Chapter Text
Louis was late.
He was never late, especially for testing, but he was late today, and Liam was going to have his head. He was running fast and weaving past giant machines lifting cars off massive trucks, mechanics eyeing him curiously, some of them stopping to stare. Louis Tomlinson, English-racer in Formula 1, and the second youngest racer in history with most Grands Prix wins. Fifty-six and counting.
Louis was pumped, he could feel the adrenaline building up in his muscles, his heart beating faster. Winter testing was starting today, and it would go on for the next ten days. Pre-testing was a crucial time for drivers to test their brand new cars and really get acquainted with them. It was also an opportunity to fight for the best times on the track. In the world of racing, almost everything was a competition, and testing was no exception. It was definitely Louis’ favorite time to get a sense of the other racer’s techniques, strengths, and weaknesses.
Barcelona was windy, not too cold or hot on that February evening. The number of tourists had gone down, which left only racing fans waiting outside the Circuit de Catalunya. Louis posed for pictures with the ones who approached him, and then he’d been inside, sprinting to the Ferrari garage.
It was bustling with people everywhere, from cameras rolling in and tyres being moved around, the atmosphere was growing almost like electricity, tension and excitement thick in the air. Louis breathed a few times after he avoided crashing into a Renault technician, trying his best to stay cool.
Scuderia Ferrari was Liam’s and Louis’s team. It was the eight-year they were racing for them, both of their contracts freshly renewed for another year. Louis knew it was only thanks to Ferrari they’d managed to win so many championships for drivers and constructors.
Constructors were the wins given to the team as a whole by the end of the Grand Prix tour, the sum of points between Liam and Louis together. The drivers, though, were given only to the racer with the most points by the end of the final Grand Prix.
It was easy for a team to work like a fine Swiss watch when everyone was on the same page. Most of the time, teams failed and burned when they couldn’t agree on the track, when the burning anxiety and tension of races made them snap at their principals, and when the racers got cocky and trusted their instincts too much.
Ferrari staff worked flawlessly on pit stops and strategies in the field. It was easy when there was a big budget and an agile team of people constantly working behind the scenes.
Liam was one of the best so that always helped. He had 20 Grands Prix wins, and he was second to Louis, never missing a beat in tight corners or hesitating in risky maneuvers. It’s what made them champions since 2014. It’s what Louis knew would—with a little bit of luck— make them champions in 2020 too.
“You’re late,” Liam yelled over the sound of a drill going off. He was wearing his red racing suit.
“I overslept,” Louis said, his expression apologetic, but Liam didn’t say anything else. Louis knew he was probably too excited to scold him.
“Good weekend?” Liam asked once Louis had caught up to him.
“I didn’t sleep much, then I binged on Netflix and a few energy drinks on Sunday,” Louis admitted. He was wearing baggy black joggers and a black shirt, though he would change into his suit soon.
Liam tutted in disapproval, “You should’ve called. I went sightseeing through Madrid and took an early flight here yesterday.”
Louis only shrugged and nudged Liam’s arm with his elbow, “I wouldn’t want to interrupt what little time you and Zayn had before this, though.”
“We wouldn’t have minded!”
“I know that, which is why I would’ve felt bad. You’re both too good to me,” Louis said, looking at the sidelines of the circuit instead of Liam’s sad-puppy face.
“You’re a twat,” Liam said, sad, “next time we’ll come to kidnap you into our weekend plans.”
Louis rolled his eyes and kept squinting to see the track floor. Clean, no rubber set down yet. “What’s Z doing for the week then? Is he going to be able to come?”
Zayn Malik had been Liam’s boyfriend since three years ago. He was a model for some of the most famous fashion houses in the world, and his face was constantly plastered in magazines. He was a walking sex symbol, to say the least. He had flawless olive skin, thanks to his half Pakistani mum. With a sculptured jaw, a set of honey-colored eyes, and midnight black hair, Zayn was everything the billboards needed and more.
“I don’t think he is. He said Milan fashion week is like a few days from now, and he’s literally got fifteen shows lined up— almost one after the other. He told me he hopes you can catch one. Said he really wants to see you before the season starts.”
“I’ll talk to Fran; she’ll find a day for me,” Louis nodded, looking away from the track.
“I pity Fran, being your manager’s probably a nightmare.”
“She loves me. Thank you. She says I’m a delight.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Louis agreed, and Liam laughed, but it was short-lived once they reached the pit box.
It was covered at the front by giant panels with their logo on it—the ‘box’ resembling a regular-looking garage. Every team had one customized to their brand's colors and sponsors, so their own was very red and very striking.
Louis and Liam had only seen their car a few times. Once at the annual reveal party and through drafts when they were designing it. As they stepped between the panels and looked straight on at the cars which they would drive for the next year, Louis couldn’t help but smile wide and big, already pumped to climb on.
“It’s a fucking beauty,” Liam said, and Louis had to agree. It was a sight for sore eyes. The team had upgraded everything. The engines looked sleek, and the shape of the car screamed ‘aerodynamic perfection,’ which made all the engineers weak in the knees at their meetings, including Louis— who had only covered the very basics of engineering. The body made it look like a futuristic rocket ship, and it certainly made Louis’ inner child want to climb aboard and drive it through the city so everyone could look at it.
“I can’t wait to drive it,” Liam said giddily, like a five-year-old. Louis agreed.
“I’ll take it in the afternoon against Lacasa— been dying to give ‘im a proper beating for months,” Louis said, the second part quieter in case cameras were nearby.
Liam snorted, “Lacasa and Tomlinson is the cutest and stupidest feud I’ve ever seen in F1 history,” Liam said, and Louis laughed.
Antonio Lacasa was a Spanish driver for the Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 team since two years ago, and a pain in Louis’ ass. He was always second to Louis, and he was still considered a rookie because he’d only just began racing about five years before he made it to Formula 1. Normally racers had a solid decade of practicing before they made it to the big leagues. Lacasa was the exception.
Another thing about the Spanish driver was that he was Louis’ number one fan and his biggest threat. He was like a cute cactus. “It’s not cute, it’s bloody and terrifying, and I’m going to destroy him this season,” Louis said but made his voice dramatically low, and Liam did not take any of it seriously.
“Look at the panel on this thing,” Liam said in awe, distracted by the steering wheel that looked much better than last year's. Louis had been shown pictures of what the new wheel would look like, but up-close he saw a world of possibilities that made him dizzy with excitement.
Growing up with Liam since they were ten made reading him easy. They were best friends who met trying out for some local races in London. Louis had been racing since he was tiny because his father loved Formula 1. He began by kid karting at five, and from there, he figured he loved being behind the wheel— and he was behind it constantly despite his mum’s pleas to dedicate his time to baking or painting, ‘something safe, anything Louis, please.’
She always made him stop before going out to race when she got too worried for him. She would talk for hours about how terrified it made her watching her first son leave home to do something so dangerous. She said it was a bittersweet feeling that made her shake to the core. She was always proud, but also, she was always scared. Louis grew accustomed to calming her down as a teenager. By the time he was qualifying for Formula 2 and then getting the green light for F1, he had her full support— she was still just a little scared every time.
