Chapter Text
Seokmin's fireproofs cling to his skin under the hot Bahrain sun, his limbs feeling much heavier than usual. He should change — his bag is waiting for him in his drivers room, a fresh team shirt and the jeans he arrived in shoved in the make-shift wardrobe they've built him — but he's glued to the pit wall. His eyes are following the small screen behind the strategists heads, squinting at the time sheets, ignoring the monitor showing the actual cars on track. He spent the entire break between sessions milling around the garage, doing his best to take note of every word his engineers uttered as they adjusted things. But the afternoon session is twelve minutes in, and he's unable to drag himself away.
Mingyu's lap is good.
It's criminally good. It's making something bitter rise in Seokmin's throat. Bile, he thinks. Mingyu's lap is going perfectly. He's a natural behind the wheel — Seokmin knew that already, but he still despises it. He keeps his arms crossed, eyes stuck on the screen. As if he'll blink and miss something.
He hates this. He really hates it. He hates not being in his car, and he hates Kim Mingyu showing off. He hates the sun beating down on his shoulders, and the stiff feeling in his knees from hours of driving the same route. He's filled with hate.
"You should go change." He jumps when Hansol's hand lands on his shoulder. He's scarily silent when he moves around the paddock. "You look like you're going to pass out from heat exhaustion, c'mon. Get some shade."
Hansol always speaks quietly, voice low enough to ensure no stray reporters overhear their conversations. Whatever they talk about always has a chance of landing in the wrong hands, his words splashed across Twitter before the day is done, questions of whether or not Seokmin's career is nearing an end, tagging his handle beside the teams.
It's exhausting.
He lets Hansol lead him through the garage, nodding to his engineers on his way past — they want him out of their hair, he knows. They're busy adjusting things, tinkering away at his car bit by bit, fixing things he cannot see. He hopes they're secretly fitting a rocket into his engine, hiding it beneath the red livery.
"It's just testing," Hansol reminds him in the motor home. He's standing in the middle of Seokmin's drivers room, watching him as he stretches himself over his uncomfortable little leather couch. Three hours in and out of his car have left him feeling exhausted. The winter break feels like a distant memory as he sinks further into the seat, feet dangling over the arm. "You can't get in your head on day one."
Seokmin wants to strike up an argument — he's desperate to complain a little. He's not in his head on day one of testing! He's been in his head since November, when the announcement was made that Kim Mingyu was making the move to Ferrari. He's been on edge since he landed in Maranello and Kim Mingyu was already in the building rubbing shoulders with the engineers. His engineers. He's been on edge since they snapped their promotional photos, Kim Mingyu's bright smile dazzling everyone in the room, the photographer even complimenting him on his photogenic features. He's been on edge since he watched Kim Mingyu jump into the Ferrari cockpit, looking like he belonged.
Seokmin isn't sure he's ever looked like he belonged in red.
He's aware testing means nothing. Last year they did great in testing. He held the top position all three days, happily accepting journalistic praise in the media pen. They'd still lost the first 7 races of the season. Testing means virtually nothing.
It doesn't make things any less disheartening. Seeing Mingyu's name above his on the time sheets turns his stomach. Sure, it stung when they were on different teams, but now they're in equal machinery it feels a million times worse.
"I know," he finally manages to reassure Hansol. He's still got his headphones around his neck, clipboard under his arm. He looks as tired as Seokmin feels, although his job really isn't half as strenuous as Seokmin's. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"It's fine," Hansol parrots. His lips set in a thin line as he looks down at him. Seokmin can tell he's worried, but Hansol nods over his shoulder. "Seungkwan wants you. There are reporters. Usual."
Seokmin groans quietly, head knocking against the flimsy wall as he throws it back. "Give me 10."
He ends up showering, tepid water cascading over his tense shoulders. He'll shower again in his hotel later. He'll piece himself back together in his temporary home, scrub the dust from his skin, exfoliate the sweat from his pores. For now, he towels himself off as quickly as he can, rushing to get changed.
Seungkwan adjusts the red collar of his shirt as soon as he steps into the paddock. "It's routine. Usual questions. I don't think you should mention Mingyu unless they bring it up. Or mention how tired you are. And don't talk about Soonyoung, unless they bring it up… Just keep positive. It will be a whole thing if you do."
Seokmin nods as he walks beside him. He knows what he has to do — it's not his first season on the job. But Seungkwan is just following orders, so Seokmin nods along, dodging people in opposing team kits as they make their way through the paddock.
"Try not to seem bitter, either. If they do bring hm up just be complimentary. Great pace. Excited to work together," he reminds.
"I've done PR training before, Kwan-ah."
"I'm just saying… Keep things positive. It doesn't matter who's ahead in the times — what matters is that the car is capable of setting good times!"
Seokmin hates the way he explains it to him like he's a child, but he keeps nodding, running a hand through his damp hair.
