Work Text:
Jaehyun could hear bookmakers’ cries since early afternoon, when there were barely a handful of patrons watching newbies take the tracks. It was race night, as most nights were, at least for him, and though often private affairs, that one was part of the quarterly program. With tickets open for the general public, hours later neither the staff’s tone nor their spiel had changed in the slightest, instead gaining traction with the raucous atmosphere of the evening’s filled seats.
Jaehyun drowned out the shouted odds as he tugged on the bridle of his colt. The deceptively dramatic numbers in the mouths of those bookmakers had bets rolling in even from people who had no idea what they meant, but those weren’t the ones Jaehyun paid attention to. Above the stands, in the club’s private viewing rooms, betting rings whispered of slightly different odds, just enough so they could be passed as honest mistakes to the average spectator. Those were the ones he kept an open ear to.
At track level, Jaehyun could barely recognize the figures roaming the booths, let alone catch the muttered numbers and secretive predictions inside. He knew that one senator’s silhouette, though, stocky form in an incredibly flashy plum colored suit — no doubt his sponsor’s guest of the night, already seated serene in all black and gold accents, perhaps raising a glass to Jaehyun, perhaps not even looking his way.
Those were all the odds he needed to hear.
It’s a clear night, kid, the man once said when Jaehyun was still green on the racecourse, a heavy hand on his then scrawny, adolescent shoulders. Quite suitable for business. An unfortunate race won’t cloud it, hm?
Jaehyun was on first name basis with all jockeys sharing the tracks with him that night. But none of their surnames were going to be listed above his own.
—
For a jockey to roam the the private booths’ corridors wasn’t entirely unusual, considering how often newer patrons put their curious kids to race, and how many more became sponsors when none of their children returned the investments.
Jaehyun would always feel out of place doing so, though, shaking hands with the greying men on his way easily enough, laughing at their dry jokes, overlooking the thinly veiled propositions of the more brazen ones, and ignoring the unabashed jealous eyes of the quieter ones too.
It hadn’t taken an entire semester for Jaehyun to make a name for himself after his first derby, and even less to realize he would find no better sponsors than the Kims. Not if he stayed in the country, not if continued to race. He wouldn’t be the last kid the Kims picked up for that purpose in case he jumped ships, anyway — he hadn’t even been the first. And though Johnny was a force to be reckoned with in polo, and no one could quite replicate Taeyong’s dexterity in vaulting, nor Yuta’s jumping precision, none of them were ever able to come near Jaehyun in a racecourse. Johnny’s salary in his new foreign polo team did buy the Kims a new barn recently, but it was Jaehyun’s performance on the turf that had Mr. Kim on the phone in the middle of the night, managing offshore accounts a few time zones away. That had parliament members opening wine bottles in his jockey club’s private viewing booth.
That had the family’s youngest waiting alone in a purposefully dark balcony.
“You’re cutting it awfully close, Jung,” was a warmer greeting than any of the patrons had given him on his way there, even if it sounded distracted, coming from a turned face.
“I’m no proper jockey without a ritual, lucky charm,” Jaehyun whispered on Doyoung’s nape, only to be pushed away before he could feel tender skin bubble up in goosebumps against his mouth.
“My father has a guest today.”
“That he does.”
Fighting the stubborn raising corner of his mouth, Jaehyun made a show of stepping away and clasping his hands behind his back, waiting for Doyoung to filter his many knee jerk passive aggressive responses. Difficult, Doyoung was always so deliciously difficult when he couldn’t admit he needed a favor from Jaehyun.
“Anyone could see the senator’s peculiar taste in suits from all the way down there.”
“Then you know you’ll be in trouble if someone catches you here.”
And even so, you waited for me, but Jaehyun still glanced back to the corridor purely out of habit. If any of the patrons caught the two dimly lit figures on a forgotten balcony with only a skewed side view of the tracks, they most likely wouldn’t think much of it. And even if they did, Jaehyun had been crafting excuses to find himself around Kim family’s youngest since before he began racing, anyway.
“I can tell them you’re coaching me,” Jaehyun rested an elbow on the railing, leaning in, “running me through the odds, that something about the races finally peaked the youngest Kim’s interest,” he lowered his voice, to the tone that got the tip of Doyoung’s ears red, even if his face remained passive, “or that someone did.”
When Doyoung raised his gaze to finally meet Jaehyun’s, when his hands twitched and balled up on the railings, when he remained rooted to the spot instead of stepping away from Jaehyun’s advances — that tense half second where he looked so close to giving in, that was Jaehyun’s lucky charm.
Will you win for me? the Doyoung of his imagination would ask, and what will I get in return? he would counter. Sometimes that Doyoung would answer with whatever you want — on bad days, earn it first, and on exceptionally good ones, the Doyoung of his imagination would answer with me.
But the young master a stuttered breath away from him not once met the expectations of the character Jaehyun made up in his head, and so Doyoung pushed him away a second time, a hand raising, wrist barely covering his blushing cheeks.
