tu tornerai da me con le mani giunte - Chapter 1 - goregrief (2024)

Chapter Text

The first time Wonbin drove a kart around a track was when he was five years old.

He would like to say that ‘the rest is history,’ but he’s still very much in the middle of ‘the rest’ and making his history. Even now that he’s made it to Formula One, he still hasn’t made it. No. Not yet. So instead, here is a brief overview of his racing career, thus far:

He was born in England to immigrant parents, particularly a father who loved motorsports, but never raced himself. He grew up watching Formula One, Indycar, NASCAR, rallying and MotoGP, but none had drawn him in like Formula One. He asked his dad if he could try karting, and despite financial constraints and his mom’s heavy reluctance — He did. He quickly fell in love with it, and found that he was quite good at it, too. He spent the ages of five through seven getting a grasp of the basics, then he started entering local karting championships and he found that he was quite good at that, too. He was even winning.

Winning is an indescribable, often unbelievable feeling. When he was much younger, winning often accompanied the feeling of fantasy. He couldn’t believe he was standing on the top step in front of everyone, holding a trophy bigger than his head in most cases. Sooner rather than later, it became an inevitability, and above all else, a necessity. Karting at the local level was expensive enough, but he needed way more than that if he intended on advancing further into international competitions — And he did.

Some say it was luck, and sure, he can admit that luck was in the formula for success, but no one knows just how hard he worked to get here. No one knows.

When he was able to move up and into FIA Karting championships at age twelve and started winning in those categories too, despite financial constraints, despite all the many sacrifices his parents had to already make at that point, he even started believing that he could drive for the team that inspired him in the first place: Ferrari.

Of course. It was harder not to dream in red for a kid that age. Scuderia Ferrari is much like a beating, bleeding heart, and it’s not because they’re the same colour.

Ferrari has history. Too much history, one could argue. Now that he’s at Ferrari, Silvia always emphasises that — Think of the history, think of the brand, every move you make, everything you say, you are representing Ferrari with it. Be smart. Be purposeful. Of course, do what you have to do on track to win, but off track, be charming and likeable and even irreplaceable. What is Ferrari precisely, then? It’s all so abstract. Rosso corsa and the prancing horse and a dream. Sometimes, it feels like a fantasy. To others, it can even feel like a farce.

To Wonbin, Ferrari is very, very real. Ferrari is Fangio. Ferrari is Lauda. Ferrari is Schumacher. It’s Lauda being buried in a Ferrari suit, and Vettel saying his career is a failure because he didn’t win with Ferrari, and it’s speed, power and tragedy.

He knows that many before him have tried fulfilling a prophecy that doesn’t want to be fulfilled, and failed doing so. He knows that there were many teams that wanted him to join their Driver Academies instead — Mercedes, Red Bull, McLaren, to name a few — all of which he might’ve had a better chance of winning with, but he chose Ferrari when he was five, then when he was fifteen, and now again that he’s twenty-three. He wakes up every day, and chooses Ferrari.

It’s a no brainer, really. It’s almost entirely too easy, and too instinctual, and too right. It could do without what can only be called sorrow, sure, but he chooses Ferrari every day, and he will continue to do so.

He can only hope that one day, Ferrari will choose him, too.

Here’s the thing about Jung Sungchan: The thing is—

Well. It’s nothing.

The thing about motorsports is that it is tight knit and familial. It is also brutal and unkind, just like a real family. If you can make friends and keep them in this business — Great. Good for you. But just like how Wonbin’s dad emphasised time and time again throughout his childhood, Don’t get attached here. It’s us versus them. It’s you versus them. Once you’re out on the track, your feelings don’t matter much. At least not the ones that don’t win you championships.

Anyone would think that might be just a little too cruel to tell a child, but his dad understood what Wonbin understands now: For a champion, it’s necessary. Wonbin isn’t here to win races, no, not at all. He’s here to win championships. There is a difference.

There are exactly one hundred and seventy days between himself and Sungchan. That translates to five months and seventeen days. Despite the difference being that small and so insignificant in the grander scheme of things, Sungchan had somehow always managed to be ahead of Wonbin a category or two. The fact that they were teammates in F2 under Prema still remains to be a kind of miracle. He still remembers Sungchan’s young, shocked face when he realised he would be teammates with Wonbin, and he can’t say that the memory still doesn’t bring him any satisfaction.

When Wonbin finally won F2 after many reliability issues the two seasons prior, Sungchan was already in F1. (He remembers holding the trophy in his hands and feeling equally vindicated as he was upset that he finally had it. Vindicated that he had proven himself, he can still win, he is destined for it, but upset that it took him three seasons, and Sungchan wasn’t by his side. He dug that feeling its own grave along with the rest of them.)

Sungchan spent his rookie year at Williams, the same year Wonbin ended up 2nd in the F2 standings, yes, but he was in a Mercedes by the next year in 2022. When Sungchan won his first two races, Wonbin had finally won F2. The next season where Sungchan had won another three races, Wonbin couldn’t secure himself a seat and he ended up as Ferrari’s reserve driver — Unused reserve driver. It was quite possibly the most miserable year of his life, and no amount of testing or Free Practice sessions could make up for it. When Sungchan won another three races the season after, Wonbin finally had a seat at F1 — A Haas seat, yes, but a seat. It was a starting point if nothing else.

Sungchan was always a sort of passing entity. He knew of him before they were teammates, knew he existed and would probably remember his name with the help of a picture, but he never got himself too familiar or too attached to anyone, and Sungchan was no exception. Even when they were teammates for two seasons straight, he decided it was best that he didn’t let himself get too close. It’s like a fire — Beautiful and warm, but only from afar. It was a silly thing, but no one could tell him then that he deserved to have that too, not until he was in F1, not until a championship.

Or if he decided to be impatient, then a race.

He had friends, yes, but he chose them wisely and carefully. When he was seventeen, he decided that getting close to Sungchan would not be a wise decision. Now that they’re both in Formula One, the final stepping stone to take, he hopes to keep it that way.

Shotaro being his only company ain’t too bad anyway.

Not everyone gets to have a soulmate. That’s a common misconception, but it’s not true. In fact, many are grateful that it’s not true.

Having a soulmate makes you weaker, both physically and mentally. It’s by pure design — Someone else is in your head constantly, twenty-four-seven, no breaks or stops or peace of mind. You live your life up until that point peacefully, and now you are totally susceptible to another person’s thoughts, feelings and whims. Honestly, how could anyone function normally after that? Wonbin knows that there’s no way that he could.

Especially as an athlete, soulmates are less of an asset and way more of a liability. Every other year, there’s always some kind of a controversy with the way the host countries for the Olympics handle it. Whether it’s too strict or not strict enough, good or not good enough, cruel or not cruel enough — No, Wonbin really doesn’t want to deal with any of that.

The FIA deems it like this: If you happen to have a soulmate who is non-personnel, you must report it to your team principal and the FIA in order to ensure accommodation for your soulmate at every race. You will not be penalised for having one. It’s not an excuse for bad performances, of course, but there are no punishments that are directly tied to it (not after what happened in 2005, that’s for sure). The only real thing that they need is honesty.

That kind of gets ruled out though, when your soulmate just so happens to be another driver on the grid, doesn’t it? In theory, it should remove all the complications and precautions needed otherwise.

Not really. Soulmate bonds between drivers are strictly forbidden. There has only been one known soulmate bond on the grid — Chung Yunho and Kim Jaejoong. They had found out after they became teammates and agreed to keep it a secret over a decade ago. When that secret only turned into resentment, and resentment turned to tragedy, Kim Jaejoong won his maiden, and only, championship. He made it public then — ‘I did not understand why the FIA banned interdriver soulmate bonds. I always thought of it as silly, because of course. Of course, we could make this work for us. Of course, because we have always made this work for us. I will always see him as the boy I grew up with, my dear friend through karting, but this— This. This has torn us apart.’

The FIA would have loved to punish Yunho and Jaejoong themselves, but Jaejoong beat them to it first. He announced it at the same press conference he announced his retirement from Formula One, only seven days after he had won the championship. Yunho endured a ban for the first five races of the following season, which he still somehow managed to win. They had set a kind of precedent then.

Try as you might, but you cannot exist in the same narrative as your soulmate, because the narrative doesn’t have enough space for you both. It is one or the other, and nothing in between. I can’t have the championship and have you. You cannot have the championship and have me. Pick your poison: Destroy your chances at your childhood dream, or destroy your childhood itself.

It may seem like you have a choice, but the narrative has already decided for you — You will pick the championship. You will not pick your enemy, deep within of which your soulmate lies. You will pick the championship.

Jaejoong tore himself apart, limb by limb, to earn his championship. He did everything he possibly could to shave a hundredth there, then another hundredth here, then just one more hundredth there, because those hundredths will eventually add up to a tenth, then a second. It has taken you about twelve seconds to read this paragraph up until this point. That is also the same gap that Jaejoong was able to build over Yunho in the title deciding Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. He won his championship fair and square — Yes, even with Yunho’s reliability issues, yes, even with the relationships Jaejoong was neglecting, yes, even if Jaejoong fought hard like a dog that needed water. He fought, he won, he left. That is how this story goes.

Wonbin was born alone, and he has lived his life thus far alone. There are plenty of drivers who still want a soulmate despite it all, despite everything that suggests that it is quite the miserable experience — but Wonbin is not one of them. He was born alone, and he will win this championship without having to pick it over something else, and he will not make any of the miserable decisions that others have had to make.

In the end, he does not want a soulmate because— It would be cruel. Even if he did have a choice he would still pick the championship, yes, but it would be cruel to put someone else through that anyway. It’s not worth the effort. It’s really not worth the fight.

Thankfully, Wonbin is twenty-three. Most people find out when they’re teenagers, sometime between the ages of seventeen through nineteen, usually either through a dream, a surprise meeting or a freak accident. Yunho and Jaejoong found out when they crashed at the Malaysian Grand Prix, for example. They were well into their twenties then, sure, but—

It is not going to happen to Wonbin. He doesn’t have a soulmate, because he doesn’t have anybody. He just has himself, his hands and his bones, the same ones that have won countless races and junior championships and the same ones that will win him an F1 Championship — That is how his story goes.

Wonbin doesn’t have a soulmate. He doesn’t have anybody.

For 2025, the FIA brought back the Albert Park Circuit as the opening Grand Prix, and Wonbin is happy about it for several reasons.

Melbourne has several fast straights which allows for overtaking and blistering speed. The technical corners and the heavy braking zones are challenging. Step on throttle too soon on turn 1? Good luck with spinning out and putting it into the wall. Missed the braking point on turn 3? Have fun eating gravel. Understeered into turn 4? Lost time that will never be given back. Missed the entry speed on turn 11? f*cked the exit of turn 12. Missed the braking on turn 15? Eat sh*t and grass.

Overall, fun. Incredibly fun.

The strategy for it is as follows:

Wonbin is still learning how to manage his tyres well, so he is going to start with fresh mediums. The team asked about starting on hards, but it is easy to lose a few places with the lack of grip before the first corner and possibly the first few laps if he doesn’t get heat in them quickly enough. He will pit for hards after the first stint, then use softs in the last stint to push any seconds he can get. Of course, they’ll only know what to do during the race when the race starts, but—

He is excited. Very excited. He’s been counting down the days until his first race with Ferrari for a very, very long time, way before he actually sat down and signed the contract (and honestly before the contract was offered), and this is his very first chance to prove himself and what he’s got. Wonbin knows that he’s done everything he can to deserve this seat — he’s done the work, he’s won the karting championships, he’s been patient, very patient — but this is his chance to prove it.

How oxygenated is your blood? How badly do you want this? Show us. You need to behave like you can’t live without this.

I will show you. I will show you just how much I can want, and want, and want. I have never needed anything more in my life. I will show you.

Shotaro tries almost a little too hard to get him to relax during the Driver’s Parade.

He knows, he knows— This isn’t his first F1 race, and he is far too experienced to be acting like this is his first day on Earth. However, that’s honestly just how it feels at the moment. His brakes got f*cked during qualifying so he wasn’t able to get past into Q3 and he only managed a measly P13, and despite all the reassurances he’s got from the team, from Yunho, from Shotaro, that he ‘did the best he could, no, it’s Ferrari’s fault, it’s not your fault at all, you did amazing with what you were given,’ he still finds that hard to believe.

There aren’t many first chances given. There aren’t many chances at all. Ferrari said they fixed his brakes and he believes them, he does, but he still can’t help the ever growing pit in his stomach that something— Something is going to go wrong. Whether his brakes f*ck themselves again, or his hydraulics system tries to kill itself, or his car gets struck with a meteor, whatever it is, Wonbin can’t help but feel that something horribly, horribly wrong is about to happen.

Maybe it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe it’s just first-race-of-the-season jitters, or first-race-with-Ferrari jitters, or general-life-jitters, but he can’t help any of it. He tries to, but most of it fails. Shotaro wouldn’t understand — He qualified for pole, of course, and what it means to drive for Red Bull is something completely and utterly different than what it means to drive for the Scuderia. Maybe the only other person who would understand is Yunho, but he already has eight world championships.

He’s not the only person who has felt like this before, he knows, he understands. However, he’s the only person in the world who feels like this currently. His hands are shaking when they grab onto the halo of his angel to pull himself inside the car, then when he attaches the wheel, then when he holds onto the wheel so, so tight as the mechanics whizz and buzz around him, various encouragement in English and Italian mixing together.

He knows then — Wonbin, you cannot f*ck this up, for the love of God.

So, he won’t. Simple as that. Simple. Hah.

The race is red flagged when twenty-six laps in, Wonbin f*cks it and crashes into Jung Sungchan’s Mercedes.

Driving a Ferrari is power, speed and precision. You can’t just control the car metre by metre, but millimetre by millimetre. When you are driving a Ferrari, you are employing a red-winged angel to help you achieve your dream, and you mustn’t disrespect it. On the timesheet, it’s a difference of only a few seconds, only a few tenths, but those few seconds does not encompass what it’s like to drive a prancing horse. A Ferrari. There is, of course, a reputation to uphold.

This might not be the same car that Fangio, Lauda and Schumacher were driving — in fact, far from it — but their souls are infused in the carbon fibre and the rosso corsa paint. When he steps foot into the car, one racing boot then another, he needs to consider who he’s doing this for, and there is really no experience like settling into a car the colour of blood and flesh for the first time. He knows he’s carrying himself, the people who came before him, and everyone who matters to him the most — his mum and dad the most. It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. It’s the closest you’ll ever feel to God, driving one of his aerodynamically fine tuned angels to the finish line.