The media pen isn't very busy. A handful of reporters perk their heads up at his arrival, but there's no excited energy in the space. It's nothing compared to a real race weekend.
He straightens his shirt when he lands in front of the reporters, squaring his shoulders back. The one's waving their microphones at him are French, speaking in thick accents that he's become familiar with over his many years on European circuits. They're enquiring about his car — asking his feelings, wondering how it is to be back. The questions feel obvious, but he still takes a moment to consider an answer. Seungkwan holds the phone towards his mouth beside the gaggle of microphones, ready to catch his answer.
"It's good, yeah. Really good. The upgrades for the season feel good, and we've got a good floor this year…" He smiles as widely as he can manage, trying to summon a word better than 'good' to convey his feelings. "And, three hours in the car was a lot of fun. You know, it's testing, so there's really not much we'll know for sure until we're actually in Australia. But the care feels sturdy so far. Feels fast… Hopefully tomorrow will go just as well!"
"Your new teammate," one interviewer begins, French accent curling around each syllable. "We see Kim is currently P3, and your time is P7. Do you think he's handling the car differently?"
"It's just proof we have a good car for the upcoming season! Really, that's all we can ask for!" He's beaming now. He sat through countless hours of PR training as a scrawny teenager, suffering through Prema interviews in Formula 3, still flighty around journalists who would occasionally ask about his performance. He's mastered it now, however. He knows how to flash a smile a few times, hide things from the competition whilst still giving the journalists interesting enough soundbites to keep them going.
"Are you feeling confident?" A blonde woman asks, black microphone waving for his attention.
Seokmin shrugs. "It's the first day," he reminds them all. "I'm sure tomorrow will be better, Friday too. But today we collected tons of good data. It's good. I still won't be entirely confident with pace until we qualifying in Melbourne."
There are more questions. They ask how his winter break in Korea was, how he's coping with being back on a rigorous training schedule. He does his best to give as little away as possible as usual, keeping a polite smile on his face throughout.
"You should lie more," Seungkwan tells him on the way out of the pen. Seokmin rubs his eyes, the bright lights from the cameras that were filming him leaving black spots behind his vision. He should be used to it. He still pinches the bridge of his nose to adjust.
"Lie?"
"Just… Say more about how amazing the car is, how confident you feel."
"And, when we lose in Australia?"
"Then you tell everyone how excited you are for China. There'll be upgrades by Japan! You'll have great pace in Bahrain! Just keep a good face."
Seungkwan always says things very matter-of-factly. He speaks to Seokmin like he shouldn't have to explain it, like Seokmin should know better. It's not Seungkwan getting berated by the public when they lose, however. His confident quotes are always thrown back in his face after a bad result, journalists desperately fishing for a better story to nose into, digging for answers.
He silently reminds himself it's not Seungkwan's fault, however. He knows that. He bites his tongue, keeps his head down as he follows his friend through the paddock, back to their motor home. He can probably grab a bite to eat if he's quick, catch a short nap on his uncomfortable couch.
He doesn't.
He ends up in the back of his garage again, one eye on the monitors showcasing testing, other on the engineers fiddling with his car. There's music coming from one of the small speakers by the spare tires, but he's focusing on Hansol, listening to the notes he has on the morning session. He went wide on turn three of his sixth lap, the data informing them just how back their rear floor reacts under hard tires in moments of pressure.
He's chewing at his thumbnail when Mingyu hits the top of the time sheets. Seokmin keeps his expression neutral. He pretends not to notice when his face pops up on one of the screens he's been staring at, a camera man stepping into his space to capture his reaction. The whole season will be like this, he thinks. Everyone wants to see a storm unfold, and he's caught in the eye of it.
🏎️
"I don't like it as much."
"It's a good car."
"Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Seokmin. I know it's a good car." Soonyoung gestures at nothing as he speaks, almost knocking his glass of water over. "It's just very orange."
"Orange is good."
"No, orange is ugly. It's bad enough the team kit is this horrible 'papaya' tone, but my car? My downtime car? For my own personal use?" He wrinkles his nose. The car he's complaining about is back in Monaco, hidden away in a garage beneath their apartment building. Seokmin's seen it, though. He knows the exact shade of orange his friend is complaining about. "I liked the red much more."
It hadn't been Soonyoung's decision to leave. In early November, he'd slumped into Seokmin's hotel room, eyes full of tears as he mumbled something about negotiations reaching a standstill. He'd said something about the team looking elsewhere. Looking to McLaren. Seokmin hadn't believed him at the time, but Mingyu's contract announcement had come a week later, ending their partnership.
Soonyoung is still holding a bit of a grudge. Seokmin too — if he's honest.
"It's a nice car," he offers, finger circling the rim of his glass. The hotel bar has been closed to guests who aren't F1 personnel, giving them privacy. There are a few engineers milling around, some journalists. But they have their own private booth, sitting across from each other with their glasses of water keeping them company. "It suits you."
