Work Text:
For a sport as globally popular as Formula One, motorsports still managed to feel like a desperately small world when you were a driver.
If luck (or misfortune, if you viewed it that way) was on your side, you’d be racing against the same drivers at twenty-three that you raced against when you were still stuck in primary school. Karts were exchanged for Formula One cars, and backyard circuits were switched out for high-scale Formula tracks, but the drivers underneath the helmets would stay the same all throughout.
Jay had known Jake Sim for about as long as he could remember.
Jake might have been on magazine covers and in and out of Instagram celebrity gossip accounts for his perennial dating woes, but Jay remembered when Jake was still a too-small kid who had the tendency to get pouty when Jay beat him on track.
When they were up on stage together nowadays, doing their pre-race weekend interviews and Jay would ramble on about the local cuisine, or an issue from the previous race, Jay’s mind would wander back in time. He was reminded of when Jake used to get annoyingly noisy when he beat Jay, tagging along and yammering on when all Jay wanted to do was throw away his second place trophy and sulk in peace.
(“You did so good, though! I thought you were gonna get me in the end!” Jay remembered Jake saying, once. He’d bounded up to him while they and the other kid who’d placed third lined up for the humble podium show the kart racers always did for their parents.
“I did well,” Jay had corrected him, “But not well enough. ‘If you’re not in first place, you’re last.’”
Jay’s father would be watching in the crowd, looking on. Jay already knew that he wouldn’t be smiling.
“That’s so dumb. My mom and dad always say that cons…consis…. Um. Doing well most of the time is key. You don’t need to win every race. Just most of them.”
“Oh my God. You sound like a character from a movie for little kids.”
Never mind that they were only eight years old themselves when Jay had said that. It had felt like a great comeback at the time. But, absurdly, Jake’s overture had worked. Jay forgot what he’d even been upset about. Jake was simply too noisy for him to even have a hope of sulking in peace.)
..
He and Jake weren’t exactly friends.
They were rivals, opponents who drove for two of the top teams in the grid. Every other weekend, they desperately battled it out on track for wins and precious points in the championship fight.
But their childhoods were intertwined. They’d been friends, once, in that boyish way where everyone you met and spent regular time with automatically became your friend.
Jay knew how Jake looked when he cried. Jake knew about Jay’s father.
It was strange, thinking about that. Now, they never spoke except when they couldn’t avoid it. Even then, it was only polite small talk about the weather.
Jay scrolled past Jake’s Instagram posts without liking them or commenting. As far as he knew, Jake hardly thought about him anymore at all, except when it came to trying to figure out a way to beat him on the track.
It was better this way. Simpler.
Jay could tell himself that. But, really, there was nothing simple about going wheel-to-wheel in million-dollar rockets with the man you once shared a boyhood with.
..
It was only the second race of the season, and Jay was already sick of seeing Jake Sim’s face.
Even if he hadn’t actually laid eyes on the man since the podium at Abu Dhabi, Jake’s presence was inescapable in Melbourne, his home race.
Australians showed out for their fellow countryman.
The fan areas were seas of Ferrari red. Every hat and jersey was emblazoned with Jake’s number: 5. Fans carried posters proclaiming their love for him ranging from the most innocent and pure (‘Jake, we love you!’) to the more… colorful ways of expressing it.
Jay had even been asked to sign a massive cardboard cutout of Jake’s head. It was from his driver's headshot, only it had been blown up in size so it was almost as tall as the fan who owned it.
“Me?” Jay asked. He wasn’t sure why the hell Jake’s fan would want his name on their cutout of Jake’s face. Jake’s fans usually hated him.
This fan nodded, though, eager.
“Yes. Please!”
So polite.
Behind her in the alley way that was set up close to the drivers’ entrance where fans got a chance to grab autographs and pictures of their favorite drivers, other fans in a mostly red-hued array of team colors clamored for his attention.
Something in Jay’s stomach roiled at the thought of putting his name on Jake’s face. It was like he was claiming him or something. But what could he do?
Quickly, he scrawled out his signature, placing it on Jake’s cheek after some hesitation. That seemed like an innocuous enough place.
“Oh my gosh.” The fan was blushing now. “Thanks, Jay! I hope you get second place on Sunday!”
Second place. After Jake, he assumed.
Jay snorted.
“Thanks,” he grinned, “But I’ll be getting first.”
Then, he turned his attention to a fan dressed Red Bull navy — a fan of his own, in a sea of Jake’s supporters. Thankfully, the man just offered Jay a hat to sign.
“Fucking great drive in Abu Dhabi, mate!” the fan said, “The championship’s yours to lose this season.”
Exactly, Jay thought. His grin shifted to a smirk as he signed right next to his number 99 on the brim of the hat. That was more like it.
..
Somehow, despite the draw being seemingly random, Jay ended up in the same interview group at Jake. Again.
He supposed it made sense to throw the current championship leader and his most likely rival together. Especially considering that Jake would have the chance to depose Jay here, in his home race. Formula One always did love its drama.
If they were hoping for a confrontation, though, they’d have to give up.
Jay and Jake were amiable, as always, as they waited for their turn to be interviewed.
“Did you make it in okay?” Jake asked.
He straightened his shirt. Ferrari had apparently made special edition t-shirts to celebrate the Melbourne Grand Prix. Jay tried not to notice just how well the casual shirt suited Jake, stretching across his shoulders and chest.
“We were delayed on our connecting flight… ah, but I guess you wouldn’t have that problem…”
Jay smirked. Jake seemed to remember midway through his sentence that Jay owned a private jet. It had been a present to himself, after his championship win the season before. No more waiting in security lines at the airport for him.
“Nope,” Jay replied, “I got in on Tuesday, no issues. Had time to get a good look around the city.”
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Jake latched onto Jay’s words, near desperate. He smiled back at Jay, “Brisbane's like this too. The weather’s always so nice in Australia this time of year.”
Ah, yes. Back to their old standby: the weather.
“Right. Balmy.”
“Perfect for surfing, honestly,” Jake said. At Jay’s bland answer, his smile became a little bit dimmer, a little less sure, “Did you get a chance to check out the beach?”
Surfing.
Jay had seen photos on Instagram earlier that day. In the photos, Jake was wearing a wetsuit on a surfboard, wind whipping his long hair and a broad smile on his face. It had just been him and some friends. Jake hadn’t had his latest fling in his posts for weeks now. Not that Jay had been keeping track or anything.
“Eh. I’m not a huge fan of sand.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jake’s voice petered out. A little dimpled frown appeared between his brows, “That… tracks.”
Jay hoped every single recording microphone and flashing camera was picking up this riveting conversation.
One of these days, the media might just realize that there wasn’t a story here between him and Jake. Not anymore. They might have once been friends but that chapter of their lives was finished, the book closed.
The sooner they realized that and stopped bringing up the parallel trajectory of their lives, from karting friends to Formula One championship contenders, the better.
..
“Now, Jay, your rivals seem to believe that your pace in Abu Dhabi was a bit of a one-off and that you benefited from the timing of the yellow flags. Do you buy that, or do you believe that what you showed in the last race was your car’s genuine potential?”
Jay took a moment, pretending to mull it over. In reality, he’d been prepared for exactly this question.
Right after Jay had resoundingly won their last race, Ferrari’s Team Principal had run his mouth off to the media. He was full of excuses as to why Jake hadn’t been able to convert his P1 qualifying position to a win.
