Chapter Text
I have buried you in every place I've been. You keep ending up in my shaking hands.
— Justin Vernon
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Thousands dream of one day driving a Formula 1 car, but only 20 are fortunate enough to race on the world’s most famous circuits.
Out of that lucky 20, only one will wear the crown.
Seasons go by, and dreams are crushed. Ambitions and confidence turned to ashes. Careers end without earning the elusive title: champion.
Italy nurtured Taehyun into a champion. A small boy from Southern Italy who stumbled into a red-and-white kart at the age of 5, and whose heart never beat for any other path. Perhaps there was never any other road for him, as he was always meant to follow in his family’s footsteps.
He was set to drape himself in Rosso Corsa, to ride the prancing horse, and bring the trophy back to Maranello. A mission ingrained in his heart, passed down from his grandfather, and parents — the bloodline of champions. A legacy so profound, his name was known by thousands long before he entered the motorsport world.
Such grand dreams and hopes weigh on shoulders, and as they grow and widen, so does the burden they carry.
Some say a home is where love is. Taehyun was surrounded by it his whole life, from his family, his loyal fans, and Ferrari itself, yet he still feels hollow. Bardolino is a sweet, warm childhood clad in joy and nostalgia. Maranello is blinding, heavy with the legacy Taehyun was set to carry since his youth, never quite growing into the duty.
But Monte Carlo’s sun is caring, kind; it illuminates, not blinds. Instead of taking, it gives; no matter how long something has been lost.
Hunger only makes one greedier. Throughout his life, Beomgyu was often named greedy and selfish. Whenever someone stood on the podium while Beomgyu could only watch from the sidelines, hunger clawed his stomach, and he thought maybe those voices were right after all.
In the end, it drove him to carve out a place for himself in history — a sweet fruit flourishing from ill words.
He wasn’t born to be a champion, but made into one by his own hands and willpower. Such an insatiable vessel, it went against everything that stood in his path and made a throne out of the scream of curses.
At times, Beomgyu still feels like the small boy who left his home, unsure of where tomorrow will take him, whether he has a place among prodigies and talents. Daegu has long become unfamiliar; Paris’s streets are filled with echoing memories, and the rain washes any trace of Beomgyu from Melun’s walls. Enstone was a nightmare dressed in fairy lights. Milton Keynes watches over an empty house. Oxford was once home, now it’s a hive of doctor visits, prescription runs, psychologist appointments, and physical therapy, his flat a cocoon of anxiety and fear.
London is an alluring new start, a home that didn’t see his scars and tears — a place filled with promises and hopes.
Two champions, once friends, now bitter strangers.
A day doesn’t pass without Taehyun wondering how it all went wrong, and when it became unredeemable. When friendship turned into something acidic, biting through years of bond and memories.
Despite doing his best to banish the past from his mind, its tendrils keep reaching for Beomgyu, pulling and tugging relentlessly. And when he dares to look back, all he sees is a withered garden with thorns, long neglected.
One looks for the other among raging fangs and whipping words, while the other keeps running endlessly. Always just a reach away, but never close enough to catch up.
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Peekaboo!
Fans have reportedly spotted Choi Beomgyu in Milton Keynes. The Red Bull driver has been seen in the city a few times during his hiatus; neither his team, Lucky13, nor Red Bull has confirmed the rumours about Choi's return to the paddock.
Choi has been on an indefinite hiatus since his crash in Monza due to the injuries he sustained. He stayed away from social media and declined every request for an interview.
14:56 · 22 Nov 24
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2024. Season, 22nd Race, Las Vegas Grand Prix, November 23
Las Vegas Strip Circuit, Paradise
While the car pulls him with the power of a giant, his mind catches the moment in slow motion. The way the tyres skid across the asphalt, right into the barrier. Taehyun’s body rattles in the cockpit, strong belts keeping him away from yielding under the momentum. Like a defeated lion, the car roars its last breaths before giving in, smoke puffing from the exhaust pipe like a desperate signal.
Then it’s gone.
Taehyun is on the side of the road, staring at the wheel, with his heart racing and his mind blank.
Despite the debrief that stretched into almost dawn, Taehyun’s worry keeps plaguing his mind every race. Most of Ferrari’s attention has been on next year’s car, pouring only minimal work into the SF-24, still believing Taehyun would score podiums and win the championship. The end is only a reach away.
Above all else, the third free practice haunts him like a stubborn wraith; not even the blinding city of Las Vegas can steal his mind away from the incident.
Paradise is a dazzling cluster of buildings in the middle of the vast desert, illuminated by the never-ending bustle of casinos, clubs and this weekend, the infamous Las Vegas Grand Prix. Night descended over the city hours ago, accompanied by the crisp wind and the chill November air.
Qualifying ended a few hours ago, and Taehyun is more than happy to retire from the cameras for the day. Dragging the SF-24 through the circuit was already draining, then sitting through interviews where they were all dying to get him to talk about his chances of the championship slipping away was the worst.
For the second time this season.
Ridiculous.
He leads the championship by 46 points, Noah behind him, followed by none other than Dyson, who just passed Aaron in the last race. It matters not; he is too behind to be a real threat. Taehyun needs to win this weekend; Noah has to score a P3 or below for Taehyun to win the title.
Taehyun was on top of the damn board the first half of the season, then Red Bull found its pace in Zandvoort, and Ferrari lost theirs. Mercedes, with Aaron, came out of nowhere after Monza. Dyson only had the fools’ luck because Aaron had engine failures in the past two races.
Despite all of that, Taehyun’s struggles extend beyond the grid into the pitwall — an all-out war on two fronts.
Inconsistent and nonsensical strategy calls, concerns finding only deaf ears. Ferrari’s unwillingness to admit that next year’s car looks atrocious, even if those results are only from simulation work, is troubling. It doesn’t help that Fred and he seemingly entered a Cold War around the beginning of the season, their statements contrasting with the others when the media asks them about race pace, strategy decisions and team morale.
Exhaustion made home in his bones, and his muscles ached for a good sleep, free of questions and doubts about the remaining races. His body is desperately begging for a break from the hectic schedule, strict diet plans and the forces of the car.
Kai sits on the other side of the sofa. Both Red Bull and Ferrari booked the same hotel, and the two friends took advantage of it by dining in Taehyun’s room. Hours stretched into late night with the debrief, and now it’s nearly 2 am.
Kai is scrolling through his phone, a crease sitting between his brows.
The wear and tear of constant travelling, late nights and stress also etched their mark on Kai. He has deep bags underneath his eyes and has been looking paler, fatigue catching up with him.
“Found anything interesting?” Taehyun asks as they wait for their dinner to arrive.
Taehyun pockets his phone after reading a message in his crew’s group chat. He and Leevi aren’t the most favoured members of the team right now. Not after their “scandal-inviting” post-race interview in Mexico, where they criticised strategy calls and the slow response of the pitwall, resulting in a DNF for Leevi and a P9 for Taehyun.
Kai sighs and switches his phone off with a grimace. “A guy sent me an unsolicited picture.”
“Again?” Taehyun scowls.
“I’m giving up on dating apps,” Kai mumbles, his jaw set tight. He curls around himself at the end of the spacious sofa, wrapping one of the throw blankets around his shoulders. “I would rather stay single at this point.”
“What about the guy that your mom tried to set you up with?” He asks, herding the conversation away from the photos.
“Yeah…” Kai drums his fingers on the sofa’s armrest. “He wasn’t into racing, thought it was a stupid show of cars going in circles. When he learned I’m a mechanic, he said my face was too pretty to work with cars.” Kai groans. “Can you believe that?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Taehyun tilts his head. “I’m sorry it ended up like that.”
“It’s okay. Now, noona is sending me pictures of her hairstylist.”
“And?”
Kai shakes his head, his bangs flopping into his eyes. Taehyun chuckles, picking up his glass.
“Tell me, what’s his flaw?”
“Well-”
“Apart from not being Choi Yeonjun, of course.”
“You are so lucky you hoarded all the pillows, or I would throw one at you.” Kai threatens, but despite his words, his cheeks are blazing red, and a playful smile sits on his lips. “He is handsome, but he lives in New York and long-distance relationships aren’t my cup of tea.” He shrugs. “It’s okay, I will find my Romeo.”
“Hopefully neither of you will die.”
Kai gasps, almost spitting out his drink. “This is why I don’t talk about my love life with you!”
“Sorry!” Taehyun laughs, mirth twinkling in his eyes. “And it’s absolutely not true. Remember when you crashed in my flat and ate 2 tubes of ice cream during a break-up? I was a very supportive friend.”
“Okay, lounging in Monaco and talking shit about my ex was very supportive of you.”
“And I would do it again.” He swears solemnly.
“Let’s hope my next boyfriend will be an upgrade.” Kai crosses his fingers with a small, hopeful smile.
“What about someone from the garage crew?” Taehyun asks, switching his legs as the one he sat on fell asleep. He shakes it a little, hoping to get back the life in it.
Kai shows a big X as he crosses his arms. “I don’t mix relationships with work. It would only be awkward if it doesn’t work out.”
“Hmm… Can I ask something?”
“Go ahead.”
“If you fancy Choi this much, why not try to ask him out on a date? You technically don’t work with him.” Taehyun asks with a curious tilt of his head.
As far as Taehyun knows, Yeonjun became kind of a second manager for Beomgyu after he retired from endurance racing. But since Beomgyu has left the grid, Yeonjun is quite a rare sight around the paddock. The last time Taehyun saw him was in Monaco, but only because both of them live there; Yeonjun wouldn’t travel to a Formula One race otherwise.
Kai blinks, as if he never truly considered that asking Yeonjun out was a possibility. Or didn’t dare to speak it out loud, like it’s some kind of shameful crush instead of decades-long admiration.
“Well… He is Choi Yeonjun,” Kai says as if this alone would be enough of an answer. “Racer prodigy and son of the legendary drifter, Park Choonhee. He is the youngest endurance driver to debut; he only ever missed six podiums in his short career, and in his last season, he won Silverstone, Fuji, and Shanghai back-to-back with a busted knee.” He says every moment of Yeonjun’s career is archived in his mind. “He is… Amazing.”
“He is,” Taehyun agrees. He would be a fool to deny that. “But he isn’t untouchable. He is a human like you and me.”
Kai casts him a look that tells him he absolutely didn’t say the right thing. “To you, maybe. But to me, he is an unreachable prince charming.” Kai shrugs, and Taehyun probably looks just as puzzled as he feels. “A fantasy if you will.”
“But… Why?”
“I’m a simple mechanic, Taehyun,” Kai rolls his eyes. “Superstar drivers usually go after models, equally popular celebrities. Someone who looked nice in pictures and designer clothes.”
“Not everyone does that.”
“But most do.”
Taehyun pursues his lips. He wants to disagree, but Kai is right. “You don’t know if Yeonjun is like that…”
“I don’t want to find out. Besides, for all I know, he is straight.” Kai quiets down. But with one deep breath, he pulls himself out of the slump this conversation tossed him in, as if this wasn’t the first time he had faced himself with reality. “But, if we are talking about romance, I also read an article. About you.”
Taehyun furrows his brows. “Me?”