This is why winning with Ferrari is any driver’s dream. It’s not just a win. It’s not just a team. This is also why Wonbin is crying when they get into the medical car.

He just can’t help himself. The tears come before he even knows what to do with himself, or his emotions, or what to say to the team. This was his first chance to prove himself, to really, really prove himself, and he completely ruined it. He lost control of the steering wheel, the car was far too powerful and he couldn’t handle it properly — He couldn’t prove himself. He’s done many practice tests for various F1 teams over the years, but nothing compares to racing in an actual Grand Prix, and he completely blew it. He wouldn’t be surprised if the executives are waiting for him at the paddock just so he could watch them rip his contract up into shreds.

This is awful. Just horrendously awful.

Jesus, he’s crying?

Wonbin looks up from his lap. The driver and the doctor are faced head on, and when he turns to look at Sungchan, he finds that Sungchan is already looking at him. He catches him by surprise, and he looks away quickly. Brows furrowed and speech muffled through his helmet, he asks, “Did you say something?”

Sungchan looks shocked that he’s talking to him. He already has his helmet and balaclava off and on his lap, suit still zipped all the way up. He would like to say that those two seasons as Sungchan’s teammate are the reason why he’s able to decipher his expression so well, but it’s not. Sungchan is just not one to hide how he feels. “I didn’t say anything?”

Sure you didn’t, he sniffles pathetically, his tears staining his balaclava, Arsehole.

“Hey, why did you call me an arsehole?” Sungchan’s face contorts in anger, turning to the person driving the car and the medical officer in the front, “Didn’t you hear that? He just called me an arsehole!”

The doctor turns to them. He looks between them, shakes his head and sighs, “While I’m glad it seems you two are both well, no. He did not say anything.”

That’s so weird, he thinks as he takes off his helmet and his tear stained balaclava. He feels more than just a little pathetic seeing the contrast of the bright red of his race suit compared to the very clear borders of the tear stains. It feels symbolic. It feels like it means something. He hopes it doesn’t.

What? Sungchan’s voice, his distant voice, makes him jump. What’s weird?

Oh. f*ck.

They are getting closer to the pit lane entry now. Wonbin’s face is stiff with tears and drenched with sweat, his lips dry with salt and dehydration. Sungchan is — He looks younger like this. In desperate need of a haircut, the bangs of it stuck to his forehead in sweat and some of it sticking upwards from the way he pulled his helmet off. Wonbin is sure that he’s not any better, and in fact he may be way worse.

At least you acknowledged it. He sounds— Smug. I think you beat me in the helmet hair category by a long shot. He sounds like he knows everything. He can hear Sungchan, but his voice sounds like it’s five rooms away, and not five inches away. If Wonbin really thought it couldn’t get any worse than retiring from his debut race with Ferrari, then he’d be dead wrong.

Get— He breathes in deeply, and it sounds much like a prayer, Get out of my head. Wonbin has never been taught how to pray. He might have to learn now.

He looks back at him, and he finds Sungchan’s eyes widen in recognition, that this is real, this is happening — f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck. This can’t be happening. This has to be a dream. Sungchan whispers, right before the doors to the car open, “You get out of mine first.”

f*ck.

F1: Ferrari’s freshface Park Wonbin collides with Mercedes’ prodigy Jung Sungchan at the Australian GP

Formula One came back from its offseason with two new lineup changes, as Park Wonbin moved to Ferrari from Haas and Anton Lee moved to Mercedes from VCARB. While Lee finished in an impressive 7th place for his first race for the Silver Arrows, his teammate, Jung Sungchan, did not have the same luck.

Jung was able to reach the top three of the timesheets in all Free Practices, but a late start and technical issues did not see him passing into Q3, and he ended up qualifying a disappointing P11. Ferrari’s Park Wonbin saw the same issues with his brakes in qualifying, ending up in P13.

Coming out of Turn 6, the front wing of Park’s Ferrari clipped the back of Jung’s Mercedes which led them both to spin out and crash into the barriers. The Ferrari sustained damage to the front wing, floor and side pod and the Mercedes sustained damage to the rear wing, floor and side pod. Both drivers were okay with a clean bill of health and escorted back to the paddock via medical car.

This has led to some questioning if Ferrari made the right decision with Park Wonbin. Ultimately, only time will tell if the Scuderia made a good decision by accepting their Ferrari Driver Academy raised Park Wonbin into their team. One bad race doesn’t mean equal to an entire bad season, and we are all hoping this proves true in Park’s case as well.

As for Jung, he has been shown to be a very strong driver in his time at Mercedes, winning a total of eight times (along with a winning streak of three years in a row at Canada) alongside his former teammate and eight time world champion, Chung Yunho. Now with Chung at Ferrari, the world of F1 can only be left wondering if Park will go down a similar route — Or indeed go down a path not nearly as successful as Jung’s. Ferrari have had some wonderful moments the past few seasons, but ultimately lost out on the championship on two separate occasions due to reliability issues and strategy blunders.

Indeed, the question may not fall on Park’s shoulders, but on Ferrari to build a winning and reliable car and maintain good strategy calls. If they are able to prolong their typical ‘moments’ of good, strong, fast cars over an extended period of time however, we will have to see if Park makes the most of it or continues with the simple blunders such as the one he made in Melbourne.

Driver mistakes, bad strategy calls, upgrades not working, reliability issues, terrible track conditions — Like it or not, these are all just another part that makes up the beauty of motorsports, just like the speed, glory and glamour does.

In theory, a soulmate doesn’t actually make you physically weaker. You won’t get hurt if they get hurt. You won’t die if they die. Your lives are inextricably linked together, yes, but— No, not like that.

What is a soulmate, then? It’s being vulnerable to the thoughts, feelings and whims of another person you do not know. Well, maybe you do know them, but no, not like that. Knowing someone as a friend or a lover is different from knowing them as your soulmate. It’s feeling what they’re feeling, even if you can’t understand why. It’s understanding, even when you don’t. It’s the fact that, though not physically, emotionally he has been cracked open like he’s ready for a dissection. Is he ready? No, not at all, but that does not matter when you have a soulmate.

It’s the knowledge that Sungchan can hear what he’s thinking right now, at this very moment, even when they have gone off to their respective hotels, many hours after the race.

Hi. He’s not sure that he’s ever going to fully get used to the knowledge that Sungchan is here, and listening to everything he’s thinking. Just for the record, me too. I won’t tell Mercedes, by the way.

If you did, I would’ve—

Yes, yes, you would have killed me. And see, the dissection has already begun. Terrifying. You won’t tell Ferrari either, right?

Ferrari is a dream. A dream clouded in red smoke, impossible to tell the boundaries and the definitions of it but still, it’s there. It’s all there. Having a soulmate makes you weaker, it makes you a liability and not an asset to the team, and he’s only just gotten here. If Ferrari find out that he has a soulmate, let alone another driver, his dream—

Please stop with your fifth Ferrari monologue of the day and tell me yes or no.

Rude. He coughs into his fist, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He’s showered, but his clothes are still awkwardly clinging onto his damp skin. It’s just another thing he can’t get used to. No. Of course not. It’d be insane to tell them.

Glad we’re on the same page then.

Mercedes have a history too, but not like Ferrari does. Silberpfeile and all.

In their debut year, 1954, Mercedes won with Juan Manuel Fangio, and the year after as well. They also had three titles in the European Championship before the Second World War. Unfortunately, Mercedes withdrew from motorsports in 1955 in response to the Le Mans disaster. They’ve only just reentered Formula One as competitors in 2010, and before that in 1994, they entered as engine suppliers. The team itself was a rebranded version of Tyrell Racing from 1970 to 1998, which got renamed to British American Racing, then Honda F1 Team from 2006 to 2008, then Brawn GP in 2009, then finally, Mercedes. They were not the greatest immediately after their rebrand, but they quickly became a top team within only three or four seasons. They have their own baggage, their own history, but it’s just silver, German and modern. Not red, Italian and vintage.

I forgot about that.

“Jesus f*cking Christ,” Wonbin exclaims as he clutches his chest, the left side. Can you stop scaring the sh*t out of me, mate?

It’s not my fault you’re so easy to scare. With Sungchan in his head, it’s all coming back to him now from their time as teammates. It’s the way he quirks the side of his mouth up when he thinks he’s right, and the way that he is so, so smug. It doesn’t matter that Ferrari and Mercedes booked different hotels and that Sungchan isn’t here with him right now, he could almost smell the smugness off him. Gross.

Can’t you like— Send me something like a warning? Through my chest or something? He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. You talk so much in Korean and German that I just tune it out. I forget you’re there. It’s honestly starting to sound all like the same language even though he knows it’s not. Not French, Korean or German, but Sungchan language. Ha.

I’m not really sure that’s how this thing wor— Wait. Ah, f*ck. You don’t know Korean?

Years. This is what they mean by learning how to be vulnerable with your soulmate, by the way. Or anybody, really. Twenty-three years of living I’ve been able to keep this a secret, and now you know within twenty four hours of barging into my head.

There’s a reason why he’s never accepted any interviews in Korean, he’s always defaulted to English even with other Koreans, and he can barely understand past a few simple sentences. His mom wanted him to learn, but his dad insisted that he didn't need it. He only started learning Italian after he asked his dad if he could take lessons, and he said yes because he earned himself a spot in single seaters. Therefore, he was allowed to properly start dreaming about Ferrari. He was thirteen.

Jesus. That makes a lot of sense. The fact that it does is really embarrassing, actually. Christ— That’s why you asked me to talk in English only, right? You asked me so you could ‘practice your English,’ wow. I’m really shocked.

He chuckles. The fact that you believed me is impressive on my part.

I don’t know mate. I knew you lived in England, but I thought maybe your accent had gotten muddied from studying Italian for so long, or— They only really knew each other at seventeen, so Wonbin had only been learning Italian for about four years at that point. Wrong. You know, having Korean as a first language. You really duped me.

Do you feel wronged?

Sungchan sounds almost a bit upset when he replies back, Extremely.

You’ll get over it.

I won’t. I’m never getting over this. I will never forgive you. Wonbin rolls his eyes, turning over on his side and nuzzling his face into his pillow. He has an off day tomorrow, but he flies out to Shanghai on Tuesday. He should sleep, but— Too much to think about. And anyway, you started learning Italian that young? I didn’t know that.

You don’t know a lot of things about me, Sungchan. He yawns, tracing a shape into his hotel mattress. It has undefined lines. But yes, I wanted to start earlier but my dad wouldn’t let me. It would take me away from karting, so he deemed it unnecessary at that point.

Man, you Ferrari drivers are cultish. Excuse me? I’m just saying.

And you Mercedes drivers are uninspired. He scoffs, I mean, it’s not my fault that Mercedes are too— I don’t know, detached. Too sleek. Too modern. Not passionate enough.

Yeah, but we kicked your asses in the 2010s even after not being in the game for decades. Got half of your championships in one decade. Just saying. Whatever. He sounds something between half serious and half joking when he says, Have you ever considered that maybe the reason why you guys haven’t won anything in damn near two decades is because you’re too attached?

Well— No. He hasn’t.

To drive with Ferrari is any driver’s dream, and even more so to win a championship with them. Maybe it’s a self-fulling prophecy, maybe it’s a pipe dream, maybe, but— It is a dream, nonetheless. It has merit. It has soul. It is something to believe in adamantly and fervently. He sends back, Is it not your dream? To win with Mercedes?

No. He sounds very— Firm, is the word. Here is the line in the sand. No one is allowed to draw in, on or around it. It is my line in the sand. It is my job, and there’s a very crucial difference.

Wonbin understands now, at least in part, why everyone tells him it’s so sad that he doesn’t let people in so easily, that he builds this wall bigger than the rest of the world around him. It seems— Cruel in a way, mostly to himself, to dissociate the words ‘Ferrari’ and ‘dream.’ ‘Championship’ and ‘dream’ as synonyms, as necessary to the other in order to exist. Maybe Sungchan is right. Maybe that’s why Wonbin crashed into him in the first place — He doesn’t have the right mentality when approaching the topic of winning a championship. At the same time, maybe Sungchan is wrong. So.

He quickly changes the subject so as to not walk over the clearly defined line in the sand, When are you getting to Shanghai?

Wednesday morning. You?

Tuesday afternoon. Let’s meet up on Wednesday to discuss things properly. Face to face.

Alright. A pause. I would say something like, ‘See you then,’ but— You’re in my head.

Yep.

Awkward.

Stop making it worse.

Okay.

Goodnight.

Goodnight.

When Wonbin is flying out to Shanghai on Shotaro’s private jet, he finds that he has an itch that he cannot seem to scratch no matter how hard he tries. He starts with a gentle, barely audible, “Hey, Shotaro.”

“Yeah?” He looks up. They met in karting a long time ago, and though it took a while, Shotaro is one of the very few people he’s let inside further than the surface. He’s a little older than Wonbin, yes, but he’s a good friend. He’s Wonbin’s best friend actually, not that there’s much competition. And after that comes the fact that he’s a two-time world champion, winning last year and the year before with Red Bull. “What’s up?”

“I know you’ve probably answered this a lot, but—” He takes a deep breath, and tries hard not to feel silly. “What was it like? Winning your first championship?”

He furrows his eyebrows, setting his phone off to the side. “That’s weird. You’ve never asked me that before.”

He’s never asked personally because he decided to read all of Shotaro’s interviews afterwards instead. He congratulated him and partied with him for all the days afterward no matter how much he hates partying (yes, plural), of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask directly. Even if he knew that Shotaro would give a more real, personal answer than he did to any of the interviewers, he still couldn’t find it in him. “Well, I don’t know. Another driver said something to me and it made me think.” Until now.

“Uh, well…” He still doesn’t look too convinced, but he looks out the window and into the bright sky as he thinks about his answer carefully. “It was an amazing feeling, of course. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I fought all season to earn it, and I knew that I really had earned it despite what everyone said afterwards, but I still couldn’t believe that I had done it. I had fulfilled a childhood dream of mine. It was amazing.”

“Did you…” Shotaro looks back, and that’s the moment Wonbin looks down at his hands, digging his fingertips into his cuticles. “Had the fact that you won it with Red Bull ever cross your mind? Did that aspect mean something to you?

He purses his lips, thinking. “Well, I thought about it afterwards, but it wasn’t the initial thing I thought of, no. I was more thinking about— Well, to be honest, I was just thinking about myself and then my family. The team that I did it with was maybe my fourth or fifth thought.” He still doesn’t sound too convinced or sure of himself. “What made you think about that?”