Jay shrugged, keenly aware of Jake at his side.
“I think that’s a load of… well, you know.” His little joke didn’t elicit so much as a giggle from the assembled media memebers. Tough crowd. Jay grinned, “If anything, the yellows hurt us. Our potential is way better than three seconds quicker than second place.”
‘Second place’ being the man right beside him.
Sorry, Jake, Jay thought, as the media around the room murmured at his reply. No doubt they’d be able to spin his comment into something juicy, some clickbait article about how cocky he was. Again.
Whatever. Jake’s car had been shit, and his team’s strategy had been shit. He’d been doomed from before the lights had gone out signaling the start of the race, even if he’d started first, and everyone in this room knew it. Jay wasn’t one to mince words, no matter how much his team’s PR manager gave him grief for it.
Their interviewer might as well have licked his lips for how quickly he swiveled to Jake, greedy for his reaction.
“Jake, what about you? Do you think you’ll be able to beat Red Bull and win here in Australia, in your home race?”
Christ, but this guy was laying it on thick. It was all Jay could do to not roll his eyes. He looked to his side, instead. He rested his arm on the back of the couch that all of the interviewees shared, turning to face Jake.
For once, Jake wasn’t smiling. He had a determined set to his face.
“Absolutely,” he said.
His eyes flicked to Jay, then back again. It was a split-second moment that no one would have missed, not with every camera in Melbourne pointed directly at them. Jay hoped their lenses were good enough to catch the fire in Jake’s gaze, at least. It would make a pretty picture, if nothing else.
“Jay’s always been a tough competitor to beat, but I believe I can do it. Our car’s better suited for this track on paper. Melbourne’s shown us so much support, too. It’d be really special for us to get our first win of the season here.”
Instead of the murmurs that Jay’s answer had prompted, Jake’s words caused the room to fall into hushed silence. Between his handsome looks and his sincere, heartfelt words, it wasn’t a mystery why the entire racing world was half in love with Jake Sim.
Jay would get annoying tweets and Instagram comments about being an overconfident asshole, and Jake would get his headlines about being the golden boy, the hometown hero fighting to topple the grid’s villain.
Jay could only press his lips together to hide his smile.
Let Jake have the headlines and the glowing praise, he thought.
He’d settle just fine with getting first place.
..
“Where’s our fucking pace?” Jay demanded, the second he’d gotten out of the car after their first practice.
The car had felt wrong beneath him all session. First, it was the brakes not behaving properly, then the back-end was all out alignment on each turn. Even on the straight parts of the track, he felt like he couldn’t go full-out, like he was leaving something on the table.
Jay was a Formula One driver. If there was one thing he hated, it was feeling like he couldn’t go as fast as he wanted to.
It didn’t help matters that the two Ferrari cars had topped the timing screens — Jake in first and Jungwon in second. Jake had overtaken Jay on track to uproarious applause, even though it was only Friday, even though the meaningless position change shouldn’t have gotten the crowd the least bit excited.
“Calm down,” Heeseung said.
He tapped his ear to indicate that Jay should take off his helmet, and the microphone that was inside of it along with it. Heeseung, Jay’s race engineer, was the only one who dared speak to him this bluntly.
“It’s FP1,” Heeseung said, once Jay had drawn off his helmet, “We’re still fine-tuning the setup. Don’t worry. We’ll get there.”
Like Jay didn’t know that. He pressed his lips together, swallowed his annoyance, and nodded.
He’d been with the team for years. He’d gotten to trust them, like they’d gotten to trust him (once he stopped sending the car into the barriers in his eagerness to gain positions on the other cars). He knew that if they could find the pace, they would.
..
Over the course of the next couple practice sessions, the car felt increasingly better beneath him. Not perfect, but no longer so jarringly off. By the third and final practice, Jay was second on the timing screens at the end of the session, splitting the Ferrari drivers. His fastest lap was only three-tenths of a second behind Jake’s.
It was just unfortunate, really, Jay thought, as he frowned at the practice classification that was displayed onscreen on the TV in his team’s garage. All that improvement and they still might not be good enough.
Jake had always been a bit of a qualifying master. Even when they were kids, he’d taken to new tracks and new conditions with ease. The first race of the season was a good example. There, Jake had shown that he could put together the quickest one-lap out of the entire field of twenty drivers, even if his car was performing among the worst.
Jay would go for it, though. He’d give it all he had, as he always did, trying to extract every last bit of performance from the car. Jake was rapid, of course. He was the best pure racer Jay knew, a genius behind the wheel. But no one wanted to win more than Jay. Not even Jake.
..
They both made it through to Q3, the third and final round of qualifying that would determine the starting line-up for the Grand Prix race tomorrow. That had never been in doubt, though.
“The Mercedes are struggling with the heat,” Heeseung’s preternaturally calm voice filtered through Jay’s helmet as he drew into the pits for a tire change. This final pit stop would set Jay up for his last go at marking his best one-lap time. “Nishimura’s last lap time was 1:17.5. Good enough for sixth, for now.”
Machinery whirred as the crew put a fresh set of tires on Jay’s car. The sound of racing, the whir of wheeljacks and the hubbub of pit crew members, was barely audible over the even thud of Jay’s heartbeat, over Heeseung’s useless update.
“I don’t care about Mercedes,” Jay growled. His competition for pole position wasn’t in either of those two cars, “What’s Jake’s time?”
Heeseung didn’t even hesitate to answer.
“1:17 flat. Sim’s currently in first place. You’re at 1:17.27. Third place.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Jake was still three-tenths quicker than Jay. Might as well have been an hour.
The pit crew was done with his tires. Jay zipped out of the pitlane, ready to start. He’d take a slower lap first, to work some heat into his tires. Then it would be time. There would be 0:00 left on the qualifying clock and he’d have one shot to set himself up for a win tomorrow. One shot to put in a final lap that would miraculously put him over Jake on the timing charts.
Jay swung around one of the last corners before the starting line — and saw a flash of red before him.
Of fucking course.
Jake was right in front of Jay, right in his line of sight, starting his own final lap.
But that was racing in Formula One. Sometimes, you came across Ferraris piloted by your once-childhood friend, current-rival. You just had to accept that.
Jake crossed the startline and took off like a rocket. He was a smear of red in Jay’s visor.
“Send it, Jay,” Heeseung’s voice crackled over the airwaves.
“You don’t have to fucking tell me twice,” Jay murmured, and pushed his car’s pedal to the metal.
..
Jay had a bit of a reputation from his first years in Formula One.
People thought he was a sore loser, that he threw fits if he didn’t scrape by with a win every time. But he could recognize a well-fought race. He could accept a momentary setback, if it was well-deserved.
Besides, he thought, as he pulled his car up to the second place placard. His adrenaline was still thrumming like static electricity beneath his skin. This was only Qualifying. He’d won starting from farther back on the grid than second, before. Second position wasn’t even close to insurmountable .
“Congrats, man.” Jay walked up to Jake, extending his hand for a shake.
Jake, always the quicker of the two of them to broach boundaries, took it one step further. He grasped Jay’s hand and, instead of quickly shaking it and releasing it, drew Jay in close for an embrace. Their helmets knocked together and Jay inhaled, sharply, as Jake’s arm wrapped around Jay’s back.
