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Din wins in Kijimi. His first win since Nevarro, and it’s safe to say that he’s pretty kriffing pleased about that. He steps out of his car with a smile, fist punching the air as the relief settles over him.
Oh, it feels good to be back.
Second to last race of the season and now he and Luke are only one point apart.
The championship could be his, this time next week.
That thought shoots an anxious jolt up his spine. He forcibly pushes it aside. He can think about that later.
He’s embraced by his team, smiling at them, happily. He clasps hands with Leia and Wedge, his accompaniment on the podium, before the three of them settle into the cooldown room.
The feeling of relief doesn’t disappear as he wipes a towel across his face. He keeps his suit fully-on, not unzipping like he would have done. The cold air of Kijimi’s snowy atmosphere has hit his face like a slap. Leia’s nose and cheeks are vibrantly pink and Wedge’s breath almost freezes as he exhales—he’s sure he looks the same.
The race replays on the screen in front of them. The three of them watch, sipping on water flasks and occasionally shivering when a draft of cold air slips through the cooldown room door.
Leia hisses through her teeth. Din glances at her. Her attention is solely on the TV, a grimace taking over her features.
“That was close.” Wedge comments.
Din looks to the screen to see what the fuss is about and his eyes widen a fracture.
The clip shows Luke’s car, the number ‘1’ plastered across the nose, as it goes around a particularly tight part of the track.
Din tenses slightly as he watches, suddenly very aware of the fact that Luke isn’t in the room with them and he has no idea where his championship rival actually finished.
On the screen, Luke locks up slightly, his rear twitching as he tries to make the tight bend. Luckily, he manages to save it but locks up again in the following corner as he finds himself closer to Andor, in the Racing Rebels car, then he probably would have liked. This sends Luke quite wide before he straightens out and falls just behind Andor up the short straight.
“Where did he finish?” Din asks, trying to sound disinterested.
“Fifth.” Leia replies, shortly, eyes still focused on the screen as it switches to a video of her boyfriend/situationship/whatever.
Din hums under his breath. He drops his gaze to his lap, absently wringing the towel in his hands.
Why the hell was Luke so far back? P5?
His brow creases ever so slightly as he replays the moment in his head. Was there something wrong with his car for the rear to twitch like that?
Din doesn’t know. He stays silent, trying to push his unwanted, worrying thoughts out of his mind.
Now isn’t the time to be thinking about Luke Skywalker-Naberrie. He just won a race. His first since Nevarro. It’s been seven weeks, five GPs, and he’s finally got his spirit back.
Luke doing badly is a good thing, he thinks, for Din, for his championship. He could be a world champion in seven days time and his childhood dream will come true.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward at the thought. But he still can’t dismiss the worries.
After Tatooine, things between Luke and himself have been slightly tense. Then there was that moment in the clubs in Cantonica, where they’d danced close under the low lights, cheeks flushed with alcohol. Luke had been so close to him.
Nevarro had been a joy, a necessary one following his engine failure on Mandalore. Then Luke had won back-to-back on Endor and Ossus. And they hadn’t said more than a congratulations to each other.
He shouldn’t be stressing over him. Shouldn’t be wishing that Luke was also with them in the room.
Din’s grip on the towel tightens until his knuckles turn white.
There is nothing between him and Luke Skywalker. They are championship rivals and that is all they will ever be.
His foot twitches.
Maybe they can be friends after all this is over but for now, he wants to destroy that boy. Next week, that championship is his. He can’t spend the next few days wondering why Luke is failing, instead he should be celebrating.
His foot twitches again and Din notices that it’s not, in fact, twitching but rather someone is nudging it. He glances up and locks eyes with Leia. She’s watching him carefully, faint concern catching on her brow. He musters up a small smile.
She raises an eyebrow then pulls her foot away.
On the other side of him, Wedge shifts and Din fully snaps back into reality. He takes note of the black screen in front of him, then notices the shivering FGA official in the doorway.
Slightly wearily, the three of them get to their feet. They follow the official out to the room and down the corridor to the podiums.
Leia goes up first, pushing up the rim of her 3rd place cap as she jogs up the stairs. Wedge spares him a smile before following after. Din takes a deep breath and adjusts the maroon-coloured, first place cap on his head. The FGA official gestures at him and he approaches the steps.
He hears his name being called out and quickly climbs them, two at a time.
The smile is automatic, sliding into place as he waves at the crowd. He clasps hands with Wedge and Leia then steps onto first place.
The trophies come next and he shakes hands with the presenter. A loud cheer erupts from the stands when he almost flings the large, gold trophy into the air. He waves it slightly, gaze briefly locking onto his team members in the mass below.
The moment passes quickly as the trophies are swapped for champagne. Then the three of them turn on each other. Din sprays Leia first, catching her right on the shoulder. He gets Wedge next before turning to IG. His engineer has accompanied them on the podium to accept the constructors trophy. They use up the last of their champagne on each other, then the four of them gather for a photo.
His mixed thoughts, accompanied by the adrenaline of the day, don’t settle until the door of his driver’s room is pulled shut and the noises of the paddock are stripped away.
Din drops into the middle of the sofa, collapsing backwards into the cushions. He presses his head back and closes his eyes. The tension in his shoulders eases away and he almost falls asleep right there and then.
He soon forces his eyes open. With a groan, he gets back on his feet and begins to change. Din showers quickly, changing back into his regular clothes. The loose necessities are shoved into the pockets of his coat and he packs away the rest as best he can for his trainer to collect. His champagne-soaked race suit is flung over the arm of the sofa and his helmet is still in the garage. His trophy is to be taken back separately by the team so he doesn’t bother going to search for it, trusting it to be in safe hands.
