Chapter Text
Suzuka in August is unbearably hot.
Jungkook rolls up on the tarmac, the humidity stealing his breath as he pushes the car door open and hops out of the driver’s seat. It’s all blue skies and white clouds today, but summer in Japan is unpredictable; Jungkook can only pray the good weather lasts through the final race.
It’s the first day of race week and less than half the tents are set up. Most of the real testing only begins on Friday so everyone’s milling around, nosing about each other’s tents and catching up on last season’s gossip.
Still, Jungkook likes being at the track early, likes taking the time to feel the circuit, to discover the best corners for overtaking, to figure out which parts of the track are too grippy and which are too slick.
His engineers, Yoongi and Hoseok are in the back, already unloading his gear and heading to set up while Namjoon, his team manager, heads over to registration to get their tent and track passes.
“I’m gonna go check out the stands,” Jungkook calls, and Hoseok shoots him a thumbs up, waving him off.
The circuit at Suzuka is a thing of beauty; long straights that whip into sharp winding bends. It’s a track that pushes you to your limit and that’s why it’s Jungkook’s favorite. The fact that he won his first world title here doesn’t hurt either.
Jackson’s already there, leaning over the safety fence, his fingers curling in the metal rails as he hollers and jeers and the passing drivers.
“C’mon, loser!” He screams, waving his fists as Yugyeom’s kart speeds by, “you’re half a second behind!”
“Aww, cut him some slack, hyung, it’s not even day one."
Jungkook slides into the empty spot next to Jackson and Jackson brightens immediately, throwing his arm around Jungkook’s shoulder.
"Jeon Jungkook, what are you doing here? Namjoon said you’d be in Europe.”
“Someone's gotta keep Yugeyomie on his toes,” Jungkook says, grinning, “how've you been, hyung?”
Jackson doesn't answer right away, reflexively turning back to the track when Yugyeom speeds past again. Jungkook leans over his shoulder to peek at Jackson's stopwatch which reflects Yugyeom’s latest laptime, 0.08 seconds slower than the last.
"Same old," Jackson says, with a disappointed sigh, "well, older now I’ve started coaching this guy.”
“It’s early,” Jungkook says, “you know he always does better under pressure.”
Jackson leans back to take Jungkook in, scowling a little when he realizes he has to crane his neck up to look at Jungkook.
“You kids grow up so fast," he grumbles, "it feels like just yesterday you were tottering around the track in your cute little 60ccs.”
“I know,” Jungkook says, a little smug, “and now I have a champion cup or three.”
“Brat,” Jackson says, even though it’s fond. “What the hell has Namjoon been feeding you? You were yay high last summer.”
“Ramen,” Jungkook deadpans, “lots and lots of it.”
Jackson shakes his head.
“You don’t even know how many times Namjoon’s called me in the middle of the night, crying because he can’t afford your grocery bills.”
He tilts his head to look at Jungkook appraisingly, “so, Europe, huh? How'd that go?"
Way back when, Jackson Wang had been one of the most promising go-karters to come out of Asia. He’d gone where no man had gone before — landing a sweet sponsorship that would take him all the way to the European championships. He had his flight, his hotels, his racing teamed booked. Jungkook’s almost certain he could’ve made it all the way, if it hadn’t been for that big accident.
It seems a little cruel for Jungkook to go giddy about the career and opportunities that should have been his.
“It was good,” Jungkook says, finally. He doesn't offer any details. “But we’re back now.”
“Jeon Jungkook, you don’t race in Europe for two years and then tell me you’re done. C’mon, spill. If I know Namjoon, he’d never let you come back unless you’d—“
“Signed with an F1 team?” Jungkook says, “yeah, I guess there’s that.”
“Holy shit!” Jackson whoops, pulling Jungkook into a tight, genuine, hug, “holy. Fucking. Shit.”
It still surprises him every time, the way those words still spark a thrill in him. They’d signed the contract three months ago, been in negotiations even longer than that, Jungkook thinks he should be used to the idea by now, but no, every time is like the first time.
“Man,” Jackson says, looking a little winded, “I always knew you were destined for great things. Joonie always called you ‘golden boy’ but shit. Congratulations, man.”
“Thanks,” Jungkook shrugs, “it's just a test driver position for now, so."
"So?" Jackson grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him a little, "so it’s a big deal. It’s a big fuckin’ deal, kiddo. Don’t tell yourself any different.”
It’s classic Jackson, being this generous. Jungkook studies the unfeigned look of pride in Jackson’s eyes as he grins and slaps Jungkook on the shoulder, like a proud dad. It makes Jungkook’s heart clench, knowing how much Jackson had loved to race, knowing how it crushed him to walk away from this life.
“Hyung?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“They gave me an apartment in Monaco,” Jungkook says, leaning back against Jackson and bumping his shoulder, “you should come visit sometime.”
“Count on it,” Jackson says, and winks.
Jackson leaves after a few more congratulatory words, heading back to his tent once he sees Yugyeom pulling into the pit. Jungkook stays on the stands, watching the other racers zip by, silently cataloguing each.
