his mom. It struck him, out of nowhere, that it had been a while since he’s seen Mingi’s dad. The world recontextualised itself in front of his very eyes, and the horrible wiggling in his gut intensified. For a moment, he hesitates in front of the door. He had no right, but still, he had to try.
Forcing his body to move, he knocks on the door softly, in the familiar pattern they would use on the wall between their Driver Rooms. Three quick knocks, then a pause, then another knock, for are you there? They had developed a whole language for speaking through knocking alone, even though the walls were so thin they could be heard right through them. It felt intimate, to share a secret with Mingi that nobody else was privy to.
He waits, and waits, and waits. Tries again, after maybe ten-fifteen minutes. He hadn’t brought his phone, so he couldn’t even tell if Mingi had texted him back asking him to fuck off or whatever. Slumping down onto the wall beside the door, he curled up and hid his head in his arms, staring down at the carpet, which was a shade of murky gray. There was probably enough dust in there to give him asthma, but Yunho didn’t really care in the moment.
He’s not sure how long he sits there, until his legs get numb and he has to get up to shake them out before they start cramping, and he could feel himself drooping as the sleepiness sets in. Go figure, he would start getting tired in this uncomfortable position on the floor than in the comfort of his own bed. He gives the door one more glance, and one more knocking pattern, waiting another responseless minute before he resigns himself to failure, slowly turning away.
And then, just as he begins to make the trek back to his room, he hears the door handle clicking behind him. His heart beating into his throat, he twisted around, and saw half of Mingi’s face through the crack in the door, looking pissed off as hell.
“What?” Mingi hissed at him, venomous, and Yunho had to fight not to let himself flinch. He deserves it, anyhow.
“Can we… can we talk?” he tries, attempting to look as apologetic as possible. Usually, when they fought, Yunho was always the first to apologise, the first to concede. Mingi could be terrifyingly petty when you got on his bad side, and Yunho didn’t mind saying sorry if it would patch things up, even if it wasn’t really his fault. It was just words, anyway, and the gummy smile Mingi would give him with every apology was worth the mild annoyance. Mingi forgave him for everything, as long as he opened his mouth and said sorry first. But this time, Yunho was pretty sure he had messed up badly enough a simple sorry wouldn’t cut it.
Mingi glares at him. He turns back to look into the room, checking that his mom is still fast asleep, before snagging the keycard out of the holder and carefully fitting himself through the door, trying to let as little light as possible in. For a moment, they stare at each other, before Mingi starts stalking off towards the elevators, where they can talk above a whisper without worrying about waking other people up.
Yunho follows him meekly, trying not to drag his feet. He hated emotional confrontations, but he knew this one was necessary. He couldn’t—he didn’t want Mingi to fly away tomorrow, with his last ever memory of Yunho being all the terrible things he said in the trophy room.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, when Mingi turns to face him and raises an eyebrow. “I shouldn’t have—I was really mean this afternoon. I didn’t mean any of that. I’m really, really sorry.”
He couldn’t say any of the important things he was thinking without feeling like he was about to throw up. I lashed out because I was scared you were leaving me. Racing with you has been the happiest time of my life, and I don’t know what to do without it. Why are you leaving me behind? I thought we had the rest of our lives together.
Instead, he just put all his remorse and guilt into the apology, and hoped Mingi would be able to read between the lines.
Mingi’s face is blank when he speaks. “You know, I wanted to tell you so many times throughout the last few weeks. My parents told me right before Macau.” That had been… almost a whole month ago. “But you looked so happy, talking about all the things we were going to do next year and the year after that, and about how we were going to race in F1 together someday, and I… I don’t know. I wanted to preserve that, I guess. I wanted to keep you happy for as long as possible.”
The words hit Yunho hard. He blinks, and feels tears begin to well up in his waterline. “Mingi, I’m so sorry. It was really mean of me to say those things. I was just… really surprised, and reacted in a bad way. I just… I wish you had told me earlier. I would have tried to make today more special, if I had known.”
Mingi sighs at that. He didn’t look so angry anymore, but there was the shadow of exhaustion falling over his face. “I don’t really have any reason or excuses on why I didn’t tell you,” he said at last, looking down at the ugly gray carpet. “I was just… embarrassed. You had everything going for you. Your parents, the championship, money, all the connections you need to make it to Formula 1. And I was always just… trailing behind. Sometimes I wonder if you’d ever get sick of me riding on your coattails.”
“But!” He said sharply, cutting off Yunho when he was just about to open his mouth and reassure Mingi of the opposite. “What really embarrassed me was you thinking I would be mad about the championship. I know I’m a sore loser, Yunho. But you won fair and square. I’ve lost to you every single year we’ve raced together, and when have I ever blown up at you about it? It really hurt when you thought I would quit over losing to you. If that was the case, I would have dropped out much earlier.”
“Mingi,” Yunho said helplessly. He didn’t know what to say to that, except more apologies. They seemed to make Mingi look even more downtrodden.
“I was just… so close, this time,” Mingi whispered, a broken note of despair in his voice. “I wanted to—I wanted to beat you, so badly. If the guy hadn’t shunted into me on Lap 1, I might have—I could have—” Suddenly, he shakes his head, and the crack in his expression is gone. “Never mind. Thanks for the apology. I really do appreciate it. I meant it, when I said I hope we can still be friends after this.”
Yunho was lost for words. It’s not as if he would have given Mingi the championship, even if he had known it was Mingi’s last race. He couldn’t. It went against the spirit of racing. Mingi would probably just be more pissed off at him, if he had done that. It would have been a betrayal of all the years they spent together. But he did, vaguely, understand what Mingi was saying. He had wanted to fight for it, and the opportunity had been taken away from him. Yunho didn’t know you could mourn something that hadn’t happened, but he was grieving over what could have been too.
But he didn’t know what to do with a Mingi that was drawing back, hunching in on himself. “Of course we’ll stay friends,” he said desperately. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost Mingi permanently. “We can still… we can still hang out over the break and whenever I’m in Korea,” he offered, trying to find some sort of compromise they could both be happy with, or at least as happy as they could be with this shitty situation. “I’ll get you tickets to all the races. You can still come cheer me on. If you want, of course.”
Mingi looked over at him. “Thank, Yunho,” he replied quietly, and it wasn’t quite the forgiveness Yunho wanted, but it felt like a start. He could fix this. He would do anything to stitch this fissure back together.
After a moment of silence, Mingi scuffed his toe into the ugly, dusty carpet. “I’m going to head back.” He was trying for casualness, but there was a tightness to his jaw. He moved past Yunho, he stopped, and turned back. “Hey, Yunho,” he said, and Yunho whirled around to face him. Mingi’s expression was doing something complicated, and under the dim hotel lighting Yunho couldn’t decipher it. “Is that…” Mingi starts, before trailing off. There was something shy about the way he was biting his lip. “Is that all you want to say to me?”
Yunho looked at him. Really looked at him. Took in the boy he had met at thirteen, who had giggled when Yunho had fumbled their greeting handshake, who had beaten him on track just an hour after that. The boy who had been his teammate, his rival, and his friend. His best friend in the entire world, who felt like the only person who saw him fully. His Mingi, who he had built a dream and a home with, who was everything good and beautiful about the racing Yunho knew. Even if they stayed in contact, they’d never race together again, and that was enough of a loss that it has Yunho’s chest aching.
He didn’t know what Mingi wanted to hear. There were so many things he wanted to say, but they all sounded insane in his head. “You’re the fastest person I’ve ever raced against,” he said in the end, because what’s the point of racing if you’re not there? was crazy and somewhat untrue, and please don’t leave me. I can—I can ask my parents if we can sponsor you, or work something out was enough to get him placed in a ward. “Thank you for all the fights we had on track and all the championships we won together. I’ll never forget any of it.”
Right then, the light above their head flickers, and in the beat of darkness he couldn’t tell if Mingi’s face fell or not. He thought he saw a glimpse of it, but he couldn’t be sure. “Right,” Mingi said after a moment. “Racing,” He snorted, and Yunho didn’t understand what was funny at all about what he just said. Mingi paused, and then reached out to put a hand on Yunho’s shoulder. His palm, where it was separated from Yunho’s bare skin by the thin cotton of his shirt, burned a five-point star into his clavicle.
