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It hits Pierre like a train. Like a sack of bricks. It hits him like the splash of cold water when you’re hungover. Freezing. He’s no longer sober. His in a club and his head hurts. He’s going to be sick. It all makes sense. He hates how it makes sense.
He thinks back to the past year. They were jokes, no? Just going along with the bit. It’s what the fans want. He’s close to other drivers too. He and Charles, it’s the same kind of closeness. It has to be. It can’t be anything else. It’s wrong. Wrong for him. He’s not allowed to feel this way. He can't… it’s what he’s been taught his whole life. He’s going to find a beautiful girl to settle down with and they’ll have a family, 3 kids. Two boys and a girl. He’s planned it. They’d all be into karting. He’d have 3 Gaslys on the grid. He’d be the best dad. It’s how it’s meant to be. What his parents want-
Oh god, his parents. How would he be able to tell them? He can’t. He’ll be disowned, thrown out. His mother, he can’t break her heart. His father would kill him. He can’t be. He’s not…
He’s not gay. Pierre Gasly is not gay.
No matter what anyone says. And he doesn’t have a crush on Yuki Tsunoda. He’s not falling for his teammate. It's a stupid idea. They're just friends. Yuki's just like that. Open. Blunt. English isn't his first language, he doesn't know what he saying half the time. "Boyfriend-girlfriend type thing." He doesn't mean it, it's a joke, a bit. It's for the fans. He's not gay. Pierre's not gay. If Yuki was gay, it's fine. He can be gay. Pierre cannot be.
He's in a club in Canada. Everyone is. There's nothing to celebrate, Yuki DNFd and Pierre didn't get points. Neither of them cared. They didn't need an excuse to get drunk. He's maybe had one too many, his nerves are on fire. Yuki let himself loose, Pierre should maybe check on him. He feels protective over Yuki. That's normal, right? He's Yuki's first teammate, they're close friends. He's allowed to care. But Pierre can't move. He's transfixed. His mouth is dry like he's never touched a drop of water ever. He can't breathe.
Yuki's dancing but that's not it. It's the way he's dancing. He doesn't know what songs playing, he can't place it. But it's slow, seductive. Low bass. The kind of music you put on during sex to make it less awkward. And Yuki's dancing in a way that Pierre can only think of as sinful . The way he moves his hips, throws his head back. His shirt is sticking to his body with sweat. He's seen Yuki shirtless, but for some reason that doesn't feel the same. He's dancing with Charles. And Charles is attractive, Pierre can comfortably admit that, but Pierre couldn't give two fucks about how Charles looks. He's focused on Yuki. The strobe lights reflect off his skin, he's got glitter on his collarbones. Pierre wants to lick them. He shudders at the thought, he feels sick. He can't look away.
Until Yuki looks at him. He smirks and rolls his head back, exposing more of his neck. He connects their eyes. Pierre can't look away. Yuki winks at him and Pierre makes to move towards him until he stops. He can't. This isn't right. He shouldn't be thinking about this. About how hot his teammate is. About how Pierre wants to cram him against a wall and kiss him senseless. How he wants to lick the sweat from Yuki's skin. How he wants to get on his knees for Yuki. Fuck how he wants Yuki on his knees for him . Pierre can't breathe. The metal on his chest burns, a reminder of how he's a sinner. He bolts out, not looking back at his teammate.
It only hits Pierre when he feels the cold Canadian air on his skin. He's hard. He's fucking hard from watching his friend dance. And the worse thing is, he doesn't think he's ever been harder. He tries to will it to go down, it doesn't. He can't think. He dives back into the club to find someone. He finds a girl alone by the bar. She's not the prettiest but she'll do. He says generic dirty talk, she agrees quickly. He pushes her to go to her place. She's more reluctant but agrees. They get there quickly and Pierre doesn't waste time. Maybe if he were having less of an identity crisis, if he weren’t trying to find something to distract him from his teammate, he'd take his time. But he's looking for a quick fix. He feels a bit bad, this girl probably wanted a nice night with a hot guy but instead Pierre is quickly working her open, with barely any foreplay. He's quick with the condom, despite the girl saying he doesn't need one, that she's clean. Pierre knows better than to risk it. He doesn't want the mess either. When he pushes in, it relieves his mind for a bit. It's been a good while since he's fucked anyone and he steadies himself so he doesn't cum immediately. He's still a gentleman, she should cum first. Even if it's milliseconds beforehand.