Liam and Louis grew up racing together and learning each other's techniques and strategies in the races. They came of age a few houses down from each other, and they grew up in the racing world the same way. It was easy most of the time, and there wasn’t any pressure because they’d been young then; they were in local races trying to make it big, and school seemed pointless, but they were still forced to go.
Then, Liam got injured in the last Formula 2 GP right before he made champion, and Louis moved ahead with Ferrari. He promised to catch up as soon as he recovered. Two years passed, and Louis found himself winning consecutively in the Grands Prix. He earned his title as a ‘young prodigy’ by his third season with the Italian team. After another season, Louis was appointed as the first racer for Ferrari, and Liam finally caught up as his second. By then, Louis had already won 24 Grand Prix. Liam caught up to him with seven wins in Louis’ fourth season, and from there, they were known as the ‘Dream Team.’
“Got to say, mate, this will totally be our best season yet,” Liam said, and he was biting on his lip to hold back a smile, looking ahead at the monitors showing the track and this year’s driver stats. Louis felt even more pumped and jumped on Liam’s back, slapping his arms and then messing up his short hair. “Let’s do this, Payno!”
+
Half an hour after they’d arrived and warmed up, the rest of their team slowly trickled in and began to suit Liam up to take the wheel.
Niall Horan, Liam’s primary race engineer, and Ben Winston Louis’ primary hugged them both. They hadn’t seen each other in a month, but as much as Louis needed driving, everyone on their team adored the racing and their jobs. They had a good dynamic, him, Liam, Niall, and Ben. They worked. They got on so well that it reflected in their performance on the circuits. People noticed, too, and they loved them.
“Seems like Ferrari’s Liam Payne is prepping for the first round of testing this morning,” The commentator from the F1 channel said on a TV nearby. Each pit box had a live feed from some sports channels to keep up with what the commentators were saying. “We still can’t see the Ferrari car, covered by panels there.”
Louis turned at the mention of their car and clocked the camera on a dolly high up in the air through the sun rays, the black panels hiding the mechanics and their brand new car.
There were bound to be cameras. The first round of testing was the most anticipated because it officially marked the start of a new season, and it showed all the best and worst from their car’s performance and their drivers too. Louis always made it his mission to set the fastest time in the first week of testing. Last year he’d beat everyone’s time by two thousands of a second, which wasn’t much in a normal context, but in racing, a second looked the same size as a football field.
“Payno,” He called, and Liam immediately turned to him, helmet hovering over his head, his arms lowering to listen to Louis.
“Yeah?”
“Remember to fight the four, five, and ten; they’re the trickiest.”
“Already noted,” Liam nodded, smiling, and he somehow understood Louis was just telling him to be careful and safe. It was a little too late in their careers to warn each other for the risks of driving more than 200 mph, but they could still be sure to remind each other that caution wasn’t overrated.
Crashes were one of the most common occurrences in races, and it’s what actually kept avid fans on their toes— the promise that on a tight corner, there could be a grisly crash or a spin onto grass or gravel. Louis had been in a few heart-stopping crashes that had made his mum so worried she’d almost fainted. Louis felt horrible when these types of accidents occurred, but most often than not, they were inevitable.
Louis’ worst crash took place two years ago at the Bahrain circuit; a slow track with corners so tight overtaking seemed like a joke. Louis had been driving fast down to turn 8 in first place, battling against Alfa Romeo’s Pablo Andino for his spot. He’d underestimated the heat of his tires when they gave out and made him slide to the side of the track, where he and Andino crashed into each other. Andino only got minor injuries, but Louis’ car went straight into a concrete wall— and he still can’t remember—at some point his car flipped in the air, and landed back on four wheels.
Louis got severe whiplash and slammed his head so hard against the sides of the car he was left with a faint ringing that still bothers him to this day. When Louis played back his crash, he could understand why his mum and sisters were so shaken. It’d looked so aggressive that Louis coiled back himself when he watched his car flip in the air and watched his head slam horribly against the sides. It would’ve surely killed him had he not been harnessed to his seat, and had the HANS device on his shoulders to protect his spine. He was sore for the better part of a month and managed to go back to the races by the time the Monaco Grand Prix came around. He won Monaco, and then he felt the world shake for a whole day after that.
“Ready when you are Payno,” Niall said from the pit wall— a literal wall right in front of their pit box, which had five staff members analyzing the track during every part of the race. Three for Louis, and three for Liam. The three guys watched performance, tyres, and the engine of their cars. Niall and Ben gave the pit board updates, letting them both know who was on the lead and who was about to overtake them. They handled almost everything Louis and Liam did on the track.
“Let’s get another constructors lads,” Niall said loud, in his Irish timbre, patting Louis’ back and laughing boisterously, the rest of the staff cheering as they all packed on their wireless headsets.
Niall had his headset on, and he was eyeing all the screens in front of him like a villain in a superhero movie. Louis decided to check in with the mechanics. There was the loud noise of the drill adjusting the tyres on the car at light-speed, all the men who worked in the Ferrari team filling the tiny pit lane to about twenty men, fussing and walking over the engines and the car itself.
Liam was already cozily sat on the car, his helmet on. He did a thumbs up to Louis standing on the side. A mechanic handed Liam his steering wheel, and once it was properly placed, the engine roared to life, and Louis’ ears rung with that familiar sting. The sting of a monstrous engine revving up to fly at more than 200 mph. Louis’ hairs stood on end, goosebumps all over, and he wasn’t even inside the car yet.
Louis’ fingers itched, he could feel the pull and excitement of driving again, spinning fast through his fingers, his arms, his legs. Louis thought of a world where he wouldn’t be able to drive at all, and his stomach did a terrible turn, displeased. Even his body knew how much he needed this. He’d known nothing else since he was young.
It was wrong to think like that because one of the realities all the drivers had to face was how dangerous racing was. Louis had seen people die before in the same races he’d been in. Formula, 3, and 4 took at least three talented racers who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it happened, and Louis also had to remind himself this wouldn’t be his life forever.
He made a promise to himself, long ago, that once he had or planned on having children, racing would have to start becoming a hobby, and not his source of primary income. It couldn’t be, it would be selfish of him.
Niall tapped his shoulder softly so he wouldn’t startle. The sound of the race car left no room to talk to anyone, so it wouldn’t have mattered if Niall yelled anyway.
He handed Louis a headset of his own and tapped a button on the side, which turned it on. Louis nodded in thanks then put the headphones on.
“-checking the steering and the tyres,” came Liam’s voice immediately, and Louis didn’t bother trying to deduce what he was saying, assuming it was last-minute talk before he set out to drive.
They had decided with Ben that Liam and Louis would try to burn out around 120 laps, so they were comfortably sure the car was up to speed on the first day. They would switch, and use the second car tomorrow, switching them up each day until any problems or errors were solved for the first Prix of the season.
“Roll the panels off,” Ben’s voice ordered through the headset, and the mechanics outside nodded, aware of what everyone else was saying through the headsets.
