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In many ways, F1 is the exact opposite of rugby. It’s man versus machine, gearboxes and math, feats of engineering and teeny tiny margins. Rugby is… brute force. Muscle mass. And moving blind, more often than you would think. Trusting your team mates to get the ball where it needs to be, even if that sometimes involves a fumble of limbs and sliding haphazardly in mud.
This means Nick completely understands why his team mates turn up their noses when they catch him watching F1 again while waiting for training to start. This also means he’s given up trying to fend off banter about liking to watch cars go in circles. But it also means that when the Silverstone Grand Prix offers England Rubgy paddock tickets to watch the race, absolutely nobody fights him for it.
In fact, he had to beg some of his team mates to join him and they still refused to come. Because for the regular person, Silverstone is a shit place to be. There’s nothing to do in the area even on race weekend.
But Nick, who grew up watching the races, is practically vibrating with excitement today as he follows the crowd getting funnelled into the grandstands. He checks his pockets anxiously to make sure his paddock pass is there, even though there’s no way it could have magically disappeared in the two minutes from when he checked his pockets last. Just to be sure, though, he takes it out and slings it around his neck, carefully laying it flat against his sternum. Then he looks up at the sky and sees that it might rain, so he returns it to his pocket again after some serious contemplation.
He fidgets, and adjusts the faux-leather jacket on his shoulders, and wrings his hands all the way into the paddock. People keep looking at him like they recognise him, but no one actually approaches, which makes the whole thing even more awkward. But he makes himself bear it, because he’s finally going to get to see Charlie Spring in the flesh today.
Nick has had a crush on Charlie for the longest time. Years, in fact – all the way from his F3 days, through to him getting his seat in F1 a few months ago, and his present meteoric rise through the ranks. There are rumours of Mercedes and Redbull fighting to sign him for next season.
Nick leans over the railing of the second floor and takes quiet sips from his champagne as he watches the mechanics put the finishing touches on Charlie’s car.
“Your first time here?” A voice rings out on his right and he startles, almost spilling his drink over the edge of the balcony.
“Yeah,” Nick says, eyes wide. “How’d you know?”
The stranger waves a hand at the rest of the room, where everyone is standing around with their champagne flutes and making small talk. They don’t even look remotely interested in whatever’s happening. “You’ve been looking down at the garage for, like, 10 minutes straight. It’s a little unnerving.”
Nick laughs self-consciously. “Yeah. It’s my first time in the paddock. You guys get real close to the action.”
His eyes narrow slightly, darting all over Nick’s face, before something clearly settles and he offers: “Wanna get even closer?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can get you in the garage, depending on who you’re rooting for.”
“Are you for real?” Nick puts his glass down on the edge of the balcony. “I’m, er,” he runs a hand through his hair. He no longer has a fringe, his hair cropped to the roots as part of a recent style change, but it’s a nervous tic that sometimes soothes him. Today, it barely works. “I’m rooting for Charlie Spring. You know, the –”
“Okay, amazing. Let’s go,” the stranger announces and immediately turns to leave. Nick almost trips over a small child to catch up, and he only just gets close enough at the right moment to hear the guy say over his shoulder: “I’m Tao, by the way.”
“I’m Nick. Are you…” He fumbles trying to put his champagne flute on a stray table and a server immediately rushes over to help him. Nick leaves it there, wobbling precariously while he raises his hands in a rushed apology. “Hey, um, are you sure it’s okay for me to be downstairs?”
“Yup,” Tao leads him down a short flight of stairs. Security clearly recognises him because they open the door to let them through and, just like that, they’re in.
Nick finds himself in the space that he’s only ever watched on screens his whole life, and right before his very eyes is Charlie Spring, sitting on top of a tall stack of Goodyear tyres and swinging his legs so his heels bounce against the rubber with dull thuds. Charlie is mid-sip of his energy drink, but he quickly takes the tube out of his mouth to shout out Tao’s name.
“New friend?” Charlie gestures to him and Nick’s heart seizes. He has to actively stop himself from running away in wonder, and fright, and awe, and an excitement that’s way, way too big for his body. Like a dog going crazy at hearing a ball squeak for the first time.
“His name’s Nick.” Tao offers, when it’s clear that Nick’s not going to speak. “I met him upstairs.”
Charlie wedges the energy drink between his thighs and wipes a hand on the front of his racesuit before outstretching it. “Hi.”
His eyes are a dark, deep blue, and way more interesting than anyone's eyes have a right to be.
Nick watches his own hand shake Charlie’s as if on autopilot. “Hi. I’m Nick.”
“So Tao has said,” Charlie grins, winking before picking up his drink again. “Good weather, huh?”
