Chapter Text
“What, are you gay for me or something?”
Charlie twitched. What the hell did he just say? Charlie looked at Brad, who was laughing his ass off.
“I’m not.”
I am.
I so very am.
God, the way he smiled. The way his hair messily drooped out of his helmet when he took it off. The way he smirked right after he made up some stupid snarky comment. The way he walked and the way he talke-
The intercom sounded.
“Racers! To your cars!”
Charlie sighed and grabbed his helmet. He rushed to leave the locker room, overhearing a few fellow teammates discussing him and his stupid coworker, Brad.. He slowly walked past them, trying to not alert them of his presence, but wanting to hear what they were saying.
“Gosh, those two..”
Charlie realized those were team managers.
The team managers of his and Brad’s team.
He kept listening.
“They’re going to have the fate of their parents!”
“Hope not. Those two are our best.”
“I’ve looked at those stats, they seem to race better when together!”
“Really?”
Charlie hid behind a locker, trying to peek at the managers. Once settled, he watched as his rival’s manager took out a clipboard, showing their stats.
“Well,” his manager paused. “We should hope both qualify for the brickyard this weekend. It’ll be useful for both our teams.”
“I guess so. Now, we should probably get out there, ey? Don’t want anyone sneaking in an-“
Charlie sprinted out of the locker room, immediately dropping his helmet exactly where the cameras were.
“Uff da buddy!” A familiar hand placed itself on his shoulder.
God, he wishes he could touch him more.
“Don’t touch me.” Charlie quickly responded, shoving Brad’s hand away. Charlie put on his helmet and put his hands in his pockets.
“Oof! Got any damage to that, Wilkins?”
Charlie perked up to that name.
Well shit, looks like the cam started to stream that one. He quickly assessed the helmet, knowing it was fine. There was only a small dent, which was pretty surprising. He thought to himself. Damn. Need to replace this thing..don’t want a head injury. He paid no mind and put the helmet on, giving it a nice hit to make sure it was secure.
“Hi!”
Brad walked up to him, looking cheery.
“Just wanted to give you some luck before the race, yknow!”
“Ah, thanks.” Charlie responded with a bit of exhaustion in his voice. Brad put his helmet on and gave him two thumbs up. “Yeah!! You got that spirit!” Brad gave him a little slap on his helmet and strolled away, entering his car in the back. Charlie walked up to his car. It had a nice maroon color (from his major sponsor, La Gueule) which was coated within tens, if not hundreds of little logos from other companies. He threw himself inside of his car. Shutting his car door. He took a breath, trying to not get his helmet foggy. He tapped his wheel and turned his radio off, wanting to listen to the ambience of the pre-race talk.
Or to listen to his voice.
Oh God.
No, this was all wrong. So wrong. Why is he thinking like this? Brad had a wife for the sake of everything. He wasn’t gay like him. He wasn’t weird. He wasn’t publicly known as that “Gay” driver. Didn’t they want to have kids? He should go to hell for just thinking about this. He should go to hell for just being him. His eyes started to water. He quickly wiped his eyes and tried to not think of him. Wasn’t he, himself talking to that one guy? Yeah. That guy was everything he wanted. He was cute, had a nice job, and he was gay. That’s the guy for him. Not some walking trash like Brad. What kind of name was that anyway? Gross. He sat in his car. Waiting for the announcer to finish up his mandatory chit-chat. He immediately turned off his radio and sat in the silence of the car.
____________________________________
The race was close.
Last lap, just him and that stupid blonde, seconds faster then everyone else. He footed the pedal, trying to speed up against him.
He could see Brad in the other car, leaning over his car, face pretty much in the steering wheel.
Charlie rubbed against his rival’s car, trying to gain some friction to go faster, trying to get further ahead of him. He gripped the steering wheel as hard as he could.
That bastard.
That bastard got ahead of him.
He was going so fast, somehow faster then him, and Charlie was flooring it. He wanted to pull over and scream at him. Hell, maybe forcibly ram his car and spin him out. He should’ve changed his tires out when he got the chance. They’re wearing out. That stupid guy. What a Frontrunner.
Charlie caught up, trying his best to race past him. Less then a second separated them at this point. He’ll be fine, he told himself. He’ll be alright-
Brad just crosssed the line.
Charlie followed him as fast as he could, earning him a decent 2nd place in the race. He still qualified for the race next weekend, but it still pissed him off. He sat in his car, watching his stupid “coworker” got out of his car and cheered, excited to finally get his own victory.
After doing a few interviews and photos, Charlie turned his car back in, dragging himself back in the locker rooms. He tossed his helmet on the ground and sat down. One of his teammates sat next to him. “Hey dude, it’s gonna be alright. We still qualified.” Charlie looked over, noticing it was his teammate, Sal. Sal tried to put his hand on Charlie’s back, but Charlie slipped it off. “I-I know, I just had him. I was so close, I was fucking rubbing against hi-“
“Hey dude, not like that!”
Sal smirked at Charlie and rolled his eyes.
Charlie slapped him.
A few moments later, that same blond boy that won the race entered, and stared at Charlie.
Brad had the biggest amber eyes, complimenting his liking for neutral clothing. They looked like the mulch he used to step on when he was little, even more looked like fresh wood ready to be burnt.
“Hey uh- nice job at the race.”
Snap
Out
Of
It.
“Oh uhm- yeah. Thanks. You too.”
Brad scoffed.
“Really? That’s all your gonna say?”
Charlie thought for a moment, then rolled his eyes. He grabbed his pants and quickly pulled them up and buttoned them, paying no mind to his coworkers and fellow teammates also in the room. While he grabbed his shirt, some snarky newbie made a comment about his appearance.
“God, those stretch marks are huge.”
Ouch.
He didn’t have to worry too much though, because his teammates were already mocking the guy. He didn’t really understand anything they were saying, though. He was too focused on that comment. It kept replaying in his head. The testosterone he was taking was working, but it did cause a few side affects, like the extreme weight loss. He slid his shirt on as quick as possible to avoid any other stupid comments.
“Wait-“
Someone yelled.
He couldn’t care. He already left the room and went to go drive back to his hotel.
As he got in his car, he kept thinking about today. The pregame talk, the race, the aftermath- every little detail. Now, should he be thinking like this? No. It’ll get him too nervous. He couldn’t care less. He started his engine, and drove out the parking lot.
PING!
The robot voice spoke.
“You-have-ONE-new-message-from-SAL”