Chapter Text
Etoiles sighed as he fixed his shirt properly, refraining from growling.
He doesn’t even know why he finally accepted. It was hot, there were people,
too much noise, too much movement. The huge room was filled with strangers he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. Each of their names was even more complicated than the name of the dishes they had laid on the tables with red velvet tablecloths.
A cocktail party.
And not just any sort of party, the French would have been lucky if it was an evening included with the race pass, but that wasn’t the case. It was a private party that brought together the drivers, the heads of stables and some high-ranking organizers. Well, essentially the very best and some privileged. Each of them must have a wallet equivalent to the GDP of an entire country.
Etoiles had probably never felt so lost in his life. The video games about spies and infiltration didn’t bother him, but he was far from being in a fictional situation right now. And above all, he had no business being in a party like that, he knew absolutely nothing about racing.
How many fans would kill kittens or sell their own mothers to find themselves in his shoes?
And this shirt that was too tight ...
Cellbit had lent him a costume at the last moment, since of course the young man would never have thought to take a chic outfit for a simple car race. That was before Baghera included him in her evil plan. He should have known, strangely everything turned into a trap with her.
And she was not even there to defend herself, dressed in a particularly elegant dress, she was talking to the pilots of a team whose name the young man had forgotten. Cellbit was not far away, and he spoke with what seemed to be an organizer, given the shape of their suit, and, it must be admitted, given the price of their shoes.
Etoiles, he had not yet addressed a single word to anyone, and that was very reassuring. His plan for the rest of this endless evening was to stay firmly in his corner, discreetly go through the buffet to grab some appetizers and leave as soon as he had the chance. His friend had joked that he could very well imagine himself a new life : a fraudulent and mysterious investor, a boring car manufacturer, the son of an immensely rich family, but the French refused. He would be discovered as soon as he would open his mouth.
So he stayed in his lonely spot, far away from the guests, from the tailor-made costumes and the conversations too mundane for him.
When suddenly, a jolt.
Or at least that’s what he thought because something hit him on the side and he almost spilled the half-empty glass he was holding in his hands. For a moment, he thought that he would be the laughing stock of the evening if he flooded the marble floor with expensive champagne.
Before he could turn around and make a sharp comment to the one who had bumped into him, a voice rose.
“My apologies!” a face turned to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
Etoiles’ thoughts stopped when he met the look of a familiar face. At first, he didn’t know where to place it, black hair slicked back, a few rebellious locks lost on his forehead, brown eyes almost black. He was tall, slightly taller than him.
A second passed.
“Undoubtedly” he replied quickly, trying in vain not to appear too embarrassed, or even worse, too embarrassing. He looked a little more at the stranger.
He was wearing clothes that looked much less sophisticated than the other guests. A simple white shirt awkwardly opened with a few button, a vibrant blue top, not too light but on the contrary, which was not of an austere dark. Matching pants, classic shoes, although a little damaged.
To the greatest dismay of Etoiles, there was absolutely no clue of who he was.
“I have never seen you before, am I wrong?” the stranger finally asked, with the same polite and open air that he envied him. In comparison, the French seemed to have a huge poker up his ass, “Journalist?”
“If I were one, I would certainly write an article about this blatant lack of politeness” Etoiles joked half-heartedly, trying to smile in return.
“My reputation would be seriously affected without a doubt” the young man chuckled a little. Again, it revealed absolutely nothing about his true identity.
And suddenly, in a flash, he saw the evidence.
A simple earring, in a gold colour, on the right ear. The same round shape, like a pizza to which one would have removed a slice. And it is at this very moment that the memory of Etoiles started working again.
Pac.
It was Pac.
Pac the pilot. Pac who drives the car. With the helmet, the suit and everything.
Pac.
And this realization gave him a shiver all over his back. It was the worst thing that could have happened. But despite this, he could not let a single crumb of his embarrassment escape, so he took his most confident look and smiled at him.
He tried to reassure himself by saying that he was lucky he had run into the pilot who had captured his gaze.