She’s warm and wet around his cock. It feels nice. She sounds good too. Not too loud, whispering something Pierre can't hear. He starts talking rapidly in French. He's not aware of what he's saying. It's good but not great. He's so hard but he can't cum. He's just out of reach, his fingertips barely touching it. He goes harder, faster, it doesn't do anything. She clenches around him and Pierre's mind drifts. Drifts to Yuki.
What if he had kissed him at that club? Would he ask Pierre to go back to the hotel? Would they have sex? Pierre thinks of Yuki spread out on his bed, naked and flushed. He wonders if Yuki had ever done with a man. Done it ever before. How would he want it? Would he top, be the one fucking Pierre? Or would he lay there and ask Pierre to take him apart? Writhe on the sheets, hands in Pierre's hair. He can imagine Yuki's blunt nails scratching down his back, leaving marks. Would he bruise Yuki's hips? Would Yuki want him too? He thinks of Yuki covered in marks from his teeth and fingers, on his neck and thighs. He's so close. He imagines Yuki around his cock, warm and soft and so tight . He cums immediately, harder than he ever has before.
He cleans the girl up and throws the condom away. He holds her until he's sure she's asleep, then he slips out of bed and pulls his clothes back on. He gathers his stuff and leaves, not looking back. It occurs to him he never asked for her name. He didn't even say his.
***
He avoids Yuki like the plague. He doesn't mean to, but he can't look at his teammate. He came the hardest in his life because he imagined Yuki around his cock, he imagined fucking Yuki into the mattress, whispering sweet nothings into the space between them. He came because he imagined Yuki's lips against his own, against his cock. He feels shameful, a sinner. The cross on his neck burns with every thought. Maybe it's burning his skin, leaving a mark of how disgusting Pierre is, how he's going to hell. Perhaps the burn is preparing him for the fire he'll feel when he dies.
He sees how it affects Yuki, how his smile falls. They keep the bit up during media and interviews but when Yuki makes jokes they lack the enthusiasm, the laughter behind his eyes. Pierre's joke tastes bitter on his tongue, sour. He wants to be sick. When Yuki panics over Zhou's crash in Silverstone, Pierre pats him on the shoulder and says a few words. Yuki looks so hurt he might cry. He steels himself. If he pushes Yuki away then he won't feel these things anymore, he'll be able to confess his sins. He'll be saved. He won't think like this anymore. He keeps Yuki at arm's length, making excuses when Yuki asks him out for dinner or a game of FIFA. Dinner is what couples do. Pierre can't even think about being in a room alone with Yuki. He's horrible. A horrible teammate. A horrible friend. A horrible person. But Yuki will move on.
He doesn't. And Pierre doesn't even. He's halfway asleep when he gets a call. He doesn't check who it is. "Hello?"
"YOU BASTARD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Charles yelling at him like this wakes Pierre up quicker than a bucket of cold water to the face. "Wha- what, Charles?"
"How could you do this to Yuki?" Yuki. Oh fuck, is Yuki okay? "Yuki, is he-"
"He's fucking distraught that's what, Pierre! What did he do to deserve this, what the fuck did he do? He doesn't even know!" Yuki. Pierre can hear Charles breathing heavily but in the background, he can hear snuffling. Pierre's heart breaks. Yuki's crying. He's made Yuki cry. Tears burn his own eyes and he has to bite his lip to stifle his own sob. "He- I- I don't-"
"YOU DON'T KNOW? YOU DON'T EVEN FUCKING KNOW?" Charles is angry and Pierre's fucking terrified. Charles is slow to anger, especially when it comes to Pierre. They're best friends. Not once has Charles raised his voice at Pierre before. "Pierre Gasly, you sort this shit out right now. You're treating him like he has some disease that's going to kill you. You've broken his heart. You're his teammate, Pierre." Then very quietly. "Sort. This. Out." And then silence. And Pierre cries himself to sleep.