“You’re going to make it to Formula 1, Yunho,” Mingi told him, looking very serious. “You’re going to leave them all in the dust, and everybody will see exactly who you are. I know it. You’re going to win a championship, and then another, and another. One day, they’ll look at you and say you’ve made history.”
And then he drew back, and the moment was gone. He laughed awkwardly, as if trying to clear the tension in the air. “I won’t be the fastest person you’ve ever raced against, once you’ve made it!” His cheerfulness sounded forced, but not ingenuine.
Yunho furiously tried to hold his tears back, but he couldn’t anymore, not at that. “Don’t say that,” he chastised. No matter who he ended up racing against one day, the greats and the legends, Mingi would always be the first person to rival him in speed. “You better be there when I win my championship. When I’m standing there, I’ll point you out, and we can laugh about this together.”
Mingi smiled at him. “I’ll be right there in the front row,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.
YEONGAM, SOUTH KOREA — 2021
Yunho was chatting with an engineer from the aero team before FP1 when he saw some commotion in the garage, turning over to check what was happening. He saw his mom waving somebody over, a woman and a younger man, and he realised with a start when they got closer that it was Mingi and his mom.
He rushed over in an instant, abandoning the poor engineer in his haste. Whatever, the car was about as good as it was ever going to get. It’s not like they’re going to see a Williams on a podium any time soon, as much as Yunho was trying to get it there.
“Hi,” he says dumbly, once he had gotten close enough to be noticed. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous all of a sudden, when the boy—no, the man who Mingi was now looked up at him and smiled. He almost tripped over his feet getting there.
The first thing that registered as he got close was that Mingi was tall, almost as tall as him, and the second thing that sank in was he was all grown up now. It had been a while since they talked, and even longer since they saw each other in person. They followed each other on Instagram, of course, but Mingi rarely posted. There were more bits and pieces to be seen on his private account, where he sometimes reposted stories of soju shots and outings with friends, and some soundcloud links every once in a while. Yunho had used to listen to all of them, leaving nice comments below, but the frequency had been dwindling and dwindling.
“Hi,” Mingi said, his hands twisted into each other in front of himself. He still had the same nervous tics, Yunho noticed, and the thought that this new Mingi standing in front of him who looked all grown up wasn’t entirely unknowable gave him a little more courage.
“Did you guys get here alright?” he said, trying to include Mingi’s mom in the conversation too, who was glancing between the two of them with a knowing look on her face. He feels stupid as soon as he says it, but it’s too late to take it back. Of course they knew how to get here. He and Mingi used to practice and race here all the time.
“Yeah, we did.” Mingi saved him from the mortification threatening to swallow him alive. “Thanks for the invite, by the way. Lucky our moms bumped into each other like that. It was very nice of your mom to offer up the passes.”
Yunho swallowed. “Yeah.” He didn’t add anything onto that. “It’s no issue, by the way. My brother and his girlfriend weren’t free, so they would have gone to waste if you hadn’t taken them up. I’m really glad to see you.”
The last bit felt more honest than he wanted to admit, but he couldn’t take it back now. “I’m glad we’re here,” Mingi said, in a peace offering, and the side of his mouth quirked up. He still, Yunho noticed again, had the same dimple in his cheek. It made him look younger all at once. “It’s been a while since I’ve been at one of these.”
Yunho went red. He had, back when he was still in F3, routinely texted Mingi with offers of tickets to all the races, even if they were in a whole different country. They had never come to fruition. 2017, Mingi had talked about going to Yeongam, but had ultimately been too busy with preparing for the KSAT and had to skip. 2018, he was in the middle of moving to Daejeon to start his second year at Uni. 2019, Yunho had been too swamped with getting ready for a home race in his rookie F1 year that he hadn’t remembered to send an invite. 2020—he hadn’t even thought about reaching out, in 2020.
They still talked sometimes, if liking each other’s posts on Instagram and leaving emojis in the comments could count as talking. For how much Yunho had thought they would stay friends after Mingi quit racing, they had failed pretty spectacularly at maintaining their friendship. It’s been nearly half a decade, and Yunho was trying to remember how to act in front of Mingi all over again.
He didn’t know why Mingi in particular made him feel all squirmy and weird inside, and he didn’t want to examine it too deeply either, in fear of what he would find. Seeing Mingi again right now felt… weird. Once, it had been the easiest thing in the world to exist around him. He was trying to get back into the familiar habit of it, standing here, in front of a man he once knew as a boy.
For now, he smiles and makes menial conversation. He knows that Mingi had gone to school for music, and that his time at KAIST had been good to him, but not much more than that. Apparently, he was helping out at his mom’s restaurant for now, while he sent records to companies to see if he would get picked up. He was sort of signed to a label, mostly through some connections he made at Uni, but he wanted to get into a proper contract and start releasing albums and maybe tour one day, if there was enough demand.
Mingi hadn’t looked sad or embarrassed at all as he told Yunho all this, his tone almost defiant, as if he thought Yunho would judge. Yunho wisely kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure how Mingi would react to the fact that he was making 4 million euros a year now.
“Tell me if you have a concert,” he stretched an olive branch out, hoping Mingi would take it. “I’ll definitely go, as long as you give me free tickets.”
Mingi stared at him, trying to parse out if Yunho was being sarcastic or not. When he couldn’t find any trace of mockery on Yunho’s face, he relaxed, and Yunho could see how the tension rushed out of his frame all at once. When he looked up to meet Yunho’s gaze, eye to eye, he was standing a little taller. Yunho hadn’t been lying, anyway. He really did want to go to one of Mingi’s concerts.
“Trying to leech off me already?” he replied, sounding very amused. “Have some shame,” he said, but his eyes were crinkling in that familiar way, and Yunho was struck by the thought that maybe, just maybe, this new Mingi wasn’t so different from the one in his memory.
Yunho felt, suddenly, overcome by the desire to know him once more. “You like me shameless,” he teased, unsure of where the boldness was coming from but feeling sure that it was the right way to go.
Mingi snorted. His laughter felt like the sun breaking out from behind the gray clouds that covered the skies outside. “You don’t even know the half of it,” he said, smiling, and Yunho felt his heart become overwhelmed with an emotion. It felt precious, like it was too small to let go of.
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The race itself passes in a rush. It was raining so badly none of them could see much beyond the spray, and after two red flags they had ended up calling it quits on Lap 48 of 55, lest another person spun off.
Yunho had held it together on track valiantly today, using a risky strategy of overcutting by pitting for inters late to make up some positions. He had trundled around the line, or at least Lap 48 of the line, in P5, a gargantuan effort that made him feel like he was flying high. 10 points might not have meant much if he was in a top team, but in the shitty Williams it was his best finishing position in Formula 1 ever, and he had nearly doubled team’s points all year long in one weekend, leapfrogging Haas and Sauber in the standings to P7. McLaren was only 4 points ahead of them now, and it was still possible with a few races left.
He gets some hoots and cheers from his team as he makes it back to the pits, more than a few warm welcomes and congratulations. It was a great result for the team, after the difficult year they’ve been having and will continue having, and as much as Yunho complained he was still so grateful to them for giving him the chance to drive in Formula 1. He would miss this team, faults and all, when he moved to something faster.
Right now, it was looking like Renault. The Red Bull offer had been rescinded after Daniel had started performing and they were looking to bump up their internal pool of rookies rather than to look elsewhere, and Renault was ahead of McLaren in the standings right now. But Yunho would need to make a decision fast, before his options ran out.
He’s coming out of debrief when he spots Kyuwook standing by the door, looking very serious. He looks around at the strategists filing out of the room, locking onto where Yunho is standing, and Yunho feels a bolt of fear run through him. Had Kyuwook, all the way in Mercedes, somehow discovered that Yunho was looking elsewhere for a better seat? It would be a betrayal of all the money and opportunities Mercedes had spent on him, to get into Formula 1. It wasn’t against Yunho’s contract to be soliciting with other teams, sure, but it wasn’t a good look either.
Kyuwook pulls Yunho aside with a can we talk?, leading him outside the motorhome. It was still raining, so they found a spot under the stairs where they only occasionally got splattered if the wind was blowing in the right direction, and Yunho could feel his heart beating out of his chest. This was it. He was going to get fired. He was going to get told he didn’t have a seat for next year at all, not with Williams, and then the Renault vs McLaren issue would become much more prevalent.