“Well, Sungchan said that maybe the key to winning is not being so… Attached to the team you’re winning it with. Or something like that.” He feels a little silly saying it out loud. Maybe Ferrari drivers really are a cult afterall.

Shotaro’s eyes shoot open, exclaiming, “Sungchan? Jung Sungchan?” Ah, f*ck. “Why in the world are you considering what he has to say?”

“Why? Aren’t you friends?” And he does mean friends, not because their team’s PR is forcing them to. They’ve partied in Ibiza together before, he’s seen the Instagram posts. They’re real friends, just like Wonbin and Shotaro are, even if they don’t party in Ibiza. “And so what, he used to be my teammate. I could value his opinion.”

“Yeah, you were teammates a million years ago, mate.” Well. “Him and I are friends, sure, but you and I both know you value no one and everyone’s opinion at the same time. It’s weird.” Wonbin pushes his tongue to the front of his teeth. This is the uncomfortable part about familiarity: There is no place to hide. He adds, “When in the world did you start valuing what he thinks? You’ve always been very neutral about him, even when I brought him up. It’s really weird.”

He thinks about telling him right then and there. He considers, for a moment, that maybe it would be so much easier if he and Sungchan weren’t the only ones in the world who knew. Certainly, it’d be a weight off Wonbin’s chest. “Well. He’s the favourite to be the next champion. Should probably consider what he has to say.” He tries not to think about the implications of what it means to be a weight for someone.

Shotaro sits back in his seat. He looks a little concerned, but in a way that Wonbin knows he won’t bother about it anymore. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m placing my bets on you winning your maiden championship sooner than Sungchan.” He adds, “And it’s not just because you’re my best friend, Sungchan is my friend too.”

He hates himself just a little for being surprised. “Really?” He doesn’t need to say it for it to be understood: You really believe that I will win with Ferrari sooner than Sungchan will with Mercedes?

“Yes,” He nods firmly. “Really.”

He can’t say that doesn’t make him smile. “Thanks, Taro.” Like a dork.

“You’re welcome.” Shotaro smiles back at him, and adds, “And for my sake, stop thinking about whatever silly things Jung Sungchan has to say. It’s not worth it.”

I’m trying, He thinks to himself a little too loudly, I’m really trying.

Huh? Wonbin thinks he does a pretty good job of hiding his fear in front of Shotaro. He doesn’t know why that doesn’t translate over when he’s thinking. Did you say something?

He looks off into the sky, and even if it’s very silly, he does still feel very relieved. No, I didn’t.

He could picture Sungchan shrugging when he says, Okay.

Wonbin shrugs and plays it off as a stretch. Okay.

When it comes to strictly the racing side of things, a F1 weekend starts on Friday with Free Practice and ends on Sunday with the Grand Prix. However, if someone is more interested in the drivers or the team aspect of things, then Thursday is included, as Thursday is media day.

Press conferences are thirty minutes at most. The lineup is random for the most part, save for if it’s a driver’s home race, if a driver hasn’t attended a press conference in a while, or if something major happened with the driver in the previous race. Like, and this is just an example, a crash resulting in a DNF in your first race with a top team.

Twenty minutes have passed and about a dozen questions have been answered, and well over half of them have been about Wonbin’s crash. Sungchan isn’t here for the press conference by some miracle, and he’s been deathly quiet the entire time. He hasn’t heard anything from him since this morning.

When another journalist points out Wonbin, the thought jumps out at him before he can help it. Christ, this is annoying.

Sungchan pipes in for the first time in hours. Hm? What’s happening?

After giving a short answer that is the equivalent to ‘I’ve already answered this question a million times in the past five minutes, you idiot,’ he looks down at the microphone in his hands. They just keep asking me about the crash. It’s annoying. I know I’ve f*cked up. I’ve repented. And as an afterthought, I have you now.

He thinks Sungchan is mostly joking when he asks, Am I just a constant reminder then? The unspoken being: Of your failures, of all your downfalls, of maybe the doubt that you do not deserve to be here, you don’t deserve to be in Ferrari.

He’s probably just projecting. No. He digs his fingernail into one of his cuticles. He tries to take the calmer approach to it: You are just here, and there is no deeper meaning to it. It’s been four days since the crash, and therefore, four days of being soulmates. You are just here. Or maybe that’s been the kind of thing that’s always been here. Sungchan has always been his soulmate, even when they were teammates in F2. It’s a little bit nauseating to think about it that way, but it must be true.

Sungchan asks Are you happy that I’m here? at the same time another journalist points him out and asks another question, this time about what he thinks he could bring to the team. Finally.

Ah, you’re probably answering a question, sorry. “At the end of the day, I have always been a team player and I believe my career up until this point has shown that. I will always put the team first, and what happened in Australia is a massive mistake that I have profusely apologised to the team for. I was supposed to bring it home regardless of the circ*mstances, and I didn’t. I believe that I will do my best moving forward to prove my loyalty and dedication to the team, and—” Just for the record, I’m happy you’re here. “And— Um…”

Did you seriously have to say that during a press conference? “Sorry, lost my train of thought for a moment there.” He smiles apologetically to the journalist in question, the journalist giving him a polite smile and encouraging nod in return. “In essence, yes, I believe I have already proved myself as deserving of this seat, but I will continue to prove it as the season goes on. I will do everything necessary for the team to win.” Christ.

The journalist nods, thanks Wonbin, and continues onto the next driver. He prays that they leave him alone for the rest of the presser, and it’s the same time that Sungchan sends back Sorry.

He doesn’t sound sorry at all. And anyway, what do you mean by… You’re happy that I’m here? What’s that supposed to mean?

Well, first of all, Mercedes gets a competitive advantage on Ferrari. Cheeky. Ha ha. Second, it’s just— Interesting. Learning about another person like this, gaining a new perspective like this. Ah. Sungchan doesn’t allow room for Wonbin to process that before he tacks on, Let me know once the presser is over. I’ve got some things to tell you.

He traces the lines of the FIA logo on the microphone when he asks, Is it good or bad?

You’ll see.

Ah, of course, not ominous at all.

Sungchan doesn’t respond after that.

Many hours later, when it is already well into the night and it’s pitch black outside, Wonbin arrives back at the hotel.

He allows himself a moment before he reaches out to Sungchan— Telepathically, of course. They had met last night and saw each other around the paddock, yes, but— It was awkward. Very awkward. Lots of We need to, um, figure out how we can help each other out, you know, um, and Yeah, for sure, in response.

It’s awkward. It’s unbearably awkward. They were awkward last year when placed in pressers together or seeing each other in the paddock, yes, but not like this. It’s not that he hates Sungchan or anything, they didn’t have any kind of falling out, it’s more just— Neutrality. They had no business talking to each other in most cases anyway, considering Sungchan was fighting at the front and Wonbin was too busy fighting for his life in the back. They were both very neutral towards each other, and now that neutrality is being forced to be broken. Familiarity is scary. Neutrality is safe.

You done lamenting?

“Jesus,” Wonbin drops his toothbrush in the sink. He groans out of annoyance, and for a moment, silently grieves some perfectly fine hotel toothpaste. You scared me again.

Like that’s so hard to do. Hmph. Listen, I’ve been reading this book abou—

You read books? He doesn’t know why he actually covers his mouth in real life too, toothpaste foam on his palm. Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—

It’s okay. You can’t really help thinking thoughts that just jump out at you. There’s a pause before he hears, Wait, do you think drivers can’t read or something?

He huffs, and it’s more like a laugh. No, just that I’m surprised that you do. I don’t really know that much about you outside of racing, you know. And that is by design. He crafted it carefully to be this way, and it’s the universe who is breaking that down for him, not Wonbin.

Well, whatever. Yes, I’ve been reading this book about soulmates, and the bad news is that, just like we suspected, there is no known way of breaking it.

He tries his best to suppress the disappointment that he feels. He doesn’t– It’s not like he hates Sungchan, but one wrong turn and now he has a foreign voice in his head with no off switch. That would be jarring to anyone, no matter who it is. It doesn’t matter that it’s Sungchan.

He continues, The good news is that there is a way of quieting it. Meditation, mindfulness, all the hippie stuff you can think of. We could contact a shaman, and have him help us with speeding up the process. Our thoughts naturally get quieter when we’re further apart, but— Y’know. Never a hundred percent.

Here is the unspoken part, the real one this time: We will never be able to get rid of each other. Not fully, not one hundred percent, not in a way we’d like. The narrative has yet again made another decision on our behalf, and it’s not the first, and it certainly won’t be the last. Well, that’s to be expected, I guess. You wouldn’t— Be here I guess, if I could tune you out completely. They are both avoiding saying the big bad word. The one that starts with S as in Sierra. What about the shaman?

We’re not gonna have time until after the GP to go to one, I don’t think. He ignores that little bit of disappointment, he thinks, present in Sungchan’s voice. We’ll just have to suffer through China as we are now and then take the first trip to the nearest shaman.

He huffs, Great idea. Both of us in each other’s heads, loud as can be, while we’re racing supersonic pieces of machines going two hundred miles per hour. He spits the toothpaste out of his mouth.

You got any better ideas, hotshot? Well. Uh. What I thought.

Whatever mate. He rinses out his mouth, and observes, You were totally quiet when you were reading, by the way.

Really? Huh. He walks out of the bathroom and heads toward his bed, sitting down. He wonders if Sungchan is doing the same thing, or if he’s laying in bed already. Then he starts wondering why he’s even wondering that in the first place. Maybe we can’t hear each other when we’re reading something?

Maybe? Let’s test it out. I’m gonna read— He looks around for something, and lands on a brochure on his hotel nightstand. I don’t know, this pamphlet. Let me know if you hear anything. He picks it up, elegant and basic, and his eyes start going over the page, ‘Our mission is to provide an exceptional hospitality experience that goes far beyond expectations. Here are some key goals we passionately and continuously pursue: Elevated Comfort. Immerse yourself in unparalleled comfort with purposefully designed rooms, personalised services, and exceptional care. Our ai—’

Sungchan cuts him off with, Nope. Nada. That’s crazy. What about when we’re writing something, then?

He hums, I don’t know. Type something up on your phone and I’ll tell you if I can hear it.

Okay.

A hot minute goes by, and it’s radio silence. He sends back, Nothing on that front either. So we can hear absolutely everything, minus if we’re reading or writing, or if we train ourselves to think quieter.

Sungchan sends back, Seems like it, yeah.

Well, that’s good to know. He smiles, If you have some sh*t to say about me then, you can just write it out on your phone and I won’t know.

Ha ha. Very funny. He does sound amused, though. If it’s anyone going to be writing sh*t about the other anyway, it’ll probably be you.

He looks over to his race notebook sitting on his nightstand, big bold letters spelling out PARK WONBIN — SCUDERIA FERRARI on it, and gulps down. You’re projecting.

He immediately sends back, You’re projecting!

Whatever. Go to sleep. We have FP 1 and 2 tomorrow, and God knows we need all the sleep we can get for it.

Sure. Goodnight, Wonbin.

Goodnight, Sungchan.

FP1: Hard to say I would be doing better if Sungchan wasn’t there. Start of S1 + the start of S3 leading onto the back straight — long and challenging. Whooping my arse. Unlike any other track. Tricky to nail the braking and the throttle to get the best possible run down the straights. Straights themselves are good tho. Balance between downforce and drag. Check up later

FP2: Straights are still good, traction better. Think I’m getting the hang of braking, throttle still slipping. Have to do my best for tmrw, even w Sungchan there. Speaking of Sungchan: Oh my God he never shuts up does he. Its so distracting that I’m doing even worse than I would be doing usually, or worse than last year. It’s still FP so yeah who cares but still. It doesn’t give me a good feeling. None of this honestly is giving me a good feeling at all

FP3: Yeah this is horrible. I can’t focus at all. This is so frustrating. Can’t nail the braking for jacksh*t. Shanghai is hard enough on its own without Sungchan there, but he makes it so much harder. I wish he didnt, and I know I’m making it harder for him too. I dont know what to do. Im praying the shaman will help…

Quali: P10. 3 positions up from last quali, and last quali I didnt have Sungchan w me… At least I made it to Q3, but even that was barely. Sungchan is P8 which is frustrating for him too. This is just so frustrating. I dont even know if it would be any different if we weren’t F1 drivers. Whatever

The Shanghai International Circuit is 5.451 kilometres long, has sixteen turns and the total race distance for it is 305.066 kilometres.

It began construction in April 2003, and it took three thousand construction workers visiting the site daily, four-hundred and fifty million USD, and extensive groundworks as the site was originally a swampland. The paddock itself is very unique compared to the other tracks — Each of the team buildings are arranged like pavilions in a lake to resemble the ancient Yuyuan Garden in Shanghai, also known as the ‘Garden of Peace and Comfort’. The track layout itself drew inspiration from the Chinese 'shang' (上) symbol for the overall configuration, meaning ‘up’ or ‘above,’ and it's also the first symbol in the city name itself.

Every aspect of the track, every minor symbolism, is meant to wish luck onto the drivers as they race around this circuit. It’s meant to wish luck, prosperity and health. Despite that, it’s still not a typical driver favorite track (very twisty and long, managing tyres is a nightmare, and it often doesn’t produce very good races for the fans either) and it’s definitely not Wonbin’s favorite after he has to fight with a f*cking Haas and Alpine for P10, and he ultimately loses out and out of the points in P11. His race engineer assures him he did a fantastic job, but when he watches his onboard, he wants to dig a hole in the sand and stick his head in it. Embarrassing. Just embarrassing.

Sungchan isn’t any better as he loses out on two places and ends up in P10, with a remarkable one point. When he watches Sungchan’s onboard, he almost feels like he’s doing something he shouldn’t. It’s normal to watch other drivers’ onboards, yes, but it’s different now with the new context of who they are to each other. He gets over that feeling just enough to admire Sungchan for doing a better job around the circuit than Wonbin did even though they were ‘afflicted’ with the same ‘ailment.’ Not good enough to earn himself any more points than he did evidently, but better. Turns out the difference between P10 and P11 can be massive, who would’ve thought?

Shotaro wins with a thirteen second gap to Yeji. Yunho finishes sixth, and Anton finishes seventh. At least they’re both able to play it off as ‘It’s just not our circuit,’ and not the main reason as to why they both performed so terribly — I have a soulmate now, and I barely know what to do with myself, let alone what to do with another person in my head.

This is going to be a very, very long season.

