Work Text:
Minghao turns up to headquarters that week like always before the competition season starts.
It's a Tuesday. They're supposed to be finalizing some engineering data and running simulations before testing begins at the end of the month.
He locks his sports car, slips on his sunglasses, and heads inside the giant Pledis building.
Everything is exactly the same as always.
Only, when he enters headquarters, it's completely packed with staff.
“What's going on?” Minghao asks one of the Pledis engineers nearby. “Why is the entire company here?”
“Not sure,” she shrugs. “Some sort of surprise meeting.”
Minghao frowns. A surprise meeting? Now? Testing is just a few weeks away, what could possibly be going on?
“Jihoon didn't tell me anything,” Minghao grumbles to himself. It was weird for their team principal to not fill him in on giant meetings like this.
“Hao!” A loud voice calls out from behind him, a voice that he knows like the back of his hand from hearing it almost every weekend.
“Mingyu,” he turns to see his race engineer jogging up to him. “What the hell is going on?”
“Good to see you, too, man,” Mingyu laughs. “I've actually got no clue what's happening. Everyone got the email to show up here last night.”
Minghao frowns in confusion. Weird. Very unlike Pledis. Did he miss a text about this or something?
He startles out of his thoughts when the entire room bursts into applause, turning towards the raised platform at the back of the room.
Jihoon, Pledis’ team principal, is standing on it, waving to everyone with a smile. Although he's quite small, the power he holds over the room is palpable.
“Good morning, everyone,” Jihoon says into a microphone as the room dies down. “I hope you are all doing well. I apologize for the last-minute announcement.”
He clears his throat. He looks tense, nervous, the way he does when their race results aren't shaping up to be what they should be.
Minghao doesn't have a good feeling about this.
“I have called you all here today to let you know first hand before the news gets out that,” Jihoon takes a breath, “unfortunately, one of our very talented drivers will not be returning with us in the 2024 season.”
Mingyu whips his head to the side to look at Minghao with bewilderment. Minghao is just as shocked as he is.
“Yoon Jeonghan has decided to part ways with us and sign a contract with a different team, JYP,” Jihoon continues. “He will be dearly missed, but we wish him luck in his future endeavors. In the meantime, we will be seeking someone to fill his seat over the next few weeks. I know it's cutting it close with testing, but we will do our best considering the circumstances. Thank you all for your time.”
Jihoon walks off as everyone starts muttering amongst themselves.
“Did you know that was going to happen?” Mingyu asks.
“Obviously not,” Minghao scoffs, running a hand through his hair worriedly. “Why the fuck didn't Jihoon tell me?”
“Leaving right before testing is so weird,” Mingyu says. “Like, did he want to sabotage the team? Think this is some kind of mind trick?”
Minghao shoots him a look. “You know, sometimes when you talk about Jeonghan, you make it sound like he's not one of our closest friends.”
“I'm just saying,” Mingyu shrugs. “We've known him for years, I don't think he's above a little intentional payback for not getting any podiums last season.”
Minghao hums in thought. It's true, Jeonghan had mentioned leaving a few times if another opportunity arose. Last season had been his worst in his Formula One career.
Still, he would expect more of a head's up from him or Jihoon before announcing something like this to everyone else.
“Mr. Xu,” a young woman in a pencil skirt approaches him. “Mr. Lee requests you in his office.”
Minghao sighs. “Alright. See you in the data room, Gyu.”
“Yep,” Mingyu nods, then holds up his phone. “I'm gonna call Jeonghan and yell at him.”
“Tell him he's a dick,” Minghao says, already walking to the elevators. “And tell him that JYP is a midfield team!”
He hears Mingyu's laugh ring out as he reaches the elevator doors. Minghao gets in the open one and hits the “13” button before Jihoon’s secretary can.
They ride in silence as Minghao thinks about what this means for the upcoming season.
Who will his new teammate be? Maybe the JYP reserve driver kid Jeonghan’s now replaced? Surely Jihoon wouldn't pick someone as inexperienced as Lee Jooyeon to join Pledis.
In a sport like Formula 1, where the 20 best drivers in the world are all battling it out to come in first by the end of the year, their team needs someone already at their best. Not a rookie.
The elevator doors slide open, and the secretary steps out to lead him to Jihoon’s office.
“Minghao,” Jihoon says when he enters. “Sit.”
Minghao does, and waits for the secretary to shut the door before he starts speaking.
“What the hell is going on, Jihoon,” he says more than asks.
“I know,” the team principal sighs. “He told me this morning.”
“This morning?” Minghao repeats. “How long has he known?”
“Since the deal was finalized yesterday.”
Minghao furrows his brow in thought. “Is this intentional sabotage from them? JYP?”
“Please,” Jihoon scoffs. “Soonyoung wouldn't dare to cross me. Not on the track, anyway.”
“Fine,” he relents, running a hand through his hair. “Then what the fuck are we going to do about it?”
“The team and I are working through a list of suitable options.”
“And the options are…?”
His mind immediately goes to Joshua or Seungcheol, both on HYBE's team. They’d be a good match, and not so lacking in skill that they couldn't earn the team points, maybe even podiums. The contract negotiations may be a little tricky at this stage, but if there’s one thing Jihoon’s capable of, it’s getting what he wants.
“We are evaluating it, Minghao. Everyone on the grid, every reserve driver, every kid in F2,” Jihoon says pointedly. “We will handle it.”
“We need a win this year, Jihoon. You can't just pick any random driver on the grid and expe–”
“Minghao,” Jihoon says sternly. “We will take care of it."
Minghao feels the urge to keep arguing with him, but he sighs instead.
“Okay. I trust you.”
—
He storms into Pledis headquarters the moment he sees the headline.
Rookie, Belift reserve driver Wen Junhui selected to replace Yoon Jeonghan at Pledis
Minghao couldn't believe it.
He specifically told Jihoon not to pick some random fucker who is bound to ruin their chance at a constructors’ win for the team this season. He put his faith and trust into him and Pledis, and this is what they give him to work with?
“There better be a good fucking explanation for this, Jihoon,” Minghao snaps as he swings the door to Jihoon’s office open unannounced.
“Minghao? You, uh, you weren't supposed to be here yet,” Jihoon says, eyes shifting between him in the doorway and the man sitting in front of his desk.
Minghao's eyes widen as the man turns to look at him.
“Junhui is here to sign some documents and tour headquarters,” Jihoon explains. “Attend the data and simulations meeting.”
“Xu Minghao,” Junhui says, looking him up and down, then standing and sticking out his hand. “It's really great to meet you. I'm Wen–”
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Minghao cuts him off. “Listen, can we talk, Jihoon? Alone.”
Jihoon presses his lips together, then lets out a long sigh. “Junhui, can you step outside for a second?”
Junhui looks between both of them, then awkwardly gives a quick nod and rushes outside without another word.
“How is he the suitable option for us?” Minghao asks as soon as the door shuts.
“We weighed all our options, and he seemed like the best fit,” Jihoon says calmly.
“He's a reserve driver for a team that's consistently at the bottom,” Minghao counters.
“He was a high performer in F2,” Jihoon says. “We've vetted him, Minghao. He's the real deal.”
He scoffs, crossing his arms. “If he was the real deal, he’d have been in a Grand Prix by now.”
“He just needs a chance, Minghao.”
“A chance to do what? Destroy our team’s reputation right when we’ve just started earning respect?”
“Do you think I can't do my job?” Jihoon asks in exasperation. “You think I don't care about the wellbeing of my own team?”
“It's not that,” Minghao sighs. “I just don't know how you could go behind my back and pick the exact opposite of what I asked for.”
“My role here is not to give you everything you ask for,” Jihoon says. “I believe that he is the best choice. I have faith in him. You should too, Hao.”
“I want the win again this year, Jihoon,” Minghao admits, “but I want the team to get the constructors’ win more. It can't just be me in this.”
“And it won’t be,” his team principal insists. “Junhui is capable of helping us secure this.”
Minghao still isn't convinced, but he's not making any progress with Jihoon like this.
“We’ll see how he fares in testing,” Minghao grumbles, moving towards the door.
“One day you'll be thanking me for picking him,” Jihoon says behind him.
Minghao lets the door shut loudly behind him, startling Junhui, who's been waiting just next to it.
“Sorry, I promise I wasn't eavesdropping,” Junhui raises his hands in mock surrender.
Minghao stares at him. “It's fine…you're free to go back in.”
He starts walking away, thinking about heading to the main data room to debrief all of this with Mingyu, when Junhui stops him.
“Uh, wait!” Junhui calls out. “I just have a couple of questions.”
Minghao pauses in his tracks. “About?”
“Well, I was just wondering about the team. Do you like them?” Junhui asks. “I mean, you've stayed with them for a while now, so I assume you must. I've never been around the part of the paddock near Pledis, being with Belift and all, so I was just curious.”
“Right,” Minghao forces a tight smile. “The team is…good. All F1 teams have pros and cons, but this one has less cons than others.”
Cons, like having a rookie driver on their team. Minghao can already hear the TV announcers buzzing about it.
A driver who hasn't even driven in an F1 Grand Prix paired alongside the Pledis driver fresh off a World Drivers’ Championship win. They'll be the laughing stock of the grid.
“Good,” Junhui smiles back, but his seems genuine. “I just wanted to be sure since the offer came kind of out of the blue, after Jeonghan's announcement and all.”
“Yeah, it was definitely out of the blue,” Minghao mutters. “Is that all? I'm kind of in the middle of something.”
“Oh, right,” Junhui says apologetically. “My bad. I should probably get back in there anyways. I'll see you in a while for simulations?”
Minghao just gives him a curt nod and is surprised when Junhui even smiles at that. Does he ever stop fucking smiling?
“Cool. See you!”
Minghao rolls his eyes at his enthusiasm as soon as he turns his back. Naive fucking rookies.
—
Two weeks later, they touch down in Bahrain for testing.
Thankfully, Minghao has had minimal interactions with Junhui at headquarters over the past few weeks. He supposes the huge team of engineers working with each of them on their respective strategies and cars helped with that.
Minghao enters the paddock wearing a rather revealing mesh outfit. Cameras flash like they always do, but he's certain there are more this time.
Good. He wants the attention. Set the tone of the season.
He makes it past the paparazzi and hands one of his many luxury bags off to his assistant. Just before he can head to his trailer, someone taps his shoulder.
“I thought that was you,” Junhui towers over him, grinning. “But who else would be wearing Louis Vuitton to the paddock?”
“Did you need something?” Minghao asks in a bored tone, pushing his sunglasses onto his head.
“Just saying hi,” Junhui chirps. “You ready for testing?”
“This isn't my first testing session,” Minghao openly rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should be asking yourself that.”
“Well, I am pretty nervous,” Junhui says, as if he didn't even notice Minghao's biting words. “I was hoping you could give me some pointers before we head out there.”
“Don't crash,” Minghao says flatly.
“...Right,” Junhui says. “Anything else?”
“Nope. We done here?”
“I guess…” Junhui trails off, and Minghao slips his glasses back onto his face, taking a few steps towards his trailer.
“It's just that,” Junhui starts again, “I would love to learn from you. Your F1 journey is really inspiring, and I just…it would be awesome to know as much as possible about the sport. While I'm here.”
Minghao lets out a sigh. His sincerity was starting to get embarrassing. In such a cutthroat sport where you could fall from the top at any moment, Junhui needed more of a backbone.
“Honestly, I have nothing to teach you,” Minghao shrugs. “Jihoon’s better for that kind of thing.”
“Yeah, but Jihoon's not on the track,” Junhui points out.
Minghao has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes again. “Then ask one of the other drivers, Junhui, because I'm not here to be your little teacher. Don't expect me to give you the manual on everything you need to know about racing. Figure it out yourself, just like we all had to.”
Junhui is stunned into silence.
Minghao finally manages to walk away from him and get inside his trailer to change into his gear, slamming the door behind him.
About two hours later, he slams it shut again after the testing session finishes.
“How the fuck did he go faster than me?!” Minghao grunts, head in his hands.
“No idea,” Mingyu says, pacing around the tiny trailer room. “I can ask Wonwoo about it?”
Minghao lifts his head. “Who?”
“His engineer,” Mingyu raises an eyebrow at him. “Didn't even care to learn that, did you?”
“Well, I thought he wasn't even going to be good, but here we are,” Minghao sighs, running a hand through his hair. “A fucking Belift reserve driver topping the times.”
Minghao hasn't felt this threatened by another driver since he first started on the grid.
“If you kept up with it, you would've known he was basically winning every race in F2 like two years ago,” Mingyu says.
“It's not my fault I have no time to keep up with that shit,” Minghao snaps defensively. “I've got my own races to win.”
“Anyways,” Mingyu ignores Minghao's egotistical comment, “I’ll see if I can get some insight into the strategy. We did have a minor front wing issue after that wall touch on turn 16, so maybe it had something to do with that.”
“This is bullshit,” Minghao groans, letting his head collapse against his trailer’s couch. “You know all they're going to take away from this is that he's better than me.”
“The media are just trying to get their clicks and their ad revenue,” Mingyu reassures him. “Whatever they say means nothing. Results are what matters, Hao.”
“Yeah, and I clearly got a bad one today,” he huffs.
“Look, I know you're pissed off, but now is the time to focus,” Mingyu urges. “The real racing doesn't begin until next week. Plenty of time to change things around.”
Minghao spends two more seconds wallowing about the results before he gives in with a sigh.
“You're right,” he says. “I guess the real work begins now.”
“That's the spirit,” Mingyu grins, clapping him on the shoulder.
Maybe this was just a testing fluke, he thinks. Maybe Mingyu is right.
—
“First things first, welcome back,” a journalist, Boo Seungkwan, greets them. “How are you all feeling ahead of the first race of the season here in Bahrain?”
As always, Seungcheol is the first of the drivers to speak. “Yeah, I think we're all pretty excited! It's always great to be in Bahrain. Everyone has been very kind, and the energy of the fans is on another level.”
“Now, we obviously have to address the surprise announcements prior to Bahrain. Jeonghan, let's start with you,” Seungkwan says. “What influenced your decision to move to JYP?”
“This guy, for one,” Jeonghan grins, jerking a thumb in Minghao's direction. “I mean, he's relentless on track. Can't work with him.”
The room erupts into laughter, and Minghao just flashes a small smile in Jeonghan's direction.
He knows he's just joking, but he wouldn't blame him if it was mostly based in truth. It's fair.
“No, in all seriousness, I just think it was time for something different. I've been with Pledis for nearly five years,” Jeonghan says. “I'm proud of what I accomplished there, but this offer came along and I figured, ‘Why not?’”
“That brings me to my next question. Junhui,” Seungkwan turns his head toward the new Pledis driver. “You've had quite the start with Pledis already this past week in testing. How do you expect that to translate into your performance on the track this weekend? Do you think you can pull off a podium finish?”
“Uh, I mean, I hope to try and get, um, some good results for the team,” Junhui stumbles over his words.
His microphone is moving a little, and Minghao realizes his hand is shaking.
“But not too good,” Minghao abruptly says into his own mic, drawing more laughs from the media.
Junhui shoots him a confused look that melts into a small grateful smile. Minghao clears his throat and trains his eyes on Seungkwan instead.
“I had wondered how you might react to Junhui's results, Minghao,” Seungkwan starts in on him. “A rookie going faster than a reigning champion is always a surprise.”
“Right,” Minghao says, thinking of the best PR-friendly response for this. “It is certainly a surprise, but a welcome one. It's always nice to have some excitement on the grid.”
“And in terms of how this will impact the first race…?”
Minghao knows what kind of answer Seungkwan wants here. He knows he's fishing for a soundbite. He knows he needs to control his temper.
He takes a deep breath. “Anything could happen. We'll see how this weekend goes.”
Seungkwan stares him down for a moment, then shifts his attention to Mark Lee, the Canadian driver at SM.
“Last year, Mark, you placed third on this track…”
When they finally all escape the clutches of the press, Junhui parts through the sea of drivers to walk alongside Minghao back towards the Pledis garage.
Minghao pretends not to notice him hovering next to him, like maybe if he gives him the silent treatment Junhui will leave him alone.
“Why did you do that? Back there.”
No such luck.
“Do what?” Minghao asks.
“Help me,” Junhui answers. “I mean, I think it was fairly obvious I was freaking out.”
“Seungkwan can be…a lot,” Minghao sighs. “And he's better than most of them. I just wanted to shut him up.”
“Well,” Junhui smiles. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Don't thank me,” Minghao says. “Consider it a one time deal.”
“Got it,” Junhui nods. “I'll see you out there for practice then.”
The Bahrain weekend ends with Minghao standing in the second place spot on the podium, and Junhui watching on from the crowd of Pledis engineers and team members.
Fourth. Not too good, like Minghao said. But not bad either.
He makes eye contact with Junhui as the Korean national anthem plays while Jeon Jungkook celebrates his first place win for BigHit.
It feels good. To prove that he still has it, regardless of what the media thought.
Minghao grins for the first time in two weeks when he pops his bottle of celebratory champagne.
—
“And that's pole position, Hao!” Mingyu exclaims in his ears.
“Let's fucking go!” Minghao yells over the radio. “That's what I'm talking about!”
He pulls his car into the spot reserved for the nmber one qualifying car and shuts off the engine. Minghao hoists himself out of the top of the car, standing and holding his hands into the shape of an 8 up to the grandstand.
The fans cheer as Minghao dashes over to the Pledis team and gives them high fives. He quickly weighs himself, then takes off his helmet and gives Joshua a quick pat on the back for qualifying second.
“Good job, man,” Joshua grins.
“You too,” Minghao smiles. “Something about Saudi Arabia makes you drive better.”
“Very funny, asshole,” the HYBE driver rolls his eyes, then nods over to the interview area. “Jeonghan's wrapping up. Looks like it's my time to shine.”
Joshua goes over to take the microphone from Jeonghan, who heads towards Minghao.
“Back on top,” Jeonghan says, dabbing at the beads of sweat on his forehead. “How's it feel?”
“I didn't know you were in charge of the interviews now,” Minghao jokes.
“Just prepping myself for my illustrious F1 commentator career,” Jeonghan laughs. “Happy for you, man. Happier for Josh though.”
Minghao laughs and shoves at his shoulder before he heads over to take the mic from Joshua.
“Xu Minghao, in pole position for the first time this season,” Seungkwan says when he steps into the camera frame. “How does it feel?”
“It feels great, always great to finish P1,” Minghao says, adjusting his Pledis cap on his head. “It's only the second race of the season, but it's definitely a step up from qualifying fourth last week.”
“Your teammate, Wen Junhui, qualified fifth. How do you feel about the team's progress so far this season?”
Unbelievable. He's the one who placed on pole and he's still getting questions about Junhui.
“Like I said,” Minghao has to hold his tongue, “it's only the second race of the season. We're doing well overall, but obviously a lot of work left to be done. Hoping to take advantage of my position and turn this into a good result tomorrow.”
“Thank you for your time,” Seungkwan ends the interview. “Best of luck.”
Minghao follows Jeonghan and Joshua into one of the tents along the paddock to do more press along with the other drivers, working their way down the line of people with microphones and cameras.
He realizes Junhui is next to him when he's halfway through the line, and he can't help but listen in.
“...that, do you think you stand a chance against your teammate this season?”
“Well, um, Minghao is obviously an incredibly talented driver,” Junhui says. “He's a world champion. But I think, you know, I have the ambition and the ability to compete against him if it comes down to it. I mean…”
Minghao tunes back out. So, Junhui thinks he has what it takes to compete against him. Interesting.
“Minghao?”
He blinks out of his thoughts and refocuses on the journalist in front of him.
“Sorry. Can you repeat that?”
Minghao blames Junhui’s words for the reason why he ends up placing third in the race the next day.
He forces a smile as he, Jungkook and Seungcheol do their little celebratory podium show, but he just wants to go fucking home.
He can't believe he was right there, right in first, and he just let it go. So much for competing.
As soon as he escapes the camera flashes and interviewers and fans begging for autographs, he heads towards his trailer.
Unfortunately, he bumps into Junhui on the way.
“Hey, nice racing out there,” Junhui gives him a bright smile. “Our first back-to-back finish! Third and fourth isn't half bad.”
“You're right,” Minghao scoffs. “It's more than half bad. It's terrible.”
Junhui's face falls. “What? What do you mean?”
“Third is nothing to celebrate,” Minghao says. “Certainly not fourth.”
“I…I just thought–”
“Just stay out of my way, Junhui,” Minghao mutters, pushing past him.
He leaves Saudi Arabia filled with regret.
—
“So today we're just going to have you guys play a little game…”
Minghao fights the urge to roll his eyes as he tries to pay attention to what their social media manager is telling them.
He thinks playing these games for a couple thousand or so views is fucking stupid. Every time he's forced to play one he thinks about how the early F1 greats never had to do shit like this.
But he'll grin and bear it and play the game if he has to. If that's what keeps people tuning in.
“...Okay, first up, name a Chinese dish in five seconds.”
“Hot pot,” they both say at the same time, surprising each other.
“This one,” Minghao gives his best chuckle, pointing at Junhui, “he's always eating it. I swear he's made of hot pot.”
“That's not true!” Junhui protests, half-laughing in disbelief that Minghao is acting so…friendly. “I eat more than that, I swear.”
“I'll believe it when I see it,” Minghao shakes his head.
“Name three Formula One teams besides Pledis in five seconds.”
“JYP…Starship,” Junhui lists, looking up and frowning, “and, uh…”
“JYP, Starship, and Cube!” Minghao exclaims, grinning as Junhui groans.
“That's not even fair,” his teammate complains. “He stole half the answers from me!”
“You've got to be faster, Jun,” Minghao teases, waggling his eyebrows at Junhui until he lightly shoves at Minghao's shoulder.
“See how competitive he is, guys?” Junhui asks, lips upturned as he looks into the camera.
“Only against you,” Minghao says, turning to Junhui with a smile.
Junhui holds his gaze for a moment, and they sit there, smiling at each other. It's weird how natural it is, Minghao thinks, to pretend to be cordial with each other.
They turn their attention back to their social media manager as she reads off another question.
“Name another driver on the grid in five seconds.”
“Xu Minghao,” Junhui answers..
“Johnny Suh,” Minghao says at the same time.
He kind of does it on purpose, just to not grant Junhui the satisfaction.
Junhui glances at him out of the corner of his eye and shakes his head, smiling like he knows.
Minghao wonders if he does.
“Okay, since we're here in Australia, list three animals…”
They continue playing the game until their manager calls out, “Cut!”
Minghao sighs in relief and stands from his chair, stripping off his mic and handing it off to someone. He's eager to get over to the garage ahead of practice one in a few hours.
Junhui scrambles to catch up to Minghao, and Minghao physically tenses when he hears the sound of his irritating footsteps behind him.
“That was fun, huh?” Junhui asks, voice all bright.
“Sure,” Minghao shrugs. “Just another day on the job.”
“Right. The job…” Junhui murmurs, then brightens up again. “Are you ready for this weekend?”
“Junhui,” Minghao huffs, stopping abruptly and catching the taller man off guard. “I don't know if you've noticed, but the game is over. Please stop asking me useless questions.”
Junhui watches Minghao walk away with a confused, dazed look on his face.
Minghao doesn't know how it could be any more obvious that all of that was for show. Some things in F1 are just a PR game, especially when it comes to these stupid paired videos.
He supposes his irritation towards Junhui fuels him that weekend, as Minghao finishes first.
Finally, his first fucking win of the season.
Junhui watches on with the team as Minghao steps onto the podium, hands raised in the air with a giant grin spread across his face.
He wonders if the only time Minghao ever smiles is when he's winning.
—
Minghao groans internally when Junhui sits next to him on the plane to Japan.
It's a private plane for crying out loud, there's plenty of room for both of them to pretend like the other person doesn't exist.
But of course, Wen Junhui insists on pestering him.
“I’ve heard that this is one of your favorite tracks of the season,” the rookie says, crowding into Minghao’s space as he props his elbow on the armrest between them.
“Mhm,” Minghao hums in response, keeping his eyes trained on the copy of Vogue on his lap.
“I’m personally not a fan of the slower corners,” Junhui continues. “They can be a bit tricky for me.”
For once, Minghao decides to throw Junhui a bone. “That’s because you brake too early.”
“What?” Junhui asks. Now his entire arm covers the armrest, much to Minghao’s annoyance.
With a sigh, he looks up from his magazine. “You’d do better if you trail brake through the turn. Brake hard when the straight ends, and then let up on it slowly.”
Junhui takes in the information like Minghao’s telling him the secret to life. “That actually…makes a lot more sense,” he says slowly, then beams at Minghao. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Minghao shrugs, flipping past a cologne ad. “I had to learn that the hard way.”
“I remember watching your crash on turn 11 in Suzuka,” Junhui says.
Minghao winces at the memory. It hadn’t been a terrible crash, but it had been a brutal loss of a weekend for him. He had worked from eighth place to fifth, only to run his car into the wall on that turn.
“Yeah, I was shit with brake strategy when I started out,” Minghao chuckles. “Jihoon must’ve cursed me and Mingyu out about a hundred times over it.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t yelled at me about mine,” Junhui laughs. “Although Wonwoo can get pretty heated with me over the radio.”
“Jihoon’s gotten soft,” Minghao shakes his head. “It happened the moment he met Soonyoung.”
“The JYP team principal?” Junhui’s eyes widen when Minghao nods. “I had no idea they were…”
“They always just say that they’re ‘seeing each other,’” Minghao fills in the blank. “Whatever that means.”
“Ah. How long have they been seeing each other then?”
“Like two years,” Minghao snorts. “Mingyu and I swear they’re secretly married and hiding it from all of us.”
“What would be the point of that?” Junhui asks, elbow jostling Minghao’s right arm.