Instead, what comes out of Kyuwook’s mouth is this:
“Yuno’s retiring once the season ends,” Kyuwook drops out of nowhere, and Yunho’s entire world screeches to a halt. “Congratulations, Yunho, you’re going to be a Mercedes F1 driver next year.”
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He’s shaking when he stumbles back into the hospitality, his ears buzzing, barely registering anything as he makes his way back to his Drivers’ room. He almost bumps into a mechanic on the way in, and he apologises profusely, in so much shock he doesn’t know the strange look the guy shoots him afterwards. He felt cold all over, and it wasn’t just because the rain had picked up while they were standing out there and he had gotten mildly soaked.
When he gets back to his room, he closes the door, crossing over to the side that he didn’t share with his teammate. He slumped onto the ground and laid there, prone, as his eyes stared off into nothing.
It just—it didn’t make any sense at all. Yuno was leading the championship. He had won half the races in the season so far. He wasn’t supposed to—there wasn’t supposed to—there shouldn’t have been any space for Yunho, at Mercedes. Not for a very long time, at least.
The Renault/McLaren dilemma was no longer a problem. In fact, nothing in the world felt very much like a problem anymore. Yunho laughs once, in disbelief, and then finds that he can’t stop, bending over until he’s howling with it, choking on his own hysteria. He just—he couldn’t—it was all so fucking funny. All of it.
He hears the door to his room open, and he gives another giggle, knowing he must look deranged right now, wild and frenzied and without an outlet to release it on. It’s probably Yukwon, coming around with the papers for him to sign. Holy shit. Holy shit. He was going to be driving for Mercedes in six months.
Instead, when he looks up, it’s Mingi, awkwardly clutching the two passes in his hand. “Hey, am I supposed to be giving these back or what?” He starts unsurely, before realising that Yunho’s on the floor and still dripping with rain, laughing like a maniac.
Mingi’s eyes are wide as he starts a hurried checklist of questions. “Is everything okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”
He rushes over, kneeling onto the ground behind Yunho, the passes thrown to the side. Yunho’s shivers when Mingi presses a hand to his forehead to check for his temperature, brushing away the matted fringe of his hair to get the best access. The heat of his palm felt too warm to bear right now, when his entire world had just been turned upside down.
“Should I get someone? Do you need me to call for a doctor? What’s going on?” Mingi kept asking, and Yunho couldn’t keep it in anymore. He felt overfilled with an emotion, so big he had no idea how to hold it in his hands, and he had to discharge some of it before it tore him apart. It’s been nearly half a decade since he and Mingi had a meaningful conversation, but it felt right to be doing this with him now. If there was anybody he trusted to treat him with gentle hands, it would be Mingi. His Mingi, who was still the same after all this time and just a little different, enough to keep Yunho wanting to know more. In every single moment Yunho had managed to steal with him in the last three days, he had felt so understood. There was nobody in the world who could make him feel as seen as Mingi, even five years apart.
“I’m going to be a Mercedes driver next year,” Yunho whispered, letting the magnitude of that secret hang in the air. It’ll be announced by the end of the day, but right now, only the people involved knew about it. Only them, and now Mingi. “Mingi, I’m—I’m going to drive for Mercedes.”
“What?” Mingi said, reeling backwards. His jaw was slack with shock, working a few times, but no words came out. He just looked at Yunho, looking and looking, until all of a sudden he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Yunho’s neck.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, sounding just as happy as Yunho felt. “Oh my god, Yunho. I knew it. I fucking knew it. I told you, didn’t I? I told you that you’d show the world one day.”
Yunho’s body felt too small to hold all of that emotion inside. He felt like he was standing by the ocean shore, watching a wave come in, and only realising when it got close enough that it was about to engulf him. He didn’t know if he was going to sink or swim, but as Mingi started laughing into the side of his neck, he thought that drowning wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
“Mingi, I—” he started, and knew all at once that he didn’t have the words to describe the ball of light in his chest, not yet. There was still one language he could fall back on, though, and he knew it was the most honest one he could speak in.
When Mingi drew back, he was smiling so wide it almost hurt to look at. Yunho held on to him and kept him close. This part, at least, was familiar to him. Yunho’s a racecar driver. Racing is in his blood. That means he’ll always, without fail, do whatever it takes to close the gap.
He leaned forward to kiss the smile right off Mingi’s face. For a heartbeat, the world stopped spinning, hanging in the balance, and then it bursted into a million colors and more when Mingi kissed back.
BRACKLEY, UNITED KINGDOMS — 2024
In the middle of a briefing about the upcoming car developments, Yunho’s phone starts ringing.
He ignores it at first. Kyuwook is in the middle of talking about some data from the suspension team, and he needs to be hearing this. Anything unrelated to the car, and he could zone out through these meetings, but they were pulling out all these graphs about things they needed him and Jinyoung to test in the sim.
So he silences it, and pockets his phone entirely when he notices Kyuwook glance over at him sharply. Everybody was on edge today, and it wasn’t difficult to figure out why. Some of the parts had arrived to the factory late, so they were running late on the production schedule. With only three days of testing before the mandatory period of summer break, they had to get the data logged in now if they wanted to have any updates to come back to in Hungary.
They had—they had a chance this year. In both Constructors’ and Driver’s. P3 in the team standings for now, but only trailing behind by thirty points or so to Red Bull in first and twelve points behind Ferrari in second. It was a gap that one or two good weekends could close, and they had to put themselves in the best position to get those weekends to happen for them. In the WDC, Yunho wasn’t doing too bad. Mark and Daniel were way out ahead, but he was only forty points or so behind them. A few good races on his end, and he could be right up there with them.
And it was feeling more possible, race by race, for him to catch up. He had been on the podium in the last four races, including a win in Austria. Going into the European leg of the calendar, he had been nearly eighty points behind the two frontrunners. Now he had halved the gap, and there were still eleven races after the break.
So this meeting was important, and whoever it was calling could wait. They had to get into the testing room right after this, and he was raring to go. He knew a lot of drivers didn’t like being in the sim more than necessary, but he liked the testing aspect of the sport. Of course, it was nothing compared to the feeling of being out on real asphalt, but the sim emulated enough of the car, and he liked being able to try out different things without any real consequences.
It was a big upgrade package they were bringing after the break, one that would hopefully propel them to the front of the grid. An entirely new rehauled floor, and a different rear wing that was supposed to give them an extra tenth or two. They needed the upgrades to work. After the disaster of last year’s zero sidepod concept, the team needed a good year to get back on their feet and start fighting for the championships they deserve.
He checks his phone discreetly as they move to the testing rooms. He had three missed calls from Mingi, spanning from half an hour to as recent as eight minutes ago, and he curses under his breath when he remembers. Shit. Today was the day Mingi was flying back to London after some contractual things in America. He was spending more and more time there, now that the release date of his next album had been finalised and they were moving into the preparation phase for it. Yunho was originally supposed to go pick him up from the airport, but Kyuwook had called him this morning after the parts had arrived overnight, and he had to rush to the factory.
He tries to see if he has enough time to text Mingi another apology, but they’re coming up to the sims now and Yunho needs to go get ready for it. He manages to drop a thumbs up reaction to Mingi’s Landed safely! message before he has to go change into his race suit, but that was about it. He leaves his stuff with Yukwon, hissing a quick request to go check up and make sure Mingi gets in okay, before it’s time to start putting in the laps.
Three, maybe four hours later, he’s exhausted and nearly 100 laps into the new set-up. If the actual car behaved anything like the simulations, then they were in for a good ride. He was feeling hopeful about his chances this year, really. The last few races had been nothing short of magical, and he could see himself winning again and again before the season ended. As long as he kept it together and stayed focused, he could—he could win a championship, before the year ended.
There’s a few pats on the backs and gratitudes for their hard work, and Yunho stretches his back out as he goes to change out of his suit. He would spend time over the summer practicing in his sim at home for the upcoming races, but it didn’t have all the fancy technological data records the ones at the factory did, so it was crucial they gave their feedback now. Jinyoung had already gone home once the mandatory 3 hour testing session had been over, but Yunho had stayed behind a little longer. He had some thoughts about the front end of the car, which felt a bit rigid to turn with. Understeer was the worst. Though neither were preferable, he’d rather have a snap of oversteer any day of the week.
