Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I am a prisoner of a fairy-tale. My own softness chokes me.

- Anna de Noailles

2018. Season, 1st Race, Australian Grand Prix, March 25
Albert Park, Melbourne

Anticipation hangs heavy in the air, thick and syrupy, like warm honey on a dry tongue. The grandstands and viewing mounds are bursting with life; colourful polos, caps, and flags blend into a busy kaleidoscope of energy thrumming through the circuit. Drumming with life like a wild horse ready to set loose. Music, chants, and shouts echo through the park, only drowned away by the bustle of the paddock filtering out of the garages. 

After years of pouring his life into racing, Beomgyu got to know the ecstatic chaos the circuit descends into during race weekends. 

Parts of the noises, chants, and screams are for him and him alone. They fly his number on little flags, wear his name on shirts and caps, carry around magazines and posters decorated with Beomgyu’s signature and face. 

A fraction of the mass of fans are here for him, people who followed him through the years, watched as Beomgyu climbed the stairs and waited for the opportunity, and how he grew into a Formula 1 driver. 

An honour he cradles close to his heart. Even if it took a little longer to arrive here, with a small detour, called the 2017 World Endurance Championship.

But he is here. He is a Formula One driver today. Has been for months.

Despite the blooming spring of late March, sweat pools on Beomgyu’s nape and slides along his spine underneath his white Nomex top, the rest of the black and yellow race suit neatly knotted around his waist. 

He stands outside the Renault paddock, soaking in the noises of those who gathered here to witness the race. Witness his debut in the Formula One world, where he will carve his name into its long history. The mechanics who worked tirelessly on his car are busy in the deeper part of the garage space, one last look over, one last check. Keeping the tyres warm and shovelling dry ice into the compartments to keep the car cool. 

His phone spins between his slightly clammy and cold fingers. He swallows the nervous lump climbing up his throat. He is going to race among the best of the best, be part of the 20 people who stand on top of motorsport at the mere age of 20. 

It’s exhilarating. 

Euphoric. 

Hard to catch his breath, which seems to be constantly slipping from his lungs ever since he signed his contract.

Only an hour until the race starts, and they have to line up for the national anthem, then for the formation lap and eventually the race itself. Qualifying went relatively well. P13 isn’t as ideal, but he knows he can fight the car up to earn points. He has as much faith in his skill as he has in the car. 

The phone pings. He almost misses it as the paddock gets busier while they test the equipment and speak among themselves in French and English. A simple message flickers up on his screen. 

Beomgyu chuckles, already picturing Taehyun rolling his eyes. He turns on his heel when his lead mechanic is about to tap his shoulder.

“ Où vas-tu ?” The mechanic questions, his voice raspy and surprised.

“ Je reviens vite! ” He passes by him, tucking his phone into the folds around his waist. No one has to know his destination is the Ferrari motorhome, right?

“ Dix minutes. ”

Beomgyu shows him a thumbs up before he weaves around the mechanics and paddock personnel. They greet him with smiles and encouraging words.

He beams at them as he finds his way out. Outside is an organised chaos, he recognises Renault mechanics and staff from their black and yellow kit. Leevi, in similar attire to his, was conversing with another driver from Red Bull and McLaren. A few Toro Rosso and Haas ones also cross his path while he reaches Ferrari’s motorhome.

The vibrant rosso corsa colour stands out among the rest of the scenery; it would be impossible to miss. Hard not to glance at it and wonder what it’s like to wear the well-known red, and drive the car with the prancing horse's symbol on it, and bask in the love of the loyal Tifosi.

The motorhome towers over Beomgyu, like a giant bathed in the blood of those they have conquered and trampled over the decades. He remembers watching his first ever Formula One race on their old TV on a cold winter afternoon. His eyes were drawn to the red car, following it whenever it appeared on the screen. Like a machine set on fire, it overtook its opponents and flew by the chequered flag. Hell’s horse , his grandfather called it.

“I didn’t know you were this impressed by a simple motorhome.”

Taehyun steps to Beomgyu’s side, wearing a teasing smile. His Nomex top and race suit are all red, decked with the logos of sponsors. Rumour has it, a few came to Ferrari only because of Taehyun. He must have dyed his hair recently; it has a much softer brown shade, although it might be the sun’s rays dancing across the cropped strands.

Beomgyu would say he looks younger, softer around the edges, but Taehyun is only 19, the youngest on the grid.

Kang Taehyun, the other rookie this season. The one who has been a constant entity in Beomgyu’s life ever since he came to France and was allowed to race. Butting heads on the grid and sharing snacks after races.

If he has to share such a monumental moment in his life, he is glad it’s with Taehyun.

“The red looks garish.” Beomgyu pulls his face into a grimace, and Taehyun chuckles. “Soooo… What’s up?” he draws out, hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side. “Were you too curious to see me in my race suit?”

Taehyun rolls his eyes. A fond smile pulls his lips. “I already saw you in it during free practice and quali.”

Then, he looks around before he turns and pulls Beomgyu with him. The interviewers had already disappeared from the open space and invaded the grid instead, walking up and down and pulling everyone they could into a quick interview. A few Ferrari personnel notice them; they grin at Taehyun, patting his back, telling him something in Italian. They pay no mind to Beomgyu.

Taehyun brought him around the motorhome to a more secluded space. Shaded away from the sun and people. Beomgyu lifts an eyebrow at him.

“Are you nervous?” Beomgyu asks.

The Ferrari driver leans against one of the containers and closes his eyes. Beomgyu waits for his answer. Noises of the paddock reach them. For most people, it would be annoying, distracting, but to Beomgyu, it is almost calming in some strange way. Taehyun eventually shakes his head.

“It’s… So surreal. I’m not nervous, I know the car is good, and I did well on quali. It’s just hard to believe.”

“We will be fine,” He pats Taehyun’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t deserve it, non?”

Taehyun scoffs, he tries to smile, but it has hard edges and no mirth in his eyes. “I replaced a two-time championship runner-up.”

“Do I need to remind you he was kicked out and blacklisted because of a drug scandal?” Beomgyu chimes in, Taehyun furrows his brow. His hand drops from Taehyun’s shoulder. “Just get into the car and drive, do your best.” He slips into Korean, and the small gesture earns a genuine smile from the younger.

Taehyun reaches out his hand, and Beomgyu grasps it with a firm and comforting hold. The usual ritual brings some serenity over Beomgyu’s own roaring mind and nerves. Whisks him back to the early days of their racing, when they were still unfamiliar with each other. And to 2016, the last time they shared a grid, before Beomgyu won the GP2 Championship and Taehyun came in second to him.

“Clean race?”

“When am I not racing clean, mon ami ?”

“Clean race?” Taehyun asks again, pulling Beomgyu a little closer with their clasped hands. Beomgyu comes easily, crowding into Taehyun’s space, their shoes nudging against each other.

Beomgyu smiles at him, that cocky grin he has perfected over the years whenever he stood on a podium and held onto his trophy.

“I wouldn’t want to win any other way.”

“I see your ego is just as high as always. I will use it as my podium.”

Talking about podium wins when they are facing their debut circuit and Grand Prix is exactly what Beomgyu would expect from Taehyun. The Ferrari driver believes he deserves to stand on top of the podium, spray champagne on his opponents whom he fought off, and show the world he was always meant to tame the prancing horse of Formula One. Perhaps this is what forged them into friends, the same hunger that led them here.

Into the archway of the world they always dreamed of being part of.

They both know the other so well. Beomgyu finds it ridiculous how well he can predict Taehyun’s moves. How he always brakes a little later than his opponent would, or how he prefers a car with a slight oversteer and has a nasty habit of dive bombing.

They traded wins and losses over the years, shared the podium and watched others enjoy the winning ceremony while they huddled away in the paddock, sharing snacks and their experiences on track.

But this is different, and they both know it.

They are going against Goliaths here, drivers who move on the tracks like second nature to them; the best of them drive as if the car and they are one entity. Now, past losses and wins don’t matter; the new beginning brings a clean page between them, a sort of balance that only hangs on loose, fraying threads.

Beomgyu contemplates whether he is seeing fear or doubt in Taehyun’s void-like dark brown eyes. He wonders if he is showing the same.

Taehyun’s lips curl into a smile, a challenging one. Beomgyu finds himself mirroring it, still holding onto the other’s hand, like a seal of promise. To what, Beomgyu doesn’t know yet.

“ Andrai alla grande , pazzo. ”

“ Je te dis merde. ”

Before a race weekend, Beomgyu’s well-oiled routine involves him becoming one with his sim chair. He usually goes through the circuits in different simulations, driving for hours to familiarise himself with every turn and chicane. To feel when to brake and when to set the car loose. Beomgyu poured hours upon hours into Albert Park Circuit over the break, spending days watching older races, looking up the circuit’s map.

It paid off during free practice; driving on the track lap after lap helped him put everything into practice. The car felt good underneath him, stable, fast. Beomgyu isn’t delusional; he knows he isn’t driving a Mercedes or Ferrari. His car is quick, but there’s always a superior car on the grid. Qualifying was different, perhaps a rude strike to his confidence as he tried to outqualify Kerekes, but didn’t have the pace for it. He was out in Q2. Still, his race engineer was glad, told him that tomorrow they would do better.

Truthfully, Beomgyu barely remembers what happened during those 57 laps. Vaguely remembers his overtake following Turn 1, who he overtook, that’s hidden behind the fog of adrenaline and excitement that still clouds his brain. Halfway through the race, two cars collided in the DRS zone, and the Safety Car was deployed, hindering his race pace. After the car was called back, Beomgyu was unable to climb higher. The whole race is all blur and noise. He knows the #25 rosso corsa car was nowhere near him.

He only knows he crossed the chequered flag, and his race engineer tells him he is P11. Out of points. Only three-tenths behind.

“So, that’s a P11. P11, Beomgyu.” Amelia’s gentle voice rings in his ears as he goes through the cooldown lap. “You did well, climbed up two positions. Very well done.”