By six o’clock, most of the other teams have scattered. It’s just Jungkook on the stands now, and one other kart on the track, a shiny silver Tony Kart with the numbers ’95’ spray painted onto its side.
Park Jimin.
Born in Busan, and two years older, Park Jimin was Korea’s original golden boy, until Jungkook stumbled onto the scene and inherited the title.
Jungkook leans against the rail, watching Jimin skitter around the corners, his engine revving. Now that the circuit’s empty, he doesn’t have to hold back, which pleases them both. Jimin floors the accelerator, kicking up dirt as his tires skid across the tracks.
It’s a risky move.
It’s brilliant.
It’s beautiful.
It’s why Jungkook’s here at all, jet-lagged and exhausted in the middle of an empty race track in Suzuka.
The first time Jungkook races in Suzuka, he’s turning fifteen. It’s his first time racing internationally and even though Japan’s only an hour’s flight from Korea, racing on foreign soil makes him feel small and out of his depth.
Back in Busan his competitors had been the people he’d grown up with. Everyone knew everyone and the crowd cheered on whoever happened to cross the finish line first. Back there, winning hadn’t mattered.
Here, it's clear it's the only thing that does.
“Hey,” Namjoon says stooping down next to Jungkook. “You okay?”
Jungkook sighs, setting his phone down. “I’m fine.”
Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “you don’t look like yourself.”
Jungkook huffs, toying with the threadbare hem of his shirt. Namjoon waits.
“I just," Jungkook says, "I don’t know anyone here. I t’s weird. At home everyone’s all friendly and mingling in each other’s tents, you know?”
“Well,” Namjoon says, glancing around the paddock, “I know a couple of people I could introduce, let me just—“
“Nah, I don’t speak Japanese,” Jungkook mumbles, and when Namjoon opens his mouth again, adds, “or English.”
Namjoon clamps his mouth shut and sighs.
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, “it’s fine, it’s whatever. It’s only for the weekend and then we’ll be home, right?”
“Actually,” Namjoon says, scanning the rest of the paddock, “I think there’s another Korean racer here too. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Park Jimin? He’s from Busan, just like you.”
Of course Jungkook knows Park Jimin. Almost everyone does in Busan. He’s a legend. Jungkook used to watch Jimin race when he was a junior. Jimin, two years older, tore up the senior circuit, faster than anyone had seen. He was the first person who made it out of Korea; Jungkook has news clippings of all the races he’s won internationally. “The Devil in the Wet” is what the newspapers call him. Jungkook’s grown up a lot since then, set a couple of records of his own too, but back on their home track, Jimin still holds the fastest lap times, it’s been three years since he left and Jungkook can’t even come close to touching his record.
“Okay,” Jungkook says, tucking his hands in his lap so Namjoon doesn’t see them shake. “I wanna meet him.”
The weekend flies by.
Jungkook spends two hours in scrutineering and then Namjoon ushers him to get weighed in, and suddenly he’s zipping up his suit and Namjoon’s bundling him into his go-kart and wheeling him out onto the track for qualifying.
“Feeling okay?” Namjoon asks as Jungkook slips on his helmet and climbs in. Jungkook adjusts his seat, securing the seatbelt before flashing Namjoon a thumbs up.
“You’ll be fine,” Namjoon says, squeezing him gently on the shoulder, “you’re ready for this. Just breathe, and do you.”
Namjoon steps off the starting grid and Jungkook's on his own again.
It’s starting. Jungkook takes a deep breath to clear his head, his heart in his throat as he waits for the start lights to illuminate.
“Hey.”
There's a shiny silver Tony Kart parked on Jungkook's left, a ’95’ blazed on the side in bright red. Jungkook's breath catches.
“I just wanted to say good luck,” Park Jimin says. “You’re gonna be great, Jeon Jungkook.”
He's beautiful up-close, prettier than all the newspaper clippings Jungkook has stashed in his drawer, prettier than the photograph Mr Park keeps framed at their home track in Busan.
All the blood in Jungkook’s body rushes to his ears. He fumbles for the words, but comes up with nothing. In the end, he offers Jimin a tentative smile before remembering that Jimin can’t see his expression under his helmet.
Jimin doesn’t seem to mind though. He tugs his helmet on over his balaclava and turns back to Jungkook one last time flashing him a thumbs up. Right before Jimin snaps his visor shut, he smiles at Jungkook, his eyes curving into sweet little crescents.
That’s the thing Jungkook remembers most about Suzuka, not the weight of the trophy in his hands, but Jimin’s eyes, soft and kind, amidst the roar of the engines.
The race passes by in a blur.
It’s only after Jungkook sees the checkered flag that the rest of the world comes back to him in a roar of noise and color. He pulls over in the pit, standing shakily and Hoseok and Namjoon are there shouting and clapping him on the back, “you did it, you did it!” While Yoongi is staring up at the monitor, the one that's broadcasting the fastest lap time — Jungkook’s.
Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re really something else, kid.”
Jungkook’s giddy with excitement as he jumps onto the podium, his trophy raised triumphantly overhead. Jimin’s a close second while Yugeyom comes in third, and it’s an all Korean podium finish, which makes it extra special.