It’s already dark outside when he finally sees the sky through a window. It’s been a long day. Yunho had gotten to the factory around eight in the morning and had been occupied with meetings and then the sim since, and he was looking forward to finding Mingi in his bed and curling up next to him. Maybe he could buy takeout on the way back, so they could just stay in for the rest of the day. He had another full day of sim testing ahead of him tomorrow, and he just needed to be with Mingi right now.
It’s quiet when he gets out of the changing rooms. Even Yukwon’s left for the day, and anybody remaining are in engineering, pouring over whatever data they had managed to glean from the sims today.
He passes by a mechanic on his way out, fiddling with what looked like a piece of an air inlet.
“Did your friend go home already?” the mechanic asks him curiously when Yunho calls out a goodbye to him. “I thought you were leaving together?”
Yunho blinked. Had Yukwon not left already? He usually only stayed for the talking portions of the day, and checked out once Yunho was situated enough to take care of himself for the rest of the day.
“Which friend?” He asked, feeling something in his gut begin to curdle. A bad feeling was starting to sink in, and he didn’t like where this was going.
A surprised look comes across the mechanic’s face at that. “The musician,” he replied, as if it was obvious, and then pointed in the general direction of Yunho’s prep room upstairs. “He came by a few hours ago and said he would wait up for you. He seemed pretty insistent on it, even when your manager said you’d be a while. You haven’t seen him?”
The bad feeling solidified into a rock which sat heavy in Yunho’s stomach. “Not yet,” he said, giving the mechanic a pat on the bicep as a quick thanks. “Sorry, excuse me,” he starts backpedalling, giving a belated bow to the mechanic who was standing there looking perplexed. He scurries across the lobby, trying not to look like he’s running, but breaks out into a full run anyway once he’s out of sight. The elevators are turned off this late at night, so he resorts to taking the stairs two by two, his feet thumping against the concrete as he dashes up four flights.
Sure enough, the door to his room is ajar, even though he made sure he closed it when he picked up his race suit this morning, and he approaches it slowly, swinging the door open to see what’s inside. There was a part of him that hoped the mechanic was mistaken, that he had recognised the wrong person, that Mingi had gone directly home and slept off the jetlag there. Yunho hadn’t even checked his phone yet. It was buried at the bottom of his bag and he couldn’t be bothered to dig it out, but he was starting to think that he should have.
It takes a minute for his eyes to settle in the dark, but when they do, the rock in his stomach starts gaining an acidic aftertaste. The room here is sparse, mostly just for him to store some of his stuff at the factory. All it had was a few reaction tests, a few weights, and a long bench wedged into the far side for massages. And there, in the corner, there was a white shock of hair curled up with his knees tuck to his chest, not even fully laid out on the bench, just leaning against the wall.
He can tell by the way Mingi startles when he opens the door that he had been fast asleep up until that point, and he was blinking sleep out of his eyes as he sat up now, drowsily searching for the source of the noise. When he spots Yunho standing there, in the doorway, his face breaks out into a dopey smile, and Yunho’s heart squeezes so hard in his chest that it hurts.
“What time is it?” Mingi mumbles, yawning with his mouth wide open. He had a pilfered jacket clutched over his body for warmth, one of Yunho’s windbreakers from the team kit, and it must have been one of the really oversized ones, because it looked massive on him when he slings it around his shoulders to keep the residual heat in. There’s a little stumble to his step as he hops off the bench, shaking the blood back into his legs, and Yunho crosses the room in an instant to be by his side, sliding an arm around Mingi’s waist to stabilise him. Beneath his palm, Mingi is warm and sluggish, and Yunho feels the guilt intensify. He hadn’t—Mingi was supposed to go to the apartment and rest properly in their bed, not spend hours curled up on a cold hard bench after an eleven hour flight.
“Late,” Yunho mutters, careful not to be too loud. He glances up to make sure there’s nobody standing in the open doorway, and then pulls Mingi towards him when he’s sure they won’t be seen or interrupted, burying his face into Mingi’s hair. It smelled like stale airplane air, but Yunho needed to be close to him right now. “You should have just gone home,” he scolds lightly, when Mingi makes a pleased noise and leans back into him.
It was dangerous to be doing this here, when anybody walking by could see them. Not many people should be, since this hallway led only to some storage spaces and Jinyoung next door had gone home a long time ago, but still. Yunho was careful to keep what was happening between him and Mingi far from the factory. It was already suspicious enough that Mingi was attending so many races, more than even some of the other drivers’ girlfriends, but it had mostly been written off when he brought up how Mingi used to race too. Everybody loved a story about childhood friends and rivals, and Mingi was so passionate about the sport every time he was asked anything about it that even the most dubious of fans had turned around on him.
“Wanted to be with you,” Mingi yawns again, tilting his head and giving Yunho a chaste kiss on the cheek. Any other day, Yunho would have flinched away while they were in such a public space, but he felt bad enough that Mingi had come all the way and wasted so much time here waiting that he didn’t really care right now. “It’s been too long since I last saw you.”
In reality, it had only been about three weeks since Mingi had left for LA, but it had felt like a year to Yunho. It sucked that Mingi had to miss out on being at Silverstone for his music video shooting, when it was such a special race for Yunho. He wanted Mingi at all his races.
“Let’s get you home,” Yunho said, ignoring the terrible swirling of regret and guilt in his chest. He wanted to apologise, and he probably should have, but Mingi didn’t seem mad about the whole ordeal, only exhausted, and Yunho didn’t want to start a conversation about how badly he had fucked up by not texting back the whole day.
If he could blow over the mistake without making a big fuss about it, he would. They had been fighting more recently, just little ones here and there, until it had accumulated into a big one right before Mingi’s flight. Mostly just menial things like who was going to go downstairs to pick up the deliveries, or Yunho buying the wrong detergent, or Mingi playing his music too loudly at night. But three weeks ago, Yunho had been so annoyed about Mingi skipping Silverstone that he had found a stupid issue to pick a fight over, and Mingi had cold shouldered him for a day before Yunho caved and apologised.
It had been stilted since the start of Mingi’s trip too. Yunho didn’t really enjoy calling, and Mingi had a weird thing about facetiming, even though Yunho wanted to see his face all the time. Since 2021, Yunho had gotten used to having him close, and ever since Mingi basically moved in with him in 2022 they had been inseparable. Under the guise of best friends and roommates, which was… not technically untrue, they could do pretty much anything in public short of kissing and get away with just boys being boys. Nobody had to know that they were sleeping in the same bed every night.
And now Mingi was in America for more time than he was in England, and Yunho could see how the constant flights were wearing on him. A month ago, he had walked in on a tense conversation between Mingi and his manager, who had been urging him to get an apartment in LA so he wouldn’t have to fly back and forth. The manager hadn’t said the exact words, but he had implied heavily that Mingi frequent flights back to England was holding the album release schedule up. Mingi had quickly hung up when he noticed Yunho in the same room, but Yunho couldn’t help but feel like deadweight for the rest of the day.
He didn’t—he didn’t like this feeling, like he was holding Mingi back. These days it often felt like Mingi was the only thing propping him up, keeping him going, when this season had started so rough and Yunho had been in despair over a repeat of 2023. He knew there were more than one or two events or shows that Mingi had skipped out on to attend races, and in the back of his mind he did feel kind of bad about it, but he always seemed to do better when Mingi was in attendance at a race, so he didn’t say anything about it either.
Mingi’s easy and pliant when Yunho wrestles him into the car and starts the drive home, practically out like a light the moment Yunho pulls out of the parking lot. He’s still wearing that windbreaker, now zipped up around his face, and beneath the fraying fringe of his bleached hair he looked so peaceful, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
But Yunho could see the dark circles beneath his eyes, and it made him feel worse. He stops by the Chinese place around the corner right before they come up to the apartment, shushing Mingi back to sleep for a little while longer while he waits for their order to be served. Mingi makes a confused noise when Yunho gets back into the car, and Yunho soothes him through that as well, until they’re home and Yunho’s locking the door behind them, one arm wrapped around Mingi to make sure he’s not falling.
Fuck. Mingi must really have been so tired, if he was dead on his feet like this. Yunho manages to get both of them into the shower, and helps wash out Mingi’s hair for him, cracking a smile for the first time in hours when Mingi whines about having to do extra purple shampoo to keep his hair as white as possible. It looked… good but weird on him, the new hairstyle. Good, in the sense that it brought out his features more and made him memorable, more than just another face in the crowd. Weird, in that Yunho had only seen him with black hair in his entire life, and the new look was creating some dissonance between the Mingi in his memory and the Mingi in his arms.