“I don’t know,” Minghao not so discreetly pushes his arm into Junhui’s, hoping he’ll take the hint and stop hogging the armrest. “I guess love and racing don’t really mix.”
“Right,” Junhui says, finally removing his arm. Minghao sighs in relief. “I guess they don’t. Yeah.”
Mercifully, Junhui puts on his headphones shortly after their conversation ends and remains silent for the rest of the plane ride to Japan.
Minghao is grateful for the quiet, but he keeps glancing at Junhui throughout the ride, certain he’ll open his big mouth to ask some stupid question again. He’s surprised when he doesn’t.
He’s even more surprised when Junhui qualifies in pole position that Saturday. Or pissed, rather.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Minghao spits as soon as he gets into the garage, stomping right up to Mingyu.
“I know you’re disappointed–”
“Disappointed?” Minghao repeats. “I’m fucking livid, Gyu. What the hell happened out there?!”
“The used tires held us back a few tenths,” Mingyu sighs. “We can still work with third, Hao.”
“I don’t want to fucking work with third. He should not be ahead of me. There’s no way he should be first.”
“I hear you, but–”
“We better have a good fucking strategy for tomorrow,” Minghao says, picking up his helmet and storming into one of the garage back rooms.
Minghao hates arguing with Mingyu, but he can’t help it. He needs to take out at least half of his frustration on someone right now.
He’s saving the other half.
He saves it, the pent up rage and irritation, for this moment the next day: Junhui’s car lined up right in front of him on the first row of the track, engines warmed up and waiting for the red lights above them to go out.
They fade to black, and Minghao lets his anger take over.
He gets in right behind Junhui around the first corner, nearly wheel to wheel with Seungcheol, who’d qualified in second. They’re both trying to get past Junhui, but the rookie driver is defending hard.
“Fuck!” Minghao yells out over the radio.
“Stay calm, Hao,” Mingyu’s voice rings through his ears. “The HYBE car is getting close.”
“Yeah, I fucking know!”
Minghao feels half of his car go off track, and Seungcheol uses it to his advantage, pushing past his car and catching up to the back of Junhui’s.
“Oh come on,” Minghao groans, pressing the radio button on his wheel. “He just blatantly pushed me off!”
“We saw,” Mingyu replies. “We’ve got it noted.”
Minghao rolls his eyes. The racing officials hardly ever issued penalties when they’re deserved. He knows they’ll probably let Seungcheol slide for this incident.
He tries to just focus on his drive and catching up to Junhui, but he can’t seem to close the three-second gap between him and the car ahead.
“Box, box,” Mingyu tells him on lap 20.
“What?” Minghao replies. “I think we can still run these tires for at least five laps.”
“They’re degrading quick, Hao,” Mingyu says. “Box now while we have the gap against the YG car.”
Minghao is reluctant, but knows he can’t really refuse a team order. He pulls his car into the pit lane on the next lap to get a new set of tires.
But it seems like the Pledis team wasn’t quite prepared for the pit stop, because Minghao sits there for over five seconds waiting for the mechanics to put on his tires.
“What the fuck!” Minghao shouts into the radio, when he finally is able to pull away and return to the race track. “What the fuck is going on, Gyu?!”
“They had the wrong back right tire,” Mingyu explains.
“And?! Where the fuck are we at now?” Minghao yells. “We only had a three second gap to Felix!”
“You’re in fourth,” Mingyu says. “You’ve got five seconds to the car ahead.”
“Fucking christ, of course,” Minghao huffs. “Which car?”
“Uh…”
Mingyu never hesitates to tell him anything over radio.
“What the hell, Gyu, just tell me,” he grits out, maneuvering around one of the slow corners with a tight turn.
“It’s Junhui. Six second gap now.”
“This is a fucking joke,” Minghao grunts. “Did they fuck up his tires too?”
“He locked up on a turn, so Felix got ahead of him. And actually, he still needs to pit to change tires,” Mingyu starts strategizing. “If he does, then we can–”
“Fuck off, just let me drive,” Minghao cuts him off. He’s not in the mood to hear any more bullshit.
Minghao really regrets ever giving Junhui any tips about his braking.
He really, really regrets it when he’s standing there after the race, watching as Junhui hikes his third place trophy into the air.
His teammate’s first podium of the season. Fucking cunt.
Minghao doesn’t stick around to watch Junhui and the other drivers spray champagne at each other.
Instead, he heads back to his trailer and downs a bottle of water. There’s no champagne for fourth place, after all.
—
“Minghao and Junhui, this is obviously a home country race for both of you,” a journalist in the audience says. “How does it feel being back in China?”
Being at home almost makes Minghao feel guilty about getting so heated about last weekend’s race. Almost.
He still knows he needs to push hard to win this race, especially since it’s their hometown race, but Minghao has admittedly let his frustrations with Junhui fall to the wayside in favor of running around greeting fans, promoting Chinese brands, and filming countless videos together.
They both love their home country, and there hasn’t been that many Chinese F1 drivers in the history of the sport. It’s a big deal for both of them.
Although Mingyu and Jeonghan may think and say otherwise, Minghao knows when to turn off his emotions when it comes to something like this.
“It’s been absolutely incredible,” Junhui answers with a proud smile. “The fans have been so, so amazing to us. It’s a really big honor to be here, representing our hometowns and our home country. I think this has to be one of the best weekends of the season so far for me.”
“It’s great to be here. Every driver looks forward to the day they get to race in their home country, so it’s a complete honor,” Minghao echoes the sentiment. “And it’s great to get to experience this with Junhui. Two Chinese drivers on the same team, it’s…it’s really meaningful for everyone.”
Junhui glances at him with raised eyebrows, like he’s surprised he would say that. As if Minghao wasn’t going to acknowledge his fellow Chinese teammate.
Sure he hates him, but he’s not unprofessional.
“There are certainly a large number of Pledis fans here this weekend,” the journalist says. “And there are also several Cube fans out there! Yanan, this is also a home race for you…”
Minghao zones out as the press conference continues. He picks at the label of his water bottle for a while as he half-listens to the other drivers answer questions, until Junhui’s foot nudges his.
“Did you ever visit Shanghai growing up?” Junhui whispers.
Minghao shrugs. “Maybe once or twice. It’s pretty far from Anshan. You?”
“My mom took me a few times when I was young,” Junhui says, eyes glazing over like he’s remembering the moment. “That was before my little brother was born though. This is the first time I’ve been back in years.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Minghao murmurs thoughtfully.
Junhui didn’t strike him as the older brother type in the slightest. Most older siblings have some semblance of maturity, unlike his teammate.
“Yeah,” Junhui smiles. “Feng Jun. We have different dads. It’s...complicated family stuff.”
For the first time, Junhui looks sort of sad. Minghao’s not used to seeing him without that stupid grin of his plastered across his face.
“I’m an only child,” Minghao says quietly, leaning in closer to Junhui’s ear. “I think I had like ten imaginary friends growing up.”
That brings the grin back onto Junhui’s face. “Did they have names?”
“I definitely named one of them Miao Miao,” Minghao says, the Mandarin version of the sound rolling off his tongue.
Junhui snorts. “Was it an imaginary cat friend?”
“Something like that,” Minghao chuckles. “I think I just really wanted a cat. Or any kind of pet, really.”
“You must’ve been really lonely.”
Minghao tries to shrug off the pang that sends through his chest. “Yeah, well. It turned out alright, I guess. I don’t think cats like me all that much anyway.”
“Nonsense,” Junhui shakes his head. “The stray cats in my Shenzhen neighborhood would love you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because any friend of mine is a friend of theirs,” Junhui grins.
Minghao honestly envies how simple-minded his teammate is. The two of them couldn’t be further from friends.
The press conference ends, and Minghao and Junhui join Yanan to do some joint footage for different brands promoting the Grand Prix.
It’s an exhausting, seemingly never ending weekend of trying their best to represent China well, but it pays off by the time Sunday – race day – rolls around.
Minghao and Junhui both place on the podium, with Minghao coming in second and Junhui getting third. They just narrowly missed out on the first place position, which went to Jungkook.
Despite the loss, Junhui beams radiantly at Minghao and laughs in delight when he hits Minghao in the face with a spray of champagne.
“Ah!” Minghao yelps, holding up his hands as if it will do anything. The alcohol is already soaking through his race suit. “You asshole!”
“C’mon, this is for Miao Miao!” Junhui cheers gleefully, shaking the bottle now, determined to get the last dredges of champagne to spray at Minghao.
Minghao tilts his own bottle right down the back of Junhui’s race suit in retaliation, relishing in the way Junhui grimaces and yells.
“It’s cold!” Junhui shouts.
“Good!” Minghao laughs. It was nice to get a bit of revenge off-track too.
They’re so wrapped up in their own little world of celebrations that they nearly miss the voice shouting out for Junhui in the crowd below them.
“Jun! Wen Junhui!” A little voice screeches out. “Gege!”
Minghao looks down to see a boy perched on someone’s shoulders, waving his arms frantically to get their attention.
“Junhui,” Minghao says, swatting at Junhui’s arm. His teammate is preoccupied with swigging back his champagne bottle. “Is that your brother?”
Junhui’s eyes are wide when he pulls the bottle away and leans over the railing to look below them. “Feng Jun!”
Minghao watches as Junhui waves back enthusiastically with a bright smile stretching across his face.
He would never admit it to anyone, but the sight makes Minghao start smiling too.
“I guess I’d better get down there,” Junhui says, running a hand through his champagne-soaked hair. “You coming?”
Minghao shakes his head. “No, go ahead. Be with your family.”
Junhui frowns. “You don’t want to come with? Feng Jun would be thrilled to meet you.”
“I should probably go find my own parents,” Minghao says. “But tell him I said hi.”
“Will do,” Junhui says, smile returning to his face easily.
Minghao watches him go before slowly making his way back down to the Pledis garage.
His parents are standing there, waiting for him underneath the large sign with his face, name, and racing number, 8, plastered across it.
His mother and father greet him with hugs and small talk, but leave quickly. They don’t congratulate him. They don’t tell him he’s done a good job.
Minghao knows why. If only he had placed first, it would’ve been a different story.
He walks to the car that’s taking him back to his Shanghai hotel alone.
In the distance, he spots Junhui and his little brother laughing with their mom and Junhui’s stepdad.
Minghao turns his head away and gets in the car. For a moment, he almost wishes he had even an imaginary friend.
—
It starts drizzling in Miami.
Minghao had never been a particularly huge fan of rain races, save for the brief relief the raindrops offered against the heat of an F1 car.
He's even less of a fan today. He'd nearly slid off the track coming into one of the turns, and his father was still sending him nagging texts about his performance during the first practice.
Not to mention that last night, he'd dreamt that he got into a crash on the track. It scared Minghao so badly that he’d startled awake and stayed up until the sun rose.
So it's not really all that surprising when he snaps.
“...and we think that with this new engine feature, we can use that to our advantage,” Wonwoo says to the team. “The data is showing us a four hundredths gain.”
“What about the rain?” Minghao pipes up.
Jihoon sighs from where he's sitting in the middle of the room, among all the engineers. “Can you save your questions until the data presentation is done, Minghao?”
“It's fine,” Wonwoo insists. “That wrapped up the main section. What concerns do you have, Minghao?”
“I'm sure the engine is great and all, but how is that going to be of any use to us during a rain race?” Minghao asks. “We won't be able to go full throttle for more than half of it. If we go as fast as you say this engine can make us go, then we'll definitely crash out with the track as wet as it is.”
“Well, I think the point is that it's at our disposal now,” Junhui says next to him. “Maybe it's not necessarily helpful for this race, but it's good to know that the engine is powerful enough to put us into top speed.”
“Okay, then why waste my time by telling me that?” Minghao huffs. “We're supposed to use this time in between practices to focus on the strategy for this race. The data for this race. Let's cut to the fucking chase.”
“You need to relax,” Junhui mutters.
“Don't tell me to relax,” Minghao sneers. “You've never even driven in a rain race, what could you possibly know? You don't know shit about racing.”
Junhui narrows his eyes at him. “I’ve been on more podiums this season alone than your last teammate. Don’t fucking discredit my driving.”
Minghao’s blood boils. “Don’t talk shit about my friend.”
“Boys,” Jihoon interrupts. “That’s enough.”
Minghao scowls, crossing his arms like a petulant child as Junhui glares at him.
It’s probably the first time Minghao’s ever seen Junhui angry. He’s usually all smiles.
“You both need to focus before the second practice,” Jihoon says sternly. “The entire team is wasting time by listening to you two argue back and forth.”
Junhui finally turns away from Minghao to notice all the engineers and Pledis team members staring at them, and he ducks his head in shame.
Minghao doesn’t care. He just stares right back, arms folded and nose upturned.
“Alright,” Jihoon says when both of his drivers finally go silent. “Let’s discuss tire strategy for the next two practices.”
The bad blood between Minghao and Junhui carries over into the qualifying session on Saturday.
Just before they get into their respective cars to start the session, they stand next to each other in the garage, waiting for their engineers to make some last minute adjustments.
“Good luck out there,” Minghao mutters to Junhui. “You’ll need it.”
“I don’t need shit from you,” Junhui scoffs, and puts on his helmet to block Minghao out.
The clouds hang dark and heavy in the Florida sky as Minghao gets into his car and peels out of the garage into the pit lane.
Things are normal for the first round of qualifying, Q1. The track is dry, and Minghao gets a good enough lap time to come in second. Junhui’s in third.
And then, raindrops land on his windshield in the middle of Q2.
“Gyu, what’s the rain situation like?” Minghao asks over the radio.
“We think it’ll get dicey around turn 17,” MIngyu replies. “Reports say the rain should let up in 10 minutes.”
“How accurate do we think that is?” he asks. “Seems awfully dark. Should we pit for the wet tires before Q3?”
“We need these softs to carry us through the end of Q2,” Mingyu says. “I’ll keep checking the weather. If it gets heavy out there, say the word.”
Minghao feels the car lock up on his next turn as the rain starts to pick up.
The first time Minghao had ever crashed on track, it was raining. Granted, it was during his karting days as a kid, but it stuck with him.
The feeling of losing control, the panic, the fear. The immense shame after seeing the look on his father’s face. His mother’s sad eyes.
He steers his car around the edge of the track on another turn, holding his breath the entire time.
Minghao makes it into Q3, just a few tenths of a second behind Jungkook. Mingyu tells him that Junhui is in fourth when Minghao asks.
In the last round of qualifying, the all-important round that decides their positions for the race tomorrow, the Pledis team makes the call that it's not worth wasting their wet tires on the quali session.
Minghao's driving on a worn down pair of soft tires when he goes off track.
It's just for a moment, a split second, but it feels like an eternity to him.
He lets out a shaky breath when he regains control of the car and goes onto the track again, but panics again when he glances into his side mirror.
Junhui's car is right on the tail end of his. He'd nearly crashed into him when he rejoined the track.
“Fuck,” Minghao swears into the radio. “Did I get flagged for that?”
“The officials have noted it,” Mingyu says.
“Fuck,” Minghao grits out. Rejoining the track in an “unsafe way” usually results in a penalty.
Junhui revs up behind him and slides into the empty space right next to Minghao, their cars so close they could almost touch.
They go around a turn at the same time together. Minghao briefly considers brake checking Junhui by sliding out in front of him.
The two Pledis drivers go around two corners like that, with barely any distance between them.
It's a battle. It's Junhui trying to get revenge, Minghao knows it.
“Minghao,” Jihoon’s voice rings out over the radio. F1 team principals hardly ever speak on radio, unless there's something important to say. “Do not fight with him. Focus on the lap time.”
“He fucking started it, Jihoon!” Minghao shouts back.
“Don't be childish,” Jihoon mutters. “Fucking focus.”
Minghao frowns, but decides he'll drop his speed slightly to fall into line behind Junhui. Maybe if he sacrifices his place, the officials won't penalize him for his earlier mistake.
But before he can even slow down, Junhui narrows his car in and one of his tires just grazes Minghao's front wing.
It doesn't do much to either car damage wise, but the jolt of something hitting his car was enough to send Minghao into a fit of rage.
“Has he lost his fucking mind?!”
“We saw,” Mingyu says calmly. “Just keep up your lap pace, Hao.”
“We could've fucking crashed,” Minghao mutters. “What a goddamn idiot.”
Their brief battle on the track costs Minghao in the end. He qualifies in fifth, behind Junhui.
And he gets a 5-second time penalty added to his time for tomorrow's race from the racing officials, which will only push him back further down the grid.
Minghao can hear thunder rumbling in the distance when he gets out of his car to be weighed after the qualifying session.
“So much for saying I don't know shit about driving,” Junhui’s voice rings out behind him.
Minghao whips his head around to glare up at him. “You could've killed us both out there, you fucking idiot.”
“You could've killed me when you tried to come back onto the track,” Junhui counters. “It was only fair.”
Minghao turns back around and rolls his eyes. “That was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Junhui repeats with a scoff. “And you said I can't drive. But look who's going to be in front of your car at tomorrow's race?”
Minghao keeps his gaze trained straight ahead, staring at the back of another driver's head as he tries to ignore Junhui hovering in his ear.
“I'd worry about your own skills before you worry about mine,” Junhui mutters.
Minghao steps onto the scale with his hands balled into fists.
The gloomy weather carries into race day, but fittingly enough, it doesn't start truly pouring until the race ends.
Junhui finishes in fourth. Minghao ends up in seventh.
The cool rain and Miami heat collide against Minghao's skin as he makes his way back to the paddock after the race, doing his best to block out Jihoon’s yelling and the vibration of his phone notifications.
He looks out at the raindrops and decides that yeah, he's definitely not a rain race person.
—
“I won’t lie, the team does want the win for this race.”
Jihoon doesn’t have to tell either of them that. The Pledis team has never won at Italy. Not a single podium on the track in its 17 years of competing.
It’s a fact that’s been in the mouths of every journalist so far this weekend.
“But,” Jihoon continues, “that doesn’t mean that you two should be fucking fighting for it out there.”
Minghao sighs and sinks further into his seat.
He hates being lectured by Jihoon. It always reminds him of being eight years old, letting his tears drop onto his go-karting helmet after a bad race.
“We can’t afford to sacrifice any points this weekend,” Jihoon stares down both of the drivers. “Especially if you still want us to win the constructors, Minghao.”
“I get it, Jihoon,” Minghao grumbles. “Are we done here? We have interviews at two and a promo video to shoot.”
“Fine,” their team principal relents easily. “Just don’t be stupid out there, please. This is important for all of us.”
Minghao gives him a curt nod, then stands to head to the press tent.
If Junhui had any common sense, he would’ve waited at least five minutes before going to press too, but of course, Junhui follows him out the door.
They walk side by side in a silence so thick, you could cut it with a knife.
Minghao doesn’t mind though. He’s perfectly content to keep it this way, ideally until the season ends.
But as usual, Junhui has to go and ruin everything.
“I…I’m sorry for what I said last weekend, about your driving skills,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It was pretty unfair of me. I think I just got caught up in the heat of the moment.”
Minghao can’t believe they’re really doing this. “Don’t apologize.”
“No, I need to,” Junhui says. “What I said wasn’t–”
“Junhui, I don’t need your apology. Seriously,” Minghao insists. “I don’t want it.”
“What? You don’t want me to say sorry?” Junhui asks quizzically.
“No,” Minghao gives him a false, sugary sweet grin. “Because I don’t fucking care about what you have to say about me or my driving.”
Minghao steps into the press tent, leaving Junhui behind, stunned into silence. Finally.
Against Jihoon’s wishes, their back and forth bickering makes its way onto the track.
Minghao and Junhui are neck and neck coming into the second to last lap of the race. They've kept a similar pace for the last 40 laps, edging up on each other and exchanging places back and forth.
Instead of focusing on catching Namjoon, the driver in front of them, Minghao and Junhui can only focus on racing with each other.
“Do not fucking fight with him on this last lap,” Jihoon's voice rings out over Minghao's radio waves. He’s been trying desperately to reason with him throughout the whole race. “I mean it, Minghao. This is a direct team order.”
“I'm being perfectly civil,” Minghao huffs. “Why don't you tell your precious rookie to let up?”
He hears Jihoon groan before the radio channel clicks off, and Mingyu's back in his ears again.
“If you push, you can get in front of him after this turn,” Mingyu tells him. “Keep it classy, Hao.”
“I always do,” Minghao replies, already pressing on the gas pedal.
He and Junhui slide around a turn, and Minghao can tell that his teammate is trying to close in on him, car inching over to his side of the track slowly.
“Is this his strategy?” Minghao asks over the radio. “Just trying to force me off?”
“Focus,” is all Mingyu responds with.
Minghao pushes on the gas pedal hard as he comes out of the turn, inching his car ahead of Junhui’s.
The fucker, of course, tries to speed up too, but Minghao keeps pushing until he’s ahead into second place.
He's able to hold Junhui off through the last lap of the race. He grins when the checkered flag flies.
Second and third wasn't horrible for a team who's never been on podium in Italy.
He and Junhui shower each other with champagne after the race, taking out all their frustrations with each other by making sure they're both soaked. Minghao keeps his bottle aimed at Junhui’s face for most of it.
“Well,” Minghao wipes champagne away from his eyes. “Looks like there was no need to worry about my driving skills, hm?”
“This again?” Junhui sighs, taking off his drenched third place cap and shaking out his brown hair. “I thought you said you didn't want my apology.”
“I don't,” he shrugs. “I just thought I’d remind you…”
Minghao claps Junhui on the shoulder and whispers into his ear:
“...I'm the champion around here.”
Minghao puts his champagne bottle to his lips and takes a swig, heading back down to the paddock and leaving Junhui behind on the podium.
The taste of victory was certainly sweet.
—
Monaco is always a big race.
It’s probably one of the most notorious tracks in F1. There’s a lot of history behind it, but Minghao’s pretty sure people just hype it up because it has the richest attendees.
He knew it would be a big weekend, but he never knew it would end up like this.
In every practice leading up to the race, he couldn’t quite get the car to go as full throttle as he liked. The changes to his car during last week’s brief break clearly hadn’t been the right call.
As he and Mingyu spend half the weekend deliberating with the team about quick fixes they can pull off ahead of Sunday’s race, Junhui seems to breeze through all three practices, even reaching a new personal best. Fucking bastard.
Junhui gets times that land him somewhere in the top three for each practice, so no one was all that surprised when Junhui got pole position at the end of qualifying.
Minghao isn’t surprised either, but he is furious.
He grins and bears it as he discusses race strategy during an interview with Seungkwan, who kindly reminds him that Junhui will start first in the race while Minghao will start further down the grid in fourth, as if he wasn’t already painfully aware of it.
The PR-approved smile peels off Minghao’s face the second he’s able to leave the press tent, where he finds Mingyu waiting outside for him.
“The team’s already making some part swaps at my request,” Mingyu updates him. “Hopefully we can fix this.”
“They better fucking fix it,” Minghao mutters. “Maybe if they did their jobs in the first place, this wouldn’t be happening.”
Mingyu scrubs a hand over his face. “Listen man, I know you’re stressed and all, but cut the team some slack, yeah? It’s not their fault.”
“Oh, so are you saying it’s my fault then?” Minghao asks accusingly. “Last time I checked, their job is to make the car good, Gyu. Not mine.”
“What is this really about?” Mingyu squints down at him, like he’s trying to see right through him. “The Minghao I know, the one I’m friends with, would never talk shit about his team like this.”
“It’s about fucking winning,” Minghao grits out. “I have to win.”
“Really?” Mingyu asks, skeptical. “You sure it’s about you winning and not just keeping him from winning?”
“It’s about both,” Minghao shrugs. “I want to win, and I sure as hell don’t want him to.”
“You know, I’ve never seen you this competitive,” Mingyu discerns. “I mean, you’ve always been competitive, but not like this. You never treated Jeonghan like this.”
“That’s because Jeonghan is a friend. He is not.”
“But have you even given him a chance?” his race engineer asks. “Maybe he’s not as bad as you think.”
Minghao flashes a scrutinizing glare at him. “Where’s all this coming from anyway? Why are you saying this now?”
As soon as the question leaves his mouth, someone comes jogging around the corner.
“Gyu, there you are,” the person exhales, breathless. “I’m ready to grab a drink if you are.”
Mingyu turns around and suddenly, the mystery is solved.
Junhui’s race engineer, Wonwoo, is standing there with an expectant look on his face and a warm smile, which drops slightly when he finally notices Minghao’s presence.
“Oh, um, hi Minghao,” Wonwoo says awkwardly, gaze shifting between him and Mingyu. “I can go if you guys need to talk…”
“No,” Mingyu reaches out to grab Wonwoo’s hand. “Stay.”
Minghao has to fight not to roll his eyes. “Alright, well that about answers my question. I think we’re done here, Gyu.”
“Don’t be like that, Hao,” Mingyu narrows his eyes at him. “Just let me explai–”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Minghao cuts him off. “Just go on your date.”
A tense silence divides the two friends, until Wonwoo clears his throat. “If you, uh, want to come join us for a drink, you’re welcome to.”
“Thanks,” Minghao gives him a tight smile. “But I think I’m going to call it a night. See you both at the track tomorrow.”
He leaves the two engineers behind to walk back to his hotel room alone. When he enters his room, he sprawls onto the hotel bed and stares out at the view of Monaco.
His brain unhelpfully supplies him with thoughts of how long it's been since his own last date, and for a moment, Minghao realizes how truly and utterly alone he is.
He pulls the comforter over his head and shoves his face into his pillow until sleep takes over.
The next day is a whirlwind, and Minghao swears it's just a weird dream until he's in the crowd with the Pledis team, staring up at Junhui as China's national anthem blares.
Junhui’s nabbed a first place finish, the first of his career.
He has a Monaco win. He joins the ranks of countless drivers that Minghao looked up to as a kid.
And Minghao? He’s forced to stand there and watch.