“Fuck,” Jake exhaled. He was out of breath from how hard he’d pushed himself, “Pole position. In Melbourne, Jay.”
That… wasn’t in their amiable, careful rivals script. Was this Jake’s first time starting P1 in his home race? Jay didn’t know. Probably. Jake must have been overtaken with emotion.
Jay’s throat tightened. He was all too aware of the throng of team personnel and reporters that surrounded them.
“Yeah. You did good.” Jay lifted his hand, trying to replicate the way Jake had clapped his back, but only managing a weak pat. Jake was shaking, Jay realized. Vibrating with excitement in Jay’s arms. With a jolt, Jay realized that his hand was still on Jake’s back. He drew away, increasing the space between them as much as he could.
“Don’t think I’m gonna take it easy on you tomorrow just because it’s your home race, though,” he warned.
Jake’s laugh was bright and achingly familiar, even muffled through his helmet. His visor was up, and Jay could see the way his eyes glinted in the shadows beyond it.
“I did good, huh? And don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of thinking something like that. It wouldn’t feel right to win if you didn’t race me hard every step of the way, anyways.”
Jay nodded, because Jake understood it. Of course Jake did. The sweetest victories were the ones that came after fighting tooth-and-nail for them.
Jake gazed at Jay for a split-second longer. But perhaps that was just Jay’s perception of it, because his heart was still racing from Qualifying, and even split-seconds stretched out to eons when you were used to racing Formula cars. Either way, Jay blinked after a second, and then Jake was pulling away from him.
Within moments, he was congratulated by Jungwon Yang, the other Ferrari driver who must have qualified third, as well as their team personnel.
Jay watched as Jake was enveloped in a crowd of joyous people, all of them clothed in red uniforms. Everyone was grinning, elated. They were all talking over each other, all saying Jake’s name, vying for his attention.
Everyone liked Jake. Everyone who had ever met him. You spoke with him once and that was all it took. You couldn’t help it. But this was less superficial than that.
Looking into all those faces, Jay thought he might as well have been looking into a mirror, old buried feelings resurfacing and refracting every which way.
Put simply, Jake was loved.
Jay shook his head. He felt bizarre. He wished Jake hadn’t gone off-script, before. He wouldn’t be thinking weird things if Jake had just stuck to their usual comments about the weather.
“I can’t believe a 1:16.9 was only good enough for P2,” Heeseung said, sidling up to Jay.
Jay snorted. He drew his helmet off, and his balaclava made with protective fireproof fabric with it. The head covering was just one of the things they wore to slightly minimize the enormous risks that came with every lap they put into these cars.
“The team found a decent set-up, at least,” Jay said. He turned away from the Ferrari crowd to walk with Heeseung towards the post-Qualifying interview stage, “I don’t know what they did, but the car felt just right in that last lap. We’re going to do well tomorrow. I can feel it.”
Heeseung raised an amused eyebrow.
“Not intimidated by all of Ferrari’s talk?”
Jay scoffed. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, not with all the cameras around. Their red lights bored into him like all-seeing eyes, and boom mics dangled overhead.
“Talk’s cheap,” was all he said, before he stole one last glance at Jake.
His helmet was off now. His face was lined with the imprints from his balaclava, and flushed from heat and exertion. His long hair was a mess, all tousled and sweaty. He was still breathtaking. No wonder he had so many female fans.
Jake was good, Jay thought. But Jay was going to be better tomorrow. It was the only acceptable option, after all.
..
Jay was scrolling through Instagram when a clip of Jake’s post-Qualifying interview popped up.
He hesitated, shifting his thumb to the side so that Jake’s face was no longer obscured.
“— it’s fantastic. A dream come true,” Jake was saying on screen. His smile was radiant, catching.
“Now, Twitter’s blowing up a little right now. Fans noticed that you and Jay had a little exchange in parc fermé after the session. Would you mind telling us what that was about?”
Jay flattened his lips in annoyance. Typical. The interviewer was probably hoping for something that he could use to spin their conversation into a confrontation.
Then, he realized there was silence. On his phone screen, he could see that Jake’s lips were parted in apparent confusion. His face was still flushed from exertion, Jay knew that, but for some reason the rosy hue appeared to be concentrated on the crests of his cheeks.
You would have thought he was blushing or something.
Jay frowned.
“He didn’t threaten you or anything, did he?” the interviewer helped, jovially.
They really seemed to think Jay was some kind of cartoon villain. It made for a decent story, he supposed. Golden, radiant Jake, up against threatening, plotting Jay.
“No!” Jake burst out, suddenly. He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, it was in the even, PR-trained tone that Jay’s manager always tried to coax into him, “No. He congratulated me. That’s all. Sorry — you said that Twitter’s blowing up?”
He seemed genuinely mystified. Jay was right there with him, honestly. He wondered why people would even read into that tiny moment. Jay decided that the reporter was probably just making shit up to justify his dumb question.
Jay never got to find out if that was the case, though. The short clip of Jake’s interview ended right there, on a still frame of Jake’s flushed, bewildered face.
Jay supposed he could keep digging through posts and comments to find more context, but he tended to avoid comments, as a rule. Who cared what the faceless masses thought?
On the other hand, he didn’t know what to make of it that Jake had defended him like that. He supposed that was just the kind of guy Jake was. If anyone was being none-too-subtly slighted, even if it was just his rival, Jake couldn’t help but to step in and clear the record.
..
It sounded like an asshole thing to say, and maybe it was, but one of Jay’s least favorite parts of the entire race weekend was the drivers’ parade.
The drivers’ parade took place only a couple of hours before the race, right at the time when everyone wanted to get dialed in, and they all had to go out in a goofy trolley and wave their hands at fans who were no more than specks in the stands, acting like they were the Queen of England or something. All the while, interviewers asked inane questions like whether they wanted to win the race that day.
Of fucking course they wanted to win the race. Jesus.
Like Jay said, it was a pain.
It wasn’t all awful all the time, though, he supposed, amending his thought. His abrupt about face had nothing to do with the fact that Jake had just slid in to sit right next to him on the trolley.
“Hey,” Jake greeted him. Breathless.
He waved at the crowd. The crowd’s distant cheers got vaguely louder as their hometown hero acknowledged them. Or maybe Jay just imagined that part. Jake probably looked no different than a fire hydrant-red ant to them. Could they even tell it was him that was waving?
“Good weather today, huh?” Jake asked, his gaze darting from the crowd back to Jay, “Not a cloud in the sky.”
Jay pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t smile. Weather again.
“Sure is.”
Jake’s lips parted after a moment of silence, then closed again, a strange smile on his face. The interviewer was slowly picking her way through the other eighteen drivers. She was conducting one-on-one interviews starting with whoever qualified last. Eventually, she’d end with them, the drivers who’d placed P1 and P2.
“Aren’t you going to wave? I see a few Red Bull fans out there,” Jake piped up, drawing Jay’s attention back to him.
Jay could have protested. He might have. But it was best to conserve his energy before a race.
He gave a little wave, off into the distance. Jake snorted beside him. The crowd went mild, which Jay guessed disproved his earlier theory that they couldn’t tell one driver from the other from as far away as they were.
“I don’t think Melbourne likes me very much,” Jay said. Jake laughed again, a proper one this time, the one Jay knew well from his memories.
“For now. You’ll grow on them.”