“It was a very nice race” his tone was calm, fortunately for him. He kept his glass close to him, even daring to support the look of Pac several seconds in a row, “Very nice performance on your part”
“Thank you” the latter ran a hand in his hair which had the consequence of ruffling it even more, “But my teammate helped me very much, I could not have done anything without him”
He followed the gaze of the pilot and it didn’t take long before falling on some flamboyant hair. The French even wondered how he could not have noticed it before, he was talking with a group of old men in ties, one of them wearing an entirely white suit, right down to his socks or the color of his hair.
Certainly, the rich people were the most eccentric.
“You’ll have to put that in your article” Pac joked, in a lower voice, and Etoiles’ shoulders stiffened as he felt he had moved a little towards him. How the hell hasn't everyone heard of personal space here?
“Like « A promising young pilot destroys the career of his team in one evening » ?” yet, despite all the elements that suggested otherwise, he was enjoying himself, a mischievous smile settled on his face as he took another sip of champagne, “A catchy title always pays more”
The pilot laughed again, shaking his head as slight cracks appeared on the corners of his lips. Strange as it may seem, he found that Pac was perfectly real, and on top of that, he appeared so ... alive. Far from being a distant image on the phone a few hours ago, or a name doubled by a number that moved on a screen, he was there.
When Etoiles had seen him up close for the first time, he was in the middle of the race, and he had nothing to do with the young man standing before him : serious, calculating, concentrated, stiff.
Pac soon turned to him with a new glass filled this time with what seemed to be wine.
“I still don’t know your name,” he commented, and the French accepted the drink with a glance of gratitude.
“You have not presented yourself either” Etoiles shrugged and took a sip of wine as the young man in front of him leaned down a little to pick up one of his transparent glasses with a long stem.
“The only difference is that you know who I am” Pac, this time, didn’t seem to want to admit defeat.
“Do I ? I don’t know anything” Etoiles looked around for a moment.
His bad mood had given him until then a somewhat biased vision of the party.
From that point of view, not everything seemed so boring. He had to say there were good sides.
“Are you always this suspicious?” the pilot asked, leaning slightly against the table behind him.
“Only with strangers” he raised his glass for a moment towards the young man’s, inviting him to toast.
“You break my heart” despite his words, the tone of Pac was light, and a smile settled on his face as he clinked his glass with his own in a crystal clear noise, “I am not even allowed the slightest hint?”
He took a sip, enjoying for a moment the taste of the wine, a probably very sophisticated kind but Etoiles could only describe it as “very good”.
“To be honest with you, I am not at all part of the racing field” he glanced at him, before once again, observing the room, “Not a journalist, nor an investor, nor an organizer, or not any other profession that is closely or remotely related to the FA”
“Even more mysterious” Pac answered in a low voice, still with that smirk now more mischievous.
“I try to be at least” he shrugged, also smiling despite himself, “But tell me more about yourself, it’s every day that I have the opportunity to talk to a pilot”
“I fear that I will disappoint you” the young man laughed a little, he passed for the umpteenth time his hand in his hair and his eyes even began to drift towards the ceiling, “There is nothing special to say”
“Humility really doesn’t suit you” Etoiles leaned back on the table, putting his glass beside him, “You drive cars that can go hundreds of miles in seconds and just a few hours ago, you made a performance that may be decisive for your team” he gave him another mocking look, “Give me some substance for my article”
“I am afraid you have made a good summary” shrugging his shoulders, Pac again brought the glass of wine to his lips; his gaze, perhaps out of embarrassment, turned away, “And then I would like to point out that the conversation was mainly around you, the gentleman whose name I don't even know”
“I am even more disappointing than you think” Etoiles scoffed, reaching his hand to take a very intricate appetizer, “For example, I have no secret affair with a mechanic, or a tragic accident story that happened on the circuit”
Pac looked at him, choked, mouth open in an O, before suddenly he started to laugh.
“I had no affair with...” the young man began, before the laughter caught him again and he had to put down his half-finished drink, "Are you sure you’re not a real journalist?"