"Chan got a blue one. It's much nicer. Black interiors. I got cream. That's easy to stain."
He's just complaining for the sake of it, Seokmin thinks. His car didn't perform as well as he'd hoped in his afternoon session. He's blowing off steam by complaining about his free sports car, dragging out the non-issue as much as he can. Seokmin does his best to play a willing audience. They'd been teammates for three years and friends long before that — it's practically his job to listen to Soonyoung complain now.
"Easy for you, I'm sure." Soonyoung ignores his remark. "Swap with him."
"Oh, as if!" Soonyoung laughs. "That kid has the keys glued to his hand! It's his first signing bonus. He'll be buried with that thing."
"You're still calling him kid after-"
"Don't."
Seokmin raises an eyebrow, but he drops it. They slept together last season — more than once. When they were announced as future teammates, they stopped. Soonyoung's taken the whole thing well for Soonyoung standards.
"It's fine. It'll do. Everything is fine."
"Right."
"The car is fucked," Soonyoung whispers, and Seokmin immediately knows their leisurely car chat has switched to business. "I'm not meant to tell you, because you're the enemy now. But God… It's really bad. Really bad."
Seokmin had spent the entire drive back to his hotel reviewing everyone's results so he knew already. Even if testing means nothing, it still sort of means something. "It's not that bad."
"We're behind Williams, Seokmin. We're done for."
Silently, he's glad. McLaren doing badly can only work in his favour. But he does his best to look sympathetic. "I'm sure tomorrow will be better. Maybe Chan can pull something out of-"
"Ah, Soonyoung! Good to see you! Seokmin."
They both startle at Mingyu's arrival. He stands at the edge of their table, polite smile on his face. He looks a little smug, horrible. Seokmin hates his guts. But he smiles back — just as polite — swallowing his irritation.
Soonyoung smiles back like it's easy. Seokmin supposes it is for him. They're friends. Mingyu is sort of friends with everyone. He's a social butterfly, able to make small-talk with a wall if he has to. He fills up spaces left open, lights up every room he walks into, puts interviewers at ease. It all so easy for him.
"Great times today," Soonyoung compliments him. Seokmin is pretty sure Soonyoung has a slight crush on Mingyu — one of those ones you never do anything about but you're always vaguely aware of. It makes him hate Mingyu a little bit more, as he tilts his head to watch his response.
"You too! That full day looked tough!"
Soonyoung brightens a little, shrugging coyly. "Not too bad. Will be nice to have a lie in tomorrow but today was good."
"Rear wing looks impressive. Did you guys use a new-" Mingyu cuts himself off, pointing a finger. "You're not gonna tell the competition, are you?"
"Well, no. We need something up our sleeves to challenge you two."
Seokmin forces a chuckle out, the other two joining much more naturally. He feels like he's on the outside of this discussion, watching from a distance. His teammate — his biggest rival — and his ex-teammate — his best friend. He feels like he's banging on a window to be let into their world, despite the fact he's keeping his mouth shut from conversation.
He realises he shouldn't be this insecure on day one. There are twenty races to get through, another round of contract negotiations to sell himself for. He's going to see Mingyu almost every weekend for at least twenty weeks, some weekdays on off weeks spent in the factory together. They're tethered together now. He needs to start acting normal. Acting like himself.
"You looking after Wonwoo for me?" Mingyu teasingly questions. The swap between two top drivers from two top teams had surprised everyone — except Mingyu. He'd seemed nonchalant about it since the day his contract was announced. His teammate had retired, an older English guy who hadn't won a race in 4 years, meaning the only person Mingyu really left behind was his race engineer. Wonwoo had taken over Jihoon's role as Soonyoung's race engineer.
Seokmin has already heard the complaints about him. His voice is to low. He speaks too quietly. He has too many opinions on the way Soonyoung drives. Soonyoung is even better at putting up a public front than Seokmin, however. "Oh, he's great! No Jihoon, but he's been a great help. I can't believe you're been hogging him all these years."
Mingyu smiles, nodding over his shoulder. "I'm actually on my way to see him. I'll have to let him know how great you think he is."
"Do!"
Mingyu spares Seokmin a quick glance, nodding once. "Seokmin," he repeats. And, then he's gone. They both watch him leave, Seokmin wringing his hands under the table. It's stupid how rattled he feels simply from the way he says his name. This whole thing is stupid.
Soonyoung kicks him under the table. "You two are so weird together."
"No we're not."
"Yes you are, oh my God," he insists. He purses his lips as he looks Seokmin up and down. "You know as well as I do that it's easier to be friends with your teammate instead of enemies."