“Thank you,” Beomgyu answers after a few seconds of silence and finger hovering over the radio button. “Thank you, Amelia. We will do better at the next race.” He promises, despite how dejected he feels.

The thrill of driving a car near 300 km/h still shakes his hands as he parks in parc fermé, and slowly climbs out of the car. An FIA personnel already waiting at the side to inspect the car. Beomgyu wrestles off his helmet and balaclava, hair matted to his forehead and nape, sweat soaking his skin. His eyes find the #25 car, but its driver is nowhere near. He looks back, counts the cars from his.

P11… P10… P9… P8…

Taehyun finished at P8. He is within the points. He has 4 points to his name on his debut.

A hand passes on his shoulder, and he jumps slightly, far too nested in his thoughts. He blinks up, sees Leevi smiling at him. His easy smile sets the nerves around Beomgyu’s heart a little loose. He is only a few years older than Beomgyu, his curly blonde strands are a mess, cheeks still carry the mark of the helmet. He came from McLaren, first year with Renault, too.

Ever since Beomgyu signed with Renault, Leevi has taken him under his wings. Always reaching out, he brings Beomgyu around Enstone, eating lunches and dinners, talking about factory gossip. Showed him around in Oxford, helped him and Beomseok find his footing there.

“Hm?”

“Come on, let’s weigh ourselves.” He says, despite the slip of paper with his results already in his other hand. He pats Beomgyu’s shoulder again and guides him away from the row of cars.

Leevi doesn’t mention the race, and Beomgyu is insanely thankful for that. He doesn't know how to name this feeling, the bitterness that blends with elated bliss, leaving a sticky and unsavoury taste on his tongue.

Beomgyu goes through the motion of post-race duties; he lets the flow guide him (and his brother). He chugs down a full bottle of water after his weight in, his brother passes him a towel, and Beomgyu finally wipes away the sweat from his face and neck.

“You stink.” Beomseok scrunches his nose, making a show out of it.

Beomgyu swats him with the towel. “It’s hot in the car, okay?” He drinks again. “And stressful.”

Beomseok smiles at him, handing him a protein bar. “So, how was it? Better than expected?”

“ So much better.” Beomgyu grins, unwrapping the bar. “But I almost bottled the race around Turn 14 near the end, lost the front of the car for a second. After pitting.”

“No grip?”

“Probably. But it was okay, Amelia said to go flat out on the straight and try to warm up the tyres. Everything was cool after that.”

Beomgyu munches on the protein bar, double chocolate, as he pulls off the radio wire from himself, handing it over to a mechanic. The paddock is busy once again, the packing away has already started, and the Choi brothers decide to call it a day too.

“Beomgyu.” His media officer, Astrid, calls after him. She is a short, middle-aged woman in a Renault kit. “ Débriefer dans une heure ; jusque-là , accorder des interviews aux journalistes, s’il te plaît .”

Beomgyu sighs, handing the towel to his brother. “ Bien. ”

“ Aller , j'attendrai .” Beomseok ruffles his hair.

He would love to hide away in his driver's room to sulk and munch on snacks that are not approved by either his nutritionist or performance coach. Before he even registers what’s happening, a camera is in his face, a microphone in his hand and someone from Sky Sports is greeting him.

PR training and Beomgyu have never heard of each other; despite that, he still shows a small smile. He might not have scored points, but he debuted. He didn’t crash his car, didn’t cause any incidents, and got no penalty. All in all, it was a good race.

“First of all, congratulations on your amazing performance today.” The woman smiles at him. He is fairly familiar with Angela; she has interviewed him many times before. “A phenomenal debut. How was the race?”

Millions of emotions swirl within Beomgyu’s chest; he could spend hours naming them and an eternity trying to find out what those are that he can’t. “Thank you very much. The car was wonderful to drive, and the team was incredible too. I mean, wow… I feel very lucky and happy.” He smiles, a laugh bubbling from his chest, one that Angela matches.

“Completely understandable.” Angela smiles at him. “How is the transition? Have you had any troubles?”

“Ah, it has a learning curve.” Beomgyu chuckles. “But I stayed as a development driver for Renault, so I didn’t fall out of practice too much.”

“How do you feel now that you have finally arrived in Formula One?”

Beomgyu huffs. “It’s still quite unbelievable. A dream come true, really. This is everyone’s dream who races in the feeder series. And I’m deeply thankful to Renault and Cyril for putting their faith in me. I strive not to disappoint.”

Angela nods with a hum. “That’s a refreshing mindset! We have another rookie on the grid this year, too. You two share a history, right?”

“Yeah, Taehyun and I raced each other for a very long time. It’s good to reunite with him here.” He can’t help the bitterness creeping up on him again, and he tries to shake it off with a strained smile.

“Is it?”

“Of course. I know how to overtake him the easi-” So immersed in the interview and the sun trying to blind him, the overwhelming cheers of fans, interviews and music, the world narrows around him. He looks to the side, still talking, and lets out a sharp and loud yell, only now noticing Taehyun standing next to him. “Mate, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Taehyun says nothing, just smiles at him.

Angela laughs at the two, already knowing a lot of people will rewind to this moment. “Welcome, Taehyun. Congratulations on your position and debut. How was the race?”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take another microphone; instead leans into Beomgyu’s space and speaks into his. “Well, it was very exciting, obviously. I’m glad I could finish within the points. It was a little hard to get used to the track. We have never raced here before in the feeder series.” He glances at Beomgyu with mirth in his eyes. “Despite him bragging about overtaking me, he almost flew into the barrier the last time he tried to do that in Sepang.”

Beomgyu blinks at him, pulling the mic away. “Snitching me to the whole world.”

“It was broadcast live, pazzo. Was even trending on Twitter.”

“Hah, don’t worry, Kang, next race I will be waving at you when I overtake you.” He flutters his fingers towards him with a sly smile.

“How much does your off-grid and on-grid relationship differ from each other? Do you experience any conflict?”

Angela asks, and Beomgyu has the decency not to look surprised by her presence or the camera’s. Lost in their own little world. The microphone ends up between the two drivers, Beomgyu holding it and Taehyun leaning towards him once again.

“Well… I don’t think?” He glances at Taehyun. “We never had arguments off grid, well, you know, not deadly serious ones.”

Taehyun hums. “This year and the past years are different. We took the feeder series seriously; our accomplishments are proof of that. But there’s a different feeling racing in Formula One.”

“I can speak in many viewers’ names, we will be curious about what you two bring to the grid this season. Well, thank you for your time. I will let you two go now. Congratulations on your positions again.” Angela smiles at them.

“Thank you.”

“ Grazie. ”

Once Beomgyu gives back the microphone and they bid farewell to Angela once more, he turns to Taehyun, who is looking at him. Beomgyu is unable to read him. Taehyun’s hair is tousled, his face still a little red, and the creases left behind the helmet faded almost completely. Beomgyu tilts his head and lifts his eyebrow in question.

For a second, he is mortified that Taehyun would bring up Beomgyu’s position. Perhaps get high on the prancing horse and say he has finished well in points, while Beomgyu was unable to advance his position. Instead, Taehyun’s face blooms into a smile, one that crinkles his eyes and lights up his face.

His arms circle around Beomgyu in a quick and reassuring hug. Before he pulls away, mindful of the cameras and watchful eyes.

“We did it, hyung.”

He says it, whispers, almost as if he is afraid that others would hear. Not that they would understand, Taehyun speaks to him in Korean. A small comfort, a genuine gesture. Beomgyu finds himself smiling too. Seeing Taehyun so happy, perhaps, lessens the bitterness gnawing at his heart.

“Yeah, we did it.”

“Are you done with your debrief?”

Beomgyu shakes his head, and Taehyun pouts at him. “I should get going to that. You are staying in The Westin too?”

“Second floor, Room 217. Text me when you get there.” Taehyun looks behind Beomgyu, eyebrows creasing slightly. “Kai said he wants to video call us.”

“‘Kay. Order something tasty! Ferrari pays for it anyway.” He cackles as he scurries away once he notices Astrid searching for him.

The debrief goes well, since both cars ended in good positions without any problems, it’s concluded within an hour. Beomgyu is quick to bid farewell to the crew, thanking them for their hard work and help through the Grand Prix.

Once he is dressed in his normal clothes, backpack strapped to his back and phone in his hands, Beomgyu leaves the circuit. His hyung was already waiting for him with the car somewhere around the maze of the car park. Leevi soon falls in line with him.

“Good job today, Beoms.”

“Thank you.” Beomgyu can’t help his smile. “You did well too. P9 is very good.”

“Hm, not so bad.” Leevi hums, spinning the keys of his car on his forefinger. “Heading back to the hotel? Need a ride?”

“Oh, no, thank you. Hyung is already waiting for me somewhere… This place is a maze.”

Leevi’s hearty laugh is his way of agreeing with Beomgyu.

Beomgyu stops for a moment, looking around with squinted eyes, trying to find the rented car that the team got for them. His memory seems to fail him. He was so nervous that morning that he didn’t remember where Beomseok had parked the car.

With a defeated sigh, he takes his phone, searching for his brother’s contact.

“If it makes you feel better,” Leevi says, standing next to him. “The first time I came to Australia, I got lost. Twice. ”

“F1 drivers with a terrible sense of direction.” Beomgyu snickers, dialling his brother.

“To my defence, the circuit is pretty clear with where I need to turn.”

Beomseok doesn’t have to even pick up his phone, because his obnoxious ringtone echoes through the car park. Both Renault drivers look up and see the older Choi just a few meters away, exiting a black, sleek car. He waves at them, and Leevi does the same with his dimpled grin.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Ah, I’m having dinner with Taehyun.”

“The Ferrari rookie?”

“Yes.” Beomgyu nods, looking at Leevi. “Is it weird?” He asks, hesitant.