And how would you know that? Jay thought, but didn’t ask. It felt dangerously close to… something. Like it would be stepping over the fragile line he’d so carefully set up between them. Jay surveyed Jake with as much discretion as he could. There were only a few cameras onboard the trolly, but there were enough to give him pause, to make him careful.
“Like a fungus,” Jay agreed, with a solemn nod.
Jake grinned, bright. They liked to have fun here on the Formula One drivers’ parade trolly.
“Exactly. I’m glad you understand.”
He waved again at that moment, and the crowd’s cheering got louder. Jay wondered how silent it would be around the track when he passed Jake for first position in the race, a few hours from now. You’d probably be able to hear a pin drop.
“Uh oh,” Jake said, his voice warm. He was closer to Jay now, “What’s with that look on your face?”
“Nothing. I’m plotting,” Jay said, “Don’t worry about it.”
Jake laughed, barking out a sharp shock of laughter that had some of the other drivers glancing their way in curiosity. Jay glared them away because, really, their conversation was no one’s business but he and Jake’s.
..
Hours later, they were on track again. Instead of moving at a leisurely parade pace, they were barreling across the asphalt at nearly two hundred miles per hour.
There had been midfield shakeups aplenty behind him, from what Heeseung was telling Jay, but he was focused on his own race. His start had been decent, but Jake’s had been better. Overall, Jake seemed to have the wind in his sails today. It took everything Jay had just to be able to keep pace with him.
The sun shone bright off the crimson paint of Jake’s car as Jay trailed a teasingly close distance behind him. Jay was just outside of range to activate the boost that would allow him to overtake Jake. He was close enough that he could dream of it, though, his finger hovering over the trigger for the boost.
They were seconds ahead of whichever car was in third. Jay couldn’t even see them in his mirrors. All he could see was Jake and the track. The crowd was nothing, too, not even a muted roar. For all Jay cared, they were alone in the world. Just him and Jake.
“How are your tires feeling?” Heeseung came in, over his headphones.
Just him, Jake, and Heeseung, he amended.
“Not bad,” Jay answered.
But that wasn’t true, and Heeseung knew it from the telemetry data he had on hand. And he knew that Heeseung knew it. Jay had been fighting for first in dirty air for over twenty laps around the track. His car wasn’t happy with him.
Jay exhaled, getting ahold of himself. The red car in front of him tempted him, calling to him like a siren, drawing him in. He had to be smart about this, though. You couldn’t win races through brute force alone. Races were a chess match, not a game of battleship.
“Not good, either,” he admitted.
Heeseung hummed, “Yeah. Thought so. Plan B, then.”
Plan B was easy.
It was, as follows: Jay would push like hell for another lap, running down his spent tires to shreds and hopefully making as many gains as he could, then pulling in to pit right after.
Heeseung and the team’s strategists were going for the undercut, sending Jay in for his mandatory tire change before Jake would go in for his. Jay would make up for lost time with his fresh set of tires while Jake still cycled the track at increasingly slower lap times on aging tires.
“Roger,” Jay said, his heart practically singing with excitement. For one lap, he could race with abandon. He wouldn’t have to worry about managing his car’s tires. Jay checked the gauges on his car’s dashboard: his throttle, his brakes. He rounded a corner that spat his car out onto a straight, lined Jake up in his sights, and floored it.
..
This time, of course, Jay passed Jake. It would have been impossible to wave at him as he went by, not at hundreds of miles per hour. But, in his mind, Jay was waving at Jake.
Jake fought Jay hard, even harder than he probably should have. The crowd was probably loving the show, though.
Jay could imagine their cheering for Jake just as viscerally as he could imagine the hush that fell over them as Jay finally passed Jake, and made his lead stick. The crowd would get over it. Jay’s lead only lasted for half a lap, anyways, before he pitted.
When he came out, he was far behind Jake. He’d come out in the middle of the pack of cars, and now had his hands full fighting his way back up through a throng of other cars again, just trying to reach his only real competition: Jake.
..
But, even with the undercut strategy on their side, Jake was a veritable force of nature at his home track. He came out of the pitlane seemingly on a warpath for Jay.
Heeseung’s intermittent updates came with the tone of impending doom.
“Sim just passed Nishimura.”
Jay gritted his teeth, trying to hit every racing line perfectly, fighting for every millimeter.
“Sim’s gaining. Fourth position.”
Fuck. Jay didn’t know if he was terrified or exhilarated for the coming fight. The two emotions felt the same to him, both of them like a low-level vibration beneath his skin, both of them making his heart race.
“Kim pitted. Sim just set the fastest lap.”
“What position?” Jay asked, in a gasp.
Setting the fastest lap on an old set of tires, a dozen laps before the end of the race?
Jake was racing out of his mind. He’d talked a big game in the interviews about the power of believing in yourself, or whatever. But this was Jake’s real key: his rapidity. His racecraft. People had it in their minds that Jay was the reckless one out of the two of them, but the truth was that no one could match Jake for calculated risk-taking on his best day.
He had his target in mind and all his competitors fell away before him, like flotsam in the sea.
No one could match him at all, when he was like this. Not even —.
“Second, now. Just passed Yang.”
“Fuck, Heeseung,” Jay swore, “Give me more of a warning next time.”
He checked his mirrors, anticipating a car in red looming in his periphery. He could see Jake — but only just. Then he looked up to take a corner. When Jay checked his mirrors again, he’d dipped out of view, obscured by the angles and the stands between them.
“Now’s the time to push, Jay,” Heeseung’s voice was as calm and even as ever, “Our telemetry suggests he’s going to be in a position to overtake in four laps, around lap fifty.”
Four laps. Four laps for Jay to build an insurmountable gap between them.
He glanced in his mirrors again. There was red on the horizon again. The Australian heat radiated off the track and made Jake’s car look like a desert mirage.
Jay was already pushing with everything he had, though. The car was protesting at every turn. His muscles strained just trying to stay upright, to not send the car into the barriers that lined the track.
“That’s not enough, Jay. You need to —.”
“I know what I need to do. Stop talking and let me do it,” Jay barked. Even as he said it, he withheld a wince. He knew he’d have to endure discourse for weeks afterwards about his poor attitude, about him lashing out at Heeseung.
He grit his teeth. He ignored the aches in his arm and neck muscles that flared with every turn, the pain in his sides as his body was tossed at unbearable G-forces against the sides of his car.
When Jake slid up behind him at last, around lap fifty-three, Jay almost felt relieved.
He fought him, elbows out, defending him hard, but it was over before he knew it.
Second place, he thought, as he watched Jake’s car coast down the inside of his car.
The top of Jake’s helmet, which was colored a clean, neat red, was barely visible in the red blur that was his car. A lot of drivers opted to keep elements of the helmets they’d worn when they were in junior racing series when they graduated to Formula One, but Jake hadn’t. When they were kids, Jake had always worn blue racing helmets. Bright blue, like the sky, or the sea.
Jay had been very particular about the make and model of his helmet, but the design had been secondary to him. He’d always secretly admired Jake’s consistency, his loyalty to that same shade of cerulean.
Fuck. Stupid. What was he thinking about now, in the closing laps of a Grand Prix?
Jay wouldn’t let first place slip by him without a fight.
“Radio silence unless absolutely necessary from here, okay?” Jay asked Heeseung. He could have sworn he heard Heeseung laugh on the other end.