And just on cue, the heavy drizzle outside changes as it starts upchucking. Typical Silverstone.
“Well, lucky you’re good on the wet tyres.” Nick’s mouth pushes the words out before he can even think about it, and he goes bright red when he realises just how much he’s managed to expose about himself.
Charlie smiles, the tube still caught between his perfectly straight, white teeth. “Loyal fan?”
Fuck it, might as well go all the way. “Of course.”
“No way. I’ve never seen you at my meet and greets,” Charlie teases, his eyes twinkling in mischief.
“Definitely not for lack of trying.”
Charlie blinks, looking like he doesn’t know what to say for the first time in the conversation, and Nick laughs.
“You’re serious?”
“Hell yeah, I’m serious. Fan competitions and everything. And I always vote you for driver of the day.”
“Shit,” Charlie breathes. “Well, that’s… Wow. Thanks.”
Nick wonders why Charlie is even surprised anymore. He’s one of the most popular drivers on the grid and by far the most sought after for interviews. He has a witty sense of humour, a sharp tongue, but an unbelievably genuine demeanour. No matter whether it’s a stupid YouTube challenge or a formal driver’s press conference, he stays unflinchingly him. Even when up against drivers with twice his experience, or hordes of people who try to say that he’s undeserving of his seat, his shoulders are never not squared with confidence and charm.
From the very first interview Nick saw of him, he was hooked. He’s watched so many videos of Charlie that, now, seeing him in the flesh, gives him a feeling in the pit of his stomach akin to deja vu. Like Nick knows him so intimately and somehow not at all.
“Is it your first time in the garage?” Charlie asks, snapping him out of his thoughts and a memory of a newly-debuted Charlie stood before a hundred cameras; in a racesuit not unlike his current one, with an aura that made Nick think: we’re almost the same age, how come I don’t speak like that?
Nick nods, but adds quickly: “I don’t want to impose, though. You must have a lot to do before the race starts.”
Charlie looks at the weather forecast and turns back to Nick, lifting a shoulder with an easy grin on his face. “Nah, it’ll be fine. The race’ll probably be delayed.”
Then Charlie jumps neatly off the tyres, his feet landing with nothing more than a soft thud. Even Nick’s heart sounds louder than that from where it wriggles around in his ribcage. He's not entirely sure who’s about to drive 300 km/h in a couple of minutes – him or Charlie. If they’re going on outward showing of nerves alone, you’d think Nick’s the one who’s about to be in the hot seat.
“Oh my god, Isaac is finally here,” Tao says abruptly from where he was scrolling disinterestedly on his phone this whole time. “I’m going to get him.”
Nick is in the midst of wondering why Tao's departure was so hasty when Charlie snorts. “Sorry about Tao. It’s a chore for him to come to these things, but he has to because we’re friends. He also doesn’t like wandering the garage alone, which is probably why he dragged you here.”
They turn the corner, Charlie lightly maneuvering Nick to keep him walking in a straight line, and then the car is suddenly right there, in its full, resplendent glory.
“There it is. Say hello to my baby,” Charlie flourishes his arms, a wide grin on his face.
When Nick digs his toes into the ground and clasps his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching out, Charlie nudges playfully at his shoulder and says with a knowing glance: “It’s okay, you can touch. Even your giant arms aren’t going to break it. I think.”
Charlie lets him caress everything, and introduces him to the team principal, and answers all his stupid fanboy questions with thoughtful, in-depth answers. He even lets Nick take a look at his steering wheel, poking at the buttons to show him how it works.
Right before Charlie has to get in and race, he snags a pair of headphones off a rack on the wall and pulls it over Nick’s ears, turning his face this way and that to make sure it’s a good fit. And it’s not like Nick hadn’t already been staring at Charlie’s lips this whole time, but now he actually has to read them to figure out that he’s saying: “I’ll see you after the race.” It's a lucky thing that he can't see the way Nick's ears scorches underneath the headphones.
Nick only remembers to say “Good luck!” seconds before Charlie pulls his race helmet over his head, which obscures a bright smile and those gorgeous curls. Charlie raises two thumbs up at him, gloved hands and all, before settling deep into his seat. Nick watches him do his famous ritual – patting the halo three times, running his hands down his arms twice before flipping down his helmet visor. It’s only when his lungs start burning fiercely that Nick remembers he hasn’t been breathing at all.
The lights go out and the race is fucking fantastic; certainly one of the more exciting ones this season. It’s also fucking deafening from trackside, even through the thick headphones which let him listen into the team’s communications. God knows Nick would never have even thought of ear protection – as it is, he’s barely holding onto reality. He feels like if he closed his eyes for long enough he would jolt awake at home to find out out that he’d actually slept through the GP and this was all a dream.