Seokmin bites his tongue. Soonyoung's teammate prior to Seokmin was Minghao — of course he'd have that opinion. They still play paddle together on free weekends. They have lunch together whenever they're both in Monaco during the week. They're friendly in the way Soonyoung and Seokmin are.
Seokmin doesn't speak to his first teammate. Jaehyun was nice on is first day, and then never again. His first season was spent dreading every team meeting, gritting his teeth through their joint promotional content. He'd thought, back then, it would never end.
"We're fine," he presses.
They're not. He hasn't spoken more than five words to Mingyu in private since he was about nineteen.
Soonyoung doesn't prod him further, though. He studies him for a moment, but he lets it go. Seokmin silently thanks whatever God there is. He isn't in the mood to get into it all tonight. Not when their only beverage option is water.
🏎️
The rain that hits the tarmac in front of him is freezing. Seokmin knows because it's splashing his race suit, soaking into his skin beneath. His coat isn't doing much to keep out the wind that whips past him, but he clutches his arms around him further, trying to sink into his hood. Somewhere, his parents are trying to find an umbrella in their rental car. He's been left alone, though. He stares at the dampening legs of his race suit, wishing for their return.
"Do you not have an umbrella?"
The voice makes him jump. It takes him a moment before he can lift his eyes to meet the boy in front of him. They're the same height, although he looks smaller under his oversized jacket. He's spinning his umbrella handle, the floral pattern over his head moving quickly. "My parents have one," Seokmin replies, helplessly glancing the direction they've gone.
"Here, we can share," the boy announces, moving to stand beside him. His shoulder jostles Seokmin's as he budges closer, holding the umbrella handle between them. He's stopped spinning it now. "Now you won't catch a cold."
Seokmin can't remember his name. It annoys him. They're the only two Koreans at the track, so he really should remember the boy. But he has to helplessly look towards him, opening his mouth with the question feeling flimsy. "You're-"
He doesn't even get to ask. "Mingyu. You're Seokmin. You're really good. I saw you in Italy a few weeks ago. I was injured, so I couldn't race. But you were really good."
He flushes under the praise, ducking his head to glance away. He'd only come third in Italy. He'd led three laps before losing it to two English boys. "Thanks."
"I'm good, too. I'll show you tomorrow," he promises, toothy grin showing off two sharp fangs that Seokmin feels startled to see. "My dad thinks I have a shot at F1. A real one."
Seokmin's dad thinks the same, he remembers. He's sure all dads think that. Every dad at the track is probably telling their son they could be the next big name in the sport.
Still, Seokmin smiles back. "I'm sure you do."
"You do, too. You have that-"
Seokmin's alarm cuts off whatever fourteen year old Mingyu has to say.
He does his best to blink himself away, pulling his phone from the charger by his bed. It happens sometimes — more often now that they're around each other everyday — these dreams. He's not sure they can even be classed as dreams. He's blinking away memories. Memories of being in France, memories of meeting Mingyu, memories of them.
He pushes past it. He has to.
His feet slap against the warm concrete quietly. There's a gym in the hotel, but he doesn't like running into people. All 20 drivers in one hotels along with the assorted personnel just gets too much for him. Smalltalk on the treadmill with anyone other than Seungcheol is his own form of hell.
The sun is already hot enough to burn, but he powers through it. He ran this route yesterday, and last year. It's too early for anyone else to be up, giving him free reign to circle around twice, feet trying to carry him away from the memories that are still tugging the back of his mind.
He's sweating by the time he gets back to the hotel, smiling at the receptionist in the lobby as he passes her desk.
The elevator doors open on Mingyu, his smile dropping immediately. He can feel the post-run adrenaline drain from his limbs before it's even gotten the chance to kick in.
The taller looks surprised to see him, stepping aside to make room in the small space — it might be a luxury hotel, but it doesn't really feel like one in the confined space.
Seokmin steps in, limbs feeling stiff. Mingyu's in work-out clothes too, he notes. The basement gym is probably where he's coming from. He doesn't ask, though. The number of their floor is already alight, so he simply reaches forwards to press the button to close the doors, crossing his arms as they start their journey up.
"Good morning?" It's not a greeting but rather an inquiry. Mingyu's head tilts to one side, considering Seokmin.
He doesn't want to reply — the less said between them the better. But he's nothing if not polite. "Yep."
Mingyu nods.
He knows he should ask the same. Ask about his work-out, ask about Seungcheol, ask about the day ahead, ask about the weather, ask anything.
Seokmin keeps his mouth shut, though. He steps out of the elevator as soon as it stops at their floor, trying to keep a subtly quick pace until he's behind his bedroom door again, thick wood separating him from the rest of the world.
He'd spent his January in Maranello doing his very best to avoid running into Mingyu in the hotel bar. He'd managed to worm himself out of every group conversation they'd both been thrown into, keeping his head down whenever they were forced into the same room together. He was aware there were whispers within the team — within the paddock as a whole. People wanted to know why the usually sunny Seokmin isn't snuggling up with the new Ferrari golden boy, building a friendship.
