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Words don't come easily to Yuki.
He's been trying, really he has, but doesn't know why his grasp on English is this bad. It just is. Sometimes, he knows what to say, knows the name to the emotion he's feeling or understands which words he has to string together to form a cohesive sentence. Sometimes, they evade his mind altogether and he's left blinking dumbly, frustrated at being unable to express himself accurately.
Words don't come easily to Yuki. Which explains why he's currently staring numbly at the blank walls of his hotel room, his phone pressed tightly against his ear.
"Yuki? Are you still there?"
Pierre's voice is a grounding presence, warm and patient. It always has been, and Yuki suspects it always will be, one of the things that'll never fail to bring him out of his headspace.
He finds his voice. "Yeah... Still here, Pierre."
They sit in silence again. The Frenchman's probably expecting a reply.
Yuki brings up a hand to rub at his face. "Sorry, I'm just..."
"Shocked?" It sounds like he has a smile on his face. One of those small, fond grins that he reserves for people he genuinely enjoys being around.
"... finding the words to say."
Pierre hums and leaves it as that.
Frustration bubbles in Yuki as his mind searches in vain for the proper things, the appropriate things, to say. Finally, when he can't hold off giving a response anymore, he settles for a simple, "I'm happy for you."
It's horribly clipped and insincere, especially for someone Yuki has personally known for slightly under two years, someone he sees more regularly in a year than his own family. Those four words play back in Yuki's head and he wants to take them back immediately – he hates how simple they sound, how they don't even begin to capture the feeling of pure pride and joy he has for Pierre in this moment.
But it seems to be enough for the Frenchman. He laughs, bright and full of life, and thanks Yuki. (Yuki thinks he doesn't deserve the thanks at all for his stupid, basic, clipped, insincere, standard response.) Pierre tells him about his new contract and plans for the news to drop, apologising profusely when he mentions that the PR team couldn't wait for the Suzuka race to be over before telling the media of his move for 2023, despite his requests.
Yuki waves it off, reassures him in broken English that it's alright.
The news doesn't truly hit Yuki until they end the call. When it does, the Japanese driver nearly doubles over from the sudden wave of disbelief that surges through him, his phone long forgotten on the bedside table. His stomach rolls around and Yuki nearly flies off the bed to position himself before the toilet bowl, just in case.
Much like his words, his sick remains stuck in his throat.
~
The news drops in the morning.
He's thankful – really, he is – that Pierre had the decency to tell him about it before it went public, but the endless notifications lighting up his phone screen do nothing but highlight the slight sting of betrayal coiling in his gut. He knows it's been a long time coming, that Pierre deserves this more than anything, that things like this are part and parcel of racing in F1, that he really doesn't have the right to feel betrayed, but feelings... Feelings are something he can't control; can't rationalise.
His phone pings again and a picture of Pierre's face as the cover image of the news article shows up.
It feels official now. It feels real, like there's no going back. This isn't a prank, isn't a bad dream, isn't a figment of his imagination.
He doesn't have the words to explain how he feels.
Pierre is leaving for Alpine.
And Yuki's heart shatters all over again.
~
With the release of such huge news, he doesn't see Pierre almost all day, with the latter's day being packed full of interviews and media duties, of frantic reporters trying to get first-hand information on the sudden shift.
After all, Pierre Gasly is finally free from the clutches of Red Bull. Who wouldn't want to get a good story on that?
Yuki scrolls through social media in the spare time he has before his free practice. A few fan posts and videos have already been made about Pierre's move to Alpine, coupled with a few lamentations about the loss of his and Pierre's dynamic. There's been a few memes made about Pierre finally leaving Red Bull, and how he'd "traded" the shortest driver on the grid for the tallest. (Yuki may or may not have found that self-deprecatingly funny.)
He watches, with utmost concentration, a compilation of what the fans call Yukierre moments.
He sees his past selves staring up at Pierre, star-struck and his feelings so painfully obvious.
He wonders how it's possible that complete strangers on the Internet have taken the words right out of his mouth when he's still struggling to put a name to everything.
~
The race ends as badly as humanly possible. With all the rain and wet track conditions, Yuki can't say he wasn't hesitant about how well the race would go, but a no-point finish in his first home race is still pretty disappointing. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help feeling embarrassed, too – all these fans who'd shown up in the rain and talked big about their hometown hero.