“I guess I missed my calling”, he giggled a little at his side, congratulating himself on having managed to bring back his good mood. No wonder he was a popular pilot, what kind of normal person had such a bright smile? “I assure you, I have a blog but there is no one single mention of F1”
“Oh, really?” leaned back ever so slightly, Pac didn’t seem to notice that their hands, both flat on the table, were almost touching each other, “Don’t stop now that I’m curious, go on”, he encouraged him with this kind of charming look that usually horrified Etoiles at the highest point. It turned out that this evening was very far from being categorized as “usual”.
“A blog of general knowledge” he finally replied, turning his eyes away and clearing his throat. “There are several themes, I write sheets for the enthusiasts, and every Wednesday there is a quiz. I sometimes travel to feed it, I add pictures and little stories. I work mainly on history and geography, but also on video games and other more geek subjects”
As the French stopped, he realized how ridiculous it must have sounded. But when he expected a mocking laugh or a sharp remark, Pac didn’t do either. His brown eyes seemed to be... interested?
“You’ll have to give me the name, that sounds exciting to me” there was no irony in his voice, “Is this your job?”
“No, I...” Etoiles stopped again and lowered his eyes.
If he said too much, the pilot might understand who he really was. Not that he was necessarily ashamed of being “just” a friend of Baghera, herself a friend of Cellbit, but this could break something.
The blog was not his whole life, he had long struggled to find his true vocation until he did a little random internship, from thread to needle he had managed to become a museum guide, and since then, he didn’t intend to do anything else with his life.
Hard to know if his information would interest someone who excelled in everything he did. No but seriously, what is this famous people’s mania to be both talented and attractive?
“You’re right, it’s too fast,” finally said Pac with malice, “I have to take you to dinner first”
“Stop mocking me”, the French tried to use his most reprobative tone to prevent the young man from embarrassing him further.
He had cold sweats just by imagining himself in one of these fancy restaurants with large chandeliers, waiters with ties, with a menu at exorbitant prices. But the worst would surely be to sit in front of a pilot probably too famous for a random museum guide.
It was his turn to run nervously his hand in his hair, Etoiles also ended up putting his empty glass on the table. From the corner of his eye, he saw that his other hand was still a little too close to the Brazilian’s.
What did he do to find himself in this situation? Was he in a stupid story written by a pimpled teenager?
“I like you”, not denying the accusations, Pac even laughed a little, and turned to the table, finally removing his hand too close. He served them two new drinks, then offered one to Etoiles, who finally accepted, “It’s refreshing to have someone so honest and casual”
Etoiles refrained himself from saying that if he thought of him this way, it’s because his facet worked perfectly well. He was lying to him more or less since the beginning of the soirée and on top of that he was even more tense than a fish in nets.
Fortunately, to prevent him from making more mistakes, he noticed a silhouette approaching, and not the least of them. The colourful hair of a flaming pink matched with a pastel green suit allowed him to understand without worries that it was Mike, Pac’s best friend.
This was only confirmed when the silhouette passed his hand around the shoulders of the pilot, before making a mischievous laugh.
“Another boring party, huh?” and as Mike was about to go on, he seemed to notice Etoiles and his eyes behind his square glasses widened, "Oh, didn’t see you there."
“Nice to meet you” the French reached out his hand, well aware that Pac might have trouble presenting him, “Mike, isn’t it?”
“The second driver of the Brazilian team, to serve you” the young man nodded and shook his hand without hesitating, “You have already met the hero of the evening!”
“Não exagere por favor” grunted the concerned man, his eyes began to be a little fleeting while his cheeks were tinged with a beautiful pink, “E non me envergonhe na frente dele”
“Anima-te, mano” his friend made another amused laugh.
Etoiles had no idea what they were saying, choosing a German course as a second language was a choice he had never regretted more than now.
Fortunately for him, they must have noticed his somewhat lost expression since they continued in English this time.