Seokmin isn't going to give anyone — especially Kim Mingyu — the satisfaction of talking about it, though.
He stays in the shower until his skin stings from the hot water, his back a deep shade of red. It does nothing to help him relax. If he closes his eyes he can still smell the rain in France.
"Sleep okay?" Hansol asks, bumping his shoulder in the hotel lobby. He looks brighter than yesterday, spark in his eyes back. He's ready for another day of data analysis. Seokmin sort of envies him.
"Yeah. Had a drink with Soonyoung last night. It's so-"
"Weird, right?" Hansol finishes for him, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "I was just talking to Jihoon about it. I keep seeing him in orange and getting a fright!"
Seokmin forces a laugh out of himself because Hansol expects one. Hansol has been Seokmin's race engineer for as long as Soonyoung's been his teammate. He supposes it takes some adjusting for him, too."
"He's enjoying it, though. Likes his new car a lot." Hansol gives him a sceptical eyebrow raise that has Seokmin folding. "Likes it well enough."
Seungkwan appears out of nowhere, Seungcheol behind him, Jihoon and Mingyu behind him. "Where have you two been? C'mon. Van. We don't have all day."
There are a few other drivers milling around the lobby, but Seungkwan leads them through the crowds, head high as he holds his clipboard like it contains nuclear codes.
"Did you run?" Seungcheol asks.
"Ten miles."
Seungcheol nods in approval, falling into step beside him. "Did you eat?"
"I'll get something at the track."
"I knew you'd say that."
"You always complain about how bad hotel food is for me."
Seungcheol scoffs, but he doesn't press. "I'll call ahead, get something prepared for both of you."
Seokmin sinks into the leather of the van seat, answering messages from his mother as Seungkwan begins to read his checklist. "Mingyu, you have Drive to Survive filming your drivers room this morning. And an ESPN interview before twelve. Seokmin, laps this morning. In the afternoon, Motorsport want to catch a word with you. Media pen for both, too. Need more positivity, excitement. A bit of enthusiasm about the teammate aspect would be good, too."
Seungkwan rattles off his directions as he always does — pen ticking each item. Most press relation officers use their phones but Seungkwan is a stickler for the traditional ways of working. He writes out his to-do list every morning, showing it to Seokmin at least once a week to brag about everything he's managed to complete.
Seokmin makes mental notes of it. If he's late, Seungkwan can always come and find him.
"Sounds good!" Mingyu is always upbeat in the morning. He does his best to rally team spirits.
Seokmin hums in agreement from his backseat.
"There's a drivers meeting tonight. Jeonghan's manager called me to remind you both, but it's also in your calendars. You both know, I assume."
"At six, hotel board room four," Seokmin replies.
"Journalists haven't been told about it, so don't mention it," Seungkwan orders. But then he twists back in his sear, locking eyes with Seokmin. "You should tell me about it, though. I can't believe they banned everyone else… It's unfair."
The meeting is the same every year — far from the drama Seungkwan expects. The drivers simply sit around and discuss upcoming regulations, voice any concerns they might have about issues they may want public support for. They also welcome the rookies, conducting a few formal introductions. It's an hour of his life that he doesn't mind losing — although this year he'll be stuck beside Mingyu, making it an entirely unpleasant ordeal.
"I'll update you on anything earth shattering, Kwannie," Seokmin promises.
He beams at that.
They briskly walk from the van to the motor home, each of them flashing their passes to get through the turnstiles of the paddock entrance. They're a little earlier than most teams. It's much easier to make their way through the paddock at this time of the day. A few photographers linger, snapping shots as they pass — no one approaches.
Seungcheol stops Seokmin before he can pass catering. "Breakfast!" He points to a small table in the corner, two plates already waiting. The rest of the room is empty, personnel probably eating the luxurious hotel buffet Seokmin skipped.
"Hansol, are you-"
Hansol points over his shoulder. "I had breakfast with Seungkwan earlier. I'll catch you in the garage later, I need to run some things."
Seokmin raises an eyebrow as his friend disappears, turning back to look at the set table. He almost flinches when he realises Mingyu is slipping into one of the seats. Of course Seungcheol hadn't been calling ahead for him and Hansol — God, Seokmin is an idiot. He'd been calling ahead for him and Mingyu, the actual athletes on the team.
He does his best to swallow his distaste before he approaches.
Their breakfasts are identical; protein pancakes, a few berries, glasses of orange juice, small yogurt pots with granola decorating the tops. They pick up their forks at the same time.
Seokmin managed to dodge every offer of lunch with Mingyu when they were in the factory. There were group meetings that took place over food, but he usually situated himself as far away from the other as possible. Now, however, the air makes his chest feel tight.