It definitely doesn’t feel real when Charlie moves up the grid – from P7, to P4, and eventually to P2 – and the rest of the crowd is suspended in a thick magic as they watch him turn on the pivotal chicane to become wheel to wheel with the race leader. Martin Brundle goes batshit crazy on the livespeakers (it’s now or never for Charlie Spring, the youngest driver on the grid at the moment, can he hold his own against the current world champion?) as Charlie brakes at the very last millisecond, finds impeccable grip where there should be none, and squeezes right next to the race leader, who locks up severely and sends water flying everywhere. Nick steels himself for a collision, or Charlie having to give up the fight because visibility is almost zero, but when the white mist dissipates, Charlie is leading the Silverstone GP and flying down the straight like the sun is out and the track is completely dry.
Nick pumps his fist so vigorously in the air that he’s pretty sure he pulls something, and shouts so loudly that he almost loses his voice. Even still, his celebration is lost within the raucous cheering of the rest of the garage, the noise cresting and swelling with no end in sight.
Charlie continues to hold on for the last few nail biting, palm-sweat inducing laps. He fights off a torrent of attacks from P2 and P3 and stays calm over the team radio the whole time while the rest of the grid curse like sailors over the track conditions. Charlie’s voice crackles through the headphones like a breath of fresh air every time, and even the commentators praise him for making this look like a breeze.
Charlie’s team pushes by Nick as they rush to the barriers to celebrate their driver being first under the checkered flag, but Nick doesn’t even care. He lets himself get shouldered from every which direction as he stares transfixed at the big screens announcing Charlie’s victory. One of those cheesy pre-recorded graphics emerge – Charlie folding his arms in slow motion with a put-on look of stoicism – and Nick’s breath gets stopped somewhere between his lungs and his nose.
It stays like that for hours, until a cool night blankets the track by the time Charlie is off the podium and done with press. Charlie catches Nick’s eye through the huge crowd and walks directly to him.
“Hi,” he laughs, hair wet from champagne spray and rain (but mostly champagne spray). He’s still holding his trophy, but a staff takes it from him to get pictures for his social media, and Charlie lets go with a smile of gratitude.
Nick simply cannot resist pulling him into a hug the moment the bulky thing of gold leaves his hands, so that’s exactly what he does. “You were amazing.”
Charlie, surprisingly, relaxes in his grip and squeezes back.
“You won me that race, by the way. Your voice kept ringing out in my head on that overtake,” Charlie says right next to his ear, his breath ghosting over the back of Nick’s neck.
He pulls back in shock and Charlie nods vigorously in response to his expression of disbelief. Charlie taps a finger repeatedly to the side of his temple as he explains. “All I was thinking was: “Nick said I was good on the wet tyres, so just go, just go, just go.” And that’s what I did even though I was about to shit myself.”
“No way. You’re serious?”
“Hell yeah, I’m serious,” Charlie says, mocking his tone and intonation from before. From early in the afternoon, just a few hours ago. That version of Nick already feels so far away from the person he is now. “Not the shitting my pants part, to be clear. Just the part where you won me my home race.”
“I actually can’t believe this is my life.” Nick swoons for real now, his knees buckling without permission, and Charlie has to dart out a hand to keep him from bumping into a reporter. Nick lets himself be laughed at and when he goes to training the next day, it’s with a hickey on the side of his neck that has all his team mates suddenly dying to hear about F1.
He keeps his lips carefully sealed, smug and giddy with joy even days after the whirlwind of the race weekend. Even when his phone vibrates incessantly in his pocket, which means Charlie is sending him memes on Instagram again. All of his team mates deserve to be kept in the dark for making fun of his sport for so long and, anyway, his photos with Charlie aren’t really… safe for work. To say the least.
***
The next Silverstone, Nick doesn’t even need a paddock pass anymore. He holds his boyfriend’s hand as they walk into the garage together, Charlie waving confidently at the cameras as he thwarts Nick’s feeble attempts at trying to hide his blushing face between his shoulderblades.
“Nick, oh my god! Nick, look! It’s Netflix!” Charlie tugs him to the front and forces him to give a floppy wave at the cameras. “Say hi!”
“Char,” Nick groans, twisting away from Charlie’s attempt to land a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He sprints into the garage to hide from news outlets trying to report on him being a WAG.
It doesn’t matter either way because there’s a full feature on them in the next Drive to Survive season, in between the story of Leclerc’s comeback race in Japan and Mercedes’ persistent design issues. A story about pouring rain, a chance meeting and romance between athletes, sandwiched in the middle of actual hard-hitting issues.
Charlie pulls out a camera to video Nick’s reaction as soon as their section plays on the TV, and Nick buries his burning face deep between the couch cushions.