That was never something dream Doyoung would do, but the real thing almost made his fantasies pale in comparison.
Almost.
“If you’ve got time to be cheeky,” Doyoung grumbled, “I’m sure that means this arrogance will hold up in the podium?”
It could’ve passed as a lighthearted comment, an expected demand from the son of his sponsor. But Jaehyun knew Doyoung since the time the young master’s biggest struggle was having his then metal wired mouth accompany his quick mind, and he knew there was much more to a sentence like that. Doyoung was asking it of him, an uncharacteristic fragility in his tone, a mute stutter only audible to Jaehyun’s trained ears in the young master’s personal language. It sent a thrilling spark down Jaehyun’s spine. Doyoung was hiding something.
“You can rest assured it will,” an absentminded brush to the back of a resting hand on the rails, a wandering gaze between eyes and lips, “as long as you’re watching me.”
Doyoung seemed to hesitate at first, though they both knew the answer. With such a distinguished guest on the Kim family’s booth, Mr. Kim wouldn’t waste a single moment entertaining his own son; Doyoung most likely wasn’t even supposed to be there. There was only one reason why he’d come to the tracks anyway, standing alone by a hidden balcony in the chilly breeze to only head back inside after meeting a particular jockey on his way. “I’ll be watching.”
—
The sound of hooves finally on the turf was enough to dwindle the raucous atmosphere on the stands, breaths being held in anticipation, bookmakers taking their seats.
Jaehyun couldn’t make any of the dimly lit faces anxiously staring at the jockeys, but he could still see the stark silhouettes all gathered by the glass of the private viewing rooms. Mr. Kim still sat, looking as if he’d not moved a muscle since the previous hour, senator Noh the only figure on that floor still carelessly moving around, much like a novice spectator of the program — which, having only taken post within the semester, he undoubtedly was.
And they were joined now by two new figures, in the sprawled out form of the likely already inebriated eldest Kim son, and the slightly distant from the rest in his elegant, if not arrogant, stance of the family’s youngest.
There was no way to confirm such a thing, but that didn’t stop Jaehyun from imagining the phantom gaze of Doyoung on him before the second floor’s light disappeared beyond the awning of his gate. Neither had superhuman eyesight, and Jaehyun had gotten a new uniform since Doyoung had last come to a program, but he still liked to daydream about having the object of his fixations having locked sights on him too.
Opening and closing his hands on the reins, Jaehyun stood up on the stirrups before carefully lowering himself back down. He didn’t have pre-race frights — those were reserved to jockeys who had a shaky faith on their horses, and shakier faith on their own abilities. But the sharp autumn air on his face reminded Jaehyun of raising skin against his lips, and he felt antsier than usual with the intrusive thoughts of a certain body between his arms.
His colt snorted softly underneath him.
“Very true, buddy,” he muttered back, locking his heels in place and watching the colt’s ears turn in attention. “The only one who should be acting like a raging teenager out of us is you.”
And Jaehyun really didn’t get pre-race frights, but the knowledge that he had someone to impress when he’s used to simply enjoying the competition made a beaded drop of sweat roll down the side of his neck. Never mind distinguished names, important guests — those were in Mr. Kim’s booth frequently enough. But that was Doyoung’s first time there that month.
I’ll be watching.
The young master has no qualms in expressing his views about the races at any given opportunity, to any willing ear. Silly and god complex were frequent adjectives in his mouth, but legal corruption and nothing but a lobbying front were reserved for when he spit out hisses with the intent of hurting Jaehyun’s feelings.
Which they did, when they were both still in their teens, and Jaehyun still believed in the sacredness of any organized sport. As things were, Doyoung’s venomous words and angry flushed demeanor were only incredibly arousing in Jaehyun’s eyes.
He didn’t care about Mr. Kim’s ultimate goals nor had any interest in eventual passing checks and roundabout conversations that took place in the club using him as a front, so long as he had a roof over his head, twenty year old liquor bottles by his nightstand, and a thoroughbred to race with. He didn’t think Doyoung had much place to complain either, when he would undoubtedly be the one inheriting the barns in place of his older brother. But the young master still ran his mouth, and Jaehyun still entertained him, and dejectedly hoped he’d one day impress him enough on the tracks to change his mind, or in the very least, earn his respect.
And as the bell sounded and the gate doors slammed open, Jaehyun’s whip coming down on the skin of his colt, he once again hoped that night could be the one he would.
—
The seventh gate was by no means ideal for a jockey, but Jaehyun never had luck on his side, and so overcoming his awful position draws was how he made his name.
He didn’t fire out to an early lead — this colt wasn’t his usual sprinter. Instead he moved further outside, creeping up from a safe distance as the lower number gates’ sprinters quickly began to lose steam. The half mile pole only registered to Jaehyun once he leaned into the first turn, bursting towards the front of jockeys that went in with too much speed, and struggled to regain control. There were four horses ahead of him, four horses between him and the inside railing, four horses momentarily keeping him out of the podium. Bringing down his whip again in the flat stretch, he could feel the shifting speed of the muscles locked between his calves, his own legs already burning to sustain himself up with that movement. Two horses now.