The panels with the Ferrari logo were rolled away, and immediately a group of around seven photographers kneeled and jumped to get the best shots of this season’s Ferrari race car, decorated with all its sponsor's stickers and the new red paint job. The car was a true beauty, no doubt.
Liam played it up for the cameras, waving to the photographers as he rolled fast into the takeoff track, which leads straight to the giant circuit miles away. Louis walked out so he could see Liam off. Once he stopped at the mouth of the garage, photographers were ready to take pictures from every angle. After a few seconds of revving the engine, Liam took off with a thunderous sound, and the car disappeared around the corner.
+
Louis took his time walking around the bleachers where the crowds usually sat, staring out at Liam doing laps for the majority of the time he was in the car. From high up in the stands, he could watch the only other racer on the track at the moment, Lacasa, who was driving laps with Liam. Louis looked out at the Mercedes garage, seeing if he could catch a glimpse of this year’s new Mercedes driver.
There’d been talk that a new female driver was entering Formula 1 for the first time since 1992. There’d been female test drivers since then, but everyone knew test drivers were not as historical as a woman entering to win the actual Grands Prix. The rumor was that Mercedes was going to bring on a woman to race along with Antonio, and by woman, everyone knew they meant fellow English racer, Gemma Styles.
Styles won almost all of last year's F2 races and then was victoriously named the champion of Formula 2 in last year’s final race. The higher-ups sneered and muttered under their breaths because they were the most old-fashioned from anyone in the racing world, but Louis felt excited at the prospect of racing against a woman in the Grand Prix— especially against someone like Styles.
He’d grown up in a household full of women, strong and kind women who had shaped him all his life; his mum, Jay, and his five younger sisters, Lottie, Fizzy, Daisy, Phoebe, and Doris— he knew how important Styles was to this year's races if she was on the team. How significant to the racing world.
Louis had actually met Gemma personally. There’d been a driver’s charity ball for all the F2 and F1 drivers. From what he remembered, she was funny, fast, and had a sharp tongue, much like Louis himself. She was amazing in interviews, always knowing what to say to make people like her, and it was so incredibly satisfying to hear a woman’s voice in the radio coms while watching races. The racing world truly didn’t know they needed women racers until Gemma arrived and changed everything. She appeared in TIME’s magazine covers and Vogue’s too. She changed the rules, and never apologized for anything. After all that, though, another thing the gossip sites and magazines loved to say about Gemma, was how much she looked like her younger brother.
Louis’ stomach fluttered.
Harry Styles, 25, a world-famous artist. Painter, sculptor, author of two successful art books, part-time actor, and who every once in a while modeled for Gucci because he was incredibly pretty. Louis only knew him that night because he was friends with Zayn and because Louis’ sisters loved him. He was supposedly a delight in interviews and charming with crowds— of course; he was easy on the eyes too, even Louis had to admit it.
But, after all that, Harry was still the pompous ass he’d met at the ball that night. He was the one Louis’d given a blowjob to in the bathroom because he was feeling reckless and drunk. That wasn’t his proudest moment.
In flashing memories, Louis remembered the night with a tinge of deep regret.
Gemma had introduced herself to Louis and Liam and congratulated them on their 2018 Grand Prix wins, and next to her had been Harry Styles. People were turning to look at the very famous artist, even if it was just a glimpse. He’d been far too many drinks in. The night hadn’t even properly started.
(Under all that though, Louis would’ve been a fool to deny Harry’s simple presence in an elegant blue shimmery suit hadn’t knocked the breath out of him. He was beautiful. Light-green eyes, soft short curls that matched his long, dark eyelashes, a bit of facial hair, and pink, plump lips that looked sinful. He had smooth and dewy skin that made his features even more flawless. He had a towering height. Louis understood why he moved the world).
Harry had half-slurred congratulations to the two of them, and Gemma attempted a pained smile, giving them a weak excuse to go say hi to some other racers nearby, half-dragging her brother’s body away from them.
Louis, though, couldn’t forgive the fact that Gemma’s celebrity brother was at this ball, where she was attempting to meet everyone, all while holding on to her drunk brother so he wouldn’t stumble, and fall flat on his face.
Louis thought of his own sisters and how horrible they would feel if he did something like this to them. He felt a pang of sadness for her.
Once Gemma had finished introducing herself to Mercedes’ Team Principal, Louis was quick to swoop back into her line of vision, an idea just then formed in his mind. He did take after his mother’s impulsive character.
“Gemma, hi,” Louis had said as kindly as possible, wondering if he’d regret what he was doing.
Gemma had looked surprised at Louis’ sudden reappearance, “Hi.”
“I don’t want to overstep, but I wanted to help,” Louis said and subtly looked at Harry, hanging off Gemma’s arm. “Maybe I could sober him up a bit, while you work the crowd?”
“Oh,” She said, eyes wide. Suddenly the most relieved expression overtook Gemma’s face as she sighed deeply, trying to stay composed, she whispered, “He’s been so intense tonight, I don’t know what’s gotten into him, I swear he’s not normally like this.”
Louis nodded in sympathy, and once Gemma seemed to consider her options, she passed her brother’s almost limp figure over to him, trying her hardest to be discreet while all the other racers surrounded them. Louis’ eyes almost watered by how strong Harry’s breath stunk of alcohol but decided to ignore it.
“Thank you so much, Louis, I’ll repay you. Just give him a few glasses of water, and he’ll get better. I’ve never seen him like this,” Gemma mentioned, looking worried but still annoyed with her brother as he seemed to come in and out of reality, slurring and muttering like they weren’t there.
“I’ve had drunk people to care for before, don’t worry. Enjoy the ball now; God knows I’d do anything to escape for a few minutes,” Louis said and winked at her. Gemma smiled tentatively and shot Harry one last look before she disappeared into the crowd.
So, the next hour at the party consisted of sitting Harry down at the bar and forbidding the bartender from serving any more alcohol to him. He reckoned the bartender complied because of how starstruck he’d seemed at seeing Louis. Sometimes being recognized came in handy.
A few glasses of water later and at least ten songs since he’d taken Harry to the bar, the artist finally began to seem more lucid, suddenly registering Louis was taking care of him, and that he seemed vaguely familiar. “Who… are you again?”
“Louis. I saved your sister from you. She was trying to meet all the suits, and you kept almost falling over while she shook hands. I volunteered to help,” Louis said and attempted to keep the bite from his tone, but he still sounded cold.
“Shit,” Harry said guiltily, and let his head fall in his hands. His voice was deep and honey-like.
“Yeah, shit.”
“I didn’t notice I was drinking so much,” Harry lamented, and Louis kept his eyes on the dance floor, ignoring Harry’s passing glances at Louis’ figure. If he didn’t know any better, it would’ve seemed like the artist was checking him out. “I’m Harry Styles.”
“Hmm, we covered that when Gemma introduced herself, but—it’s a pleasure,” Louis said sarcastically, then turned to Harry, looking at him straight in the eyes. Harry did have beautiful eyes, no doubt. Green and almost vibrant when the light hits them right.
