Work Text:
Franco was busy wiping down his kart when Gabriel entered the tent. Gabriel had his suit unzipped, a hoodie pulled over his shirt, but it was the obnoxiously patterned hat that Gabriel wore backwards which made Franco roll his eyes.
Franco continued scrubbing his kart with his microfibre cloth, probably a little too harshly as Gabriel greeted the others as if nothing had happened yesterday. What had happened yesterday? Give Franco a microphone and five minutes and he’ll recite the whole thing without stuttering—but the race is about to start so maybe not now.
Long story short: Franco was in a good mood yesterday, he was confident enough that he could qualify higher than his peers. His kart felt quick and responsive during his out-lap. The weather was bright and not too hot, keeping a good temperature on his tires.
It was when Franco was halfway through his flying lap when Gabriel joined the track for his out-lap. It had happened multiple times before but Franco never thought much of it, sure Gabriel had played harshly on track with him during races, but he will never ruin his times lap, right? He just assumed the best out of Gabriel.
As Franco came up to the final turn, there Gabriel was—slow as ever on the track while warming up his tires. “La concha de la lora,” Franco cursed under his breath, pitching his kart to overtake. No matter how hard it tried, it was useless as Gabriel kept weaving left and right, completely blocking the track. The whole thing resulted in Franco being qualified in 20th. His weekend was off to a terrible start, and he was certain that without the Brazilian in his way, he could easily have the pace for a higher finish.
Franco tried to fight it, of course. He reported Gabriel to a marshal for an ‘on purpose slander’ against him. He tried his best using every Italian word that the CRG mechanics had taught him to explain his case, but it was no use. “Rules are rules, Colapinto. You can only do it once, you don’t get a restart.”
“You need to calm down on the scrubbing, Franco. You’re going to hurt your hands,” one of the kids said, noticing the dirty looks Franco was giving towards Gabriel. Franco found it funny. No matter how hard he wanted to scrub, his wrist wouldn’t feel a thing. Sure he might chip the paint off of his chassis, but that was a problem for the mechanics—he could practically hear his mechanic screaming at him in fast, unfamiliar Italian.
Franco has never felt a single drop of pain, well only physically because it was clear his feelings were hurt because of Gabriel. He was pretty sure that none of the other kids had ever felt pain too. It was common enough to see karts collide and flip, only for the drivers to drive away without a single whine or cry, hopping back into the race as if nothing had happened. They were all still teenagers, after all. None of them were old enough to have met—or even touched—their soulmates.
He couldn’t imagine what his karting career would look like if he could actually feel physical pain. The thought of abandoning his precious race to be hauled off to the medical tent due to an injury made him shiver—he’d do anything rather than to leave a race unfinished. His dream was to reach Formula One after all, and all he wanted was for him to improve his skills before meeting his soulmate. Besides, maybe he could impress her with his racing skills.
Franco was gripping onto his steering wheel as he thought about his plan on the track. It was probably not the right mindset to have when the gantry lights are about to go out, but if Gabriel was willing to play harshly, Franco could play twice as hard. It was Gabriel’s fault, Franco wouldn’t have planned something like this if the Brazilian hadn’t been so selfish.
After all, weren’t they supposed to look out for each other? From what Franco remembered, they were both two kids living in the middle of nowhere in Italy, chasing the same dream. But if Gabriel saw him more as a threat instead of a friend, then Franco was more than happy to play like that.
When the gantry lights went out, Franco pitched his kart inside to pass the kid ahead. It was one of the nicest kids on the grid too, Franco felt a little guilty—but that’s not the point right now. Gabriel had qualified thirteenth yesterday, he’s confident to go seven spots ahead. For now there’s only two goals: cut through everyone until he reaches Gabriel, and teach the other a lesson.
It was on the fourteenth lap when Franco could manage to reach Gabriel. The Brazilian was busy fighting for ninth place, completely unaware that Franco was closing in behind him. Franco held back, waiting for the right moment for his plan. As they hit the next corner, he stomped on the brake pedal, diving late into the turn to pull right alongside Gabriel.
The corner leads up to a straight and that was Franco’s cue. He swerved right, giving Gabriel’s kart a harsh bump that sent the other wobbling sideways. The hit caused a reaction from Gabriel—he swore that he heard a curse in Portuguese which was drowned by the sound of their revving engines.
Without missing a single second, Gabriel responded, slamming his kart back into Franco’s—much harder than what Franco had started. The action caused Franco to be shoved off the track. Fuck, who designed this circuit? Why is it so narrow? Grass and debris fly out through the sky, he could feel clumps of grass wedged into the rims of his wheels.
“I didn’t even hit you that hard,” Franco grumbled into his helmet. When he went back to the track, it didn’t take him long to reach Gabriel again. It’s obvious that they were going to get a penalty, Franco is aware of that, so he figured he might as well make the most out of it now.
He forced himself to stay patient as he crept up behind Gabriel, locking his eyes onto the Brazilian’s back. They were wearing the same designed suits, but Franco couldn’t help thinking it looked much more ridiculous on Gabriel.