“Okay. Go get him, Jay.”
..
With renewed focus, with Jake in his sights and not even a second in front of him, Jay picked up the fight for first again. He was determined to make Jake work for the win, at least.
Jay couldn’t pinpoint when — maybe it was around lap fifty-five — but at some stage the battle between them shifted. Jay darted forward, either down the inside line or taking chances around the outside, and Jake parried his every move. Their cars were always close but never touched, weaving around each other like a rhythmic dance.
Jay couldn’t even be mad at Jake, even though he was still second. It had been so long since he’d raced like this, giving and taking, gaining and losing, throwing all caution to the wind in pursuit of the greatest, sweetest victory of all: that of a Formula One Grand Prix.
He wondered if Jake was having as much fun as he was.
He had to imagine that Jake was having fun too, that his heart was racing the same way Jay’s was, over in that red Ferrari. Like this, everything else in Jay’s body was secondary. He was honed down to the feel of his hands on the steering wheel and the view of the track ahead of him, like he was the car and the car was him.
Jay felt like laughing.
Suddenly, he was eight again, and Jake was giggling at him, telling him ‘you almost had me at the end there!’.
Oh, how Jay had missed this. He hadn’t known it until just then, but he’d missed this so desperately, like a man who’d been drowning for so long that he’d forgotten what oxygen tasted like missed air.
It was so, so desperately lonely at the top. It turned out that, all this time, Jay had been waiting for this, for Jake to catch up to him and to knock him down a peg.
Second place, he thought as he watched the rear end of the Ferrari in front of him. Maybe, just this once, he could bear it after all. He’d make it back with a proper win next time, and the time after.
Jake was pulling away from him, inch by inch, thousandths of a second by thousandths of second.
They were in Melbourne, after all, Jay thought. He was barely able to grip the steering wheel any longer. He’d lost feeling in his hands some few laps ago, and was only still holding on through a combination of sheer spite and stubborn willpower. This was Jake’s home race.
Then, they rounded a corner.
And Jay had the perfect vantage point to see as the back of Jake’s car wobbled.
It should have been fine — all Jake needed to do was give the car a slight correction. But something happened at that moment, Jay would never be sure what. Instead of staying there on the track, right in front of him, the Ferrari suddenly veered sharply to the left, off-track.
It was there, and then it was gone.
It happened in a split-second, in a sport measured by infinitesimally small units of time.
Jay checked his mirrors, half of him still convinced the Ferrari had just — peeled off ahead of him and was so far down the track by that point that Jake was already celebrating his win.
But no. The sight he saw in his mirrors was unmistakable. There was a crumpled car, an unrecognizable mess of parts and smoke. Even as Jay watched, a slow-curling orange flame licked up the crimson sides of it.
Jay’s eyes snapped up, to the track. There was a faint ringing in his ears as he took the next turn on auto-pilot, as Jake’s car left line of sight.
He recognized, beneath the ringing, that there was a voice talking to him. He placed it, at last, as he rounded another corner.
“Heeseung,” Jay gasped, his throat raw.
“Yellow flag’s out. Slow down but keep driving. You’re on the last lap.”
“Jake,” he said. His vision was blurry. There was gray in front of him. His whole life, he’d chased gray asphalt, so he kept doing it then, by the muscle memory ingrained in him throughout all his years of racing. He felt numb. He didn’t feel like a person. He felt like a machine, like no more than just another metal part of the car beneath him.
“They’re going to throw a red flag and stop the race but you can make it before they do, Jay. You’re a corner away. Keep pushing.”
“Jake… He…” Jay choked. He rounded another corner. The last corner.
“Focus.”
“He’s okay, right?” Jay asked.
Please, please be okay. Jay was begging, even though he’d never been spiritual, even though he’d never prayed before.
The car had been unrecognizable. He hadn’t seen the top of Jake’s helmet — but how could he, when his helmet was the same stupid red as the rest of the wreckage?
“Stop the car, Jay,” Heeseung said. His voice was as shaken as Jay had ever heard it, “You won. You can stop now.”
..
There was no celebration after Jay’s win.
It was silent in parc fermé as he pulled his car in and parked it, just as the lights on his wheel flashed red, signaling that the red flag had been called at last . The race directors had paused the race.
“He’s okay. Right, Heeseung?” Jay asked, louder, stronger.
These were Formula cars. Crashes were rarely fatal anymore, even at the highest speeds. The odds were in Jake’s favor. Jay repeated the odds to himself, again and again.
“He’s…” Heeseung trailed off.
“Heeseung, just fucking tell me already.”
But Jay wasn’t about to wait around. He shoved himself out of the car and craned his neck, looking for a screen, any screen. There were massive digital screens scattered throughout the track so that anyone, anywhere in the audience would be able to watch the race broadcast.
“They had to put the fire out first but they’re talking to him now, trying to get him out of the wreckage. Comms are saying he’s conscious.”
Finally, Jay found a screen. He stared at it, glued to it along with all the Ferrari and Red Bull team personnel that had prematurely gathered in parc fermé in hopes of celebrating a podium.
The broadcast wasn’t showing Jake, though. Instead, it was showing them.
Jay could see himself standing, a single solitary shadowy figure in front of a sea of Ferrari red. Jay felt a thick lump in his throat, grateful for his helmet, his visor. The people behind him looked distraught, anxious. Jay knew that, however he looked under his helmet, it would be even worse.
They weren’t showing Jake onscreen, which meant whatever the crash looked like, it was bad. Not-suitable-for-broadcast-bad.
“There’s an ambulance on track,” Heeseung murmured updates in his ear, “They’re going to transport him to a hospital.”
Jake wasn’t going to the on-site medical center. Jay didn’t know what that meant. He could only hope that it was good, that it just meant they wanted to get him the best treatment available.
Then, he heard a faint sound. A rumble, a muted sound like rain pattering against a window. He couldn’t place it, not at first.
“He’s out now. The crowd’s cheering,” Heeseung said, just as the broadcast finally switched from Jay and the Ferrari team to Jake and his wrecked car.
Jake was strapped into a gurney, being wheeled into the back of an ambulance. Even just from setting eyes on him, awake and intact and alive, Jay felt like he could finally release the breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding. Jay bolted his feet to the ground to stay standing as his legs threatened to buckle beneath him.
Then, on screen, Jake raised his hand. From his prone position strapped down, he managed an actual wave. The crowd’s cheers grew louder.
“He’s… waving?”
Jay ripped off his helmet, wanting to hear it better himself. All around him, the Ferrari personnel and Red Bull personnel alike had joined their cheers to the crowd’s chorus.
Australia’s golden boy was alive. He was waving at them, the same as he had in the drivers’ parade only hours before.
As Jake disappeared into the shadowy hold of the ambulance, his hand fell back limply to his side. Jay felt something prickling hot and painful at the corners of his eyes and he blinked fiercely to clear the sensation from his eyes.
He had to turn away from the screen and the cameras that were still pointed at him, recording him even now. The last thing he saw before he turned was the ambulance doors being closed and the vehicle taking off at a slow amble, exiting the track.
Jake was fine. He was going to be fine.
Jake had had tumbles before in karting. He’d even had real crashes before, years back when they were both racing in the Formula feeder series.