“Well, I just think it’s only polite to introduce myself properly,” Harry said, and he suddenly smirked one eyebrow raised, his short curly hair a wonderful distraction, “especially to someone as fit as you.”
Louis took everything in his power not to react.
Through all the things going on in his mind, Louis managed a nonchalant shrug, “Lame.”
Harry laughed softly, and there were dimples. Louis breathed in through his nose once and looked away to the dance floor once more. “Been told otherwise, but you’re not the first hard-to-get.”
Louis snapped his eyes to Harry again, insult in his face, “‘I’m not 'hard-to-get' you git, I’m not interested. Also, someone ought to say no to you; you look like you’re a spoiled brat.”
“I am a spoiled brat,” Harry said with delight, and Louis suddenly fought the urge to kick him, “That’s a fact. You are disarmingly handsome— another fact,” Harry said like he was not scared of the consequence of his actions. Louis believed he wasn’t. “Let me buy you a drink, see if you win one of those Grand Prix in my name.”
Louis snorted loudly, showing how absurd he thought Harry sounded, “First of all, in your dreams. Second, It’s an open bar, and you’re banned. Finally, third, I hope you don’t go treating the rest of the people here like that. Your sister’s trying to win people over. You shouldn’t ruin this for her,” Louis bit back, getting irritated by Harry’s lack of shame.
“I wouldn’t,” Harry said immediately, even a little bit annoyed— a slight frown in his brow, “Gemma’s the most important person to me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Plus, I know how important this is. If she goes through to F1, she makes history. I’d never tarnish that,” Harry said with fervor, and he looked sincere. He turned his body to the bar, his back to the dance floor.
Louis sat mildly impressed but kept his cool demeanor, refusing to show he was glad by the artist’s answer. At least he was self-aware.
He nodded and also turned from the dance floor. “Ok, good. I’m really rooting for her,” Louis said distracted, and played with a wet coaster on the bar top.
“I am the person rooting for her the most aside from our mum. Don’t think I didn’t notice you changed the subject,” Harry said, and he almost sounded petulant, his brow not creased anymore which made his whole face young again, “I’ll get you 28,” Harry side-eyed him, looking smug again, a slight smirk on his lips.
Louis wanted to ask how he even knew his car’s number, but he nevertheless refrained, because he knew it would only feed Harry’s ego to know he affected Louis in any way. Cool was the trick. “Keep telling yourself that, maybe you’ll sleep better.”
Harry was about to say something else when Gemma suddenly appeared between them, a worried look as she eyed them, probably expecting Harry to be saying something embarrassing. Which he had been, but Louis would never let Gemma know that.
“There you are, was looking everywhere for you two,” Gemma cut in, turning to Harry and giving him a look. She turned to Louis once Harry climbed off the barstool and bent his arm to hold her hand around his inner elbow. She smiled softly at her brother and then looked at Louis with a grateful smile, warmth in her eyes, “Thank you, Louis. I’m sorry if he kept you from anything.”
“I’m still here,” Harry protested quietly at her, and she elbowed his side hard, making him close his eyes from the hit. She whispered something like, ‘you’re in enough trouble.’
“Wasn’t a problem. I really did want to escape the party a while, so, don’t worry.”
Gemma thanked him one last time before Liam pulled Louis off to greet one of the eldest FIA members that had just arrived.
After that, he didn’t see much of Harry for at least another hour. By the time the older people left, it was just the drivers and their plus-ones, so the party took full swing around two A.M.
Louis wasn’t much for partying until dawn, but he’d worked himself to the bone all through the season so he’d let himself have a few (or a lot) more drinks than he’d normally do at parties. By the time he met up with Harry again, they were both equally drunk.
The dance floor was crowded with different groups of people, all of them dancing and screaming to a Bruno Mars song. The flashing lights combined with the shots Liam and him drank at the beginning of the night, caught up to Louis fast.
In a blink, he was jumping and screaming random lyrics in stranger’s faces, sweating through his suit, and giggling whenever someone did anything remotely funny. He could see Liam on his peripheral vision making out with Zayn in a secluded corner, not paying them much mind as he let himself get lost with the booming bass shaking the whole floor and the walls. He was smiling and talking over the music with random girls and nodding to anything they said to him even though he couldn’t hear anyone over his ringing ears.
Pop songs that made everyone sing along changed to sensual RnB that made couples grind to the music, people taking the opportunity to make out. Louis was happy letting his body mold with the spaces in between everyone else until he had a firm body against his own.
He briefly checked who had been brave enough to approach him, when he immediately realized it was Harry, from before.
Louis wasn’t sure if it’d been the alcohol or the adrenaline from all the dancing, but at that moment, he let Harry press his hips against his ass, and with the beat of the music, they danced against each other. Louis was good at many things, and he prided himself on the fact that he loved being a great tease.
Harry’s body was warm, probably because he’d been dancing too, but Louis didn’t mind anything except for Harry’s exhales against his neck, where Louis was leaning his head on his shoulder, letting his back push against Harry’s front. Harry was moving his hips perfectly to the song, and Louis could feel Harry’s faint facial hair pricking his cheek where they touched every few minutes.
By the time the song ended, and another one immediately started, Louis took the chance and turned himself, so he was facing the curly-haired man, smirking devilishly as he fluttered his eyelashes at him. He pressed their fronts together again, grabbing Harry’s hips so they could keep dancing along to the music.
Looking at him, Louis could see Harry’s eyes were filled with lust, staring at Louis with hunger. His plump pink lips were perfectly round and slightly parted, breathing heavily where they still sweated, looking at each other intensely.
“Wanna go to the bathroom, 28?” Harry murmured in his ear, so low and raspy that Louis could feel himself getting hard. Fuck.
“I fucking despise you for calling me that,” Louis moaned back where they were still pressed tightly together. “Let’s go.”
Two minutes later, in the private bathroom of a fancy hotel, both Harry and Louis were panting. Louis made quick work pushing Harry’s pants down his legs, and in the next moment, he had Harry’s dick completely in his mouth. He was sucking fervently, letting his tongue swirl and move around the tip of his cock, closing his eyes as he pumped with his hand too. Louis felt a tinge of pride at Harry’s loud and aggressive grunts, moaning and exhaling when Louis did anything fancy with his tongue. Harry’s giant hands were tangled in Louis’ hair, his fingers pulling ever so slightly from the roots.
“F-fuck Louis,” Harry managed in between breaths, eyes shut tight as Louis kept pumping him in between his lips. When Louis looked up at Harry, he noticed Harry had already been looking at him, his eyes drowning in desire. He decided to bottom out to the back of his throat, wanting to gag so he could look at Harry while doing it.
When he felt the tip of Harry’s cock graze the back of his throat, Louis immediately gagged, he looked up at Harry while doing so, and Harry was quick to scrunch his eyes shut again. His hands closed into fists, pulling his hair a little rougher than before, which only made Louis suck faster.
“I-If you do that again, I-I’m going to c-come,” Harry rasped, moaning ever so slightly.