“Yep! There’s a dating theory floating around about you and the model who visited the paddock in Brazil. What was her name? Sophia? I think…”
Kai is busy trying to remember the model's name; he misses the way Taehyun takes his glass. Hands shaking, seeking the cold glass to ground him.
This innate obsession of people trying to find out whether he is dating or not is getting more than irritating. The questions and the articles, as if they can’t write anything more interesting than whether he has someone to share his bed with.
To them, Taehyun is an infinitely private person. While that’s true, Taehyun’s relationships were also merely PR stunts, orchestrated by Ferrari to appease the masses and to reach out to new fans. Busy with seasons, sponsorship events and trying to build his part of the legacy entrusted to him kept his mind from wandering about romance.
“You really should stop reading those gossip sites,” Taehyun notes, trying to keep his voice light. “You know, if I were to date anyone, I would tell you first.”
“Oh, I know,” Kai grins. “I just find it strange how some people go crazy and start spiralling with their theories. Some praise you for focusing on racing, while others worry you aren’t married yet. Weird.”
Taehyun shakes his head. “26 isn’t too young to marry? And I mean… It’s not really my priority.” He shrugs. “I'm fine with being single.”
“Yeah, but don’t you want to be in love once?”
“I’m in love with racing.”
Kai lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“You start to sound like Nonna.” Taehyun sighs. “She sat me down last week, showing off his friends’ daughters. I swear, she made a whole evaluation board.”
Kai chuckles a little. “She is just worried, I guess.”
“But there’s nothing to worry about. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything.”
Kai looks unconvinced, but the bell chimes and his friend is more than happy to receive their food. Taehyun has never been more thankful for a person than he is for the staff member right now. Having been friends for decades, Taehyun knows Kai would never mean ill; it’s reasonable to worry about him. His nonna and aunts are constantly asking him the same things as well.
They may be afraid he will lose out on love, already wrapped up in their own romantic fairy tales. His grandparents met when Nonna was the doctor who tended Nonno after a crash. His parents met when they both raced in hopes of getting into Formula 1. The family says Taehyun could also meet the love of his life on track if he is so inclined to focus on his career.
He isn’t in a rush. He was never when racing wasn’t involved.
Relationship talk irks him. Always had been. Some drivers revel in the spotlight, hooking up with fans and people who want bragging rights of banging an F1 driver. Others, like Noah or Aaron, can’t stop talking about their wives. Sometimes they try to introduce Taehyun to their relatives or family friends in hopes that he would find a date.
Kai loves being in love. Taehyun doesn’t expect him to understand that he feels fulfilled by racing. The rush that takes over his body when he unleashes the car underneath him, the intoxicating feeling of crossing the finish line first, standing on the podium and being celebrated by thousands.
Some people might think of Taehyun as an egotistic, borderline narcissistic person to think like that. To find fulfilment in seeing his name and face plastered across circuits, posters hang in motorhomes and grasped in excited hands. His home has a dedicated space for his trophies and medals; others have galleries of their families. Taehyun has an exhibition of his hard-earned achievements.
Why is it wrong that he treasures what he has built so far? Why are people puzzled when he doesn’t want to give it all up for something flimsy like love?
The other person, who came close to understanding, was… Beomgyu, out of all people. Taehyun still remembers the afternoons they spent after races, talking about the future, and how sometimes love and relationships came up as well. And Beomgyu never felt bothered to admit he wanted love, but he would never give up racing for anything.
That racing was his first love, and no person could ever replace it.
He can’t help but think that Beomgyu would understand him now.
Ludicrous.
“What about your contract negotiations? Are you finally reaching common ground?”
Kai might not fully understand Taehyun as a racer, but he does as a human. And knows Taehyun would rather jump into shark-infested waters than talk about whatever people think about him or his non-existent relationships.
Taehyun groans, stands from the couch and helps Kai unload the full plates to the table.
“Trying to find a way to use teleportation would be easier at this point.” He admits, not afraid to share details with Kai. He knows the other won’t run to Red Bull HQ and gossip about it. “Apparently wanting a reliable car is, and I quote,” He gestures an air quote. “Me trying to wedge myself into a field that I know nothing about. I may not be a mechanic or an engineer, but I have been driving race cars all my life. I know what a good car feels like.”
Kai hums, a sympathetic gesture. He even looks like he pities Taehyun. “It’s really hard to work with Ferrari, huh.”
“They just…” Taehyun sighs, defeated. He plumps back to the sofa. “Have a vision, I guess. And they find it hard to part from that.”
“Even if it causes problems?”
Taehyun nods. “I was in Maranello before we flew here. They said they would review my new requests. I’m just glad Matteo doesn’t have to deal with them yet. He would be too stressed out.”
“Because you aren’t?” Kai snorts, digging into his dinner.
Taehyun wants to say he is handling it all well, but instead decides to fill his grumbling stomach.
“Did he at least like driving around during free practice?”
“He was very excited to do so.” Taehyun smiles at the memory of his cousin, bouncing around eagerly until he sat in his car. “It’s just… People already talk about his performance, even though he will only be a reserve driver next year.” He sighs, cutting his meal with more strength than needed.
Kai eyes him curiously. “He has you and your dad to help him get grounded.”
“He is a kid; he loves it when people fawn over him. I can’t protect from everything.”
Matteo is like an eager puppy; he loves the praises he gets. He has been like this since he was a kid. And ever since he decided to follow the Rossi path, he has been feeding on the compliments and attention. Taehyun wanted to think he was different, but he still loved receiving positive feedback, being told he had done well, and that he had a good race.
Ferrari carried him as if he were some kind of demigod, sent to deliver them. The pedestal was high, and Taehyun wasn’t sure he ever was deserving of it.
Even now.
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It’s raining in Milton Keynes.
Again.
Lately, that’s all the sky could offer; her tears to accompany the end of autumn.
Beomgyu loves the way the droplets patter against the roof and the window. The serene rhythm of nature he has been obsessed with ever since he was a child. Even with the end of November and the chill seeping into the living room, Beomgyu leaves one window open.
The whole room smells like freshly fallen rain and damp foliage.
He sits on his coffee table, staring out into the streets from the second floor, mug in his hands. It’s nearing late afternoon, and most people only brave the weather to get home from their work or buy something from the corner shop. Maybe he can take a walk later when night has come, and the streets are bathed in the light of the street lamps.
The living room and the hallway are littered with boxes. The life he has stored in Milton Keynes through the years, all packed away, ready to be driven to London.
He sighs, pushing back the strands that escaped from his ponytail. Beomgyu is dressed in a simple tank top and sports shorts. Raised skin of healed scars wraps around his calf and collarbone, decorated with a tattoo: cela aussi passera. A bear charm necklace cold against his skin.
An old romcom is playing on the TV. Beomgyu lost the plot when the guy’s twin showed up around episode 3. Now it’s just white noise.
The Milton Keynes flat became more of a storage room over the years; he only slept here when he was by the factory and had no desire to drive daily from Oxford. What remained here are old team kits he saved from the feeder series, WEC, his time with Renault and older Red Bull kits. Sweatshirts, polos, caps, magazines, and posters. Memorabilia he forgot about.
Now, a house in London waits for him.
New start.
Carefully, he covers his trophies and medals in bubble wrap before packing them away. A few of his helmets are all lined up on the sofa, only the ones with significant memories. Like the one from his first-ever podium in F1 or the one he won GP2 with. Most of his helmets are with Renault and Red Bull, safely displayed in their headquarters.
He keeps staring at his GP2 helmet. Decorated with stickers and signatures from his fellow racers, team principals, and crew members, Taehyun’s is also there. He traces the scribble with his eyes, refraining from actually touching it.
Another one sits at the far edge, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wants it near him or banish it from the rest. Truthfully, Beomgyu doesn’t know why he kept his helmet from Monza. It’s deformed, the paint chipped away, and dust still sticks to the surface. He tried to throw it away a few times but never succeeded.
With a heavy sigh, he boxes it away. The doorbell chimes, his dinner has arrived.
Pushing the boxes out of the way, he made himself a small corner on the coffee table to eat his simple dinner of greasy and heavy fast food. Just what he needed.
After the first bite, his phone rings; it’s Soobin on a video call.
He accepts the call, and Soobin’s face pops up on his screen. The sun is shining, and he seems to be out on their balcony in their Monte Carlo flat.
Soobin scowls after seeing Beomgyu. “Yikes, you look awful.”
“Hello to you, too, hyung. How are you? Thanks, I’m doing okay too!” Beomgyu grimaces, reaching for a pack of painkillers on the sofa.
Soobin stares at the camera, not expecting the small outburst. “Someone is in a bad mood. Tell me.”
Beomgyu sighs. “Just tired a little.” He pops out a pill and swallows it. “How is the house?”
Yeonjun has made it his mission to handle all the construction of Beomgyu’s new home. Taking a few responsibilities off his shoulders, especially with the way Beomgyu has been stressing over way too many things at once (their words, not his. Beomgyu can manage everything well).
The decision to move came to him during an insomniac period a few months ago, when he stared out of his window in the dead of the night. What was supposed to be his home has become a breeding ground for festering thoughts. Every corner reminded him of his recovery, the walls soaked up themselves with misery. The crouches he used are stashed away in the back of his wardrobe, like a dirty secret he dares not touch, see, or acknowledge. The bathroom mirror’s cabinet is still full of the creams and gauzes that he didn’t use up.
It was suffocating to be there.
If his presence weren't required in the factory so much, he would have moved to somewhere calmer. Reclusive, perhaps. But his choice has landed in London. Close to the airport, yet only two hours away from the factory.
“I told you yesterday, everything is a-okay. You can move in a few days.” Yeonjun suddenly pops up on the screen, leaning his head on Soobin’s shoulder. “Is your leg acting up?”
“Wouldn’t we need to clean the flat first?”
Soobin and Yeonjun look at each other. “We?”
“He must have wanted to say oui. You know, French people.” Yeonjun makes a vague hand gesture.
Beomgyu stares at the two, unimpressed. “You are so funny, Grandpa. Did you get your joke from the bingo club?”
Yeonjun takes the phone and makes himself comfortable, propping the phone up somewhere. “My hands are itching for you to visit us. I will drop you into the ocean from the Yeonbin.”
“The what?”
“Our yacht. Duh.”
“You named your yacht after your couple name? Do you want me to hate gay people?”
Yeonjun snorts. “Take yourself out first.”
Soobin rolls his eyes. “How is the packing? And you didn’t answer about your leg.”
“It’s okay, sensitive to the weather change as usual.” He glances down at the healed scar, then back to the screen. “But it’s fine. Packing is slow; I boxed up half of my things in Oxford. And since I’m here, I will empty this flat too.” He takes the phone and switches the camera to show the pile of boxes and packages. He hears Soobin and Yeonjun’s surprise at the number. “Decluttering is going well, too. I already donated half of my wardrobe, but I still have clothes. You guys are prohibited from gifting me any more clothes for at least 5 years.”
Beomgyu flips the camera back, seeing Yeonjun leaning close with a furrow between his brows.
“Then what do I give you?”
“Learn to do DIY, I don’t know.” He eats a fry. “Buy me a Rolls-Royce Droptail.”
Yeonjun looks at the camera, unimpressed by Beomgyu’s suggestion. “You know what, I will just give you coal.”