Pierre tries to talk to Yuki in France. It's his home country, he wants to show Yuki all his favourite places. But this time, it's Yuki avoiding him. Whenever Pierre goes to talk to him, he's suddenly engaged in a riveting conversation with an engineer. He's always got plans with Alex or Zhou. He can't spare a couple of minutes for a chat. Pierre doesn’t know why he expected Yuki to be down to talk, he hasn’t exactly been the kindest to him. Now that he thinks about it, it was a dickhead move. They’d been close ever since Yuki joined. Closer than Pierre had ever been with a teammate. And suddenly, he turned his back on Yuki. Left him confused and without answers as Pierre took cold shower after cold shower and tried not to think of his friend. If their team picks up on their distance, they don’t mention it. Pierre is glad. He doesn’t want to explain that the reason he can’t look his teammate in the eyes is that he nearly jacked off at the idea of his lips around his cock.
Yuki DNFs in France and Pierre blame himself. He DNF’d in Canada too, when this all started. Maybe Pierre thinks he can sort it out here. He got 12th. It’s okay. He would have liked points but he’s too caught up. Yuki’s already left the paddock by the time Pierre’s out of the car. Pyry told him he ran off, he was close to tears. No one could get a word out of him. The guilt in his chest grows. Yuki’s throwing the season because Pierre’s been treating him like shit. It hurts to hear. His interviews are quick. “It’s my home race, hoped we’d do better” is the generic response. He too wants to get out of here. Charles has invited him to an expensive club and Pierre’s all to get drunk and forget about the last couple of weeks.
It doesn’t occur to him Yuki might be there. But he sees him in the club and gets major deja vu. He’s with Alex but Alex is with Lily and Yuki looks uncomfortable. He’s not dancing. He catches Pierre’s eye but doesn’t linger. He downs the rest of his drink says something to Alex and heads towards the door. Pierre has an overwhelming urge to talk to him. He needs to sort it out. Needs to tell Yuki that's it not him, it's Pierre. It’s the fact that Pierre can’t stop thinking about Yuki in ways he shouldn’t. Ways that aren't appropriate for friends or teammates. Ways that will have him laying in the deepest circle of hell. Pierre barely catches him and when he grabs Yuki’s arm the younger man pulls away like he’s been burnt.
“Yuki, please. Let’s talk.” Yuki shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want to talk if you’re drunk.” Pierre shakes his head frantically. “No, no I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol I promise.” Yuki hesitates like he doesn’t believe Pierre. Pierre doesn’t expect them to. “Fine.” Yuki turns on his heel and Pierre is about to grab him when Yuki sits on a nearby bench. Pierre follows obediently. They sit in silence, Pierre struggling to find the right words. He opens and closes his mouth. Then again. He does it a third time before Yuki sighs exasperatedly. “For god’s sake, Pierre!” Yuki’s voice is shaky like he’s already on the brink of tears. “I don’t know what I’ve done. I’ve been wracking my brain but I don’t know where this started. Everything was fine and then you turn your back on me like, god, I don’t even know. And now you want me back? Was it something I said? I did? Just fucking tell me Pierre because I’m clinging to straws and I can’t fucking lose you.”
Pierre wants to cry. He shouldn’t, he’s not the one who’s hurt. He’s hurt Yuki more than he thought. And he can’t even begin to apologise. What would he say? ‘Hey Yuki, I’m sorry for breaking your heart but I literally am having these thoughts about you that I can’t say out loud and I don’t know what to do.’ Yuki’s shaking. He’s got goosebumps. It only occurs to Pierre now that he’s literally only in a shirt and yes it’s July but it’s still quite cold. Pierre shrugs off his jacket and puts it around Yuki’s shoulders. The boy freezes but he slips his hands into the sleeves and tugs it closer. He brings the collar of the jumper up to his face and inhales softly. Pierre’s heart does fucking somersaults. He’s given Yuki jumpers and jackets before when he’d forgotten his own. But seeing Yuki swamped in his jacket, trying to catch the lingering scent of Pierre’s cologne. Pierre’s mouth is dry.
A stand of Yuki’s hair is curling around his cheekbone. It’s long and he knows Yuki’s going to cut it soon. Hopefully not too short. He likes it. He reaches out and brushes the strand away, hand shaking. He’s not cold. He doesn’t miss the way Yuki tilts his face into the touch. Pierre can’t move his hand. He hasn’t realised he inched closer to Yuki. They’re so close. Yuki’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and Pierre’s gaze drops to the movement. He shouldn’t. He can’t. Yuki’s so close. He lets himself fall.