Mingi’s so tired that he decides to head to bed once Yunho helps him towel off his hair, making an excuse about how he’ll eat something more substantial tomorrow. Yunho almost protests—he knows Mingi is on a diet right now, as recommended by his company, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that—but it dies when Mingi shoots him a drowsy little smile, his words almost slurring as he tips onto the mattress and sighs in relief. Yunho helps him rub out the knots in his back before tucking him in, leaving a brief kiss on his forehead before he goes back to the living room and eats dinner alone. He puts on a football game on the TV but it does nothing to quell the ringing hollowness in his chest, as he thinks about the lonely image Mingi had made, curled up so small in his prep room.
When he finally gives up the pretense of caring about the game and goes to bed, there’s no movement when he crawls in next to Mingi. He had wanted to cuddle, or at least be close to each other, but Mingi’s completely knocked out, and Yunho doesn’t want to risk waking him up, no matter how nice the warmth of him would feel right now. So, instead, he keeps to his side of the bed, stiffly folding himself over so the bed only barely sinks under his weight.
By his side, Mingi is still and silent, and as Yunho drifts off all he can think to himself is: tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll fix this.
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Morning. It’s cold when Yunho wakes up, only half of his body covered by the blanket, and he pulls it closer to his body. He feels dizzy, like he has a hangover, and he rolls onto his side when the blanket goes easily with no resistance, finding nothing but empty space next to him.
Hazily, he reached out and pressed his palm to the dip in the bed where Mingi had slept. There was still a faint lingering of body heat imprinted into it, and Yunho shuffled over so he could press his face into the pillows over the spot. But there’s no satisfaction to be found in it, not when Mingi’s not here, so he forces himself out of bed with a groan.
There’s the faint sound of music from the kitchen when he finally makes his way out, having washed his face but feeling no more awake for it. He follows the delicious smell in the air, and finds Mingi cooking pancakes over the stove, humming to himself. He was dancing a little, and the song he had put on was unfamiliar, probably one of the new ones he had written in the last few weeks. It had a slow, almost soulful beat, which sounded very unlike the type of music Mingi enjoyed and a lot like any of the stuff that typically featured in Yunho’s On Repeat playlist.
“You’re up!” Mingi exclaimed, bounding over to peck Yunho on the mouth before returning to his pancakes, making an excited noise when he flipped the one in the pan over and it came out a perfect golden brown. It was the last one in the batch so he plated it up and brought them to the dining room, with Yunho following behind blankly.
He could feel Mingi’s eyes on him as he methodologically cut into his food, looking for his reaction when he chewed and swallowed it down. It tasted… like any other pancake made from pancake mix, which was to say it was pretty good. Mingi was still looking at him and not touching his own plate, so Yunho made an exaggerated satisfied noise, making a big show out of it. Mingi’s relief felt palpable, like he was the one who had something to make up for after yesterday. Yunho didn’t know what to do with that.
He felt like they were going through the motions, like they were playing a role when they asked each other how they had been doing and what they had been up to in the last three weeks. Mingi congratulated him on the third place in Silverstone, but instead of throwing in a joke about how Yunho must have been pissed about the Lap 36 overtake that Mark made on him, he just made a noncommittal noise when Yunho had asked him if he had caught a replay yet. Usually he had a few comments, mostly ribbing ones about what Yunho theoretically could have done better, but today he didn’t have anything to say about the race at all.
Yunho felt empty. He didn’t like this feeling of not knowing what was going on in Mingi’s life, and as Mingi rattled on about the technical side of what he was doing and how many interviews he had lined up and how he was so excited to get back to America and get started on promotions for the new album, Yunho realised he just—he didn’t really care. He wanted to be happy for Mingi now that he was so close to reaching his dream, and there was a part of him that really was so proud of him, but mostly, he was counting the days and trying to calculate how many more races Mingi would have to miss.
Under the table, Mingi nudged his foot against Yunho’s, and he looked mischievous when he brought it higher and higher. But Yunho could tell from the familiar tightness to his jaw that he was nervous too, even if it was only the two of them in here. Nervous of what? Yunho didn’t know, and he was scared to find out.
“I was thinking we could go out to London today, maybe check out a few art galleries,” Mingi proposed, sounding like he had rehearsed the line a few times. Underneath the surface, Yunho could hear a faint thrum of hope, and it made him feel sick to the stomach. The thought that Mingi felt he had to be hopeful about Yunho wanting to spend time with him was devastating. It didn’t help that the words were said carefully, and all at once Yunho realised Mingi was worried about rejection.
It only made him feel like the shittiest person on Earth, that he had to give one. “I’m sorry,” he starts with, hoping that would soften the blow. “But I have to go to the factory today, to put more sim times in. I’ll be busy tomorrow and Sunday too, until the summer break ban goes into effect.” He hesitated, before tagging on, “We could… we could spend more time together next week, before you have to go?”
Disappointment flashed across Mingi’s face. He tried to hide it, but Yunho could see how distraught the news had made him, and the quick spark of annoyance in his expression spoke louder than words. “Oh,” he replied flatly, and then looked down at his plate, where he still had half of a pancake left. He scooped a segment up and spent a long time chewing through it.
Yunho started panicking when he wouldn’t say anything else. “I’m sorry, I really am,” he blabbers, feeling the fear start to set in when Mingi doesn’t look at him. “It’s just until next week. I can take you out anywhere after that. Maybe we could go somewhere nice? Mallorca is nice this time of the year, and you liked Spain so much the last time we went. It’s just—you understand, right? We’re so close to the championship this year. I have to go. The team’s counting on me.”
“Oh, I understand,” Mingi muttered, his tone bitter, and Yunho felt a tremble run through his body. “It’s fine. We can just stay here. No point in going, when we can only be there for half a week. My flight’s next Saturday, if you forgot.”
“Mingi, please,” Yunho pleaded, hoping he would see Yunho’s side of things. He didn’t want to fight, not ever, and especially not now when he had to start leaving in ten minutes or he’d be late. “Next week, we can go anywhere. I just… I can win the championship this year. I know I can. I just… I can’t afford any distractions right now.”
“It’s fine,” Mingi said again, more forcefully this time. “I get it. Go to the factory, before they start wondering where you are. I’ll… I guess I’ll be here, when you’re back.”
Yunho doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t know what to say, if there were any words at all that could patch this sudden chasm that had formed. He looked at Mingi across the table, taking in the slump of his shoulders, the way his head hung low, the shadows across his face, and wondered how much more he would take before he walked away. He had something better than Yunho to get back to now that his career was picking up, anyway.
“Mingi,” he said, feeling the dull ache in his chest splinter into sharp agony. There was a crack in his chest, a fissure he had only felt once before, when he had pushed Mingi away in Sepang all those years ago at their last race together. In the back of his mind, he could hear a voice screaming that he was making a horrible mistake, but he felt suspended in the moment, like he couldn’t do anything to stop what was happening.
Mingi looked up at him. He didn’t—he didn’t look upset, only resigned, like he had expected this, and that sealed the deal for Yunho.
He couldn’t—he couldn’t do this anymore. He didn’t want to be an obstacle in Mingi’s life anymore, and he didn’t want to be the cause of any more disappointment or hurt. Mingi—Mingi deserved better. He would see that someday, someday soon, and Yunho didn’t know what he would do if Mingi left.
He had to put a stop to it.
“I think we should take a break,” he said. He felt like he was about to throw his heart up, where it would splatter all over the floor and never beat again.
Across from him, there was only silence. Then, Mingi’s face shattered apart, and it was all over after that.
(Ten hours later, when Yunho had finished his day at the factory and made the drive back alone, he hesitated in front of his door, his hand trembling as he held the key to the lock.
He didn't know what would be better, if Mingi was still here, or if he had gone. He knew they were in for another argument once they saw each other again, when Mingi had stormed out of the apartment after yelling for fifteen minutes. Yunho had given him ten minutes of a head start before he had snuck out himself to go to the factory. He was hoping that Mingi would have blown off some steam over the span of the day, and they could talk about it more rationally.
Yunho didn’t—he didn’t want a break forever. He didn’t know how he could live without Mingi, but maybe some distance would be good for them for the next few months. At least until Mingi released his album and Yunho won his championship. December, they could… they could find each other again and be with each other the way they both deserved.