“You’re interviewing him, right?” and even before he could answer no to Mike and point out the number of people who had confused him with a journalist, he continued, “Ask him how he managed to get the victory under Mexican’s team nose, personally I think it’s beginner’s luck”
Pac frowned and rolled his eyes to the sky, but a smirk had taken over his face and the almost dimples he had reappeared. This simple expression on his face manages to make Etoiles smile too.
“The ‘beginner’ would be curious to know what prevented you from winning this race” a little more spicy than what the French expected, the pilot even allowed himself to shrug his shoulders with a look of disdain, crossing his arms, “As far as I can remember, you, at least still have both your legs”
The one with the well colored hair started laughing again, loudly this time while his friend did the same. Etoiles’ own mind began to slow down.
Both legs.
The different parts of the puzzle began to fit together. The somewhat gloomy faces of his friends, the young man and the mention of his accident, the comment.
It was with horror that he realized that he had made a joke.
He had joked about his accident.
His frightened look lowered on the legs of the pilot.
Pac must have noticed it right away, because with a single gesture he took his best friend’s arm off his shoulders and approached the young man who was still standing there, shocked by his own words.
“Mike, we’re going to leave, we still have the interview to finish” the pilot simply smiled. Etoiles nervously tried to look at his expression, but he seemed relaxed.
“Mas claro” the young man looked at them both, a little suspicious, but he ended up waving at them, and soon his flamboyant hair was lost in the crowd of guests.
There was a moment of silence, and this simple, tiny, futile lapse of time is enough for Etoiles to imagine all the possible scenarios.
He would never have dared to make such a light joke on such a heavy subject if he had known that the accident was so fatal.
Pac still said nothing, even worse, his face went from right to left in the big room, then, slowly, he took the young man’s arm.
“Let’s go to a quieter place” he finally whispered, and Etoiles followed.
For once, he sincerely hoped that his face reflected all the feelings that passed through his head, hoping perhaps that the pilot didn’t take him for a fully aware asshole. But if the Brazilian was angry, he didn’t let anything pass through since just as slowly, he led him into one of the corners of the room.
Etoiles would have preferred a dark and hidden corridor or an empty room reserved for employees to be able to bury himself away, but he had to settle for a place neglected by the majority of the guests.
“Come on now, don’t make such that face” even if the light tone of Pac should have reassured him, he cannot erase the tense expression on his face, “You are not talking to a ghost”
“I almost would have preferred” even his throat was tight, making his voice hoarse, “I assure you that I knew absolutely nothing of...” he couldn’t even finish his sentence.
“Maybe you wouldn't make such a great journalist after” with the same gentleness and this same aloofness, the pilot finally made a small smirk, “I am surprised that you have not heard about it, it made quite some noise at the time”
“If I had known you had lost your leg, I would never have dared to make a joke about it!” hissed Etoiles in a low voice, frowning at the young man, almost offended that he implied otherwise, “I told you that I was not at all in the racing field!”
“Perhaps you should be”
When the French looked up at him, his lips pinched and his eyes accusing him, he only met another of his mischievous smiles.
For a moment, they stayed silent ; they continued to contemplate each other without either of them having the desire or even the humility to look away.
Finally, Pac shrugged his shoulders and finished his drink in one fell swoop, before taking a step towards the nearest table to put it down.
“October 2019, on the COTA, the « Circuit of the Americas », Austin in Texas” his voice was more monotonous, there was a shadow of a smile when he came back at his side, “There had been torrential rains, much more than usual, which shouldn’t have been a problem”
It was like in a tale, Etoiles already guessed the ending, and he wondered how the pilot could talk about it with so much neutrality.
“We are trained to drive on wet roads, we have tires specialized for this kind of weather” his gaze drifted yet, his brown eyes stared at a distant point in the void, “Everything was fine, but I went too far, took too many risks by getting too close to the clearance area, and I completely lost control”
Images of scenes that he had never seen played in his mind. The metal vehicle rolling over and over, the pieces falling off like a bird losing its feathers in its fall, the horrified noises of the crowd.
A chilling shiver ran down his back.