One time, during a round in Italy in Formula Three, Jake had made contact with another racer’s car and somehow managed to spin his wheels enough to end up airborne for a full second. He’d jumped out of the wrecked car right afterwards, with a radiant smile on his face, and without so much as a scratch on him.
Jake was going to be fine.
It was one thing for Jay to tell himself that. But Jay knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he could actually confirm it himself.
..
With almost every driver on their last or second to last lap, the race directors called the race as it had ended under the red flag.
Jay’s win stood.
There wasn’t a podium celebration, not this time around. Normally, a win called for anthems and champagne and Bizet’s Carmen. In Melbourne, it was a muted affair. The trophies were just handed over to them outside of the race directors’ temporary set-up in the paddock.
Jay was grateful for that, at least. He didn’t think he’d be able to stomach the normal pomp and circumstance.
“Updates?” he asked Heeseung, when he made it back to their team’s garage.
A tired smile flickered over Heeseung’s face, there and gone again. Like he’d already known what Jay was going to ask him.
“Rumors are that Sim’s rattled but fine. Some muscle straining and a light concussion, but no broken bones.”
Strained muscles and a headache.
Jay exhaled a sigh of relief. He didn’t know whether Jake was the luckiest bastard in the world or the unluckiest. Maybe it was a wash. Maybe it all evened out, in the end.
He wanted to see him, he thought, as he adjusted his handle on his first place trophy.
“Do you think…” Jay trailed off.
Around him, the garage was in muted chaos as his team packed up everything within it to be shipped for the next race, which would be half a world away. They’d just helped him win a Grand Prix, but you wouldn’t have known it. Jay supposed he wasn’t the only one who felt sick at the thought of celebrating under the circumstances.
“Do you think the hospital’s accepting visitors?” Jay asked.
He was aware how unbelievably selfish he was being — but he needed to lay eyes on Jake. He needed to see him whole and well and not just a red blur on a screen being wheeled into an ambulance. Rumors were just rumors, after all. Jay’d long since learned not to take people at their word.
..
A group of people were gathered outside of Jake’s hospital room when Jay walked up.
At first his heart clenched at the thought that maybe the hospital had allowed reporters in, greedy vultures who were looking for a glimpse of a fallen driver. Then Jay realized that none of them were carrying cameras, and that he vaguely recognized a few of their faces. Not from the racing paddock, not from anything that had happened recently, but from he and Jake’s childhood.
The people around Jake’s hospital room were Jake’s aunts, uncles, and cousins.
It hit Jay like a force, his stomach turning to steel within him: every one of Jake’s distant relatives must have been there in the stands for Jake’s home race. His whole family was present, just wishing for his win.
Jay’s hand suddenly felt clammy on the trophy that he was carrying.
They were murmuring amongst themselves. Their relieved smiles and weak laughter lifted Jay’s hopes. It was strange seeing a mass of people who all resembled Jake, even in the littlest of ways, smiling like him.
As Jay walked up to them, though, their smiles dimmed, and their voices quietened.
“Momma, momma, look. That’s Jay Park,” uttered a little kid, his voice full of hushed reverence. Jay was sure he’d never met the kid once before, “Oh my god. Look at the trophy!”
“Jay,” Jake’s aunt nodded at him.
Embarrassingly, Jay did remember meeting her. It was embarrassing because, the time he’d met her, she had comforted him because he’d lost and Jake had won. Jay’s parents hadn’t been there. It had only been Jake’s family there to see him accept his second place ribbon. It had been Jake’s aunt who’d patted his back as he’d held back tears.
Something crawled up into his throat at the memory.
Jay nodded back at her. His face warmed as he shifted the trophy behind him so that it was at least slightly out of view. He wasn’t a stranger to eyes being trained on him. But it felt different now. These weren’t just faceless fans. This was Jake’s family. Their opinion of him mattered. He cleared his throat, getting rid of the lump in it.
“Hey, Mrs. Kim. I wanted to… are we allowed in? Can I see Jake?”
A small smile crossed Jake’s aunt’s face.
“Yes. He’s in there with Yuna and Junho now,” — Jake’s mom and dad. Even now, as a fully grown adult, they’d only ever be Mrs. and Mr. Sim to Jay. — “The doctors were worried that all of us would be too much for him, but you should be able to sneak in.”
“Gotcha,” Jay was able to offer her a brief smile in reply, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
As he grabbed the door handle, mentally bracing himself before entering Jake’s hospital room, Jake’s little cousin piped up again.
“You were so cool today, Jay!” he said.
Cool? Jay wondered. Or was it coldblooded, the way he’d just carried on with his race, even when Jake had crashed right in front of him?
“Nico,” Jake’s aunt hissed, reining in her son, “I’m sorry, Jay. He’s a fan of yours.”
Of Jay’s? Why?
Jay shook his head. Her apology wasn’t necessary.
He directed his attention to Jake’s cousin. Jake might have been waiting just beyond the door beside him, but this kid was looking at him with elation on his face, his eyes bright with excitement. He looked so achingly familiar, like someone had plucked eight-year-old Jake directly from his memories.
Jay held back a sigh.
“Thanks,” he said, a bit stiff, overwhelmingly awkward. He didn’t know how to talk to kids. The best he could do was treat them like little adults, “I thought your cousin was way cooler than me today, though. The way he waved at everyone when he got out of the car —” Jay felt a smile tick up the corner of his lips. The kid was rapt in attention, taking in every word, his eyes wide, “— Jake’s stone cold.”
Jake’s aunt laughed, seemingly a little surprised. Jay caught her eye as she smiled back at him.
“Ohh,” Jake’s cousin said, like Jay had just revealed the secrets of the universe to him.
Jay didn’t know how that had managed to convince the kid, maybe it was just the blatant hero worship, but he’d take it. He turned away from him. He shifted the trophy from one hand to the other, and walked into Jake’s hospital room.
..
Jake was talking animatedly to his parents about something when Jay walked in.
Jay’s heart clenched to see Jake’s arms swinging about, all the while his long-suffering parents seemed to be trying to convince him to stop moving, to calm down. There was the scent of hospital antiseptic in the air, and a heart monitor by Jake’s bedside beeped steadily, just audible over the sound of the air conditioning.
Jake’s mom noticed him first.
Her expression cycled quickly from exhausted, to surprised, to warm. She smiled at Jay before turning back to Jake.
Jay’s heart sank to see a bandage wrapped around Jake’s head, covering one of his eyes. Heeseung hadn’t mentioned whatever injury that was.
“Honey,” Jake’s mom said, “Behave yourself. Your friend’s here.”
His friend. Jay supposed that was one way to refer to him.
“Who — Jay!” Jake’s voice was gravelly and weak, but his excitement was tangible, “Wait, why is Jay here?”
To make sure you’re alright, Jay thought. Jay’s face grew warmer still. He walked forward, feeling awkward.
“Am I hallucinating?” Jake asked, out of nowhere, “Damn, they gave me the good pain meds.”
“Honey.” Jake’s mom sighed, in reproach.
“Sorry, mom. Dang, they gave me the good pain meds.”
Jay rolled his eyes, even though his feet felt lighter with every step. Jake was feeling well enough to joke around. That was a good sign.
“Why would you hallucinate me? That sounds more like a nightmare.” Jay asked, his eyes flicking over to Jake’s parents before gravitating back to Jake. He wasn’t able to look away from him for long, now that he had him in sight.