He waited for another straight—the exact same spot where he had launched his first attack. As soon as they made their turn, Franco went on the hunt. Revving the engine to its limit, he slammed his nosecone right into the left side of Gabriel’s rear bumper—which was a dumb move. The force was stronger than Franco had predicted, ripping the steering wheel out of Franco’s grip and launching him headfirst over the nosecone and onto Gabriel.
That’s when it hit him, there was a sharp and blinding sting from his ribcage. His vision blurred as his helmet slammed into Gabriel’s, his hands were gripping onto Gabriel's shoulders. Both of their karts had hit the barriers, causing the marshals to pull out a red flag. Franco tried to push himself up, but the unbearable pain was hard to ignore. Holding back a sob, he moved slowly, looking down to see that his chest had slammed directly into the steering wheel.
But this can’t be? There’s a burning discomfort all around his body after the crash. Panic surged through him as he put himself down on his seat. He looked up to see Gabriel in the exact same state, holding onto his wrist and Franco could hear a faint cry from the other.
They were then escorted to the medical tent by the marshals. The humiliation stung as much as his chest, the other drivers had probably seen them getting brought out instead of rejoining the race like normal.
After thorough examination, there was a massive, ugly bruise blooming across the right side of his ribcage. They suspected that there weren't any fractures, which was obviously a relief. Franco couldn’t bear the thought of calling his parents to tell them he was being sent to a hospital, but now he just needs to get used to this new feeling called pain and having to feel it.
They settled him onto one of the foldable beds. The frame was obviously old as he could hear the metal groaning with load squeaks whenever he shifted his weight—Franco wasn’t planning on moving much anyway since every breath seemed to send a sharp pain through his chest. There wasn't much equipment in the medical tent, it wasn't for an actual injury since no one expected the kids to get actually hurt.
Franco laid there trying to steady his breathing to lessen the pain on his chest, trying to hold back his tears. He had never imagined his first experience with pain to be this unbearable, his knuckles white as he clutched the hem of his shirt. Back when he was younger in Argentina, his parents used to recall the story of how they met at every wedding anniversary. It was a classic meet-cute scenario that his younger sister loved to watch in her romcom movies.
Franco hadn’t heard the story again ever since moving out to Italy, but from what he remembered his parents had lived in the same apartment complex. And in one afternoon, his father’s dog had escaped, causing him to chase the dog all around the complex. The running dog had startled his mother who was terrified of dogs, causing the both of them to trip and tumble down to the rough concrete. Noticing the scratch on each other, that’s when they realized they were each other’s soulmate.
That last detail was what sent Franco into a panic. He snapped his head to the left, where Gabriel lay on the opposite bed, an ice pack pressed against his left wrist. Puta madre, Franco groaned—no, he must’ve gotten it all wrong. Maybe Gabriel has already met his soulmate somewhere else, that would explain why the other was injured now.
But who could have given Franco this feeling of pain when he hadn’t met anyone? Unless he had met his soulmate without realizing it? Shit, this wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. That wasn’t how his parents had described it. This is getting frustrating as stress mounted in his chest, making it hard to breathe which sent another sharp pain straight to his rib cage.
Franco swallowed hard. “Hey, Gabi. Have you… have you experienced pain before?”
Gabriel turned his head instantly to look at Franco, his facial expression blank and hard to read. Franco knew that Gabriel had been crying before, he’s curious on how bad the other’s injury would feel. Gabriel shook his head as an answer. “Nope, never felt a thing before today. And I’m guessing that you haven't either.”
“Does that mean…?”
“Yeah, Franco, I’ve realized it. We’re soulmates,” Gabriel said softly, turning back towards the ceiling.
Franco let his head fall back onto the flat pillow. La puta que me parió. This has been one of his worst weekends ever. First, he had been blocked on a flying lap; second, he had to stop his race because of a stupid crash he had made against his rival; and third, he found out that this rival is also his soulmate.
As he thought it through, he doesn’t have any problem with his soulmate being a boy—he had never dated anyone anyway, so his options were entirely open. But out of all the people in the world, it has to be Gabriel Bortoleto, his recently made rival on track.
A wave of guilt suddenly washed him when he realized how severely injured Gabriel could be. What if he had purposely ruined Gabriel’s career? What if Gabriel wouldn’t be able to kart anymore just because of his petty revenge? How was Franco supposed to move forward with his own career if he became the guy who drove his own soulmate into retirement?
“Franco, can you calm down with your breathing? I’m trying to rest,” Gabriel muttered under the pillow that is now burying his face.
“Sorry,” Franco murmured softly, sounding small. “You’re okay, right?”
With his uninjured hand, Gabriel pulled back his pillow giving Franco a glare of disbelief. “Since when do you care? You crashed into me and ruined my race.” Gabriel was clearly still pissed with the whole thing, which Franco couldn’t entirely blame him for, but Gabriel’s attitude was starting to irritate him again. Who does Gabriel think he is?