“It’s stupid when you think about it, I wanted nothing but victory, but at that very moment, when the car went off the track... I have never been so scared in my whole life” it could be felt in his voice, the almost bitter tone he used, resentment was still present, “The accident caused a problem in the engine, everything started to catch fire”
Bordel de merde.
This is the only thought that the French could formulate.
And the words turned again and again.
Bordel de merde.
“I won’t go into details, it tends to kill the mood during parties” even the small joke that he formulated didn’t succeed in lightening the monologue, “Anyways, one of my feet had to be amputated, a large part of the vein and femoral artery was unusable, it was the most viable solution”
“I am deeply sorry” Etoiles heard himself saying, in a low voice, not letting go of the pilot’s eyes, “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been”
“It was, but I had the chance to be well surrounded, and to be able to afford a long healing process” even if he was not tense and his words seemed rather reassuring, Pac hadn’t stopped looking at this fixed point in the distance. “And I was even more lucky to see my career continue, I was able to get back on track faster than I had hoped”
“It must have taken a lot of courage to come back after what happened” without even realizing it, the pilot was now closer, and even he, without knowing it, had come closer.
“There was something I was more afraid of than coming back, it was the fact that I would never come back” finally, Pac turned his eyes to him.
And this time, he was really smiling, and the veil that had tinted his brown irises weren’t even visible. He couldn’t believe that the young man he had spent half of the evening messing with had gone through something so difficult.
When he saw him, down on the track, in his blue suit and confident gait, he would never have imagined that under his slightly embarrassed smile was probably one of the bravest people he had ever met.
Etoiles was about to thank him, and he had the idea, for a moment, to finally confess his identity, when a voice far too familiar interrupted their exchange of eyes.
“Bon Dieu, there you are!” when he turned his head he fell upon a silhouette in a yellow dress, a large smile on her lips, “We thought you had run away this time”
But Baghera wasn’t alone, and under the round eyes of the French, he soon noticed the face of Cellbit just behind her, which shone brightly when he saw him next to the pilot.
“You got to know each other, it’s great” as the young woman came by his side, a hand on his shoulder and Cellbit stood next to his friend. Etoiles saw that Pac turned his confused eyes towards him, “I was about to introduce you both”
“Excuse me?” the pilot was looking at people around him one after the other before he finally caught his eye.
“Hm ...”
Etoiles realized that all eyes were now on him, and he could only blame himself.
He cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets to put up a front.
“My name is Etoiles, I am a friend of Baghera” looking at Pac from the corner of his eyes, he nevertheless had the opportunity to see his expression become even more surprised.
“Baghera? The Baghera that Cellbit talks about all day long?” as the young man turned to her short blonde-haired friend, she smiled and waved at him like a Princess of England would have done, “Well! It’s a relief!”
Then, strangely enough, Pac soon began to laugh, he ran his hand through his hair and then he redirected his attention to his friends around him.
“A relief?” couldn’t help but ask Etoiles, a little embarrassed.
“I must confess that when I noticed you at the beginning of the party, I immediately recognized one of Cellbit’s costumes” blushing a little, the Brazilian continued “I tried to push you to pour your drink on you, then I wanted to talk to you to find out more because ... I thought he was cheating on his husband ... with you”
The first sound he heard was that of a coughing fit, then a wild laugh from Baghera. Cellbit was choking, hand on his chest, round eyes, he seemed to express his dismay this way.
Etoiles had to admit, this theory was totally stupid, but not unfounded.
“I mean ...” the pilot tried in vain to justify himself, a smile still amused on his lips, “With someone so charming...”
“Okay, anyways” it was Etoiles’ turn to blush in a stupid way, before changing the subject as quickly as possible, “I promise that I do not secretly date Cellbit”
“I would never do that to Roier!” exclaimed the man in question with horror, looking at his friend as if he had just stabbed him in the back "This is the man of my life, I would never dare! The idea never even crossed my mind! Do you sincerely believe that-”
“Okay we’re good, we understood, don’t start crying Cellbo” Baghera joked gently by patting him on the shoulder, which earned a murderous look from him, “You really love him very much.”