Louis took that as a challenge and immediately let himself gag on Harry’s dick again and again, looking with his wide blue eyes up at the artist, who was looking down at him. He kept bobbing his head, letting his tongue dance across the tip a little more, before Harry’s abdomen contracted in a warning.
“L-Louis I-’’ Harry stuttered, trying to warn him.
Louis kept sucking fast, alternating between using his hand and bottoming so he could gag on Harry’s cock. A few more tries, and after a good swipe of his tongue, he felt Harry grunt with pleasure. He shot his load straight to the back of Louis’ throat, and once he was done, Louis swallowed satisfied.
Harry let his fisted hands slowly open back up, letting go of Louis’ hair, panting with flushed cheeks and a sweaty shirt. Louis wasn’t any better. He had bloodshot eyes, messy hair going in every direction, and swollen pink lips that made Harry want to moan at the sight.
“Wow.”
Louis stood back up while Harry tucked himself into his pants, but then Harry immediately let his hand shoot straight for Louis’ very uncomfortable hard-on. He palmed Louis fast through his pants, making him almost double-over with the pleasure, and physically felt the air being knocked out from his lungs. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped him and shut his eyes in pure ecstasy.
“Shit,” Louis cursed when Harry began to unfasten his own pants, letting his cold palm grab ahold of his dick. Louis could swear he saw stars the moment Harry started pumping him with practiced ease. His hands were big and sleek, the perfect size to give great hand-jobs.
It was messy, it was loud, and it was perfect. Louis could feel all his nerve-endings migrate straight to his cock, where he couldn’t stop the growing heat that was already building up in his stomach.
Harry was looking intensely at him, and once Louis opened his eyes to look at him too, there was no turning back. He was staring at Harry with blown pupils, his gaping mouth breathing heavily when Harry never faltered or paused his hand movement. He was a sight to behold.
Green, forest green eyes, and the perfect pink on the lips. His cheeks flushed crimson red, and his hair was messy enough to look sinfully hot. Louis couldn’t hold back from that face; it was too good for words. Better than those black eyes he’d stared into for so long. Thank god he was out of that. This was fine. Better. Temporary. Fuck Leo.
Almost in that exact moment, Louis felt his own body contract with pleasure, and he felt himself getting dangerously close. All there that existed was Harry’s heavy breathing and his soft palm on him.
“H-harry,” Louis moaned in between pants.
“Come for me, Louis,” Harry rasped lowly, his infuriatingly perfect face and voice contorting like he was feeling Louis’ euphoria too.
Louis moaned one final time before he felt himself release into Harry’s hand, his brain going dizzy for a second while he let the layers of his orgasm roll over him like a peaceful wave. It was divine. It was freeing.
A minute after coming down from his high, Louis let his head back up from the deep waters, feeling his breathing slowly return to a slower exhale and inhale.
“Fuck me that was fantastic,” Harry muttered disbelieving, looking at Louis from where he was leaning on the marble walls, eyes semi-closed. His voice echoed across the stone, and Louis looked around where they were for the first time. It was a tall room, with a fancy cream porcelain toilet to the side, a few towels on a rack, and a beautiful ornate sink. It screamed posh and fancy.
Louis pushed from the wall and turned his head to look back at Harry, tucking himself back into his pants as well.
“You should wash that off,” Louis commented when he noticed his own cum in Harry’s palm, thankfully not touching the sleeve of his coat jacket, which he never took off. It looked expensive as shit.
“Shouldn’t I lick it off?” Harry asked with a sly smirk, eyes still looking temptingly at him.
“I think the time passed for that, plus we should hurry unless you want everyone to suspect what we were doing in here,” Louis said, his head spinning from the drinks, but feeling lucid enough— they had to be smart about the situation.
Harry rolled his eyes and walked over to the ornate sink, turning on the water before he quickly washed his hands with soap, “You should loosen up, 28, not even with a few good drinks and a handjob do you relax,” Harry said smugly, his face reflected on the mirror in front of him. The only sounds were the echoing water and the thumping music not too far away.
“You’re making me regret this by the second,” Louis mumbled with a racing heart, cheeks red. To distract himself and do something instead of just standing there, he tried to fix his hair, and rearrange his shirt to look passable enough.
“Here, let me,” Harry said softly once he dried his hands with a towel. He walked straight back to Louis again and immediately started combing Louis’ hair with his big ringed fingers. His eyes were full of concentration as he moved strands of hair to one side and pulled at others. “It’s only fair. I did ruin it myself,” Harry said with a smile, though there was still a hint of smug satisfaction.
Louis sighed dramatically loud and let Harry do whatever he wanted; he was too drunk to care if the artist wanted to fix his hair for him. Plus, it was nice to feel someone else’s fingers combing his hair, he loved that. So he closed his eyes.
Another minute passed before Harry stepped back with a small smile, seeming happy with the result, “Done. I must say, I should’ve pursued a career in hairstyling.”
Louis snorted at that, opening his eyes to look at Harry lazily staring at his hair, a hint of something else in his eyes. “That would be hilarious. ‘Who’s your hairstylist? Oh, his name’s Harry Styles, who styles hair.’ I would actually pay you money to change careers.”
Harry didn’t do anything for a second, just stared at Louis, but he didn’t look weirded out, just happy. Louis was very confused. Then he giggled, “Now I really want to be a hairstylist,” Was all he said in response.
Louis scoffed and walked to the mirror and then faced his perfectly styled hair, which looked even nicer than when he’d come into the party hours ago. “Hmm, not bad. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
So, Louis awkwardly turned around and stared at Harry just standing there. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Thanks for the handjob, have a nice life’?
“I better go, Liam, might be looking for me,” He said instead, pointing to the door with his thumb.
Harry nodded with wide eyes like he realized they couldn’t just stand there and look at each other from the corner of the room. “Oh! Yeah, yeah, of course,” He said, before he watched Louis head straight for the door, “Wait.”
Louis stopped right before turning the door handle and raised an eyebrow at him, “Yes?”
“Could I have your number,” Harry said confidently, walking over to Louis with his towering height. “So, we can maybe do this again sometime.”
Louis considered this for a moment. Tonight had been about being reckless, about doing things he would’ve never done a few months ago. It’d been about proving to himself that he wasn’t broken. Leo hadn’t scarred him or fucked him up.
But, giving Harry his number extended from tonight, it meant he would have to interact with him in plain daylight, away from alcohol, and while Louis could be doing mundane things, like grocery shopping or picking up his dry-cleaners. It meant opening himself up to the possibility that Harry wanted something more. Louis wasn’t ready for that. He had a long way to go. He wasn’t ready. He’d just been saved from his last love.
“I know I’ve been kind of a prick tonight,” Louis started, looking sincerely up at Harry, “but right now, I’m just absolutely honest. It’s nothing personal, but maybe sometime in the future if we see each other again, I’ll give you my number, yeah? Tonight’s not right. At least not yet, doesn’t mean something will or won’t happen,” Louis said, feeling bad because up until now they’d only been about pure banter, nothing actually hurtful or hateful had been going on between them. “Is that okay?” He asked uncertainly. After all, he didn’t know Harry very well; he could have little patience.