Not even in Minghao's championship-winning season was he able to win at Monaco, and seeing his rookie teammate accomplish it with ease puts a bitter taste in his mouth.
It gets worse when everyone on the Pledis team insists on going out and celebrating Junhui's win at some luxurious club, and Minghao knows he can't say no. He can't sit through another Jihoon lecture about camaraderie and being a good sport.
So that's how he ends up here, three amaretto sours deep at the bar and watching his team jump in time to some obnoxiously loud club music.
He’s not quite swaying yet, but he definitely feels a little weightless when he moves. He nearly bumps into Jihoon, who claps him on the shoulder before ducking off into some dark corner with Soonyoung.
Minghao is already starting to forget who else he’s seen tonight. He briefly caught up with Jeonghan before he went to grab a beer. He remembers talking to Joshua, Seungcheol, and Joshua’s race engineer, Seokmin, for a few minutes.
His head is swimming when Mingyu and Wonwoo come up to him.
“You alright, Hao?” Mingyu asks, brows knitted together in concern.
Minghao shakes his head, then instantly regrets it. “Yeah, ‘m good! It’s fucking loud in here, though.”
“Yeah, Wonwoo and I were about to head outside so we can actually hear each other,” Mingyu explains. “Do you want to come with?”
“Nah, I’m okay,” Minghao picks the alcohol-soaked cherry out of his drink and takes a bite. “I don’t like to third wheel.”
Mingyu rolls his eyes. “We’re not going to make out in front of you!”
“Yeah, but,” Minghao shrugs his shoulders and doesn’t finish the thought. “Hey, you know what else I don’t like? Junhui. I hate him.”
“Yeah, buddy, I know,” Mingyu snorts, then nudges Minghao’s empty glass with his finger. “How many of these have you had?”
“Like really hate him,” Minghao continues, ignoring Mingyu completely. “But you guys? I like you guys.”
Mingyu turns to flash a grin at Wonwoo, who just pushes up his glasses with a small smile on his face.
“Thanks, Hao,” Mingyu says around a chuckle. “We were really worried you wouldn’t approve.”
In his drunken state, Minghao can’t pick up on the sarcasm. “Don’t worry. I think you guys together could be really good. Not like Wen Junhui.”
And then the bastard himself stumbles in next to Minghao at the bar, annoyingly inserting himself into the conversation.
“What about me?” Junhui asks, flashing his stupid grin at Minghao.
Mingyu pats Minghao on the back. “We’ll be outside if you need us.”
If Minghao hadn’t been so drunk, he might’ve begged Wonwoo and Mingyu to stick around. Instead, he lasers in on Junhui the moment they leave.
“Why're you always following me around?” Minghao asks, words slurring slightly, but he feels more sober as he grows more irritated. “You can never just leave me the fuck alone.”
“Cause we're teammates,” Junhui drawls out, clearly drunk too. “We're kinda bound by contract.”
“We're not bound by anything,” Minghao mutters, then signals to the bartender for a fourth amaretto. “What’re you doing over here anyway?”
“Trying to get a drink,” Junhui points to the empty glasses in front of Minghao that the bartender still hasn't grabbed yet. “Same as you.”
“Buying your own drink?” Minghao raises an eyebrow at that. “On your winning night?”
“Yeah, well, the team's bought me a lot already and I'd feel bad asking,” Junhui shrugs. “Why're you judging? It's not like you're going to buy me one.”
“That's ‘cause you don't deserve it.”
“Wow,” Junhui whistles. “I don't deserve a drink or I don't deserve the win?”
“Hmm…” Minghao hums in thought. “Both.”
“I knew it,” Junhui chuckles bitterly. “No matter what I do you're never fuckin’ impressed.”
A fresh amaretto sour gets put in front of Minghao, who gratefully takes a sip of the drink to curb the tension between him and Junhui.
“The whole world's impressed with you right now,” Minghao says as the alcohol burns down his throat. “That's not enough?”
“It would just be nice to hear you say it,” Junhui sighs. “Just a ‘congrats’ or something.”
“Why do you want that from me?” Minghao asks. “What, do you need me to send you flowers or something after every race?”
“That's not what I…never mind,” Junhui looks away.
“It's just not enough for you to have the entire team, Jihoon, all the journalists, your family and friends, and the entire fucking world praise you?” Minghao presses. “I have to kiss the ground you walk on too?”
“That's not what I fucking meant, Minghao,” Junhui mutters.
“Then what did you mean?”
The bartender sets a glass of whiskey in front of Junhui and winks at him.
“On the house,” she says, before walking away.
Minghao scoffs into his glass. “See? The whole world,” he mutters, before taking a long sip of his cocktail.
“Yeah, well I don't care about the world,” Junhui huffs. “I just want…to be good teammates, is all.”
“Good teammates?” Minghao scoffs, watching Junhui pick up his whiskey and swallow it down. “A good teammate wouldn't fucking try to run their teammate off the track every chance he gets.”
“Oh please, what am I supposed to do?” Junhui slams his glass down onto the bar. “Just move to the side and let you win?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Minghao retorts. “Any good teammate would give me some room to work with.”
Junhui chuckles and picks up his whiskey again. “You know, you're not exactly a peach of a teammate either, Minghao.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Junhui says around a sip. “Seems like every chance you get on the track, you try to run into the rear of my car.”
“You're the one who's been trying to take out my front wing all season,” Minghao rolls his eyes.
“I've heard you've been telling the media that I'm just some dumb rookie, you know,” Junhui says. “What was it? That I'm ‘incapable and inept'?”
Drunk Minghao can't remember the exact phrasing of it, but he definitely did say that to Seungkwan at some point last weekend. Completely sober, of course.
“A good teammate wouldn't talk shit about me to a journalist,” Junhui continues.
“Oh please, all of that was off the record anyway,” Minghao retorts. “But a good teammate wouldn't act like such a child about a soundbite anyway.”
“You're the one acting like a child,” Junhui grits out. “A good teammate would actually be supportive when I win. You just shut down like you've never won in your life.”
“Every win counts,” Minghao mutters, echoing the words of his father.
“You literally won the goddamn championship! You've won over 20 races,” Junhui exclaims in exasperation. “I win one race, and you treat it like it's the end of the fucking world.”
“You don't know what it's like,” Minghao says, stabbing at the cherry floating in his drink with the tiny plastic straw in his glass. “A good teammate would keep his mouth shut about things he doesn't know."
“How am I supposed to know anything when you don't fucking talk to me?” Junhui asks, an edge of desperation in his voice. “You give me the cold shoulder after I just happen to outqualify you, let alone place above you. What do you expect?”
“For you to realize that I don't fucking care about being good teammates,” Minghao snaps.
Junhui pauses, picking up his glass and taking a long sip of whiskey.
“I don't understand you,” Junhui sighs, tracing his thumb along the edge of his glass and staring down at it. “We were…fine. China was good. I thought we were starting to be friends, and then…”
“We were never going to be friends,” Minghao says coldly.
“Why not?”
“Because you are everything I'm not,” Minghao says candidly. “You're likable, you come from a nice family, you're calm, you practically radiate positivity…I'm not like that.”
Junhui leans forward to speak less loudly. “I don't see why us being opposites in some ways means we can't be friends.”
“Please, we're opposite in every way,” Minghao scoffs. “It was a doomed partnership from the start.”
“I don't think so,” Junhui says, eyes shining with sincerity. “You're likable.”
“Ha,” Minghao says sarcastically. “Try telling that one to Jihoon next time you're in his office. He'd get a real kick out of that.”
Junhui frowns. “You don’t think Jihoon likes you?”
“I don't think anyone likes me,” Minghao chuckles darkly, slinging back the rest of his cocktail. “But someone has to be the asshole teammate, right?”
“I never said you were an asshole.”
“Didn’t have to,” Minghao shrugs. “Shouldn't you be off dancing with the team or something? Celebrating your big win?”
Junhui presses his lips together, hesitating before he finally blurts, “I just…I want things between us to be okay.”
Minghao sighs. “I already told you, we're not going to be friends.”
“Okay, we don't have to be friends then,” Junhui says. “But I meant what I said. I want us to be a good team, at least.”
“This is an individual sport, Jun,” Minghao sighs. “We may be on the same team, under the same company, but none of that really means anything. It's the points that matter, the wins.”
“Why is it always points and wins with you?” Junhui asks in exasperation. “Why don't you ever give a fuck about anything else?”
“Racing has been my entire life,” Minghao says. “You don't get it because you have a great life on top of all this, but this…this is all that I have. My career is all that I'm worth.”
“That doesn't mean you get to treat me like I'm fucking nothing to you,” Junhui spits, pressing closer still. “Like I'm unworthy of even sharing the track with you.”
“What am I supposed to do? Kiss your fucking ass?” Minghao retorts. “‘Oh Jun, you're so great and wonderful and talented! I wish I could shove my teammate off the track like you!’”
“Why do you act like this all the damn time?” Junhui asks. “Where do you get off on this?”
“You'd like to know, wouldn't you?” Minghao counters, leaning in so he's really in Junhui’s face. “Still want to be good teammates?”
“You're so annoying,” Junhui huffs. “Why are you so fucking annoying?”
“I ask myself that same question every time you cut in front of my car on a corner,” Minghao says with a fake smile. “You and your fucking slow brakes holding me up. It's like you're trying to ram into me on purpose.”
“Maybe you shouldn't act like you want me to ram into you then.”
“As if,” Minghao scoffs. “You? Your skills in bed are probably just as bad as your driving.”
Junhui's had enough.
He captures Minghao's lips in his, kissing him hungrily to shut him the fuck up.
Minghao is in shock from the moment their lips touch.
Junhui’s lips are soft and warm against his, and it sends something electric up Minghao's spine. He hasn’t been kissed in so long.
He can hardly wrap his mind around the fact that his mouth is on his teammate’s. That he’s kissing his teammate.
A strange urge to go pliant for Junhui, to let himself go, to do whatever he desires overcomes Minghao suddenly.
They kiss, and Minghao wants.
Which is what makes him tear his mouth away from Junhui’s.
“Fuck,” Minghao gasps when he pulls back.
Junhui stares at him, chest moving up and down as he pants. His lips are red now and his eyes are darker than before.
Minghao pushes away the want.
He can't afford to lose, and he won't lose everything he's built for this.
“You are so fucking stupid,” Minghao grits out, then stands and leaves the bar – and Junhui – behind.
—
They don’t talk.
They don’t talk all week after Monaco, they don’t talk on the plane ride to Canada, they don’t talk when they land, they don’t talk during their debrief ahead of race weekend.
Minghao can barely even look at Junhui without feeling like he’s going to be sick.
It’s why he keeps his eyes trained on the ground, or on whoever’s speaking to them, or what’s in front of him right now: the fans.
He’s been looking at some woman’s “CANADA LOVES JUNHUI” poster for a good five minutes as Junhui answers the Fan Zone interviewer’s question about some restaurant he’d apparently posted to his Instagram story.
Minghao wouldn’t know. After all, he’s been pretending like Junhui doesn’t exist for a good eight days.
“We have a fan-submitted question now,” the interviewer reads off her next cue card. “Can each of you say what your favorite thing is about your teammate?”
Junhui and Minghao briefly lock eyes for the first time in over a week, then look away from each other.
“Oh, um…” Junhui says hesitantly into his microphone. “I guess my favorite thing about Minghao would be…his…determination.”
“Why’s that?” the interviewer prods further.
“I just think that, uh,” Junhui’s brow crinkles in thought. “When he sets his mind to something, he’s not easily swayed. It’s…admirable. I guess.”
“Well, I suppose you don’t become a world champion without determination! What about you, Minghao? Favorite thing about Junhui?”
His mouth, his brain unhelpfully supplies.
Minghao tries to force the thought and the pit in his stomach away. “He always has a positive attitude, no matter what. He’s never not smiling.”
He can feel Junhui’s eyes burning into the side of his skull, but he still won’t look at him. His gaze is fixed on the interviewer.
“Aw, how sweet,” she smiles as the fans cheer. “And just before you guys head out, could you each give one quick word to all the Canadian fans out there?”
The minute that they wrap up the interview and give a final wave to the crowd, Minghao starts speed walking.
“You can’t run from me forever,” he hears behind him.
“I can try,” Minghao grunts, picking up his pace.
Unfortunately, Junhui catches up quickly with his stupidly long legs. “Can we please just talk, Hao?”
“We don’t have anything to talk about. And don’t call me Hao.”
Junhui rolls his eyes. “You can’t just act like it never happened. I need to talk to you. Please?”
“Aren’t we talking right now?” Minghao counters.
“You know what I fucking mean,” Junhui sighs in frustration. “I don’t want…I don’t want this to affect our work. I want things to be good between us.”
“Things are fine between us.”
“You won’t even look at me, Minghao.”
Minghao stops suddenly and whips around to stare Junhui down, eyes narrowed.
“There,” Minghao snaps. “Happy?”
Junhui frowns. “Minghao…”
“Just leave me the fuck alone, yeah?” Minghao starts walking away again. “I don’t want to fucking talk to you.”
It’s a tense weekend, but Minghao still pushes forward and manages to get top times in his car during their first two practices. He’s feeling good about that, at least.
He’s sitting in the garage with some of the Pledis engineers discussing race strategy when Wonwoo approaches him.
“Hey, Minghao,” Wonwoo says. “Can we talk?”
“Uh, sure,” Minghao moves away from the others, eyeing him in confusion. He hardly ever interacted with Wonwoo in the garage unless Mingyu was there. “Is it important? I have a meeting with Jihoon soon.”
“Look, I’ll just make it quick,” Wonwoo sighs. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but you need to make things right with Junhui.”
“Make things right?” Minghao scoffs. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” He’s the one who kissed me, he adds in his head.
“Well, whatever happened,” Wonwoo continues, “he’s not been taking it very well. He’s…off.”
“Off,” Minghao repeats. “So you want me to apologize to him because he’s been doing a shit job for the last two practices?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Wonwoo huffs. “He’s just not been acting like himself.”
“And you think it has something to do with me?”
“He keeps staring at you sadly, like some kicked puppy. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”
“Well, I didn’t do shit to him,” Minghao says defensively.
“Okay, well can’t you just…I don’t know,” Wonwoo throws his hands up in exasperation. “Be nicer to him or something?”
“Why?” Minghao raises an eyebrow. “So he can win again this weekend?”
Wonwoo stares at him for a long moment, like he can’t believe the words that came out of his mouth.
“This isn’t about racing,” Wonwoo says. “Just…take it easy on him, yeah?”
Minghao rolls his eyes. “Sure. Whatever, man.”
He wishes he could say that he felt good stepping onto the podium that weekend, looking down at his team as he hoisted his second place trophy into the air.
But all he can think about is Wonwoo’s words as he notices that Junhui isn’t in the sea of Pledis team members below him.
Minghao thought that being around Junhui this week was nauseating, but somehow not seeing him at all is worse.
Junhui had finished in seventh, his worst performance so far in the F1 season.
Minghao presses his champagne bottle to his lips and tries not to think about Junhui’s.
—
Even after Canada, Minghao still can’t bring himself to speak to Junhui.
They go to four different countries without saying a word to each other outside of press conferences and interviews. Even in their joint debriefs with Jihoon, they keep their contact to a minimum.
Spain, Austria, Silverstone, Hungary. They get through them all without so much as a hello.
The only way they communicate is on the track.
In each race, Minghao feels like Junhui is intentionally pushing him to the limit, driving as close as possible without their cars making contact, as if to tease him.
They keep fighting, against Jihoon’s wishes, and they keep finishing back to back.
Second and third, third and fourth, first and second. The more they deliver with their results, the more intense the battle gets.
Minghao’s dreams have also been getting more intense.
Some nights he dreams that Junhui is pulling him into some dark corner of the garage or the headquarters building, pressing him against the wall and hotly making out with him. Other nights he dreams that his father catches them kissing and yells at Minghao for failing him, for ruining his F1 career.
Either way, he wakes up in a cold sweat.
He doesn’t know what to do about any of it, truthfully. So he just focuses all of his complicated emotions into pressing on the gas pedal and riding the highs of winning.
It’s what he’s always done, after all.
—
When the Spa race finally rolls around, Minghao feels like he can almost let out a sigh of relief.
The Belgium Grand Prix is always just before their three-week long summer break, when all of the driving teams take a collective pause on the season and aren’t allowed to do any work on the cars at all.
Minghao typically dreads the summer break. He’d usually rather be on the track and working on the car as much as possible, but this year, he’s anticipating it.
Between the dreams and the on-track fights and the impenetrable ice wall between him and Junhui, he needs the break desperately.
“So what are you going to get up to over the break, Minghao?” Joshua asks. All the drivers are standing around, making small talk as they wait for the drivers’ parade before the race to start.
“Knowing this one,” Minghao slings his arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders, “I’ll probably get about two days to myself before he comes knocking on my door to go on some random journey.”
“You know you love it,” Jeonghan grins. “Last year I dragged Minghao to Paris with me for three days. This year, I’m thinking…Italy? Greece? No! Ibiza.”
Minghao snorts. “You don’t have the stamina for Ibiza.”
“Fuck off,” Jeonghan shrugs Minghao’s arm off in retaliation. “Junhui, what are you going to do?”
Junhui’s eyes widen, like he’s surprised he’s included in the conversation, even though he’s been – annoyingly – at Minghao’s side this whole time.
“Oh, uh, I haven’t really planned anything,” Junhui says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll probably just sit at home.”
“What? Isn’t it your first F1 summer break?” Joshua asks. “You can’t just do nothing but rest.”
“Dude, you have to do something awesome,” Mark says. “That’s the whole point of summer!”
“What’s wrong with resting?” Seungcheol asks. “Personally, I’ll be taking full advantage of sleeping as much as possible for the next three weeks.”
Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “That’s because you’re old.”
“You’re the same age as me!” Seungcheol exclaims.
Yanan nudges Junhui with his elbow. “If you want, a few of the other drivers are headed to Japan together for a few days. You should come.”
“You have to go,” Mark eggs on. “You know Yuta, from the KQ team? He’s giving us the full Osaka tour and everything. It’s gonna be sick!”
“Okay,” Junhui smiles softly. “Maybe I will.”
“No, not ‘maybe,’” Mark groans. “You’re going! I’ll get Johnny to text you the details.”
Minghao couldn’t help but feel slightly envious of the way the other drivers accepted Junhui into their circle so easily. He’s been in F1 for almost three years, and no one asks him to hang out except Jeonghan and occasionally Joshua.
Whatever. He tries not to let it phase him as he climbs onto the back of a truck with the other 19 drivers, ready to be paraded around the grandstands to wave to all their fans.
When the parade ends, Minghao starts heading down the paddock to change into his racing suit ahead of the race in two hours.
“Minghao,” a voice calls out behind him.
He turns around, and instantly wishes he hadn’t.
“Can we talk?” Junhui asks, a timid look on his face. “Just for a second.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Minghao mutters. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“I know you don’t want to, but I need to…”
“To what?” Minghao interjects. “What could we possibly have to talk about, Junhui?”
His teammate’s jaw clenches. “I just wanted to clear things up.”
“What’s done is done,” Minghao says. “We don’t need to have a discussion about it. Let’s just move on.”
“I can’t move on,” Junhui says. “Can you please just hear me out? You can’t give me the cold shoulder forever.”
“Try me,” Minghao shrugs, then turns to keep walking.
He can hear Junhui let out a frustrated grunt behind him, before following Minghao. “I don’t understand why you won’t just talk to me. It’s been over a month, for Christ’s sake.”
“Why does it matter? We don’t need to talk to each other.”
“Of course we do,” Junhui retorts. “We’re teammates, aren’t we?”
“So?” Minghao asks. “Like I’ve told you, this is an individual sport. We don’t need to talk.”
Junhui reaches out and grabs Minghao’s wrist, forcing him to stop in his tracks and face Junhui, who’s practically seething with rage suddenly.
“An individual sport?” Junhui repeats. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Minghao tries to snatch his wrist out of Junhui’s grasp, and he’s surprised when his grip merely tightens. It’s the first time he’s ever felt so…small.
“You know damn well that you wouldn’t be on a win streak without me,” Junhui grits out. “The only reason you’re winning is because of me.”
Minghao barks out a laugh in his face. “Oh, please. I don’t need you.”
“Don’t act like you could’ve still finished first last week if I didn’t intentionally hold Jungkook back for you,” Junhui snaps. “You need me.”
“I don’t need shit,” Minghao spits. “I’ve won this thing all on my own before. I can do it again.”
Junhui opens his mouth like he has more to say, then closes it. He lets go of Minghao’s wrist.
“We’ll see about that,” he says coldly, then walks away.
Minghao rubs at his wrist as he watches him walk off. “What a fucking idiot,” he mutters to himself.
He tries to ignore whatever bullshit Junhui’s on and just focus on the race.
When the lights go out on the track, Minghao slams his foot against the gas pedal like always, getting away cleanly into the first corner by some miracle.
After he goes around the turn, he falls into line behind Jeonghan’s car. He’s thinking about the best way he can maneuver around him within the next lap when he sees it.
Junhui’s car, far too close in his right mirror.
“What’s he doing, Gyu?”
“Not sure,” Mingyu says over the radio. “Kind of looks like he’s closing in.”
“He’s not allowed to overtake me here,” Minghao says in confusion.
Minghao steers his car slightly to the left while pressing on the gas at the same time. He's not going to let up on his pace for Junhui, of course, but he moves over just in case.
“If he thinks he's going to get past me, he's literally a dumbass,” Minghao grunts.
“Yeah, I'm not sure what's going on. Doesn't appear to be a team order,” Mingyu replies. “Keep up this pace and you should be fine.”
Minghao slows to turn a corner, and Junhui's still there, still close. In his side mirror, he can see that Junhui's front tires are nearly touching his rear ones.
“Okay seriously, what the fuck is he doing, Gyu?” Minghao shouts.
“No idea. He's still not allowed to overtake.”
“Even if he was, there’s plenty of room on the outside. Why’s he getting so–”
His head jerks to the side suddenly, and he feels weightless as he spins off the track.
The screech of metal on metal and a loud boom rings through his ears. A sharp pain jolts through his body.
With shaky hands, he undoes the seatbelt meant to keep him in place.
His ears are ringing, but he can still make out Mingyu’s voice over the radio asking, “You okay, Hao?”
“I-I’m fine,” he exhales. “I think. What the fuck happened?”
“You and Junhui had a crash. We’re looking at replays right now.”
Minghao climbs out of the top of his car and sees how damaged it is. The entire rear wing is completely broken and smashed against one of the track barriersl, and two of his tires are totally fucked.
He looks over to see Junhui’s car in a similar state, except the front of his car is nearly falling off.
Minghao hops off of his car, marching over the moment Junhui hoists himself out of his.
He rips off his helmet when he gets in front of Junhui, trying to fight the urge to throw it at him.
“You fucked my car!” Minghao yells in his face. “You fucked me!”
Junhui scoffs. “As if I would ever fuck you!”
“You are such a fucking dick,” Minghao seethes. “You just ruined this for the whole team, you know.”
“Oh, so now we’re a team?” Junhui laughs in disbelief. “I thought this was an ‘individual sport.’ And I didn’t do shit, it’s your fault we crashed.”
“My fault?” Minghao repeats. “How the hell is you intentionally crashing into my car my fucking fault?”
“You’re the one who said you didn’t need me. You’re the one who keeps shutting me out about Monaco.”
“Are you serious? That’s what this is all about?!” Minghao shouts. “You made us both get a DNF just because I won’t talk to you about a stupid mistake you made when we were drunk?”
When Junhui doesn’t say anything, Minghao grips at the front of his race suit, pulling him forward harshly.
“You are such a goddamn idiot,” Minghao says through gritted teeth. “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself now. Good luck explaining this one to Jihoon.”
“If you would just hear me out, Minghao, I could expl–”
“Fuck off,” Minghao spits. “Fuck you.”
One of the safety car drivers comes over and drags Minghao away from Junhui before he has the chance to do something he’ll likely regret.
Minghao clenches his hands into fists as he rides back to the paddock, closing his eyes and trying his best to calm himself down, remembering the mediation tactics he learned after his crash in Suzuka.
His hands are still shaking, and he’s trying desperately to make them stop.
Take deep, slow breaths, in and out, he recalls the Japanese medic telling him. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Minghao inhales and exhales as slowly as possible. He still feels disoriented.
Focus on the five senses. Find an object to concentrate on.
Minghao stares down at his shaky hands as he breathes, then tries to look out the window to find something else.
He feels a flash of panic when he sees the race track again. So much for that.
Think of something that makes you feel calm, centered. Maybe something that makes you feel good.
Minghao closes his eyes, and his mind instantly goes to the mountains in China, the tea he drinks every day, his art studio back at home. He still feels kind of panicky.
And then he can’t help it. He blames Junhui for putting it in his head.
His mind goes to the club in Monaco again – Junhui and his wide smile, the taste of whiskey on his lips, his warm palm gently cupping the back of Minghao’s neck.
Minghao snaps his eyes open instantly and looks down at his hands.
They’re no longer shaking.
He’s completely fucked.
—
“I assume I don’t need to tell you two what an utter embarrassment that race was.”
Jihoon kicks off their meeting with a bang, as always.
“Two DNFs,” he continues, shaking his head. “Critical points for the team gone. Wasted. For what? Hm? What are you two fighting over that could possibly be more important than staying focused on the team’s goals?”
Junhui lowers his head in shame. Minghao stares blankly at his fingernails.
“Whatever it is, you two need to fucking figure it out,” Jihoon stresses. “I’m sick of seeing you two bicker like an old married couple. Get your shit together.”
Minghao almost opens his mouth to protest against the married couple comment, but decides better of it.
“Yes sir,” he grumbles along with Junhui instead.