They take photos with their arms around each other, grinning for the press after the national anthem plays, not once but three times. When they get handed victory bottles of champagne, Jungkook spends no time in popping them open and spraying them at the cheering crowd.
Hoseok and Jackson have squeezed their way to the front, gleefully dancing under the spray of champagne while Yoongi and Namjoon hang back, watching the rest of the celebrations from the safety of the tent.
Jungkook is so happy he thinks he might burst. He doesn’t have words for what it feels like to race well, to come to your first international race, challenge yourself and win. He turns to Jimin, a step down from the podium and wants so badly to share this moment with him.
Jimin is laughing, his teeth on full display as he attacks his team manager with his champagne bottle, Seokjin holding his arms up and screeching indignantly.
Watching Jimin like this, all happy and alive makes something hot and urgent settle in the pit of Jungkook's stomach. Suddenly, all Jungkook can think about is how to get Jimin's attention, what it would feel like to feel that smile turned only on him.
So he does the best thing he can think of, he takes his own champagne bottle and aims it right at Jimin’s face.
Cold, bubbly champagne foam splashes onto Jimin's face. He sputters in surprise, and Jungkook wants to laugh, until Jimin looks right at him and there's nothing funny about the way Jimin looks right now.
Champagne clings to the ends of Jimin’s eyelashes like water crystals, and the spray of champagne leaves Jimin's mouth looking pink and wet and kissable. An errant trail of champagne slides down his neck, settling in the dip of his collarbones.
Jungkook swallows hard, suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out and touch him.
He almost does, but in the next moment Jimin bats Jungkook’s hand away with so much venom Jungkook almost stumbles backward.
“What the hell?” Jimin’s eyes flash with hurt, and then something that settles into genuine anger. He shoves the mouth of Jungkook’s bottle out of his face. “What are you doing?”
“I just—“ Jungkook begins, panicking but Jimin cuts him off, lifting his hand protectively to his face.
“Why would you do something like that?”
Jungkook stares, stupidly at him, the words dying in his throat. He doesn’t know what he was thinking, that Jimin would find it funny, endearing, maybe? That they could take photos of themselves later, drenched in champagne and victory and holding up their twin trophies.
“God, I thought—” Jimin says, and then cuts himself off with another vicious glare. “You know what, Jeon Jungkook? Stay the hell away from me.”
“I’m sorry—“ Jungkook stutters, but Jimin doesn’t even look at him, just picks up his trophy and the sad remnants of his bottle of champagne, hugging both close to his chest as he hops off the podium and disappears into his tent.
That was three years ago.
Jimin had asked him to stay away, and Jungkook had tried, God knows he had. Being separated by a continent or two had helped, but now that they’re back in the same circles, Jungkook can’t seem to leave Jimin alone.
The sun is setting by the time Jimin pulls into the pit. He stands, tugging off his helmet and running a hand through his mussed up hair, now a shocking blonde. Silhouetted against the setting sun, the late evening light casting a soft halo around his face, Park Jimin takes Jungkook’s breath away.
“Hey,” Jungkook calls, jogging over.
Jimin is smiling when he turns around, but as their eyes meet, the easy smile he’s wearing fades.
“Do you need something?”
The words sound polite, but the way Jimin is looking at him, like Jungkook’s worth even less that the mud under his shoes, is anything but.
“I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says, holding out his hand, “we’ve met before.”
“I remember,” Jimin says, coolly. He keeps his arms folded across his chest until Jungkook gets the message and sighs, letting his outstretched hand fall back to his side.
“Do you have a problem with me?”
Jimin raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one who approached me but I’m the one with the problem?”
“That’s not what I—" Jungkook begins, running a hand through his hair. “I just came here to talk. Why are you being so difficult?”
Jimin looks him over, jutting his chin out defiantly.
“Probably for the same reason you can’t leave me alone. I guess we can’t all get what we want.”
Jungkook takes in a long, deep breath. “Look, I came over because I was watching you from the stands and you were great.”
Evidently that’s not what Jimin thought Jungkook was going to lead with because he stares at Jungkook, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it doesn't, he blinks, in an adorably confused kind of way and he ducks his head almost like he’s shy or whatever, and it’s so fucking adorable and unexpected that Jungkook panics and rambles on.
“I mean you’ve always been good, even when we met the last time, but you’ve just gotten so much better and I wanted to congratulate you in person.”
Smooth, Jungkook thinks, cringing, real smooth, asshole.
“Thanks,” Jimin says, flatly. "T hat’s always what I wanted to hear. Jeon Jungkook finally thinking I’m a worthy competitor. Congratulations, you just made my day.”
He scoffs, turning to walk away and Jungkook stares at his back, wishing there was a way to bridge the distance between them, wondering how they got here in the first place.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
The question makes Jimin stop in his tracks.
“I don’t know,” Jimin says. He turns around and looks Jungkook right in the eye. “Why do you have to be such a bully?”
Jungkook stares at him, dumbfounded.
"I'm here to race,” Jimin says, sounding weary, “I’m sure you are too. So let's cut the bullshit and focus on that, yeah?"
With that, he bows curtly leaving Jungkook staring after him, wondering how it went so wrong so fast.