Chapter Text
Renjun Huang woke to the sound of an alarm for the first time in months. He yawned and stretched and waited a moment, for the fog in his mind to clear. His eyes slipped patiently shut as he took slow, deep breaths.
Ten minutes later another alarm jolted him out of his resting state. He had another false alarm set for five minutes. That was the real time he needed to get up.
Ever since his father, Papa Huang, demanded that he return home to work for the family company, Renjun had been sleeping in. He insisted that it worked better for his creative process, which did not operate on a 9:00 - 6:00 schedule. Papa Huang, as he was affectionately called by the staff at Huang Racing, disagreed. Renjun was under explicit instructions to “stop fucking around” and “get your shit together”.
For the last ten years, Renjun had been living in Europe. He attended the prestigious Am Waldsee Institut in Switzerland for high school. Then he moved to the United Kingdom to attend University of the Arts London. He’d remained in London since he graduated two years ago.
His family had a house in London. It mostly served as the landing pad for attending to Formula 1 business in Europe. Renjun pleaded with his father to let him stay. He liked living independently. He was still young. His career as an artist was just beginning. He didn’t want to launch it from the confines of the family estate in the countryside near Seoul, South Korea.
Papa Huang was anything but warm and fuzzy when it came to his son. Renjun had orders to appear at all 24 races this season. He was now an employee of the marketing and public relations department. He would work a full schedule and collect a salary commensurate with his experience.
Renjun knew that a million Formula 1 fans could only dream of landing a highly coveted, highly competitive job in this field. He didn’t take that for granted. He just had other aspirations.
When he was little, he loved anything to do with the arts. Dance, singing, piano, drawing, dressing up in his mother’s stylish clothes and sparkly jewelry. He especially loved her collection of crystalline perfume bottles. Perhaps it was because he was an only child that she indulged him. He was permitted to clomp around in her high heels and sometimes she would even rouge his cheeks.
His father had other ideas. When Renjun was six, Papa Huang signed him up for karting. Renjun refused. He wanted to learn ballet instead. Papa Huang tried to persuade him to play other sports, in the hope that his interest in cars would thrive later. It never did. As Renjun approached puberty, suddenly ballet lessons were no longer appropriate. His father held the date over his head like the shadow of a guillotine.
When you turn 13, that’s when you start becoming a man.
Mama Huang chided him to let Renjun be. But it was too late. His career as a ballet dancer was over before it began. Without intense, specialized training, he would never reach the high echelons expected of professional dancers. So he turned his attention to drawing, painting, and digital art.
Once again, his father pushed him to join Huang Racing’s karting team. He personally trained Renjun to drive karts and cars. It was a miserable summer. The other boys were viciously competitive. Being the son of the team’s owner held no perks here. He hated karting.
It was the first time he was called a slur for homosexual. That shocked him. How did they know?
For as long as Renjun could remember, he liked boys. But they made him nervous. His closest friends were always girls. Plus he was close to his mother. She understood him much more than his father did. She never tried to make him be someone different.
When she passed that winter, it was the worst time of Renjun’s life. His number one cheerleader, his unconditional supporter was gone. It shocked the family to the core.
Renjun and his father’s relationship grew more distant. They barely spoke unless it was to argue. Renjun’s disinterest in motorsport withered into disdain. He saw how it consumed his father and his grandfather before him.
Grandfather Huang, the founder of Huang Racing, had won numerous championships back in the late 1960s. He’d managed to pull their family out of poverty and give them opportunities. Papa Huang took advantage of every opportunity, winning multiple championships in the early 1990s. Back then, it was rare for drivers from their part of the world to succeed in a Eurocentric sport. It still was. They were legends.
And Renjun Huang was nothing but a disappointment.
*******
Renjun freshened up. Though it wasn’t quite spring, he wanted to feel like spring was here. So he spritzed himself with a light floral fragrance, silky mimosa and jasmine nestled in soft white musk.
Fragrance was his obsession. During a high school trip, senior year, he visited a perfume archive in southern France. It was then that he decided he needed three things to live a good life.
Kisses, perfume, roses.
Renjun admired the bouquet of pale blush and white roses in an antique blue and white porcelain vase atop his vintage teak dresser. He had roses and he had perfume. But there was no one to kiss.