“Mingi?” he calls cautiously as he enters the apartment, trying to test the waters. If Mingi was mad, Yunho would give him some more space and go shower first. If Mingi wanted to talk, then Yunho would fall to his knees and beg for his understanding.
There’s no response. Carefully, Yunho closes the door behind him and decides it's time to face the music. All the windows were closed for some reason, even though they usually left one or two open to air out the apartment throughout the day, and Yunho heads towards the bedroom when he doesn’t spot Mingi anywhere else, nor hear the sound of the shower running.
There’s a bad feeling coalescing in his gut when he pushes the bedroom door open, one that feels awfully reminiscent of the morning. The door swings open and—that’s it. There’s nobody inside.
Oh, okay. So Mingi was mad mad. Yunho rubs at his face with a hand and tries to think of a way to fix this. He should call, or at least text, because he didn’t like the idea of Mingi sleeping in some foreign place tonight, and he wanted Mingi to know Yunho would wait for him to come back.
Priorities, priorities. Shower first, while he thought about how to construct the text without making things worse. He crosses the room to the wardrobe, mulling over the dilemma of diction, and stops dead when he opens it up.
There’s—Mingi’s clothes are all gone. His hoodies, his t-shirts, even that ugly Christmas sweater he brought out every year to be an eyesore. Yunho opens the underwear drawer, feeling his heart shoot up into his throat, and there’s nothing there as well, except Yunho’s own stuff.
He staggers back from the wardrobe, practically tripping over his own feet when he goes to check the nightstand. Mingi’s expansive collection of rings wasn’t sitting on top of it, and neither was his box of jewellery when Yunho pulled the first drawer to check. Second drawer: the folder with all his personal documents had disappeared. Third drawer: all the… fun stuff was still there, but half of the secret wad of emergency cash wedged into the back was gone.
Yunho tore his gaze to the bed, frenzied. He hadn’t noticed it when he walked in, but the bed was stripped bare and the sheets were gone, as if to wash away the evidence of what once was. On top of the mattress cover, there was that oversized windbreaker from yesterday, neatly folded on top of the pillows.
There was no note, no destruction, no anything. Yunho stood there, alone and cold, and knew at once that he had lost everything.)
So, now you know the full story, the depth of it, the magnitude of—
Ah. What the hell. He’s told you this much already. He can let you in on one last secret, just on the down low. But keep it quiet, alright? He doesn’t plan on telling Mingi about this ever, or at least until he really needs to win an argument.
GWANGJU, SOUTH KOREA — 2021
“You’ll never guess who I bumped into last week,” his mom brings up out of nowhere, just as they’re rolling up their yoga mats after a long session of meditation. Mother-son bonding time, she had insisted, and while he didn’t really see how much bonding they could achieve while sitting still in silence, he was inclined to go along with any of her requests, seeing as he had flew in a week late to go put in some more hours at the factory in Grove. He just—he couldn’t help it, alright? It felt like the shitbox of a Williams was finally starting to look kind of in shape, and he wanted to have a good weekend once they got racing at Yeongam next week, in front of a home crowd.
“While you were up in Seoul?” he asks, non-committal, mostly thinking about the meeting he had with Red Bull’s team principal two days later to discuss a possible move. It made him feel all clammy inside, to be going behind Williams’ and Mercedes’ backs like this, but he was just so sick of driving a car that could fight for P5 or P6 in the Constructors’, at best. He had a nerve-wracking meeting with Renault last week, and McLaren the week before, and his head was swimming with all these terrible fears about his contract.
“Yes!” his mom bragged, looking very pleased with herself. She made no move to reveal the mystery person, so Yunho made some weak guesses to please her. He did feel quite bad about how down she had sounded when he said he wouldn’t be free until the end of the season.
He names a church friend, then a second, then a third, when she turns them down one by one. He tries for a relative next, wracking his brain to come up with Auntie so-and-so, watching as her smile only got bigger and bigger.
Finally, she couldn’t contain it anymore. “I ran into Mrs. Song!” She exclaimed, shaking with barely concealed excitement. She didn’t seem to notice the way Yunho had frozen up at all. “You remember Mrs Song? I saw her at the department store, when I was there to exchange a dress for another size. You used to race with her son, you remember that, right? It turns out he’s just graduated from University. What’s his name? Min…Minho? Minhee?”
“Mingi,” Yunho said, feeling his stomach flip and turn. There was an emotion tugging at his chest, and he felt like he knew the shape and weight of it, but he was too scared to give it a name. “His name is Mingi.”
“Mingi, of course,” his mom picked up without a missed beat, as if she had never forgotten in the first place. “I’m meeting her for brunch on Saturday. Do you want to come along? I can see if she’ll bring him along!”
Fuck. Fuck. Yunho wanted. Yunho wanted so badly. All of a sudden, there was space in his body to want something else other than a seat at a better team. But he had that meeting with Red Bull, and this could—this could be his chance to make a move to the front of the grid. He couldn’t flake. Yukwon would kill him.
And then he remembered.
“I can’t, but uh, Gunho, the tickets, he’s not—he’s not free right?” It comes out in an unintelligible rush, his best attempt at a compromise. He was stuttering, and he could tell his mom was taken aback by how loud his voice had suddenly gotten. “You should—you should give it to him. To—to them, I mean.”
There was a strange look on her face when she nodded, seeing no reason not to agree to the request. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, hasn’t it?” She asked slowly, and Yunho got a feeling in his gut that she understood more than she let on.
“Yeah,” he said, his heart in his throat. He didn’t care about how obvious he was being. Just the thought of being—being close to Mingi once more, made him feel breathless. “I’ve missed him a lot. It’d be—It’d make me very happy to see him again.”
Okay, so now you know the full story, the depth of it, the magnitude of it. The thing he felt for Mingi—that feeling, it was too big too hold and too small to let go of at the same time, a conundrum that turned it on itself. It was a miracle and an impossibility, the most beautiful thing in the world, the simple, fundamental truth of it all.
Yunho had been so, so stupid when he thought he could stop it. There were some truths that ran deeper than the crust of the earth, beneath the rolling waves of the ocean, more ancient than the sun. The sky was blue, water was wet, and Yunho loved Mingi, and was loved in return. That was all it had to be, and in the end, that was more than enough.
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(“Wow, I was a real asshole to you,” Yunho says, apropos of nothing, when they’re coming down from the high of celebrating his win earlier in the day. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it, how the streets of Incheon had erupted into a roar of noise when he had crossed the chequered flag.
Mingi mutters something unintelligible into the side of his ribs, before turning his face so he could breathe properly. “What the hell?” He mumbles, the words slurring into each other, there was a bolt of annoyed exasperation in his expression as he blinked up at Yunho.
Yunho reached over to run a warm palm down the line of Mingi’s back, until the frown in his brow relaxed and his eyes closed again. “Nothing,” he said, even though it was really everything. It’s not that he wasn’t grateful, but he felt like he was truly seeing the depth of what he had done over the years, and he was somewhat astonished that Mingi was still here. “I was just… thinking.” About Yeongam, about Sepang, about London, all these little facets that defined but didn’t constrain them. These beautiful memories, both the good and the bad, and all for them to keep.
Mingi made an irritated noise. “Well, stop it,” he grumbled, shifting so the arm he had wrapped around Yunho’s bare midriff wasn’t making him lose feeling in the shoulder. He huffed, and that should have been the end of the conversation, except—
“Sorry,” Yunho whispers, for more than just the delayance at the moment. He didn’t know how he could ever make up for any of it, but they had all the time in the world, for the rest of their lives. Yunho was thinking he could start by taking Mingi out to dinner tomorrow, and then maybe a shopping trip on Tuesday. Mingi was still stingy about spending too much, but Yunho could spoil him a bit now. He knows there’s a Chrome Hearts ring Mingi had been eyeing. And then, because he meant it, “You’re a better person than me.”
Mingi snorted, right over his sternum, where his heart was beating real and true inside his ribcage. “What the fuck,” he said, but there was a faint smattering of sunlight in his voice too. “Go the fuck to sleep.”
Yunho lets the silence stretch on, and after a few minutes he hears Mingi’s breath even out. Outside, the night was still and warm, and inside, he had everything he could ever want right here, lying half on top of him in this bed. Yunho closed his eyes. It would be a bit of effort to force himself to sleep when his heart was still racing in his chest, but he would try his best. In the end, that was all he could keep doing.)