He keeps his head down, cutting into his breakfast and prodding the fruit like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen before. He's not sure he can remember the last time they shared a meal like this together.
Maybe that's a lie.
"You still run?"
He glares up from his plate, forkful of berries faltering midair. It's a surprise none of them tumble off. "Doesn't everyone?"
Mingyu considers him for a moment before he starts chuckling. "You really are a stubborn bastard."
Seokmin's head whips around, double-checking their surroundings — there are often stray reporters milling around motor homes, desperate for an inside look at things. They're still alone, though. Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Seungkwan have disappeared from where they left them. The kitchen door is shut.
"No I'm not," he finally replies, glowering back at Mingyu.
Mingyu chuckles again, leaning back in his chair. He's the tallest on the grid — he's making the chair look small beneath him. It shouldn't be as distracting as it is. "I thought you were just in a mood in Maranello, but you're really keeping this up? All season? The silent treatment is a bit childish when we're alone, Seokmin."
"I'll keep it up in public so you don't get too confused about it, then."
Mingyu stops laughing, lips setting into a thin line as he shakes his head. "Mature."
Seokmin finally manages to take his first bite, chewing slowly as Mingyu watches him. He hates him, he decides. It feels definite now. There's no questioning. He hates Mingyu. "We don't need to be friends."
There's a beat of silence between them. Seokmin is sure Mingyu knew that before he said it, but the younger still appears a little taken aback by the words.
"We don't, no."
"Well, I don't see the issue, then."
Mingyu takes a long sip of his orange juice before placing the glass down a bit too loudly. "Right. If that's how you want it to be-"
"That's how it needs to be," Seokmin corrects.
He keeps his eyes down after that. He tries to persuade himself he's right, chewing his food quickly. He's desperate to get away from Mingyu. He has to get dressed, speak to his engineers. He has to speak to his manager, maybe the team principal. He needs to review notes with Hansol again. He needs to run quotes with Seungkwan. He's got a busy morning lined up. His breakfast with Mingyu is merely a blip on his radar.
"Are we really going to go through the whole year like this?"
Seokmin glances at Mingyu. There's something in his expression that makes Seokmin's gut twist — maybe the pinch of his eyebrows, or the turn of his lip. Seokmin can't bare to think about it. He pushes his empty plate away, and walks away without replying.
🏎️
"You look tired."
Seokmin rubs his eye, blinking the sleep away. His back feels stiff from snoozing on the couch in his drivers room but he was overcome with exhaustion after his interview, desperate for somewhere to rest his eyes after his ridiculous run of laps.
"Really tired," Jeonghan continues, raising a hand to pinch his cheek. Seokmin bats him away. "Are you not sleeping?"
"I'm sleeping fine," he replies. Jeonghan steps back, taking a look at him up and down before shaking his head. "I am!"
"You should sleep more. You're overworking yourself."
"It's testing. I'm fine."
Jeonghan shrugs him off. They saw each other on Tuesday, along with a handful of times over the winter break — the older is still chomping at the bit to size Seokmin up at the drivers meeting as if they've been separated for years rather than days. "You know I worry."
"You don't need to worry."
"I still do!" He reaches to pinch Seokmin's cheeks again just to be annoying. "You need to look after yourself. You're not twenty anymore. Look, you're getting wrinkles."
Seokmin pushes him away, rolling his eyes. He has a retort ready, something about Jeonghan being nearly retirement age. But Joshua is at the top of the room clapping his hands, commanding the rooms attention towards him. "Sit, sit! C'mon! Sooner we get through this, sooner we can get out of here!"
Jeonghan gives him a pat on the shoulder before escaping to join Joshua. This is their baby, an idea they pitched before Seokmin had even gotten a seat on the grid. They'd been fresh at the time, a lot of older drivers dismissing it originally. Now it feels hard to imagine a season without it.
Mingyu's already in his seat, the chair next to him empty and waiting. It's not an enforced rule that they need to sit with their teammates, but everyone else is. It would look strange if Seokmin sat anywhere else.
He's silent as he slips into the spot. Mingyu's absorbed in conversation with Minghao and Junhui in front of him anyway. He doesn't even seem to notice Seokmin's arrival.
Jeonghan ends up beside Joshua, arms crossed as his teammate paces the floor at the top of the room. The whole space feels boring, coated in shades of beige that make Seokmin feel sleepy again. It's just an hour, he reminds himself. Maybe less, if Joshua can hurry things along a little.
"Welcome back! Welcome back!" Joshua practically shouts, effectively silencing all the murmurs of chatter from around the room. "I hope everyone had a good winter break! Hope we're all back well-rested, and ready for another long season! I know, busy few days, but we're almost on the other side, so-"
Joshua talks to them all using a voice that's a mix between a cheerleader and a teachers — there's enthusiasm in every word, but a warning beneath the sentences. He's lecturing them as he rocks on his feet, clasping his hands together. No one else in the room speaks, giving him a chance to drop his voice down a bit in volume. It makes it easier for Seokmin to tune him out.