“Anyway,” Soobin speaks, and Beomgyu feels a sudden dread run through his spine. “How was the factory talk? You didn’t call.”
Beomgyu grows quiet. Suddenly, the rain is too loud, and he becomes aware of the cold lingering in the room. He stands and closes the window.
“It’s… I don’t know.” He mumbles, audible enough for Soobin to hear.
“What do you mean?”
“I had a call with Laurent, and he was asking about my leg and my last doctor visit.” He sits back.
“We already provided him with the copy of the outpatient reports,” Soobin says, confusion creeping onto his face. “Something happened?”
Beomgyu diverts his eyes and looks at the long, pinkish scar on his leg. He runs his hand along the rough line. “I uh… My leg cramped up, and I couldn’t get out of the sim chair.” He confesses and bites the inside of his cheek until it numbs. “One of the operators called Laurent about it afterwards.”
Yeonjun nods. “Okay. That’s reasonable-”
“No, you don’t get it. I had a deal with Christian; he promised me, no matter what, I would have my seat when I returned. But Christian is gone.” Beomgyu bites the inside of his cheeks, knits his brows. “And Laurent is so elusive about everything!”
He finishes, spitting out what has been prickling his side ever since he came back from the factory this morning, what has been bothering him for months now. Despite Beomgyu’s words, he has his seat. He has a solid contract signed a few months ago. He has been visiting the Red Bull factory ever since for meetings and sim work, to tune and test next season’s car.
Yet, the people who looked at him with confidence and trust before cursed Monza, now are weary around him. As if he would collapse any minute, as if his bones are made of glass and a wrong move will shatter them.
And it drives him crazy.
They don’t treat Beomgyu like he is something permanent in their machine, but someone who could disappear at any second, a replaceable cog.
Who would say they wouldn’t push him into the second seat? Who guarantees him his position when — despite his name written in blue ink at the end of the stack of papers — he doesn’t feel part of the team? Not like before.
He hates the worry and sympathy on Yeonjun’s face. “Beomgyu…”
“I’m not going to be a second or a reserve again.” He grits out.
Soobin shakes his head. “No one said you would be.”
“Then why can’t they be honest with me? Why do they evade my questions? I went to have simulator time, but instead, all I got was an interrogation.”
“He is worried, Beoms. You can’t blame them for being cautious.” Yeonjun tries to calm his spiralling mind.
“I didn’t crash into the wall on purpose, hyung. I’m not a damn liability.”
His words take all three of them back. Beomgyu stares at the camera, then looks away, pushing his bangs back. He leans against the sofa as the silence stretches between them.
The accident is a taboo among them. As to who established this unwritten rule… It was Beomgyu himself. The others quickly learned not to mention or even elude it.
When the silence becomes unbearable and uncomfortable, Yeonjun finally speaks up, seemingly thinking he has found the right words. “Do you want me to be there?”
But Beomgyu doesn’t listen to his words. “Do you think I’m a liability?” He whispers.
“Beomgyu,” Soobin’s firm, yet gentle voice reaches his clouded mind. “I can guarantee you, no one thinks you are one. Their worry is understandable, don’t you think?”
“No!”
“Have you talked with your psychologist?”
Yeonjun and Soobin teaming up on him is getting unnerving. Beomgyu frowns, feeling like prey who walked into some sort of trap. He could just end the call. He is tempted to.
“Why are you asking?” He asks instead.
“Beom-hyung called… You missed another appointment.” Yeonjun continues, now quieter. “And I think you should rebook one.” He says with barely masked concern in his voice.
“I’m fine.”
Yeonjun looks at Soobin, silently urging him to do something. Beomgyu braces himself. Deep down, he knows he is being unfair, that they are concerned for his health and safety. But all they do is worry. Everyone is worried. All they want to know about is his injury and recovery. Question his damn ability to drive, to sit in his car, in the seat that he earned.
Why can’t people just look past what happened? Why can’t they just understand that Beomgyu needs to get back on the grid? Monza 2023 happened, end of story, dragging it along is unnecessary.
“Beomgyu. Look, hm… Talking about it with someone, well, it helped Yeonjun hyung get in terms with retir-”
Beomgyu’s veins boil with sudden wrath. Something invisible constricts his throat and presses his chest into his spine.
“I’m not retiring. And before you would bring up the doctor, she only said I should take it easy.”
“And,” Soobin adds. “That the first few races will decide if your body can handle the car or not.” He points out. Blunt. Unkind. Honest.
The dull ends of his nails dig into his palm. “I know my body, okay? The mandatory length was 10 months, and I went diligently to every single appointment.”
Soobin’s calm resolve breaks. “You are so difficult, I can’t believe it! It’s for your health! You-”
“Yeah, I know. I know! I crashed. I went through a traumatic experience. I have heard all of that. Who cares?! You all use the accident as an excuse to keep me from racing, when a literal doctor permitted me to do!”
“Beomgyu-”
“And tell my brother if he wants something, he knows my number and shouldn’t involve you two. Goodbye!”
Beomgyu ends the call. Only now does he notice his shaking hands, his laboured breathing, and his eyes stinging with tears of frustration. He swallows them all.
They don’t understand. None of them does.
He takes a pillow from the sofa and screams into it. Muffled and high-pitched. Until his throat aches and scrapes, until the pillow is soaked with his tears. Until the couple gives up trying to call him. His breathing is dampened against the pillow; minutes pass like this.
Tomorrow weighs on his mind, along with Soobin’s words. Laurent is worried; the doctor was adamant that Beomgyu take it easy, to ease his return. Despite Beomgyu’s pleas, she has documented all of this in his files. He must attend regular follow-up examinations, a demand made possible by his brother’s meddling. The medical staff at Red Bull already informed him that they will perform the check-ups after every race, preferably after every session. Including practices, sprints, and qualifying.
But Red Bull is cautious; if Beomgyu can’t keep up, they need to have a solution. And who says they would rather not have the liability that's Beomgyu right now?
And the knife at the back? The exit clause they worked into his contract, so naturally, Beomgyu felt like throwing up when he read it. If he regularly underperforms because his body can’t handle the car and the tracks, and he ends up below P6 in the standings by the Spanish Grand Prix, he will be booted from the team.
Soobin called it a reasonable caution. Beomgyu calls it a guillotine looming over his neck.
He started training again to get back his old body, his resistance. The trainer is kind and determined, and he has worked with athletes who have had traumatic accidents and crashes. Thanks to him, Beomgyu is slowly regaining his mobility and strength.
But what is it all worth if he can’t bounce back?
If anyone at Red Bull thinks he will be demoted to the second seat or forced out, they are dead wrong.
He abandons the pillow and forces down the food he had lost his appetite for. Having lost all interest in the rom-com, he switches to YouTube to find the web show he started last night. Instead, what comes across his feed is the highlight of the Brazil race.
He hesitates for a second, thumb hovering over the OK button.
Sighing, he starts the video.
“… And here goes Kang through the straight, on fresh new softs, he has set the best sector time in both Sector 1 and Sector 2! Looking to do the same right here in Sector 3 as he cruises to the last Turn of the circuit, and he has set a new lap record here in the Interlagos Circuit! First place belongs to the Ferrari driver! His teammate, Korhonen, keeps up and takes P2! What a race! What a fight!”
Beomgyu scoffs, shaking his head. He takes another bite, ready to switch off the video.
“It seems like Ferrari has redeemed themselves of the blunder that happened in Mexico.”
That catches Beomgyu’s ears, and he looks up in interest. Because what is better than splashing around in someone else’s misery and ignoring his own? Especially if said misery belongs to none other than Kang Taehyun, Ferrari’s beloved King.
Beomgyu kept up with the seasons, perhaps more than he should have. Watched the races, the highlights, read the FIA’s reports and watched countless videos from actual professionals about the races and upgrades the cars got through the seasons. Obsessively learning and studying, trying to beat lap times and records in his home sim. With the move, he is behind the races a bit, but he spends his nights going through them.
He lets the next video play, snippets from the post-race interviews. It’s a background noise as he reaches for his phone again. Searching the leaderboard for the Brazil race.
“Well, today was a good race. I’m pleased with the pace and the car’s performance; the team was amazing too, so yeah. Today was a great day.” Taehyun’s voice catches Beomgyu’s attention once again.
He is sweaty, with his cheeks flushed, and faint lines from his helmet marking his face. The ugly red Ferrari kit hangs from his figure, and his cap keeps his hair away from his forehead.
He didn’t change much since Beomgyu saw him in real life. Maybe he got a little taller, bulkier. He desperately needs a haircut, though.
“What can you tell us about the incident with Dyson at Turn 3?”
“Neither of our cars got damaged, and we both finished the race. It’s just racing.”
“But you received 2 penalty points?”
“Yeah, that was an unfortunate outcome.”
Taehyun’s indifference makes Beomgyu chuckle, serves right for Dyson, an absolute brute in the car, and not in a good way.
Night descends over Milton Keynes, and Beomgyu, tired from the day and the emotional turmoil, decides to get to bed much earlier than he intended. After a hot shower and stretches, he takes his sleeping pills and painkillers and collapses into his bed.
Asleep in 15 minutes while a video plays about the Las Vegas GP’s quali session, analysing the possible team strategies for the race.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Taehyun knows he lost the lead the moment he sees his garage crew fumbling with the tyres, not ready to receive him yet.
“What is happening?” He presses the radio. “You guys told me to come in for a stop.”
“Sorry.” Nello’s voice is full of static. “We had a technical issue.”
The familiar doom that is ascending over Taehyun is revolting. He takes a deep breath, his mind in a spiral of thoughts. He was leading the race. All he can do is chuckle out of irritation, yeah. A technical issue sounds familiar.
When there isn’t an issue?
“Who got the lead?”
The last if his tyre is in place. He gets released, and he cruises through the pit lane, eager to rejoin the race.
“Dyson.”
Taehyun takes a deep breath. He knows Alexandre was behind him, so he either got taken over or the Mercedes driver was also called in for a pit stop. Nonetheless, Taehyun accelerates once he is out of the pit lane.
“Which position?”
“Down to P6.”
Fuck.
“Interval between Dyson and me at every lap.”
Out of the 50 laps, 44 are behind them. Taehyun sets out to hunt; his prey isn’t only the McLaren but the podium. He needs the winning 25 points. He needs to win the season tonight.
If he doesn’t, Noah has the chance to swipe it away from him. No doubt Red Bull is already trying to maximise the gap between them.
He drives his car as if it’s the last race of his career. He overtakes Nicholas’s Racing Bull on the straight; the car’s floor sparks as he pushes. Nello’s voice is a constant buzz in his ear, but all Taehyun can focus on is the next car he has to pass.
Lap 46, and Taehyun is locked in a battle for P4 with Aaron.
Aaron shuts the door on his attempts, defending the inner line each time Taehyun tries an overtake. Once Nello confirms the DRS zone, Taehyun opens the flaps and attacks the Mercedes with the desperation of a starving man. Tyres almost graze against each other.
Before the turn, the Mercedes yields under the push of the Ferrari.
But Taehyun isn’t breathing with ease just yet. P3 is Leevi.
“Let me through.” Taehyun radios in. “I can take Dyson.”