Without hesitating, he stepped forward to set the first place trophy on Jake’s bedside table. The trophy was important: it was the basis of the paperthin excuse he’d come up with for showing up.
“I came to drop this off,” Jay said, by way of explanation. His voice was thick, suddenly. He hoped it didn’t sound as strange to Jake and his parents as it sounded to him, “It should have been yours, anyways.”
It was hard to gauge Jake’s expression with half his face obscured with white bandages. As Jay tried to parse it, Jake’s mom whispered something off to the side that Jay didn’t catch. Jake’s father cleared his throat.
“Excuse us,” Jake’s father said, “We’ll give you two some space to talk.”
Then they were walking away, leaving Jay alone at the side of Jake’s hospital bed, with Jake giving him an unreadable expression.
Under the harsh fluorescent hospital lights, Jake looked pale, bereft of color. His dark hair stuck out in tufts from beneath the bandages. There was a little scratch on his uncovered cheekbone, right beneath his eye, and his lips were chapped.
“You don’t blame yourself for the way the race turned out or anything stupid like that, right?” Jake asked, as the hospital door closed behind his parents with a click.
Jay froze.
“I raced you harder than I should have,” Jay argued, “I kept pushing you even though I knew I’d never be able to catch you.”
Of course he was partly to blame. Even if the racing directors had determined that he wasn’t at fault, and that he could retain first place, Jay thought it was absurd to think he didn’t play some role in the crash. Certainly, that’s what every headline about it would say.
Jake frowned at him.
“My tires were worn out. I didn’t have enough grip for that last turn and I couldn’t hold onto the wheel, even if I tried. It was just a racing incident, Jay. Keep the trophy.”
Jay shook his head.
“No. It’s yours,” he said, simply. He didn’t want it, at this point. He shoved his hands into his pockets, changing the subject to the real reason why he’d come, “How are you?”
He wanted to hear it straight from Jake, rumors from the paddock be damned. In addition to the bandages on his head, Jake also had on a sling. There were braces on both his wrists. He looked tiny in his hospital gown, in the hospital bed.
Jake lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug.
“The doctors think I might be able to make the next race. So don’t get too comfortable with your points lead.”
Jay smiled, despite himself.
“That’s not what I was asking,” he pointed out. He hesitated, feeling awkward just standing there, staring down at Jake. They should be at the same level, he thought.
So Jay looked around until he spotted a nondescript armchair tucked away in the corner of the room, and drew it up to Jake’s bedside to sit down in.
“You mean, what’s with the mummy look, right?” Jake asked, indicating his bandages with a weak little gesture.
Jay nodded. He was close enough to Jake’s side now that he could have reached forward to grasp Jake’s hand, if he dared. He could brave the highest speeds known to man, but he couldn’t ever be that daring.
Jake cleared his throat, and Jay looked up from Jake’s hand on the bedspread.
“Got burned a little bit.”
“What?” Jay felt a lancing pain in his chest. In his mind, he saw a replay of Jake’s car going up in flames in his rearview mirrors. Jake just chuckled.
“Oh, yeah. Not too bad — but my hair’s kinda fucked. My sponsors probably won’t be letting me do any photoshoots anytime soon.”
“Jake,” Jay began, before his throat closed up. His gaze darted over Jake’s various covered wounds.
All he could think was that he’d been right when he’d told Jake’s little cousin how cool Jake was. Jake walked away from a nasty crash largely unscathed, and here he was only a few hours later, joking around in his hospital bed about his wounds.
Jay sighed.
If Jake was determined to take this lightly, it was the least he could do to follow suit. This was how drivers coped with the risk they put themselves in every time they stepped into their cars. If they didn’t joke about it, they’d go insane.
“Somehow, I doubt they’ll care. Even with half your hair gone, you’d still be the best looking guy on the grid.”
Jake just blinked at him, seemingly caught off-guard. Jay snorted at his expression. When a slow, pleased smile unfurled across Jake’s lips though, he felt increasingly unsettled. His momentary amusement ebbed away.
“You think I’m good looking?”
Heat flooded Jay’s face. He took in Jake’s smile, his familiar features that had only grown more appealing with every passing year, and his bright gaze that was so captivating, even now.
Even though the entire world adored him, when Jake looked at Jay, Jay couldn’t help but feel singular, special. Like he was somehow above the rest. It was an intoxicating, dangerous feeling. There was a reason why he always tried to avoid Jake’s gaze.
“I have eyes, don’t I?” Jay replied.
“C’mon,” Jake’s smile widened, gleeful, “Look at me. I’m pitiful. If there’s any time to give me compliments, it’s now. They’ve got me on so many pain meds, I probably won’t even remember it in the morning.”
“You’re shameless,” Jay said, with a sigh. He lifted his eyes to the sky as he tried to force the heat from his face through sheer willpower alone.
“I just take what I can get,” Jake agreed, with a tired little laugh.
Giving up on clearing his flush, Jay let his gaze fall back down again. His eyes alighted on Jake’s hand. It was still resting on top of the hospital sheets. The wrist brace he wore was white, the same color as his sling and his bandages.
Jay wondered if what Jake said was true, if he really wouldn’t remember any of this in a few hours. His hand twitched in his lap, aching to reach out.
“I didn’t come here to give you the trophy,” he confessed, blurting it out of nowhere. Jay looked up, catching Jake’s eye. Jake’s lips were curled up into soft smile.
“I know,” Jake said, “You’re not the type to —.”
“— I didn’t come here just to give you the trophy,” Jay corrected, “Jake, I know we’re not as close as we used to be, but I still — even now —.”
Fuck. What was he trying to say? Jay shook his head, his throat closing up, thankfully preventing anything more incriminating from slipping out.
In lieu of words, he reached out. Carefully, gently, he laid his hand on Jake’s. He took care not to rest even the tip of his pinky on the brace.
“I had to check on you,” Jay finished, a helpless half-confession, as he stared at their hands.
He was the shameless one, really, out of the two of them. Here he was taking advantage of Jake, holding his hand while Jake was on pain medication, doing something that he never would have done if they were both in their right minds.
Jay felt guilty, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. Jake’s hand was solid, it was real. It was firm, tangible proof that Jake was okay when, for hours, Jay had been in emotional limbo, unsure if he’d just seen his once-friend-always-rival decimated before his eyes.
Gradually, he realized that the beeping of Jake’s heart monitor had increased. It had faded away as mere background noise when it was steady and slow, but now that the beeping was getting faster, he couldn’t help but notice it.
Jay’s eyes flicked up as a frown tugged down his lip corners.
“Are you okay? Your heart —” he started, wondering if he should call a doctor in.
“— is fine,” Jake cut in, before he could finish, “I’m fine.”
Jay looked at him. Jake’s face had colored, the rosy flush on the crests of his cheeks even more apparent with his skin pallid and drained of color beneath the bright white fluorescent lights.
Jake was blushing. The rapid rate of his heartbeat was clearly visible on the monitor before Jay.
Jay blinked.
The explanation his mind supplied all-too-readily for everything happening right now was surreal. He had to remind himself that Jake was Jake Sim, Ferrari’s golden boy, the centerpiece of magazine spreads, spotted with a different model on his arm every few weeks.
Jake’s heart wouldn’t be racing because his rival held his hand, unless it was out of — disgust? Or fear?