“Of course not.” He clasps Beomgyiu on the shoulder. “It’s good to have friends in this sport.”

And Beomgyu thinks of all the photos he has seen on Leevi’s Instagram — he did not stalk him, only did field research on his new teammate, with other drivers from Mercedes, Haas, Red Bull and Williams. His rivalry turned into friendship with his old McLaren teammate before he retired last year.

He hopes that his and Taehyun’s friendship will also bloom into something more beautiful.

“Yeah, you are right.”

“See you around, Beoms! And give my congratulations to Taehyun, he did well too.” Leevi waves at him as he walks away.

Taehyun did not hold back from ordering half of the menu from room service. Beomgyu felt absolutely no guilt gobbling them down. Ferrari has enough money to fund their post-race celebration. Kai was positively elated to hear about the race, even when he watched it in real time, forsaking his garage training.

Beomgyu missed all this. WEC was an unforgivable experience, even if his joining was born from the desperation of not getting a seat once he won the GP2 Championship in 2016. But he wanted this. His friends, their usual rituals, the roar of an F1 car.

This feels like home.

This is home.

Home is also Taehyun curling around him like a little koala once he made Beomgyu agree to an impromptu hotel sleepover. This too is familiar; not one time Beomgyu slept over in the Rossi family’s motorhome after karting races, race weekends.

His phone pings once again. Beomgyu peers down at Taehyun, cheeks mushed against his shoulder, but the younger only snores lightly.

Beomgyu gets his phone. A fond smile curls along his lips once he sees who he got the message from.

2018. Season, 6th Race, Monaco Grand Prix, May 27
Circuit de Monaco, Monte Carlo

F1TV Commentary Excerpt:

[The camera pans along the sea, yachts scattered around in small clusters. The docks are busy with still-standing boats, and people watching the race from there. Cars are already positioned in their race order at the starting line, and mechanics are busy around them. The live feed changes to a digital map of the Circuit de Monaco, listing the turn names and events that have happened during free practices and qualifying.]

David CROFT: Welcome to round 6 of the 2018 Formula One season, at the Monaco Grand Prix. After all the celebrations, parties, and functions, it’s time to get down to the serious business. With 78 laps, we are gonna blast around this 2-mile circuit with 1 DRS zone. We have the soft tyre compounds of the Pirelli range: it’s the supersoft, the ultrasoft and the debut of the hypersoft tyre with a popular one-stop strategy. The temperature has dropped, clouds have come over, and there’s a slight chance of rain in the air, but we don’t need rain to spice this race up. Because anything can happen at Monaco.

Martin BRUNDLE: It’s setting a big challenge; this is the one that drivers know they will be especially graded on. The driver can make the difference around this track, not just all about the car, the downforce, and the designers. It’s more about what they can achieve, too.

[ The live feed brings up the grid order, showing the driver’s pictures and names, their flag, their starting position, the team they drive for and the time they set during qualifying.]

DC: Apart from tyres and pit stops, we have an exciting driver line-up today. We have in red the two-time World Champion Markos Zevras at the lead, followed by the winner here last year, Mercedes’s Noah Walsh, and for P3, one of the rookies, Kang Taehyun in Ferrari, grabbing his first pole position of his debut season.

[ Taehyun’s picture comes into view, and he looks into the camera with determination painted across his face. His hair swiped away from his eyes. The Ferrari fireproof fit him, as he was always meant to wear it. ]

KANG Taehyun
🇮🇹
3rd
Ferrari
1:11.232

DC: For P4, we have the current leader of the 2018 Championship, Aaron Hoffman, in Mercedes’s colours, while P5 sees Leevi Korhonen in Renault’s livery, both his and Renault’s highest starting position this year. [...] After following, we have the other rookie of the season, Choi Beomgyu, starting at P14, his current worst qualifying result.

[ Beomgyu’s pictures come into view, with an easy smile on his lips. One hand cradling his helmet to his side, the other stays by his thighs. The Renault fireproof is slightly zipped open, just until his sternum, showing the white Nomex top underneath. ]

CHOI Beomgyu
🇫🇷
14th
Renault
1:12.714

DC: Ferrari is looking for a promising race today, something they need, now that Mercedes is leading both championships.

MB: It’s quite impressive. The young Ferrari driver is already showing so much potential.

DC: It’s not so surprising, isn’t it?

MB: Monaco has always seemed to favour the Ferrari driver throughout the feeder series. Quite exciting how he plans to go against the other two drivers. With Walsh hungry for points as he is only 10 points away from switching up the standings, and Zevras, who delayed his retirement in hopes of winning his third after a long time.

DC: Don’t give up on him just yet. We are still at the beginning of the season. We have seen his excellent performance through the feeder series when it came to Monaco.

MB: That’s true. On the other hand, Choi seems to be having the worst of his weekend. That crash in free practice might have put a stamp on his whole weekend.

DC: In 2016, he qualified and finished at P2. Quite a setback.

(...)

[ Just seconds before the start of the race, the camera pans across the cars once more, settling down at an angle where the camera is set around the first turn. The live feed shows the Ferrari garage, engineers and mechanics huddled around telemetry monitors, while Mercedes’s Team Principal is shown with a stoic, controlled face. Not worried about the Ferrari’s P1 and P3.

The light comes in, one by one, until all five are glowing red. And they die out. ]

DC: With a tense moment just a moment before the start. And it’s lights out and away we go! What a great start from Zevros, maintaining his lead through Sainte Devote, Walsh isn’t so far away, chasing the Ferrari through the apex at Massanet! Kang is in their tail, along with Hoffman and Korhonen, just barely avoiding a collision at Mirabeau Haute with the Mercedes! My God, what a move! And here comes the Grand Hotel Hairpin, with a colourful train of cars as Zevras leads through the Portier into the Tunnel.

MB: Despite his discouraging interview yesterday, Zevras is flying through the track. Oh well, that’s not really an overtaking zone, but Choi has tried! Trying to get through the outside, and gets pushed back again. Kerekes is not happy with the stunt the Renault driver has tried to pull, if his hand gestures and radio message are anything to go by.

[ Radio Message of car #56:
KER: What the **** is he doing now? Stupid ************!]

DC: The stunt must have made things worse for him. Coming out of the tunnel, Choi has successfully avoided the wall, just barely grazing it! That was a close call. Did he lock up? Was he late for the turn?

MB: Let’s see what just happened. Looks like the Kerekes had a problem coming out of the Tunnel with the sudden traffic ahead. Well, thankfully, he is still in the race and just overtook Kerekes! And goes straight for another attempt to overtake at the chicane.

[ An onboard with car #13, it shows Beomgyu coming out of the Tunnel; #56 is just ahead of him. It almost looks like the Williams has a moment of hesitation, slowing down before speeding away. Choi’s panic is evident in his erratic way of handling the steering wheel, before he corrects it and continues his race. The wall is too close for comfort. He uses this opportunity to overtake the #56 Williams ahead in a quick swoop of a motion. ]

MB: Such a confident rookie. But-ah, he backed out of it. Hm.

DC: Confidence in risk taking, for sure. Overtaking opportunities are hard to come by here in Monaco, but it’s good to know when to fight your battles or give up on them. Less, one might end up in a collision.

MB: What do you reckon is the best overtaking section of the race?

DC: Nouvelle Chicane and Sainte Devote are good areas for an attempt. The chicane is a high-speed section leading into a slower corner, offering a good point to overtake, and Sainte Devote is admittedly a challenging spot, but with precision, the overtake can be executed.

(...)

DC: Lap 43, and our lead has changed quite a bit since the beginning. Zevros has maintained his lead so far, while Walsh and Hoffman exchanged positions after a slow pit stop from the Mercedes team. A late pit stop also cost Kang his position; he is down to P6 at the moment.

MB: Well, a lot can change- Choi in the wall! He just collided with the wall!

[ A quick replay of the said collision. Choi is coming away from the Pool, setting his car into the next mode as he nears La Rascasse. He brakes just a moment late, and the Williams behind collides with the rear end, sending Choi into the wall, while #56 cruises away. ]

[ Radio message of car #13:
R.E. A. SMITH: Are you okay, Beomgyu?
R.E. A. SMITH: Beomgyu?
CHO: ****! ****! I’m ******* fine ******* it! ]

The sun borders the horizon, bathing the whole coast in pinks and oranges, golden tipped in warmth and washed in expensive champagne. Golden rays dance across the sapphire sea, ripples dance across its surface as boats and yachts pass by. Monte Carlo thrums with life; the closed windows stand no chance against the Tifosi’s loud chants and cheers that still echo through the city. Like phantoms haunting those who slipped away from the win.

Haunting Beomgyu in the silence of his room.

His eyes have dutifully followed the intricate pattern of flowers and vines on the ceiling for the past hour or so. Counted 108 flowers so far. More to go. They glitter slightly in the light of the sun.

Showered and dressed in nothing but his Renault leisurewear, legs hanging from the bed, naked toes touching the soft rug underneath the bed. Shoulders sore with light bruises covering his skin, neck gently throbs with dull pain.

Once every hour, a knock disturbs the stillness, ripping Beomgyu back into reality. His brother knocks once again. Beomgyu refuses to move, just like he refuses to check his phone. It slid underneath the bed while he wrestled down his clothes as he stormed into the hotel room.

Unlocked. Article open. Half read. Messages unanswered.

If he closes his eyes, he sees the moment it all went wrong. Despite his initial overtake, Beomgyu gained no progress. He was P13. Well out of points, well out of the opportunity of chancing another overtake, let alone 3 to set himself within the points.

Perhaps if he were in Barcelona once again, or where the track wasn’t so narrow, where overtaking wasn’t almost impossible. Maybe then he would have had some hope and success. But he was here, in Monaco, on Monte Carlo’s tightly packed streets. He braked late and Kerekes collided with him, shunting Beomgyu into the barrier with a broken tyre rod.