Despite having raced in a Grand Prix just the day before, Wonbin and Sungchan both wake up bright and early the next day to go and find themselves a Shaman. Turns out that finding a Shaman that can speak English near Shanghai is not so difficult. No trouble finding one that doesn’t know who they are, nor what Formula One is, either.

He explains it exactly the way Sungchan did — There are no known ways of breaking a soulmate bond, but there is a way of being able to quiet their thoughts to the point that they may even forget that the other is there. It will take some time and patience, but it’s doable. Very doable. (It’s presumably the same thing that Yunho and Jaejoong did. They are the standard to follow here, of course.)

The thought of Oh, thank God, jumps out at Wonbin before he could help it. What’s a boy to do?

Hey! He jolts Wonbin’s attention, and he looks across to find a very unhappy Sungchan, pouting. I heard that.

Sorry. Not exactly. Anyways.

He explains the importance of mindfulness and meditation and being quiet, above all else, as the key to maintaining a soulmate bond before he performs the ritual. The Shaman asks them to close their eyes for most of it, so he doesn’t really know what happens. All he can really smell is incense.

Is it working? Is it baloney? Is the Shaman just spraying them with some dirty river water and pretending it’s an actual ritual? He has no idea. He can only hope.

Yeah, me too.

…I swear to God if this guy scammed us—

Relax. He still can’t open his eyes, but he’s sure if he did, Sungchan would be smiling. I am, but also, you just think too loud. Relax.

Hmph. Fine.

When the ceremony is over and they both walk out, Wonbin finds it appropriate that they’re both wearing masks and sunglasses, therefore not being able to properly see each other.

Their dinner before Shanghai went exactly like this, too — Awkward staring, minimal talking, not knowing what to do with their hands, the exact same hands that hold the steering wheels that win them races and championships. Racing is such a hands-on activity that maybe, just maybe, they’ve both forgotten everything else that they could do with their hands. In the end, they didn’t talk much at all during dinner. They just ate, made small talk about the upcoming races, and didn’t mention the Big Thing sitting between them. The same Big Thing that was the reason why they were eating together in the first place, and why they’re here now.

Making. Holding. Hurting. There are so many things these hands can do. “So. Um.” Sungchan looks incredibly uncomfortable, and he doesn’t need to take down his mask or his sunglasses for Wonbin to see that. He’d honestly prefer if he didn’t so he doesn’t have to be confronted with the full emotions of it.

Wonbin tries with, “Um— I’ll see you in Suzuka?” So many things these hands could do, none of which they dare to.

Sungchan looks relieved that he doesn’t have to be the one to make haste to leave first. It’s Wonbin instead. He smiles, genuinely, and says, “Yes, I’ll see you in Suzuka.”

Despite the fact that Wonbin had a firm belief that he will never have a soulmate, that never really stopped him from daydreaming about it. He knew it’s often not like what he imagined it would be, but he had hoped for a kind of instant connection. He hoped that even without words, that person would just look at Wonbin, and understand everything about him, who he is, what he’s trying to say, all without a single word. Words are difficult, uncomfortable, and volatile. He had hoped that there would be no use for them, despite how silly the thought of having a soulmate in the first place was for him. Maybe he was conflating the concepts of ‘soulmate’ and ‘significant other’ together. They do both start with S, anyway.

Well, and he hopes this is a quiet thought, that came true in its own way. There are no words between himself and Sungchan. It comes with the price with no instant connection, either.

Maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to be between them — No words, no connection, no dinners, no getting to know each other, no friendship, and certainly no love. Maybe that’s just how it is these days, or maybe Wonbin doesn’t know anything otherwise. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was either.

His personal trainer, Sohee, keeps looking at him weird these days. Saying things like, Come on, you always liked your egg whites and chicken breast for lunch, but that’s not it. He’s long gotten used to an athlete’s diet, and yes, he does like his egg whites and chicken breast.

It’s just that these days, he keeps wondering about what the other person in his head likes when he does things. The concept of being ‘made’ for someone is quite difficult to grasp. If you’re ‘made’ for me, then does that mean you like egg whites, you don’t like chocolate, and you like Michael Jackson like I do? Or are you completely opposite from me? How does this work?

He’d like to imagine a factory, and instead of toys, technology and tools being made, it’s humans instead. Instead of metals and motherboards, it’s souls and hearts. Maybe the reason why they’re soulmates is because someone swapped their hearts, and now Wonbin’s heart is in Sungchan’s body. Someone rewired all the strings and valves. Or is it his soul?

He doesn’t know which one he prefers, and he honestly doesn’t even know the difference.

“Wonbin, you’re doing that thing again.” Sohee’s voice brings him out of his thoughts. He looks up and finds Sohee narrowing his eyes at him, and he finds himself a little embarrassed for asking himself if Sungchan’s personal trainer, Eunseok, does this too. He doesn’t know much about Eunseok, but he pops up in Sungchan’s thoughts frequently enough. “You keep zoning out. Are you good?”

Sohee is nice. He stepped up to the role at the same time Wonbin got promoted to Ferrari, and he’s been doing a good job so far. He pushes him where it’s needed, his cooking isn’t half bad, and sometimes, he’s even kind enough to look away when Wonbin wants to indulge himself in an ice cream cone. He’s nice, and Wonbin definitely likes him, but not enough to share with him something like this. He can’t even talk about it with Shotaro yet. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He wonders what it’s like for the soulmates that don’t have to hide. He wonders if the associated feelings are liberation, or maybe embarrassment instead. He wonders if he’s feeling the correct thing. He wonders if he’s ever going to really figure this out.

Right now, it feels like he never will. He goes back to picking at his egg whites.

Wonbin is sitting on his balcony in his Maranello apartment, fumbling with a pack of cigarettes he hasn’t touched in months.

It’s not that Wonbin likes smoking. He hates it when the smell gets into his clothes and hair, he got rid of his old car because it smelled too much like tobacco, and above all, he knows he shouldn’t. If some of the car’s most key components are its front and rear wings, then lungs are for a driver. He shouldn’t. He doesn’t anymore. He’s had five of them left tumbling around his backpack since January. He doesn’t. He shouldn’t.

He only started smoking out of peer pressure. Not anyone specifically pressuring him into it, but more so the fact that all the cool girls in Ibiza smoke Reds and MS, and maybe Wonbin wants to be a cool girl in Ibiza. Maybe. He doesn’t really know where that line of logic begins or ends. Maybe it’s just all an excuse. He still knows he really, really shouldn’t, because all the girls in Ibiza don’t also race cars at two hundred miles per hour.

It’s just that he’s had a lot of reasons to fish the box back up lately. Hey, Sungchan. He slides the cigarette back in its box, clutching it tight in his hand until the box gives way. It’s already beaten up from being at the bottom of his bag all these months.

It takes him a moment to respond. Hey. What’s up?

I know— He looks up and lets the box clatter to the floor of the balcony. It’s stone, and the floor is warm from the Italian sun. Thankfully, it’s a comforting warmth and not the kind that almost hurts. I know that the race is next week, and I don’t want to bother you, but is there any way you could arrive at Suzuka earlier?

A pause before he responds back with, I mean— Sure. I was gonna arrive Wednesday, but I could arrive on Monday or Tuesday instead if that’s what you want. Despite his easy agreement, he doesn’t sound so sure. Can I ask if there’s a reason?

Um. Just to grab dinner and catch up, I think. A pause on the other side. They both know what happened last time they tried dinner. It didn’t really work out for them much. Wonbin suddenly has the urge to pick the paper box back up, and smoke every single cigarette left, then walk down to the supermarket and grab another five boxes. It’s just— We mostly talk like… This… You know. It would be nice to actually catch up and talk face to face.

Right. That would be nice. He lets out an almost uncomfortable, Okay. I’ll aim to arrive Tuesday, then? Have some stuff with the team on Wednesday.

Yeah, of course. I’ll see you on Tuesday?

Yes. Do you want to decide on a restaurant?

Sure. I’ll try and find something small.

You know it. See you then.

Mhm.

If Wonbin had to pick a favourite city rather than his favourite track out of the calendar, then Suzuka would be one of the top ones.

Wonbin just likes Japan in general. He likes that it’s Shotaro’s home country and he always seems to get a certain glow when performing in front of his home crowd, he likes that the race is held around the time of cherry blossom season, and he likes Suzuka as a circuit. He likes the figure-eight layout, he likes that it has all kinds of corner types, and he likes the high-speed straights.

He likes the food above all else, too. This is why he doesn’t find himself too bothered when Sungchan and him are foregoing talking for eating this time, and Sungchan too. The ramen has more sodium and carbs than what’s permitted for his diet, but what Sohee doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He tries to open up a conversation multiple times, and it’s not about the things he’s already found out through interviews. He asks about childhood pets, school memories, music and etcetera, and somehow, not a single one opens up an avenue for viable conversation. He thinks back on their time as teammates, and maybe it’s just because it’s been so long, but he doesn’t exactly remember finding it so hard to bond with Sungchan back then. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t really trying? Maybe.

He picks the pork up with his chopsticks and tries to think of him and Sungchan in any other universe that isn’t this one. Maybe it’d be easier if they were a different kind of athlete, like football, volleyball or track and field. Maybe it’d be different if they were ghosts. Maybe it’d be different if they were writers of novels and TV shows. Maybe it’d be different if they were office workers. Maybe it’d be different if they were singers.

I think I would like it if we were singers. Wonbin nearly drops his chopsticks at the sound of Sungchan’s voice. He looks up and finds him looking very amused. “Volume, Wonbin. Hippy dippy sh*t, remember?”

“Well, it’s not exactly like we’ve been working on that a lot…” He mumbles, stuffing his mouth with pork.

“Whatever,” Sungchan swirls his chopsticks around the rim of his bowl. He’s nearly done with his food already, and Wonbin has barely had five bites. “I think it would be fun if we were singers. Write fun little songs about our feelings and get the whole world to scrutinise them. Very fun.”

He hums back, “Well, of course it would be fun. We’d be singers. That’s infinitely easier than what we do.” He’s only happy that they’re finally talking, and it’s finally going somewhere that isn’t a dead end.

“Everyone’s got their own struggles, Wonbin.” He shrugs, “They don’t have neck exercises, sure, but they got vocal exercises. And I’m sure the bigger singers would relate with us on the jet lag if nothing else.” He smiles. It makes Wonbin feel weird, seeing Sungchan smile. “And of course, we would be big singers. Only sold out stadium shows for us in another universe.”

‘In another universe’ are very, very tender words. It almost feels too tender to be on the receiving end of someone like Wonbin. He wonders if Sungchan feels just as strange about how Wonbin has changed and how much he’s stayed the same. He’s better at racing now, for sure, but he thinks his smile has stayed the same. Surely, his awkwardness too. He wonders if Sungchan ever thinks these kinds of things at all. He coughs and adds, “We’d be big stars then?”

“Yup.” He picks up a hefty amount of ramen with his chopsticks, and right before he closes his mouth around it, he adds, “And just for the record, yes, it is weird seeing how much you’ve changed and how much you’ve stayed the same, all at the same time.”

“Oh.” Wonbin’s hand freezes in mid-air, and all his noodles fall back into the ceramic bowl. It has red and white swirls on the outside of it. “Yes. Volume.”

He nods and muffles “Volume,” through a mouthful of noodles. Gross. Sungchan swallows it all and exclaims, laughing, “Hey! Rude!”

For a moment, he finds himself shocked that Sungchan heard him again, but then he just finds it funny. Very funny. He shrugs and smiles, “Sorry,” Knowing he’s not that sorry at all.

Sungchan has a similar reaction. He smiles while rolling his eyes, muttering, “Whatever.” He can tell the annoyance is not very genuine.

Even if they fall into another silence again (Which they don’t), Wonbin would consider this dinner successful by that exchange alone. He has a smile on his face for the rest of the night.

They stay at dinner for a surprisingly long time. In fact, they had even completely lost track of time and stayed there until close — The servers had to inform them in very broken English that they were closed. They ended up just using a translating app after the third attempt, and Wonbin would’ve felt embarrassed by his red face if Sungchan wasn’t just as red from embarrassment. Possibly even more.

They talked about all sorts of things, which was mostly racing related, naturally. It’s still too early in the season to tell who’s going to be exceptionally strong (It’s going to be Red Bull) as it’s only been two races so far and no upgrades yet, but they still found much to talk about. Downforce, favourite circuits, turns and understeer and the like. The kinds of things that Sungchan doesn’t usually talk about to reporters, because they’re not the ones driving freaks of technology every other Sunday. They’re not the ones who would truly understand what it’s like to eat sh*t coming out of Turn 6 at the Albert Park Circuit — That would be Wonbin, of course. He caused it. Hah.

Still, even in the middle of dinner, he found himself strange for the ways that he was smiling all throughout it. He found that his throat was getting quite sore too — It had been a long time since he was able to talk so much. Even with all the press conferences and engineer meetings, he had never quite talked enough to get a sore throat out of it. A success, all in all.

That is until he goes back to the hotel Ferrari booked for him in Suzuka. That’s the real turning point of the night. He lost his keycard, and despite it being a luxury hotel, he can’t find any hotel staff anywhere. Not one that can help him with his problem, that is. Did all the staff go out for a f*cking drink?

Wonbin wants to kill himself when he sends out, Hey. Um. Sungchan.

Yeah? Sungchan must be an expert at picking up suicidal ideation because he immediately sounds worried and tacks on, very concerned, Hey, is something wrong?

He stares down at his dead phone in his hands and counts to three. It doesn’t help much, especially not when his phone died when the screen was opened to the sad cat sticker Shotaro sent him a few minutes ago. So. Um. I don’t have a place to stay. Tonight.

…You don’t have a place to stay? He doesn’t have to be with Sungchan physically to hear the gears in his head turning. Maybe that’s what the Big S Word is all about, and it has nothing to do with factory lines or souls or hearts.

Um. He feels incredibly, incredibly ridiculous when he sends back, Um. I got locked out of my room, and there’s no staff at the front desk to help me.

There’s no staff to help you? All he can hope is that Sungchan doesn’t think he’s just making sh*t up. Maybe he heard Wonbin earlier, because he says, Did all the staff go out for a gin and tonic or what?

I don’t know, mate. My phone’s dead, so I can’t talk to anyone at Ferrari to help me. The only places still open otherwise are love hotels, and I can’t be seen in one for— You know, I hope they’re obvious reasons. If he was pictured within even fifty feet of a love hotel, he just knows Silvia would have his neck on a clothesline by tomorrow at twelve o’clock, sharp. Shotaro is still with his family. In Kanagawa. Nearly five hours away. So. Um.