“We don’t want to risk it.”
Taehyun grits his teeth. It’s his championship title on the line.
“Let’s go with Plan C. I can do that.”
The only sound is his car’s roaring motor, and his heartbeat thumping in his ears.
“If we lose our position, I will take the blame. But I’m not giving up my chances.”
Plan C has been in action a few times ever since Leevi became his teammate. Most of the time, it didn’t work well. The car wasn’t up to the challenge, the pitwall made a mistake with the calls, or the timing was off.
Sweat rolls down his nape. The heat in the cockpit doesn’t help his already frayed nerves. He takes another turn. Leevi is only a reach away.
“Damn it, I don’t have all day here, guys!”
“Okay,” Nello confirms. “Plan C it is.”
Once past Turn 16, Leevi lets him through on the straight and stays close to Taehyun’s Ferrari.
The red lights of Noah’s Red Bull blink at Taehyun as they approach it. Nello updates him on the interval; it’s gradually decreasing. It’s too early to celebrate, yet Taehyun’s heart pounds with a giddy flare.
Noah doesn’t give himself easily. With the hairpin at the first turn and the DRS Zone coming up, he stubbornly blocks Taehyun.
He needs to be quick. It’s lap 48, and Leevi can’t keep up with him forever, stuck in his slipstream before he starts risking his own race.
“Please God…”
He breathes in and just sends it.
If he crashes, Noah will crash with him, too. Neither of them will win tonight.
The wall is too close for comfort, and the Red Bull is a persistent machine that roars with as much power as Taehyun’s greed for the podium. He passes Noah, almost spinning out, before he takes on Turn 5. Glancing in his mirrors, he sees Leevi emerging victorious, taking the outside of the apex to pass Noah.
“Dyson 0.4.”
Taehyun’s whole body is strung tight, his stomach clenched, and the heady nausea threatening to get him. He grips the steering wheel and, in his head, prays.
He can’t lose.
Can’t.
Not now. Not here.
Leevi sticks close. The McLaren’s outline is clear as they come out of Turn 9.
Turn 10 is approaching, and Taehyun takes it as his cue to attack. With precise moves and confidence overflowing in his body, Taehyun pushes.
Dyson tries to defend his position. It’s a poor attempt. He almost collides with Taehyun when he tries to zoom to the inside line.
The McLaren wavers under pressure when Taehyun is wheel-to-wheel with him, and Leevi is preying on his mistake behind. It takes Harper one wrong flick of the wheel for Taehyun to pass him. Leevi follows closely while the McLaren struggles to correct his mistake and, ultimately, loses the podium.
Lap 50.
At the end, the chequered flag.
And the championship title.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Tweet
TA3HYUN INCOMING
@bobaboi25
OMG OH MY FUCKING GOD HE WON TAEHYUN WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP
00:02 · 24 Nov 24
304 Retweets 96 Quote Tweet 1068 Likes
child of divorce 🥀 @1325lovechild
Replying to @bobaboi25
IM CRYING!!! TA3HYUN IS REAL
Tweet
vroom vroom 🏎️
@boxboxbox
i know we are all very happy, but can we not ignore that taehyun just got another penalty point? 😭 he now has 10, people we need intervention!
03:04 · 24 Nov 24
304 Retweets 96 Quote Tweet 1068 Likes
vroom vroom 🏎️ @boxboxbox
i understand you hate his guts, but please don’t give me a heart attack whenever you decide to terrorize him
Tweet
Gyu's lucky charm
@lucky_13
Honestly, Taehyun is one of the funniest mf out there. Wdym you terrorise a driver who used to pick fights with your old rival, get penalty points after penalty points, keep saying the same thing Harper said when he rammed into Beomgyu in Hungary AND STILL WIN THE TITLE
09:46 · 24 Nov 24
27 Retweets 16 Quote Tweet 2002 Likes
child of divorce 🥀 @1325lovechild
Replying to @lucky_13
my taegyu will never die
TA3HYUN INCOMING @bobaboi25
Replying to @lucky_13
Tweet
Solomon City 2️⃣5️⃣👑
@solomon_city
He has done it!!!! Kang Taehyun wins the 2024. season! Being crowned as a champion for TWO consecutive years making him a three-time world champion, surpassing his grandfather, Vincenzo Rossi, who won two titles in his racing career with Ferrari. His father, Kang Taeho, is a four-time champion, perhaps next year Taehyun could catch up with him too 🌟- 🎀
10:25· 24 Nov 24
985 Retweets203 Quote Tweet2003 Likes
Tweet
⋆˚࿔ lela 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ .ᐟ TA3HYUN
@kanguru
Ladies and gentlemen, our champion
11:00 · 24 Nov 24
1 Retweet3 Likes
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Flying underneath the chequered flag brings Taehyun to tears.
Nello speaks on the radio, but Taehyun is so choked he can barely murmur a thank you and a good job.
The SF-24 is an ungrateful beast, one that often tortured Taehyun with its capricious ability to perform. For a brief period, it gave him hope for a championship fight, before it plummeted down and crushed it all. It took Taehyun the entire second half of the season to collect points like scraps to protect his place in the championship fight.
Just a year after his debut, he won his first title. Last year, after Beomgyu’s sudden retirement from the season, Taehyun turned the championship around in the last two races and won it. Noah was only a few points behind.
And now, his third title is also a reality.
The rollercoaster of this year was enough to make Taehyun wish it would end in mid-season, but it paid off in the end.
Opinions are plenty, like fish in an abundant ocean. Some say he has already passed his peak, and it’s him desperately trying to cling to glory. Others blame the car and the ridiculous strategy calls that often lead to nothing but frenzied arguments during debrief.
Whatever the truth is, Taehyun greedily holds this win close to his heart.
Overrun with adrenaline, he almost knocks over the board that reads #1 at parc fermé. Taehyun wastes no time; he climbs out of the car and punches the air, standing on top of his machine. His loyal steed.
His garage crew welcomes him behind the barricade. They holler and shout, hug him as he jumps into their awaiting arms. Their love and joy envelop Taehyun in a warm embrace, and their hands squeeze his shoulder. Loud voices become one cocoon of glimmering pride and harsh cheers.
“Ce l'hai fatta!”
Nello cries, swaying with Taehyun as they hug. Real tears bubble out of the other man’s eyes.
“Ce l'abbiamo fatta.” Taehyun answers, voice muffled behind the helmet.
“Taehyun!” And he is wrapped in a quick and crushing embrace of Leevi, free from his helmet. “You won, we won!” He laughs, cheeks bunched up in a shining smile.
“Of course, mate. 1-2, we delivered it.”
Taehyun takes off his helmet and balaclava, revealing a proud grin. The two drivers bump their fists, a signature move of theirs after a successful race.
“We sure did!”
Both were overwhelmed by the results. The absurdity of the strategy working baffled them. Matteo appears, too, high-fiving him, and his dad brings him into a crushing hug.
“Stai vivendo il tuo sogno, e io sono così orgogliosa di te.” He whispers, a warm smile on his face.
He is high on the adrenaline still rushing in his bloodstream, elated by the reality of his third title win. His cheeks hurt from grinning so much. The cooldown room slips from his awareness, trying to catch up the flow that pulls him towards the podium.
He stands on the podium, lifts his trophy and for a split second, as he sees the Red Bull team celebrating Noah’s P3, wonders if Beomgyu is watching the race wherever he might be.
Taehyun finds himself wishing he did, that Beomgyu’s mind is consumed by thoughts of Taehyun winning, to see him celebrated and drenched in champagne. A bitter part of him wants Beomgyu to be angry, infuriated even. He wishes he could see him seething, believing he can do better, only to see Taehyun holding up the trophy. For Beomgyu to wish he were here to rip the trophy away from Taehyun’s grasp and claim it as his own.
The little devil in his head, just like after every race, nags him with a simple question: how would the race result change if Beomgyu were here? Despite his own anger, Taehyun misses the way they would fight for positions. They might not have spoken properly for years, but on the grid their cars spoke for them.
He wonders what song Beomgyu’s car would have roared for Taehyun’s.
He is pulled away from his thoughts by the champagne sprays coming from both sides. It sticks to his skin, sweet and intoxicating. He hears himself laugh, trying to shield his face, and the Tifosi’s screams and cheers blend into something that Taehyun wants to listen to every waking moment of his life.
Noah shakes his hand, pulls him into a hug and pats his back. They are both drenched and smelling of sweat and champagne.
“Good job, Taehyun.” Noah tells him, although he lost the championship, he still radiates satisfaction, amusement. “It was a pleasure fighting with you.”
Noah, who was his idol for so many years and eventually one of his most trusted friends in the paddock. Taehyun smiles at him, pride swelling in his chest. “With you too. I wish we could run it back next season.”
“Ah, who knows how long I can stay away from the grid.” Noah laughs.
After the podium celebration, Taehyun took a quick shower to freshen up and wash away the champagne from his hair. He is shepherded to the post-race conference in the media pen. He still buzzes with energy, ready to be over with the interview and be on his way to the after-party.
On his way, he crosses paths with Dyson. He's fuming to his press officer, voice loud and deep. Malice radiates from every inch of his body; his narrowed eyes silently curse Taehyun. He grins at the McLaren driver, sharp and bright.
“Comportati bene.” Taeho flicks his forehead, then opens the door. “Pronto?”
“Sì, sì.”
That bastard deserved every bit of failure he got this season.
“Your nonni has watched the race too at home; they even invited the whole street over. We are very proud of you.” Taeho said with his strong voice, and warmth blanketed Taehyun.
“The whole street?” He asks, bewildered. “At some point, they will endorse a shrine for me near the church.”
Taeho’s laugh echoes. “Maybe not the church, but at home, possibly. You can understand them, no? You fought well; you should be proud of yourself.”
“I am.” He smiles. “I am.”
The media pen is full — as expected.
As his career picked up, he outgrew the freezing stage fright he felt when he first spoke in front of a camera; now it’s a practised routine. The way they eye him, some are looking to praise him, others are waiting for a slip of the tongue, a snippet they can dissect online and paint him into whatever version they feel satisfied with.
A champion, a saboteur, and an arrogant, privileged driver.
He learned quickly not to listen to what people think of him.
Leevi and Noah are also here, comfortable on the couch, whispering to each other. Once Taehyun took his place, the interview began.
“First, congratulations on the win. At the last hurrah, what are your thoughts about the season? Was there any moment that played a key moment to achieve the championship win?
Right into the middle.
Taehyun takes a few seconds to gather his thoughts before he raises the mic to his lips.
“It was a tough season; it’s not a secret that we struggled after the upgrades didn’t bring the result we wanted, but they pointed us towards where we needed to improve.” A lie, but the world doesn’t need to know that the Ferrari factory has been giving him and Leevi the cold shoulder whenever they brought up their concerns about the cars. “Singapore played a big part in getting our confidence back with Leevi and my 1-2 win. But overall, we constantly improved race after race.” He finishes with a nod.
He learned a long time ago that being so honest about his feelings regarding the car isn’t the best choice. But Taehyun is tired of the constant PR nightmare that surrounds their team. No one needs to be an engineer or a mechanic to know that the car was lacking after their opponents caught up and figured out the problems with their machines. Ferrari’s unwillingness to admit the fault garners more attention to the issue.