He grimaces each time those words get brought up.
But more than disappointment and embarrassment is the pure fear that comes with watching the replays on the screens around the garage while waiting for the race to be continued. Yuki hadn't quite understood his teammates anger when he'd spotted him earlier, but understanding the commotion from his engineers and seeing the incident unfold with his own eyes... He doesn't quite know how to react to everything.
He doesn't think he'll be able to find the proper words to communicate his thoughts even if he did know how to react.
Yuki finally sees Pierre back at their hotel, in the quiet of the night, just as he exits his room for a quick convenience store run. Pierre seems to be heading back to his own room for an early night in. The Frenchman's eyes are red, bloodshot, and he looks more exhausted than Yuki remembers ever seeing him – anger seems to have made way for fear. He thinks Pierre attempts to smile but it falls short. Severely.
"Hey." Yuki doesn't know what to say – or what he can even do, to bring any form of comfort to Pierre after the situation he's been put through – but that should be a start.
"Hi."
They're in the hallway outside their rooms, in the open for everyone to see. Yuki shuffles on the spot at the thought of just anyone walking in on them – just two guys, two teammates, talking about their disaster of a race in the middle of nowhere.
"Are... you okay?"
It's an odd place to be having such a conversation.
Pierre grimaces; doesn't even try to smile as an answer. Yuki wants to slap himself. Of course he's not okay. He backtracks, "I mean, are you feeling better? I saw... the replays. It looked scary."
"I just talked to my family," is Pierre's response in lieu of an actual yes/no answer.
That explains the tears.
Yuki nods, tries to figure out what to say next. He isn't very good at this; comforting others has never been his forte – he struggles to find the right words to say, even in Japanese. How's he supposed to do it in English?
They're left stranded in awkward silence as Yuki begs his mind to think of a decent response. It feels like a century has gone by when Pierre finally moves out of place, nodding towards the room adjacent to Yuki's own. "I think I'm gonna' turn in first. It's been a long day."
He takes a step forward and Yuki's hand darts out to catch his wrist, scarily, as if instinctively.
"Wait, I-" Yuki falters when Pierre's eyes meet his, when the words die in his throat. Pierre's silver bracelet – the matching ones they share – is cool on the heated skin of Yuki's palm; a grounding presence. The Frenchman waits patiently, eyes still bloodshot, one eyebrow slightly raised.
The words don't come to his brain.
"I can't..." He struggles, "I don't... know how to say it in English."
Finally, when the correct words have evaded him for far too long and it feels a bit too awkward holding Pierre in place like that, Yuki releases his grip and drops his hand. Instead, he steps into Pierre's personal space, wraps his arms around the guy and just... hugs him.
He feels Pierre's arms circle him in return; hears his shaky exhale and senses the tension slowly seep out of his too-stiff frame.
And there they stand, two teammates embracing each other in the middle of the hallway of their hotel, neither one feeling like breaking apart.
The words finally come into Yuki's head: I'm glad you're still here.
He hopes Pierre can feel it in the way his hug tightens ever so slightly.
~
The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix comes in the blink of an eye.
Yuki and Pierre's last race together as teammates.
It sends a special kind of sadness spiraling into Yuki's entire being. He does his best to hide it, but he isn't so sure he's successful. Especially not when his method of hiding it apparently translates to him avoiding Pierre like the plague.
It's a complete 180 degrees change to when Yuki would stick to Pierre like glue.
Yuki may be overthinking this but he's pretty sure everyone in the team knows, or at least suspects something. It's unnerving. If he's being honest, it makes him avoid Pierre more, as backfiring as it is.
Pierre corners him on Friday, immediately after their last practice session of the day, right there in the garage. He looks hot, sweaty, and definitely mad. Or annoyed. Maybe a bit hurt, too. A few engineers stop to stare at them. Yuki wants to melt into a puddle and die.
"Are you mad at me?"
The question is startling, somewhat. Yuki was expecting a confrontation of some sorts, but he definitely did not consider that Pierre would think he was mad at him. (I mean, have you seen the way Yuki looks at Pierre? How could he ever be mad at him.)
"No...?"
"Are you sure?" Pierre seems more hurt than annoyed now. "Why do you sound like you don't believe yourself?"
Yuki forces a smile, tries to ignore the pinch in his gut and the fact that even more engineers have turned their attention to their conversation. He counters back with a question of his own, "Why would you think that?"