Kissing Yuki is nothing like what he imagined. It’s hot and shy and Yuki makes the sweetest noises. And it’s wrong. It’s so so wrong. But god does it feel right. Yuki’s hand is in his hair, it’s sweet and perfect and-
He shouldn’t be doing this.
He pulls away, horror on his face. His stomach twists. He’s going to be sick. Yuki looks distraught and confused. Pierre might have broken his heart already but he might as well glued it together then shattered it again, stomped on the pieces and set fire to it. Pierre scrubs the back of his hand across his lips, trying to wipe away the feeling. He shouldn’t kiss another boy. It’s wrong. He’s a sinner. He can’t even spare a thought for Yuki as he takes off into the night. He thinks Yuki calls his name. He doesn’t look back.
***
Pierre runs into the first church he finds. He doesn’t know what it’s called. He doesn’t care. He hasn't slept. He can't, not after what he did. He goes to the pew near the front, doesn’t bother to pull down the kneeler. He’s not worthy of it, deserves the pain after what he did. He drops to his knees, hands clasped to the crucifix around his neck. It burns, the sharp corners cutting into his skin. He’s a sinner. Filthy. He should be cast to the depths of yell, writhing and burning in hellfire. He repeats prayer after prayer, asking for forgiveness. He’s not even sure he’s speaking coherent sentences. Doesn’t know what langue he’s speaking. He’s pretty sure he’s crying. He sees a confession booth open. No one else is around. He darts into it.
The booth is small, confining. He expects it will make him panic. It does a bit. He’s breathing hard, his vision blurry. He swallows hard, his hands are shaking as he makes the sign of the cross. “How long has it been since your last confession?” Pierre can’t remember. Years probably. He’s never had to confess anything this big. “I… I don’t know, Father.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. He’s worried the priest will recognize him. “What would you like to confess?” Pierre’s throat closes up. He has to say it. He feels like he’s going to burst into flames the minute he says it. The ground will open up and pull him to hell and Pierre Gasly will be forgotten about. “I… I-” His tongue feels like lead, the weight of the words heavy. “My- I- I ki-”
“I kissed my best friend. And I liked it. So much.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s ready for the shouting, the cursing of his name. He’s waiting for the priest to grab him by his collar and throw him into the streets, pointing and shouting about how he is a sinner. He’ll have stones thrown at him, spat on. He’s worthy of it all. He’s a sinner.
“Is your best friend a man?” The question rings in Pierre’s ears. “Yes.” It’s quiet for a long time. Or maybe it’s a few seconds. Time isn’t real.
“Was your action derived from lust? Or any influences? Or was it by something else?”
Pierre is about to answer yes, but he thinks of all the thoughts he had of Yuki. Sinful ones. But that’s not all. They didn’t start there.
He thinks of him and Yuki throughout the year. There were those jokes and the ‘bad’ thoughts. But there’s so much more. Him and Yuki having dinner at the start of the season, joking at the table. Yuki spilling his water. He thinks about how Yuki sometimes stood on his tiptoes and would rest his chin on Pierre’s shoulder. How Pierre would drop his shoulder a bit so it was easier, even if it gave him back pain. He thought of the time when Yuki had nearly fallen and Pierre had caught him and kept a hand on the small of his back. Warm, safe, like his hand belonged there. He thought about how he knows how Yuki likes his coffee and how Yuki knows how he drinks his. He remembers the time after a bad race for Pierre, Yuki brought him his favourite food and they watched shitty TV shows together. He remembered how he and Yuki helped out in the canteen once, making a mess and how much fun it was. Pierre imagines himself cooking with Yuki all the time, him complaining about spice whilst Yuki makes fun of him. He imagines them sharing dinner together and then curling up with a movie. He imagines doing things like taxes and laundry together. He imagines early morning kisses in the soft light and late night kisses when they're both too tired to do anything. He imagines growing old with Yuki, matching bands of silver wrapped around their fingers.
Holy shit, Pierre Gasly was gay. And he was in love with Yuki Tsunoda.
He bursts into tears, shaking hand clamped over his mouth, unable to breathe despite the weight that's lifted off his chest. It all makes sense. He's thought about a life with Yuki for months before Canada, but it always domesticated things, simple things they did already like watching movies or shopping or even doing their own thing is silence, appreciating each other. And he'd never batted an eyelid because it felt so right . They'd talked about where they'd want to live when they retired, about kids, how Yuki was scared he couldn't love 3 kids and Pierre making fun of him. Yuki saying he'd open a restaurant and have a dish named after Pierre. Fuck, it felt like Pierre's heart and swelled a hundred times and it was threatening to burst out of his chest. He shook his head, tears falling faster.