“I’m sorry,” Jay said, thickly, and made to draw his hand away.
His breath caught on in his next inhale, however, as Jake shifted. Jake flipped his hand beneath Jay’s. He caught him before he could pull away, grasping Jay’s hand with a squeeze. His fingers were cold against Jay’s and his brace was even colder.
“No, don’t —” Jake began, his voice tinged with desperation. He winced. Jay held as still as a statue. Frozen. He didn’t want to be the cause of any further harm.
“I’ve been waiting so long for you to come around,” Jake continued, after a moment, his uncovered eye hazy, “You’re finally here. Stay, at least for a bit.”
Jake wasn’t making any sense. He’d been waiting for Jay for a long time? But it had only been a couple hours since his crash — and, on top of that, Jake hadn’t even believed it when he’d seen Jay walk through the door into his hospital room.
Still, Jay wasn’t about to deny him this small request.
He nodded, firm.
“Of course I’ll stay.”
“Good,” Jake sighed, his relief apparent, “Just until I fall asleep, then you can leave. It won’t be long.”
Even now, his visible eyelid was falling, growing heavy. The beeping of the heart monitor revealed that his heart rate was slowing, evening out.
Jay pressed his lips together to conceal a smile as warmth blossomed in his chest. He swiped his thumb across Jake’s palm, hoping it could serve as comfort in some small way.
“Can’t believe it took me crashing for us to finally talk again,” Jake murmured, his gaze trained on Jay. A smile curled up his lip corners.
Jay’s brows drew together in confusion. The closer Jake got to sleep, the less he made sense.
“We talk all the time.”
“Not like this,” Jake said, with a little shake of his head. He winced, after. Even that slight head movement must have renewed his aches.
“I guess.” Jay didn’t argue any further, not wanting to risk Jake hurting himself anymore.
Jake laughed, and it was both winded and exhausted. In the next moment, his eye fell closed. His hand tightened on Jay’s briefly, before loosening and going slack as he drifted off to sleep.
..
Some time later, Jake’s parents came back into Jake’s hospital room. The sound of their footsteps gently roused Jay from sleep.
Jay didn’t know when he’d drifted off — he only knew that he’d stayed awake for an embarrassingly long time, spacing out, thinking of nothing and everything all at once as he gazed at Jake in the hospital bed in front of him.
Somewhere between waking and sleeping, Jay had come to the conclusion that he couldn’t let them drift apart again. It was absurd to miss someone who was right there in front of him, but he did. And, from Jake’s words that evening, he got the sense that Jake might have missed him too.
Starting a friendship anew wouldn’t be easy. Neither of them were the same as they’d been all those years ago. But it was worth a shot — like braking late, or lunging down the inside line of another car you were hoping to overtake. Jay and Jake knew better than anyone that, without taking a risk, there wouldn’t be a reward.
“You’re still here, Jay?” Jake’s mom asked him.
“Hm?” Jay returned, still half asleep. Jay shook his head to clear away the lingering, sentimental thoughts that remained, “Oh. Yeah. I’ll — uh. Head out.”
“You can stay,” Jake’s mom said, smiling at him. The shape of her smile was familiar. Jay shook his head again, firmer.
“I can’t. I should have left hours ago.”
He realized it was true as he said it. His manager and Heeseung and his jet pilot would all be scrambling, wondering why he wasn’t sticking to their carefully planned itinerary. Jay was probably meant to be halfway across the ocean by now. He winced. Whatever. It was his private jet for a reason.
“Okay,” Jake’s mom said, nodding in understanding.
Jay stood up. His hand felt bereft, and oddly sore. He looked down and realized that he’d finally released Jake’s hand, that he must have been holding it the entire time they’d slept without realizing it.
He tried not to notice the heat that flooded his cheeks.
God, he hoped Jake’s mom hadn’t seen them holding hands while they both slept right next to each other.
“When Jake wakes up, tell him…” he trailed off, feeling ridiculously ill-equipped for this new endeavor of theirs. Whatever. Jake already knew how bad he was with words anyways. Jay found himself grinning, lopsided, “Tell him I’ll see him at the next race, and that we can talk then.”
For real this time, Jay thought. About something other than the weather.
Jake’s mom laughed.
“Sure thing, Jay. I’ll let him know.”
In the doorway, Jay paused. He stole one last glance back at Jake. His mother fussed over him, adjusting his sling and checking on the heart monitor, before trying in vain to do something about his hair.
Laid up in a hospital bed, having his mother fret over him, Jake looked about the furthest thing from a glamorous Formula One driver. Even with everything stripped away, though, he was still breathtaking.
Finally, Jay forced himself to tear his gaze away. His eyes passed over the first place trophy at Jake’s bedside. He found himself smiling at nothing in particular as he left the hospital, his steps light, his heart singing.
baku bonus
Unfortunately, Jay wasn’t in the same interview group as Jake for their next race, the Grand Prix at Baku. But, after Jake texted him miserably asking him to avoid clips from the interview at all costs, Jay made sure to look it up right away.
Yeah, they texted each other now. It was a thing.
It wasn’t hard to find clips of the interview. It was all that the Formula One fan accounts on Instagram were posting about.
“ — glad to see you back on the grid so soon,” the interviewer was saying, in the clip Jay found.
Jake looked hale and healthy when the camera cut to him. His hair was shorn short, and newly healed pink skin peaked out from beneath the small bandage on his forehead, but, other than that, he looked the same as ever.
“Thanks. I’m glad to be back. I hope we can bring the fight to Jay and get some good points this weekend.”
“Your team seems high on your chances, so it’s possible! Speaking of Jay — I’m sure you’ve seen the clips online of his reaction to your incident in Melbourne. He’s your competition for the championship, but he seemed pretty shaken in his radio messages…”
Jay didn’t want to hear about this, actually.
In the aftermath of the race, Jay had thought the media was going to twist his reaction into that of a coldblooded sociopath hell bent on winning at all costs. What actually happened was somehow worse.
The internet dissected every word he’d said to Heeseung over the radio, then moved onto his reaction as he’d pulled into parc fermé and searched desperately for a screen. There were tweets with thousands of likes with screenshots of his face as he watched Jake’s rescue in obvious horror.
Jay knew where the interviewer was going with this, and he didn’t like it one bit. His stomach twisted itself into knots.
As far as the Formula One world was concerned, his reaction meant that he and Jake’s storied childhood friendship was back in full force. Which was true, of course, but that didn’t mean Jay wanted every online sports fan poking their heads into their personal lives.
“I think anyone would be shaken if they saw another driver crash right in front of them,” Jake cut in, onscreen. He was smiling, but it wasn’t particularly warm, “I’ll say that it’s been great to receive support from Jay and from every other driver on the grid. It’s a reminder how small the world of motorsport is, really. Even your fiercest competitors don’t want to see something ugly happen to you.”
Just like that, Jake shut the interviewer down in the kindest, most ‘Jake’ way possible.
Jay found himself grinning as switched back to their text messages.
that interviewer’s an asshole, he texted, i liked your answer though
I told you not to watch it, Jake replied, only moments later. He tacked on a pouting emoji at the end of his message. Jay snorted at the mental image of Jake pouting at his phone in real life on the other end of the line.
you should’ve known better, he answered. Then added, wanna grab dinner later?
YES, Jake replied in all caps, before Jay’s phone screen had even had the chance to go dark.