Oh. He sounds— Deeply troubled. Wonbin understands that. They haven’t known each other since they were teenagers, and they’ve had one unsuccessful dinner and one somewhat-successful one. Using PEMDAS, that’s therefore two unsuccessful attempts at getting to know each other again. Here is the difference between seventeen and twenty-three. Um— Well. I guess— My bed’s big enough for two.

Wonbin’s heart jumps up to his throat, feeling like a frog is stuck in his windpipes. Those words would imply something else in any other setting. Yes? Thankfully, maybe, this is not any other setting.

Yeah. You could stay with me. I could come pick you up if you can tell me what street you’re on. He can feel the nervousness radiating from Sungchan’s side of their brain, travelling all the way to Wonbin’s — Like he doesn’t have enough already. If you don’t have one already, you’re probably gonna have to buy a mask and sunglasses. Maybe a hat or something. A hair tie? When Sungchan understands that the pause means Wonbin isn’t picking up what he’s putting down, he adds, Um. The entire hotel has Mercedes staff. I’m pretty sure McLaren are here too. It’d be kind of hard to explain why you’re with me. Um.

Oh. The frog is not leaving. Yes. That makes sense. Um. Okay. I’ll try and find the street. Or like— Identifiable buildings. And I’ll buy that while you get here.

Okay. He doesn’t sound any more at ease. Sounds like a plan.

Okay. And Wonbin doesn’t either. When he gets up and tries to look for any buildings that don’t have Kanji written on the sides of them, he can’t help but think to himself, and tries to do the thing — the quiet thing — Maybe the reason why we are race car drivers is because no matter how giant we get and how safe we feel, we are still destined to crash in one way or another.

Maybe the reason why we are soulmates is because we are destined to crash into each other again, and again, and again.

“Uh.” Sungchan looks around, desperate for any sign of escape. Wonbin wishes he could launch himself out of the window. He’ll deal with the glass cuts and broken bones later. “Do you wanna play Rocket League?”

He thinks that they both look very silly standing around, still having no idea of what to do with their hands. He asks, “What’s that?”

“Uh. Football. But with cars.” Suddenly, he lights up as if it’s the brightest idea in the world and he dives to look for his PS5 controller. “It’s awesome, hold on.” He looks back at Wonbin, still awkwardly standing up, “Oh, and you can sit down, if you’d like.”

“Uh.” He looks down at himself. He’s wearing the pants he got from a luxury brand with some of the money he got from his first ever F1 check. They weren’t much in the grander scheme of things — Yunho regularly wears a five million dollar wrist watch, and that’s just his ‘every day, common’ watch according to him — but he had an odd sense of joy seeing the couple hundred euros get drained from his bank account. He wishes he could find that odd sense of joy in moments like these. “Um. These are my outside clothes, though.”

“Oh.” Sungchan freezes in place, controller in hand. He looks over to his suitcases, “Right. Um. You can borrow some of mine if you’d like.”

“Right.” God, if you’re listening, please strike both of them down in the exact spot where they stand. “And um. I can use your shower?”

Sungchan takes a moment (and it is a hot moment) to nod and say, “Yeah! Of course. Yeah.”

They stand there staring at each other, Sungchan with his controller in his hands (customised with the Mercedes logo by the way, which makes Wonbin think that it was a company gift) and Wonbin with— Nothing in his hands. He’s waiting. Soon, he realises that they are both waiting. “Uh… Could you give me it, then? The clothes?”

Sungchan widens his eyes in panic, frantically saying, “Yeah! Sorry, got distracted, yes, I’ll get you it.” He quickly walks over the suitcases in the corner of the room, and it takes about a good four attempts to unzip it. For a race car driver, he’s sure slower in some things more than others.

When he hands over the clothes and their hands brush, that’s precisely the moment Sungchan deems appropriate for him to say, “Oh, and yeah, the PS5 was gifted to me by Mercedes.” It is far too late for him to realise that it might not have been. He winces a little as he says, “It was for, um, my first win. Yeah.”

Wonbin really doesn’t know what to do with that piece of information. He doesn’t know what it’s like to win. Or he did once before, but he doesn’t now. “Oookay.” He can only wonder if Sungchan asked for it, or if the company just decided to give it on their own. His nod is slow and he hopes he doesn’t come off as too uncomfortable when he adds, “Shower. Gonna go shower now.” Mission failed.

He doesn’t feel too bad about it. He can see the red tinge high on Sungchan’s cheeks when he nods back and says, “Right.”

If Wonbin ever writes a book titled ‘A Guide to Soulmates and Other Things Like Maybe This Little Thing Called F1,’ which is about as likely as him winning one hundred drivers championships but that’s neither here nor there, this is one thing he would put in the book: Sometimes, you will orchestrate two pre-race-weekend dinners and one will go well, and the other, not so much. After the one that didn’t go so well, you’ll pretend like it didn’t happen. After the one that did go well, you’ll ruin it by miraculously getting locked out of your hotel building and having to sleep over at your soulmate’s hotel instead, which hasn’t happened since you were both fresh faced and eighteen. You’ll both get awkward about the prospect of a shower and finding something to do. Eventually, you’ll find the answers to both which later gets plugged into the final equation, but there are somehow multiple answers and you both picked the most complicated ones.

When you eliminate the parentheses and carry over the two, you’ll find it equals to ‘You and your soulmate are catastrophically f*cked.’ Funny how that works.

Turns out, Rocket League is pretty fun once you get over the whole wearing merchandise of your rival team part. (Sungchan said, “That was all I had,” when Wonbin walked out in the Mercedes branded sweatpants and T-shirt. As if he didn’t see the other suitcase. Sure. He’ll just change into the outside clothes in the morning.) Wonbin thinks it might be the mini-bar, stocked with all kinds of hard and soft liquor and beers. They opt for the beer. That might be a mistake.

A long time ago, Wonbin learned his lesson when it comes to being intoxicated on wine and being in Sungchan’s presence at the same time. He thinks that he should add a new addendum to that lesson, that rule: Absolutely no alcohol of any kind around him, and not just wine.

The hotel beer is giving him enough confidence to call out, “Um… Sungchan,” while he’s twiddling with his controller and thumbs, and Sungchan has his PS5 open on the menu now. At least it’s not media day tomorrow, or otherwise they both would’ve been far too dead and tired to give a coherent sentence to any reporter. Sungchan looks up from his own controller. The unidentifiable Japanese beer has given him enough confidence to ask, “What— What do you think about… You know… Us?”

Sungchan furrows his eyebrows, face twisting in confusion. Maybe nervousness. That’s not exactly a good thing. “What about us?”

“Well.” He feels stupid now. “Just us. As a whole.” Really stupid. “Do you think— We’re gonna be okay?”

He makes a face. Kind of like he’s saying ‘What in the world are you talking about,’ but not in a mean way. It’s not like that. His face smoothes out, then he shrugs and says, “If it’s not okay, then it’s not the end. Right?” He messes with the stick shifts on his controller, and all it does is change the games on the screen. “Really, I know we’ll be just fine. I’m having more trouble with the whole— Forever thing.”

It’s Wonbin’s turn to be confused. “The forever thing?”

He reiterates, “The forever thing,” As if it makes any sense at all. “I’ve always had the— Finality of all my relationships in mind. I mean, any kind. My friends, family, everyone.” Wonbin doesn’t miss how Sungchan clearly avoids saying ‘girlfriends,’ by the way. That is not this. This is not that. “I was always aware that it was going to end at some point. This is… It’s kind of designed to be permanent. It’s the forever thing.” He doesn’t miss how he avoids saying the Big S Word, too.

He knows Sungchan means well, or at least he hopes so, but— That doesn’t make him feel any better at all. He twiddles with his thumbs, his eyes darting over the blue menu screen and the white of the controller in his hands. He can’t help but ask, “...Is it because it’s me?”

At least he can hear the instant panic in Sungchan’s voice when he exclaims, “No, no,” So he knows it’s genuine. “It’s just… a me thing, I think. It’s because it’s me.” It’s hard imagining anyone sticking around for that long.

Oh. Wonbin slowly looks up, and Sungchan takes a second to realise that Wonbin heard him. He mumbles, “Oh. Sorry, you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Suddenly, Wonbin feels a little guilty. “You’re okay.” He resists the urge to cringe. “I mean, are you? Okay?”

He nods, “Yeah. I’m okay.” Then, he coughs into his closed fist. “And, I mean, I appreciate your efforts despite how awkward it gets.”

He can’t help it. He says it before he even knows what he’s saying, “You do?”

He even looks surprised that he said that. He looks off into the distance, only slightly uncomfortable saying, “Yeah. I mean, someone’s got to.” Sungchan starts rubbing his hands the same way Wonbin does when he gets nervous. For a moment he thinks that maybe that’s what this is all about. “Sorry I’ve been so awkward. It’s just kind of difficult, if I’m being honest.”

Wonbin shakes his head, “No, no, I understand. It is… Kind of difficult.” There are implications here. Many of them. None of them are ones that Wonbin and Sungchan are willing to say out loud. “Sorry.”

Sungchan is smiling. Though there’s not much humour or joy on his face when he asks, twiddling with his controller still, “Do you regret it? Or… I don’t know, wish it was different?”

He tries his best to do the quiet thing. He’s not sure if it works, but he imagines his brain as a machine with dials. He tries his best to turn the volume dial down. There are other options to this whole ‘thing,’ of course. It could’ve been a Ferrari personnel, like a mechanic, that would’ve been easier. They would never have to be apart, and Wonbin loves all the mechanics, and the mechanics love him. It could’ve been a normal, regular everyday person, that would’ve been easier too. Sure, they would’ve had their fair share of fights about Wonbin’s busy schedule, but that’s what telepathy is for, right? If it had to be another driver, it would’ve been the easiest if it was Shotaro. He knows him so much already, knows all his likes and dislikes, knows his racing style so well. In fact, it would’ve even made sense.

However, he does have a feeling that this is not what this is about. The Big S Word. It’s not about what’s easy. If it were supposed to be easy, maybe it should’ve been friends or lovers instead. This is supposed to be hard. It takes him a moment, but he does say, “No. We’re just… Still learning how to cope with it. We’ll be fine.”

Sungchan looks pleasantly surprised by Wonbin’s words. He wouldn’t know why, but it gives him a weird feeling in his tummy. Sungchan nods, saying, “Right. Thanks, Wonbin.”

“You’re welcome.” He says back, sort of whispering it. It feels like something he should be whispering.

They don’t talk much for the rest of the night, and as there are no couches, they sleep in the same bed together. There is no fanfare. Sungchan keeps to his side of the bed, and Wonbin keeps to his side. See? Quiet.

When he wakes up in the morning, Sungchan’s already gone and all he has is a sticky note that reads, ‘Hi! Sorry, team stuff. Try and get something to eat if you can. Otherwise, have a good race weekend, Wonbin. :-)’

When he reads it, something between a laugh and a scoff escapes him. He rips the sticky note off the bedside table, shoves it into his jacket pocket, and leaves the Mercedes shirt and pants neatly folded on top of the bed. The prospect of leaving so quietly is a little weird, but that’s just his life now, he supposes.

Wonbin had the pace to take P2 or P3. He took P4 instead.

He tries to convince himself that it’s a start, it’s an improvement, especially considering he took P10 the race before and P13 the race before that. In his rookie season, he was no stranger to only barely making it into Q2 most races. It was a miracle that he made it into Q3 in Spa and Baku, actually. But he knows it’s different now. He knows, he knows, he knows.

He almost wishes that he didn’t.

Starting on the lap around Suzuka, it is important to get a really good exit in order to prepare for the first DRS zone around the track. Small lift, early braking. Fourth gear. It’s fast coming into Turn 1, and it’s flat out on the throttle until the apex. Lift, then a little bit of braking. High speed corners from Turn 4 until 7, keep it in sixth gear. This part is really difficult in terms of concentration, and incredibly important to get right. Coming into the second sector, there’s another high speed and sharp corner into Turn 9. Downshift twice. Into Turn 12, there’s an area that’s a bit downhill so it’s important to keep the front tyres in mind. Coming in the last part of the track, there’s a double-left corner and this part is especially difficult for Wonbin’s neck. It is very important to maximise the exit before the long straight, and to focus on the upshift points. Flat out on the throttle. Left corner coming into the last chicane, heavy braking. Getting a slipstream here in the last part can help with lap times, especially in quali. And with that, that’s a full lap around Suzuka.

All of that is to say that Wonbin gets P4 in qualifying, and drops down to P7 in the race.

It’s how he earns his first six points in the championship. Yunho has nearly five times more points. Sungchan nearly has double the points. Speaking of him, he’s the reason why he fell back into the positions he did. He couldn’t focus when getting overtaken by the McLarens. That’s his issue. Focus. Being quiet. The forever thing.

He should be happy. Yes, he should be. It’s his very first points earned while driving in red. There should be some kind of happiness here, any kind. The fact remains to be that there’s none. He should’ve earned his first points in Albert Park, but he didn’t. He should’ve earned even more points in Bahrain, but he didn’t. He should’ve earned at least twelve around Suzuka, but he has half that instead.

Shotaro wins. It’s his second time winning his home track, and it’s just as glorious as the first. Wonbin stays around long enough to congratulate him and maybe have a shot or two, but he doesn’t fly home with him this time. He loves Shotaro, of course he does, but he just can’t stand being around that much pure joy at the moment. He flies straight back to Maranello. Even if Ferrari hadn’t asked him to, he’s not getting out of the simulator until the very last minute he has to pack for Jeddah.

In Jeddah, he’s not walking away without a podium. That’s for sure.

Hi.

Hi.

Um. How have you been feeling?

…

Yeah. Um. Sorry.

Sungchan.

Yes?

I know you’re in my head, but I’d really appreciate some space. You don’t have to force yourself to talk to me just because— Just because.

Oh. Okay. I mean— Of course. Sorry.

You’re okay. Thank you.

Yeah. Just— Let me know when you’re okay again.

Mhm.

Yeah.

He spends two and a half days in the simulator, and two nights dreaming of the twenty-seven turns around the Jeddah Corniche Circuit. Jeddah is gruelling and hard to master as it’s a high-speed, narrow strip of asphalt where drivers race at an average of one-hundred and fifty-five miles per hour. It’s like a mix of Monaco and Spa. It’s fast and fun, but it’s difficult and technical too. Wonbin completed the race here last year, and he won here in F2, but not without some minor mistakes. It’s difficult to master.