"No, no it wasn't. I… I want to hold him all the time and I want to grow old with him and lie with him in the early morning and touch him and whisper to him and…
And I love him."
Saying those words out loud has a different weight to them. It's still heavy, but it rolls off his tongue like he's been saying it for years. It feels natural. Perfect. Like he was worthy to say them.
He forgot where he was, cramped in a confession booth. Panic grew again. He'd just confessed to a random priest he wanted to grow old with his best friend. In ways beyond platonic. The priest is still quiet, waiting until he is sure Pierre is finished. "My child," Pierre waits for the deathly whisper of how much of a sinner he is.
"What you have told me is not a sin. What you have told me is the embodiment of true pure love. And if you believe that God would destroy something like that because of your gender, you are sorely mistaken. The scripture may say that it is an abomination to love another man, but man or woman alike search for years to find a love like what you have described. God can see into your heart and sees how this love was born, not tainted by sin or lust. My child, your penance…"
"Go out and tell your friend about your love for him. Because this world is cruel and if love like yours can grow, then it will become a little bit kinder." Pierre's still crying, but he's not a sinner. The cross against his chest no longer feels like it's choking him. It's guiding him. Guiding him to Yuki. "Thank you, Father." Pierre runs out of the confession booth and out of the church.
He's in love with Yuki Tsunoda. And that's okay.
***
Pierre ran all the way to the hotel. He's breathless and sweaty but he's been powered by the desire to tell Yuki he loves him. He takes the stairs, too desperate to wait. He's sprinting down the corridor when he stops suddenly. Charles had just left Yuki's hotel room. He sees Pierre and Pierre knows he's in for it. Quick as a flash, Charles had Pierre pinned against the wall, hands tight in his hoodie. He's never seen Charles look so mad, even after his crash today. "I have every right to kill you right now." His voice is calm, deathly calm. Pierre genuinely fears for his life right now. "You can't just fucking kiss him and then leave him on a bench without a word. He's fucking inconsolable and it's your fault." Charles hisses, he's fucking fuming. "I know, I know. I'm here to apologise, tell him I love him and-"
"Do you? Do you love him? Because from what I see and what he thinks is that you hate him . And he's beating himself up because he fucking loves you, Pierre. And he thinks he's ruined this, even though you started it." Pierre knows he started this, it's all his fault. Because he felt guilty over something he shouldn't have. "I- my- I couldn't -" He can't find words but he moves his hand to his cross. Charles's eyes drop and his gaze softens. He understands. He's still angry, but less so. Pierre feels a bit safer. "Explain it to him." He releases his hands from Pierre's hoodie. "And I swear to god, Gasly. You hurt him again and I will kill you." Pierre believes every word he says.
He waits till Charles is around the corner before knocking on the door. His hands are sweaty and shaky. He prays Yuki opens. There's shuffling and the door opens and Pierre's heart falls. Yuki's eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks damp from tears. His hair's a mess and he looks like he hasn't slept. His lips start to shake when he sees Pierre and tries to shut the door but Pierre wedges himself in the way. "Yuki, please. Let me-"
"Go away, Pierre. I don't want to see you. I'm sorry. I know I fucked up, but please don't torture me anymore." Pierre wants to cry. He doesn't think he's cried this much in months. "Yuki, let me explain. Please. I'm sorry, just… Give me 5 minutes. I promise. And afterwards, if you want me gone, I'll go."
He feels Yuki struggle against the door, before relenting and pulling the door open. He sits on his bed, pulling his knees up to his chin. He looks so small and Pierre wants to kick himself for hurting him. He looks at Pierre through teary eyes and clumped lashes and in the still early-ish light, he looks beautiful. Pierre's about to chaste himself for thinking but he knows he is allowed now. "I- when I was younger… I was taught that- that what we did wasn't…right. It wasn't good. My- my religion," His hand goes to his cross. It's no longer a burden. It's grounding. "I wasn't allowed to feel, these things. About, other guys. About you."