“I want you two to use the summer break to take some time away from each other to rest and think about what really matters here, what’s really at stake,” Jihoon says sternly. “The good of the team lies in the hands of both of you. We can only do so much on our side. I trust that you’ll both prioritize Pledis before any arguments moving forward, yes?”
“Yes,” Junhui agrees. “Sorry, Jihoon.”
Jihoon gives him a nod before turning to Minghao and raising an eyebrow. “Hao?”
Minghao looks up at him with a blank expression on his face. It’s the same one he wore when his parents called and shouted at him for hours last night. “Sure.”
“I’m being serious,” Jihoon narrows his eyes at him. “If we come back from break and you two can’t come to some sort of truce for whatever’s going on, there will be consequences. Got it?”
“Fine,” Minghao sighs. “Yes. Got it.”
“Good. I’ll see you both after the break.”
—
Thump, thump, thump.
Minghao feels like his head is throbbing in time with the sounds of Mingyu dribbling a basketball.
His race engineer and Jeonghan had dragged him out to some basketball court near Jeonghan’s South Korean home. He’d invited Minghao and Mingyu to stay with him for a while over the break.
Minghao originally agreed just so he wouldn’t have to sit at home in China ruminating alone (or listening to his father’s berating), but he’s starting to think it wouldn’t have mattered either way.
All he can think about is Junhui.
His blood boils when he thinks about the crash, their arguments, the irritating way Junhui would trail around him at the paddock like a puppy. The grievances against his teammate from the first half of the season just keep adding up.
And then there's the kiss.
Minghao still can’t stop dreaming about it, can’t stop feeling the phantom sensation of Junhui’s lips on his.
He said it was just a drunken mistake in the heat of the moment on the track, but now Minghao’s not sure if he can genuinely call it that.
Especially not when the thought of it brought him out of a near panic attack.
Minghao is deeply confused about it, and it’s all starting to go to his head. He pinches at the bridge of his nose to find some sort of relief.
“You okay, man?” Jeonghan pants, jogging over to him. “You didn’t even clap when I hit Mingyu in the shin with the ball.”
“Sorry. Missed it,” Minghao sighs, scrubbing his hand down his face before looking up at Jeonghan towering over him. “I think I have a headache.”
“You’re probably hungry,” Jeonghan says, holding out a hand to him to pull him up off the ground. “Come on, let’s go to dinner. We can get Mingyu to pay.”
Minghao drives them to a nearby restaurant, and he can’t help but picture Junhui as he drives. He thinks about how he looked after the crash – pulling himself out of his car, his face flushed with exertion, hair a mess from his helmet. Sweaty. Hot.
Minghao grips the steering wheel a little tighter and shoves the thought away.
When they’re seated at the restaurant, Mingyu and Minghao start mindlessly scrolling on their phones while Jeonghan pours out glasses of soju for them.
“Did you see Junhui’s Instagram post?” Mingyu asks, double-tapping at his screen.
“No. Why? What is it?” Minghao tries to ask as casually as possible.
Mingyu leans forward and flips his phone around to show Minghao a picture of Junhui in Tokyo, smiling next to Yanan, who has an arm slung over Junhui’s shoulders.
“Looks like he really did go on that trip with the other drivers,” Mingyu says, swiping through the post. There are pictures of Junhui in front of Japanese landmarks, posing with Mark and Yuta, and yet another shot of Junhui and Yanan – this time Junhui’s carrying Yanan on his back.
Minghao clenches his jaw. “I don’t need to see anymore of that, thanks.”
“Still mad about the crash?” Jeonghan asks.
“Yeah,” Minghao says, because it’s easier than actually going into how complicated it all feels with Junhui.
Not that he’s not mad about the crash – he definitely still is – but it’s more than racing now.
It all leads back to that stupid fucking kiss.
“Did you guys talk about it at all?” Jeonghan presses.
“Not really,” Minghao shrugs. “Just went straight to Jihoon after. I didn’t want to stick around to hear anything he had to say.”
Mingyu and Jeonghan exchange a look as their food is served. Minghao pretends not to notice in favor of snapping his wooden chopsticks apart.
“Hao, I say this as your friend and out of love,” Mingyu starts. “Don’t you think it might be kind of hard to bounce back after the summer if things are still…rocky with Junhui?”
Minghao narrows his eyes at him through the steam coming off of his food. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been holding this grudge against him all season and it’s clearly not doing either of you any favors,” Mingyu continues. “Maybe it would be best to, you know, resolve things with him?”
“You think I should apologize to him,” Minghao says flatly.
“No, I just think you should at least have a talk with him,” Mingyu says. “I’ve seen you avoiding him in the garage. And I know how you are. It’s not good for the team if you can’t even talk – or at least listen – to your teammate.”
“I don’t have anything to say to him.”
Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Hao, listen man–”
“Minghao,” Jeonghan interjects. “As someone who was your teammate, I know how goddamn stubborn you can be, but you should really try to clear the air with him. I mean, do you really want your own petty bullshit with Junhui to bring all of Pledis down?”
Minghao chews aggressively on a piece of beef, then swallows. “You guys are acting like I’m the one to blame for all of this. I wasn’t the motherfucker who crashed into my own teammate on purpose for no reason.”
“We never said that the crash was your fault,” Jeonghan says. “But you can’t sit here and tell me that you’ve played no part in making things weird between you two.”
Minghao wordlessly takes a long sip of soju, wincing at the burn it leaves down his throat.
Junhui’s the one who made things weird, he wants to say. He’s the one who kissed me and fucked everything up. But he’d rather swish his soju around in his mouth than tell his friends that.
“I’m just saying, Hao,” Jeonghan says gently. “It might be worth at least talking to him about whatever’s going on. Maybe you won’t hate him so much if you hear him out.”
Minghao snorts. “Yeah, I doubt that.”
“See,” Mingyu turns to Jeonghan with a roll of his eyes. “I told you he’s never going to man up and talk to him. There’s no point in trying.”
“I’ll talk to him when he stops fucking up my races.”
“Whatever man,” Mingyu sighs. “If you want to fuck things up with the guy for F1, that’s your choice. But when he crashes into you again because of it, don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Minghao rolls his eyes, and lets Jeonghan awkwardly shift the conversation to Mingyu and how things are going with Wonwoo. Apparently they’re officially boyfriends now.
Minghao doesn’t pay attention to much else as they eat, too busy ruminating on his friends’ words.
He thinks about them as he’s lying in bed that night, arm draped over his eyes as he considers it. What would happen if he and Junhui genuinely talked about Monaco?
The thought of that conversation makes Minghao want to vomit.
With a sigh, he takes his arm off his face and lets it fall against the bed. He lets out a grunt when he accidentally hits his phone with it.
He stares at his phone for a second, thinking about Junhui, and then temptation gets the best of him.
Stupidly, he looks up Junhui’s Instagram account. Stupidly, he clicks on his Japan post and scrolls through each picture slowly, stopping when he gets to the last photo, the one of Junhui and Yanan.
He pinches his fingers across his screen, zooming in and squinting as he analyzes Junhui’s expression.
He’s mid-laugh, that ever annoying grin of his spread across his face. He looks a little too happy, Minghao thinks bitterly.
Minghao clicks his phone shut and lets out a silent groan as he rubs his face with his hands. He can’t believe he’s sitting here wasting his precious time away from his idiot teammate by stalking said idiot teammate.
He turns his phone on again and stares at a solo shot of Junhui for a moment, taking in his face again. The curve of his lips, the moles dotting them, his bright eyes, his long, sloping nose.
He’s beautiful. It’s the first time Minghao dares to even think it.
Minghao closes out of Instagram and turns his phone off in a rush, letting it drop on his heaving chest.
He feels like he’s committed some sort of crime.
Minghao squeezes his eyes shut and tries to shove his attraction towards his teammate away for a second so he can think properly.
Jeonghan and Mingyu are right, he can’t keep avoiding Junhui. He can’t keep letting this shit build up until it all explodes on the track. The team will suffer if they continue like this, and goddamn it, Minghao cares about his team.
But he still can’t find it in him to even bring up the kiss to Junhui. What would he even say?
I’m sorry, I lied. It didn’t feel like a mistake. I wasn’t even that drunk. Your mouth is all I’ve been thinking about for two months. I think I want to kiss you again.
Minghao’s stomach churns at the thought of voicing any of that out loud, let alone to Junhui’s face. Besides, he has no idea how to actually feel about his teammate yet.
He was certain he hated him, but now…Minghao’s still not sure exactly what he’s feeling towards him.
Right now, he knows he hates that Junhui is even making him consider apologizing, but he also knows he has to do something to fix this. For the good of the team, at least.
“When did I get so pathetic?” Minghao groans in a hushed voice as he turns onto his side and presses his face against the pillow.
Fucking Wen Junhui. Inescapable and insufferable, even during the summer.
—
They come back from the summer break ready to race in the Netherlands.
It feels good to see everyone from Pledis and even the other drivers after the three-week break. They’re not allowed to work on the cars or data or anything over the holiday, so everything related to Formula One was sort of on a collective pause for a while.
Unless you’re Minghao, who has been thinking of nothing but F1 (Junhui) for the entirety of his break.
He sighs as he takes a seat in between Namjoon and Seungcheol on the drivers’ press conference stage. He briefly gives each of them a smile before training his eyes on the media people sitting before them, all geared up with notepads, laptops, cameras, and recording devices, ready to capture their every waking move.
Minghao leans back into his chair and hopes that this media session will go by fast, with as few questions for him as possible.
They get through some arbitrary “return to the track” questions from some ESPN journalists and a couple about what they did over the break from a friendly Sky Sports journalist before Seungkwan starts his questions.
The journalist starts out pretty tame, tossing out a few strategy questions aimed at the HYBE and BigHit teams. He asks Jungkook about his contract extension that was announced over the break.
And then, Seungkwan turns to Junhui.
“Question for you now, Junhui,” Seungkwan says. “After that unfortunate double ‘Did Not Finish’ result in Spa, there’s been rumors going around that your Pledis contract may be reevaluated depending on this next half of the season. Some people have been questioning your skills as a driver online, saying that perhaps you weren’t ready to be promoted into F1. What’s your response to that?”
Junhui clears his throat, straightening up in his seat and gripping his microphone tightly. “Um, well, the DNF incident was definitely on me. There’s no denying it, I made a mistake.”
Minghao fidgets in his seat, staring down at his shoes. It’s like he can feel Junhui’s eyes on him without even looking.
“And uh, as for the rumors…um…” Junhui stutters out.
“Do you think your contract deserves to remain intact after that incident?” Seungkwan asks.
The question is pretty leading. Minghao rolls his eyes at it, then looks up to stare Seungkwan down.
“What kind of question is that?” Minghao asks defiantly into his mic.
Everyone in the room perks up at the sound of Minghao responding to Junhui’s question.
Seungkwan raises his eyebrows as he looks to the other Pledis driver. “Just curious to know about the contract situation post-summer. Do you know anything about where the team stands, Minghao?”
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” Minghao scoffs. “I mean, it’s ridiculous to ask about such a baseless fucking rumor. We’ve all had crashes on the track. Our contracts don’t get terminated just because of one crash, and our driving skills shouldn’t be judged off of them either.”
Junhui’s eyes are wide with surprise from the opposite end of the press conference table. Minghao pretends he doesn’t notice the way his stare is piercing into the side of his head.
“Well,” Seungkwan sniffs, pushing up a pair of glasses on his nose. “Speaking of the crash, let’s talk a little bit about that instead.”
Minghao narrows his eyes. “What about it?”
“We all saw the aftermath of the crash, when you stormed over to Junhui and started yelling at each other,” Seungkwan says. “Can you tell us what exactly you two discussed on the track?”
“I think it's pretty obvious what we discussed.”
“Well, can you tell us how you felt about it? Did you think that a crash was bound to happen given the rivalry that’s been going on between you two?”
“The rivalry,” he repeats in a flat tone.
“Everyone’s been speculating about whether or not the Pledis team actually gets along,” Seungkwan shrugs. “But it only makes sense for you two to be rivals. I mean, you've been pitted against your rookie teammate for the whole season so far.”
“What’s your damn question, man?” Minghao mutters.
“Tell us,” Seungkwan says. “How do you feel about Wen Junhui?”
Minghao almost laughs.
Instead, he looks Seungkwan in the eye and says, “Yeah, we’re done here.”
Minghao stands up and walks off the stage, leaving the press room with hundreds of clamoring journalists and F1 officials and whoever the fuck behind him.
Even if he wanted to respond to Seungkwan’s stupid, shitty question, he couldn’t.
Because he still doesn’t know the answer.
—
Minghao wasn’t thinking when he said it.
Or at least, that's what he keeps telling himself.
“...We are here in Italy again,” a journalist had said. “Pledis was able to get its first two podium wins in this country with you and Junhui this year. Do you think there's a chance for some wins again this weekend in Monza? Perhaps the team's first Italian P1 win?”
“I think everyone on the team is optimistic, especially after our successful performance in Italy earlier this season,” Minghao said. “We like our chances, but it all comes down to execution.”
“And speaking of execution,” she continued, “in the last Italian race we saw a brief battle between you and Junhui on the track. Do you expect Junhui to put up a similar fight during this race?”
Minghao had scowled in thought before giving his answer.
“Listen, I think Junhui is a talented driver with a competitive spirit just like the rest of us. If he wants to fight, that's his choice,” Minghao had said. “Whatever he gives out there, I'll be ready and willing to take it.”
“And in the Dutch race last weekend, Junhui seemed to struggle a lot with the car. He had quite a few braking issues coming into turns,” the journalist said, making Minghao’s scowl deepen. “You obviously took advantage of that sub-par performance and finished in second on the grid, while he fell behind in fifth. Are you hoping for a similar result this weekend?”
Minghao can’t explain it. He just saw red, and he snapped.
“Are you asking me if I hope that my teammate screws up this weekend?” He had spat.
“Uh, n-no, I–”
“First of all, no, I don’t hope that Junhui fucks up. I hope that he does well every weekend,” Minghao gritted out.
In spite of everything, Minghao has truly never wanted Junhui to fail. Their team status aside, where was the fun in competing against someone who was shitty at their sport?
“Second, Junhui is an extremely talented driver. To call his performance sub-par is bullshit. Issues with the car don’t reflect on his driving skills – give the same problems to any other rookie driver, and I’m sure they couldn’t pull off a fifth place win the way he did.”
“My, um, my apologies,” the journalist had stammered, turning with a flustered expression to the cameraman behind her. “W-we’ll need to cut–”
“No, keep this in,” Minghao insisted furiously. “You should be held accountable for insulting Junhui and my team. I’d love to see you try to drive the way he did last weekend.”
“I’m sorry, I–”
“This is over,” Minghao shoved his designer sunglasses on his face. “Thanks.”
He had stormed off to the Pledis garage after, not really thinking about the repercussions of anything he’d said back there. He was just pissed off.
Minghao tried to look for Mingyu, but couldn’t find him in the garage, so he’d gone to his trailer to cool off for a while.
After about an hour or so, he’s back walking along the paddock towards the garage when Joshua comes jogging up to him.
“Minghao!” The American driver slings his arm around him. “Have you been on Twitter at all today?”
“What? No,” Minghao frowns. “Why? Did I miss something?”
“You’ve been trending all afternoon, man,” Joshua chuckles. “That interview blew up.”
Minghao freezes. “What?”
“Yeah, everyone’s going crazy about it,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I gotta run to a team meeting, but I’ll catch you later, yeah?”
Minghao barely manages a nod as he tries to process it. He opens his phone and sees that he has a million notifications.
Fuck.
He shoves his phone in his pocket and heads toward the pink and blue Pledis garage. Maybe he hasn’t seen it yet.
Minghao steps into the garage and, of course, there’s Junhui, sitting amongst a group of engineers in front of him.
Junhui looks up from the data sheet he’s holding to meet Minghao’s gaze, and Minghao knows.
He definitely saw it.
“Um, hey,” Minghao says awkwardly. “Is Gyu around?”
“He’s in a meeting with Jihoon right now,” Junhui answers, slowly standing and approaching Minghao. “Can we talk?”
Minghao nods and lets Junhui lead them just outside the garage, standing in between where their cars will be parked for tomorrow’s race, giant depictions of Minghao and Junhui’s faces and race numbers plastered above them.
“Why’d you say that?”
“Say what?” Minghao tries to play dumb.
Junhui rolls his eyes. “Don’t play games, Minghao. Everyone’s seen it.”
Fuck, everyone? “I had to say something.”
“Yeah, but you never say nice things about me,” Junhui scoffs. Minghao frowns. “So why say any of that about my driving at all? It’s not like that lady was necessarily wrong.”
“I don’t know, she just pissed me off,” he shrugs.
“Like how Seungkwan pissed you off last week?” Junhui asks, and Minghao ducks his head to avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t need you to keep defending me, you know. I’m not some…weakling.”
“It’s not about defending you,” Minghao lies. “It’s…I’m just sick of people underestimating our team. And making all my interviews about your dumbass.”
“Right,” Junhui says like he’s not convinced. “Well, I guess I appreciate it. But you didn’t need to be mean to her. Or Seungkwan. They’re just doing what they have to.”
Minghao nearly rolls his eyes at his naivety. “Yeah, I wasn’t really thinking when I said it. Sorry.”
Junhui shoots him a small smile, but it seems a little strained. “It’s fine.”
They stand there in awkward silence, just gazing at each other, until Junhui clears his throat.
“I should, uh…I need to wrap up my data review with the team,” he rubs at the back of his neck.
“Oh, yeah,” Minghao says dumbly. “Go ahead.”
Junhui nods and pushes past him to go back to the garage. Minghao leans against the wall that divides his car from Junhui’s and lets out a heavy sigh.
He looks up at the starless dark sky and wonders if everyone who’s watched that video can see right through him.
Minghao supposes that the whole incident is what fuels him to give the team its first P1 win in Italy that weekend.
He hoists the trophy proudly over his head, but he only grins when he sees Junhui in the sea of Pledis team members below him, cheering and clapping along with everyone else clad in blue and pink.
It’s in that moment that Minghao realizes how utterly fucked he is.
He tries to drown out the beat of his heart with his oversized champagne bottle, but it’s no use.
And later that night, when the whole team is celebrating the win on a yacht, Minghao tries again to chase the feeling away with drink after drink that’s put in his hand, but it doesn’t stop.
He can’t take it anymore.
“Where’s Junhui?” Minghao asks Wonwoo, after they finish taking a shot of…something strong together.
“Not here,” Wonwoo hiccups.
Minghao frowns before he can remember to hide his disappointment. “Why? Where is he?”
Wonwoo shrugs. “He said something about not wanting to get too drunk like last time. Think he might be back at the hotel.”
“Which is where we should be,” Mingyu says with a sleazy grin, pressing a kiss to Wonwoo’s cheek from behind.
If he wasn’t so drunk, Minghao might’ve fake gagged at the whole scene, but he’s too preoccupied with figuring out how to get back to the hotel as soon as possible.
Minghao slinks off into the crowd while Mingyu’s distracted by kissing Wonwoo, and he makes his way off the boat.
He stumbles as he walks down the streets of Italy, doing his best to follow where Google Maps leads him. He’s pretty sure these buildings look familiar.
Eventually, Minghao somehow makes it to the hotel where the entire Pledis team is staying.
He climbs the stairs to the third floor. He knows Junhui’s room is there because he always gets the room that’s right across from Minghao’s. It bothered him at the start of the season, but now he’s glad for it. It means he doesn’t have to go far to find him.
“Junhui,” he drawls out when he reaches his door. “Jun, open up.”
No answer. Minghao presses his forehead to the door with a sigh.
“Jun, ‘m sorry,” he says louder. “I just wanna talk. Please.”
There’s still no response, not even a rustle, from Junhui. At least not one that Minghao can make out.
“Are you sleeping?” Minghao asks the door. “Maybe I should just go back…”
He startles backwards when the door opens suddenly.
Junhui squints at him, hair messy like he’s been asleep. It’s cute. “Minghao? What are you doing here?”
“Did I wake you up?” Junhui nods. “Oh. Sorry…I should probably go or somethin’.”
“It’s okay,” Junhui yawns. “Did you need me for something? Did you get locked out of your room?”
“Oh…no,” Minghao slurs out. “Just came here ‘cause I was thinkin’ about you.”
Junhui blinks slowly, growing more awake by the minute. “What?”
“Why’d you not come out to party?” Minghao frowns. “Where’d you go?”
“I just…” Junhui’s eyes dart to the ground. “I thought that it’d be best if I didn’t come out tonight. Since last time was…yeah. Probably not a good idea.”
Minghao doesn’t really know what he’s talking about, but he hums like he does. “Still could’ve come. Missed you.”
Junhui stares at him for a long moment, then lets out a laugh. “You must be really drunk. Maybe you should go to bed.”
“No,” Minghao murmurs. “I need to…need to say somethin’ to you first.”
Junhui hesitates, then sighs. “Okay. What is it?”
“I need to tell you…” MInghao draws out. “That I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.”
“Yeah, you’re really fucking drunk then,” Junhui chuckles darkly.
Minghao frowns, reaching out to grasp Junhui by the wrist. “I mean it.”
Junhui looks down at Minghao’s slender fingers wrapped around him, then shuts his eyes and inhales sharply. “Minghao, I think you should go. We can talk in the morning, okay?”
“No, you have to know,” Minghao says with urgency, even in his drunken state. “You gotta know that I–”
“There you are,” Mingyu’s voice sounds from the end of the hallway, interrupting the moment. Dickhead. “Been looking everywhere for you.”
Junhui pulls away, much to Minghao’s disappointment, and leans out to look at Mingyu. “He’s okay…I think.”
“Yeah, he’s just had too much. Snuck off the yacht by himself,” Mingyu sighs, coming over to Minghao and putting his arm around him. “Sorry if he woke you up.”
Minghao’s annoyed that they’re talking about him like he’s not there, and even more annoyed that Mingyu interrupted his moment with Junhui. He tries to shrug Mingyu’s arm off of him, but Mingyu just anchors it around him even harder.
“It’s fine,” Junhui gives him a stained smile. “You should probably get him to bed. He’s, uh, not himself.”
“Yeah, will do,” Mingyu assures him. “Thanks, Junhui. Good night!”
“Night,” Junhui waves, gaze lingering on Minghao before he shuts his hotel room door.
Mingyu starts leading Minghao down the hallway to his own hotel room, despite Minghao’s protests.
“Fuckin’ ruined it,” Minghao mutters as he sits on the bed in Mingyu’s hotel room. “You cockblock.”
Mingyu snorts, rolling his eyes. “You’ll be thanking me for that tomorrow morning. Get some rest, Hao.”
“Fuck off.”
“Love you too, buddy.”
Minghao drunkenly mutters a string of curses at Mingyu before he finally passes out. He dreams that he tries to kiss Junhui, but his teammate just slams a door in his face.
He thinks the ache in his chest from the dream rejection hurts more than the pulsing in his head when he wakes up hungover the next morning.
Yeah, he's fucked.
—
Minghao can’t stop fidgeting.
He’s bitten his thumb nail down to the quick at this point, he can’t stop bouncing his leg, he’s run a hand through his hair every five minutes or so.
“...okay?” Jihoon’s voice sounds muffled in his ears. “Minghao? Minghao.”
“Huh?” Minghao blinks back to reality. “Sorry, what?”
Jihoon sighs. “I just asked if you were okay.”
No, he’s not okay. He just finished with his worst practice time of the season.
It’d been an awful day for him. Each lap felt worse than the last in Minghao’s mind. Not that it counted for much of anything, but he’d literally finished 12th on the grid, and it sure as hell didn’t feel good.
Especially not when his parents had texted him telling him that he’s already a “huge disappointment” this weekend and that he should be “trying harder to strive for greatness.”
“Yeah, I’m just…” Minghao trails off. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened out there.”
“It’s fine, it’s only the first practice,” Jihoon says reassuringly. “I just want to make sure you’re alright. You seem a little out of it.”
Minghao runs a hand through his hair again. “I’m fine."
Jihoon eyes him skeptically. “You know we can discuss whatever you’d like during these meetings. It’s just you and me here.”
“I know.”
When Minghao doesn’t elaborate, Jihoon presses his lips together and nods. “Okay. Well, I’m here for you whenever. Try and get some rest before second practice, yeah? Maybe it’ll help you focus.”
Minghao nods wordlessly and leaves Jihoon’s makeshift office in their team's hospitality tent for the Baku race. He would try to get some rest before practice two, but he knows it’s a hopeless endeavor.
Every time he shuts his eyes, he just sees him , and Minghao can’t do that right now. It’s already bad enough.
Since Monza, Minghao has really tried to process it. The fact that he has feelings for Junhui.
Junhui. His teammate, his competition, the rookie.
It’s been agonizing to wrap his head around. He doesn’t know when the lines between hatred for Junhui and liking Junhui started to blur. Or maybe it’s always been blurry, and he just now started to let himself lean into the feeling.
Everything felt weird now.
He’d let himself actually stare at Junhui’s sleeping form on the plane to Baku for longer than two seconds, and it felt strange. He wanted to touch him. To hold him. He ached. He wanted .
And then Junhui had woken up and made eye contact with Minghao, and he immediately whipped his head away with an obvious red hue stained across his cheeks.
Minghao’s brain then supplied him with the memory of his near drunken confession in Italy, and now he can’t stop thinking: what if he knows?
What if Junhui knows about Minghao’s secret feelings?
What if that’s why he didn't speak to him during breakfast at the hotel? Or why he wouldn’t sit next to Minghao on the flight back home from Italy? Or the flight to Baku?
Minghao’s been stressing about it ever since the thought popped into his brain. He can barely focus on anything, let alone driving.
It gets worse when the rumors start.
“Oh, Pledis is trending on Twitter,” Mingyu mutters in surprise, slouching in a chair as Minghao’s trainer helps him stretch his neck in preparation for the race.