The interview moves forward.
“Sources have reported tension between you and Korhonen following the collision in Mexico. What’s your opinion on that?”
Leevi and Taehyun look at each other, their faces crack with a smile. Leevi chuckles at the question, shakes his head.
“There’s no tension between us. It was an unfortunate incident.” Taehyun shrugs. “I was released into traffic, and Leevi was taking the corner at the wrong angle. It was a misfortune; we talked it out, and that’s it. He is probably the best teammate I have had so far.”
“Thanks, bro.” Leevi smiles at him as they fist-bump.
Noah lifts his own mic. “If we all held grudges against each other after every incident, I fear the paddock would turn into a bloody boxing ring.”
That coaxes out a rumble of chuckles and laughter from the room. Noah isn’t too far from the truth. After Japan, the Haas and Sauber rookies started fist-fighting over a collision. It took 5 people to separate them.
“Right, Taehyun?” Noah asks, teasing, and Taehyun rolls his eyes with a small grin.
Dyson deserved that yanking around, even if Taehyun got a nasty fine after.
“Regarding the two retirements at the end of the season, are you worried about who would follow Walsh and Hoffman? There are rumours about Kerekes’s and Choi’s return, along with F2 talents filling in the empty seats.”
Taehyun glances at Noah, who looks just as relaxed as always. The mention of his retirement doesn’t faze him. It was his choice, after all. To focus on his family, now that his wife is pregnant again.
Beomgyu’s haunting presence hovers over Taehyun, sitting next to him, grinning at him with his infuriating smile. Egging for a reaction, they are all hungry for.
“I have a good team. I’m not worried about who our rival will be. I have to drive faster than them, that’s it.”
He and Leevi share a knowing look, the good PR conversations they have been having since Silverstone.
He wishes it were this simple, he really does. But next year’s car doesn’t look promising at all. There’s still room for improvement, and Taehyun hopes the factory will listen to their concerns this time. One might think it’s hard to build and upgrade a car without hearing the drivers out, but Ferrari keeps surprising them.
“Choi’s return would surely shake things up, no? He has been cited as your rival since your rookie years.”
Taehyun’s face twists into a grimace.
Why does everyone keep forgetting they were friends before they entered F1? They were best friends, attached by the hips. There’s a video going viral every few months of Beomgyu at Taehyun’s last F2 race, where he won the title, and Beomgyu enveloped him in a crushing hug. Old pictures of the two from their karting days, stories from retired drivers or onlookers keep showing up on the internet.
“I haven’t seen any announcement from Red Bull about his return, and rumours are just rumours.” He flashes a smile at the camera. “Whatever he decides to do, as I said, I have to be faster.”
Red Bull has its usual internal problems — eating up its secondary drivers this year, but the car is performing well under Noah’s command. Perhaps with Beomgyu around, it wouldn’t be so hard for them to fight for the championships.
But no matter his curiosity, Kai’s NDA prevents him from speaking on any news, and Noah is unusually tight-lipped. Laurent Mekies is secretive as ever, too.
Perhaps they are gearing up for an announcement, or they are still unsure whether Beomgyu can return. Next year will be challenging for Red Bull, as Laurent replaced Horner mid-season, and he is still fixing what Horner left behind. Two new drivers will have to get used to the Red Bull machine, and who knows if they will be able to rein it in.
Maybe if Ferrari gets it together, they could overpower Red Bull.
Leevi nudges his side, pointing to the reporters with his chin. Taehyun blinks, grounding himself back to reality. He clears his throat.
“Sorry. Could you repeat?”
“Would you talk a little about your conflict with Dyson this season?”
Ahh. Taehyun’s mood sours.
The PR training takes its roots in Taehyun's mind. He would love to tell the reporters that Harper Dyson is nothing but a money-stuffed asshole, who was spoiled rotten as a kid and thinks that the world should bow down in front of his feet to kiss it. That the championship should be handed to him solely because he is breathing.
Even if his father has lobbied him into McLaren, his driving is still lacking. Occasionally, a podium or a win would wink at him, but in the next race, he would drive terribly.
“What you see on track is my frustration with the way he tries to command the grid. His driving is reckless; other times, he handles the car as if he is sitting in it for the first time.” Taehyun shrugs, downplaying his annoyance with the other man. “We drive easily accident-prone machines.”
Dyson quite recently caused an accident in Mexico. It’s humiliating to have him near Taehyun in the standings. So assured and aggravating.
“Your contract will soon expire with Ferrari, and we still don’t have any solid information about your plans apart from rumours. Could you share any information with us regarding that?”
Taehyun hums, taps his toe against the ground. “I can confirm that the majority of fans will be pleased with the decision, but no more than that.”
The interview flows away from Taehyun. They spend time drilling Leevi on his opinions about the season and whether he thinks their car would be competitive next year. Exploiting his trait to slip up and share information. Noah’s retirement and championship fight with Aaron and Taehyun are also hot topics in the media pen.
How ironic that both of them are leaving.
Once the press conference is over, Taehyun zooms out to his driver's room to pick up his bag and leave for the hotel. His fingers are busy texting Alexandre about when he should be at the airport if he wants to catch a flight with him to Monaco tomorrow.
Out of nowhere, the world tips out of balance, his phone drops to the ground, and he finds himself in between two motorhomes, pushed against the wall.
“What-”
Dyson’s blazing eyes swim into his vision. He is holding Taehyun against the metal wall. It’s damp and cold through Taehyun’s shirt.
“You fucking son of a bitch. You are so high on your horse, you think you can talk shit about me?”
Taehyun’s brows knit together in momentary disorientation. It takes him a few seconds to catch up with the situation. “I didn’t say anything I didn’t already say to your face. You can’t control the damn car.”
“Shut the fuck up!” He holds Taehyun by the collar and yanks him forward. “Feeling like a big shot, huh? Because you drive a Ferrari? If the Rossi name weren’t hanging above your head, no one would want you on the goddamn team!”
Taehyun doesn’t hesitate to shove him away, and the other stumbles backwards. “People might know my name, but at least I have talent and skills to match it. You, on the other hand? An embarrassment.”
“Wanna see what my name can do? You are done, Kang. Remember my words.”
Taehyun narrows his eyes. He knows better than to pick a fight with Dyson. He doesn’t want to risk a race ban so close to the season’s end. “Yeah, of course. I’m not one of your sponsors, I’m not going to piss myself because of your name.”
“You will be done like your little friend.” He spits, hate simmering behind his eyes. “All the talk about his big grand return. Heard he is nothing but a cripple now.”
Taehyun is about to walk away, leave this fuming idiot behind. But his legs halt, his body going up in a flare. “Watch your mouth, Dyson.” Uneasiness takes hold of Taheyun’s body as he notices the amused flash on Dyson’s face.
Silence stretches between them; it feels like an eternity, but it’s only a long breath that Taehyun refuses to let escape. The longer he watches Dyson’s infuriating face, his mind slips into the past, to Beomgyu’s wrecked car.
“What are you even talking about? You locked up.”
“Did I?” His voice tilts, amused and baiting.
He stares at Dyson’s face, his mind races. “What the fuck, Dyson? Are you this bored?” His stomach drops to Hell’s pit.
Dyson’s words spiral in his mind, like a violent tornado; they rip Taehyun back to Monza, to the crash that has been haunting him in his dreams and waking world. The putrid stench of burnt rubber is still in his nose, and the exhaust smoke clouds his vision. The blood on his glove, Beomgyu’s unconscious body.
Dyson’s blue Williams locked up when he tried to manoeuvre away from debris, and it skidded into the gravel trap. Right into Beomgyu’s car. The McLaren driver might hate Beomgyu, but… Surely he wouldn’t… He could have killed someone.
Taehyun’s mind spirals with the speed of light.
“You crashed into Beomgyu on purpose?!” His voice rises with each word.
“That’s an accusation, Kang. Can you even prove that?” Dyson says, wide-eyed and acting all virtuous. “You should even thank me, eh, I have no clue if my Williams trashed that idiot-”
Mind blank like an empty sheet of paper, Taehyun’s body lurches forward. His knuckles crack against Dyson’s jaw, and a satisfying numbness spreads through his hands. Dyson’s back slams against the wall with a loud thud. Taehyun grabs onto his collar and yanks him forward; the other stumbles.
“If you don’t shut up right now, it’s going to be you who will have to worry about whether you can start the next season or not. Don’t test me on this.”
Dyson tries to push Taehyun’s hand away. “You-”
“Do you understand me, Dyson?”
Soles crunch against the gravel in the narrow opening between the motorhomes. Footsteps get closer.
“Hey, hey! Teo, che stai facendo?! Lascialo andare! Ma sei fuori?”
Matteo’s insistent hands claw Taehyun’s away, and Dyson falls back. He pushes Taehyun, holding him by the shoulders when Taehyun tries to lunge again.
“Basta, damn it!”
Taehyun stops pressing forward, as if he flipped back into reality. He looks at Dyson, who struggles to his feet. He huffs, but doesn’t move to retaliate. Either it’s because Matteo is here or he knows Taehyun wouldn’t hesitate to punch him again.
“Are you out of your mind?! The weed in the air made you stupid?” Matteo keeps rattling on, his hands hover around Taehyun, afraid he will move towards Dyson. “Hey, stay there.” He points at Dyson
“He just wanted to congratulate.” Taehyun steps back, his voice clipped. Matteo stops speaking the moment he hears Taehyun.
His hands still shake; he wills them to be still by curling them into a tight fist.
Without looking back at Dyson, Taehyun reaches for his phone and dusts it away. Later on, he will have time to ponder whether his actions were a good idea.
“If it’s true… If you really crashed into Beomgyu.”
Dyson scoffs. “You are so pathetic, Kang.” He smooths out the collar of his shirt while scowling. “Picking fights for someone like-”
“Dude, I don’t know why my cousin was grabbing you like that, but I think you should stop before you get hit,” Matteo warns, standing between them.
“Andiamo, Matte.”
Taehyun pulls him away until the younger falls in step with him. He looks at Dyson and back at Taehyun as if he is waiting for one of them to start another fight.
Most of the FIA personnel and crew members have left or are about to complete their final duties around the deconstructed garages and motorhomes. Barely any people cross their path. There’s loud music coming somewhere, echoing across the empty space. Probably from Red Bull, celebrating what they can. Ferrari is no better.
“You are not going to tell this to anyone.” Taehyun eventually speaks up when they are close to the Ferrari motorhome. He stops, restlessly spinning his phone between his fingers. “Not to papà, not to nonno. You will bring this to your grave.”
“Damn.” Matteo scratches his neck. “Okay, whatever. Just… Why did you even punch him? Did he shit-talk your driving this much?” He looks at the motorhome’s glass doors; people are still inside, but they haven’t noticed the cousins yet. “What was that about… Beomgyu?”
Taehyun takes a deep breath, trying to rein in his trembling heart. The hand he punched Dyson with throbs in dull pain.
“Don’t mind it.”
“What if he sues you?”
“He won’t.”
Despite Taehyun’s restrained voice, Matteo is visibly shaken. “You don’t know that! He tried to sue a steward last year for a penalty.”