Etoiles let the two friends argue on their side, turning his attention to Pac again. Once again, he had a hard time understanding his way of thinking.
The pilot was always smiling, the same peaceful grin, the same relaxed expression.
Someone was making a really inappropriate joke about his disability, and he laughed. He learns that he has been lied to more or less since the beginning of a conversation, and he smiles.
“Anyway, all this to say that we must leave” the young woman concluded, soon taking the arm of the French who hadn’t followed the discussion at all, “But it was a pleasure, Pac. Well, obviously it was mostly a pleasure for one of us, not that it had seem to bother you either but-”
“Wait, why should we leave?” the man blinked and looked at his friend. He interrupted her not without pleasure, given that Baghera tended to find the worst ways to humiliate him.
“Don’t ask me how, she managed to talk to a big name, Mr. Cucurucho, and make him more angry than I have ever seen” explained Cellbit, crossing his arms, “I’d be lucky if I get invited again after that”
“You should have seen his face, bijou, it was so funny” she kept gently leading him away, not at all affected by the possible consequences of her actions.
Etoiles stopped at once, then he only had to look at her for the thing to click into place. One look, and he secretly hoped that it was not too pleading. While he expected Baghera to throw at him an embarrassing comment or a mocking remark, but she did nothing.
She let go of his arm and immediately took Cellbit’s, before claiming to have lost her jacket. Cellbit, not entirely blind to what was going on, accepted without much grumbling.
Soon it was just him and Pac.
“What a story,” said the pilot, putting one of his hands into the pocket of his suit pants.
“I guess I attract them” a slightly tense scoff came out of his lips.
A silence.
Neither of them dared to look at each other. Etoiles found himself profoundly stupid.
He was the one who continued the conversation, he was the one who asked his friends for some privacy, and now the words were missing. He should have chosen to go look for the imaginary jacket rather than stand there like an idiot.
“We could do that again, couldn’t we?” began the Brazilian for him, despite the fact that he was slightly taller, he had lowered his head, and his brown eyes could be seen between his black locks. “It was definitely a funnier soirée than most”
“I don’t know if we will be invited next time” he smiled amused, pulling on the collar of his shirt.
“So why not go out for coffee?” while a smile lit the corner of his lips, he straightened up, and this simple gesture encouraged the French to smile too, “So that I can really call you by your name this time”
“Even though I might write an article about how you sip a hot drink?” Etoiles joked, but failed to silence the little voice that said it looked terribly like a date.
“I think it would be worth it” he replied with a disturbing tone, where there was very little humour, and a lot of sincerity.
The young man only nodded his head, he was afraid that if he spoke, his voice would flinch in the middle of his sentence, or even worse, that his tone would not fully reflect the pilot’s tone.
But something still kept him there, standing, looking stupidly at the young man.
Finally, feeling the insistent looks behind him, he reached out his hand so they could finally say goodbye.
“I’m still sorry about … about everything, really” Etoiles nodded and scratched the back of his neck.
“I’m not” Pac replied immediately, taking the young man’s hand in his, holding it still, his warm palms touching his, “I really enjoyed this talk with you”
The French was about to say something, perhaps something about how he still hasn’t let go of his hand, but the Brazilian didn’t seem to have the same opinion. He gently Etoiles towards him and leaned down to brush a very subtle kiss on his left cheek.
“If you want to make up for your joke …” he whispered, with a soft smile and a soft voice, “That I found very funny for the record” he continued, “You can still pay the bill the next time we see each other, okay ?”
“Definitely” Etoiles breathed out, he was convinced his cheeks were now of a humiliating bright red.
He then quickly left, in hope some of his dignity could somehow be saved. Of course, it could have been the case if Baghera and Cellbit weren’t standing there, just a few feet away from them, mouth wide open.
He managed to remain silent for the most part. Finally, he admitted half-heartedly that they might one day go out for a coffee. They both seemed almost as excited as him when they heard the news. Almost.
While Baghera had a umpteenth mocking scoff, he promised himself he would forever silence the fact that he didn’t even like to drink coffee.