By the time he flies to Jeddah on Wednesday night, his idle hands are mentally going through Turns 19-23 on their own. “I think that—” Pause. He’s always been kinda bad with words. He spent most of his critical period for language acquisition in a kart, so. “We should really work on this telepathy, being quiet, thing.”

“Yeah.” Sungchan nods, sitting across from him. He’s on his bed, and Wonbin is sitting on the chair by his desk. “I agree.” They’re in Sungchan’s hotel room again.

They just stare at each other for a long moment, waiting for the other person to do something. Well. Credit where credit is due: They’re quiet, that’s for sure. Not quiet in a way that’s gonna get them anywhere in terms of the whole S Word Thing, but quiet.

“Uh.” Sungchan speaks up first. He was always kinda better at that than Wonbin. He smiles and says, “Thanks. I think that we’re supposed to focus on being quiet, rather than focusing on thinking nothing at all. Get what I mean?”

Wonbin can’t help the pout that forms on his face. “Mate, I’m supposed to be quiet and you heard even the smallest thought.” Sungchan just shrugs, still smiling. It’s not his problem, of course. Or well, it kinda is. “Yeah, I get what you mean, but it’s just so hard. I already thought I was pretty quiet when I was thinking, but now you constantly remind me about volume, and all that.”

Sungchan leans back, resting his weight against the headboard. “Hmm.” He purses his lips, looking off into the distance. When two athletes of extreme sports come together to think, the result is less two brains coming together and more two ping pong balls bouncing from one end of the machine to another. “Maybe… Imagining ‘quiet’ things can help us?”

He furrows his eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

Sungchan shrugs. It’s likely that he’s just throwing sh*t at the wall until it sticks. He narrows his eyes at Wonbin and says, “I am, but still. Rude. Anyway, I’m talking like. Pins dropping. Graveyards. Whatever, things like that.” He stands up from his bed, diving for his nightstand. “Wait, hold on.”

He watches as Sungchan rips off two pieces of paper from the hotel-branded notepad, and hands him one with a similarly branded hotel pen. “Okay. So, write down all the things you can think of that are… ‘Quiet.’ Like, settings, animals, feelings, I dunno. Then, when you want to be quiet, focus on them first. Maybe that could help.”

He takes the pen and paper, still just slightly unconvinced. “Have you really read about soulmate bonds or have you just been making sh*t up all this time?”

Sungchan rolls his eyes. “Listen, mate. Soulmate bonds are tricky. They can get nasty, and they’re super hard to figure out. Most researchers have stopped trying to bother at this point, and the ones that are bothering themselves with it are often just quacks talking out their arsehole. If you’ve got a better idea, then by all means give it to me, but if you don’t, get to writing.”

Well. Wonbin shuts up, and gets to writing.

Now that he really thinks about it, it’s kind of hard to think of ‘quiet’ things. Loud things are easy and quick, even if Wonbin doesn’t like them. Parties, gunshots, his own goddamn job. Sungchan is much quicker with coming up with things if the speed of his pen is anything, and all Wonbin has on his own paper is ‘Library, mornings, pins.’ “Uh… Sungchan?” He looks up. “Could you give me some… inspiration?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He gives the piece of paper over to Wonbin. He reads it off: Bookstores, chapels, churches, gardens, boats at sea, testing rooms, nights. Most birds, most cats, most bugs. Huh.

Sungchan must see his expression and think it’s something bad. “What? That’s just what quiet is to me.”

“Nothing,” He shrugs, and hands it back over. “I guess it’s just interesting to see what quiet means to two different people.”

Sungchan questions, “It could have two different meanings?”

“Guess so.” When he thinks about it now, he thinks that the best kind of quiet is a machine. A machine which is working properly, doing its job just the way it's supposed to. Yes, that’s quiet. The only things that can make noise are anything that has to do with the human operator. If the machine starts making noise, loud noise, in a way it’s not designed to, that usually means something is wrong. Something is broken.

There are many different kinds of machines, of course. Their cars are machines, and they’re more than just loud. They’re ear-piercing. Loud to a point that it hurts. The loudest angels in the universe, but they serve a very specific purpose. For every day, common machines: Yes, quiet is the best.

He likes Sungchan’s list, grounded in reality and mostly things that happen naturally. He’ll think of that when he’s really struggling. Otherwise, though, he imagines a machine getting its volume dial turned all the way down. (Or, in fact, a broken machine, which Wonbin then has to carefully take apart, undo all the screws and set aside all the parts, figure out what’s wrong, and then fix it. Sometimes, that’s necessary too.)

He looks up, and finds Sungchan staring at him. “What? What is it?”

“Just waiting for you to say something.” He shrugs.

“Oh.” The realisation dawns on him. “You didn’t hear me thinking?”

His eyes narrow. “You were thinking about something?” Wonbin nods curtly. He shakes his head, “No. I didn’t hear anything.”

He can’t help it. He laughs. “Wow.” When Sungchan is still looking at him like he’s a bit crazy, he says, “Sungchan, your method worked. Guess thinking about ‘quiet’ things really does help.”

“Oh!” He looks shocked it even worked himself. “Well. That’s good!” He doesn’t miss the little bit of uneasiness painted somewhere on his face, mostly in his eyes and mouth, but he ignores it for his own sake.

Yes. It’s a very good thing. The quiet thing.

Chung Yunho is an eight time world champion. He has a 28.06% win rate with 101 Grand Prix victories out of 360 starts. He has won half of those from pole. He has one hundred pole positions. He has set seventy-one fastest laps. He’s raced twenty thousand laps — There are about nineteen stadiums in the United States that can hold twenty thousand people, give or take. He’s led a quarter of those. He is also the only person in the world who currently holds eight Formula One World Driver Championships.

He is a titan of the sport. He’s a legend. He is also deeply detached from the sport that has made him who he is.

Wonbin frew up watching Yunho race, and not just racing, but winning those races as well. It's hard to say that he didn’t have any expectations for him when they first met a few years ago, and it’s hard to say that Yunho didn’t meet those expectations as well. He is just as kind, helpful and intimidating as he guessed. The only thing that had shocked him was seeing just how much his heart wasn’t in it once they became competitors, then especially as teammates.

He can’t say that he blames Yunho for it, really. It’s hard to stay attached when you have already achieved everything you could have ever wanted. Formula One wants a narrative, a real bloodthirsty narrative, and Yunho has given them his all. He’s won the races, he’s merged his blood, flesh and bone into the history of not just of all the teams he’s driven for, but the essence of Formula One itself, he has ripped his heart out of his chest and buried it so deep within the soil, no one will be able to dig it out. He is so good, it’s made him a living, breathing legend. He’s so good, he drove his best friend, teammate and soulmate away from him. He’s so good, it’s made him bigger than Formula One, and therefore bigger than himself, and more than he will ever know how to handle.

When he tries to imagine doing what Yunho did in those years as Jaejoong’s teammate, it’s difficult, but not impossible. Quickly, it’s becoming even easier to imagine. And that’s scary. Maybe it’s because neither him nor Sungchan have a championship yet, and hell, Wonbin hasn’t even won his first Grand Prix yet, but it feels scary that it’s already getting to this point, but with none of the glory.

It’s hard to witness him, both because of his glory and because of the Ferrari shaped hole in Wonbin’s heart. Yunho has a complete heart — Of course, it will never be the same, but he has given it out where it was needed and it’s been given back to him and now, he is complete again. Wonbin barely has any heart left from the amount he’s given to this team already. It feels like his heart is very hollow, like a puzzle with only the corners. What he’s missing has gone to his angel — His car.

It is hard to be faced with the gravity of Yunho’s full heart when his own is still empty, and waiting, and aching.

Well, it’s not that he knows much about Yunho anyway. His racing career, yes, his glory, yes, but not personally. He doesn’t know what his favourite colour is, or what his favourite food is, nor anything real and tangible about him. Only statistics. Only legend.

Yunho came to his side of the garage to talk to him something about strategy, he doesn’t remember what now, before they lulled into a kind of silence. He finds that it’s hard to become silent around him, and Wonbin has somehow still managed to do it many times. When Yunho starts looking around a little awkwardly, trying to find an escape, it’s now or never. “Yunho—” He grabs his attention, like an electric shock to the skin. Now or never. “Can I ask you… Something of a personal question?”

He looks surprised that Wonbin even has one. “I mean, sure.” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at him almost suspiciously. “Hey, what’s with the nervous look? Now you’re making me nervous.”

“Well.” I don’t know how to ask you this without coming off as nosey, without my soulmate hearing it, and without giving away that I have a soulmate who’s another driver in the first place. So. “Well— You and… Jaejoong…”

Yunho’s eyes shoot wide open before they turn over liquid smooth. “Ah,” He even smiles, but they both know it’s not really something to find funny. “Of course. Should’ve seen this coming, and yet, I didn’t.”

He feels the heat pour into his face easily. “Sorry.” He rubs his hands, the sounds of the lively garage filling in the gaps for them. “You don’t have to answer anything if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine.” He straightens up. He doesn’t look fine, but… If he says so, then. He clears his throat, “Well— What do you want to know about me and him, exactly?”

Think of the pin. Hold it in your palm, pinch it between your fingers, and then drop it. Quiet. It’s no secret that he hasn’t been doing so hot so far this season, but it is a secret that Sungchan is the reason why. He could turn to any driver who’s been in Formula One for years now on advice on coping with his circ*mstances, with bad performances, with adjustment to a new team, a powerful team — There is no one he could turn to for advice on coping with all that, and a soulmate on top of it. And not just any soulmate, but another driver. A rival driver. Mercedes’ very own silver star, Silberstern, Jung Sungchan. He really doesn’t have anyone else to talk to about this.

“How did you handle it?” Yunho is the only person in the world, maybe other than Jaejoong, whom he could ask this question and get a real answer. Well— Maybe not only, maybe there were others hiding like him and Sungchan, but the only known and certainly the only accessible . “You know, being teammates with him, then him leaving, and racing now.”

The answer comes easily. “Well, if you know anything about it — which I’m sure you do — then it goes to say that I didn’t. I didn’t handle it well at all.” How the answer came to be is not easy, but it comes easily. Maybe because it’s happened so long ago now, or maybe because it’s a fact, it happened, and the whole motorsports world has moved on by now. They’ve still set their own precedent, but their world is far too fast paced to hold onto it for long. “We’ve agreed to keep it private now, but I would say that now— We’re much better. We’re very quiet. On the track, I know that he can hear me, but he leaves me alone during the race. He hates me for waking him up sometimes, but that’s about it. We’re okay.”

‘He hates me, but that’s about it.’ Somehow, Wonbin finds that hard to believe.

He wants to imagine a world where he and Sungchan are okay, but not quiet. It’s not like he wants Sungchan to stay silent forever, or to deprive him of his ability to think and talk, but he just— He wishes this was easier. He wishes that they were quieter, but not silent. He wants to win, and he doesn’t want to silence Sungchan almost completely, and he wants to live in a world where those two concepts are not mutually exclusive. He asks, “How did you learn to be okay with him?”

“Well.” This time, Yunho thinks about it a little longer before he answers, “When I thought back on it, I think the reason why we just couldn’t do being teammates and soulmates at the same time is that we both thought that maybe, somehow, we could separate these two from each other.” He can’t say that doesn’t shock him a little. Even to Wonbin, so desperate and alive, that sounds absurd. “We could still be friends, good friends, just like it was before when we were kids in karting, and be soulmates separately, and be teammates separately. We thought the difference between off and on track would be— Almost like a kind of switch. I don’t know. I can’t describe it.”

He thinks of trying to dissociate himself from racing. Then, he thinks about doing the same to Sungchan, and both of them being stripped down to boys being seen for what they actually are, outside of their cars, outside of their angels. The concept is so absurd to him, he has to bite down on something between a scoff and a laugh.

Yunho continues, “Basically, the best way I could describe it is with the way people say soulmates are your ‘other half.’” He shakes his head slowly. “No. Bullsh*t. They’re not your other half. You can’t split people up into half. I was a full person, and he was a full person. We still are, obviously. Jaejoong, he—” He stops himself before he says something else. He catches himself, rather. “Hmm. Rather than being my other half, he’s just another part of me. He is full, and he is his own person, but he’s a part of me, with all his fullness and personhood.”

Wonbin imagines a pair of scissors. He’d always imagined others taking that pair of scissors only to carefully cut Wonbin out of their lives, all the things that they hate about him, but all the things they love, too. It never gave him an easy feeling. Imagining someone cutting the picture of Wonbin straight down the middle — No, that doesn’t feel any better. He can’t help but to ask himself, quietly, if this is what he’s been doing to Sungchan all along.

He doesn’t miss the gentle way Yunho makes a cutting motion with his middle and pointer finger, before they close down to a tight fist. He says, a little regretfully, “...I don’t have the right to split him into half, neither does he. If I had understood him as a part of me just like everything else, all these other parts which I pay no special mind to because they’re just me, if I had understood this sooner—” He takes a breath. “Then. It probably would have been different. It would’ve been better for us.”

Yunho is thirty-nine years old. He has dozens of lifetimes that have led him to here, at this moment, where he’s talking to Wonbin in this very garage, a garage which is painted red. “Who’s to say though, right?” Wonbin doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse that even Yunho still has trouble masking what he truly feels. Especially when it comes to pain, regret, and wishing things were different. “The past is the past, and we’re okay now. Genuinely.”

Here is the underlying message, whether Yunho intended it that way or not: A good soulmate relationship is one that is quiet, undisruptive and unchallenging. Soulmates are supposed to inherently understand you with no question or struggle, and if they just so happen to struggle with understanding, especially to the point that they are causing you to lose the thing that you want the most, then you must either leave them or force them to leave. It’s a simple answer to a question that’s been around since the dawn of time.

Jaejoong wanted a championship, he thought that he owed it to himself that much. He wanted to win it alongside his best friend and soulmate. It just so happens that Jaejoong is one in a million, and Yunho is one in a billion. That difference caused Yunho to block Jaejoong’s chance of a championship again, and again, and again, until finally, the stars aligned just enough to allow Jaejoong to win. The stars are now forever in disarrangement. They will never be the same again.

One of us will leave. One of us has to leave. Wonbin isn’t so sure that he’s ready to find out who that is.

Instead of saying any of that, he nods and says, “Okay, thanks, Yunho.” He presses his hands together, the sound of his knuckles cracking faint. “Sorry if it was too personal, I know we’re not exactly… Close, or anything.”