With one last visual sweep over the room, Din slips out. He shoves a grey beanie over his brown curls and begins to make his way to the paddock exit as discreetly as he can.
The departing crowds still cheer, upbeat from the day’s proceedings. Din faintly wonders how many are hitting the clubs now, probably hoping to glimpse drivers doing the same. He, himself, has never been one for clubs. Only occasionally does he allow his friends to drag him to one, if only for a few hours, and he hardly ever drinks much, usually being the designated driver–not that he minds. A part of him wants to join his friends this evening, having already seen the plans in the group chat, but he decides better of it, knowing himself and his preferred post-race routines. He’d much rather go to sleep right now, no matter if he’s won a race or not.
He keeps his head down as he heads over to his car.
His personal silence is comforting as he settles inside. The gentle purr of the engine adds to the feeling as he pulls away and begins the journey back to the hotel.
He hums along to the quiet radio as he goes, the dull noise occasionally catching in his throat.
It starts to snow again when he pulls up to the hotel and Din pulls the beanie down even further over his face as he trudges inside.
The lift up is short and the walk to his room even shorter. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights when he gets inside. He shrugs his coat off, discarding it on an armchair, then tucks his shoes underneath as well. He briefly considers just collapsing on the bed but decides otherwise, knowing he’ll hate himself for it in the morning.
It doesn’t take him long to get ready for bed and soon enough he’s face first against the pillows, tugging the heavy duvet over his body and promptly shutting his eyes.
Sleep comes quickly, laying over him like snow and embracing him warmly. He welcomes it, allowing it to tug him under as he drifts off.
***
Back in the paddock, Leia walks through the halls of the Alderaan Racing motorhome. She only knocks once on the driver's room door before entering.
Luke is sitting on his massage table when she enters, looking up from his phone and dredging up a smile to greet her.
“Hey.” She smiles back, warmly, and pulls herself up next to him.
“Good celebrations?” Luke asks, his voice quiet and slightly shy. She follows his gaze to his phone. He’s scrolling through his socials, occasionally clicking on the comments under various race-related posts. Leia holds back a sigh.
“They were alright.” She replies, “You were missed.”
Luke hums, “Yeah… sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” She shrugs, “People understand.”
The silence stretches after her words.
“Luke, you shouldn’t read them.” She says. He hums again. She sighs.
Leia reaches over and quickly snatches the phone from his grasp. He protests loudly, trying to grab it back. She darts away from him, holding it out of reach and pushing an arm up between them. She’s considerably shorter than him but Luke doesn’t force himself closer, very familiar with his sister’s mean hook.
He exhales, visibly deflating, before turning to collapse onto the small sofa. Leia watches him lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. She tucks his phone into her back pocket—thankful for her past self’s idea to change before coming here—then tentatively steps closer to him.
He doesn’t look up as she sits beside him and she gently drapes an arm around his shoulders.
“Don’t beat yourself up over this, Luke.” She says, rubbing a reassuring hand across his shoulder, “You tried your best, you got points, and you’re still leading.”
“Yeah, by one point.” He retorts, looking up at her. His eyes are red from the pressure of his hands and the pain in them is just as present. He sits up and her arm falls from his shoulders. He exhales heavily, running a hand through his blonde locks then dropping his arms onto his thighs.
“I… I feel like I'm failing, Leia.” He confesses, quietly, “I-I know that… that it’s selfish of me, I mean, I already have two championships, but…”
“But you have still worked so hard to get another.” She fills in.
He hesitates before nodding, defeatedly.
“It’s ridiculous.” He mutters, “Din deserves this so much. He’s fought so hard for this—”
“So have you.” Leia interrupts, “You can’t talk about him deserving it more when you deserve it just as much. You’ve both fought hard for it. Both cried over it, pushed until you’ve almost keeled over from exhaustion. I mean—for kriff’s sake, Luke, you raced with a fractured rib three months ago and still managed to do well and take the lead in the championship. You both deserve this. And you’re going to get it.”
Luke says nothing. He closes his eyes and leans into the back of the sofa.
“Din looked pretty bothered by something in the cooldown room,” Leia begins, “when they showed the replay of your incident at turn six with Cassian.”
Luke looks over at her and frowns. She continues,
“Yeah, it came up on the screen and he didn’t notice at first but when he did, he got that small crease in his brow, like the one Han does when something ticks him the wrong way. Then he looked away after you disappeared and was silent till we left for the podium. Even walking to the podium he didn’t say much, just nodded at the officials.”
Luke sits up slightly.
Leia shrugs and looks away, “But what do I know? We aren’t that close.”
Luke looks down to the ground, frowning in thought. Leia glances back at him. A small smile twitches against her lips. Luke’s attention has moved from the comments to the boy he’s been eyeing all season. She almost chuckles but stays silent.
They’re so karking oblivious, she thinks, shaking her head at her brother.
One day. One day, they’ll fix it. Leia only hopes it’s soon, however. She does worry for her brother, for his championship. He has fought hard for this. Din and him both. And she knows something has formed between them over the past year, a different kind of tension. She’d seen them on Cantonica, watched the not-so-discreet glances since. She doesn’t think anything has happened, no, but she wouldn’t be surprised if some feelings have begun to grow there.
Though, she’s almost positive that they both remain oblivious, both of their own feelings and each other’s. She holds back an eye roll.
Men.
She returns her focus to her brother. He’ll figure it out, she muses. Surely… hopefully… okay, maybe not.
She sighs quietly.
Gods, help her. Help them both.