“He won’t, unless he wants the conversation between us to get out. And I’m sure he doesn’t want to deal with the accusations and investigations, it was nothing but him riling me up. So, don’t worry. You don’t have to become a witness.” He messes up Matteo's mop of curls with a small smile. It’s clipped, far from a genuine one. “Sorry that you had to intervene.”
“Bro, I already am a witness, what are you talking about?”
“Why are you here, anyway?”
At the mention of his pursuit’s purpose, Matteo’s eyes light up. “Zio asked me to get you. The Ferrari big dogs want to celebrate you! Pre-game at the motorhome.”
“Ah…”
The motorhome is full of people. Crew members from both garages and family members gathered with other Ferrari personnel. And among them stand Benedetto Vigna and John Elkann. Champagne glasses are full, and the room is loud with music and people talking.
Both he and Matteo slip in. He tries to find his dad, but before he can, someone grabs his arm and pulls him into a small circle of people.
“And here is our number one!” Elkann pats his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “Congratulations on winning.”
Taehyun nods. “Thank you.” And accepts a flute of champagne pushed into his hand. “But it’s not-”
“Ah, don’t be too shy. Winning is in your blood! As expected from Vincenzo’s grandson, right?”
Another person speaks, but Taehyun has already lost the strings of voices circling him. Elkann’s hands were heavy and burning, the crowd around him suffocating. He downs the champagne. Reaches for another.
Vincenzo’s grandson.
I have a name — Taehyun wants to spit into their face — It’s plastered on the fucking poster behind you.
The poster in question is Taehyun in his race suit, a grin on his face, eyes wide, full of determination and hope.
“Taehyun, for a moment.”
He looks up, Fred beckoning him for a word. He discards the empty glass and steps away from the crowd. Fred takes him across the motorhome to his office.
The moment they left the happy gathering, Taehyun knew their conversation wouldn’t be about congratulatory words. He shuts the door behind him and braces himself.
Away from the cameras and deep in motorhome offices, Fred and Taheuyn’s relationship isn’t as wholesome as most Tifosi would believe. No matter how peaceful or supportive they look, conflicts are always present in a team. But since the beginning of this year, a raft has been slowly erupting in the Ferrari garage.
Taehyun’s attitude this season has been a thorn in Fred’s side, the way he abandoned his media training race after race, not afraid to voice his dissatisfaction to the media, especially after a terrible weekend. And while Fred tried and failed to control Taehyun, the media latched onto the brewing conflict. It didn’t help that the season was littered with moments of miscommunication and failed upgrades.
Taehyun stands near the door, while Fred walks behind his desk.
“Congratulations on your win. It was a delight to watch the race.” There’s genuine glee in Fred’s voice and face, a smile that reaches his eyes.
Taehyun nods. “Thank you.”
“I have seen your parents race; you greatly remind me of them. You're fierce on the track, I like that.” Fred’s awfully casual voice feels like a blade swinging over Taehyun’s neck. “And while I understand that there are rivalries in this motorsport, being this open isn’t a good look.”
Taehyun sets his mouth in a thin line, uneasiness creeping up on his back.
“They taught me a great deal, and I’m thankful for their mentorship. But my parents weren’t better than me when it came to voicing their opinions about other drivers.” He furrows his brows. “I didn’t lie about Dyson.”
That clearly wasn’t the right answer, Fred sighs as if he is already tired of this conversation. “Keep it to yourself. Do you know how it looks to the media?”
“I don’t understand. Why wasn’t it a problem when I had my fights with the others? Besides, it’s too generous to call it a rivalry.” He adds with a twist of his lips.
“Taehyun.” Fred pinches his nose bridge. “What did I ask you in Mexico?”
“Don’t discuss the issues with the car. Keep your problems with other drivers to yourself.” Taehyun repeats in a monotone voice.
“Can you do that for the remaining two races?”
Taehyun sighs, pushing his cropped bangs away from his eyebrows. “Yes, I can.”
“Wonderful.” There’s doubt in Fred's voice. Taehyun can’t even blame him. “Now, with that out of the way, I wanted to talk to you about your contract extension. We have reviewed what you have asked, and I’m afraid I can’t serve with satisfying news.”
Stunned, Taehyun looks at Fred. His ears ring, and the world squeezes itself into the small office.
“Pardon?”
“What you ask for is too much of a change. We would have to rebuild and test vital parts of the cars, but we don’t have enough time for that.” Fred shakes his head. “There’s more about it in the email the office has sent you, but I didn’t want to disturb you before the race.”
It’s truly a rare sight to see Kang Taehyun speechless. But even if he tries to scramble his mind for something coherent, something that would tip the tide to his boat, he can’t come up with anything.
“But we have been talking about this since June. It’s November now.”
A nod. “Yes, I know. We tried Taehyun, trust me. But it’s not possible. However, the factory took some of your suggestions and promised to implement them.”
Taehyun stands in the office, feeling all too stupid to think or hope that his words would have some weight when it comes to the car.
“That’s…” Taehyun gasps, his fingers twitch. “We have been talking about it for months. Now you are saying those long meetings were for nothing?”
The moment Taehyun tried out the new car through the simulation, he knew it was bad. Later that night, Leevi also confirmed that it’s a nightmare to drive. After every test, they were always clear about the issues they were facing with the cars.
And when the media caught on to the dissatisfaction, Fred spun it around as if these problems were the driver’s fault.
As if Taehyun didn’t win championships in a Ferrari, as if last year Leevi didn’t finish fourth in the standings.
But Fred would rather have the world think it’s the driver’s fault, rather than admit they are on a steady path to build a fucked up, over-decorated tin can.
“What I know is that one of my drivers is unbelievably ungrateful. Do you believe you can build a better car than our engineers?” The accusation is absurd.
And if Taehyun wouldn’t be bubbling with simmering anger in his gut, he could probably laugh at it.
“It’s… Why are you trying to twist my words? Try driving the car, you will say the same things.”
“But that’s not my job. Your job is to drive, the engineers’ is to build the car-”
“Fred-”
“And your press officer’s is to monitor what you are saying on interviews.”
Taehyun bites the inside of his cheeks. Hard. Until he tastes faint iron. “So I should just shut up and drag that thing around?”
“You should stop being disrespectful.” The order is clear. Fred expects no retaliation.
“It’s not disrespectful to tell you the car is bad.”
Silence hangs in the air between them. Heavy with a season’s worth of tension, ready to snap like an overly taut thread fraying in the middle.
“Taehyun, this is my final warning. It isn’t only me who is dissatisfied with your attitude; Elkann has also voiced his dislike. If you can’t cooperate with us…”
There’s a sharp edge in Fred’s words, like a hunter’s knife as it readies to slit its prey’s throat.
“Are you threatening to drop me?” Taehyun asks, baffled. “Unless I don’t agree with your conditions and terms, you would drop me?”
“I cannot work with a driver who is always unsatisfied and difficult. And many talented drivers are lining up for a chance.”
Taehyun leaves the office with blazing blood and an unbelievably suffocating feeling of irritation gripping at his throat. He wants to spit it out, at Fred’s feet, at Elkann’s, at Maranello’s.
Instead, he swallows it.
Feels it burn his throat and stomach. The way it anchors itself into his soul is like a poisonous pickaxe digging deeper into infected flesh — spreading and clambering across his body like ivy, rooting itself into one place. As if he is a statue from an old, golden time, dimmed and chipped, moss growing on stone-cold skin.
He notices Leevi, among other happy businessmen and higher-ups within Ferrari. They share a smile. Leevi raises his glass at Taehyun.
As the night goes on, the champagne tastes more and more rancid.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Can I be honest?
I still want your hands up on my body
You still make my heart beat fast, Ferrari
With me in the wave, but in the mornin'
Do you still want me?
Music reverberates from the walls, and drunken voices fill the venue. Busy in his booth, the DJ hypes the crowd, who answer in screams and shouts.
It’s past midnight, the venue that Ferrari hastily rented is decorated with warm wood and tall glasses, the music blares, and the whole room smells of alcohol and tobacco. Taehyun is pretty sure he saw some of the younger mechanics bring in weed, too.
Seeing half of the sponsors, businessmen, and his bosses, who are responsible for crucial decisions for his team, drunk is an experience Taehyun never cherishes. Their laugh is obnoxious, grabbing onto Taehyun and Leevi to push more alcohol into their hands. They talk as if the wins are theirs too, as if they put actual effort into the races and were the ones crossing the chequered flag.
He isn’t sure if this celebration is really about the drivers or if they wanted an excuse to go wild in Las Vegas.
Today was… A lot. The entire season was. Getting lost in the buzz of the alcohol is welcoming; it helps him tone down the tension in his bones and the throbbing ache in his muscles. Make him forget he is one bad news away from a breakdown.
His friends and teammate are among the crowd too. Taehyun tried joining them at the beginning, but there’s a nagging in his brain that even the alcohol can’t numb. His conversation with Fred sticks with him.
He fiddles with the empty glass, trying to think. He came to get another round of drinks, but got lost in his thoughts as he waited for the bartender.
He should have talked to his dad instead of getting pulled into the party by Matteo and Leevi.
Then, someone slides into the chair next to him. A woman with long, wavy brunette hair, in a silver dress that hugs her body. He remembers seeing her around the paddock a few times.
She bumps their elbows together. Taehyun looks at her, wide-eyed, brain a little dizzy from the drinks and the champagne.
“Aw, don’t be shy,” She chuckles. “It’s not my first time meeting with an F1 driver, you know?” Her strong accent peeks through her words.
“Ah, really?”
“Yeah, cutie. You are Ferrari’s golden boy, aren’t you?” She leans closer, Taehyun leans back, almost slipping off the chair. “I’m Natalina, my dad is one of Ferrari’s sponsors. I come and go around the paddock.”
“Uh…”
“But if you are afraid we might be seen,” Natalina looks around with a smile. “We can take it somewhere quieter, hm? I’m staying at The Palazzo.”
Taehyun takes a deep breath. “No… It’s, uh… No. It’s… It’s okay. I’m uh.”
Natalina’s smile withers. “You don’t do one-night stands, huh?”
“No, those are not my thing.”
“Well, it was worth a shot still.” She chuckles to herself. “Are you with someone here?”
“Some of my friends. They all have girlfriends.” Taehyun adds with a little smile.
Natalina laughs, her eyes twinkle under the colourful lights, or maybe it’s just her eyeshadow. “Thanks for the heads-up, cutie.” She throws her hair over her shoulder and hops off the chair. “Congratulations on the win. Have a good night and celebration. Bye-bye,” She winks at him, and in a second, she is lost in the crowd once again.
Well… That was quick. He is glad that Natalina didn’t push it further.
Taehyun wonders who else is here at the party who isn’t explicitly part of their team and crew. The venue didn’t check people, and there seemed to be no security either. Wonders if anyone caught this moment.
Last year in Zandvoort, he had a similar incident with a less understanding woman. Someone captured a picture of them, and PR wanted him to enter into a relationship with the model. It lasted until the end of the season. Taehyun couldn’t be happier when the contract ended.
He gets his phone, hops off the chair and stumbles towards the door. His lungs beg for fresh air.