He's made his introductions to the rookies already — most were in Abu Dhabi for the last race of the season in November. He's also not sure he has any real concerns about the new season regulations. They're such small changes from last year that he's not even sure how they'd find a way to effect his car. He does his best to pretend to listen, though. He bounces his leg to keep himself awake.
"And, of course, we have a lot more media this year, so-"
"He sure knows how to talk," Mingyu mutters, just low enough for him to hear. For a moment Seokmin considers the comment could be meant for the Williams drivers in front of them, but the two Chinese men seem to be listening a lot more intently than Seokmin is.
He bites the inside of his cheek not bothering to look. He won't give in. He meant what he said at breakfast. Mingyu can crack all the jokes he wants, but he's still Seokmin's biggest competition in this room. It's nauseating to think about for too long.
"Lot of new tickets, too. Social media presence is something very important to manage in-"
"Do you think he just likes the sound of his own voice?"
Seokmin turns his head, glaring. "I'm trying to listen."
"No you're not," Mingyu huffs through a quiet laugh, voice practically a whisper. "I can see your eyes glazing over."
Seokmin wonders how long Mingyu was looking at him before he spoke. He swallows the thought down, shifting in his seat.
"Has everyone reviewed the email?" Joshua looks directly at them as he asks, head tilting. He's daring them to interrupt his lecture. Seokmin sinks down in his chair to hide from the judgemental gaze. "It would be good for all of us to review the media policing for the upcoming season, just so we all understand."
It's all logistics. Seokmin vaguely understands it, so he nods along. Joshua can't really see him considering he's hidden most of his frame behind Junhui's in case he does start dozing off — it's the thought that counts though!
He waits with baited breath for the rest of the meeting. He's dreading another comment from Mingyu when Joshua stumbles over the words of his speech. Nothing comes, thankfully.
He's out of his chair as soon as Joshua finishes his last cue card.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Chan comments, looking up at him with a little concern in his eyes.
There are rookies surrounding Mingyu, all of them buzzing with the same questions Seokmin answered before Christmas. He drags his eyes away, looking back at the younger. "Just tired."
"Aha!" Seokmin's shoulders sag as Jeonghan throws an arm around them, appearing from seemingly nowhere. "Knew it!"
"I just didn't sleep well."
"Are you sick?"
"Are you two my mothers?" He replies, squirming out of Jeonghan's grasp.
The older coos, already trying to stroke his cheek. He's so irritating today. "Oh, Minnie — you know I'm only here to ask for your trainers number again!"
"We're not doing this again all year."
"If you don't give it to me, I'll ask Mingyu! He's much easier to negotiate with than you or Soonyoung."
Chan perks up at Soonyoung's name, eyebrows raising. "What are we talking about?"
"Jeonghan is trying to fuck my performance coach," Seokmin explains. "He's not going to, though. Remember, Hannie?"
Jeonghan rolls his eyes at the overly sweet tone Seokmin has adopted. "Just because you don't get any doesn't mean the rest of us should suffer."
The friendly banter flows easily after Seokmin gives Jeonghan a light shove. Chan has jokes of his own that gets them both laughing more. It's good. It lets him momentarily forget. He gets a moment to catch his breath before he realises the room is beginning to start bidding farewell to each other.
"That could have been an email," Soonyoung complains as they make their way towards their door. "He's obsessed with the sound of his own voice."
Seokmin huffs a noise of amusement.
The scoff behind him makes him jump, the sound a lot closer than expected. As he glances over his shoulder he wishes he hadn't. Mingyu's gaze is startling to see.
But he shakes it off, turning back to Soonyoung. "He sure knows how to talk."
Mingyu ends up being the first person to actually leave the room.
🏎️
The pedal gives under his foot, the car speeding up as he grips the steering wheel as tightly as possible. The red gloves on his hands feel too hot, but he's absorbed in the drive — there isn't time to pay attention to things like that. He's careering around another corner, chasing an invisible opponent through the areas of more extreme down force.
He's pulling the afternoon shift. There was some discussion in the garage when he arrived, his team principle mentioning something about wanting to see him get an opportunity to test the car in the evening air. Mingyu — the great team player he is — had easily accepted the switch, ignoring Seokmin on their way back to the motor home.
He passes over the finish line again, a new lap starting fresh.
"1:36:20," Hansol's voice informs, crackling a little over the radio. "Faster than the last."
Not fast enough. Not faster than Mingyu. He wants to say it, but Seokmin knows anything he says over the team radio has a chance of being broadcast to the masses. Sure, testing isn't the most exciting part of the Formula 1 season, but he's aware people are still watching.