"You've been avoiding me."
His heart nearly stops beating at the blatant callout. It would be inappropriate for Yuki to wax poetry about his feelings now, wouldn't it? In the garage, right in front of the small crowd that have started to form to watch their painfully awkward interaction. He doubts he'd even be able to find the words in the first place – English really, really, really, isn't his strong suit.
Yuki decides to play dumb. "Have I?" He feigns nonchalance, shrugs a shoulder, focuses on the wall behind Pierre rather than on his face to help ease the guilt rolling around his stomach. "Maybe I've been... really busy lately."
"But you hang out with Alex and the other drivers. Nowadays, you're only with me when we have media duties. And even then you act as if someone's holding you at gunpoint. Whenever we have spare time to spend together, you just disappear on me." He takes a breath, "Are you mad that I'm moving to Alpine?"
Yikes.
"I'm not mad at you." He insists again because, fuck, he really doesn't know what else to say. Or what he can say that'll accurately convey his feelings. Fuck, language barriers suck.
Pierre gives him a look that appears to be an equal mix of unamused and disbelief. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, as if struggling to express his frustration. Yuki uses the silence as his excuse to leave, throwing an awkward double thumbs-up sign and a forced smile as he backs way, nearly running to Noel and dragging his trainer away with him.
He's correct in assuming that Pierre wouldn't follow him if he sees him with his trainer – the Frenchman doesn't approach him for the rest of the day.
~
Qualifying comes and goes, and both drivers manage to secure themselves decent starting positions. Everyone's in high spirits, eager to end off the season on the good note.
It's good vibes all around, until the door to Yuki's drivers room opens and Pierre walks in with a stiff, Let's talk.
Yuki's heart drops to his stomach. Talking is a bad idea. It's an even worse idea when you consider the fact that Yuki's command of English is as good as his ability to act rationally in the presence of his crush. (Which is to say, not good at all.) Still, he steels his heart and straightens up from where he'd been leaning against the wall, mindlessly scrolling through his social media feed.
"Sounds like a breakup coming."
His joke falls flat.
The door swings shut, trapping both of them in Yuki's room and stealing the Japanese's opportunity of escaping this conversation entirely.
"You're mad at me," is Pierre's accusation. "I just want to know why."
He's really, really, annoyingly stubborn in clinging on to the whole idea of Yuki being mad at him.
Yuki frowns, "I'm not. I already told you I'm not."
"It's really not because I'm moving to Alpine?"
"I..." He falters, catches the briefest flash of hurt in his teammate's eyes. "No, I'm happy for you. I swear. It is just..." Yuki brings a hand up to wipe at his face. "I can't find the words to... describe everything."
He feels stupid. Dumb.
Pierre gives him a small smile, slightly more relaxed than before. "It's okay, sometimes I struggle to find the correct words, too. Take your time."
He feels like a child, for not being able to communicate his own emotions.
Finally, when the clock seems to have indicated that a full minute has passed, when Yuki can't take anymore of staring blankly at Pierre's face, and when his heart threatens to explode with how fast it's beating, he settles for a simple, "I'm gonna' miss you."
It's not exactly it, per se. It doesn't encompass his feelings, doesn't properly represent his emotions and the soon-to-be Pierre-shaped hole in his heart, but it's the best he can come up with and it'll do for now.
"Aww, Yuki." Pierre seems to have gone back to his regular happy, smiley, warm personality. He steps forward to pull the Japanese in for a quick hug, messing his hair up in what Yuki can only describe as affectionately. "I'll miss you too."
But it's different, though, isn't it? Missing a friend and missing a crush aren't exactly the same.
Yuki smiles, but there's a small pain in his heart that doesn't quite go away. He doesn't bother trying to address it – the words evade him, anyway.
Pierre releases him, plants a firm hand on his shoulder. "Let's make the most of our last race weekend , together okay? No more avoiding me."
He can't find it in him to deny that he's been avoiding Pierre anymore. "Okay."
The smile Yuki gets is nearly blinding.
It sends another wave of pain and longing surging through him. How often will he get to see this next year when Pierre is no longer constantly by his side?
~
They end the 2022 season on a double points finish, placing AlphaTauri solidly ahead of Haas and just the tiniest bit behind Aston Martin. Neither Yuki nor Pierre made the podium, but like 2021, they were pretty damn close, so its a night full of champagne and celebrations anyway.