“For what?” Minghao asks, rolling his neck around until it pops.
Mingyu goes silent as he scrolls, eyes flitting back and forth as he reads each post. “Looks like they’re talking about Junhui.”
“For what?” Minghao repeats, giving a goodbye nod to his trainer now that his stretches are done.
“There’s a blurry picture of him that people are saying…uh,” Mingyu scratches his head with a frown. “They’re saying it’s him and Yanan?”
Minghao raises an eyebrow. “Okay?” That didn’t seem very trending topic worthy. “Like of them hanging out or something?”
“Um…not exactly,” Mingyu says.
“Let me see.”
Mingyu hands Minghao his phone, and Minghao’s eyes widen when he sees the photo.
It is blurry, but it’s still obvious that it’s the backs of two men, one with a hand on the other’s waist and their heads close. Almost as if they could be kissing, but you can’t quite make it out.
“I mean, it could not be them,” Mingyu reasons. “It could be anyone.”
But Minghao doesn’t care to listen to reason. “The fans pinpointed the exact outfits they’re wearing in the photo. Same as what Yanan and Jun were wearing in their Japan photos.”
“Well, maybe it’s not what it looks like.”
“How could it be anything other than what it looks like?” Minghao grits out, tossing Mingyu’s phone back in his direction.
“I know you’re upset Hao, but don’t–”
“Upset?” Minghao scoffs. “Why would I be upset? I’m fine.”
Mingyu gives him a pitying look. “Hao.”
“I am,” MInghao insists.
“It’s fine to be upset about it.”
“Yeah, well I’m not upset about it,” he huffs, zipping up his racing suit all the way. “I’ve gotta get to the track.”
“Minghao–”
Minghao shoves his helmet on and storms out of the room before Mingyu can finish his sentence.
He has a race to focus on.
Minghao tries to let it go. He tries to take deep breaths and focus on the warmup lap and adjust his grip on the steering wheel instead of thinking about it.
But then they're lining up in their positions for the race, and Minghao realizes Yanan's car is directly in front of his on the grid.
The red lights hanging above all of the drivers go out, signaling the start of the race.
Minghao's mind goes blank.
He swiftly pushes past whoever was in between him and Yanan on the grid – maybe Johnny? Minghao didn't care enough to look – and slots in right behind Yanan's car.
Minghao knows if he pushes harder, he could probably get past Yanan too. But he doesn't.
He stays firmly put on the tail end of Yanan's car for nearly two full laps before he makes up his mind.
“Point 3 seconds to go,” Mingyu says over the radio. “Once you overtake you'll have 4 seconds to the next driver…Joshua, I believe.”
“Mhm,” Minghao hums. He's too busy glaring at Yanan, watching as he keeps being sloppy with his turns and getting his wheels caught on the corner edges. Idiot.
“We're thinking we'll do our original plan for the pit stop strategy,” Mingyu continues. “Unless you have input.”
“Nope,” Minghao huffs. He follows Yanan along the straight, his front wing inches away from the Cube car.
“Are you sick or something? You always have something to criticize about the pit strategy.”
“It's fine, Mingyu,” he says through gritted teeth. “Can you just shut the fuck up so I can drive?”
“My bad,” the engineer says, and Minghao can just picture the sheepish expression on his face. “I'll let you do your thing.”
The moment the radio clicks off, Minghao lasers in on Yanan’s car. He waits like a cat crouching, gearing up to launch at its prey.
Yanan’s car locks up around a corner.
Minghao doesn’t think – he just presses on the gas and braces himself for the inevitable.
He hits the back of Yanan’s car and they both skid off the track, slamming into the barrier of rubber tires on the side. The barrier will lessen the blow for both of them, but the damage has been done.
Minghao just hopes it’s enough.
“Hao?” Mingyu’s voice rings out. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Minghao mutters, taking off his seatbelt. He cranes his neck up to see if Yanan’s car is still running. If it is, he could still be able to race, and that’s not what Minghao wants.
“What happened out there?”
Minghao lets out a sigh of relief when he sees Yanan throw his hands up in the air before hoisting himself out of his car. “Not sure,” he lies.
“Alright, well,” Mingyu says. “Safety car is headed your way.”
Minghao takes a deep breath and lifts himself out of his car for the second time that season. This time though, he felt good about the crash. Relieved.
He’ll receive a DNF and an outraged three-hour phone call from his father for it, but right now, it’s worth it. Because he’s not the only one receiving a DNF.
Unlike Junhui, Yanan doesn’t approach him to start a shouting match. He just waits for the safety car in silence.
Minghao’s glad for it. He doesn’t need anyone to get too close to him.
If they did, they’d see the wide smirk peeking out from underneath his helmet as he watches a crane lift Yanan’s car out from the tire barrier.
And for the first time in his entire F1 career, getting a DNF almost felt like winning.
Or at least, it does until he’s being summoned to Jihoon’s office post-race.
“What the fuck were you thinking out there? Huh?”
Minghao just stares at his shoes while Jihoon yells.
“I mean, fucking Christ,” the team manager pinches at the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut. “Getting a DNF at this point in the season. Those were critical points we lost today, Minghao!”
It’s only then that Minghao feels a little ashamed about it. But he couldn’t help himself.
Not when it came to Junhui.
“You know what’s at stake here. We need to be ahead of HYBE and BigHit if we want a chance at the constructors’ championship. We can’t afford to lose points,” Jihoon says sternly. “We can’t afford for you to be sloppy."
“I know,” Minghao mutters. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never seen you perform like this, Hao,” Jihoon shakes his head. “You’re lucky you have Junhui.”
“I know,” Minghao repeats more sincerely.
The room falls quiet for a moment as Jihoon stares Minghao down, analyzing him.
“Ah, I get it now,” Jihoon hums. “This is about Junhui.”
Minghao snaps his head up. “What?”
“Junhui. You have feelings for him.”
“What are you talking about?” Minghao scoffs.
He wonders if this is some sort of test or mind game that Jihoon’s throwing at him because there’s no chance he'd be able to tell that he has feelings for Junhui…right?
“You were so adamant that you despised him, and now you know you’re lucky to have him?” Jihoon questions. “That’s quite the change of heart. Almost exactly like what I went through with Soonyoung.”
“That’s not what this is,” Minghao lies. “You’re reading too much into it. Never in a million years would I have…feelings for some rookie.”
Jihoon eyes him like he’s trying to decipher something for a long moment, then gives up with a sigh.
“Fine. You don’t have to tell me,” Jihoon surrenders. “But regardless of how you feel about him, I need you to get your shit together, Minghao. Whatever is going on with you lately, you need to work it out. For the sake of the team.”
“I’m trying,” Minghao swears. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good,” Jihoon says. “Now get out of here, Soonyoung’s waiting for me.”
Minghao rolls his eyes as he leaves, but secretly, he wonders if that will ever be him one day: attached, in love, happy.
He opens Twitter to torture himself, and clicks on the first post he sees about Yanan and Junhui. He zooms in on the pixelated photo.
He doubts that that will ever be him.
—
Minghao barely finishes signing a fan’s cap when Junhui comes over and drags him away by the arm.
“Hey!” Minghao yelps, struggling in Junhui’s grasp. “What the–”
Junhui lets go of him when they reach an empty part of the paddock between SM and Starship’s team hospitality areas.
“What the fuck was that last weekend?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Junhui squints at him. “Yes, you do.”
“I don’t,” Minghao lies, but it’s meek even to his own ears.
“The crash,” Junhui prods. “In Baku?”
“Ah, that. It was a mistake.”
“I know you, Minghao. You wouldn’t just make a mistake like that.”
He shrugs. “All drivers slip up every now and then.”
“Yeah, but not you,” Junhui insists. “I’ve been watching you drive for years, I know you don’t make fuckups like that.”
“I’m flattered you think so highly of me,” Minghao sniffs, “but I’m not perfect. It was…an error in judgment.”
“I watched the footage. I even heard the radio, so I know it wasn’t a team order,” Junhui says. “It was all you.”
“What was all me?”
“Admit it. You ran into Yanan’s car on purpose.”
“What?” Minghao scoffs. “I would never–”
“C’mon, Minghao, don’t lie to me,” Junhui says. “I know your driving better than anyone. I know you would never go around a corner at a speed like that. So why’d you do it? Hm?”
Minghao stares down at the concrete. “My mind just…went blank. It all happened so fast.”
Junhui’s furrowed brow deepens. “Don’t tell me you just weren’t thinking straight. There’s no way a crash like that was over nothing.”
“Why do you even care?” Minghao snaps. “You’re probably glad I crashed. Makes you look better.”
His teammate rolls his eyes. “I care because we’re a team. And Yanan is my friend.”
“Right,” Minghao chuckles bitterly. “Why don’t you ask him then?”
“Because this is about you,” Junhui says. “Why’d you do it?”
“I don’t have to tell you shit,” Minghao retorts.
“You owe me that much. I had to push ten times harder during that race for you.”
“And you finished on the podium because of it, so you should be thanking me and my shitty driving,” Minghao says with a fake smile.
Junhui scoffs in disbelief. “You really want me to believe that was just bad driving? Be serious, Minghao.”
“Maybe I was just having an off day,” Minghao huffs. “It’s none of your business.”
He tries to walk away, but Junhui reaches out to grab his arm and tugs him back again. They’re closer now, so close Minghao could count the moles on Junhui’s face. It makes him want to squirm away.
“This again?” Minghao grits out, keeping his eyes on Junhui’s hand clutching his forearm. “What, you can’t get enough?”
“You don’t have off days. You don’t have bad drives,” Junhui says lowly. “You’re Xu Minghao.”
“Wow, you’re a genius,” Minghao says sarcastically. “Let go of me.”
“Not until you tell me the truth. Why did you crash into Yanan?”
Minghao rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, Junhui, why does it matter to you so much?”
“Because you decided to crash into my only real friend on the grid for no fucking reason,” Junhui shouts in exasperation.
The friend thing was really starting to get on Minghao’s nerves. “I had a fucking reason!”
“Then tell me what it is!”
Minghao shuts his eyes. “I was fucking jealous, okay?!”
Junhui blinks in confusion, his grip on Minghao’s arm going slack. “What?”
“I was jealous,” Minghao repeats, “and I wanted to get back at him. It was stupid.”
Minghao opens his eyes slowly, practically holding his breath as he waits for Junhui to respond.
“Jealous…of what?”
Minghao’s face burns with embarrassment. “Your…friendship,” he practically spits out the word, “with him.”
Junhui frowns in confusion. “Why? You made it pretty clear you didn’t want to be friends with me.”
“No, I–”
“You said it yourself – we were never going to be friends.”
“That’s not what I…” Minghao lets out a sigh. “Okay yes, I did say that, but–”
“You shut me down every time I even tried to be remotely friendly to you,” Junhui continues rambling away. “If you wanted to be friends, then–”
“Oh my god, I don’t want to be friends with you!” Minghao groans.
Junhui frowns. “You don’t?”
“No,” Minghao sighs. “It’s just…it was those photos of you two, okay? That’s what pissed me off.”
“The photos?” Junhui asks. “Of me and Yanan? What photos?”
“The ones that the fans took,” Minghao mutters, “of you two in Japan.”
It takes Junhui a good second before his mouth forms a silent ‘O’ in realization. “Those blurry ones on Twitter? Those weren’t of us.”
Minghao looks up at him with wide eyes. “They weren’t?”
“No,” Junhui shakes his head. “I don’t know who the photos were of, but Yanan has been in a serious relationship for like, five years or something? His girlfriend joined us in Japan for a few days.”
Minghao hates how that instantly makes him feel…lighter.
“Why would you be jealous of some fake photos anyway?” Junhui asks.
“Because…”
Minghao’s voice trails off when he remembers how close he is to Junhui. His gaze falls to his lips, those damned lips he’s been thinking and dreaming about for so long.
He rushes forward to capture them with his own mouth, moaning when he feels Junhui’s hands instantly go to his hair.
Minghao commits it all to memory: the slide of Junhui’s tongue against his, the groan in the back of Junhui’s throat when Minghao lets one of his hands travel up the back of his shirt, the way his grip tightens when Minghao deepens the kiss.
And then, his phone starts vibrating.
“Fuck,” Minghao gasps when he pulls away to check his phone. He looks down at the lit up screen.
Jihoon. Apparently he’s called three times already.
“Shit,” he mutters, then looks up at Junhui’s disheveled state and swollen mouth. “It’s Jihoon. I’m sorry, I…”
Minghao combs a hand through his messy hair and starts backing away.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “Pretend this never happened.”
He dashes off before Junhui can even say a word.
—
It’s been a week since what Jeonghan has dubbed the “Singaporean spit swap” incident, and Minghao feels like he’s losing his mind.
He went to great lengths to avoid Junhui that entire weekend. He thinks it’s what motivated him to finish that race in first – he didn’t want to be anywhere near Junhui, who finished in second, a full five seconds behind him.
The Junhui dilemma has gotten so bad that he had no other choice but to reveal the details of the entire situation to Jeonghan, Mingyu, and Wonwoo.
“So let me get this straight,” Jeonghan had said. “He kissed you, you kissed him, and you’re freaking out…why?”
“Because we’re teammates and I like him,” Minghao had groaned. “And I got jealous and crashed into his best friend’s car on purpose. He probably hates me.”
“You do remember that he kissed you first, right?” Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Minghao insisted. “We were drunk. And kissing someone doesn’t always mean you have feelings for them.”
“Yeah, because I always tongue punch people I hate,” Jeonghan rolled his eyes.
“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?” Mingyu suggested. “He could feel the same way.”
“Or he could not, and then I would have to sit in team meetings with him every day and die,” Minghao said dramatically.
Wonwoo, at least, had been kinder about the whole thing. He had gently taken Minghao by the hand and said, “It’s normal to be scared about being vulnerable with someone, especially when it comes to your feelings. But if you don’t try, you’ll never know. If I didn’t try, I probably wouldn’t be with Gyu right now.”
Unfortunately Minghao is a huge coward (unless it comes to racing at speeds of over 200 miles per hour) and he would rather stay silent forever than admit his feelings to Junhui, but he appreciated their efforts nonetheless.
He’s come to the conclusion that it’s best for him to just ignore the whole thing and act normal for the time being, especially on a night like this.
Tonight, Jihoon and Soonyoung are hosting a joint dinner party for their respective teams, which means everyone from Pledis and JYP will be there. Which means Junhui will be there.
Minghao needs to not fuck this night up.
He inhales deeply as Mingyu opens the door for him and Wonwoo to enter Jihoon’s giant mansion.
“Mingyu, Wonwoo!” Soonyoung greets the couple with a bright smile, which only grows when his gaze drifts to Minghao behind them. “Hao!”
Minghao can’t help but laugh when Soonyoung wraps him in his arms. Since he joined Pledis, Soonyoung and Jihoon often felt like the closest thing he had to family besides his parents.
“Hi Soonyoung,” Minghao chuckles, patting him on the back. “Where’s Jihoon?”
“Oh, just in the back,” Soonyoung pulls away, beckoning them all to follow. “Come this way.”
They follow Soonyoung down several long, extravagant corridors until they reach a back patio area with a glass-paneled ceiling and flowers in seemingly every corner. A long table stretches through the middle of the room.
Minghao carefully steps around some small groups of engineers and mechanics from Pledis and JYP, doing his best to keep up with Soonyoung’s fast pace.
“Hoonie,” Soonyoung coos when he approaches Jihoon. “Look who’s here finally.”
Jihoon smiles at Minghao and pulls him in for a brief hug. He only ever really did that in front of Soonyoung, mostly because he’d be scolded otherwise. Minghao appreciates it anyway.
“Hey, Hao,” Jihoon says, then in a quieter voice, asks, “Got your shit figured out yet?”
“Uh, still working on it,” Minghao gives him a strained smile. “This place looks great, by the way.”
Jihoon ignores his efforts to change the subject. “He’s over there, just so you know.”
Minghao follows his gaze to the corner of the room, where Junhui is animatedly waving his hands around as he tells a story to a group of engineers.
“Better figure it out before we get back to the track, hm?” Jihoon claps him on the shoulder and walks off.
Minghao takes a champagne flute off a nearby tray and holds it to his lips as he stares at Junhui, drinking him in.
He’s wearing a white button down and black slacks. Nothing special, but Minghao’s not used to seeing him in anything besides the blue and pink Pledis gear. Maybe that’s why he can’t seem to stop looking at him.
When everyone finally arrives, they all take their assigned seats at the table. Minghao is grateful that Jihoon and Soonyoung knew to seat him as far away from Junhui as possible.
That doesn’t stop him from glancing down to where his teammate is seated at the end of the table though. He watches as one of their female engineers laughs a little too hard at something Junhui says.
“You’re glaring, you know,” Wonwoo murmurs next to him.
“What?” Minghao blinks out his daze, then stares down at his plate instead. “Thanks,” he mutters.
Wonwoo gives him a knowing look before he leans closer to whisper, “She’s married. They just had a baby, a little boy. His name is Ben.”
“Oh,” Minghao says, feeling a little guilty. He really needs to get this jealousy thing under control. “Thanks, again.”
“You should tell him,” Wonwoo urges. “What have you got to lose?”
Everything, Minghao thinks. He could lose everything, and fuck does he hate to lose.
Jihoon taps at his glass at the head of the table, and the clinking sound draws everyone’s attention to the front of the room.
“Thank you all for coming this evening,” Jihoon says. “Soonyoung and I just wanted to get everyone together to show our appreciation for all your efforts so far this season. I know we can’t always be the easiest people to work with, so we thank you for sticking with us.”
“And I want to give a special shoutout to our latest team member, Yoon Jeonghan, who has given us a strong start to the season and to our partnership,” Soonyoung raises his glass. “I look forward to seeing him continue to grow with us in the future!”
Minghao smiles as he and the entire room bursts into applause for his best friend seated across from him. Jeonghan gives a bashful smile to everyone, but Minghao knows he secretly eats up the attention.
“I would also like to thank the newest addition to our team, Wen Junhui,” Jihoon says when the room quiets down. “He’s been an incredible asset to Pledis so far this season, and we are all lucky to have him here.”
Minghao watches as Junhui goes red while everyone claps for him. It’s adorable, and he wants to vomit for thinking it.
“If there’s one thing Soonyoung and I have learned from this industry over the years, it’s that it’s important to show people that you appreciate them and that you care,” Jihoon continues, giving a pointed look in Minghao’s direction. “We want each of you to know how integral you are to making all of this possible. We wouldn’t be here without any of you, so thank you.”
“Here’s to the rest of an incredible season!” Soonyoung shouts, encouraging everyone to raise their glasses and cheer.
Minghao downs the rest of his glass in one go. This was going to be a long night.
After dinner, the party moves out to Jihoon and Soonyoung’s backyard. Their infinity pool looks out over the rolling hills, and the sun setting in the distance makes the view glow with a dusty pink.
“I heard they were considering letting Yeonjun try out a practice session next race,” Jeonghan says to Minghao and Mingyu, ever the gossip.
“Which team?” Mingyu asks.
“BigHit,” Jeonghan replies. “Joshua told me he thinks Namjoon may be leaving the sport for a bit.”
“Retiring? Or…?”
Jeonghan shrugs, sipping at a glass of white wine in his hand. “Don’t know. Think it might be some sort of family thing, could be mental health.”
Minghao barely pays attention to their conversation. He’s too busy staring at the back of Junhui’s head while he talks to Wonwoo from the other side of the pool.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Hao,” Jeonghan nudges him with his elbow, startling him out of his thoughts. He follows Minghao’s gaze and leans in closer. “You could just talk to him, you know.”
“No I can’t,” Minghao says with a bitter laugh. “What would I even say?”
“‘Hi Jun, remember that kiss we shared? I’d like to keep doing that please,’” Jeonghan jokes. “‘Let’s go home together?’”
Minghao shoves at his shoulder with a groan. “Fuck off. I’m not saying that. It’s…it’s better if I keep my distance.”
“Why though?” Mingyu asks. “I don’t understand why you won’t at least go over to him.”
“Because every time we talk to each other, it ends with us arguing or kissing,” Minghao hisses. “I can’t let that happen here.”
Jeonghan snorts. “Sounds like a good time to me.”
“Is it a good idea to let this go without talking about it though?” Mingyu persists. “I mean, can you two last the whole season like this?”
“This again?” Minghao rolls his eyes. “You’re not my dad, Gyu. I don’t need to keep hearing the same lecture.”
“I’m not lecturing,” Mingyu huffs. “I’m just saying, it might be easier to just have a conversation about it and deal with it from there.”
“Well, I don’t need your advice,” Minghao takes a glass of wine off of a nearby tray and takes a long sip. “I can handle it just fine on my own.”
Minghao takes his wine and stalks off to join some Pledis mechanics gathered in Soonyoung and Jihoon’s outdoor kitchen. He can’t stand feeling pressured by his friends anymore.
The Junhui situation is just…out of his hands now. What is he supposed to do?
Either way, he loses in this. If he tells Junhui and he doesn’t feel the same, how can they keep working together without it being weird? If he does feel the same, then Minghao has no idea how that would even work in F1.
To his knowledge, two drivers have never been in a relationship before. How could they? The sport was far too competitive to have an intimate relationship with someone else on the grid, let alone your own teammate.
Minghao doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about this. It’s not like Junhui feels the same.
Minghao makes his rounds around the party, doing his best to converse with members of his team until he feels his social battery start to dwindle. He seeks out a spot away from everyone else near the edge of the pool and sits carefully, trying to avoid getting water on his Givenchy shorts.
He sits and stares at the speckles of stars starting to appear in the sky, when someone clears their throat behind him.
“Not going for a swim?”
Minghao looks over his shoulder to see Junhui towering over him, a small smile on his face and a beer in hand.
“I’m not really wearing the right outfit for a swim,” Minghao says, turning back to the water before him.
“Hm, I don’t know,” Junhui sits next to him, legs crossed. “I think a wet look could be just what Givenchy needs.”
Minghao can’t help but chuckle at that. “Right. I’m sure that’s what they’re looking for from their brand ambassadors.”
Silence falls between them, and Minghao feels like he’s on fire with how close his knee is to Junhui’s.
They could touch, but they aren’t. They could talk, but they aren’t.
He stares at the rippling pool water for five long minutes and thinks about just diving in, when Junhui finally speaks.
“I know that, uh, we’re supposed to pretend like… things never happened,” Junhui starts, and Minghao cringes internally, “but I just had a conversation with Jihoon about our partnership, and he wanted to know if we were going to make it out of this season without killing each other.”
Fucking Jihoon. “He said that?”
“Apparently he’s concerned that we still haven’t resolved anything over the break. He said he noticed that we were avoiding each other tonight,” Junhui says. “I mean, I never intended to avoid you, but I just, uh…figured that was what you wanted.”
Minghao sighs, looking up at the sky. “There’s nothing to resolve. Things are fine.”
“Right,” Junhui mutters. It’s quiet again for a second, until he turns to look at Minghao with a frown. “It’s just that things aren’t really fine, though.”
“Okay,” Minghao exhales sharply. “What’s the issue then?”
Junhui sighs. “Come on, Minghao. Are we really just never going to talk about it?”
“What do you think ‘pretend this never happened’ means?”
“Because that’s been working out so well,” Junhui mutters. “Be serious, Minghao. “How are we supposed to pretend none of that ever happened?”
“It’s easy. We show up, we race, we do press – we treat each other like normal.”
“You mean you go back to treating me like shit and hating my guts, then?”
Minghao rolls his eyes. “I don’t hate you. I’ve told you this. We’re…friends.”
“Oh, so now we’re friends?” Junhui scoffs. “I thought you didn’t want that. Sure seemed like you didn’t a week ago.”
“Fuck, what do you expect me to do, Junhui?” Minghao asks, exasperation creeping into his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. Is that what you want from me?”
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Junhui grits out. “I want you to be fucking honest with me.”
Minghao folds his arms across his chest and sighs. “Fine.”
“Why did you kiss me?” Junhui asks in a low voice.
“I…” Minghao’s mouth hangs open as he struggles to word his answer. “Isn't it obvious?”
“No,” Junhui sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It's not obvious to me. One minute you're fucking telling me you're jealous of Yanan for no reason and kissing me, and the next you're avoiding me like the plague. You say you don't hate me, and then you act like you do, and I just…I've got no idea where I stand with you, Minghao.”
He looks so defeated, it makes Minghao ache.
“I'm sorry, Junhui. Really. I didn’t…” he swallows, looks down at the pool water. “When I was growing up, I was never really allowed to express how I felt, unless it was on the track. I guess that’s why I struggle with it now.”
Minghao clears his throat and presses his shaking hands together in his lap. “After Monaco, I…I couldn’t get our kiss out of my head,” he admits. “I thought it would pass, but it didn’t. And after our crash in Spa, I realized that I started to, um, develop…feelings for you.”
“Feelings for me?” Junhui repeats as Minghao keeps his eyes trained on the pool. “You have feelings for me?”
“Yes,” Minghao murmurs shamefully. “That’s why I got jealous of Yanan. And why I’ve been acting like such a dick. I don’t know, I guess I just thought pushing you away or avoiding things would make it better, but it didn’t. I thought my feelings were obvious, but…guess not. I’m sorry.”
Minghao nearly startles when Junhui places a warm hand over his knee. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because,” Minghao’s gaze flits between Junhui’s hand and the water. “I know that you probably don’t feel the same. Which is fine, I completely understand. I mean, I put you through a lot, and I know that you probably hate me–”
“I don’t hate you,” Junhui interrupts. “I never have. Look at me.”
Minghao turns to look at Junhui, who’s gazing at him intently.
“I’ve liked you since the start of the season, Minghao. Even when I was angry with you, I liked you. I tried to deny it, tried to pretend, even tried to fight with you, but it wouldn’t go away.”
Minghao blinks in surprise. He can hardly believe what he’s hearing – Junhui feels the same.