He thinks about the mechanics who have to fix it, the money which goes into it, and guilt eats away his remaining anger. He thinks about the fans who followed him since the beginning, who came to Monaco to see him, whose polos, caps, and posters he has signed earlier. He thinks about those who took their time and watched the race on their TV and were disgraced by Beomgyu’s atrocious DNF.

He thinks about his father, and he shuts down his mind in a second, turning around and burying his head into the plush blanket. It drinks up the tears escaping his eyes.

This is unacceptable.

He expected better from himself. He nursed no hope for a real win today, knew it swam away the moment he was finished with quali. One day, he wishes to stand on the grand podium, holding onto the title world champion, yet a track like Monaco has crossed him out. Even without Kerekes, Beomgyu was fighting a losing battle.

Time flows in the depths of shame and guilt, swirling cruelly in Beomgyu’s chest and gut. Keeping him from slipping into quiet dreams, but lulling him enough for his tears to stop falling.

By the time Beomgyu lifts his head from the bed, the city bathes in the night lights and the silvery strip of the moon. He blinks, eyes sticky with unshed tears. A slipper flies onto his balcony. Its pair follows it within a second. A sports shoe next.

Beomgyu furrows his brows, kneads away the numbness in his eyes, and blinks as he slides out of the bed. The parquet floor is cold against his sole. He steps to the balcony door, slowly opening it. Music blares somewhere down the docks, and wherever F1 fans and drivers gather to celebrate. The phantoms pulse with newfound life.

Plush slippers lay lonely on the balcony’s floor, and an Adidas sports shoe. Beomgyu crouches down, inspecting them. What kind of drunk person is throwing their belonging onto Beomgyu’s balcony? His train of thought is interrupted by something colliding with his head.

“ Putain de merde! ” He massages his temple, looks to the side and sees Taehyun on the neighbouring balcony, another shoe in his hands. Ready to throw it. “Are you crazy?!”

Taehyun puts down the shoe. He looks freshly showered, cheeks still flushed and hair damp. He is dressed in awful Ferrari merch. “Open your door, or I’m calling security on you.”

“Isn’t that a little too much?” Beomgyu scoffs, standing up. “Can’t a guy just wallow in his misery?” He tries to joke, but it still sounds too sharp for his ears. Something cruel blooms in his chest, a reminder. It gets hold of his tongue, speaking words with a biting, harsh edge. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be with Ferrari now? Celebrating Zevras’s win and your points, hm?”

“Hyung, open the door.”

Taehyun’s voice is firm, words slipping into Korean. Unaffected by Beomgyu’s taunt. He glares at Taehyun, clenching his fist around the shoe. The younger doesn’t move away, doesn’t even seem to entertain the thought of leaving Beomgyu alone. And the thing is, he doesn’t want to find out if Taehyun would call security on him.

“Ugh, fine.”

He opens the door wide, finding Taehyun there already. Heavy shopping bag in his hands. Beomgyu narrows his eyes at it as the younger pushes into the room, beelining to the TV stand, and he empties the bag on the hardwood top. The door gently closes behind Beomgyu with a click. He nears Taehyun, recognising the packages of his favourite jellies and ice creams.

“What’s that?”

“Snacks. Heartache snacks.”

Beomgyu has half the mind not to laugh at the ridiculous name they gave to this… Emergency package during their karting years whenever some of them scored badly.

Instead, he steps there and picks up a Haribo jelly package, opens it. “This doesn’t exactly fit into our diets.”

Taehyun’s answer is a simple move of snatching away the package and shoving a jelly into Beomgyu’s mouth. Beomgyu watches as Taehyun flits around the room, taking the blanket laid out on the sofa with him and making the bed into a cosy and soft stronghold of blankets and pillows. He comes back for the snacks and deposits them onto the bed. Beomgyu’s confusion grows with each silent second that stretches between them as Taehyun is searching for the remote control.

“Taehyun…”

“Hm?”

“Why are you here?”

The Ferrari driver stops his rummaging at the night stand and looks at Beomgyu like he has sprouted three heads in this very moment. Beomgyu stands there, by the hardwood TV stand, feeling stupid, and his eyes sting from dryness. He feels out of place in his hotel room, Taehyun’s eyes staring right through the fragile wall of lies he tries to maintain so desperately.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Your team won? You were in points?”

“Well, yes. I went to celebrate, but that wasn’t my win,” Taehyun shrugs. ”And I knew you would be in a bad shape.” He walks around the room, drawing the curtains together, blocking out the world from the room. It’s only the soft, warm glow of the lamp on the nightstand that illuminates the room.

Beomgyu’s skin prickles, a shiver running down his spine. “I’m fine.”

“I would appreciate it if you don’t think I’m stupid.” Taehyun furrows his brows.

“I’m perfectly fine, Taehyun.”

“Did you go to your debrief?”

“No.”

“Then why are you holed up in here? If no one in your team blamed you or shouted at you, why are you ignoring everyone?”

“Did my brother text you?” The silence which settles between them is the only answer Taehyun offers. “ Ah bon ? I don’t need a babysitter!” He snaps, voice rising despite his best efforts to sound nonchalant. “Can’t I just, I don’t know… Rest in my room? Sleep? I’m not trying to jump off the balcony to have someone constantly watch over me, goddamn it!” His chest is too tight, his lungs starve for air. “I’m fine.”

Taehyun watches him, eyes way too observant, way too glued to every movement of Beomgyu. It’s too much. It prickles his skin, makes his stomach flip. Beomgyu turns away from Taehyun, marching to the balcony and throws the door open, hoping the fresh air would make it better.

It doesn’t. What he hears is the alive city, celebrating and living and raving.

The younger’s hand settles onto his elbow, gently coaxing him back from the balcony. The door remains open.

Taehyun walks him to the bed, settling Beomgyu down, and he follows him like his limbs are strung up and Taehyun is his puppeteer. He can’t look into Taehyun’s eyes. Too ashamed, too angry, too envious. It bites him; these feelings, they come to him tenfold and refuse to let go of his flesh, tearing into him and mauling his soul to pieces.

“Hyung.”

Beomgyu silently begs for him to shout. To call him a petulant child, to tell him to stop being hysterical, to grow up, anything but this softness in his voice.

“It was-”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Taehyun says it with pure honesty. Beomgyu swallows the words he was about to say, forgetting about them. He stares at Taehyun, his eyes stinging from more than just being dry. The room never expands from the narrow vacuum Taehyun trapped him in.

“It was. It was my fault, okay? I could have driven better during quali. I could have scored a better position. I could have… I should have better control over the car, and I should have earned points. I should have been better !” He takes a deep breath just to mask the break in his voice. “People… People… They are right, okay? I fucked up. It was my fault. It was.”

Beomgyu points out the exact moment where Taehyun gives up on his speech he has probably prepared before he decided to invade Beomgyu’s balcony. And instead says: “People? You were on Twitter?”

“ Taehyun .”

“Where is your phone?”

“Can you stop?”

“Where is your phone?”

And like a filthy traitor, his phone pings with a new message. From underneath the bed. He locked eyes with Taehyun. And they move at the same time.

The last time Beomgyu ever wrestled with someone was probably when he was 10 and tried to win the remote control from his brother. Now, he tumbles to the floor with a shout. Beomgyu’s sore body screams at him to let this go. Taehyun follows him as they dive for the phone. He doesn’t even know why he doesn’t want Taehyun to know what he was reading, what the article said, the names it called him and what they implied.

Taehyun mumbles something in Italian as their fingers twist over the phone, both of them holding it in their grasp.

“Hyung, you are ridiculous!”

“Am I ridiculous? You are the one who started this!” Beomgyu hisses and hits his head over the metal frame of the bed. He makes a mistake, letting go of the phone, and Taehyun seizes his opportunity.

When Taehyun stands up, Beomgyu’s mind goes blank. He chases after Taehyun. The younger evades him and runs into the living room, climbing over the sofa. Desperation claws at Beomgyu’s ribs.

“Please, Taehyun.”

“ ...today, we had a great example of why not everyone who won a feeder championship should be given a seat. ” Taehyun reads, voice almost clinical. “ Many think Renault made a mistake by signing Choi for this season, especially after they exiled him to the WEC team for 2017. ”

Beomgyu lunges after him. Legs over the sofa, Taehyun jumps off it, rounding the armchair. His brows furrowed, and his face set in a scowl.

“ Yeah, I don’t know what happened. Kerekes comments to Sky Sports. I was turning and suddenly that inept was there, trying to do I don’t know what ”

Only a coffee table separates them now. Beomgyu rounds it to the right, Taehyun runs away to the left. Nose deep in Beomgyu’s phone. He almost catches Taehyun’s elbow.

“I’m not the fault of his DNF. He could go and cry a river. Maybe Renault shouldn’t have contracted a rice planter. ”

By his bed, he tackles Taehyun to the floor. Legs bracketing over his waist and hands insistently holding onto his wrist as Taehyun grips his phone.

The rumble of the outside world, despite the open door, fades away into something distant. Beomgyu’s ear rings from the rush of the wrestling and their heavy breathing fills the room. Taehyun’s wide eyes bore into his, and Beomgyu pulls on his wrist.

“Please, Taehyun.”

“No! You keep looking at these things and listening to them.”

“I can manage myself!”

“You clearly can’t!” Taehyung snaps. “So what if you went into the barrier?”

“Wh-”

“Kerekes is a mediocre driver at best. Who cares what he and his minions think?!” Taehyun's anger morphs into a fierce flame in his eyes. “You are a good driver, hyung. We are still at the beginning of the season, the next Grand Prix is in Montreal, and you will rock it.”

Beomgyu stares at him, his fingers slowly slipping from the younger’s wrist until they drop. He wonders if this is how, in ancient times, people looked at fortunetellers, with desperation strangling their chest and squeezing their heart over a few words that could have been a white lie.