Pierre gives his speech again, more formally this time, thanking Franz, their team, his engineers, everyone who played a part in his journey with AlphaTauri. He thanks Yuki, too, in a last but not least kind of situation, raising his flute of champagne to the Japanese driver and giving him a nod, eyes glassy with unshed tears. Unlike the night of the Suzuka race, it's tears of happiness this time.
Yuki nods back, raises his own glass in acknowledgment.
He actively reminds himself not to do anything stupid; to school his facial features so nothing is given away – there are cameras all around, documenting Pierre's last post-race celebration with AlphaTauri. Yuki thinks he manages it quite well: there's a smile plastered on his face, slightly proud of Pierre and definitely fond of him, despite the sinking feeling of his heart dropping down into his gut.
He thinks he's too attached to his teammate.
He also thinks of his teammate as more than just a teammate.
It's late in the night – slightly pass two in the morning, if Yuki's drunk brain is interpreting his watch correctly – when both drivers stumble into Pierre's room, the latter having invited his younger teammate in after insisting he had a gift for him. Yuki plops down onto the edge of the bed unceremoniously, watching with hazy unfocused eyes as Pierre digs around in his suitcase for the present.
His sudden, triumphant yell when he finds it scares Yuki into blinking awake, the buzz of alcohol still thrumming in his veins.
Pierre kneels before the bed and thrusts a small box into Yuki's hands, grin widening in tandem with Yuki's mounting disbelief as he opens the case, only to be met with a single silver ring.
"This is..."
"A fitness ring!" Pierre's words slur together, evidence of his alcohol intoxication. "I have one too, see? Now we match!" His hand comes up in a blur, his own ring sitting on his pinky glinting under the harsh hotel room lights.
Yuki takes an additional few seconds to focus on the Frenchman's hand before comprehending his words. When it clicks, he lets out a quiet, oh. His own hands start shaking, the box still clasped tightly between them.
"Put it on, put it on! I wanna' see how it looks on Giuseppe."
And so he does.
It looks... well... odd, to be honest. Yuki isn't used to wearing jewelry. The sight of his pinky clad in a silver ring – one bought by Pierre, no less – is strange. Unfamiliar to him, yes, but not exactly off-putting or unwelcomed either. Yuki frowns at it slightly, tries to blink through the fog of drunkenness to admire it properly.
Pierre, on the other hand, stares at it with stars in his eyes, enthralled. Fascinated, enchanted, bewitched, even. His hands reach out, as if automatically, to clasp Yuki's, his thumb running over the ring. Grey eyes dart up from their conjoined hands to stare at the Japanese's face, taking note of the red starting to colour his cheeks (thought that could be because of the alcohol).
"I fucking knew it'll look good on you."
The Frenchman looks so devilishly smug; so pleased with himself, with Yuki, with that goddamn ring.
And Yuki feels like he is about to die.
His heart is beating way too fast, his head is spinning, and he's ninety percent sure that if he doesn't get his heartrate under control soon he might very well pass out. The butterflies in his stomach seem to have come out to torment him once again, and Yuki very nearly keels over when Pierre brings their hands closer to his face, brushes his lips over Yuki's own finger.
He's drunk. He must be way more drunk than he thought. Or maybe he died from alcohol poisoning and is in heaven. There's no other explanation for this.
"I-" He falters, doesn't quite know what to say.
"Yuki."
Pierre has his eyes close, taking in deep breaths, their hands still pressed against his lips. It's only when Yuki responds with a strained, yeah? that the Frenchman opens his eyes once more.
They make eye contact again and something new glints in cool grey; something Yuki hadn't quite seen in Pierre before.
"Yuki. I want you by my side. All the time. Always. Forever."
Yuki's heart nearly stops.
"I want to race with you, and alongside you, and go for training days at the factory together. I want to joke around with you on the podcast and travel the world with you, and try new foods with you. I want to film promotional videos with you and laugh with you, and fight with you and tease you and make a fool out of ourselves with you. I want to invite you over to my house, just because it's closer to the factory; I want to have a sleepover with you and cook with you and make a mess with you.
"More than that, I just want you."
Yuki is pretty sure Pierre isn't just talking about being teammates. His words get stuck in his throat and he lets the man continue, doesn't dare interrupt him in a moment like this.