“That’s why I kissed you in Monaco,” Junhui confesses. “I just couldn’t keep it in anymore. But when you started avoiding me after, I thought that you knew and just didn’t feel the same. Especially after you said the kiss was just a mistake.”
Minghao winces at his past words. “I didn’t mean that. I was just angry and hadn’t even admitted my feelings to myself at that point.”
“It’s okay. I mean, you weren’t entirely wrong. It sort of was a mistake that I ended up kissing you that night. I didn’t intend to do that, but you just looked so…” Junhui blushes, looks away. “Good. And the liquid courage went to my head.”
Minghao can’t help but chuckle to himself as he watches Junhui shyly rub at the back of his neck. He can hardly believe how blind he’s been all along.
“And here I thought I’d ruined things completely between us after kissing you.”
“Same here,” Junhui puffs out a laugh. “I even considered making a bid to Soonyoung to transfer to JYP next season because of it.”
Minghao frowns. “But you didn’t. Right?”
“No,” Junhui shakes his head. “I don’t think I could stand to be on a team without you. If you hadn’t felt the same…I don’t know, I think I might’ve just quit the sport entirely.”
“Thank god that’s not the case, then.”
Minghao watches as Junhui taps his fingertips against Minghao’s knee, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it could be now.
They go silent for several minutes, Junhui gazing at Minghao and never letting up on the drumming against his skin.
“I really still can’t believe that you feel the same way,” Junhui murmurs softly. “I never thought that would even be possible.”
“I never thought you’d feel the same either.”
Junhui laughs. “God, we’re both just idiots, huh?”
“I was just thinking about how many points we could’ve earned this season if we’d just talked about this sooner,” Minghao chuckles, placing a hand over Junhui’s. It feels weird, but good, to finally feel like he’s allowed to touch him.
“Good thing there’s another half of the season to go,” Junhui says, flashing one of his signature bright smiles at Minghao. It feels like he hasn’t seen it in forever, and his heart warms at the sight.
Minghao smiles fondly at Junhui. “I really wish we were alone,” he murmurs, eyeing the surrounding crowd scattered on the patio.
“Me too,” Junhui rubs circles against Minghao’s skin with his thumb, sending shivers up Minghao’s spine. “We’ve been talking about kissing so much, and now it’s all I can think about.”
“Mm, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Junhui says in a hushed voice, lips barely ghosting Minghao’s ear. “I think about our Monaco kiss all the time. Your mouth tasted like fucking cherries.”
Minghao can’t help but grin to himself. “Yeah, you liked that?”
“Yeah. Loved it,” Junhui murmurs.
Junhui traces his fingers against Minghao’s skin, sliding up from his knee to his thigh ever so slowly. Minghao has to bite back a gasp.
“Do you want to get out of here and head back to my hotel?”
And the “yes” that escapes Minghao’s lips comes out faster than any reaction time he’s ever had on the track, he’s certain of it.
—
Minghao wakes up in Junhui’s hotel room bed the next morning with aching muscles and a line of red marks going from his neck to his collarbones.
Groggily, he rubs at one of his eyes and turns his head to be met with the sight of Junhui’s back, faint scratch marks across his shoulder blades. Minghao smiles smugly to himself.
It all feels like a dream. If he’d been told at the start of the season that he’d end up falling for Wen Junhui and sleeping next to him in the same bed, he would’ve thought it was a lie.
Minghao presses gentle kisses to Junhui’s shoulder until he starts to wake up.
“Mm, coming back for seconds?” Junhui murmurs sleepily, peeking one eye open to squint at Minghao at his side.
Minghao rests his cheek against Junhui's body. “Maybe.”
Junhui smiles and uses his free hand to ruffle Minghao’s dark locks. “Such a needy boy.”
Minghao lets out a whine. “I should’ve never told you that I like that.”
“Why?” Junhui rolls over, forcing Minghao to fall back onto the mattress as Junhui cages him in with his arms, hovering over him. “You don’t like being my good boy?”
Minghao can feel his cheeks getting hot as his cock twitches beneath the hotel sheets in response to the nickname. He whimpers with his face half-buried into the pillow.
“Hm?” Junhui hums, eyes growing darker as he watches Minghao squirm under him. “Don’t you want to be my good boy?”
His teammate drops his head down to plant kisses against Minghao’s jawline, then lets his lips press against the existing hickeys on his neck.
“My sweet boy,” Junhui whispers against his skin, before lifting his head again. “Tell me you like it.”
“Y-yes,” Minghao exhales, staring up at Junhui with a half-lidded gaze. “I like it.”
Junhui smirks down at him. “Good. Like it when you go all submissive for me.”
Minghao places his hands on Junhui’s back, feeling up the marks that he left there last night and relishing in the way Junhui shudders under his touch.
“Just for you,” Minghao murmurs. “Only for you.”
Junhui’s blown out pupils fall to Minghao's mouth, and he leans in to kiss Minghao hungrily. He slips his tongue past Minghao's plush bottom lip, grunting when he feels his teammate suck on it.
“Fuck,” Junhui curses, the sound muffled against Minghao's lips. “You're so fuckin’ hot, Hao.”
“Jun,” Minghao moans. “I need you. Want you inside me.”
“Not yet, sweet boy,” Junhui says, running his hands down Minghao's sides, which only riles him up more. “Patience.”
Minghao whines. “No, please. I can't wait, I'm already so…” he trails off, cutting himself off with a cry as he starts grinding his hips up, helplessly humping against the sheets.
Junhui looks down to where the thin sheets are tented around the lower half of Minghao's body. There's a wet spot where the head of Minghao’s cock obviously is straining against the fabric.
“Already so hard for me, hm?” Junhui asks, reaching a hand down to gently cup Minghao's hard-on over the sheets. He smirks when Minghao moans loudly and starts fucking his hips up faster against his hand.
“Please,” Minghao pants out, whimpering when Junhui gently applies more pressure over his aching cock.
“Such a horny boy,” Junhui says lowly into his ear. “Could you cum just from this?”
Minghao nods furiously, dick twitching at the thought.
“Show me then.”
Minghao whines and starts thrusting his hips upward, chasing the friction of the sheets and the weight of Junhui’s warm hand against him. It’s not enough, but he’s desperate to get off.
“My poor Minghao,” Junhui coos, using his free hand to play with Minghao’s black hair splayed against the hotel pillow. “Wanna be fucked so bad, hm?”
“Fuck,” he cries out. “Yes!”
“One round just wasn’t enough. Always so greedy for more…” Junhui presses gentle kisses down Minghao’s neck, and it makes him whine. “Keep fucking my hand, that’s it.”
“Jun…I need it,” Minghao moans. “I need more, please.”
Junhui wraps his fist around Minghao’s cock over the sheets, and he throws his head back at the tight feeling around him. It’s still not exactly what he wanted, but it’ll do.
“Ah, fuck,” Minghao swears as he settles into a rhythm, helplessly fucking into Junhui’s fist and chasing the slide of the sheets against his hard cock.
“Look at you,” Junhui murmurs hotly against his ear. “So fuckin’ hot. You’ll be such a good boy if you cum for me, if you cum just from this.”
Minghao’s eyes flutter shut as he whines, face flushed as he humps against the sheets and Junhui’s hand even faster.
Junhui sucks at a spot of skin just below his ear, where another hickey is sure to bloom. “You want to be my good boy, hm?”
“Yes,” Minghao gasps as he feels Junhui’s teeth drag against his skin. “Jun, please.”
“Cum for me, Hao.”
Minghao starts thrusting faster and letting out desperate cries, and just when he thinks he might not be able to finish, Junhui pulls the sheets off his sweaty body and wraps his hand around his leaking cock.
“Fuck!”
Minghao cums hard into Junhui’s fist, dick twitching as Junhui gently strokes him through the high.
He hisses when it all becomes too sensitive, and Junhui smirks as he leans over to grab the discarded towel from last night to clean himself and Minghao.
Minghao lies back with an arm thrown over his eyes, trying to catch his breath and absorb the dazed pleasure coursing through his body.
“Was that alright?” Junhui asks. Minghao hears him toss the towel onto the floor again before he settles back into the spot next to him on the bed.
“Mhm,” Minghao hums lazily, letting his arm fall back against the mattress. “Wish you’d fucked me again though.”
Junhui chuckles and presses a kiss to Minghao’s lips. “There’ll be plenty of time for that. If you want this to keep happening, that is.”
Minghao shoots him a puzzled look. “Why would I not want this to keep happening?”
“I don’t know,” Junhui’s eyes dart away. “We just never really talked about…what happens now. Or next, I guess?”
“Like, between us?"
“Yeah, like…what is this going to be?” Junhui gestures vaguely between their spent bodies.
Minghao presses his lips together as he weighs their options.
If they tried to be boyfriends, would it work? There were still quite a few races left to go. What are the odds that someone finds out? Is that even allowed?
Or, worse: what if they break up before the season ends, and it ruins everything?
“How about we just wait until the end of the season to work all of that out, yeah?” Minghao suggests. “Let’s just enjoy this.”
Minghao pulls Junhui in for a kiss, and he goes easily. It still feels like a dream, and he never wants to wake up.
—
After the break, they get back to the track in Austin.
It’s the most fun race weekend Minghao’s had in a while. He and Junhui get to ride horses for a social media thing. They go out to bars with Mingyu, Wonwoo, and Jeonghan, and laugh when Mingyu falls off a mechanical bull. They buy cowboy hats in a local shop.
(And then Minghao wears the cowboy hat as he rides Junhui the night before their race.)
The weekend ends with Junhui crossing the line in first, and Minghao picking up second place. A perfect 1-2 finish for Pledis.
Minghao wishes it was perfect for him too.
It seems like it is for a split second – his heart swells as Junhui raises his first place trophy over his head, and he can’t wipe the grin off his face as he watches him throughout the whole celebration. It’s probably the first time he’s ever felt proud of someone who finished ahead of him.
It lasts until the moment his phone rings as he heads back down to the garage to change out of his sweaty racing gear.
His heart sinks as he answers the call.
“Hello, Ba?” Minghao says.
“Second place?”
Minghao sighs as his father practically hisses out the words. “Yes. Second.”
“On a track that you broke a lap record at last year?” Minghao's father questions. “Unbelievable.”
“I don't know, it's different this year,” Minghao says. “The car is different.”
“Is it? The only thing I see that's different this year is that you let that boy win.”
Minghao swallows. “I didn't let him win.”
“Didn't you? The sloppy turns, the poor maintenance of your tires,” his father counters. “You might as well have handed the trophy to that idiot rookie yourself.”
“He's not an idiot,” Minghao says through gritted teeth. “And I didn’t just let him win. I tried, Ba.”
“Trying is not good enough.”
“You're acting like I finished P20 instead of second,” Minghao mutters.
“You might as well have. What do I always say–”
“Anything less than first is failure,” Minghao finishes before his father can. “Yeah. I know.”
“You've been so disappointing with your performances this year, Minghao. You're too close to that boy in the championship rankings.”
Minghao's aware that he and Junhui are basically only a few points away from each other on the ranking of drivers – he's in first by a slim margin. Probably even slimmer after today.
They’ll both be favorites to win the World Drivers’ Championship. They'll have to compete against each other.
“I know, Ba.”
“It's all on the line, Minghao. You could lose your career tomorrow, remember? You never know. There are no guarantees,” his father says. “Don't give them a reason to replace you. You need to push ten times harder now.”
Minghao feels like he could give everything he has, and it still wouldn't measure up to his father's expectations.
He wants to fight him on it like he has a thousand times, wants to shout, wants to scream, wants to cry.
Minghao gives a defeated sigh. “Okay, Ba. I will.”
“Good. I'll let you get back to work.”
The call ends. Minghao slams his fist against a nearby wall, not caring if it stings.
“Whoa,” a familiar voice comes from behind him. “You okay?”
Minghao winces to himself as he turns to Junhui. “Yeah, fine.”
“Okay,” Junhui eyes him skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I'm sure, Jun,” Minghao sighs. “Look, I need to go cool off and get out of my gear. I'll just meet you back at the hotel, yeah?”
Junhui still looks concerned, but he nods anyway. “Okay. See you there.”
Minghao runs a hand through his sweaty hair and trudges back to his trailer, his father's harsh words ringing in his head.
He rides back to the hotel in silence. He feels even more worn out than usual.
For a moment, he thinks about not going to see Junhui and actually using his own hotel room for once, but he knows that Junhui would come looking for him anyway.
Junhui answers at Minghao’s first knock.
“Hi,” Junhui exhales. “I ordered you room service before it closed…I didn't know if you were hungry, but I thought I might as well. I got a burger and a pasta dish. I didn't know what you'd like better, b–”
“Thanks,” Minghao cuts his rambling off and pushes past him to get into the room.
He strips off his designer bag and tosses it on the chair in the corner, then sits and starts unlacing his boots.
Junhui perches on the edge of the bed, watching him. “I wasn't sure if you were going to come by.”
“I wasn't either until about 20 minutes ago,” Minghao replies, setting his boots aside. “You didn't have to wait for me to start eating, you know.”
Junhui shrugs as Minghao leans over to inspect the room service tray, ultimately picking up a fork and pulling the pasta dish closer to him. “I wasn't really, uh, that hungry.”
Minghao raises an eyebrow at that. “You're always hungry.”
“Well…I lost my appetite, I guess.”
“Why? You won today. The Jun I know would've wolfed down a celebratory meal and dessert by now,” Minghao chuckles.
Junhui stares down at the sheets, like he's trying to figure out the thread count. “I just…didn't know if you'd be upset with me, is all.”
Minghao stops chewing. “What?”
“You don't have to pretend. I know you're mad at me, and I…” Junhui looks up at him finally. “Don't let this get between us, Hao.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know we're super close in the championship rankings, but I don't want it to ruin…this,” he says. “Us.”
Minghao swallows his bite of pasta. “Oh my god. You think I'm pissed off because you won today?”
“Well,” Junhui shrugs again. “Yeah? Why else would you be in such a bad mood post-race?”
“Jun, I could care less about the championship right now. And I was happy that you won, I still am,” Minghao insists. “I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at my idiot fucking father.”
Junhui’s expression flashes from relief to concern in an instant. “What happened?”
“Same thing that always fucking happens,” Minghao twirls his fork around in his pasta, focusing on the way the noodles snake around it. “I race, I do my best, it's not good enough for him, he calls me and yells at me. Just an average day in the Xu family.”
“I don't understand,” Junhui frowns. “You came in second – that's good.”
“But it's not first,” Minghao sighs, dropping his fork and letting it clatter against the plate. “That's the problem. If I'm not coming in first, it's like dead last in his eyes.”
“That's…” Junhui shakes his head, speechless. “Has he always been like this?”
“Yep,” Minghao mutters. “My whole life. Since karting.”
“Jesus. I'm sorry, Hao. If I'd known, maybe I could have slow–”
“Don't,” Minghao says sternly. “Don’t feel guilty about winning races now. Even if I did win every single race, he still would find something wrong. Trust me. I already lived through that last year.”
Minghao distinctly remembers how, after winning last year's World Drivers’ Championship, his father’s first words to him were: “Are you going to review the mistake you made in turn 6?”
“Besides,” Minghao continues, “if you ever went easy on me, I'd kill you.”
That gets a chuckle out of Junhui. “I know. I just thought…I don't know. I wish I could make it better somehow for you.”
“There's nothing anyone can do to make it better,” Minghao sighs. “I've fought him, I've cried to him, I've proved him wrong, I've won, lost…everything. I don't think there's anything I can do to change him now.”
Minghao stares at his pasta with an empty, sad gaze, while Junhui stares at him with a furrowed brow and a frown.
“You know, I used to want to make him proud. I thought if I did everything just right, I could get him to say it. ‘I'm proud of you,’” Minghao scoffs. “So much for that. I could fucking win a hundred championships, and he still wouldn't say it.”
“For what it's worth, I'm proud of you,” Junhui says softly. “My parents and my little brother are proud of you, too. I can show you their texts from earlier if you want. They were so happy you and I won together.”
Minghao doesn't know why, but he starts to tear up at that.
And then, he starts to cry.
“Oh, Minghao,” Junhui murmurs.
He buries his face in his hands as he lets out a sob and feels one of Junhui’s hands on his back, rubbing small circles against it.
“I’m sorry,” Junhui says gently. “I was just trying to make you feel better. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No,” Minghao chokes out. “It just…that means a lot.” He looks up at Junhui with teary eyes. “Thanks.”
Junhui gives him a soft smile, reaching out to wipe away a stray tear on Minghao’s face with his thumb. “You’re a pretty crier.”
“Shut up,” Minghao chuckles, swatting his hand away. “Next time, can you make me cry after I finish my pasta?”
“I’ll do my best,” Junhui laughs. “Speaking of which…are you going to finish that?”
“Oh, look who’s hungry now,” Minghao snorts. “That didn’t take long.”
“The moment you said you weren’t mad at me my appetite miraculously came back,” Junhui grins. “Crazy how that happens, huh?”
“Crazy,” Minghao shakes his head. He looks up at Junhui fondly. “Will you sit and eat with me and then we can go look for a sweet treat to celebrate your win properly?”
“Only if you stop calling it my win and start calling it our 1-2 finish,” Junhui says, sitting in the chair across from Minghao and picking up a french fry.
“Fine,” Minghao relents with a smile. “Our 1-2 finish.”
“That’s more like it,” Junhui beams. “Now, what do you think about going to find a pie?”
Minghao’s heart swells over Junhui again, only this time, it’s different. More intense. It’s a feeling he’s unfamiliar with.
He thinks it might be love.
Minghao shoves the thought away to start bickering with Junhui about what kind of dessert they should get tonight.
—
It’s hot in Mexico.
The sun has been glaring down on them all race day, and the heat made every team struggle with tire grip. Still, Minghao and Junhui were able to pull off yet another great weekend – Minghao in first, Junhui in third.
Minghao heads to the back of the Pledis garage after they finish press and the celebrations die down, crowds already cleared out of the stands.
He finds exactly what he’s looking for in the driver cool down area.
Junhui’s there, top of his race suit unbuttoned as he sets a towel down next to their large tub used for ice baths. Usually, Minghao would let him go first and do some sort of extra press or social media video while Junhui cooled down after the race.
But it’s just so hot and Minghao can’t wait any longer.
“Hi.”
“Oh!” Junhui startles, jumping a little before he turns to see Minghao. “You scared me.”
“Hope you weren’t expecting someone else,” Minghao jokes, eyeing the exposed bit of Junhui’s chest peeking out before refocusing on his face.
“No, I just wasn’t really expecting anyone,” Junhui says. “Normally it’s just me back here for this part.”
“I know,” Minghao says, stepping closer to him. “Couldn’t wait.”
Junhui cocks his head to the side and shoots him a look. “Couldn’t wait to take a plunge into some cold ass water?”
“No,” Minghao reaches out to toy with the zipper of Junhui’s race suit. “Couldn’t wait to be alone with you.”
“Oh?” Junhui looks down at Minghao’s hand, and he grips his wrist to still it. “Are you sure that you just couldn’t wait to do…this?”
Junhui slowly moves Minghao’s wrist downward, taking the zipper with it. Minghao’s lips part as his hand grazes Junhui’s abs.
“Or this?” Junhui asks in a low voice, cupping the back of Minghao’s neck as he leans forward to kiss him, their lips locking together with a familiar ease.
Minghao embarrassingly chases after Junhui’s mouth when he pulls back, then moans when he feels Junhui suck at the spot just below his jawline.
“Sure was hot out there today,” Junhui grunts against Minghao’s skin. “Almost as hot as you.”
Minghao hates the way he actually feels flustered over that compliment. “Ah, Jun…” He tangles his fingers in Junhui’s hair.
“What?” Junhui pulls back to look at Minghao with half-lidded eyes and a sleazy grin. “Not hot enough for you?”
Minghao practically whimpers. “Need more. Please.”
“Mm, not here, sweet boy,” Junhui murmurs. “Got to get in the ice soon, or else our trainers will kill us.”
“Then we'll make it quick,” Minghao says, pulling Junhui forward to kiss him again.
Their lips stay locked as Junhui guides them back towards a nearby bench where he'd left his bag of post-race clothes. His teammate sits on it and places his hands on Minghao’s hips, helping him sit on top of his thighs.
Minghao groans as he breaks for air, staring down at Junhui with a dark gaze as he perches in his lap. “Fuck.”
“That's the idea,” Junhui smirks, pressing his mouth to the stretch of skin between Minghao’s collarbones and licking a stripe against it.
“Jun,” he mutters, trying not to lose focus. “Stop teasing and help me get out of this.”
Junhui sucks a mark into Minghao’s skin for good measure before fumbling for the zipper of his race suit. He tugs it down quickly, sliding the suit over Minghao's shoulders.
Minghao meets him halfway and does the rest of the work, standing briefly just to shove the suit and his briefs off and kick them away.
He straddles Junhui’s lap again and starts kissing him feverishly, slowly rolling his hips forward just to tease.
Minghao can feel Junhui’s cock against him, hard and hot. He's been thinking about having it inside him since they got to the track this morning.
Signing autographs for fans, doing press, taking pictures – and the whole time Minghao was just thinking about the next time he'd be able to spread his legs for Junhui and let him have his way with him.
The thought makes Minghao grind his hips faster.
“Hao,” Junhui pants against his mouth. “Please tell me you brought lube.”
“Yeah,” Minghao says. “Front of your bag.”
Junhui gives him a look as he extends one of his long arms over to open the front pouch on his bag, pulling out the almost empty lube bottle.
“When did you slip this in there, naughty boy?”
Minghao grins. “This morning.”
“I see. Expecting a post-race reward?”
“Well, I went to all that trouble to win,” Minghao quips. “The least you could do is fuck me.”
Junhui chuckles, then makes Minghao gasp when one of his already lubed up fingers meets his ass. “Such a filthy boy.”
Minghao whimpers when Junhui slips a finger inside him. “No, ‘m good.”
“Yeah?” Junhui asks, slowly sliding his finger in and out to make Minghao squirm for more. “You're my good boy?”
“Yes,” Minghao whines, burying his face into Junhui’s chest.
“I don't know…I think good boys are supposed to beg to be fucked,” Junhui says, pressing a second finger to the edge of Minghao's hole. “Not demand it.”
“Please, Jun,” Minghao pleads, already trying to push back and sink onto his hand. “I want you to fuck me until I can't see straight.”
Junhui pushes his two fingers inside at a tantalizingly slow pace. “Hmm. More.”
“Need you inside me, please,” Minghao begs as easily as breathing. “Been thinking about taking your big cock inside me all day.”
“Yeah?” Minghao nods furiously. “Is that why you finished first today, baby? The faster you went, the faster you could get fucked – is that it?”
A loud whimper falls out of Minghao’s mouth as Junhui starts fucking his fingers in and out of him. “Junnie, please…I've been so good…”
“Feel stretched out enough?” Junhui’s gravelly voice turns Minghao on even more. “Think you can take my cock?”
“Yes,” Minghao pants into Junhui’s neck. “Please fuck me.”
Junhui slides his fingers out carefully, then reaches down to unzip the rest of his race suit until he frees his aching cock, and lines his tip up against Minghao’s rim. He doesn’t push in right away though.
Instead, he starts mouthing at Minghao’s neck again, pressing soft kisses here and there. Minghao moans out at the sensation, Junhui’s breath warming over his skin.
“Don’t tease, Jun,” he murmurs, toying with the collar of Junhui’s race suit. “The ice is gonna melt.”
“And whose fault is that?” Junhui asks, but relents when Minghao tries to sink down onto the leaking tip of his cock himself. “Alright, alright. Relax for me, baobei.”
The pet name and finally feeling the stretch of Junhui pushing his dick inside him makes Minghao let out a loud moan.
He presses his forehead to Junhui’s shoulder until it’s all the way in, shutting his eyes as he adjusts to Junhui’s hard length filling him up.
“You okay, Hao?” Junhui asks, gently rubbing soothing circles into Minghao’s hips. “Does it hurt?”
“N-no, just need a second. You’re just– fuck ,” Minghao stutters on his words. “So fuckin’ big.”
Junhui chuckles, moving to run his fingers along the expanse of Minghao’s bare back, doing his best to help him relax. “Sorry. Do you need me to do something?”
“Can you just talk to me?” Minghao asks, still tense.
“Yeah, you wanna hear about how good you feel right now?” Junhui starts murmuring against his ear. “You’re so tight around me, Hao. Fucking love your body, makes me so goddamn hard.”
"Yeah?”
“Mm,” Junhui hums. “You’re so good for me, Hao. My good boy. You take me so well.”
Minghao can’t help but whimper at the praise, and his body finally releases all tension, letting Junhui bottom out inside him.
“Fuck me, Junhui,” Minghao says breathily, lifting his head to look down at his teammate with a dark gaze. “Please. Wanna feel you.”
Junhui presses a soft kiss to Minghao’s lips before he grips his hips with his big hands, holding Minghao in place as he gently starts sliding his cock in and out.
Minghao huffs in frustration on the third gentle push inside of his hole.
“Something wrong, baobei?”
“Need more,” Minghao begs. “Fuck me harder, please, Junnie.”
“Only because you asked so nicely,” Junhui smirks. He grips Minghao’s hips harder suddenly, then slides his cock out until just the tip is inside of Minghao, before thrusting back up into him.
“Ah!” Minghao cries out. “F-fuck, Jun!”
“You like it rough, huh, baobei?” Junhui mutters, fucking up into him faster, harder. “Like it when I fuck you like the sweet little slut you are?”
“Oh my god,” Minghao’s dick twitches at the words. “Yes, fuck yes.”
“Look at your cock leaking everywhere, making a mess,” Junhui says. “So needy for it…so needy just for me.”