Only now he feels the sweat on his forehead and nape. The interaction with the woman still makes his head spin. He stands outside, the blinding street breathing in the fresh air. It doesn’t seem to help.
He stumbles towards a bench near a fountain, and he plops down, holding his head in his hands.
A few minutes pass before he fishes his phone out and dials a number. His mom answers after the second ring.
“Hello, darling.” She chirps. “Is everything alright?”
Taehyun takes a deep breath, trying to straighten his thoughts. They have already talked, called her on the way here. “No. Nothing is alright.”
“Is your dad with you?”
“He went back to the hotel already. I… Mamma, I haven’t even told this to him.”
Now that he thinks about it, he really should have gone back to the hotel with his dad and talked this through. But the prospect of drowning his thoughts in alcohol seemed too inviting for his agitated mind.
“But what? Are you well? Something happened?”
“I had a talk with Fred after the race, we had… A small argument about the contract.”
She hums, encouraging him to continue.
“They said there’s no time to implement what I asked for.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other line. Taehyun can hear the faint clank of pots in the background and his nonna’s voice.
“Okay.” Serafina answers. “Okay, that’s not surprising.”
And no, it really isn’t. His mom told him the first time when they talked about Taehyun’s requests. He still went through with them, encouraged by his dad and nonno. But Serafina knows from firsthand experience how unfair and stubborn Ferrari can be, regardless of the team principal.
Taehyun thought maybe he would have more leverage. But he was wrong.
“That’s not… Everything.” He speaks with caution. Then decides the best way to tell is to be blunt. “I was threatened to be dropped.”
“What?!” Serafina questions, her voice going high. “Are you joking, micetto? If this is some kind of misplaced prank that you came up with Matte-”
“I’m not joking, mamma. Fred said they can’t work with a difficult driver.”
“Difficult-” This time it’s Serafina who pauses for a deep breath, trying to compose herself. It takes a good minute before she speaks again. “I can’t believe he would sink so low, that manipulative… What are you thinking right now?” She asks, swallowing down her insult.
“I don’t know what to do,” Taehyun confesses. “I want to convince Fred, but I don’t know how. He isn’t interested at all; he is more concerned about how I speak about Dyson.”
“If he didn’t listen to your first attempt, he won’t listen to the hundredth.”
“Yes, but… the car looks horrible, and it’s only the simulation.”
“Must you drive it?”
Taehyun’s heart plummets to the icy depths of hell. Leave… Ferrari? Even thinking about it is absurd. Ferrari and his family have a deep-rooted and intertwined history. His family has been racing for them since Formula One was a thing. Taehyun debuted with them; he will retire with them, too.
“That’s not funny.”
“I didn’t mean it as a joke, darling. There are nine teams who would welcome you.”
He bites the inside of his cheeks, restlessly shaking his leg. “You are not helping at all.”
“Taehyun, put aside your loyalty for a minute, okay? And be honest with yourself. Let’s talk like two racers with each other, not like mother and son.” Serafina says, her voice calm as a river. “How can you sit in a car that you have no confidence in?”
“But-”
“Didn’t you say the only reason you are still in contention is because of the first half of the season advantage? And that it was only because your competitors had problems with their cars?”
“I said, yes…”
“Do you think you will have this luck again next season?”
“I don’t know…”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He stands from the bench, too agitated to stay in one place. His phone beeps, Kai is calling him. He declines it.
“I can’t just leave Ferrari, mamma. That’s not how…”
“How the Rossis do it, right?”
“My place is with Ferrari.” He declares. The sudden shock from the suggestion and the fresh air sobered him up slowly.
“Do they know that, too?” She asks suddenly. “It looks like they can do whatever they want; you won’t even consider leaving. And they know it too. For God’s sake, your team principal just threatened to drop you!”
“Then what should I do? Go to Mercedes? Aston? Red Bull? Don’t be absurd.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes.
Serafina sighs, her voice mellow. “The world doesn’t end in Maranello, micetto. I wish you would know that.”
“You are not fair.”
“I think we both know your team is the one that isn’t fair.”
The venue’s door swings open, and Kai appears there, hair dishevelled a bit, eyes probably searching for Taehyun. He waves at Kai.
“I’m not leaving, mamma. I gotta go.”
She hums. “Have fun, darling.”
He ends the call with a deep sigh, staring at the screen that shows the minutes they have spent speaking. The conversation didn’t bring the clarity Taehyun hoped for, let alone help him detangle his thoughts.
“Are you okay?” Kai asks, stepping next to him.
“Why wouldn’t I?” He struggles with the words. His head is starting to spasm with pain.
“You look… Panicked. Did something happen?”
Taehyun frowns. He turns to the window near them and examines himself. The man who looks back has wild eyes, almost like a scared cat; his cheeks flush, and his skin glistens with sweat. A little of his hair sticks to his forehead. He pushes it back.
“Just uh… Tonight was a lot.” He pockets his phone. “Ferrari is on fire, and a sponsor's daughter offered me a hookup.”
“Did you-”
“No!”
“You don’t even know what I wanted to ask.” Kai raises his hands in a silent defence. “I was going to ask about Ferrari.”
“I don’t want to hook up.” Taehyun shakes his head, emphasising his words. Notices the way Kai looks at him, with creased brows and pursed lips. “What?”
“Nothing, just…” He studies Taehyun’s face. ”I came to get you; the others are looking for you.”
The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, reminiscing with old friends. Taehyun decides to throw himself into the night instead of worrying and overloading his mind with the future. Celebrate what he can, and what will come. The championship is his, and no one can take that away from him.
Loud music blares in his ears, the alcohol is burning, and all he remembers are chapped lips under the colourful LED lights.
The crisp November air sobers him. Kai tells him not to walk into the hotel door before pulling him away. Taehyun stumbles to his side and stays there as Kai throws his hand over his shoulder.
His mind floats without worries, and the alcohol pleasantly thrums in his veins.
He smacks his lips; there’s an unpleasant taste on his tongue from that fruity drink Axel liked so much. “You know… You know… I’ve been with Ferrari for… Many years, right? Right?” He slurs the words together as they ride the lift. Kai hums. “And some of them, still can’t learn my name is Kang, you know… But my name is plastered around posters.” He shakes his head. “Banda di pigri … How do you say lazy in German? F…Fai.. Fam… Faaa”
Kai snorts, pulling Taehyun out of the lift as they walk slowly to Kai’s room.
“Faul.”
Taehyun hums in agreement. “Yes. Faul. So many faul.”
They both giggle like little kids at Taehyun’s strange accent and ramblings. Kai opens the door, flicking on the wall lights. It’s harsh on Taehyun’s eyes; he squints and stumbles into the bed face-first.
Tired and drunk, neither of them cares about showering or slipping into more comfortable clothes. They discard their shoe and jackets, and Kai also falls into the inviting bed. He snuggles with a pillow while Taehyun works himself up to the bed properly.
“Kai.”
“Hm?” Kai’s eyes were already closed.
“I don’t know. Is it weird I said no to the one-night stand?” Taehyun says, staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. “Others would have surely said yes. She was pretty.”
Kai yawns and rubs his face against the pillow. “I also don’t hook up with strangers. It’s not odd.”
“I also never had a girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“I mean a real girlfriend… Is it weird?”
“I didn’t have either.”
He looks at Kai. His friend’s eyes are closed, and he looks like he is two steps away from entering the world of dreams. Taehyun hums.
“But you don’t like women.”
Kai this time doesn’t answer. Huffing gently in his sleep, his face mushed into the pillow.
Sleep suddenly abandons his drunken mind, and Taehyun stares back at the ceiling. The lights of Las Vegas play their own dance routine up on the white wall. They make Taehyun’s eyes strain.
His phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he flops around the bed, fishing it out. Alexandre sent him a string of messages.
The words mush together, and the screen blurs in front of his tired eyes.
He will care about the message later.
Staring at his WhatsApp messages, he scrolls down — down until weeks turn to months and months to years. He stops at one contact: Gyu.
Fingers fly over the keyboard, they stumble over each other and over words that are clear in Taehyun’s mind but muddled as he tries to pour them out into the world.
But it doesn’t matter. Beomgyu still have him blocked. The little grey check mark at the corner, like an ugly reminder, a deadly needle into his wounds.
Sleep eventually claims him, with tear-stained cheeks and exhausted bones.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Whatsapp chat with: Gyu 
Today
Sent Message: Hi hyung03:20
Sent Message: I won teh chsmpsiu03:20
Sent Message: Are yoo peoud ofmw?03:22
Sent Message: oh03:24
Sent Message: i’M stilk blockrd03:24
Sent Message: You are rewlly unfaur03:26
Sent Message: patto03:27
Sent Message: I muss you03:29
Sent Message: miss03:30
Sent Message: I miss you03:31
Sent Message: I stikk don’t knoww hy you hatr me03:34
Sent Message: wish you tolr me03:35
Sent Message: can you finakly cime backk03:37
Sent Message: pleasr03:37
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“Lower.”
Beomgyu huffs, his muscles screeching. He leans forward, planting his hands on the yoga mattress underneath him to find stability. Sweat sticks to his skin, a few strands fallen from his dishevelled ponytail. Beomgyu tries to regulate his breath, but it still comes out ragged.
“Lower.”
“Fuma.” Beomgyu grits, clenching his eyes. “Are you serious?”
He looks up at his trainer, who stands next to Beomgyu with such an innocent look on his face, as if he didn’t just run Beomgyu like a racehorse in the past 2 hours. Fuma’s own gym is a well-lit second-floor studio where he takes care of his clients. In the past months, it included Beomgyu too.
Beomgyu officially moved into his new home, with the help of Yeonjun and Soobin, who are still with him in London. Yeonjun recommended Fuma for him; they worked together after his knee injury, and Fuma was more than happy to take in Beomgyu.
“If you don’t stretch well, you will be a rusty robot.” He tells, then adds with a smile. “You are doing great.”
“Your praise is not going to bait me.”
“Worth a shot. Now, lower.”
Beomgyu groans and leans forward once again. He takes a deep breath, going through the post-workout stretch routine he is now so familiar with. Once his torture is done, Beomgyu sprawls out on the mattress. His spine cracks, and Fuma raises an eyebrow.
“Does the heat rub cream help? Do you stretch every night as I said?”
“Yeah.” Beomgyu sighs. “I do the cream after I stretch, too.”
Fuma hums, silent appreciation in his tone. Beomgyu gathers himself eventually.
Fuma is much nicer than his last performance coach, yet he knows how to rein in Beomgyu when he is about to slack off or skip a workout.
Half an hour later, they leave the studio. Yeonjun waits for Beomgyu in the car park, having run some errands for Beomgyu. Like filling up his fridge with actual food, other than takeout and an ungodly amount of jellies hiding in his cabinets and crates of Red Bulls.
“And remember,” Fuma says, locking up the studio. “Just because I allowed you to work out at home doesn’t mean you should overexert yourself.”
“Yes, captain.”
Fuma chuckles and messes up Beomgyu’s hair. “Silly boy. We don’t want to repeat what happened in July, do we?”
Beomgyu grimaces. “No. I uh…”
“Just be careful, okay? We have enough time.”
Once he notices Yeonjun approaching them, Beomgyu plasters a smile on his face.