The infield jockey couldn’t be on the lead for more than a length, being constantly boxed in by the runner ups, half stumbles scratching his stirrups against the railings — a sound that spurred Jaehyun’s colt, hooves digging the turf just a bit harder. Coming out of the second turn opened a greater distance between them and the initial sprinters, and though still distant, the finishing pole was already on sight.
His muscles ached and the booming noise from the stands made it hard for Jaehyun to hear any jockeys creeping up to him, but the split second eye movement to check up on competition at that last stretch could, and most likely would, cost him the podium.
Clenching the whip against the colt’s neck and leaning further forward, Jaehyun settled heavy hands against the withers, head lowering as he stretched his legs. That was how he made his career, that was how he won his races. Where reaching the finishing pole felt like a drag for most, putting forward spent-horses-made-sprinters just for the fleeting satisfaction of firing out in the lead, to Jaehyun that was where the unbridled speed of the creatures underneath him allowed him to fly for a moment. He always put his whip away before the second turn, relying on shouted nonsensical made up commands to spur on his horses, warmed up enough throughout the past mile to zero in the simple act of running at their absolute full speed. It was where his hands loosened minutely on the reins, where he relied on his burning muscles to stay atop of the saddle while his colt ran free, eyes closing in a sharp inhale as the finishing bell sounded.
And opening them again to a vision unobstructed by any jockeys in front of him.
The crowd cheered in time with the thrumming of his blood, tightening the reins back with one hand as he threw the other up, exhilarated. Jaehyun let his horse continue for the next quarter mile, only properly sitting back when they reached a turn, the colt falling into a slow canter as the other jockeys slowly gathered around them.
“Fuck you, Jung,” Mingyu panted good heartedly to his left, no doubt having placed.
“You had me scared for a second,” he replied, earning a light swing of a whip in his general direction. “That was an actual fantastic start for you there.”
“Damned eager rookies boxing me in. I’m telling you, had this been fair, you’d have eaten dirt.”
“Put excuse #23 to rest, will you,” Jaehyun laughed as Mingyu raised a middle finger, turning around first.
The noises from the stands hadn’t diminished in the least when Jaehyun approached them, eyes focused on the strip of light behind glass on the second floor. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist, he tried once again to focus on the figures he hoped were still standing there, beyond the blurriness in his vision from the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
Until a hand rested by his gloves, heart shooting up to his throat as he dismounted clumsily, making the least amount of movements possible as to not dislodge the hand from the top of his.
It’s not that he was expecting to hear a good job or even congratulations, not from Doyoung, but he still wished he could hear something. For the few seconds they had together before a swarm of reporters descended onto them, Jaehyun wished Doyoung would do more than just stand with him in a mildly annoyed eye lock.
“It’s almost like you didn’t actually want me to win.”
Doyoung clicked his tongue, Jaehyun’s words seemingly snapping him out of his daze. “I’m just debating whether it was the right thing to do. To— let you compete without knowing what your podium position would result in.”
Frowning, Jaehyun’s hands tightened on the reins when Doyoung slowly let his own fall. “What do you mean?”
“Jung,” Mr. Kim’s voice sounded over the chitchat of journalists orbiting around them, steps timed with the blinding flashes of their cameras. “Decent performance, kid.” He stepped in front of his son as if Doyoung wasn’t even there, locking hands with Jaehyun in a firm greeting as he turned slightly around, profile sharp for the pictures. “Got me thinking senator Noh’s proposition wasn’t all that bad.”
“Sir?”
In the literal shadow of his own father, Jaehyun could only see the young master slightly lower his head, looking away, as if that was somehow an uncomfortable conversation he’d had before.
“We have all reached a consensus that local competitions are a waste of the Kim’s barns talents. You’ve seen it with Johnny — how well the boy has adapted abroad,” how fatter our bank accounts had gotten because of him, went unsaid. “And we think you’d be the next logical step for us.”
Abroad, too? Was the question in Jaehyun’s eyes, that he didn’t dare saying out loud, eyes focused on Doyoung’s turned face. You wanted to send me away so badly that you needed to make sure I’d win?
“This will be a more appropriate talk for the celebratory dinner. We have a lot to discuss still, considering Doyoung will have to finally learn the ropes of the trade, if he’s to accompany you in my place.”
Jaehyun was aware his eyebrow raise was already more dramatic than the look in Doyoung’s eyes, whipping his head back up at the sentence, but he couldn’t help the smirk that pulled the corner of his mouth as the young master’s gaze couldn’t seem to settle between his father and Jaehyun.
Returning the still iron grip on his hand, Jaehyun nodded. “The night will surely be a long one, then.”