Minghao looks down and whimpers at the way precum is dripping from the red tip of his cock onto Junhui’s stomach. Each time Junhui pounds into him, there’s more of it.
It’s so hot, and Minghao can’t help but roll his hips down to meet one of Junhui’s thrusts halfway, making his teammate let out a groan.
“Fuck, Minghao,” Junhui swears. “Do that again.”
He grinds his ass down onto Junhui’s cock, clenching around it when the full length of it is inside him again. Minghao loves the loud moan Junhui lets out at the tight sensation.
“Good boy,” Junhui murmurs. “Touch yourself for me, Hao.”
Minghao fists his hard, leaking cock with a tight grip, moaning as he starts jerking himself off in time with Junhui’s thrusts inside him.
“Junnie, I’m close,” Minghao whines out. Every stroke of his cock is making a loud, lewd slick sound, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold back. He’s been turned on all fucking day, and he just wants to cum.
Meanwhile Junhui is reveling in the sight of Minghao on the edge, his face contorted with pleasure and the pain of holding back his cum, his hard cock in his hand. It’s so hot to watch him try and get off.
“Jun,” Minghao cries more urgently, pulling him out of his reverie. “P-please, I can’t…I need…!”
“Fuck, baobei,” Junhui moans as Minghao starts to squirm in his lap, hole fluttering around Junhui’s cock. “Go ahead, cum for me.”
Minghao doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts jerking himself off faster.
“T-thank you, thank you, thank you–ah!” Minghao babbles, until he finally cums all over Junhui’s chest and down his fist.
Minghao tightens around Junhui when he reaches his high, and Junhui throws his head back as his tight heat surrounds his cock. He’s so tight and so hot, and Junhui is so, so close.
It’s only when Minghao, in his blissed out state and all, leans his head down to lap up some of his own mess on Junhui’s chiseled chest that he cums deep inside of Minghao.
“Fuck!” Junhui grunts out, hips stuttering as he rides out the waves of pleasure.
Minghao grins as Junhui tangles his fingers in Minghao’s dark hair, tugging on it to lift his head up. Minghao blinks at him innocently with a mixture of saliva and cum glistening on his plush bottom lip.
“God, Hao,” Junhui shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re going to kill me, filthy boy.”
“Was that hot?” Minghao mumbles dazedly, tracing his fingers along Junhui’s arms. “Did you like it?”
“I loved it. It was more than hot,” Junhui says. “Not going to be able to get that out of my head for a while.”
“Good,” Minghao beams. “Now, should we hit the ice baths?”
“Shit, I almost forgot about that,” Junhui sighs. “I guess we should.”
Minghao screws his mouth up in thought. “Do you think anyone will care if…you know, our bath water is a little, uh, murky?”
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that,” Junhui smirks.
Minghao raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because,” Junhui says, “I’m gonna clean you up with my tongue.”
Minghao lets out a whine as Junhui pulls him in for a messy open-mouthed kiss.
Mexico is really, really hot. Must be why the ice is half-melted by the time Minghao and Junhui actually get around to getting in it.
No other reason.
—
Minghao barges into the garage with flushed cheeks, slightly out of breath.
“Whoa,” Mingyu says, sitting between Wonwoo and Junhui with a data spreadsheet for this weekend’s Brazil race pulled up on the computer behind them. “You alright, Hao?”
“Don’t,” Minghao pants, “go on Twitter.”
The three Pledis team members exchange a confused look with each other as Minghao tries not to pass out in front of them.
Mingyu shrugs and turns around to open a new tab.
Minghao lifts his head and his eyes widen when he sees Mingyu pulling it up. He rushes forward and tries to pry his hands off the keyboard. “I’m serious! Don’t do it.”
“Why not?” Mingyu chuckles, easily slipping his wrists out of Minghao’s grasp. “You’re trending at number 5 right now. What’d you do this time?”
“Nothing!” Minghao squeaks, and Wonwoo snorts. “Don’t click on that, Gyu. I’m dead serious.”
Mingyu looks up at him with raised brows. “C’mon, you can’t just say that and expect me not to look at it. I’m sure it’s not that bad, whatever it is.”
Junhui’s starting to get nervous, seeing Minghao so panicked. Did some photos of him leak or something?
Before he can ask, Mingyu clicks on Minghao’s name. The top tweet is a video that looks like a standard press interview with SkySports.
“Oh boy, what’d you say now?” Mingyu grumbles, not even bothering to read the caption as he opens the video to a full screen view.
Minghao buries his face in his hands as the interviewer’s voice rings out through the computer speakers.
“You and your teammate, Wen Junhui, are just five points away from each other in the championship rankings,” the interviewer says in the clip. “How are you feeling about where you stand at this point in the season?”
“I feel good, confident. More than anything, it’s great to have both of us earning points for the team as a whole,” Minghao replies. “I think all of Pledis is feeling pretty excited about the direction the team is going in as we get towards the end of the year.”
“Does the championship fight affect your relationship with Junhui at all? Has your opinion of him shifted?"
“Uh, well, it’s definitely shifted since the start of the season,” Video Minghao chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “I think Junhui is a strong driver, and he always puts his all out there for the team. If anything, this has just made me respect him more. He is constantly striving to come up with new ways to push the car and strategies to achieve great races. He’s a great guy.”
“Sounds like you two have gotten close. Well, now th–”
“Another thing about Junhui, he really has an incredibly positive energy and attitude. It’s been lifting the team up all season,” Minghao continues, a dazed smiley look on his face. “He shows up everyday with a smile on his face and never complains. It makes everyone want to be better, y’know?”
“Well,” the interviewer says. “It’s interesting that you feel that way considering everything that’s happened this year.”
Video Minghao frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Um, that crash you two had?” No one can see it in the video, but the interviewer had given him a look like he had two heads. “Didn’t seem like you two were very pleased with each other for a few months there."
“Oh, right,” Minghao says. “Well, you know this sport…it moves fast.”
Mingyu has to pause the video to look at him with an incredulous look. “No way you said that.”
“I told you not to watch it,” Minghao whines, then tries again to wrestle the keyboard away from Mingyu. “Let’s just stop–”
“No way,” Wonwoo says. “There’s still 30 seconds left. Hit play.”
Minghao groans as he hears the interviewer try to ask another question before getting interrupted yet again by Video Minghao.
“...I just wanted to say that, you know, it’s easy for things to get tense between teammates. There’s a lot of pressure and the sport’s intense,” he says in the clip. “Jun and I have definitely had our moments this season, but I think overall we’ve been a good match. As teammates. Of course.”
Minghao can’t shut up. “Jun’s just…he’s so intelligent and crafty, honestly. When you’ve been in F1 for a while, you never think someone can elevate things and take it to new heights, but he surprises me every day. He’s great. Just an incredible person, really.”
Off-camera, the interviewer had blinked at him once before saying, “Okay, I think that’s all we have time for. Thank you, Minghao.”
The video ends, and Mingyu can hardly contain his shit-eating grin.
“Wow,” his engineer says. “That was fucking terrible.”
Wonwoo tries to be nicer about it. “You two are so dramatic. It wasn’t that bad.”
“He didn’t let her ask a single one of the questions she was supposed to!” Mingyu exclaims, backing out of the video to read through other tweets about it. “Everyone’s saying you’re Jun’s PR person now. Oh, and this one says, ‘dude spent 2 mins talking about his teammate instead of racing…I know what you are Xu Minghao.’”
“Please don’t keep reading those out,” Minghao groans.
Junhui sweetly takes one of Minghao’s hands in his and flashes a cute little smile up at him. “Did you really mean all that?”
“Of course he did,” Mingyu snorts. “He only spent five minutes talking about you.”
Minghao rolls his eyes before focusing his gaze on Junhui and squeezing his hand. “Yes. Every word.”
Junhui’s smile could rival that of the Brazilian sun. “My sweet baobei,” he says in their native tongue. “Thank you.”
Minghao will take the embarrassment of everyone on Twitter calling him gay as fuck and the whole world witnessing his overly sappy side if it means that he gets to see Junhui smile at him just like this.
What he can’t take, though, is Mingyu continuing to read out the worst of the tweets.
“This one says, ‘this has to be the gayest shit I’ve ever seen. minghao dude kiss–’”
“That’s it,” Minghao huffs, stepping away from Junhui to wrap an arm around Mingyu’s neck from behind and drag him and his chair away from the computer.
“Hey! I wasn’t done reading that!”
“Too damn bad,” Minghao mutters as the engineer struggles in his surprisingly tight grasp.
Junhui just smiles as he watches Minghao fight with Mingyu in the corner of the garage.
(He secretly watches the interview behind Minghao’s back all weekend long. Junhui can’t help it – it’s too cute watching Minghao trip up over his words as he rambles about Junhui. He thinks it must be the reason why he ends up coming in first that weekend.)
—
Minghao’s in his hotel room in Vegas after qualifying, lying in bed as he waits for Junhui.
It’s been a long day. Night races like Vegas are always difficult – all the jetlag and the 1 a.m. start times for events can really catch up to anyone, even the most adaptable of drivers.
That, combined with the fact that quali had been challenging for Junhui, means Minghao isn’t all that surprised when Junhui storms into his room angrily at 3 a.m.
“Those motherfuckers,” Junhui grumbles. He’s freshly showered, hair damp and shirt askew like he’d just pulled it on. “This is such stupid bullshit.”
Minghao slides over to make room for him in his bed. “Did you get a penalty?”
“They made me drop three places,” Junhui grunts, climbing into the spot next to him. “Three. For something that wasn’t even my fault. If Jungkook didn’t drive so fucking recklessly, then maybe we wouldn’t have a problem.”
During qualifying, Jungkook had nearly crashed into Junhui, and Junhui went off track to avoid getting hit. The FIA decided to give him a penalty for “exceeding track limits” too many times.
Now, he’ll be starting from 7th instead of 4th, like he was supposed to.
“You’ll probably still be able to finish in the points at least,” Minghao tries to reassure him. “At least you’re not starting from the pit lane.”
“I know,” Junhui sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s just fucking annoying. How am I getting punished for trying to keep me and my car alive?”
Minghao knows the feeling all too well. He hums, body turned towards Junhui as he traces his pointer finger up one of the bulging veins on Junhui’s bicep.
He’s really trying to contain himself, but honestly, Junhui looks hot when he’s pissed off.
“You know…if you’re up for it,” Minghao starts, voice slipping into something more sensual. “I know how I can help you at least let out your frustrations.”
Junhui’s face goes from angry to intrigued in an instant. “Oh?” he asks with a slight smirk. “What do you have in mind, Hao?”
Minghao slinks up against him to murmur in his ear. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Let you have me however you’d like.”
Junhui subconsciously licks at his bottom lip as he turns to look at Minghao with his already blown out pupils, then rolls them over so Minghao is pinned helplessly against the bed, Junhui hovering over him.
“However I’d like, huh?” Junhui repeats. He bends his head down so that his mouth is mere centimeters from Minghao’s lips. “Is that any different from how we usually fuck, baobei? I’m pretty sure you already let me have you however I want anyway.”
Minghao lets out a high-pitched whimper in the back of his throat as Junhui presses open-mouthed kisses to his jawline. “Junnie…”
“That’s cause you’re my good little slut, aren’t you?” Junhui mutters against his skin. “Always so willing and ready just for me. You’d let me do anything to you as long as you get to cum, isn’t that right?”
Minghao moans, unable to keep still as he writhes underneath Junhui’s body. “F-fuck, yes sir.”
Junhui freezes above him suddenly, and for a second Minghao’s convinced he’s done something wrong.
“Say that again.”
“W-what? Oh,” Minghao feels his ears turning red as he repeats it. “Yes, sir.”
“Again.”
“Sir.”
Junhui goes in for a heated kiss, so much that Minghao almost feels like he’s trying to devour him whole. It makes his cock ache.
“Fuck,” Junhui pants. “Take off your fucking clothes.”
Minghao obeys easily, standing and slowly slipping out of the t-shirt he’d stolen from Junhui and his briefs and tossing them on the ground.
When he’s fully undressed, he finds that Junhui is shirtless now, palming himself through his sweatpants with a wild look in his eyes as he gazes at Minghao darkly.
He’s never seen Junhui like this – desperate, crazed. He must really be that riled up from today.
Minghao eyes the outline of the bulge in Junhui’s pants, and his dick twitches at the sight. Junhui lets out a quiet groan as he sees it.
“Come here, baobei.”
Minghao approaches Junhui slowly, positioning himself in between Junhui’s spread legs and waiting for his next command.
Once he’s within reach, Junhui grips at Minghao’s hips and pulls him onto his lap, manhandling Minghao with ease. His fingers are bound to leave bruises, and Minghao groans at the thought.
Junhui smirks, raising an eyebrow at the feral sound that comes from Minghao’s throat. “That worked up, huh?”
“S-shut up,” Minghao stutters as he feels Junhui’s hands migrating to his ass. “You’re the one who makes me like this.”
“Makes you what?”
Minghao whines as Junhui squeezes at his ass, then just barely pulls it apart. “Ah…horny,” he mumbles.
“Yeah?” Junhui asks, then slides a hand around to Minghao’s front. “How about hard?”
Minghao gasps loudly as Junhui wraps his hand around his throbbing cock and jerks him once before letting go.
“Oh, Junnie, sir,” Minghao whines, rolling his hips forward in Junhui’s lap as if it’ll help him get the friction he craves somehow. “Please touch me. Need it.”
“Such a sweet, needy little baobei,” Junhui smirks, but keeps his hands planted to Minghao’s hips. “You want me to touch you?”
“Yes,” Minghao exhales. “Please. Please, Junnie, I–”
“Get on all fours for me then.”
Minghao instantly scrambles to get on his hands and knees on the bed, arching his back to tempt Junhui further.
Junhui reaches over to grab the lube he left on Minghao’s hotel bedside table earlier that morning, squeezing some out onto three of his fingers and warming it as he gazes at Minghao’s body.
“So gorgeous,” Junhui murmurs, positioning himself behind Minghao. “All spread out just for me.”
He grips at his teammate’s perfect ass, then slowly circles a finger around Minghao’s rim until he lets out a whimper.
“S-sir…please,” Minghao begs, cheeks flushed as he cranes his neck to look at Junhui behind him. “Need you i-inside me…”
Junhui’s cock gives a strong twitch at that. “Only since you asked so nicely, sweet boy.”
He slowly presses his middle finger inside Minghao, groaning silently at how tight he feels around it.
Minghao starts trying to fuck himself on Junhui’s finger right away, letting out tiny, desperate whines.
“More, sir,” he pleads. “A-all three.”
Junhui raises an eyebrow at that. “All of them? Are you sure, Hao?”
“Yes,” Minghao nods eagerly. “Want your big cock so bad, hurry…”
Junhui complies only because Minghao sounds so fucking hot when he’s needy, and his leaking dick is starting to ache.
He roughly pushes his other two fingers into Minghao’s hole, taking great care to avoid his prostate.
Junhui plans to let him adjust to the stretch, but Minghao has other plans.
He starts fucking himself back on Junhui’s fingers, letting out loud moans of Junhui’s name.
“Jun,” he cries out. “I need you so fuckin’ bad…please fuck me, sir.”
“Fuck,” Junhui grunts, sliding his fingers out just to wrap them around his own cock as he hurriedly lines himself up against Minghao’s spread hole. “You’re making me lose my damn mind, Minghao.”
He pushes his cock all the way inside him until his hips are flush to Minghao’s ass, and they both let out loud moans at the feeling.
“J-Junnie?”
“Shit,” Junhui curses at how tight Minghao feels around him. “Yeah, baobei?”
“Want you to take it all out on me,” Minghao says. “All your– ah –frustrations from today. Fuck them into me.”
Junhui pauses. “You sure, Hao? I don’t want to hurt you.”
Minghao turns his head as best as he can to look at Junhui with his red face and sweaty bangs, lips swollen and eyes dark. “I’m sure. Fuck me, sir.”
Junhui nods once before he takes Minghao by the hips and pulls out halfway, then starts hammering into Minghao’s tight heat.
He lets his anger fuel him as he grips at his teammate’s soft ass and digs his fingertips into Minghao’s skin. The wet, lewd sounds of Junhui’s cock fucking into Minghao are the only sounds that fill the room besides their quiet groans.
“Oh fuck!” Minghao cries out when Junhui snaps his hips at just the right angle. “God, right fucking there!”
“So fuckin’ hot, Hao,” Junhui mutters lowly against his ear. “You like seeing me pissed off on the track? Does it get you off?”
“Oh god,” Minghao moans. “Y-Yeah, sir.”
“That's why you loved to pick fights with me, hm? Liked running your mouth and pissing me off and then imagining me fucking taking you like this?” Junhui asks, punctuating each question with another sweet slide of his hips.
“No,” Minghao replies breathily as Junhui places a hand around his neck, not squeezing, just leaving it there to stake his claim.
“No? You don't have to lie to me, baobei,” Junhui murmurs. “You always looked at my lips when you yelled at me.”
“Did I?”
“Mhm,” Junhui presses a kiss to Minghao’s shoulder. “Swore sometimes you were just begging for me to take you right there in the garage.”
“Yeah?” Minghao hums. “Would you have spread me open like this in front of everyone, gripped my hair, fucked me until I screamed?”
Junhui’s hands tighten around Minghao’s hips. “Fuck, yeah.”
Minghao turns his head slightly so that he can eye Junhui darkly. “Show me.”
Junhui doesn't need to be told twice. He slides his right hand into Minghao’s hair and tugs harshly, pulling it so that he can just barely see Minghao’s eyes rolling back.
He thrusts his hips faster into Minghao’s tight heat, so hard he makes Minghao let out quiet cries.
“God, I love having you like this,” Junhui moans. “So fucking needy just for me. If only the grid could see you like this…”
Minghao feels his cock twitch at the thought. “Fuck, Jun, I'm gonna cum.”
Junhui's hand tightens in his hair. “Cum for me, sweet boy.”
All it takes is one more thrust of Junhui’s thick cock inside him before Minghao spills across his stomach and chest with a loud cry, fisting the hotel sheets tightly.
Junhui groans as he feels Minghao squeeze around him and thrusts into him sloppily a few more times before he cums deep inside of Minghao.
A few minutes pass before Junhui finally slides out, swearing at the sight of his cum leaking out of Minghao before he cleans him up with a hotel washcloth.
Minghao collapses against the bed as a spent Junhui falls into the spot next to him, and he peeks at him through his messy hair and half-lidded eyes.
“If the FIA heard any of your filth tonight, you'd be in more trouble now than you are already,” Minghao jokes.
Junhui snorts. “Yeah, if they handed out a penalty to Seungcheol last week for swearing, imagine what they’d do if they heard me calling you a whore.”
“A whore?” Minghao blinks at him with wide eyes and faux innocence. “Me?”
Junhui cards his fingers through Minghao’s dark hair. “My whore,” he murmurs. “My good boy.”
Minghao beams as he leans into his touch, pressing his lips to Junhui’s wrist. “Yeah, can't let the FIA hear that one. They're already sabotaging you enough.”
“They won't,” Junhui smirks. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, after all.”
Junhui is able to clinch a third place finish in spite of his penalty, and Minghao grins at him underneath the neon lights of Vegas as they hold their raised hands over their heads on the podium.
—
“Xu Minghao, congrats on another P2 finish,” Seungkwan says into the mic in his hand. “You and your teammate qualified first and second, and as we head into the second to last race of the season, it seems more and more likely that you two will end up going head to head for the World Drivers’ Championship. Do you expect to take the title again this year?”
Minghao feels his mouth go dry.
Last year, he was obsessive over his championship standings. After each race, he’d calculate his points in his head and reassess where he fell alongside his fellow drivers.
But he’s been so wrapped up in Junhui, Junhui, Junhui that he forgot that they were actually teammates who are supposed to be actively competing against each other.
“Uh, well, you can never expect anything in this line of work,” Minghao forces a chuckle. “I think both Junhui and I are more focused on the constructors’ than anything else. At the start of the season, I told Jihoon that I was hungry for a team win, and we plan to get there.”
He successfully pivots from the question, and Seungkwan thankfully switches topics.
But Minghao’s brain can’t let it go. He'd known it was coming, of course, but now the harsh reality is washing over him. It's here, it's now. The championship is right around the corner.
He thinks about it through the rest of his interviews, the team’s pre-race debrief, and on the ride back to the hotel.
Minghao thinks about it when he scarfs down the room service he orders. While he’s in the shower. When he types out a text that says “we need to talk.”
He and Junhui, fighting each other for the championship.
There’s only one way that this can end.
“Hey, I got your text,” Junhui says, slightly out of breath when Minghao answers the door. “Just got back from doing some press. What’s wrong?”
Minghao says nothing and waves for Junhui to come inside, going back to his spot on the hotel bed.
Junhui closes the door behind him and follows Minghao with a mix of confusion and concern on his face. “Did something happen?”
Minghao can’t look him in the eye. “Do you know how many points you have for the season right now?”
“Uh…” Junhui certainly wasn’t expecting those to be the words that left Minghao’s mouth. “I think like 350 or something? I haven’t checked in a few races.”
“You have 426 points. Do you know where you fall in the race for the drivers’ championship?”
“I don’t know, third?” Junhui shrugs. “What does this have to do with–”
“You’re second.” Minghao looks at him finally. “You’re only behind one person.”
Junhui blinks in surprise. “Oh. Who?”
“Me.”
“Oh,” Junhui smiles. “Well, congrats then. You’ll definitely win it again, right?”
“No, I only have 10 points more than you,” Minghao says. “Which is why I wanted to talk to you.”
Minghao stares at his hands for a moment before he fixes Junhui with a hard look. “I don’t want…what we have to interfere with our racing.”
“Okay,” Junhui stretches out the word. “I know that, Hao.”
“No, but,” Minghao sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I need you to give it your all for these last two races, Junhui. I want you to fight for the championship like you would with anyone else on the grid.”
“You have the lead anyway, Minghao,” Junhui chuckles awkwardly. “I’ll drive against you and everyone else like always, but I mean…”
“Jun, I know you’d let me have it if I came here and told you I wanted to win it. But that’s not how I want to win a season,” Minghao insists. “I don’t want you to just hand it to me. I want you to fight me out there. Okay?”
Junhui screws his mouth up in thought, hesitating.
If he’s being honest with himself, Junhui really wasn’t expecting to perform so well in his first season in F1.
Sure, he’d been a good driver in F2 and all, but the only reason he’d been able to push himself to win so many races and fight so hard on the track was sitting right in front of him.
He’d wanted to impress Minghao, wanted to be right alongside him on the track, wanted to prove to him that he deserved the spot next to him – in more ways than one.
So, he’d fought.
And now that he actually stood a chance to knock Minghao off from the top spot on the grid, something he would’ve dreamed about at the start of the season, he finds that he doesn’t have the fight in him anymore.
But Minghao is looking at him expectantly with his big dark eyes, and Junhui just can’t say no.
“Okay,” Junhui sighs. “I’ll fight you.”
Minghao smiles, then stands to wrap his arms around Junhui’s neck and plant a kiss to his lips.
“May the best man win, then.”
You will , Junhui thinks in his head as he pulls Minghao in for a searing kiss.
Although he starts in first on the grid for the Qatar race, Junhui slips back into second on the last lap, putting Minghao into the number one slot.
He tells Minghao that it’s because he lost time on a few of the corners, making slower turns than him, but only he and Wonwoo know the truth: he purposefully lifted his foot off the accelerator pedal to let Minghao through.
Junhui grins as he watches Minghao proudly lift his first place trophy over his head, imagining how much better it’ll feel to watch him win the championship in a week.
He will fight, but he never promised to put up a good one.
—
Minghao takes Junhui’s hand in his as their team’s plane takes off for Abu Dhabi.
It’s rare for Minghao to be so affectionate where anyone could see them, and Junhui raises his eyebrows in surprise.
“Are you nervous about this weekend?” Minghao asks softly.
Junhui shrugs. “A bit. I’m mostly nervous because I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do when you win.”
Minghao frowns, a cute wrinkle forming on his forehead. “When I win?”
Junhui smiles and hums. “When you win, I think I’ll treat you to all your favorite Chinese dishes. Just a big buffet of them all.”
“Well, when you win,” Minghao counters, tracing the lines on Junhui’s palm, “I’m going to buy you a bunch of ads on all the railways in Shenzhen. So your face is plastered everywhere for everyone to see it in your hometown.”
“Oh really?” Junhui laughs. “I’ll have to rent out a billboard in Shanghai when you win, then. Or maybe start a parade for you in Haicheng.”
“When you win, we’ll adopt that cat you’ve been talking my ear off about,” Minghao says.
Junhui grins, then brings his lips closer to Minghao’s ear. “When you win, I’ll use that new toy on you and take my tongue and–”
“Jun!” Minghao slaps him on the arm, face turning red. “You can’t say that here, you idiot.”
Junhui just laughs and interlaces their fingers, squeezing Minghao’s hand. “You’re so easy to rile up.”
“Whatever,” Minghao grumbles, but squeezes Junhui’s hand back.
“No matter who wins, will you still do this with me?” Junhui lifts their locked hands up slightly, eyes wide with hope.
Minghao smiles and leans his head on Junhui’s shoulder. “As long as you don’t crash into me on the opening lap.”
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t let that one go so easily…”
They fall asleep like that for the rest of the flight, hands intertwined between them.
The weekend is already a win for both of them.
—
Jihoon summons Minghao into his makeshift Abu Dhabi office after the second practice of the weekend.
Minghao had gone faster than Junhui in practice one, but Junhui topped his time by a few hundredths of a second in practice two.
Everything between them this weekend was truly going to be down to the wire, and Jihoon knows it.
It's why he sits in front of Minghao now, scrutinizing him through narrowed eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Minghao, I'm sure I don't have to remind you of this,” Jihoon starts, “but I'm going to anyway.”