Yuki tilts his head and his tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth. Pierre tries to not to think about those same lips that tasted so sweet when he kissed them less than 12 hours ago. "What kind of things?" He knows Yuki knows, but he wants Pierre to say them. Because he'll know it's real. Pierre needs to say them too.
"That I want to hold you. All the time. I want to hold your hand and do that stupid thing where you squeeze hands to communicate and rub circles into your hand when you're stressed. I…I want to kiss you. Everywhere. Anywhere. I don't care, I just want to. All the time. I want to cuddle up to you when we watch movies or in bed, whether it be under the sun or the stars. I want to be yours in a way no one else would be. And I want you to be mine. So much. It scares me. It fucking terrifies me, all the time. How much I feel. How much I… how much I love you. But, I'm willing to try. Because it's you."
Pierre's crying again. He doesn't even know if he stopped since the church. He's going to chug a gallon of water once he's done. And then he's going to nap. Preferably with Yuki. Speaking of, Pierre hasn't looked at him since he confessed all this. He's staring at a spot on the hotel carpet. He sees Yuki get up from the corner of his eyes. He can't bring himself to look at him. He closes his eyes and bites his lip. He prepares to be yelled at and thrown out and prepared to spend the rest of the season looking longingly across the garage. At someone, he could have but threw it all away.
A soft hand lands on his cheek, thumb against his cheekbones. Pierre forces his eyes open. Yuki is so close. "Pierre." His voice cracks but he doesn't say anything. "If this is a joke, or prank or something." Pierre shook his head frantically. "No, no I promise. I promise you it's not." Yuki swallows hard. "Okay." His gaze drops to Pierre's lips, lingering, before joining eyes with him again. "Okay. Does that mean, I- we can… Can I kiss you?" Pierre's face burns. He nods.
The feeling of Yuki's lips against his own is better than the first time. Better than everything. They're softer than he remembered, though still a little chapped. He’s shyer this time, not powered by fear or alcohol. Just him and his thoughts. And he wants to freak out. But Yuki’s hand is soft on his face and he’s warm and Pierre can’t stop his hands from moving to hold the other boy’s waist. Yuki gasps quietly when Pierre holds him and he arches into the touch. His skin is warm, even through his shirt and Pierre’s hands fit so well just above his hips. Like puzzle pieces. Yuki breaks away from the kiss and Pierre nearly whines at the loss of contact. “Good?” He’s breathless. Yuki nods. “Again?” Pierre nods this time. Yuki slips both his arms around Pierre’s neck and rises on his tiptoes whilst Pierre holds him just a fraction tighter.
It’s here in the morning light of an unknown hotel room, where Pierre finds out what true religion is. Here, in the quiet where Yuki’s mouth is moving against his own. Where his hand's slot into place and where Yuki’s fingers twist in the short hair at his neck. It’s when he presses his tongue to the seam of Yuki’s lips and they part easily, a breathy moan alongside it, he knows who he worships now. It’s not some god who’s tormented him for who he was, made false accusations that he’d be writhing in pain because of who he was. It wasn’t some cruel god. It was Yuki Tsunoda. Yuki Tsunoda with his too-long fringe that falls in pretty eyes. It’s a mouth that has no filter and tastes as sweet as summer fruit on a hot day. Yuki who’s small but incredibly stubborn. Yuki who hates working out and is a foodie who sleeps in all the time and plays Apex till ungodly hours. Yuki who Pierre will devote his life to. His love. Everything he has to give. He will give it to and for Yuki.
They pull apart again but Pierre presses their foreheads together. “Be mine, Yuki. I can’t promise I’ll be ready for…everything. But, I want to try. Because it’s you. And I can’t live without you. So please, if you’re willing to accept me, flaws and all, then, please. Be…be my boyfriend.” Yuki’s bottom lip wobbles a bit and he nods quickly. “I will, Pierre. It will also take time, because of what happened-” And Pierre has the decency to feel guilty. “But I want to be with you too. And, I wouldn’t love you the same if you didn’t have your flaws. It’s what makes you, well you.” Pierre doesn’t feel tears but the way Yuki wipes his thumb across his cheek implies it pretty heavily. He pulls Yuki into another kiss and he realises just how okay he is with all this. How happy he is.
Pierre Gasly is gay. He is in love with Yuki Tsunoda. He’s
dating
Yuki Tsunoda. And he’s happy about it.