He selected an outfit of loose black pants with a white buttoned shirt. He pulled a powder blue sweater over it and adjusted the collar and cuffs. All pieces he’d picked up from Savile Row shops in London. His taste in fashion ran rather dandy. That was what his best friend Ning called it. He could not disagree. He enjoyed looking nice. It made him feel good. Just as art and other pretty things made him feel good.
Satisfied with his look and with the way his hair fell in soft waves over his forehead, he made his way downstairs for breakfast. He rarely bothered the staff for a meal, preferring to pinch a piece of fruit or perhaps a pastry to enjoy with a cup of tea. His father was long gone, preferring to start his day earlier than it was humanely possible for Renjun to wake up. His father’s girlfriend was sitting at the dining room table, typing away at her laptop. Renjun sailed past the dining room and took his meal alone in the sunroom.
He checked his phone and found a message from his father, requesting that he come into the training centre by 10:00 for a meeting with the public relations and marketing team. Renjun reminded himself that this could be good experience for his own perfumery slash art studio. Just as with ballet, he’d also missed the qualifying round for a career in perfumery. Who knew that real perfumers were highly trained chemists? Renjun’s best subjects were arts and humanities, certainly not chemistry. By the time he learned that he would need a degree in chemical engineering to attend the fragrance academy. At best, he could become a designer or art director and learn to blend fragrances as part of his artistic practice. That was where he set his sights, supplementing his university degree in Fine Art with workshops at renowned perfumers in France and Thailand. He was determined to make his own way, even if he had to spend the whole year following a motorsport team around the world.
It was 9:55 when his ride dropped him off at the Huang Racing training centre. The driver kept chattering excitedly about his destination. Few locals got to see the inner workings of the Huang Racing training centre. He asked what it was like and what Renjun thought of this year’s team. Renjun gave short vague answers and spent the ride hiding behind his sunglasses, scrolling an adult gay dating app, and sipping cold sauvignon blanc from the straw of his large insulated tumbler. That thing could hold an entire bottle of wine, which made it perfect for a day at the office.
The training centre was boring. Renjun had been going there ever since he could remember. Sure, it had state of the art fitness facilities, an esports simulator lounge stocked with every racing game imaginable, the driver academy, the engineering academy, department offices, and a clubhouse for family and friends. It was great if you were into words like turbo, downforce, and dirty air. Renjun wasn’t. That was why he brought wine.
Considering it took ten minutes to walk from the gates to whichever offices the public relations and marketing team used, Renjun was not on time. He was late.
Everyone who worked at Huang Racing knew who Renjun Huang was. He found it disarming. Staff he’d never met, never seen before knew his name and greeted him first.
“Hello Huang Renjun-ssi! Welcome back!” A young woman wearing a team polo shirt and team lanyard announced brightly.
“Hello,” Renjun replied.
“My name is Choi Jiwoo and I will be your guide today! I have your agenda right here!” She used her right hand to point to the tablet she was holding in her left hand. “Shall we get started?”
“Sure,” Renjun said.
So it seemed that his father had issued an agenda for his first day on the team. He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his white Chanel Gabrielle bag. While he wasn’t usually one to flaunt luxury brands in everyday places, the bag had belonged to his mother so he considered it an omen of comfort.
Jiwoo brought him up to the office level, through a maze of corridors, and into a small meeting room. She introduced him to his new coworkers: Kwon Boa, Director of Public Relations and Marketing, Kim Kibum, Manager of Public Relations and Marketing, Kang Seulgi, Communications Manager, and Lee Haechan, Media Coordinator. Renjun introduced himself as Huang Renjun, but didn’t know what his job title even was so he took a seat.
Director Kwon started by explaining the purpose of this unit. While she and Manager Kim were responsible for the larger department, Manager Kang was responsible for the street team, which at this point in time consisted of Haechan and Renjun. Their jobs were to support the two drivers with fresh, youth oriented media. She read some stats from her tablet about rising youth interest in Formula 1, particularly from women.
“Given those statistics,” Director Kwon said, “the unit could benefit from adding a young women’s point of view.”
“Don’t worry,” Renjun told her with a smirk. “Anything an 18 year old girl likes, I like too.”
The others in the room did not seem to find that remark funny, so Renjun took a long slurp from his cup. As she continued to talk, he wondered how often he would be expected to come into work. Race weekends were a given, but on other days, he could just make social media posts from home.
“Have you met this year’s team yet?” Director Kim asked.
“Oh I can’t wait to meet them,” Renjun said, echoing Jiwoo’s cheery tone.
Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin.
Their faces were plastered everywhere around Huang Racing. Both had come up through Huang Racing Academy’s driver training program. Both were rookies. It was a surprising move to enter two fresh drivers. Given that Yuki and his temper had gone crawling back to RB and Dani was out with an injury, Renjun figured that it was the right time to debut Huang Racing’s homegrown talent. Not that he paid attention. It was just hard to ignore when he was raised on this stuff and it was all his father talked about.
Manager Kang was to take Haechan and Renjun to meet the drivers. She informed them that Haechan would be supporting Jaemin and Renjun would be supporting Jeno. As they walked through the halls, Renjun saw their faces and numbers again. It was a smart idea alright. Both drivers were very handsome. If Renjun had to choose, Jaemin was more his style. He preferred Jaemin’s playful smile to Jeno’s cool stare.
But he had a rule. He didn’t date drivers. Or anyone affiliated with Formula 1.
Drivers had tried to get close to him before. Though most had girlfriends or wives, or at least maintained a heterosexual public appearance, things were different behind closed doors. Renjun had spurned the advances of more than one driver, including a couple top tier names.
They found Jaemin first. He looked up from a game simulator and flashed them a dazzling grin. Renjun was unfazed.
“Huang Renjun!,” he boomed, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” Renjun replied, blithely.
“Hi, I’m Lee Haechan!”
“Hi,” Jaemin replied, but his eyes lingered on Renjun.
“Jaemin, you should spend some time talking with Haechan. He’s your go-to media guy this year.”
“Sure,” Jaemin said. “My session is just about over. Give me a few minutes to clean up and then we can go grab a coffee.”
“That sounds great!” Haechan agreed.
What was with all the overly excited reactions? Did these people just really like working here?
“Renjun! I’ll see you later?” Jaemin asked.
“I’m sure you will,” Renjun replied.
“It looks like Jeno is finishing up a schedule down on the track. Let’s go meet him there.”
Great. Trackside was Renjun’s favorite place. Full of dust and dirt and grease and fumes. Ugh, he loathed car fumes. He couldn’t understand people who enjoyed the scent of rubber or gasoline or whatever it was that they called new car smell. Gross.
He fastened his grey wool coat as they stepped out to the cold air. It took longer than usual, buttoning it one-handed, while holding his tumbler with the other, as his bag dangled down his elbow. All this for a few posts on the team socials seemed very unnecessary. Why couldn’t the drivers just come over to the house for an interview and a few promo pics? Why did he have to sniff fumes for this?
Something crashed into Renjun, causing him to drop his bag, as he stumbled to the side.
“Oh!” A deep voice said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” The man quickly dipped, swooping up the Chanel, and handed it back to Renjun.
“Jeno! We were just coming to find you. How are you? How’s that elbow?” Manager Kang asked.
“It’s better,” Jeno replied.
“Good, well, today must be your lucky day because you have The Huang Renjun joining your media team!”
Jeno stared at him blankly. “Okay.”
Okay? That was it? Some drivers could be so arrogant. Renjun busied himself dusting his precious bag. He’d been absolutely smitten with handbags last year and hats the year before that. This year, he was going to make sunglasses his thing.
“Alright, I will leave you two to talk. Renjun, Jiwoo will come get you at 11:00 to continue to tour. It was so nice meeting you. I’m looking forward to working together this year.”
Manager Kang left Renjun and Jeno to stare at each other.
“So should we go inside and sit down somewhere?” Renjun offered.
Jeno shrugged. “I’m fine out here. Fresh air is good for you.”
Fresh air? What fresh air? They were 3 meters from pit, any closer and they’d be smelling burnt rubber.
“In this weather?”
“Aren’t you from Jilin?” Jeno responded.
Renjun would never get used to people just knowing things about him. Of course Jeno knew where he was from. Any driver training in Huang Racing Academy would have studied the history of Huang Racing. They would know that Renjun, his father, and grandfather hailed from Jilin, China.
“I am,” Renjun said. “But you’re not wearing a jacket so I figured you might want to go up to the clubhouse and get warm with a coffee.”
Just then Jeno shivered.
Renjun smirked. Men were so silly.
“There’s instant down here,” Jeno said, motioning for Renjun to follow him into the paddock.
So Jeno was that kind of driver. Some were more comfortable in and around cars. See, Renjun could know things about people too.