“Jihoon, I–”
“No, listen. I know how strong your feelings for Junhui are, but you need to remember what's at stake for this weekend. The driver's championship…it's yours to lose. And I know you know this, but I just don't want you to be blinded by your emotions,” Jihoon says. “Your legacy is on the line here.”
“I’m aware,” Minghao mutters. “I’ve already discussed this with him, Jihoon. I’m not an idiot.”
“I just need to know that you’re going to fight for this for real. I can’t have you going soft.”
“Says the one who’s gone soft,” Minghao rolls his eyes.
“Minghao.”
“I promise I’m going to fight for it like I always have,” he sighs. “I’m still the same competitive asshole you remember, Jihoon. Don’t worry.”
“Good,” their team principal nods. “Then I trust I can look forward to a better third practice?”
“Third time’s the charm.”
“Good. You’re free to go,” Jihoon waves him off. “Get your rest in.”
—
Minghao wakes up in Junhui’s arms the day of their third practice, sighing contentedly as he feels a pair of soft lips against his shoulder blade.
“Good morning,” Junhui murmurs behind him. “Sleep well?”
“Morning,” Minghao yawns out. “What time is it?”
“We have a few hours before we have to be out there,” Junhui answers. “Gonna be a crazy day.”
“Yeah,” Minghao rubs a hand over his face, trying to shove away the pit of dread in his stomach. “Are you nervous?”
“A little,” Junhui shrugs. “I heard Jungkook complaining about BigHit’s car last night though, I forgot to tell you that.”
“Oh really?” Minghao turns in Junhui’s hold to face him. “What’d he say?”
“Something about the gearbox, I wasn’t able to catch all of it,” Junhui says. “But that could be good news for us, maybe. Clears the field for us.”
Minghao hums, trailing his fingers up Junhui’s arm absentmindedly. “I’m pretty nervous. More than I thought I’d be.”
“Really?” Junhui’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve been here before, though. You’ve got this.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t been here before with you…” Minghao trails off. “I don’t know, I’m just scared.”
Junhui frowns. “Why?”
“I talked to Jihoon yesterday after practice, and I just started to overthink it, I guess,” Minghao murmurs. “I just worry that maybe something will happen and it won’t be either one of us on top at the end…I don’t know, it’s stupid.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Junhui says, a smile creeping onto his face. “I already promised not to crash into you, didn’t I?”
Minghao huffs out a laugh. “Don’t make jokes. This is serious.”
“We’re going to win this thing, Hao,” Junhui insists. “Now stop worrying and turn over. We only have a couple hours left to ourselves and I want to spend it inside of you.”
Minghao rolls his eyes fondly, but obeys. Who was he to deny Junhui?
When Minghao shows up to the paddock a few hours later, Mingyu instantly hunts him down.
“Finally, you’re here,” Mingyu says. “We need to talk about your P3 strategy.”
“Good afternoon to you too, Gyu,” Minghao quips, heading straight to the back of the garage, where his racing uniform is waiting for him.
“This is serious,” Mingyu huffs. “What are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“About Junhui,” Mingyu clarifies. “If you don’t secure first in quali, he surely will. And then what?”
Minghao shrugs. “Then he gets first.”
“Obviously,” Mingyu pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated grunt. “I mean what’s our strategy, Hao? What do you want to do if he gets P1 and maintains it? We need to run through every scenario possible here, this is make or break.”
“I…I don’t know,” Minghao replies, tugging off his shoes as he prepares to step into his gear. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“I figured as much,” the racing engineer sighs. “Which is why I came prepared.”
Mingyu pulls out a notebook and hands it to Minghao. He looks up at him with raised eyebrows. “What’s this?”
“I ran some simulations and data last night and came up with a couple different strategies for how this could go,” Mingyu explains. “Take a look after practice, yeah?”
He leaves, and Minghao instantly opens the notebook and starts to read. Mingyu’s clearly taken a ton of time, naming each scenario and going into depth with numbers, tires, and strategic pit stops.
Minghao’s brain is flooded with so many different possibilities and ways that tomorrow’s race could go that he fucks up in their third practice.
Junhui claims the top spot a whole second faster than Minghao, who takes second after some slower turns throughout his final session around the track.
He tugs off his helmet after he pulls into the garage after practice, climbing out of the car with a heavy sigh.
Minghao can only imagine what Jihoon is thinking. He trudges off to his trailer and goes inside to try and decompress, unzipping his race suit halfway and collapsing onto his small couch.
There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later, and Minghao barely lifts his head to call out, “Is that you, Gyu? It’s unlocked.”
A tall figure enters the room, but it’s not the one he was expecting.
“Hi,” Junhui smiles, shutting the door behind him and walking over to where Minghao is sprawled on the couch. “Mind if I join you?”
Minghao moves his feet so Junhui can sit. “Go ahead.”
Junhui sits, then pulls Minghao’s legs over his lap. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” he sighs. “In more ways than one. I can’t believe I fucked up my turns that badly.”
“You were only a second behind,” Junhui counters. “Plus, you only went slow on, like, three corners.”
“Still,” Minghao frowns. “I promised Jihoon that I’d do better this practice, and I only did worse. What if he cuts me from the team?”
Junhui scoffs. “What are you talking about, Hao? You’re an incredible driver. Jihoon’s not going to do that.”
“You never know in this sport,” Minghao mutters. “One day you could be a world champion, the next day you could be at the bottom of the grid.”
“Are those your thoughts,” Junhui asks, “or your dad’s?”
Minghao goes silent.
“You’re overthinking this,” Junhui shakes his head. “And if you keep getting in your head about it, it’ll only affect your driving more.”
Minghao sinks further into the couch. “You’re right. But I just can’t help but worry about…everything.”
Junhui opens his arms wide and beckons for Minghao to come closer. “Come here.”
Minghao crawls into Junhui’s space, sitting in his lap and wrapping himself around him.
“It’s all gonna be okay, baobei,” Junhui murmurs, rubbing circles against his lower back. “No matter what.”
Minghao buries his face into Junhui’s neck and tries to believe him.
—
The sun starts setting in Abu Dhabi, and the pressure starts sinking in along with it.
Minghao takes a deep breath before he exits the pit lane for his final qualifying run.
He’s pressing on the gas so hard that it feels like he’s flying around the track, weightless. It reminds him of being a kid again, stepping into a go-kart for the first time, the speed making him feel powerful in a way he’d never known before.
There are moments you dream of as a Formula One driver, and this was one of them: the final qualifying lap of the season.
The orange hues of sunset are fading into night as Minghao expertly maneuvers his car around a tight curve.
“You’ve got the fastest sector one time,” Mingyu tells him over the radio. “Let’s keep up this pace.”
It fuels Minghao to keep going.
The radio is quiet, and it’s just him and his narrowed view of the track stretched out before him. A lot of people tend to think quali must get boring, driving around in circles with an empty track in front of you.
But it felt freeing to him. Minghao was never more aware, more present in his body than when he drove during a qualifying session. It always reminded him why this was his sport, this was his calling.
His grip on his racing wheel tightens as he sees the finish line in the distance.
“The times are the same,” Mingyu’s voice comes through over the radio waves. “You and Jun.”
Minghao slows on the track, preparing to loop around to the pit lane. “So what does that mean?”
“You crossed first,” Mingyu answers. “So they’re giving it to you. You got it. You got P1 for tomorrow, Hao!”
He pulls into the spot with the sign that reads ‘1’ and shuts off the car.
Minghao sits there for a moment, scarcely able to breathe.
Sure, he got P1 now, but just by the skin of his teeth. By pure luck. If their team hadn’t sent his car out first on the flying lap, he’d be exactly where Junhui is, parked in the second position right next to him.
He hauls himself out of the car and into the night air, shoulders tense. Junhui is at his side immediately, and pulls him in for a friendly-looking hug.
But in his ear, Junhui whispers, “Congrats, baobei. You can relax now.”
Minghao smiles at him, but he knows he can’t.
He won’t be able to relax, be able to think, be able to breathe until they’re standing on that podium together.
Tomorrow, Minghao thinks. It’ll all be over tomorrow.
—
Minghao wakes up to feel Junhui pressing light kisses up his neck.
“Morning,” Minghao grumbles, turning over in Junhui’s hold to face him.
Junhui leans in to plant a proper kiss on his lips with a smile. “Good morning. How do you feel?”
“Tired,” he murmurs. “Anxious. I kind of just want this to be over. How about you?”
Junhui combs his fingers through Minghao’s dark hair, admiring its softness and the way his skin gleams from the light streaming through the hotel window. “Nervous. But I’m excited to race with you one last time for the year.”
“You’re racing against me,” Minghao reminds him. “Not with me.”
“Right. But I’m always with you, so…”
Minghao chuckles at his cheesiness, pressing his head against Junhui’s shoulder to hide his grin. “Shut up.”
They go quiet for a moment, basking in each other’s presence. Minghao runs a hand up Junhui’s arm repeatedly, letting the feel of him ground him a bit.
“Hey,” Junhui murmurs, breaking the silence. “Can I tell you something?”
Minghao pulls back a bit to glance up at him. “Hm?”
“No matter what happens out there today,” Junhui sucks in a deep breath, “I love you, Minghao. Win or lose, or whatever – I love you.”
His heart is probably going faster than any speed he’s ever raced. “You mean that?”
Junhui nods. “I…I know we said we would wait until this is all over to talk about this, us, but I just couldn’t wai–”
Minghao kisses him, hard.
“I love you, too,” Minghao murmurs against Junhui’s lips breathlessly. “I love you so much, Junhui.”
Junhui’s grin shines brighter than the morning sun over Abu Dhabi. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“Junnie,” Minghao groans, but then looks at him with a bashful smile. “I love you.”
Junhui catches him by surprise and pins Minghao to the mattress, kissing him passionately.
“I love you so much,” Junhui mutters into his mouth. “God, this is the best day ever.”
Minghao snorts. “What if you lose the championship today?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Junhui murmurs. “I’ve already won.”
Minghao barely has time to blush about it before Junhui’s slotting their lips together again.
—
Minghao stares up at the lights, waiting.
The sound of 20 car engines rumble around him, but he tunes it out. It’s just him, the lights, the wheel in his hands. This is it – the last race of the season.
The first red light appears. Minghao rolls his shoulders back.
The second. He glances in his rearview mirror at Junhui’s car, just for a moment, just to be sure he’s there.
Three. He locks his gaze back onto the open stretch of race track before him.
Four. Five. Minghao wills his mind to go blank.
The lights go out, and Minghao instinctively hits the gas as hard as he can.
Minghao gets away cleanly, heading around the first corner with ease and speeding down the first straight of the track. He eyes Junhui battling it out briefly with what looks like a HYBE car – Joshua, maybe – in his rearview mirror.
When he sees Junhui slot into the open space behind him, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Doing good, Hao,” Mingyu praises over the radio. “Junhui is nearing one second behind you.”
“Don’t let Wonwoo tell him to slow down,” Minghao commands. “Unless it looks like we’ll lose the constructors, no team orders on this. I want a fair fight.”
“You got it.”
Minghao speeds into the next corner, giving him a leg up on Junhui.
As he drives, his mind can’t help but wander to the last time he did this. The adrenaline of the last few laps, knowing that he’d secured his very first championship win in F1.
He uses the memory of the rush to propel his car even further.
“Junhui is 3.6 seconds behind,” Mingyu comes over the radio a few moments later. “This pace is good. Looks like we’ll be able to go for strategy 8.”
Right. The strategy Mingyu had planned for where Minghao is able to pull off a clean win.
He yanks his steering wheel to the right to go around a curve, faltering for just a moment before continuing down the track.
Minghao’s mind briefly wanders to his father. He wonders what he’s thinking as he watches. If he’s taking notes on all of his mistakes to critique him in depth later.
Despite his deep resentment for the man, in some ways Minghao owes his racing career to his father. If he didn’t berate him as much as he did, Minghao wouldn’t have taken so much joy in driving – in being alone for over 40 laps, going fast, feeling free.
For a long time, the car was the only place Minghao felt like he was truly able to be himself, to feel a sense of power and control over his life. It’s part of why he loves the sport so much.
He tries to channel those feelings into this drive, and he earns the fastest lap time of the race so far, compared to the other 19 drivers.
It goes smoothly for another few laps, and then on lap 30, Minghao senses that something’s wrong.
“Gyu, I think I have to come in,” he says over the radio. “My tires are starting to go dead.”
“Fuck,” Mingyu mutters, and Minghao knows the engineer is checking up on the tires as well. “Looks like they’re degrading now. Box next lap.”
Minghao crosses the line into lap 31, then promptly pulls off into the pit lane and slides into the spot in front of his Pledis garage.
His pit crew is waiting for him with shiny, new tires in hand, and they make quick work of swapping old for new. Once the tires are securely attached, Minghao hurries down the pits to slide back onto the track.
Except, before he can reclaim his first place spot, a flash of pink and blue passes by him.
“Shit,” Mingyu’s voice rings out through his helmet. “He passed you.”
Minghao speeds ahead so that the HYBE car doesn’t get ahead of him. “What the fuck, Gyu?”
“Junhui went faster than we’d anticipated,” Mingyu said. “Gap was only four seconds.”
Minghao huffs. “Alright, so what’s the strategy now? The driver behind is up my fucking ass.” He can see the dark grey of the HYBE car riding up behind him.
“Hong is 1.2 seconds behind,” Mingyu says. “We need to go with the eclipse strategy for now.”
The “eclipse” strategy is one he and Mingyu came up with for helping them at least secure the constructors’ – if Junhui was in first, Minghao would have to make sure he maintained the second place position to give their team maximum points, otherwise they could lose to BigHit or HYBE.
As long as Minghao stays in second, he can fend off their rival drivers from reaching Junhui in front.
“Alright,” Minghao responds. “Let’s do this shit.”
As Minghao puts his foot to the gas, Junhui starts to panic in his own car.
“What happened to Minghao?” he frantically asks Wonwoo over the radio.
“The pit crew was a little slow to put on the tires,” Wonwoo answers. “He’s in second, but Hong is the driver behind. Looks like they have a…1.1 second gap.”
Fuck. “Can you keep me updated on Minghao’s times, please?”
“His times to you?” Wonwoo asks. “Or his times against Hon–”
“Everything,” Junhui interjects. “I need to know everything.”
Wonwoo audibly sighs over the radio. “Fine. I’ll do my best. Just keep going, Jun. Focus.”
Junhui grips the wheel and does his best to stop glancing in his rearview at Minghao’s car in the distance.
He made a promise to him, and he knows he has to keep it. Not only for Minghao, but for the team.
Junhui speeds into the next lap, taking the title of fastest lap from Minghao for now.
Meanwhile, Minghao is able to put at least two seconds between his car and Joshua’s, taking advantage of the small mistakes the HYBE driver makes around the tight turns of the track.
“There’s a car nearing Hong’s,” Mingyu tells him. “BigHit, right behind him. They’ve got about a 0.8 gap right now.”
“Fuck,” Minghao grunts, correcting the car when he accidentally goes a little wide on a turn. “How’s my pace compared to his?”
“Uh, seems pretty even,” Mingyu answers. “Keep pushing.”
“What do you think I’ve been fucking doing?!” Minghao grits out. “Where’s Junhui?”
“He’s about five seconds ahead.”
It’s still not a big enough gap to secure the win.
Minghao is sure he’s pushing his car to its maximum as he forges ahead, hoping that his tires can make it through the race. He can’t afford a pit stop again, or else one of the other teams will definitely take his spot in second, and he’ll fall to fifth or sixth.
He needs to go slow enough to push Joshua and the other drivers behind so that Junhui has a leg up on them all, but he also needs to go fast enough so that no one overtakes him and steals second.
It’s a delicate balance, and it takes everything in Minghao to make sure he can deliver this.
Their team needs this win.
“Ten more laps, Hao,” Mingyu says. “Come on.”
Minghao inhales sharply as he white-knuckles his wheel. “Do you think it’ll work? Can we actually do this?”
“Yes,” Mingyu says. “Just a few more to go, Hao. Hong is 2.6 seconds behind. You can do it.”
Doubts still swirl in Minghao’s mind, until Mingyu says:
“Come on, Hao. For Junhui.”
It’s all Minghao needs to hear to keep going even faster still.
He thinks about Junhui, the way he’s gone from a rookie to a standout on the track, the way he went from his biggest rival to his biggest supporter.
Without him, he surely would’ve crashed and burned this season. Junhui had made him open up in ways that he’d never expected, made him let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, cared for him in an unconditional way no one ever had before.
Ten more laps turn into five.
“Hong is 3.4 seconds behind,” Mingyu informs him. “Junhui is eight ahead. Good work, Hao.”
“It’s not over yet,” Minghao mutters. “But thanks. How’s Jun looking?”
“His tires are looking a little worse for wear,” Mingyu says. “But I think they’ll last. He’s maintained them this long.”
Minghao looks out at Junhui’s car, watching as he goes around the turn ahead. He’s certain the rubber on his tires must be degrading quickly now. He’s a little slower around his turns than he had been earlier.
Come on, he thinks, willing Junhui to keep going. You have to win this.
He keeps a watchful eye on Junhui’s car as they complete the next four laps. And then, finally, Mingyu says:
“Last lap, Minghao. Give it your all.”
Minghao musters up all of his strength and steers his car around the first curve of the track again, for the 58th time tonight.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t exhausted. This sport can be so mentally draining, so taxing on the body. Going around and around at such high speeds can be jarring sometimes.
Minghao tries to keep himself alert by thinking about how good it will feel to watch Junhui hold the championship trophy over his head, to see his smile, to wrap his arms around him when this is all over.
He’s about halfway through the last lap when Jihoon’s voice comes through over the radio.
“Hao,” the team principal says. “I’m so proud of you. Bring it home.”
Jihoon’s encouragement is all he needs to finish the final lap of the year.
Minghao sees the fireworks go off in the distance as Junhui crosses the line, the checkered flag waving as he goes across it.
He grins to himself and cruises in over the line mere seconds behind him, taking in the sight of a sea of fans adorned in pink and blue waving and cheering from the grandstands.
The moment he stops the car, he runs over to Junhui and practically launches himself into his arms.
“You did it,” Minghao murmurs through teary eyes. “You fucking did it.”
“Hao,” Junhui says into his ear. “I’m sorry, I fucked up and should’ve let you go ahead, but Wonwoo told me that the team orders were to stay in front and–”
Minghao pulls back to narrow his eyes at him. “Why are you apologizing, you idiot? You just won a championship! Two championships, if you count the constructors’ win.”
“Because that was yours to win,” Junhui says, eyes downcast. “I wanted you to. You deserved–”
“No,” Minghao shakes his head. “Stop talking. You won, fair and square. Now stop sulking, and start celebrating with me.”
“But what about your dad?”
Minghao rolls his eyes. “I don't give a fuck what he thinks. I'm done letting that asshole dictate how I feel about my racing career. It's mine.”
“But I just–”
“Junhui. If I had won, and I was saying all of this to you,” Minghao interrupts, “you’d be telling me to shut the fuck up. Am I right?”
Junhui huffs, but he nods. “You’re right.”
“See,” Minghao gives him a knowing look, then grins. “Now, let’s go fucking get our trophies.”
Junhui grins back and hoists Minghao into the air, spinning him around to make him let out little giggles. Some of the photojournalists taking pictures of the moment look a little stunned to see Minghao so happy – even during his own championship win last year he didn’t look this full of joy post-race.
When Junhui finally puts him down, they jog over to the paddock together. Minghao laughs as he watches Junhui jump into the crowd of their Pledis crew waiting for him, patting Junhui on the back and shouting with glee.
Minghao seeks out Mingyu instantly, who’s looking at him with tear-filled eyes.
“Did you have to get Jihoon to talk to me because you were too busy crying that last lap?” Minghao teases, wrapping an arm around Mingyu to pull him in for a hug.
“Maybe,” he sniffs. “I’m so happy for you, Hao. I’ve never been more proud.”
“You’re acting like I won and not Junhui,” Minghao chuckles, stepping back to look up at his engineer and best friend.
Mingyu smiles. “I’m just happy to see you like this. The old Minghao would be throwing a tantrum right now.”
“I don’t have tantrums,” Minghao grumbles.
“But now, look at you,” Mingyu continues. “I’ve never seen you so happy. Losing the championship looks good on you. Maybe you should keep doing it.”
Minghao glances over to where Junhui is laughing brightly as Wonwoo shakes his shoulders, saying, “We did it, we did it!” repeatedly.
“Yeah,” Minghao smiles at the sight. “Maybe I should.”
Mingyu rolls his eyes and smacks Minghao’s shoulder, bringing him out of his Junhui daze. “Go and get weighed, lover boy. Before the FIA has your head on a platter.”
He and Junhui join the other drivers in line to get weighed as per usual post-race, then head to the cool down room together.
“Congrats, guys,” Joshua says when they enter, smiling at them as he pats his forehead with a towel. “Your team did a great job out there. All season, really.”
“Thanks, Josh,” Minghao pats him on the shoulder. “I would say you did too, but we did kind of kick your ass today.”
“He doesn’t mean that,” Junhui says, giving Joshua a polite smile.
Joshua snorts. “It’s okay, I know Minghao definitely does mean it. But you guys did drive a better race, so I have no problems giving credit where it’s due.”
Suddenly, Jeonghan bursts into the room and nearly tackles Minghao in an effort to hug him tightly.
“I know I’m not really supposed to be back here,” his former teammate says, “but I had to tell you congratulations before you get up there. I snuck past at least two security guards to do this, by the way. If you ever thought I was a bad friend.”
Minghao laughs into Jeonghan’s ear. “Thanks. Wouldn’t be here without you.”
“Damn right,” Jeonghan claps him on the shoulder as he pulls away. “If I didn’t switch teams last minute, who knows where you and Junhui would’ve ended up, huh? So you really owe all of this to me.”
Minghao rolls his eyes and elbows Jeonghan in the side. “You’re a dumbass.” Then, he softens and gives him a sincere look. “Thank you.”
Jeonghan waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t thank me. You can show your gratitude by paying for my drink when we go clubbing in a few hours.”
He can’t help but laugh at that. “Deal. Now run before security finds you.”
“I’m gonna go find Mingyu,” Jeonghan says. “God knows the kid is going to cry when they start playing the national anthem while you’re up there. See you guys!”
A few moments later, Minghao, Junhui, and Joshua start making their way up to the podium.
They stand on a platform that hovers over a crowd of the Pledis and HYBE teams, as well as their passionate fans who rushed onto the paddock the moment the race ended. There are flags and signs everywhere, and people wave at them from below.
They each take their respective positions on the podium, with Junhui on the tallest one in the middle.
He offers Minghao a sheepish smile as he stands at the top, and Minghao can’t help but proudly beam back.
Jihoon takes the spot next to Minghao, the chosen member of the Pledis team to receive the constructors’ trophy.
“I’m sorry for pushing you so hard this week,” Jihoon says to Minghao quietly, so that no one can make out what they're saying. “I should’ve known better than to doubt you.”
“It's okay,” Minghao shrugs. “I honestly doubted myself too.”
“He's good for you,” Jihoon muses, nodding towards Junhui. “He's probably the only person who could get you to smile like this after coming in second.”
Jihoon's stamp of approval has always meant a lot to him, but this is the one he values the most.
“Thank you,” Minghao murmurs. “For everything this season.”
Jihoon smiles and gives his shoulder a squeeze before the national anthem of China begins to play for Junhui.
He and Junhui sing along under their breath, stealing glances at each other the entire time the song plays.
The anthem for Pledis plays, and then each of them is presented with their trophies. Minghao’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but he doesn't stop grinning as Junhui lifts his championship trophy over his head and cheers.
All of the things they've been through this season, all the ups and downs, the fights and the crashes and pain – it was all worth it for this moment.
Champagne bottles are placed in their hands for what feels like the millionth time this season, and he and Junhui don't hesitate to turn towards each other and start spraying.
When the podium celebration ends, they walk back down to the paddock and toward Junhui's trailer together.
Minghao laughs as Junhui grimaces when he takes a sip directly from the bottle now that the spray’s died down.
“Does it not taste good?”
“No,” a champagne-soaked Junhui says, then moves in closer to say in Minghao's ear, “you'd taste a lot better right now.”
Minghao goes red. “You can't just say stuff like that right now!”
Junhui chuckles. “Why not?”
“Because,” Minghao takes a quick scan around them before he steps closer to Junhui. “What if someone sees us?”
“Then let them watch,” Junhui says, before he pulls Minghao in for a heated kiss.
Minghao can taste the champagne on his lips, and he lets out a content sigh as he melts into it.
“I can't believe I really won,” Junhui murmurs.
“I can,” Minghao wraps his arms around Junhui’s neck. “I'm so, so proud of you.”
Junhui pulls him in again and again, kissing him deeply, until he breaks away to whisper, “Can I ask you something now that the season's over?”
“Yeah, what is it?” Minghao asks.
Junhui takes a deep breath. “Will you officially be my boyfriend now?”
Minghao breaks into the widest grin. “Yes. Absolutely.”
He locks lips with Junhui again, until his boyfriend – he'll never get tired of using that – pulls back.
“Thank god you're finally mine,” Junhui murmurs, brushing some of Minghao's hair out of his eyes for him. “I kept having stress dreams that someone was trying to take you away from me.”
Minghao laughs at that. “I'm all yours. No need to worry about any competition,” he says jokingly.
“Good,” Junhui smiles. “You’re already enough competition for me.”
Minghao rolls his eyes, then pulls him in for another kiss. “Come on. We have to get cleaned up so we can show your trophy to Feng Jun.”
Junhui looks at him with so much adoration, Minghao feels his heart swell. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” Minghao smiles.
“That’s definitely not true,” Junhui scoffs. “But I’ll let you win this time.”
“Thanks,” Minghao grins cheekily. “You know I can’t stand losing.”