Harry seemed to also process and consider Louis’ words before he nodded with a serious expression, “I understand, don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll meet again. Gemma is a racer after all,” Harry chuckled, placing his hands in his pockets.
Louis couldn’t explain it, but Harry seemed like the type of person who would never be embarrassed or thrown by any social convention. He seemed bubbly and carefree enough to not take rejection to heart. Louis appreciated that. Nothing else. Just that.
“Thanks for understanding,” Louis said bashfully. He quickly proceeded to open the bathroom door and walk out, breathing in the fresher and colder air, letting his mind be rid of all thoughts from Harry Styles.
Since that night, Louis hadn’t heard from Harry; at least five months now. But, he’d seen a few headlines, some saying he was taking up residence in California, working for some art business, while others said he was filming a movie for Christopher Nolan. Louis hadn’t really taken the time to read any of them. He’d been fine ignoring the existence of Harry and forgetting about the night at the ball, at ease after so much time not seeing him again.
But, letting his thoughts dissipate, he could only hope the rumors about Gemma joining Formula 1 were true. There was an official announcement due that same morning regarding the new racer’s incorporation into the Mercedes team, and if it was Gemma Styles, the racing world was about to have its world turned upside down. It was about bloody time.
For now, he watched Liam zoom quickly across the Catalunya Circuit and heard the roaring engine of the Ferrari car like a reassuring lullaby.
+
“It’s bloody fantastic,” Liam said as he removed his helmet. His face was flushed.
“That good?”
“Mate,” Liam said a bit breathless and widened his eyes, “Oh, you’re not ready.”
“Fuck,” Louis said and looked back at the car, the tyres now so run down they didn’t look remotely similar to what they’d been thirty minutes before.
“Lacasa and Chevalier had pretty good times,” Liam noted, looking at the screens. Someone handed him a bottle of water, and he chugged it down.
“But they still didn’t beat yours,” Louis slapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder, and Liam’s cheeks reddened. An F1 racer and champion and he still blushed when anyone complimented his driving.
Liam had passed Chevalier’s best time with a second at the 60th lap, and to be sure, he’d done an even faster one, beating his own time by one more second on the 100th lap. Louis now had to beat Liam’s time if no one else beats it by the afternoon testing.
“Payno, Zayn called me, said I had to congratulate you, and kiss you so,” Niall paused and smacked a loud kiss on his cheek, making Liam yelp in surprise. Niall pulled away and walked back to the screens as if nothing had happened.
“Eyes on the screen, it’s the big announcement,” Ben suddenly said from the headsets and to everyone at the garage. The T.V.’s volume was suddenly pulled all the way up when a commentator for FOX Sports began talking about Mercedes’ new teammate.
“-We all feel the excitement at the revealing of the new driver for Mercedes-Benz, as Sharp’s retirement last year left a spot open in the race for this year of 2020. It’s been a few months since speculation started on a few household names, as well as a few new-comers in Formula 2, but,” The commentator paused as he seemed to be listening on his earpiece. He smiled tinily and nodded, “-it seems that we now have the name for the newest Formula 1 driver of this year’s Mercedes-AMG team, and it’s a great one. This year’s final driver on the Formula 1 track is United Kingdom’s Gemma Styles! She’s 27 years old and this, ladies and gentlemen, has been a long time coming for women’s racing all over the world-”
Louis immediately jumped at the name announcement, and Liam squeezed his shoulder tight. “Holy shit!” Someone said somewhere over the TV’s sound, and claps were heard from every garage on the track. Louis didn’t take his eyes off the TV as some technicians commented amongst themselves, nobody annoyed, just excited.
“-we will now go to Alex in Barcelona on the Circuit de Catalunya where he’s accompanied by Styles, ready to hear what he has to say on this year’s newest recruit,” The commentator winked and the screen was suddenly cut to the reporter, Alex, standing with a mic in front this year’s Mercedes race car. He was smiling, and a second passed before he began talking, “Yes, Michael, this year’s last recruit is definitely great, and as we speak, the lady herself is with me right now. Hello Gemma, how are you today, after this historic announcement?”
The take was widened, and Gemma was suddenly in the shot. She was wearing her Mercedes race suit, and her hair was up in a ponytail. She was smiling softly, not showing teeth but subtle enough that it looked professional for the cameras.
“Hi Alex, I’m good, yeah, I’m extremely excited! This is a major, major milestone for women everywhere, and I’m incredibly honored to be the one here to bear the torch. This, of course, is the result of many strong, and awesome women in my team, and life, who’ve supported me through every single race, lesson, win, and loss. I wouldn’t be here without them, so today really is a celebration for every girl and woman who’s ever wanted to be the one inside the Formula 1 race car. It’s definitely a step forward, and I can’t wait to see how this year’s races unravel,” Gemma said with a certain lilt of breathlessness that truly showed how happy she was.
“We can’t wait for either Gemma. This is a historic time for the racing community, as well as for women’s history, no doubt. I can tell you, on behalf of every racing fan out there, we’re thrilled to see your performance and growth on the field, and wish you and Mercedes all the best of luck.”
The interview finished, and afterward came an array of interviews for the Team principal in Mercedes, and for Antonio Lacasa, who expressed how excited he was to share the field with Gemma. Louis couldn’t seem to tear his attention from the fact that Gemma Styles was in the race; she was in bloody Formula 1.
Louis wanted to find her, but Niall commented she’d probably be flooded with interviews all morning. News outlets were everywhere, and Louis could imagine how they’d all raced to the Mercedes pit box once the announcement was made.
“Mate, this is awesome. My mum is going to be ecstatic, she’s always wanted to root for female racers,” Liam said to him, and Louis nodded.
“All my sisters are going to stop coming for me; I bet on it. They will be screaming for Gemma,” Louis said and looked at the screen where Gemma’s interview and official photo where being replayed as the commentators for F1 talked about her.
The T.V. was suddenly shut off, and Louis was left staring at his reflection on the black surface of the screen.
+
The morning went by in a blur, and before Louis knew it, he, Liam, Niall, and the rest of the team were heading to the make-shift cafeteria on the side of the track. It was a giant tent with a buffet and endless tables, each team's logos on them, though many of the drivers were mixed and chatting with their rivals. They were really only bitter and rude once the green light went off.
When Louis did a quick scan of the place, he spotted Gemma, wearing the official Mercedes jacket, and chatting with Italian driver, Luca Maio from the McLaren team. Her eyes were hidden by sunglasses, but she was laughing at something Luca had said, and Louis moved around the tables toward where she was at the far corner.
“Louis!” Gemma said as soon as she spotted him rounding the last table.
“Gemma, hi!” Louis said equally as happy to see her. He and Gemma hugged, and Louis spoke so only she could hear. “Congratulations! I’m so proud love; this is going to be a great season,” Louis said and then pulled from their hug.