“I know you will,” Taehyun whispers, like he always does when he only wants Beomgyu to hear his words, when he doesn't permit the world to listen into their little world. “Now, do you want to watch Shrek or Ice Age?”

And this is what it takes for a strained laugh to rip out of Beomgyu’s chest, giggling with abandon as he rolls down from Taehyun. Legs tangled on top of each other, lying on the floor. His eyes twinkle with tears, and his cheeks redden. Taehyun joins him, and their laughter drowns away any noise that might try to break into the bubble of their own world.

Newest Formula 1 YouTube Channel video transcription:

Meet the Rookies! - Q&A with the 2018 rookies Kang Taehyun and Choi Beomgyu

Int: Welcome, everyone. We are back with a new race season and with it, the Meet the Rookies series too! We have gathered questions from the fans that our rookies will answer today. For reference, this is filmed on the Bahrain Grand Prix weekend. But first, please introduce yourself to us.

KT: Hi, I’m Kang Taehyun, and I’m driving for Scuderia Ferrari.

CB: Salut, I’m Beomgyu, and I’m a Renault Sport Formula One Team driver!

KT: That’s a mouthful.

CB: I know, right? [CHOI Beomgyu giggles]

Int: How are you feeling today, guys? How are you handling the weather?

CB: Survivable.

KT: Barely.

CB: The Team got me a cooling vest, and I think that thing became my best friend [CHOI Beomgyu laughs]

KT: [KANG Taehyun nods] I got one too. It’s such a lifesaver. We were in Bahrain before, but the heat is something that I can’t really deal with. I don’t mind the cold, but the heat is… [KANG Taehyun shakes his head]

CB: Thanks for the AC here, by the way.

Int: [INT Adrianna laughs] You are very welcome. Now, let’s see those questions, shall we?

Q1: Who is the oldest?

CB: Me! I was born a year before Taehyun, in March. I’m 20, and he is 19.

KT: But he acts like a toddler.

CB: Stop projecting yourself on me, mate.

Q2: What was your first impression of each other?

KT: I was very surprised when I unexpectedly heard someone rambling in Korean. First, I thought it was coming from someone’s phone, watching a video or something like that. But I turned around and saw Beomgyu ranting to an older man about a cat he had seen. [KANG Taehyun laughs.] Everyone was nervous about the start of the race, and there he was, thinking about a cat.

CB: The cat was okay, by the way. It belonged to one of the families. Apparently they had some kind of therapy cat?

KT: Remember who it was?

CB: I have no idea anymore.

Int: What about you, Beomgyu?

CB: Ah, I was surprised, too. He was very shy at first to approach me, even though we shared a podium. He gave me a lot of comfort.

KT: Really?

CB: Yeah, because at that time my English wasn’t that good, and you didn’t speak French, but we still could talk in Korean. It was fun.

Q3: Do you have a favourite circuit and why?

KT: Barcelona. A classic. I don’t really have a reason for that.

CB: I have two. Monza, I just simply like the track. Fast and has a rich history. The other is Hockenheimring. I won my first GP3 race there in 2014.

KT: Sentimental?

CB: I also did a stellar overtake on Taehyun there in 2016. You all should look it up, it’s up o-

KT: Next question!

Q4: Why the jelly obsession?

CB: They are delicious?

Q5: Who is your dream team to drive for?

KT: Ferrari.

CB: That was a quick answer.

KT: I look good in red. [KANG Taehyun shrugs and smiles.]. I was with Ferrari Dream Academy since the beginning. It’s hard to imagine myself in anything other than rosso corsa. Yours?

CB: Hmm… I don’t really have a dream team? I mean, if they give me a good car that I can score points in, I’m happy with any team.

KT: Really? You never went into an F1 race and thought, ah, I would really like to drive that car?

CB: Eh, not really. But, if I have to choose, I will say Red Bull.

KT: Why?

CB: I heard that their hospitality food is fantastic.

KT: Ahhh! Essere serio! [Trans: Be serious]

Q6: How many languages do you speak?

KT: 3. Italian, English, and Korean.

CB: I speak 4 languages-

KT: You do not speak 4 languages.

CB: I do!

KT: No, you speak French, Korean, and English [counts on his fingers].

CB: I speak a little German and Norwegian, too. Half-half, that makes one. 4 languages.

[KANG Taehyun looks into the camera and CHOI Beomgyu and the staff laugh]

Int: Do you understand each other’s language?

CB: Solo un po [Trans: just a little]. That should be 4.5 languages.

KT: Stop counting your languages like that. I only recognise curses and basic words.

Q7: If you hadn’t got into motorsport, what would you be doing now?

CB: Hm, I think I would still be doing something around cars, like a car designer maybe? I used to spend hours doodling cars.

KT: Studying something that would be related to agriculture, because of the family’s vineyard or working at my uncle’s cart circuit.

CB: Your uncle has a cart circuit?

KT: Did I never tell you?

CB: No?

Int: [INT Adrianna claps] These were all the questions our team has gathered for today. Thank you for answering them. Were any of these questions new? Or have you heard them during interviews or fan meetings?

CB: For some reason, I can’t escape from the jelly questions.

KT: Because you always have them in your pocket.

Int: Is it true?

CB: [CHOI Beomgyu slowly smiles] I would love to lie, but I think there’s video evidence for that. But some of these questions were familiar. I think a lot of people are curious about our friendship.

Int: You two were very well known in the feeder series, so no surprise. Well, let’s wrap this. Thank you again for participating in today’s video, and we will see you all in the next episode around the world.

CB: Bye-bye.

KT: Bye.

2018. Season, 12th Race, Hungarian Grand Prix, July 29

Hungaroring, Mogyoród

Out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of red whisks away before Amelia’s voice filters into his ear. The car pulls his body side to side, his hands quick to steer the wheel left, then right, push down on the throttle, flat out on the straight.

“That was Kang.” The radio is a little static. “You are currently P3, there are 2 laps left.”

“Is there a chance I could overtake him?” He asks, steering into Turn 12. His attention snaps to the left mirror, a splotch of silver getting closer.

“He is 0.7 seconds ahead of you, and his speed has improved in all Sectors compared to his last lap.” Amelia pauses, almost as if she is mulling over her decision. “Don’t risk your race. Focus on the Mercedes behind.”

Beomgyu smiles to himself. “Aye, Aye, captain.”

“If you can maintain this pace, you are set to P3.”

He defends against the Mercedes behind him, blocking every attempt at a takeover. His tyres are barely hanging on. Gambling with luck and time. The rear left skids on the track, losing grip. He shouts inside his helmet, defending when Hoffman tries to lunge into the inside line.

His fingers are cramped around the wheel, and his shoulders are rigid from the tension; his dry eyes spot the chequered flag when he turns into the finish line. Hoffman hunts him like a rabid wolf; all Beomgyu can do is push against the throttle and hope he flies below the chequered flag before Hoffman sinks his fangs inside him.

“So, that’s a P3 Beomgyu. A P3.”

He is stricken with sudden intoxication of adrenaline and triumph as his car pulls over the finish line, the chequered flag waved, and Beomgyu screams in joy.

“Congratulations, Beomgyu, that was… That was amazing.” Amelia laughs; the whole garage roars in the background. “You did a really good job, Je suis fière de toi, petit ours.”

Beomgyu laughs, steering his car into the next turn, starting his cooldown lap.

“Beomgyu,” Cyril speaks next. “That was absolutely magnifique . You have done everything and earned a podium. Thank you. Tonight we will celebrate it. Bravo !”

“Thank you guys! Is Leevi okay? Did he make it back to the paddock?”

“I’m okay, Beoms,” Leevi says. “I was here watching your race. You scored us some points, little guy. Though your tyre management is shit!” He cackles. “It’s a miracle you still have them intact.”

“Learned from the best!”

“ Painu vittuun! ”

Beomgyu’s ear filled with his and Leevi’s laughter. It’s all an out-of-body experience; he can only giggle, cheer and scream as the notion of the events catches up to him.

His first podium.

Beomgyu’s entire body shakes as he finishes his cooldown lap and sets his car in parc fermé. Behind the #3 sign. For a moment, he remains in his seat, gripping the steering wheel. He exhales, and the heavy weight on his chest eases. This is it.

The sweet win of a Grand Prix might have swum away from him, but he will stand on the podium today, hold his trophy and celebrate with champagne. It took 5 races, but Taehyun was right.

His chest heaves as he climbs out of the car with trembling legs. He stands by it, patting the halo as if thanking the car for today’s race. Basks in the cheers, the early afternoon sun washes over him.

He glances to the side and sees Taehyun on top of his car, punching the air, the Ferrari crew gathered around going downright feral. The young driver is illuminated by the same sun rays that washed Beomgyu out; now they make Taehyun look alive.

A glowing deity of victory.

Beomgyu’s attention snaps back to the crowd of his mechanics formed behind the barrier. He rips away his helmet and balaclava, diving into them. They cheer for him, hug him, pat his shoulder and ruffle his hair. Their voices, a cacophony of English and French. His cheeks and neck hurt, his hair sticks to his nape and forehead, but he laughs; tears and sweat cover his flushed, tanned skin.

“I did it, hyung!!” He hugs his brother, clinging to him, afraid his legs might give in. “I’m on the podium. Can you believe that? I did it. Holy shit, I did it!!!” He rambles with the blend of all languages he knows, probably making no sense, but Beomseok understands nonetheless. He hugs him, pinches his cheeks.

“You did so well, I’m so proud of you.”

Tears swim into his eyes once more from the words, even if Beomseok tells him after every race, no matter the position or points he scores. His brother gave up so much for him, for Beomgyu to have a chance to reach his dream. This isn’t only for Beomgyu. But for Choi Beomseok, too.

“Go on, do your duties. We will have time to talk later.” He squeezes his shoulder, and Beomgyu refrains from teasing his brother’s tearful expression.