"I've been wanting to tell you for so long, but I never had the courage to. Then the news of me leaving dropped and you started to distance yourself from me, and I was so afraid that I'd done something wrong and you're mad at me. I only wish I could've told you all this sooner; that I had the courage to tell you earlier."
He doesn't know what to say or do. All this time he's been biding his time, waiting for the opportunity to present himself or for the right words to come to him.
Even now, the words evade him.
"You... I..." Yuki swallows, the alcohol in his system giving him a much needed boost in confidence. "Please say this isn't just about being teammates."
Pierre's laugh is sudden, jarring, unrestrained, as if he'd momentarily lost a piece of his sanity. He sags – partially against Yuki and partially against the bed – as his legs turn to jelly and the fight completely drains out of him, as if his confession had zapped all the strength he had. Pierre sighs, stares back up at Yuki from his spot on the floor, hands still clutching his. "No, Yuki. Not as teammates."
"So... you're saying..."
"Yes, Yuki. More than that – more than teammates and more than friends."
Pierre seems more nervous now that the admission is out in the open.
The ball's in Yuki's court.
And perhaps Yuki shouldn't, but he laughs. The Japanese throws his head back and gives a full belly laugh, his hand finally, finally, clutching back at Pierre's. All this time he'd been worrying about not knowing what to say, about being bad at English, about not being able to effectively communicate his feelings in their shared language, when Pierre had felt the same way all along. The thought of it sends Yuki dissolving into another round of giggles, a stray tear squeezing out the corner of his left eye to scroll down his cheek.
"Yuki..." Pierre's face is red under his beard.
The man chokes back another laugh. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise."
Pierre seems unconvinced. And very hurt. Maybe embarrassed, too.
"I'm laughing at me."
"I don't... understand...?"
Yuki blinks down at the man, stares down at their hands, still tangled with each other's. "I can't... express myself in English very well, but... I've been doing the same thing as you – trying to figure out how to say it."
Pierre lets out a breath, "Oh."
"I feel the same way you do." Yuki thinks he's found a cheat to express this aspect of his feelings – he's pretty confident that whatever Pierre feels, he feels it too.
The Frenchman lets out another oh, slightly more breathless this time, before erupting into peals of laughter. "All this time we were just... dancing around each other like idiots."
Yuki barks out a laugh. He feels better now – the heavy weight on his chest is gone and he feels better, lighter, like he could simply just float away. In fact, he's pretty certain that the only thing keeping him grounded to earth right now is kneeling right before him, holding onto his hand and anchoring him down; his own pillar of support.
His heart swells. (He's thinks he can hear angels singing in the background.)
"Y'know..." Pierre's eyes are alight with mischief, his lips upturned in his regular cocksure grin. "If you're worried about not being good at English... They say actions speak louder than words."
The words are out of his mouth before he can think through it.
Kiss me you fool.
Pierre complies almost immediately, tackling Yuki onto his back and causing another involuntary bout of giggles when his hand accidentally jabs a sensitive spot on his belly. They're laughing too much by the time they actually kiss, their teeth clack against each other and they're both grinning too wide for it to even be considered a proper kiss, but neither of them seem to care.
It takes another minute for them to calm down and another thirty seconds of simply staring at each other while they regain their breath, before they gravitate towards each other once more, like moths helplessly drawn to a flame. They share a simple, sweet, peck before Pierre ducks away to pepper kisses all over Yuki's face: his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his chin, everywhere.
He stops when Yuki's free hand comes up to whack Pierre's back, collapsing heavily onto the younger driver and drawing out a punched-out groan from Yuki due to the sudden weight.
"Hey,"
Pierre flicks his eyes to the side, partially lifting his head so it won't be buried in the side of Yuki's neck. "Hm?"
"I can never be mad at you for leaving this team, yeah?"
The Frenchman hums, nods once.
Yuki's eyes glint with the slightest bit of mischief, his lips upturned in a sly smile, though a sliver of his insecurities shine through in his next words. "Just... don't replace me with Esteban."
Pierre's eyes soften and he scoffs, somewhat affectionately. "Agree that you won't replace me with Nyck and we've got a deal."
Yuki laughs, tightens his grip on Pierre's hands and squeezes once. A promise.
And just because he can, because maybe actions do speak louder than words, Yuki leans over and kisses him.
(This time, he's pretty sure he hears angels chorusing in the background.)