His foot presses the pedal again, neck straining as he twists the car through another corner. He's trained his whole life for moments like this — they're still hard.
"Careful on the apex this time."
Seokmin follows the advice, gloved fingers jamming one of the buttons on his steering wheel. He gets through three more laps like that, gritting his teeth as he does his best to outpace his teammate. This is his last chance to really prove himself before Australia. Before they meet on track in a real competitive space. Mingyu's finished testing — he's probably back in his drivers room with a coffee.
This is Seokmin's only shot.
"I'd say you only have three laps left," Hansol advises.
Seokmin gulps in a breath of somewhat stale air from his helmet. He needs this. He needs it.
His leg is bordering on cramping with the pressure he applies to the pedal. He knows his knuckles are white under his gloves. He's faster than before, he tells himself, flying around the track. The car is light, and he's even lighter. He could probably fly. He can almost picture it.
He needs this, he repeats in his mind, rounding the thirteenth corner. The end is almost in sight. If he beats Mingyu, he can hop out of his car and bask in the glory of it all through to Melbourne.
"1:35," Hansol informs him once he's over the line, trying not to pant down the radio.
"1:35 what?"
There's a second of hesitation before his engineer answers. "1:35:54."
He wants to slam his steering wheel but he's sure the noise would come across the radio. He could try another lap, but his leg is too sore, and he's slowed too considerably on this lap to get it past the finish line with enough preparation to even attempt a better time. His chest is heaving as he slows further, beginning his journey to the pit lane properly.
Mingyu finished his morning session with a timing of 1:35:34.
"You did great," Hansol assures as Seokmin tugs off his helmet, his balaclava quickly following it. "Really, we couldn't have asked for a better session."
There are no mics in the garage directed at him, but he still bites his tongue. They could have asked for a better session. Seokmin easily could have had a better session if he'd gotten a time of 1:35:33. Or even better, P1. Jeonghan is holding that spot, however.
He knows from the look on Hansol's face that his engineer already knows what he's thinking. "We'll be fine."
Seokmin nods once because he doesn't trust himself to speak.
His room feels smaller than usual when he gets back, pulling his race suit over his shoulders with a rough tug. It feels like it burns. It's overheating him. There's bile rising in his throat, blood pumping through his veins at an uncomfortable rate.
He lets the race suit hang at his hips as he tries to drag his fireproofs over his head. The cool air of the air-conditioned motor home hits his skin instantly, offering a little relief. He takes a moment, the energy needed to bend down to pull off his shoes seeming over-whelming.
The knock on his door is so quiet he almost doesn't hear it. But the person on the other side pushes through without waiting for response, Mingyu appearing in front of him.
"I just wanted to-"
Seokmin watches as Mingyu cuts himself off, sucking in a breath as he looks at Seokmin, eyes sticking to his torso for a moment before Mingyu finds his eyes again. He quietly clears his throat. "I just wanted to say: great go today. I mean it. Good go. P2 and P3 is a really good basis to work off for the start of the season."
He's rushing his words, and if Seokmin didn't know any better he'd say Kim Mingyu is blushing.
He does know better, though. He pushes the thought away. "I'm not really in the mood to-"
"You can't hate me all season," Mingyu presses. "Seriously, it's bad for you, bad for me. The team are going to suffer if you keep up this selfish-"
"You don't get to call me selfish, Mingyu," he hisses, finger jabbing Mingyu in the chest. He didn't even notice himself getting closer to the taller, but they're face to face now. It takes everything in him not to scream at him. But their drivers rooms don't have ceilings. "You don't get to come here, and-"
"Oh, Seokmin, grow up!" He snaps back. "We're not nineteen anymore, you don't get to-"
"We don't need to be friends! I don't know why you're so fucking insistent! I did the same PR training you did! We can smile and nod around cameras, but this fake-nice bullshit you keep peddling when we're along has to stop! You have to stop!"
"Have you ever considered maybe I'm trying to actually be nice?"
"You're too heartless to even know the meaning of the word."
Mingyu opens and closes his mouth. It gives Seokmin a strangely smug feeling to see him rendered speechless — even if it's just for a second. "If you would stop being such an asshole for two minutes, we could just talk things out like adults."
"I don't have anything to say to you!" Seokmin insists, crossing his arms over his bare chest. It's a little ridiculous to have a fight like this, but he's not going to get redressed mid-argument. "And, there's no point in you wasting your breath on the same tired excuses you've peddled before. You know I don't want to hear them again."
There's a tense silence for a few moments. Seokmin feels raw and exposed, his heart beating too quickly from the speed he was trying to get his words out at. It's stupid. Mingyu makes him feel stupid. Everything about their relationship makes him feel like he could be sick.
Mingyu looks down at him with an unreadable expression on his face before finally stepping back. "See you in Australia."
The door to his drivers room slams shut with such force that the plastic walls shake, leaving him alone again.