2025 AUSTIN GRAND PRIX
[SKY SPORTS F1 - POST-RACE INTERVIEW - JEONG YUNHO - AUSTIN, USA]
Q: Yunho! It’s good to see you, another great weekend on your part!
JY: Almost the perfect weekend! In the end, we were just a bit too slow in the second stint to catch up. But I’m happy to be in another good run of form. It’s not the worst feeling in the world, when P2 is considered a shame after the races we’ve been having.
Q: The McLarens have been looking quick likely, with Choi San in particular making the most out of it with two wins and two podiums in the last four races. Does this give you any concerns, maybe not about the championship this year, but for next year’s?
JY: San and I have been racing together for a very long time. I know what kind of driver he is, and he definitely deserves all these podiums and a fast car. It’d be interesting to have four teams in the mix for next year, that’s for sure. Mark and Daniel and I have had a really close competition throughout this year, and it’s always been friendly on our ends. I’m looking forward to more on track battles with any of them, really. It doesn’t matter too much to me who I’m racing with, as long as I beat them, but it does feel extra nice to be racing with friends.
Q: We have to mention, with this second place finish, you are officially first in the standings. Of course, you were first by a technicality yesterday after the sprint, but today, you stand at 385 points to Mark’s 382. How does that make you feel?
JY: Haha, I knew this was coming. Well, I won’t lie, it feels pretty good. We’ve had some difficult times this year, the first few races, the crash at Spa. I think I’ve been on the back foot for most of the year, trying to make up a deficit of points from the very start. But we found our footing and have been making great strides since, in Imola and since Sepang. I’m very thankful for the team for all the support they’ve given me in my career so far, and I hope we can bring both championships home at the end of the year.
Q: There’s a chance, with this new development, that you could win the championship in Brazil next week, if you outscore Mark by 26 points at the end of it. With a sprint race involved, it’s not entirely out of the question. Is that something that’s on your mind?
JY: Hah, that feels a bit unthinkable right now. No, I’m just focused on my own race. We’ve seen that Ferrari have struggled hard over the last few weekends, and especially now with the McLarens catching up, who knows? Mark was right behind me in the race today, though. I think it would be stupid to not be aware of how close the fight is right now, but I’m planning to take it to the very end.
Q: We’re excited to see how the cards fall! It’s a good sign that you were still so quick out there today, isn’t it? Mercedes came into Austin a bit worried about their new developments, but you were still in the front of the field throughout the weekend. That bodes well for the last two races we have upcoming.
JY: Yeah, for sure. I love racing here in Austin. COTA has always been a track I’ve done well at, so hopefully next year I’ll finally win here for the first time. It’s a really fun circuit and one of the ones I look forward to on the calendar every year.
Q: Speaking of the atmosphere here in Austin, we saw plenty of celebrities in the paddock and in the garages today. How has that been?
JY: Pretty amazing! We’ve had a lot of people turn up for us in the year, and it’s always exciting to see who shows up. I was a bit starstruck to see Robert Pattinson here this week. Tenet is one of my favourite movies of all time, so it was really cool getting to meet him.
Q:You’ve had Song Mingi as a regular staple in your garage for a long time, and he’s been at the races in Incheon and here. Once, you were racing together, and now he’s just been announced as a first-time Grammy nominee. What lives the two of you have lived!
JY: Haha, yeah, it’s pretty special to have him here. We’ve been friends for a very long time, and I can’t imagine life without him. He’s been very excited about being here this week. Mostly to meet Robert, not for me! (He laughs.) He’s a big Batman fan, that one. His tour is picking up again, for your information. He’s going to have a concert in New York next week, if any of you are interested in going! I was just at the show in Texas, and it was amazing as usual. Everybody should go get your tickets now!
Q: We’ll have to let you go now, Yunho. Best of luck in the races ahead. Maybe, by the next time we have one of these post-race interviews, you’ll already be a second-time world champion.
JY: Oh, that would be the dream. I’m not too fussed about it, though. I know what I’ve got to do. I’ll just drive. That’s what I always do.
2025 BRAZILIAN GRAND PRIX
After chrysalis, when a butterfly is reborn anew and crawls out of its cocoon for the first time, it takes an hour or two before they’re able to fly. They come into the world shivering in the wind, nibbling at the softened shells of what had once been their shell, their home, and gradually unfurl their wings.
For now, their gossamer wings are soft and weak, and their body is small and compressed. Over the course of time, though, their body expands to nearly twice the original size, and their wings begin to warm up and spread. At first curled and crumpled, it slowly begins to resemble what it is, what it has always meant to be.
Then, once ready, they jump to the sky and take flight. They won’t live long, not at all, but oh, what a glorious sight they make, as they flitter through the world.
That is to say: you are only what you are.
Once, Yunho had been a child, naive, fearless, and with a body too small to contain all his emotions. He had been so young, so unknowing, of the large picture at hand, of all the things he would have and lose one day, of all the things that would forever be his to keep and his to have. The world, back then, had seemed too microscopic to be in, when he felt so big and boldly, when it felt like he could swallow it whole and still come out hungry.
Now, though. He knows that this world didn’t need to be any bigger than it already was. It was small, but kind, and had already given him everything he could ever want.
Interlagos—his car is not the cocoon, neither is the world, this spinning ball of light and wonder that he resided in every day. No, they are his wings, spreading upwards, towards that feeling, too big to hold, too small to let go of, and all of it for him to have.
He leaps, catching the breeze, and rides it all the way up to the sky.
JEONG YUNHO—THE MERCEDES MIRACLE BOY TAKES HIS SECOND CHAMPIONSHIP IN BRAZIL
31 November 2025
INTERLAGOS, Brazil - It had felt like, after three races into this season, that we could write Jeong Yunho out for this year’s F1 championship. But the reigning World Champion proves us wrong as he crosses the line to take victory in Interlagos, successfully securing the 2025 championship ahead of the final race of the season in Las Vegas.
After a tough race, where Jeong spent most of the second stint of it locked in close battle with McLaren’s Choi San, he started pulling ahead at the start of the third stint. The new set of soft tires seemed to re-energize his black and teal Mercedes, and by Lap 58 it was clear that he was coming home in first, barring any unexpected disaster.
His title rival Mark Lee of Ferrari could only manage P6 in the race, after a disastrous 12.7 second pitstop, following a puncture on Lap 28 and an unfortunate DNF in the sprint race. The points gap between the two of them now—Jeong’s 417 to Lee’s 390—means that even if Lee were to earn the maximum amount of points available at the final race in Las Vegas, he would still lose the championship to Jeong by 1 point.
As such, Jeong joins a short list of only 23 drivers as a two-time world champion. He was jubilant over the radio at the end of the race, and had broken out in tears when his engineer announced that the championship was his.
“What an amazing year we’ve had,” he said in the post-race conference. “I wouldn’t have traded any of it for anything, both the highs and the lows.”
Jeong Yunho, 26, was under a lot of scrutiny after his championship win last year, where he took the title in Las Vegas by 4 points after title rivals Lee and Kang Daniel of Red Bull took each other out of the race. He comes into this season hoping to prove himself worthy of the title, and it’s safe to say he’s achieved that and more, with 9 race wins and 6 more podiums under his belt in this season so far. He also adds 1 sprint win and 3 sprint podiums to his tally, on his battle to the top.
It has been a tumultuous season for him, after Mercedes had looked like they were in for a rough ride at the start of the year. After Shanghai, where he crashed out of the race, Jeong was fifth in the standings and 45 points away from the then-championship leader.
It wasn’t until Imola, though, that we got a true glimpse of his speed, when he took a decisive win there and took three back-to-back victories in Monaco and Barcelona as well. He struggled again in August after a bad crash in Spa, coming out of it with a concussion he was still recovering from in the next race at Zandvoort. However, since then, he had been in a generational run of form, having been on the podium in every single race since Baku.
Jeong was extremely emotional on his radio at the end of the race. “Thank you so much for everything,” he said, to his engineer, his team principal, and to the team back at Mercedes’ factory in Brackley. “It has been the greatest honor to be doing this with you guys. You have made every moment of it the most beautiful journey of my life.”