He smiles politely. “I wouldn’t have answered you if I didn’t want to.” And because Wonbin has never gone without making someone worry, Yunho adds a little hurriedly, “You’re fine.”

He wants to reply back with: Really? That’s funny. I don’t feel fine at all. I actually feel like the world is closing in on me, and Sungchan has already clawed his way out of here a long time ago. He did it by breaking down the world with an axe, yes, but he is still not here. I am still here, and miles behind him. I don’t feel fine.

He doesn’t say it. He’s working on the whole being quiet thing, afterall.

Thinking of Sungchan not as his other half, but rather just another part of himself that is just like any other part — his hands, his teeth, his laugh, his Sungchan, his soulmate — It helps. It helps a lot. There is something oddly calming about it, that Sungchan isn’t fifty percent of him but rather he could be something like ten, twenty percent, maybe even five. Maybe even just one percent. It calms him down a lot.

In Jeddah, he qualifies for front row. P2. It’s the second time he’s qualified P2, and the second time he’s outqualified Sungchan, but this time Sungchan is three positions behind him, and not one.

He does well in the first stint. He does great, actually. He was able to overtake Yeji who was on pole position within only five laps, and he kept his lead until he pitted for used softs, and then he was ahead when everyone else pitted, too. He was doing well. He may have even had a very decent chance at winning. He had the car for it, and the conditions, despite Jeddah being one of the most physically taxing tracks on the entire calendar.

Sungchan does good, too. At first he falls back one place, but quickly gains another three until he pits for fresh softs himself. He’s secured himself a podium then, on the right side of it. It should be enough.

Here’s the thing about racing car drivers, real racers, that is: A podium is not enough. Of course not. Podiums are included in a driver’s statistics, yes, but fifty podiums is not nearly as impressive as fifty wins. If it was anyone else, maybe they’d be okay with just securing a podium, but it’s Sungchan. After he pits for fresh softs quite late in the race, he gains an insane amount of speed— And he starts talking. Thinking. Thinking very, very loud, despite all that writing about quiet things. Maximise the exit. Throttle, break, throttle, break, throttle, full throttle, open the wheel. Tyres aren’t degging as much as I thought they would. Throttle. Break. Full throttle. Over, and over, and over again. Combined with the effort to listen to what his race engineer was saying (“Jung is two point one seconds behind you, two point one, two point one. Keep the delta positive. Keep the delta positive.”) and making sure he doesn’t f*ck it and end up in the wall, it made Wonbin want to scream in bloody murder and overstimulation.

Too much. It was far too much. Sungchan is far too much, and altogether, it just made Wonbin want to scratch his eyes out. Fill the space underneath his nails with skin and flesh. Bleeding flesh. For a moment, he considered brake checking Sungchan, or driving into him deliberately. Instead, he tried telling Sungchan to Shut the f*ck up — Sungchan did not hear him.

He doesn’t think it’s intentional (or at the very least he hopes it’s not), but it’s distracting. He couldn’t focus at all after he pitted, and he falls back three places, letting Yeji, Sungchan and Shotaro pass him without him even noticing. That part is especially hurtful, and especially embarrassing. When Sungchan finally shuts up on lap fourty-four out of fifty, he’s able to keep focus enough to not fall back another sixteen f*cking places. The only thing he needs on top of everything else is Sungchan lapping him. Hah.

Yeji wins, Sungchan is second, and Shotaro is third. Wonbin is fourth. He misses out on the podium by one second.

When he thinks about it, he’s glad he wasn’t up there with them. He’s not so sure he wouldn’t have aimed the barrel of champagne directly into Sungchan’s eyes, blinding him with all the glory he’s seeking. If that’s what you want — he thinks quietly, in a language not his own — I will softly gauge out your eyes, and fill the sockets of them with all the trophies and podiums and champagne you want.

If only you’d leave me the f*ck alone.

Wonbin is a full person. Sungchan is a full person. They are full people, and yet, they are still each other’s soulmates. Yunho said, ‘They’re not your other half. He’s just a part of me, with all his fullness and personhood.’

Okay. So Sungchan is not his other half, but rather he is another part of him. A full part of him, but a part of him . Likewise, Wonbin is a full part of Sungchan. Yes, this much is easy to understand.

The thing is— Wonbin doesn’t like every part of himself. He doesn’t like the shape of his smile. He doesn’t like his long, knobby fingers. He doesn’t like his voice and how desperate it can sound. He doesn’t like the shape of his teeth. He doesn’t like his laugh most of the time. He doesn’t like being a full person, and still being hollow. He is still struggling with liking even most parts of himself.

Even beyond that, whether he likes these parts or not, there are parts of himself that he thinks are just— Not good. He is too impatient. He is too petty. He is far too desperate. These are not good qualities to have. They are not good parts that make up his personality. They’re parts that he needs to work on.

When Sungchan ruins four straight races for Wonbin with the team he has been dreaming of driving for since he was a child, he can’t be blamed for thinking that Sungchan might just be yet another thing added to the long list of things that are hard to love about himself.

‘You’re easy to hate, and hard to love.’ When he says this, thinks it quietly, he doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

The Miami circuit is one of the newest tracks added to the F1 calendar, as its first inaugural race was held only in May 2022.

Miami is hard to love. The city itself, and then the circuit. Miami is sweltering hot, uninteresting in the day time, and feels more like a circus than a city. Of course, there are plenty of people who love Miami as a city, no doubt, but it is very hard to come across a person who loves the Miami Grand Prix for the racing, and not for the vibes.

The vibes are… Okay. It can be best encapsulated by the Will Smith song. Ferrari have him do far too much PR even by Wonbin’s standards — who is usually pretty okay with it — and especially by Yunho’s standards, who would much rather do two hundred straight laps around the circuit by foot than to film all the videos that they’ve filmed within a three day span.

They have them ask each other all the seemingly easy questions — The usual ones like ‘What would you be doing if you weren’t an F1 driver,’ and ‘What’s your favourite track,’ and ‘What do you do on your days off?’ The simple answers, in order: MotoGP, Monza and Imola (Spa), and sleep. See? Easy.

Another seemingly easy question, ‘What would you do if you could live as each other for a day?’

It’s a question that makes Wonbin sit back in his chair, cracking his spine and digging into his hands in an uncomfortable way, leaving red marks on his wrist. It’s actually not an easy question at all, and it’s all because Wonbin has a soulmate, and Yunho has a soulmate. Yunho and Jaejoong are okay with each other, ‘genuinely,’ they are quiet. Wonbin and Sungchan are not. Right now, it feels like—

Wonbin does not have a large space in his heart for hatred. He’s always thought of it as much too time consuming, much too laborious. Love is the same way, but hate is easier to acquire. He’s always been privy to neutrality instead. He switched to it after Barcelona, 2019. It’s easier, much easier, and doesn’t require nearly as much effort to be neutral with someone. He’s been neutral about Sungchan for nearly six years now.

Hate has always been much too time consuming. It’s strange then that right now, he’s finding it more difficult to not let himself hate Sungchan than to be neutral with him still. It’s strange. It’s difficult. It takes up his mind most hours of most days, and especially when he gets shoved into another camera and another microphone after another terrible race, and gets asked the same question. It might not be the same words, but it all boils down to this:

Are you worthy of all that you hold? How badly do you want this? Do you think that if you wanted this anymore than you do already, you wouldn’t be performing so horribly?

It’s maddening to think that Wonbin could want any more than he does already. How could he stretch this even further when it already hurts so much? Is wanting even supposed to hurt? Maybe it’s just Wonbin who feels like his heart gets burned open with bullet holes when he wants. Maybe it’s not a human thing at all.

If Wonbin was in Yunho’s body instead, then he would ask — after staring at all his trophies and wondering what it would be like to have ‘Park Wonbin’ engraved on the plaques instead, of course — He would ask his soulmate one question, actually.

How did you make the decision to leave?

Wonbin doesn’t want to leave. No, of course not. It’s been only four races and there are another twenty to go in this season alone, and he is far too young and has worked for far too hard to get here to leave now. He’s not leaving, but— Jaejoong was once in his position, too. Yes, he was in his thirties when he retired, but he had more than enough time and plenty of seasons ahead of him if only he hadn’t left first. Making the decision to leave and being left behind, neither are easy, but Wonbin still thinks that the former is harder.

Still, someone has to leave first. That’s how it goes.

Wonbin decides to bite down on his tongue, and he says, “I think I would post a shirtless selfie,” much to Yunho’s dismay and the shocked laughter of the staff behind the cameras. They’ll cut out the part where he spent at least a minute staring at the question card, and they move on.

That’s its own kind of leaving, too.

Despite all anxieties and Sungchan rarely talking in English these days (Wonbin can’t say much about that, he’s been mostly thinking in Italian anyway), when they swap top places in Free Practice and Sungchan qualifies P2 and Wonbin qualifies P3, it’s safe to say that Wonbin doesn’t need English to understand that they are both nervous, and excited. It feels like things are finally starting to change. It feels like hope.

There is still a burning, aching want inside of Wonbin for his first pole position, and Sungchan for his tenth, but this is a good place to start. He’s aware that this is how he felt in Bahrain and Jeddah too, but— He’s lost himself enough in the past already. What happened in Bahrain and Jeddah stays in Bahrain and Jeddah. They will stay there, and he will move forward.

He has to say, he has never spent this much active, conscious energy into not hating someone. It’s difficult, of course, especially when their fans compare them to each other. It’s only the fifth race, but Wonbin has learned that it’s not a great idea to check his phone more often than necessary or to search his name up on any social media platform.

It’s difficult. It’s really difficult. However, he still thinks that he is willing to make the effort not to. There is still an effort being made, and that’s not nothing. He can only really hope that the effort will turn out to mean something, and not go in vain.

COMMENTARY TRANSCRIPT — MIAMI GP, MAY 4th, 2025

David CROFT: And here comes Jung’s Mercedes in P4. He’s had quite a difficult season so far, and he hasn’t been doing so hot this race either! And will we see an attempt at an overtake on the Ferrari here? He goes for the inside li— Oh!

Martin BRUNDLE: They just made contact!

CROFT: Oh, what a nasty crash for the Ferrari of Park Wonbin! The Mercedes must have sustained some damage, but not nearly as much as the Ferrari!

BRUNDLE: Thankfully, Park is OK and has gotten out of the car. He looks furious!

CROFT: Rightfully so! We will see what the stewards have to say about that.

BRUNDLE: Surely, a 10 second penalty, no?

CROFT: Let’s look at the replay here.

2024 MIAMI GRAND PRIX

02 - 04 May 2025

From The Stewards Document 84

To The Team Manager, Date 04 May 2025

Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team 17:43

The Stewards, having received a report from the Race Director, have considered the following matter and determine the following:

No / Driver 23 - Jung Sungchan

Competitor Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team

Time 17:07

Session Race

Fact Collision between Car 23 and Car 7 in Turn 17

Infringement Breach of Appendix L, Chapter IV, Article 2 d) of the FIA International Sporting Code.

Decision 10 second time penalty.

2 penalty points (total of 3 for the 12 month period).

Reason The Stewards reviewed video and in-car video evidence.

Car 23 was approaching Turn 17 with Car 7 in front. Attempting an overtake on the inside line, Car 23 leaped in where there was no space, causing a collision with Car 7. The Stewards determine that the driver of Car 23 was predominantly at fault and therefore impose the above mentioned penalty in line with precedents.

Competitors are reminded that they have the right to appeal certain decisions of the Stewards, in accordance with Article 15 of the FIA International Sporting Code and Chapter 4 of the FIA Judicial and Disciplinary Rules, within the applicable time limits.

Decisions of the Stewards are taken independently of the FIA and are based solely on the relevant regulations, guidelines and evidence presented.

Felix Holter Matthew Selley

Johnny Herbert Wilhelm Singer

The Stewards

When he got out of the car and he saw the ripped gash on his sidepod, he couldn’t help but think that combined with the red, it looks like an open wound. These cars, they are the pinnacle of engineering and safety and human ingenuity — How come you’re bleeding then? You shouldn’t be bleeding. You’re an angel. You’re a f*cking car.

His angel— His defiled angel, bleeding from its ribcage. Today, he was supposed to park it in P1, only P2 or P3 if nothing f*cking else. He was supposed to honour Ferrari and everyone who came before him today. He overtook Sungchan on lap fifteen fair and square, nice and clean. He had the confidence. He had the position. He had the track conditions. He was quickly closing the gap between himself and the Red Bull and other Mercedes out in front. He had everything needed for it.

“Wonbin.” Sungchan, his angel’s butcher, comes trudging after him with urgency in his voice. He’s the one who killed him when he tried to overtake but ended up puncturing his tire, slashing his sidepod, and sending Wonbin spinning into the barriers. “Wonbin, hey, please—”

What about Sungchan’s angel? Oh, it survived. He dropped down two places from his original qualifying into P4, yes, but it f*cking survived and that’s twelve points for Sungchan that Wonbin will never get. Maybe God favours silver, and not red wings. That would make some sense, wouldn’t it?

He spins around, his own blood scorching so hot in his veins it hurts like a knife instead, “Do not talk to me.”

He looks mortified, almost. About what? “I’m trying—”

“No, you’re not.” And even if you are, he thinks but doesn’t say, you’re not trying half as hard as I am. You don’t need this even a quarter as much as I do. He thinks of blood, thinks of his heart buried deep within the engine, and he wants to scream. He wants to scream until all of his own blood vessels pop. Maybe if he sacrifices his own, his car could run with his blood instead of gas. He wonders just how many octanes that is. “Stop. Stop f*cking talking to me. It’s going to get you nowhere.”

Sungchan stops dead in his tracks, metres behind him. Good. That’s where he belongs. “I’m sorry.” How come you’re never there when I need you to be there the most, then?

He can’t help it. He laughs. “Well, sure. Me too.” His fists are shaking, tight against his thighs. He throws his head back, and wills himself not to cry. He won’t. He won’t. I won’t. “I’m sorry for crashing into you in Australia. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have your sorry arse standing in front of me right now, talking about f*cking apologies.” That means nothing. If he’s really so sorry, then he needs to go fix Wonbin’s car with his own hands. He doesn’t care if he’s never picked up a wrench in his life, or if he needs to sacrifice his blood and flesh to get it fixed. He needs to do with his own hands, his own merit.

He tries again, so urgent and alive, “I’m sorry.”

Someone has to leave. “I don’t give a sh*t.” That is how this goes. “If you’re so f*cking sorry, then do me a favour and get out of my f*cking face. c*nt.”