“Fine, fine. I’m going to go and drench myself in champagne.” He beams, eyes twinkling. “Text the hyungs and Anabella too.”

He turns, only to see Taehyun standing a little to the side, slip already in his hand. His hair is a mess, and his cheeks are flushed, just like Beomgyu’s. Their eyes lock, and neither of them can fight back the grin that spreads on their lips. Taehyun wasn’t just right; they did it together. Taehyun won his first Grand Prix, and Beomgyu had his first podium finish.

He lunges forward, wrapping Taehyun into a crushing hug. The other mirrors him with a small laugh, patting the older’s back.

Beomgyu weighs himself, gives his interview, before he is ushered away to the cooldown room. Taehyun falls in line with him, and Beomgyu bumps his shoulder to his.

“Congratulations.” He says, smiling.

“I told you.” That’s all Taehyun offers with a cheeky smile and a shoulder pat.

The driver who won second is already here, Noah Walsh, who sits in one of the seats. Taehyun goes rigid, and Beomgyu has to bite his lip to stifle a laugh. The same Noah Walsh, who has been Taehyun’s idol for years. He gives a little push to Taehyun, and Noah’s eyes wander to them.

Noah jumps up out of the seat and approaches them with the biggest smile Beomgyu has ever seen on someone.

“Congratulations, you two!” He greets them with his thick Scottish accent, shaking their hands and drawing each of them into a hug. Noah is quite taller than they are, buff, the end of his cornrow braids swiped to one shoulder. “How do you feel? A wee fuzzy still, hm?” Noah teases, and Beomgyu’s nerves loosen in an instant.

“Yeah.” He lets out a weak laugh. “A little.”

“That’s fine,” He pats Taehyun’s shoulder. “You got me on the last lap, mate. Expect a rematch coming. It was fun!” He laughs, offering both of them a bottle of water.

Taehyun nods and sits down, accepting the bottle Noah offers. Beomgyu allows himself a low chuckle. He chugs down the water, only realising now how thirsty he is. The TV screen plays their race, mainly the highlights, and Beomgyu watches Taehyun’s car overtake Noah’s, just a few turns before the chequered flag is waved.

It’s fascinating to see Taehyun drive; his moves feel so natural. Perhaps this is what they call natural talent, or the payoff of diligent training since childhood. The pride of the Rossi legacy, as they say.

Beomgyu had incredible luck with their strategy, and that safety car after lap 52 rearranged the whole order of the top 7, allowing Beomgyu to climb up higher.

After Leevi’s DNF, Beomgyu panicked, not only because his teammate spun out in front of him, but because suddenly the comfort of knowing someone was out there on track with the same livery as him disappeared. Each race is a blur in the few hours after the race, until his body and mind calm down, but this one he remembers too clearly. Leevi’s car suddenly let out smoke, and he lost control of the car, and it went off track, right into the barrier.

Noah and Taehyun speak among themselves, discussing the race and joking around. Beomgyu joins in here and there, still a little dazed, and maybe he waits for someone to pinch him, to tell him it’s a dream.

He is unfamiliar with a lot of drivers on the grid. They only greet each other as they pass by or congratulate hurriedly. The ones he is close with are Leevi and Taehyun; he is bonding well with Axel Wang from Haas.

Soon enough, someone comes collecting them for the podium. Beomgyu lets the flow guide him once again, lets the hands of the ovation and the thrum of the fans pull him up to the podium. He stands there, listening to the Italian anthem they play for Taehyun, the way the Tifosi sing along. It’s not for him, but chills still run down his spine, and he can only imagine how it is for Taehyun. He glances up, only to see his friend looking ahead with sparkling eyes.

And in the next minute, the two drivers spray him. He laughs, and his heart beats with vigour as he downs the champagne with the biggest smile he has ever worn. A hand curls around his elbow, and he is pulled into a hug.

Race suit and hair soaked, the sweet taste of the champagne still clings to Beomgyu’s tongue as he laughs, wrapping his hand around Taehyun’s shoulder. He closes his eyes for a second, letting the moment seep into his bones.

“I still can’t believe it.” Beomgyu sighs, rummaging through his suitcase. “I mean, wow…”

Yeonjun chuckles on the other line. He lies on his couch, already back in his flat in Switzerland. “I really don’t understand why you are so surprised? Come on, Gyu. We need to do a confidence workshop on you.”

“I have no problem with my confidence.” He looks into the camera, eyebrows pinched together. “I’m just saying, I thought Hoffman would bite my ass in the last 5 laps.”

Yeonjun smiles at him. “But he didn’t. And you got a podium. Renault is celebrating you tonight?”

“Yep. What do you think about a jean, white shirt and that leather jacket you bought me?”

“The black one?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Put on some belt chain and a necklace, and you are good to go.”

“Got it.” He sang songs. “I mean… It was really good racing with him again, with Taehyun, like in 2016. But I know it was only possible because he had engine issues and Mercedes was a clown show with their pit stop.”

“The issue is not you,” Soobin’s voice comes behind the camera. Yeonjun flips the camera, and it shows Soobin in old shirt and pants rearranging a shelf. “It’s your car. And you know that too.”

Beomgyu will never understand why Yeonjun agreed to be roommates with Soobin when he is head over heels for the journalist student.

“Wow, you are so blunt.” Beomgyu deadpans.

His phone pings loudly. Yeonjun yelps on the other side. “Oh, I’m hanging up, hyungs, my mother texted me back!”

“Okay-okay, snap me a picture before you go, though.” Yeonjun smiles. “Have a good time.”

“Thanks.”

Beomgyu settles down with his suitcase, fingers flying over the keyboard once he pulls up his WhatsApp message with his mother.

Beomgyu drops his phone as he falls back on the bed. It bounces lightly with him; he lies in soft blankets, and they smell like lavender and chamomile. His body is still high-strung from the race. How could it not be? He did well, he did so fucking well.

A knock on the door, and it opens in the next second. His brother smiles at him as he takes off his shoes. Beomseok is already dressed. Cyril has rented out one of the larger rooms, downstairs, for a little celebration. It would have been better to go to a club, but hauling back a bunch of drunks in an unknown city is a challenging task for anyone who would try.

“Are you ready?”

“Yup.” Beomgyu still doesn’t make an effort to stand up. “Did you call Anabella?”

“Yes.” Beomseok chuckles. “She said you did a great job, and you looked cool on the podium.”

“Of course I did.”

“She also said that in exchange for the compliment, you will have to help us paint the flat.”

“I guess I can sacrifice myself for my favourite sister-in-law.”

“She is your only sister-in-law?”

“That’s why she is my favourite.” Beomgyu giggles. “I uh… I also spoke with maman. I invited them to join us for the break.”

“That’s great!” Beomseok’s face lit up. He examines Beomgyu’s fridge, finding a half-eaten ice cream there. “Will they come?”

“I hope so, but well…” Beomgyu chews on his lips and sits up. “We… I haven’t seen them for a few years now…”

“Will dad too? Or…”

“I don’t know. They didn’t watch the race.”

Silence settles into the room, one that makes Beomgyu’s skin itch. He climbs off the bed, tousles his freshly washed hair, and grins at Beomsok.

“Ready to go?”

Order is key to everything, his old carting mentor used to tell Taehyun. She taught him to keep his emotions in order during racing, while others might have been overrun with their nerves, Taehyun sat in his kart and later formula cars with a steady mind.

Taehyun isn’t unruly.

He keeps order over everything in his life, his career, his relationships, his personal life. Everything had a label on it, sorted into a specific folder in his mind. He couldn’t possibly remember when was the last time he let his emotions spill over the ageing line he has drawn. The sensation of his blood boiling and mind going blank with raw anger is truly unfamiliar to him.

Yet, the room Ferrari has booked for him is nothing but a pile of mess. He sits on the sofa, looking at the masterpiece his lashout caused. Phone on the coffee table, it keeps lighting up with notifications. Some are from Markos and Kai, others are from his parents and cousins, his Nonno and Nonna and sponsor representatives.

The race was fun, so much fun, and he won the Grand Prix. In his rookie year. It’s something that he could only dream about a year ago, and now he is living it.

After an almost retirement and bad pit strategy, it’s truly a miracle Taehyun wasn’t just able to climb up the ladder, but win the Grand Prix. The media, the interviews, and the debrief completely exhausted him after all the adrenaline rush that made his body hyper aware of everything. But the party was for him, and it felt like he was finally part of the team, like he earned his place in there. He showed everyone who doubted in him that he could do this.

It’s only the start, bambino. His Nonno would tell him if he saw Taehyun now.

It was amazing to attend one of the post-race celebratory parties that was for him, until Maurizio, slightly tipsy, determined and driven, opened his mouth.

Maurizio has big plans for him, and Taehyun would be blind to ignore it. The Team Principal never misses an opportunity to bring up Taehyun and his achievements, to brag about his feeder series records, and to say he will be a world champion one day. That the Rossis will bring back the glory days for Ferrari. And while these compliments and moments make Taehyun warm with confidence, they also form an invisible weight on his shoulders.

“I want you to strive for more, Teo,” Maurizio told him. Holding onto his shoulders with an iron grip. “You have more in you.”

Maurizio talks like the car depended on Taehyun, like it was Taehyun who breathed life into it. As if it’s beating in the same rhythm as Taehyun’s heart. As if they are one.

“The people need to know you want more. During the break, you stay in Maranello, and train and learn. I will have one of the Ferrari-owned flats ready for you.”

“But…” Taehyun bit his cheeks. “I planned to spend a little time with my family in Bardolino.”

“That’s fine. You can stay a few days, but Maranello is your priority.” He let go of his shoulders. “You are also prohibited from joining more media activity with Renault’s rookie.”

“Why?”

Maurizio looked at him like Taehyun was going crazy. “Why? Teo, my dear Teo. His podium will be Renault’s only highlight of the whole year. If you want a rival, be more ambitious. Go for someone like Walsh or Markos, or Hoffman. Someone who can be your equal. Not someone like Choi.”