Mechanics greeted them as they walked by. Jeno knew them all by name. He entered what appeared to be a break room but was more like the size of a closet and nearly as dim. He stopped and looked at Renjun.
“Is your purse okay?”
“My purse?”
“It’s white. Does it need cleaning?”
Renjun examined it. The Chanel was fine. He’d already brushed away any specks of soil or grass. “It’s fine.”
“Do you want a coffee?” Jeno gestured to the basket of assorted teas and instant beverage packets.
“I have a drink,” Renjun said.
Jeno pulled a chair out from the small cafe style table. Then he sat in the chair across from it. Renjun sank onto the seat and set his tumbler down.
He opened his mouth, but Jeno interrupted.
“Are you wearing jasmine?”
“Yes,” Renjun said. “Does it bother you?”
“Not at all,” Jeno smiled gently. “It’s very Chinese.”
His smile softened the cold marble of his face. His lips rose at the corners and his eyes matched them. But the stone mask quickly returned. That softness, whatever it was, he took effort to hide.
“So I don’t really have a plan. I guess I’m supposed to follow you around at the races this year and take photos and make posts and videos to promote you.”
“You’d have an easier time with Jaemin,” Jeno replied, bluntly. “That’s more his thing.”
This was incredibly awkward. And Renjun was never awkward with people. In fact, he was proud of his ability to make conversation with anyone.
Renjun’s phone buzzed. There was an incoming message from Ning, asking how his first day of work was going.
“Oh! My dad wants me to meet him right now,” Renjun said, excusing himself from this painful moment. "Sorry."
Jeno nodded, expressionless.
“I’ll be in touch soon.” Renjun rose and briskly walked through the paddock.
“Little Huang! Little Huang!” A much older mechanic said in Chinese. “Could I have your autograph?” He held up a pen and paper.
Renjun stopped. “Mine?”
“Yes! I worked for your grandfather and now your father. Someday, my son and maybe even my grandson will work for you.Your grandfather gave me my first opportunity. He was such a good man. I’m sorry for your family’s loss. ”
An icy sensation trickled down Renjun’s spine. His father’s parents were both gone for more than fifteen years. Their once lively family had dwindled down to the two of them, aside from some distant relatives they hardly knew. Renjun had known for his entire life that he was supposed to lead Huang Racing. He’d also known that he wasn’t up for the job. Not only was he a disappointment to his father but also to his grandfather’s legacy.
“Thank you, uncle.” Renjun set his cup down on a tool case and reached for the pen and paper. “What is your name?”
“Zhou Jian.”
Zhou Jian, may you live a long life.
*******
It was dark by the time Renjun’s father returned from work. He knew he’d be in trouble for blowing off his first day to lounge around the clubhouse, eat snacks, and do nothing but shop online until he skipped out during lunch. After that display, Renjun expected a storm of wind and hail to come banging at his bedroom door.
But the house was silent.
He’d pissed away the rest of the afternoon eating hotpot and shopping with Ning, who’d ditched her last class of the day for his time of need. She was such a good friend. Also, he'd thrifted a pair of vintage Cazal sunglasses with a gold frame and brown lenses.
The office workday was truly not for him! How did humankind ever agree to it? And he was supposed to go in four more times this week? The horror of it all was excruciating.
The expectation of a full time work week was absolutely cruel and inhumane and should be considered a violation of international law. To make matters worse, he’d left his tumbler in the paddock. There was still 3/4 of a bottle of wine in there!
Renjun dropped his digital pencil onto the bed, tossed his tablet aside, and flopped over to bury his face in a pillow. He couldn’t even draw at a time like this.
Tomorrow his father was going to give him an earful of curses, then send him back to labour his life away in the training centre. He wasn’t meant for this! He was meant for pretty things.
Kisses, perfume, roses.
Lee Jeno was more like motor oil, rubber tyres, stone cold stares.
How was Renjun supposed to work with him for the whole year? He clearly didn’t want Renjun around. Not that Renjun wanted to be there anyway.
It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his family’s company. He just didn’t have what it took to become the company’s leader. He wasn’t a sports guy or a businessman. He didn’t belong there. He felt like a fraud.
Renjun wished that he had the strength to go his own way. But he was so weak. He didn’t have the courage to stay in London. Accustomed to a life of luxury, he’d come crawling back to the family estate as soon as his father threatened to stop funding him.
Renjun bit his pillow, hard.
This was his life now. He had to accept it. One day down. 16,425 more days to go.