Franco sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, biting back a gasp as his ribcage was killing him. “You’re saying that as if you didn’t purposely slander me on the quali yesterday. What did you expect me to do? Let you step on me like that?”
There was a heavy silence that settled between them before Gabriel let out a soft mumble under his breath. “Well, should’ve watched your mouth next time.”
Franco frowned, completely lost as to what Gabriel was talking about. From what he had remembered, he had never badmouthed Gabriel—hell, he barely even spoke about the other.
“You know what I mean,” Gabriel pressed, still staring up at the ceiling.
“No, I really don’t”
Gabriel rolled his eyes as he forced himself to sit up, using his good hand to hold the ice pack flat against his injured wrist. Unlike Franco, he crossed his legs on the bed. “Friday. Before the match started. You said Brazil wouldn’t stand a chance against Belgium.”
Franco furrowed his brow. Did all of this rivalry really start over the world cup? “Wait, are you really telling me that this whole thing happened because of what I said about the Brazil–Belgium game?” He asked slowly, trying to make sure he hadn’t misheard Gabriel.
When Gabriel gave a single nod, Franco couldn't hold himself back. He burst into a laughing fit—which was shortly cut off as a violent stab of pain caught his ribs. “Mierda, eso duele,” he wheezed, collapsing back onto the thin mattress. Gabriel’s expression wears off into concern, “Shit, Franco, are you alright?”
Franco kept chuckling through his winces, which irritated Gabriel even more. With his good hand, Gabriel clutched onto his pillow before whipping it straight at Franco’s chest.
“Ow, that hurts even more than this,” Franco groaned, pointing towards his bruised side.
“I’m still pissed that you ruined my lap, but did you seriously do all that over what I said? Gabi, it’s just banter,” Franco said, sprawled across the bed. He hugged the pillow Gabriel had thrown at him, burying his face in it to muffle his laughter.
“Shut up,” Gabriel grumbled. “What would you do if I talk shit about Argentina? You would’ve gone crazy.”
“Yeah, well I’d kick your balls if you did that,” Franco countered. “But why didn’t you just insult me back instead of starting a whole war?”
“Me? Starting a whole war? You were the one who started this by insulting my country!”
“You messed up my qualifying time.”
“You crashed into me and got us both hurt like this,” and at that, Franco admitted his defeat. “Alright, fair point,” he carefully pushed himself upright to face Gabriel again, taking a slow breath to spare his ribs. “You still didn’t answer me. Your wrist is okay, right? What did they say?”
“It’s fine, just a sprained wrist, they said it's because I held onto the steering wheel while I crashed. Need to ice it for a bit, and they told me to rest,” Gabriel said. Franco had never heard of a sprain before, but hearing Gabriel confirm that it wasn’t serious made him let out a sigh of relief.
Still, there’s a heavy feeling of guilt in Franco. His careless action has directly hurt Gabriel, who he would later find out today was his soulmate. God, it still felt weird knowing that.
“Here, give me the ice pack.” Franco stood up slowly, fighting off a groan, and sat down on the edge of Gabriel’s bed. He held out his hand, gesturing for the ice.
Gabriel hesitated for a moment before handing it over. Franco carefully rested Gabriel’s forearm on his own lap, guiding the cold pack against the wrist area. Franco honestly doesn’t know what he’s doing, he had never iced an injury in his life, and he’s trying really hard to ignore how close Gabriel is right beside him. It was awkward, but it was the least he could do after injuring the other like this.
“How old were your parents when they met?” Gabriel’s question broke the silence, making Franco turn his head to face Gabriel. He noticed that the Brazilian had backed up a little bit, trying to restore some distance between them. Franco was quiet for a moment, looking for a number in his memory, “maybe twenty-three… twenty-four? Somewhere around there. Why?”
“My parents met when they were twenty-one,” Gabriel sighed, his eyes focused on his wrist where Franco was still holding the icepack. “I don’t know, it just felt like we’re still too young to figure all of this out now.” That statement was probably the only thing Franco had agreed with Gabriel on all afternoon.
“Don’t you think it’s better than never meeting your soulmate at all?” Franco asked. Gabriel's statement reminded him of one of the gossips he heard back home about one of his neighbors, already in their 50s and never having met their soulmate at all. “If my soulmate turns out to be you, well yeah that sounds better.”
“Shut up,” Franco muttered in annoyance. “What are we even supposed to do now after finding out about this… soulmate thing? Go on a date?” Franco muttered in pure confusion. That was what his parents had done after they found each other, but they were in their mid-twenties with stable jobs. Franco and Gabriel were just fifteen and fourteen, stranded in Italy with twenty euros left for tonight’s dinner.
“Well, you do owe me that,” Gabriel responded dryly, his hand resting over Franco’s, guiding the position of the ice pack towards his wrist.
“I owe you a coke and a bag of chips from the vending machine outside.”
“That sounds fair.”