Those words ring in his ears, nagging him endlessly. Shortly after this, he slipped away with an excuse of a headache and being exhausted. Unable to stay in the presence of Maurizio, and the team that might think the same about Beomgyu. It’s easy to look down on other teams who are less fortunate, drivers who are contracted to them.

Taehyun is painfully aware that some people love to downplay Beomgyu and what he has achieved. Sure, Renault is not the strongest or most iconic team. Not like Ferrari or Mercedes. But they are a hard-working team, with hard-working drivers who come to each race with the same fire in their hearts as Taehyun.

It’s awfully shallow to judge someone like that. Taehyun is powerless against those people, even if he tries and wants to protect Beomgyu from these harsh words. If Beomgyu had gone to a stronger team, people would talk differently about him, no? Won’t call him washed-up and wasted potential.

Is it selfish of him to wish Beomgyu goes to another team? Even if he knows he loves being in Renault? Is he selfish for wishing Beomgyu would be the other driver who occupies the driver’s room next to Taehyun’s? To see him in rosso corsa? For the Tifosi to scream his name, too?

Even if it would never happen, Beomgyu would never join Ferrari. Taehyun doesn’t even know if he would ever leave Renault.

He is yanked back to reality when his phone pings with the familiar tone he set only for Beomgyu. When Kai pieced this secret together, he didn’t stop to tease Taehyun about it.

Taehyun drops his phone and walks to the door. Stands in front of it for a few tense seconds. The thought of how silly he is strikes him, just standing there, and he opens the door. True to Beomgyu’s words, he finds the room service cart there.

He scoffs and rolls it into the room. The door gently clicks shut behind him.

If they were in a cartoon, his heart would be doing cartwheels around his chest. But they are in the real world, and he simply feels like his organ wants to crawl out of his chest.

“You are being so stupid right now, Kang Taehyun.” He mutters, sets the car around the living room and takes off the covers of the plates.

Soup with semolina dumplings, rich creamy carbonara with grilled meat, and a strawberry cheesecake on the side.

This probably wasn’t covered by Renault.

He shoots a quick thank you text to Beomgyu, wondering if he should wait for him. But who knows when they will release Beomgyu from their celebrating clutches, so Taehyun makes himself comfortable on the couch, takes the plates onto the coffee table and checks his phone while he is eating his late dinner.

Coming back from the race, he only showered and exiled himself away from the world. Completely forgetting to eat anything.

20 minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, and Taehyun springs up embarrassingly fast, almost tripping on a stray piece of clothing. On the other side stands Beomgyu with a big smile, flushed cheeks and glossy eyes. Tipsy. He is dressed in some of his fancier clothes, and Taehyun appreciates it silently as Beomgyu walks into his hotel room.

Neither of them mentions the mess.

“I brought you some medicine, but I don’t know if you are allergic to anything.” Beomgyu fishes out two packages of medicine from his pockets. “I also brought this… What’s its name in English? L’huile d'arbre à thé … Tea tree oil! Amelia showed it to me, since you know we can’t race with anything in us, so when I had a headache, she told me to rub this on my temple, and it got better.” Beomgyu rambles on as he places his findings on the foyer’s table, and Taehyun can only blink at him. “Hyung also said that you should drink some lemon water too. I don’t know the credibility of this, though. He is weird like that.”

Taehyun chuckles, taking all the Beomgyu bought into his hand, and walks deeper into the suite. Beomgyu follows him, his footsteps soft on the wooden floor.

“Ferrari really booked you the nicest suite.” He whistles.

“Renault didn’t?”

“We got the cheaper rooms. I don’t have a living room.” He pouts.

“Do you need to go back?” Taehyun asks suddenly, and it’s Beomgyu who blinks at him this time. “You could… Stay.” He shrugs. “We could finish Shrek 2.”

Something soft and warm flashes across Beomgyu’s face that Taehyun can’t understand the meaning of. The mess left unsaid so far, only when Beomgyu picks up a discarded grey sweats and a Ferrari shirt, Taehyun searches for an excuse.

“Mind if I change into them then?” He holds them up. “These clothes are getting a little uncomfortable.”

“Sure.” Taehyun clears his throat. “The bathroom is that door.”

“What’s your plan for the break?” Beomgyu speaks as he goes into the bathroom, leaving the door partially open.

Taehyun busies himself cleaning up the living room, rolling the service car into the foyer.

“I’m going to be in Bardolino for a few days, then Maranello.” He sighs, furrowing his brows. His family won’t be happy about that. “You?”

“I don’t know. Probably sleep a lot, watch the dramas I put aside. Then turn up in the factory for the last week, do some sim, let my trainer wring me out.” Beomgyu emerges soon.

They settle down on the couch Taehyun occupied not too long ago. The scent of champagne and cologne sticks to Beomgyu’s skin, along with the faint scent of freshly washed linen from Taehyun’s shirt.

“You won’t go to Korea?”

He keeps looking at Beomgyu as he unscrews with the tea tree oil.

It’s almost unfair how, in some other reality, or one of Taehyun’s fantasies, they could sit like this and Beomgyu wearing rosso corsa would be true. The possibility aches.

Even in their silly interview, Beomgyu said he doesn’t have a dream team; Taehyun still wonders, still dreams. Still wishes. Then no one would question Beomgyu; no one would say he is a weak driver.

And Taehyun wouldn’t have to find excuses to visit him, to talk to him, to text him. People wouldn’t look oddly if he tells people to shut up when they badmouth Beomgyu; it wouldn’t be strange to protect his teammate.

“Taehyun?”

He stares at Beomgyu, lost in his own thoughts. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

Silly question. Of course, he isn’t. The reality of how much he wants Beomgyu by his side hit him so badly, Taehyun would be willing to make a deal with God or the devil to make his wish a reality.

One year difference doesn’t sound much, but it is, when it means Beomgyu advanced into the feeder series sooner than Taehyun. The normalcy of seeing each other at every track, hanging around each other’s motorhomes and karting together made Taehyun forget their path might diverge from each other, sooner or later.

And it did. Even if he attended almost all of Beomgyu’s races while he drove in WEC, their usual routine was gone. They didn’t share a race weekend anymore.

He spent years watching Beomgyu’s races from the sidelines, from home, from the screen. And when he finally caught up, he finally raced with Beomgyu in the same year; Beomgyu won the championship.

And left again.

Leaving Taehyun alone for another year while Beomgyu was moving around in a different world. Far away from Taehyun.

“Yeah.”

“Your headache must be bad if you are spacing out this much.” He scoots closer, and the scent of the tea tree lingers around them. “Let me do this, then we can watch Shrek,” Beomgyu mutters, dabbing the little glass vial on his fingertips.

Taehyun stays almost rigid as Beomgyu swipes away his hair, and gently moves his finger against his temple in circles. He patiently lets Beomgyu do whatever he wants; he doesn’t fuss around when he reapplies more oil to do the same motion. Neither when Beomgyu lean closer to him to do the same on the other side.

The AC rumbles in the background, and the noises of the city faintly knock on the closed windows. But Taehyun can only focus on Beomgyu’s breathing, on how close they are. How much he wants to wrap Beomgyu in rosso corsa.

“Okay.” Beomgyu pulls away. “ Ça va? ”

“Yes, thank you. Start it?” He nods towards the TV, and Beomgyu sets Shrek 2 in motion. “Congratulations.”

Beomgyu chuckles. “Thanks, mate.”

Later, shrouded by the embrace of the night and the soft glow of the TV, Taehyun finds his courage. Beomgyu’s head has found its place on Taehyun’s shoulder. The older might already be sleeping or close to it. He breathes softly and hasn’t been commenting for a while now.

It reminds Taehyun of when they were in Belgium, two years ago. Beomgyu won that race, Taehyun came second. They sat like this, in Taehyun’s family’s motorhome. His papà was cooking outside with the other kids’ parents.

While the TV were playing in the background, the two of them had been whispering, wondering about next year, the year after, 10 years after.

Caught in the spell of nostalgia, Taehyun whispers:

“Promise me, you will always want more.”

“What do you mean?” Beomgyu doesn’t move away, his voice heavy with sleep.

Taehyun gulps. “That you… Won’t settle for anything less than victory. I want to… I want to race with you, stand on the podium with you…” I want to show them how good you are. I want them to see you as the greatest driver ever.

Beomgyu lifts his head, and Taehyun avoids his eyes.

Seconds pass before Beomgyu settles back on his shoulder. “Okay.” He breathes. “I like being on the podium with you, too.”

And while the faint light of the shadowed living room is comforting, Maranello’s sun is blinding. Obscures the world from Taehyun, washing it out of its colour until its hue fades like an old shirt, left out in the sun for too long. Taehyun, too, feels like an old shirt, wrung out of life.

Something irreversibly changed, spiralling down like a domino, unable to stop, unable to reverse it. Maranello’s sun feeds Taehyun’s desire to show the world Beomgyu is good, that Beomgyu deserves to be on the track. It feeds him until Taehyun is too blind to see how aggressive he is on the track, and he pushes and pushes until it’s too late to pull back.

2018. Season, 17th Race, Japanese Grand Prix, October 7

Suzuka International Racing Course, Suzuka

There’s a certain thrill about racing with Taehyun. A different kind of addiction that can only be soothed by the rush of the chase. A flash of red and yellow dances along each other. Once the Ferrari dives to overtake, sparks fly, the world blurs into a mess of colours and sounds. What matters is only them. 

Beomgyu’s heart hollers he is so excited, yet his mind is focused, his hands are precise as he pulls to the right and the left. Taehyun’s car is right next to him. They enter the hairpin at Turn 11, neither of them faltering. 

Only 5 laps to go. Taehyun have been hunting him ever since he came out with fresh tyres.

“You are allowed to give everything as long as it’s reasonable.”

“Copy that.” Beomgyu sings songs.