There is a long history between Jeong and Mercedes. His cousin of the same name, Jeong Yunho (born 1986), was a champion for this team in 2010. Another cousin, Jeong Yuno (now: Jeong Jaehyun), was the 2020 and 2021 champion. After Jaehyun’s retirement at the end of the 2021 season, Jeong Yunho took up the vacant seat he left at the team, and the rest has been history.
Since 2015, Jeong has been a member of Mercedes’ Junior Team, catching the eye of Kim Kyuwook after a F4 championship win who vouched for him to have a spot in the elusive Drivers’ Academy. Kim, who was working as a strategist for Mercedes then, would go on to become Jeong’s team principal. Since the start of his ongoing six-year tenure as team principal for Mercedes, he has already produced two world champions in Jaehyun and Yunho.
“Yunho is an incredible talent, and we’re so lucky to have him with us,” said Kim, after the championship celebrations. “He is an integral part of the Mercedes family, and I am so proud of everything we have achieved together. This is only the beginning for us. I am sure we will have many more to come in the future.”
There is still the matter of the Constructors’ battle to go, as we head into the season finale at Las Vegas next week. Right now, Mercedes stand 6 points ahead with the aid of Jeong and teammate Park Jinyoung’s efforts, at 691 points to Ferrari’s 685. Red Bull, the team who has won 7 out of the 8 championships since 2017 barring 2021, are already mathematically out of contention for this year.
Jeong is looking forward to the last race of the season, and has his mind set on sealing a victory for Mercedes in the Constructors' championship.
“This team is home to me, and I will do everything in my power to give them the results they deserve,” he said. “This, what we have created here—it’s bigger than just me now. I want to show the world just who we are.”
It is all the play for this weekend, as the lights go on around the streets of Las Vegas. Under the lights of the City that Never Sleeps, we are sure to see a spectacular end to this fantastic season of Formula 1, in one last great show at the pinnacle of motorsport.
2025 LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX
Las Vegas, as always, never fails to be the shiniest race of the season.
He means that in a literal sense. It’s crazy here, the atmosphere, and everywhere he goes there are glitter and sequins as far as the eye can see. Yunho was sure that at least four people he’s seen since the start of the week could have been arrested on some case of public indecency, and he had been forced to sign a number of… questionable items since entering the paddock on Wednesday. He doesn’t pay it much mind. It was all par for course, until that well-oiled, beloved machine would kick into gear again on Friday.
Media is insane, with everybody having something to say to him after the championship winning race he had last week, though he hadn’t known it at the time. It hadn’t been until after the chequered flag that Yunho had known what just happened, what he had done.
There was something about the second championship that felt even better than the first. If Yunho put some thought into analysing why, he might have come up with a few reasons. For one, this one felt earned, after all the difficulties he’s had during the year and how much he’s thrived in spite of them. Second, this one didn’t land in his hands at the cost of other people’s misfortune. He had soared to the finish lead nearly five seconds ahead of the car in second, and there had been no doubt in anybody’s eyes afterwards as they handed him the winning laurel and the trophy.
Third, well. It helped sweeten everything up when he had flown to LA and celebrated properly with Mingi right after. Mingi had been pissed that he couldn't be there for the race, since he’s in the middle of another slew of concerts, and Yunho had spent half the night kissing the annoyance out of him, until he was soft and pliant and begging for more. Ah, the simple joys in life.
Speaking of, he was here this week. Today, actually, because he was flying in separately after a concert in Phoenix. He had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to attend the season finale. Yunho had flown his family out for the occasion as well, and it made him smile to think of all of them standing there, his team and his family and his Mingi, on his side of the garage, when he would put the helmet on on Sunday and give the world a show to watch once more.
There’s a skip in his step as he returns to his hotel room after FP1 and FP2, smiling so wide his face hurts, even through the interviews and the media circus. Nayoung had looked very fond and very indulgent when she agreed he could leave a little earlier, after all the good behavior he’s shown in the last few weeks. She had sent him off with a warning not to sleep that late at night, and Yunho had been so happy about life in general that he didn’t even have the energy to feel mortified about getting lectured about his sex life. He had a boyfriend to get back to.
Mingi perks up when Yunho finally gets back to his room, a vision as he lounges casually on bed. He makes a punched-out oof when Yunho practically dives on top of him, rolling them across the sheets.
“Yunho, what the hell!” he exclaims, though he’s smiling right back, and his laugh is bright and clear when he reaches to hold Yunho in place by the face. It was, as always, the most beautiful sound in the world. “Ew, you’re all sweaty!”
Yunho playfully feints to the left, miming a bite at Mingi’s fingers. “You weren’t complaining when we were working up a sweat last time,” he teases, filled with so much happiness it felt like he could burst at the seams. Las Vegas was in full motion outside, as workers bustled around trying to pack away the kerbs and casino-goers tried their hand in the game of luck and everybody else in this city was partying away in a bender or two.
Not them, though.
“Want an encore?” he drawls, using Mingi’s distraction to nuzzle out of his hold and cross the distance between their faces. Mingi, for all his complaints, doesn’t have anything to say about this new development, his mouth opening up nice and easy under Yunho’s as they kiss and bask in the warmth of both being here, with each other, once more.
“Fucking insatiable,” Mingi whines, but he wasn’t looking very opposed anymore. “Don’t you have a sleep schedule to follow or something like that? Keep it in your pants until after the race, champ.” Somehow, he managed to make the last word sound like a crude innuendo.
“Don’t care,” Yunho said, because he really, really didn’t. “I want you now.” Because he really, really did.
“You’re fucking insane,” Mingi sighed, throwing his hands up in frustration. But when he brought them back down, he wrapped them around Yunho’s neck and used the leverage to pull himself up so he could join their mouths once more. He doesn’t go down as easily this time, when Yunho tries to regain control, and afterwards there are no more words that need to be said, only bodies that understood the truth.
Yunho loves him. Yunho loves him so much that it felt like it could fill a chasm to the brim and then overflow, until he was standing in the middle of an ocean of emotion. He didn’t care about drowning. He had a feeling it would be gentle, the way it always has been between the two of them. Here, knee-deep in the water, the warmth of the sun dappling over his face was almost too tender to bear.
They were here, together. Mingi, the boy he had met at thirteen and lost at seventeen, the man he had first fallen in love with at twenty-two and lost again at twenty-five, and the man he loved now at twenty-six and forevermore. His Mingi. He was everything Yunho could ever want and more. The good and the bad, the infinitesimal and the infinite, the sky and the ocean, all made into one.
It had always been both. Underneath his hands, Mingi laughs as Yunho presses prayer after prayer to his mouth, real and true, and really, really—
That’s all that matters, at the end of the day.
[JEONG Yunho Radio Transcript - Lap 0/50]
JEONG: I just want to say, before the race, that we have had an incredible year together. I don’t think I could have done this without you, any of you. It has been the greatest pleasure of my life, to be a Mercedes driver.
KIM Kyuwook: Thank you for the year we’ve had, Yunho. I’m so proud of everything we’ve done together. At the start of the season, they said we were out of the fight, that last year’s championship was a mistake. We’ve proved them wrong on one count. Let’s go prove them wrong on the other, too.
JEONG: Thank you. To everybody here in black and teal, to all the hardworking people back at the factory in Brackley, to everybody across the world tuning in right now, I just want to say: watch me. I'm going to bring it home.
PIT: All eyes on you, Yunho. Race’s about to start, formation lap will begin in just a minute. Don’t [f**k] it right on the line, okay?
JEONG: Hah! After all that effort to put it on pole yesterday? I wouldn’t dream of it.
PIT: Let’s get this show on the road. Ready?
JEONG: More than. Let’s go have some fun.
Visor on, the world becomes contained in that sliver of focus again. Around him, the car is warm and familiar. She’s rumbling now. Under him. Around him. With him.
Yunho watches those red lights blink on one by one, those glowing eyes of providence. There was an animal coming alive in his body, some dog that was hungry and starving, and it was ready to go hunting. There was no fine print, no gray areas, and no semantics about it—he wanted to win, and that was all it needed to be.
His heart, beating in his chest, was filled once more with that emotion, that indescribable, inexplicable feeling—too big to hold, too small to let go of. All of it, for him to have and him to keep.
Above, the red lights winked out. He got on the pedal and let it rip.
In an instant, the world exploded into color and noise. He knew now that growling will get you nowhere—if you want to be heard, you have to roar.
Closer, closer, closer. He could almost taste it—that miraculous, miraculous margin.
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