Gemma smiled a soft smile that looked too much like Harry’s own, dimples and all, “Thank you, I’m excited. I haven’t seen you since that party!” Gemma said.
Louis felt his stomach do a summersault, his pulse picking up infinitesimally, he breathed. Reminded himself, she couldn’t know what had happened. He doubted Harry had told her. “It has yeah, are you nervous, though? I imagine it’s been insane,” He said because he wasn’t keen on sticking to the subject of the ball.
“It has. I’m not too nervous, more excited to just drive. I’ve been going to meetings all year I’m ready to get to work,” She said, and she looked as excited as she sounded. It made Louis reminisce of his own time when he first started out.
“When are you testing? I’m on from two till three.”
“Oh, I think I’m on in like, ten minutes, so we’ll meet on the track at half time.”
“Let’s see who can beat Payne’s time then,” Louis said and winked. Gemma laughed softly, and after more small-talk, excused herself to get ready to drive.
Once she’d left, the whole tent began whispering. It didn’t seem mean-spirited, just people asking questions and sharing details about the new racer. Louis prepared himself a salad with lemonade before he approached the TV screens near the Ferrari table. He sat down once he had the right angle to see Gemma’s laps, and Niall was the first to speak.
“What did she say? How do you even know her?” Niall asked with intrigue, feasting on some chicken wings and large fries, a few dips here and there, and a salad on the side of his giant plate. Niall’s stomach was a black hole.
“Met her at a charity thing a few months back,” Louis said off-handedly, and ate some salad, checking out the body of Mercedes’ car as the TV showed some close-up shots.
“I haven’t seen her drive lately, is she as good as they say?” Liam asked distractedly. He seemed invested in a conversation with Zayn, typing a reply every few seconds. He was frowning but not really— just looked like he was concentrating really hard.
“I have. She’s fast and sneaky. Never know, though— it’s all about how she reacts under the pressure of crashing, and how she handles it. The trickiest part for rookies is weather and city circuit,” Louis said, and Niall nodded, eating his chicken wings. Liam didn’t acknowledge them, just kept on his phone.
“I think she’s starting,” Niall said, covering his mouth to speak, and most of the drivers and technicians looked at the different screens— curiosity was palpable in the room.
“The car’s form looks good, and the paint job’s neat,” Liam commented, also off his phone as he looked at the screens.
Louis hummed in agreement. Gemma took off from pits, and from there, she handled the car with practiced ease. She was agile in corners, she was fast in DRS zones, and she knew what patches of grass gripped her wheels best. That sort of technique came from ingenuity, and she seemed to possess loads. He reckoned Gemma would be alright and a mean threat later on.
Louis felt he’d seen enough by the tenth lap, and excused himself back to his changing room.
Once inside the cramped space, Louis let himself sit and go over the track layout a few times. He did his own warm-up, stretched every muscle, and did a few breathing exercises. Niall then tapped his door three times to let him know his time was almost about to start.
Once he was fully dressed in his racing suit, he let Niall finish zipping and closing him up. It wasn’t hot in Spain at all. Winter testing was its given name because normally they tested in February when the weather was at its coldest, and Spain was no exception.
Once Niall left to check the screens outside, he put on his earpieces, all new and ready for the start of the season. God, Louis, loved his job.
Then a voice cut through his inner dialogue like a hot knife through butter.
“Long time no see, 28,” The raspy voice said from behind him, and Louis immediately turned, a chill running up his spine. He knew who it was. It was karma, coming to bite him in the ass.
“Styles,” Louis said faintly, feeling like he’d been emotionally slapped in the face. How was it that one second he was perfectly fine and excited, and the next, he was dangerously close to fainting? “What are you doing here?” And he knew the answer, but he also needed to ask, no, demand why, why now? Why.
“Giving myself a personal tour of the grounds,” Harry Styles said while pointedly looking him up and down, “what are you doing here?” He asked, confused.
Louis stared, his eyes still wide. He believed one was twitching. He knew exactly why Louis was there. The asshole. Also, he was wearing a pair of flared blue jeans, and a cream Gucci polo, his shoes white moccasins. He looked… good. He even had some facial hair. Everything was not okay anymore. Why was he here?
“W- I race, you know that!” Louis said perplexed. He knew his emotions stemmed from the fact that Harry had just materialized out of nowhere after months of not seeing him, and he looked unfairly good. He was no longer gangly or pale looking— instead, he was incredibly muscular with giant biceps, a wonderful tan, and he even seemed taller.
Louis could not handle this right now. He had to drive for an hour right after this. He could even see a peek of Harry’s chest, which looked carved out of marble. He didn’t know what to do with that information. Why wasn’t he somewhere remote filming a movie or living in Asia?
“Well, that uniform does wonders for your ass,” Harry complimented loudly.
Louis struggled to remain calm. What was happening?
“W- Styles, you have to leave before the photographers come in here!” Louis said flustered, spotting a few men with Press passes around their necks and gigantic cameras at their side. “I don’t need press scandals so early in the season,” He grabbed Harry’s shoulders without second-guessing himself, just blindly trying to make him physically disappear. Like stuffing a jack-in-the-box back in the box. He tried turning him toward the door at the back, but Harry didn’t even budge at Louis’ whole upper body strength.
“A scandal, you say? Hm, I’m thinking how the British media would read this one,” He said and ran a hand through the air, “‘Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, is something going on?’ No, something cheesier like, ‘Formula He’s The One: Are the racer and artist dating?’ Got to love the gossip,” Harry said, amused.
“How are you here? Is this because of what happened at the party ago? Did you plan this as a comeback because of…?” Louis questioned in a weak trail.
He could feel his pulse quickening, the blood in his ears pounding louder, and there was a second where he felt his lungs completely lost oxygen like the room had been vacuumed of air. He was not about to have a panic attack in front of this man. He refused to.
“What?” Harry asked, looking alarmed and confused all of a sudden. Louis couldn’t blame him. “I didn’t,” Harry said quickly, looking more serious, seeming to realize Louis was actually freaking out. He frowned as he stared at Louis’ face with earnest eyes, “I didn’t,” He repeated. “I’m going to be on the tour of the GPs for Gemma,” He said like it was obvious.
Then Louis’ heart dropped to the floor, and a rapid succession of thoughts swirled too fast in his head. Fucking shit, fuck. He could already see himself being the weakest human being, having to look at gorgeous artist Harry Styles for a whole bleeding year, and force himself to look away every single time. How the fuck was he ever going to win a single Grand Prix with this bloody piece of work every-fucking-where just existing. How?
“O-okay, I don’t know how I was supposed to know that, but you should go before some photographer catches you here. They’re ruthless here, they’re going to link us immediately,” Louis pleaded in warning, pushing at Harry’s shoulders again, trying to make him turn.
This time Harry complied, letting Louis lead him to the bright red back door, hidden from view by giant panels. As Louis pushed his back with all his strength, Harry looked back at Louis over his shoulder.