He glances to his side. It’s already a miracle his Renault can keep pace with Taehyun’s Ferrari. Perhaps it’s once again some engine issue; if Taehyun could, he would be up there racing for the Grand Prix win.

Turn 18, he is taking on the corner, when his heart lurches, and he is spinning around the track, into the gravel, into the barrier. Wheels digging into the gravel as his legs still push against the throttle in his stupor.

The car settles eventually, turned off. The front wing completely busted.

Beomgyu sits in his seat, heaving, and his fingers gripping the steering wheel.

“Beomgyu? Are you okay? Beomgyu?”

His body is like a lone leaf in a raging storm, and a visceral scream rips its way out of his throat as he punches his thigh. The last of the cars has already passed him, and the marshals are coming his way. His excitement soured and rotted into something bitter that coats his mouth and throat. 

“What the fuck was that?! Q u'est-ce que c'est?! Putain de merde !” 

“Ça va?”

“Non! I fucking lost the race! J'ai perdu ! He pushed me down!”

“Okay, okay, copy that. Race Control already noted it.”

“Good.”

A marshal helps him out of the car, and Beomgyu goes willingly. They offer him a ride on a scooter back to the paddock. Biting his tongue until it goes numb to force back the words begging to spill from his lips. He wants to march to the Ferrari garage, wait for Taehyun and shake him as he demands answers for this stupid move. This… This is not a clean race that they agree on before every fucking race. 

But Beomgyu is boiling. 

He is so impossibly angry; all he can do is rip off his helmet and balaclava and walk into his garage. A camera follows him, but Beomgyu pays it no mind. A few of his mechanics pat his shoulder, tell him he did well.

He can’t help but feel bitter as he watches the rest of the race from the garage with a scowl on his face. Taehyun gets P2. He huffs and would love to go back to the hotel, but the next hour of media duties loom over him like a vengeful ghost. And he isn’t in the mood to pay some stupid fine for skipping media duties. But Astrid is uninterested in hearing him out. 

Debrief goes by fast. Faster than Beomgyu had expected, or perhaps it was him completely zoning out after they went over his race discussion. Again, everyone said he drove well, and he had a good race — his skin crawled from their words; it was anything but a good race. 

That’s when one of the crew members says, they should have put Leevi on the soft tyres instead of the medium, they should have given the advantage to Leevi instead of Beomgyu. 

And all Beomgyu can do is agree in silence. 

He gives his interviews, all of his answers are as short as he can make them, wanting to be anywhere but in front of the cameras. Everyone heard his radio, they are probably waiting for another reaction from him to make it a headline, as they always do.

And maybe a more experienced driver would have let it go, or someone with a media training as rigid as Ferrari’s. But Beomgyu has received only a brief and short presentation from his PR team: don’t swear too much and don’t threaten anyone.

“His brain must have rattled around too much in that Ferrari car; the corner was mine, and he pushed me out.” He finds himself saying with a grimace to the last reporter he had patience for. 

He leaves before the interviewer can point out that Race Control didn’t investigate it further. At the end, it doesn’t matter what Beomgyu thinks. Taehyun stands on top of the podium, drenched in champagne and adoration, giving his press conference with a grin. While Beomgyu runs the shower for far too long in his hotel room, he ends the weekend with a broken car, no podiums or points and boiling anger. 

He picks up the phone as soon as it shows an incoming call from Taehyun.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong with me? I raced.” Taehyun sounds out of breath, and music filters through the speaker of the phone.

“You pushed me off.”

Taehyun huffs on the other side. “We are just going in a circle.”

“You have been like this since the break; you almost spun me off during quali.”

“Then be faster.”

A laugh bubbles from his chest. A bitter, ugly one. “Huh, good joke, mate. I don’t know if you noticed, but I drive a Renault, not a Ferrari.”

“I did.”

Silence chokes Beomgyu. Something is slipping out of his hold; he doesn’t know what it is, but it sets off his heart. He thinks back to the look Taehyun has been giving him ever since Spa, and Beomgyu can’t decipher it, no matter how long he tries to crack it.

“Taehyun…” He says cautiously. “Did something happen in Maranello?”

“No.” Another beat of silence. It’s deafening. “You promised me you would be up with me on the podium. We didn’t share any since Hungary; you are barely in points. Why are you complacent?”

“What? I’m not compla-”

“Renault will never give you a fast car.”

The world spins with Beomgyu; he needs to sit down. His eyes jump around the room, as if the furniture will come to life and give an explanation for Taehyun’s behaviour. “What’s got into you?”

“Why can’t you just leave Renault? Go to a team that gives you a chance. You keep slipping away, hyung.”

What terribly confuses Beomgyu is how impatient Taehyun sounds. 

“I’m not… How this even…” Words abandon Beomgyu; they swirl in his head, restless. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because you don’t have a chance right now.”

“Is this your way of telling me I’m a shitty driver?”

“No! But… You just can’t compete, not with a midfield team.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Come to Ferrari.” Taehyun rushes the words. Beomgyu barely believes what he hears.

“What?” He exhales. “Taehyun, what are you talking about?”

“Markos will leave next season, he isn’t winning, said he had enough of fruitless seasons-”

“Taehyun.” He tries, but Taehyun keep speaking, words spilling from his mouth with reverence.

“You only have this season with Renault, yes? Ferrari would take you, I… I would talk to Maurizio. You could join us… Me . You would have a chance.”

“Taehyun, I’m not going to Ferrari. Not next season, not the one after, not until the day I retire from the paddock.”

Silence sits on the line between them. Only now, Beomgyu becomes aware of Taehyun’s heavy breathing and his own. 

“Hyung, ple-”

“No!”

Beomgyu doesn’t wait. He hangs up and drops his phone on the bed. Ignores the next incoming calls. Turns his phone off.

The conversation with Taehyun haunts him for days. He is back in Oxford when it descends on him like a summer storm. His brother is slurping noodles while they FaceTime their mother. Phone propped up on a vase at the kitchen table. Beomgyu rolls his food around, not even protesting when Beomseok steals his meat.

Soobin’s and Anabella’s voice filters into the kitchen from the nursery they are decorating.

“Beomgyu-yah?”

He looks at his mother. “Yes?”

She smiles knowingly. “Are you still upset because of the race? You shouldn’t be too hung up on this.”

“It was a tiring race,” Beomseok interjects. “The season end is coming up…”

Beomgyu shoots him a sour look.

“Well, you aren’t going to be a rookie forever.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Race well, and the other teams will have interest in you.”

Beomgyu tries to bite back the grimace he feels his face is pulling into. Why does everyone want him to leave Renault? Sure, they are not the fastest team, but Beomgyu wouldn’t be here without them. They supported him year after year, even when he was underperforming in some races. 

Beomseok laughs next to him. “France would probably start another revolution if their adorable l’ourson would abandon them.” He pinches Beomgyu’s cheek.

With a grunt, Beomgyu pushes his brother’s hand away, while their mother chuckles, admitting Beomgyu does look like a little bear.

Dinner goes on, Beomseok ranting about their new place, Anabella’s pregnancy, while Beomgyu retreats into his mind. Perhaps something is so majorly wrong with Renault Beomgyu can’t see it, but others do. 

One day, his contract would expire. 4 races left from the season. 

But Renault is… Comfortable. Familiar.

They believed in Beomgyu. The French they speak comforts him; he likes his team, their fire to try to break out from the shadow of the big fish. 

But can they do that? Beomgyu came to F1 because he wanted to challenge himself and be challenged by other drivers, tracks and even fate itself. He waited a year to be handed a seat, even when it was never guaranteed. He wants to stand on the podium, intoxicated by victory and soaked in champagne, as he is crowned World Champion. 

He stabs the fork into the last piece of meat — he doesn’t want to settle for the midfield.

Taehyun comes to his mind once again. His words are knives to his delicate skin, but they hold truth, and Beomgyu hates to admit it. If Markos really leaves, Taehyun will replace Markos as the first driver, and he will be the priority of his team. He tasted the champagne more than Beomgyu did; his blood rushed with victory more times than Beomgyu’s. 

Perhaps his hunger grew already. Outgrew Beomgyu, even Taehyun himself.

It makes Beomgyu sick.

The Supposed Prodigy Who Is Turning Out To Be a Blunder

Written by: Emma B.

In 2016, Choi Beomgyu has dominated the GP2 scene. Despite his achievements, Renault denied him a seat and before any other teams could take advantage of that, they shipped him to their WEC team for 2017. And while the world thought that Choi would build his career in endurance racing, it was soon announced that in 2018 he will make his debut in Formula One.

Choi has proven his abilities and skills in both championships. No surprise that people have dubbed him as a miracle boy, with natural talent in racing and the one who will bring back Renault’s glory days. Seemingly, the team has also thought the same, judging from the pre-season media campaign they have done for the young driver. 

Cyril Abiteboul, Renault’s Team Principal, in a pre-season interview with Sky Sports, have said: “Beomgyu is a talented young man; he is well-deserved of a seat in Formula One, and we are happy to finally provide him with one.” In spite of that, the team was continuously criticised for prioritising Leevi Korhonen over Choi, who was slowly pushed back into the second driver’s seat. Although the team denies these rumours and allegations, stating that Renault believes that both of their drivers are equally supported, and there’s no prioritisation between the two garages.

While these claims have ignited a passionate debate among fans and supporters, their voices have been overtaken by those who believe Choi’s debut has been a mistake. Despite the expectations, Choi has been doing relatively poorly. In Hungary, he has earned his first podium, but since then, the driver hasn’t come close to replicating the achievement. 

Some sources claim there are serious talks within Renault’s leadership about Choi’s contract, whether the team would want to hire him for another season or look for another driver. Choi hasn’t commented on these rumours so far, while Renault has been denying them.

However, one must dwell on it: if Choi was brought in because Renault hoped he would be able to uplift the team, and he failed to do so, how long would the team keep him?