“Hi, hyung!”
“Ah, hello Yeonjun. How is your knee?” Fuma asks, while Beomgyu hauls his bag into the boot of the car.
He lingers there, pressing his palm into the cold surface of the car. Hidden by the car, he shakes his left leg, as if set on ablaze; his muscles burn and tighten.
Yeonjun smiles at the question. “Doing fantastic, thank you. Were you able to handle him?” He points towards Beomgyu.
Beomgyu straightens up, putting more weight on his leg out of surprise. He takes a deep breath, concealing it as a cough.
“Oh, he is an angel.” His trainer jokes, he checks the time, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Bye, boys, and Beomgyu, be cautious!”
“Yeah, yeah. Have a nice trip!” He waves at Fuma, and the other walks away, disappearing around the corner.
Beomgyu steps away from the vehicle. At the same time, Yeonjun looks at him, eyeing him up and down as if he has to make sure it’s Beomgyu in front of him and not a weird clone.
“What?”
“Angel?” He questions and goes to sit in the car. Beomgyu follows his example. “Who are you?”
Beomgyu lets out a dry laugh. “I can behave.”
“What was the overexertion about?”
A good minute passes before Beomgyu answers. Busy watching the crowded streets pass by. A blur of scenery, an intersection of lives.
“Nothing.” He says, pulling his attention away from the window. “Fuma is going back to Japan at the end of this month and will stay through the whole of December, so I’m allowed to work out from home. Oh, also, we will do the first evaluation around the first two weeks of January.”
“Will you be okay?”
“Yeah, I have a key to his studio, but I can also just go to the gym near me.” He pulls off the hair tie. “Did you guys unpack my sim?”
Yeonjun snorts and turns the car onto a narrower street. “You literally moved two days ago, your living room looks like a small construction site for furniture.” He shakes his head and sighs. “Yes, we did unpack it. I was so kind and generous that I even set it all up for you.”
“Thank you very much!” He beams at Yeonjun.
The drive leads to the outskirts of London, a narrow street of multiple-level brick houses, ranging from older to modern new ones.
Beomgyu’s home is a Georgian-style, red-brick house with two levels and a big front and back garden; vines and wall climbers decorate the outside. Tall brick walls and an iron cast gate separate the driveway from the rest of the street. Trees are scattered around the front, almost as if they are hiding the house.
He tried to preserve what he could from the house. It was abandoned for nearly 10 years after the unexpected death of the owner and his children’s inheritance battles.
They roll into the driveway, and the gate closes behind them automatically. Yeonjun kills off the engine, but before Beomgyu could leave the car, he says:
“Gyu.”
“Hm?”
“Are you alright?” The question is slow, gentle, just like when someone talks to a frightened animal.
Beomgyu studies Yeonjun’s face for a beat. Mulling over his potential answers, trying to work out what he and Soobin had talked about before he came to pick up Beomgyu.
“Is this about the doctor again? Because I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Can’t I worry?” Yeonjun almost looks conflicted.
Beomgyu unlocks his safety bell and lets it fall away. He stares at the dashboard.
”You have been doing nothing but worry since it happened.” He sighs. “Just… Trust me, okay? That’s all I’m asking. I know it scares you to see me in a car again, and I know you fear that I will crash again. And I will, you know that too.” He looks at Yeonjun, silently begging him not to turn this against him. “It’s part of racing, it comes with the job. But I’m not afraid, I want to get back out there. That’s me, hyung.” He shrugs. “I gave up everything to be a Formula One driver, and I will forever regret not trying again.”
Doubt and thoughts of failure have been haunting Beomgyu for months and years. Perhaps it’s the first time he has felt truly confident in the words he has said.
How different his life would have been if he had stayed in Daegu. If he went back to Korea. If he didn’t dare to shoot for the stars.
In the chaos that surrounds Beomgyu in his mind and outside in the world, one thing he is sure of more than anything: he was meant to be a racer.
“I know you understand it.” He adds, holding Yeonjun’s gaze. “You were like that, too.”
Yeonjun flinches at the allusion to his racing past. He holds onto the wheel, grips it until his knuckles turn white, then he drops his hands. He looks almost defeated.
“And I will forever regret it if something happens because you were not well-prepared.”
Beomgyu groans, running his hand through his hair. “Hyung, you came to every doctor's appointment with me. You saw all of my psychological evaluations, and you recommended Fuma to me. You heard them permit me to get back into the car.”
At this point, Beomgyu thinks his only option is to get on his knees and beg them to let this go. And it wouldn’t really matter if Yeonjun and Soobin didn’t fill in such important roles in Lucky13. Soobin, being his press officer and Yeonjun, his temporary manager. If they disagree, they could very much derail Beomgyu’s plans on getting back on the grid.
The thought of his friends sabotaging him makes Beomgyu shiver. They would never do that.
But it lingers in his mind, like a stubborn ghost refusing to pass on to the afterlife.
Yeonjun reaches towards him and grabs his shoulder. He has a haunted look in his eyes. “Just promise me that if your body protests, that if you can’t handle the car… You will stop.”
“Hyung-”
“Promise me, you will step back if your body can’t handle it. You ask me to trust you, and I will. But promise me this.”
Beomgyu wonders how much Yeonjun sees himself in Beomgyu now. Back then, he was stubborn just like him, itching to get back to the car, to tame the circuits. But his body couldn’t keep up. It failed him.
Would Beomgyu’s do the same? Would it betray him?
He gulps, lips dry and rough.
“Okay.” He exhales. “I promise.”
“Thank you.”
A tight smile appears on Yeonjun’s lips, as if he isn’t quite believing in Beomgyu but wants to nonetheless. He drops his hand and unbuckles himself.
Beomgyu opens his side of the door, he steps out, and he almost stumbles forward. His left calf burns with tension and tired muscles. He grips the roof, holding onto it as he climbs out of the car. Yeonjun goes on without noticing. Beomgyu breathes with relief.
He shakes his leg and goes to grab the bags from the back.
The interior of the house is warm and welcoming, far from minimalistic, even in these early stages of moving. Corners are filled with cabinets, chairs, and plants. The walls will be decorated with paintings and old framed concert posters of Beomgyu’s favourite bands and musicians throughout the decades. He has a lot of vintage and antique trinkets that will find their home around the house. Various suncatchers, a metronome, strange little clay figures from a flea market, vinyl, and handmade sculptures. A piano sits lonely at the end of the foyer, not quite finding its place yet.
The walls are painted in a washed-out light beige colour, and the accent walls are covered in busy and colourful wallpapers or soft browns and dark sage. The brick, similar to the outside, also appears throughout the house. A beautiful painted mural is the focal point of the living room.
Every room has a fireplace, although only the one in the living room is functional. The floor is the original one, dark brown oak parquet.
From the second floor, big balconies open to the garden. It’s well-trimmed with tall bushes around the brick walls, and at one corner, underneath an oak tree, a small natural pond is tucked away. A rectangular gazebo shelters the fire pit, a small spice garden and an old shed near the pond, which Beomgyu turned into a greenhouse.
True to Yeonjun’s words, the living room is a war zone of unfinished furniture, IKEA boxes, manuals, and packages, where he stored whatever would belong in the living room.
Soobin, among the chaos, is sprawled out on the floor. While Yeonjun coaxes up Soobin from the ground, Beomgyu goes to the kitchen — walking through a wide archway from the living room — to put away the items from the bags. A beautiful view opens from the kitchen to the garden through the big windows and the sliding door.
He scours through the drawers, pops in two painkillers and downs a glass of water with it. As he hears Soobin shuffling, he drops the packet into the drawer. He picks his phone from his sweater, noticing a notification from the official F1 account.
“Hey there, Gyu.” Soobin greets him, yawning. “How was your session with Fuma?”
“It was good. We will do my first evaluation after the New Year.” Beomgyu says and taps the notification while Yeonjun sorts out what needs to be in the fridge and in the pantry.
“Hmm, did you tell Red Bull about it?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh! Is this takeout?” Yeonjun leans out of the fridge with five packages. They smell delicious.
“Duh.” Soobin looks at him like it isn’t obvious? “I thought none of us would really have the mood to cook anything.”
Beomgyu grins. “And you were so right, hyung.”
His mouth closes slowly, the grin withering away from his lips. He stands, frozen in his kitchen, while life moves on around him, and the chatter grows into a high-pitched scream in his ears. Then, as if the line was cut, silence envelops him.
KANG TAEHYUN IS THE 2024 FORMULA 1 WORLD CHAMPION!!
It reads like a curse, something that crawls into Beomgyu’s bones, his marrow, his very soul. Chill runs through his spine and settles on the top of his head, spasming with each heartbeat. He can’t look away. Taehyun looks back at him from the multitude of photos, as if he is looking right into Beomgyu’s eyes, taunting him, mocking him.
“Beomgyu?”
The hand on his arm jolts him out of his thoughts. Soobin stands beside him. He glances at his phone, and understanding washes over him.
“Oh.”
“What is it?” Yeonjun asks, already digging into the takeout box.
Beomgyu gulps. “Taehyun won the title.”
Soobin and Yeonjun never really understood the resentment that settled between the former friends. Beomgyu never explained it; the topic of Kang Taehyun was always touchy, sensitive, like a wound that refused to close, no matter the ointment or the thread that tried to sew it shut. It remained open, festering.
Yeonjun steps on his other side and swings his hand around Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Well, good for him.” He says. “But we have a living room to put together.” He pats Beomgyu’s head, and as he walks away, he says. “Besides, you have next season to steal the title away from him.”
His words should cheer Beomgyu, but he can’t get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.
Beomgyu listens to Yeonjun and Soobin talking; they are discussing plans and strategies, slowly working out a plan for Beomgyu’s return announcement and marketing. Neither of them mentions Taehyun again.
The day moves forward. Unfinished furniture pieces are built, taking their places across the house while music plays from the radio. The house is filled with chatter and banters. Once night has fallen, the couple is fast asleep in one of the guest rooms, while Beomgyu makes himself comfortable in his sims chair.
One of the downstairs rooms became his dedicated space for his sim setup, but also a place where he would store all his relics and trophies from the seasons.
He rummages through the small makeshift table next to the chair, finding his notebook.
It’s filled with lap times, notes from Beomgyu’s observations, and a target lap time that keeps getting shorter. With his phone in his lap, he flips to a new page and writes: Las Vegas, 2024. Target lap: 1:22:05.969 (Kang Taehyun)
Unlike most European circuits, Beomgyu’s familiarity with Las Vegas is through media and simulation time only. He never raced there, as it’s a relatively new circuit, introduced only at the end of 2023. Yet, he tries and tries, but he is unable to beat the set time. Missing a few tenths, or even rounding it up to a full second.
Frustrated and angry, he makes a mistake and spins off the track in the simulation. He sits in the chair, eyes wide and heart stuttering.
“Fuck.” He leans forward, burying his face in his hands.
It’s past 3 am now. Beomgyu shuts off the sim and retires to his bedroom after a quick and warm shower. Despite Fuma’s instructions, he doesn’t stretch — but takes two painkillers and gets into bed.
He falls asleep rewatching the Las Vegas Grand Prix.
Fighting his tired eyelids until he sees Taehyun cross the chequered flag.