“28, you can’t drive like this. You’re freaking out,” Harry said, his profile frowning, still concerned. Louis wasn’t listening, he just needed an hour to process Harry’s sudden reappearance, and then question him brutally about everything later. He just needed his car, so he could drive for a whole hour and flush every bit of panic from his mind. He needed to cleanse himself.
“D-don’t worry about me Styles, just go and don’t come back. We’ll talk later,” Louis said through his teeth, still using his strength to get Harry to walk out.
When they reached the swinging doors, Harry immediately stopped and turned, making Louis almost fall flat on his face, except he caught himself before he could trip. He looked down at him with soft eyes, too alike the ones from that night at the ball. It wasn’t good. This was all wrong. This was supposed to be his bloody year.
“It would be okay by me, you know?”
“What?” Louis asked, absolutely lost.
“It would be okay if they linked us in the paper. I know how ruffled your feathers would get by that,” Harry then smirked, then quickly stepped out of the door’s way before Louis could push them on his face.
“Tomlinson!” Ben called from the outside, his voice overly loud to make it through the roar of the car engine.
“You won’t ruffle any feathers, but keep dreaming,” Louis bit back with finality. He stayed to watch Harry’s face turn to a mildly amused expression from the other side of the door that was still swinging back and forth.
“Perfect view,” Harry yelled back, and Louis didn’t turn around and continue the conversation. He had shit to do.
He had to flush Harry out of his mind, immediately. Everything had to go.
Louis had been in good spirits all morning. That conscience of his had to go and think something had to go wrong for everything to crumble around him. He’d rid himself of the thought instantly, but a part of him, deep inside, knew Gemma was Harry’s sister, and he was bound to appear at some point.
He just didn’t know it would be the first fucking day of the new season.
Now, Harry had had simply materialized next to Louis before he was supposed to drive the first lap of the year, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to.
Maybe, with a little bit of luck, the chaos of the first lap would take his head right off him.
So, Louis made his way outside, and immediately he breathed in the panic and commands being shouted by all the staff and members through his earpiece. Sweet sound of anxiety, oh, how I’ve missed thee.
Mechanics with helmets and their own red suits were quickly running around the car as Louis climbed in. Once he was safely secured in his seat, he was handed his gloves and helmet.
Tyre warmers removed, he gave Ben a thumbs up, and he was immediately moved into his take-off position. Let’s fucking go.
“Testing, testing to box.”
“Loud and clear Louis, all systems checked, you’re ready to go.”
Louis felt that familiar warmth twist intensely in his gut, and he knew this was the sweetest remedy to anything life threw his way. This was the one thing he could do right, and nobody could take it away from him. He’d learned that the hard way.
“Best words I’ve heard today. Let’s do this,” Louis said, and once he was perfectly placed on the exit, he didn’t hesitate to start driving. He didn’t stop for photographers because he reckoned they’d already taken enough pictures in the morning.
On the track, he was seeding so fast everything around him went blurry, Louis could feel his chest constrict with the pressure of the air going around him— and he loved it. He’d missed the feeling of breathlessness in the first ten laps, and the satisfying burn in his gut whenever his corners were executed perfectly. He couldn’t compare this feeling with anything else in the entire world.
“Woo!” Louis cheered once he was properly settled in the car and driving his fifth lap around the circuit.
“Drives like a beauty,” Ben said into his earpiece.
“Benny, it’s beautiful. A bloody masterpiece.”
At thirty laps, Louis decided to try and beat Gemma’s fastest lap, “I’m going for it.”
“Ready,” Ben replied.
Louis immediately sped up as soon as he passed the starting line. He went fast with his DRS into Turns 1 and 2, quickly entering another DRS zone after those. He took advantage of the increased speed, and once Turn three came up, he feathered gradually on the breaks. It was a tight corner, so control was the key. 4 threw him almost immediately into five and then into six right after.
7 and 8 were equally as fast as the first two, so Louis repeated the same pattern from before.
Ben was constantly narrating his times in his ear. Louis made sure to listen and concentrate on the rest of the turns, never missing a perfect apex. Turn 15 was the tightest and hardest, but once he overcame the corner, he was flying down the rest of the circuit in a blur of red.
“You beat it by three seconds, Tommo,” Niall suddenly said into the intercom. There were lots of cheers from the team, and Louis cheered from his mic too. As he passed by the pits, he could see the red crew waving at him in congratulations.
“Louis, you set the new record, first day, and we’re back, baby!” Ben announced in his ear, and it felt like sweet relief. All his troubles and problems faded into fading images. He was back.
“Yes!” Louis yelled. There were cameras all on his car now, and he could see some of them as he went into the track again.
For the rest of the week, other drivers would attempt to beat Louis’s current time, but for now, Louis felt a million miles in the air, and he felt his body get lighter with every minute.
The good thing about pre-testing was that crashes weren’t the end of the world— and they did happen quite regularly since most of the cars were still essentially prototypes being tested before the official races. Liam’s car spun once as he was doing a corner, but so did Lacasa’s and Chevalier’s. Thankfully the first day hadn’t seen any of the cars destroyed or battered up, almost everyone managing to stay in the track and never hitting gravel. It counted as a good day all in all.
Once he’d done twenty more laps, Ben suggested he box.
“Louis buddy, amazing job,” Ben said once he’d properly turned off the car. He hugged him tight and let go when Liam and Niall slapped his helmet, still on his head, and fisted his overalls in excitement.
“New bloody record, that’s amazing Lou,” Liam said, all smiles, not a hint of jealousy or resentment. He hugged Louis too, and Niall squeezed them both in excitement. “I’m so proud of you two.”
Louis couldn’t help but think, ‘We’re fucking back.’
+
After Louis answered all his siblings’ texts and talked to his mum for a bit, Ben made sure to remind Liam and Louis that Ferrari had their cars ready in the hotel parking lot. Ferrari was giving them each a car like the ones they had at home. Louis would get a 2021 GTC4Lusso and Liam a 2020 Portofino. Liam adored his car; he’d even taken the time to name it Bill.
Louis felt jittery despite all the driving he’d done. He felt like he had an itch he couldn’t scratch, but he was too proud to admit Harry left a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, just where he couldn’t reach.
Louis was glad Gemma made Formula 1. But, he also felt a horrible ball of guilt in his gut when he couldn’t help but think that along with Gemma’s fantastic news, there had to be Harry in the way of everything. Louis didn’t have time for unsolicited feelings. He was expected to win this championship. He was hairs away from becoming the most successful racer. His whole team, nay, the whole world was ready to see him succeed to the finish line of the last Grand Prix. There were big plans ahead of him.
It seemed like all it took was for a pretty, kind, and funny man to come along and shatter all that.
His plan was all laid out: Break more records, fulfill his contract with Ferrari, buy a house somewhere quiet— then never use it because he’d be too busy driving again next year, and he was decided on going through with it. No, Harry Styles was not going to step in the way.
So, Louis devised a secondary plan for his primary one.
He would ignore Harry, not let Harry distract him from his goals, and definitely not let him get to his head. It was simple, and it was definitely going to work. Yes.
“Tommo come on; it’s your turn at interviews.”
Yeah, it was definitely going to work.