To make it easier for both of them, Wonbin does the honour. It’s an all too easy decision, honestly.

As expected, Mercedes promptly throw a party for Anton’s first Grand Prix win later that night. The only thing that proves unexpected is that the entire grid is invited.

Wonbin doesn’t want to go anywhere that isn’t home. All he can think about now is the burning images of his car destroyed into pieces, Sungchan desperately trying to apologise afterwards, and it immediately removes any will out of him. Will for anything really, but most especially a party. Jesus. (Especially since it’s a Mercedes party, and that guarantees that Sungchan will show up, no matter if he wants to or not. Maybe it’s silly of him to believe that Sungchan feels bad about it, or that Sungchan is thinking about it at all.)

Shotaro is the one to convince him, and it’s far too easy for him to be enthusiastic considering that he was on the podium with Anton and Yeji. Red Bull were strong this weekend as always, but it just so happened that Mercedes had the faster car for Miami, and better tyre management. That’s all.

Whatever. He goes because Shotaro is his ride home anyway, private jet and all. It’s hard to remember that Shotaro doesn’t know about what Sungchan is to him, or what exactly has been happening with him since the season began. He wants to tell him, wants to confide in him, in someone, but he knows that he can’t. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. The S word, that is. If he says it out loud, it’ll become a touch too real and tangible than he’ll know what to do with. He can only pray that Shotaro will somehow figure this out on his own, and he doesn’t have to be the one to say it.

On the other hand, he wants to scream it out— I’m not like this because of my own doing. I’m like this because of him, because of him, because of Sungchan, you have to believe me. You have to believe in me. I’m not like this because I want to be. I didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose him.

In the end, he stays silent. He doesn’t change the settings on this quiet machine, whirring silently with a desire for many things, none of which it can achieve.

He’s able to stay away from the person he’s dreading the most for as long as he can keep himself attached to Shotaro without losing him, which is just another way of saying thirty minutes. Shotaro doesn’t understand his paranoia or urgency at all, and he loses him on minute twenty-eight when a Red Bull mechanic calls him over — And he’s gone. Great. Just fantastic.

Wonbin could never drive for Red Bull. Not just because he’s Ferrari Driver Academy raised, but because the cultures are so vastly different. Most people party hard, and work even harder. At Red Bull, they work hard, and party even harder. How they’re still able to get such impressive results despite that is a mystery, and honestly? That perfectly summarises Shotaro as a person. It’s a match made in heaven.

Some other people try to call him over to dance, but he waves them all off in favour of heading towards the bar. He finds a seat somewhere by the end, sits down, orders a vodka soda, and thinks of a quick prayer that he won’t see Sungchan here if he simply stays put. He’ll just stay here until Shotaro comes back. If that ever happens, of course.

When the bartender hands him his drink, he finds that prayers aren’t for jacksh*t. He catches Sungchan’s look across the bar, sitting a couple of seats down from him, and sees the surprise in his eyes as the neon lights illuminate his face, and— Oh. Hi, Wonbin.

He downs half his drink in one go. He feels vodka soda swirl in his stomach, and soon his anger entangles with it. He clutches the glass in his hand, grip so tight it somehow backfires and he starts shaking again, and sends back, I thought I made it clear that I don’t want to talk to you.

He registers that hurt little quiver in his lip when he sends back, Ah. Right. He looks away from him, but holds up his empty shot glass in the air and in direct view of Wonbin to prove something. Had one too many of these. I’ll leave you alone, mate. Sungchan orders another shot, picks it up, and leaves. Off he goes to properly celebrate while Wonbin drowns in his feelings. The correct order of things.

He orders a shot of just straight vodka, no chaser, and downs it with a hiss. He makes a wish for Sungchan’s promise to be forever.

It might not be forever, but Sungchan keeps to his promise this time. He has no idea where he went off to in the building, but clearly wherever it is, it’s far, far away from Wonbin.

He’s downed two more vodka sodas in the past hour, and he’s drunk, but still conscious of what he’s doing. He’s been able to loosen up enough to dance by himself on the floor, only stopping when being approached by another driver, shocked to see him, or Ferrari mechanics, who are even more shocked to see him. Or maybe they were just hoping that he wouldn’t be here and he wouldn’t see them having fun and partying with Mercedes. He doesn’t care. They’re off the clock, he doesn’t pay them, and the GP is over anyway. Off to Imola.

Finding the bathroom in a club should be an Olympic sport. He finds the main bathroom quickly enough, but the lines are far too long and he wants to be alone. Towards the back, he finds another one, and it's a single stall. Beautiful.

It’s covered head to toe in graffiti, from tags to poorly drawn dicks to one that says ‘f*ck you.’ Creative. The mirror is mostly covered, and he can see himself if he ducks down just a bit. He watches himself in the mirror, eyes tracing down his face and neck, skin glistening with sweat. Awful. Just awful.

It’s when he’s washing his face that he hears, Ha. Hahaha. She’s so pretty. He freezes. The water running and his heartbeat, loud in his ears, are the only things he can hear. Even the music which was mind numbingly loud a second ago is all washed out now.

Sungchan. He grips the sides of the sink, watches as his knuckles go stark white. He really hopes that it’s not what he thinks it is. Sungchan— What the f*ck are you doing.

Sungchan sounds horrifically drunk when he sends back, I don’t know. This girl— She’s so beautiful.

He feels the warmth of the alcohol drain from him in an instant. He feels like— Enacting a revenge of some sorts. He feels like digging finger shaped holes in the ceramic of the sink. Like he’ll never be warm again. Are you about to hook up with someone?

I think so? I dunno. Can’t think. Is it really possible to not know that you’re about to hook up with someone? Is that really, honestly, a thing? Wonbin finds that hard to believe. That, and the belief that Sungchan is honest and real, too. She’s— She’s pulling her hands down, and—

Shut up. He’s shaking. Sungchan sounds so— Turned on. He wouldn’t know, not really, but now that it’s in front of him, it’s hard to miss. The way his voice is breathy, and he’s slurring, mouth parted— Shut the f*ck up. I don’t want to hear about that.

Désolé. And Sungchan— Sungchan doesn’t sound sorry about it at all. Can’t even hold his attention long enough to speak in English, the only language they both share. Only. Hehehe.

It only serves to make him angrier. It only makes him angrier, even though— Even if he knows—

Quietly. He thinks in a language not his own, one that he hasn’t mastered yet (even if Sungchan is too drunk, and too occupied with something else to notice) — Not all soulmate bonds are romantic. There are no rule guides to soulmate-ism, they are not angels, they do not have regulations. Even if they did have regulations, there are no guarantees that it would work perfectly just because they have a rulebook. Him and Sungchan do not have to be romantically involved with each other, and in fact, it would probably be in their interest if they weren’t. They are drivers, rivals and soulmates — in that order. It would be best for them to stay as they are, to stay on the same side of their brain that they’ve always been on since the beginning.

And yet. And yet. Wonbin is still so angry, he could melt the Earth beneath him to form a castle of bedrock surrounding him so he could encapsulate himself, and therefore, all this anger that he doesn’t know what to do with. He wants to say in English, You ruined my race. You have ruined my last five races. You have been ruining my life since the middle of March, and it is early May. Why would you try and talk it out if this is what you were going to do? Why would you even try when it has never been more obvious that you don’t care— You don’t give a f*ck about me at all.

If you cared about me, if you really, really cared about me, if our time knowing each other in F2 meant anything to you, if Barcelona meant something to you— You wouldn’t, you would not—

Are you trying to talk to me? Drunk. He’s so f*cking drunk, he’s even slurring his thoughts. He’s so drunk and horny out of his mind, he can’t even think. God. Italian is such a funny language, haha, ah— f*ck, it feels so good—

No. That’s the point. I don’t want to talk to you at all. I told you that already, you f*cking muppet.

He is just far too cheerful when he responds back with, Okaaaay. Hehe.

He is sick to his stomach. He is so angry, he could make the Earth his dinner. He is so livid, he could burn a bullet hole inside of his chest and use his fingers to pry it open, make it wider, make it big enough to swallow the ground beneath him. He could become a blackhole of rage. Sungchan has given him the power to. Sungchan has made him so furious, he could, he could, he could—

“Damn.” He has no idea when or how he walked out on the balcony, and just how Shotaro materialised in front of him. He is significantly more flushed than he was an hour or two prior, his hair’s a mess, and his lips are the color of Wonbin’s car. Was that the event of the night? Yes, he knows everyone does this at parties, he knows that this is what everyone else does— But he is not like everyone else. He is still so angry. “What’s with you?”

He feels like an animal with a muzzle on. Perhaps an invisible one. “What?”

Shotaro’s eyebrows are knotted in concern, and his hand reaches out to rest on Wonbin’s shoulder, squeezing. A grounding motion. “You look like you’re having the worst time of your life.” Wonbin laughs, something in between a giggle and a breath, and Shotaro only looks more concerned. He just can’t help but find it f*cking hilarious. “What happened?”

Barcelona happened. Australia happened. Miami happened. He is permanently stuck with someone else in his head, someone people will insist on calling his ‘soulmate,’ and yet that person doesn’t understand him at all. It would be so much easier if it was Shotaro. So much easier. Yes, he’s still another driver, yes, they would still have to learn how to drive with each other in their heads, it would still be a learning curve — But he’s not Jung Sungchan. He doesn’t drive for Mercedes. He has way more wins than just eight, and dozens of more podiums. He hasn’t hooked up with someone else knowing he has a soulmate, then broadcasted his thoughts live to the soulmate in question. No. He would never do that.

Jung Sungchan is Wonbin’s soulmate, and right now, it feels like the only person in the entire world who can understand him is Shotaro. Maybe his mum. What a joke. What a cruel f*cking joke.

“I want to go home.” He has no idea when the tears materialised either. He hadn’t realised he was angry to the point of tears. “Please.”

Shotaro’s hand squeezes his shoulder one more time, his voice a whisper. “Okay.” He wraps his arm around Wonbin’s shoulders, pulling him into a kind of side hug, but not a full embrace. “Let’s go home.” Shotaro’s eyes are blurry and tired and drunk, but he is still the fifteen year old boy he met in karting when he asks, “Do you want to come back to Monaco with me?”

He didn’t say that what he really wanted is to not be alone, but Shotaro understands perfectly well what he means. I want to go home, and I don’t want to be alone. They are one and the same. His voice is barely a whisper when he says, “Please.”

He wants to go home so badly. The problem is— He is already there.

They fly back to Monte Carlo in Shotaro’s private jet. It’s great that he’s a two-time world champion, so he can afford one with all his bonuses from winning.

Wonbin is still drunk off vodka soda on the plane. He looks out at the night sky, chin on his hand, and Shotaro sleeps quietly in the seat opposite him. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He gave him some leftover pizza and painkillers, and he left it alone. Neither of them comment about how Sohee would be positively miffed if he found out Wonbin had greasy Miami pizza. Leftovers, no less. Maybe he’ll bring up the reason why Wonbin cried once they’re both completely sober and awake tomorrow, but for right now, he leaves it alone and Wonbin is more than just grateful for that.

He looks out on the cloudy night sky, and he tries not to think about anything, but his thoughts are constantly intermittent with Sungchan’s thoughts of— f*ck, she looks so pretty like this, ah, f*ck, it feels so good, Jesus, it feels so, so— I just want to be like this forever, f*ck—

He doesn’t know how many times Sungchan does it with this random girl in a random place. He doesn’t know if Sungchan is aware that he’s broadcasting all these thoughts to Wonbin live as he flies over the Atlantic Ocean. He doesn’t know what to do with all this anger that just keeps boiling inside of him and eventually spilling outside of the pot. He doesn’t know what to do with his half hard co*ck rubbing against his jeans uncomfortably. He doesn’t know what to do when he can’t shake the thought of Sungchan in all his glory, naked, kissing down some random girl’s body that really should be—

He doesn’t know what to do. He is just so… Angry. He’s so angry. It feels hopeless. It feels futile. It feels rotten. It feels like this game was invented just so Wonbin could always lose, and Sungchan could always win.

It feels like nothing at all.

Um. Sorry. About last night.

How much do you remember?

Not much, but enough, I think. Yeah. I’m sorry.

You get to have the foggy memories about it, and I get to remember it all, huh?

I’m sorry.

Forget it. You weren’t supposed to hear that, anyway.

Apparently, a video of the latter half of Sungchan and Wonbin’s little ‘conversation’ — particularly the part where Wonbin calls him a c*nt — gets shared internally between Mercedes and Ferrari.

Mercedes agreed to keep it a private matter as emotions were high, Sungchan was at fault for Wonbin’s crash and ‘they are racing drivers, sometimes this is just what they do,’ but it’s not to say that everyone at Ferrari aren’t immensely disappointed in Wonbin for what he did, especially because they have to pay top dollar to keep it from getting out to the public. He knows that Mercedes only spared him to serve their own agenda, also. He knows.

He doesn’t say anything on the phone with Silvia and his team principal, he really doesn’t need to, but he still can’t help but think to himself — I thought that this is what you wanted. You wanted me to prove just how oxygenated my blood is, just how badly do I need this, and I’ve shown you. I am willing to cast out the one person who is, apparently, made to understand me in favour of my angel. Of your angel, the one you have spent countless amounts of time, money and effort into building. Aren’t you proud of it? Is it not your child? I’m certainly not.

You’ve built this angel for me. God forbid that I wish to protect it. God forbid that I don’t care what the cost for protection is. God forbid that I don’t give a sh*t about Jung f*cking Sungchan like everybody else does. Yes, God forbid.

Shotaro doesn’t ask him about it. Not the day after, or any of the days after that.

Shotaro lets him play on his expensive sim racing setup, and they walk down the Monte Carlo shoreline in the mornings after their ten kilometre runs, and they get stopped by fans and asked to get pictures and they still say yes no matter how sweaty or unprepared they are, and Shotaro does not ask Wonbin about any of it. He’s so, so grateful for it. He’s only sad when he leaves for Maranello, and sadder when Shotaro says, Whatever it is, stay with me after Imola is over and feel better by then, okay?

Sungchan is quiet for the most part. He doesn’t think much outside of some German and French ramblings, then counting his reps, then complaining about something Eunseok is doing. That’s all it is for the most part. Quiet— He wonders if Eunseok knows. He wonders if they will ever be in a position where they could tell Eunseok and Shotaro, then Sohee, Yunho and Anton, then the Ferrari and Mercedes higher ups, then the rest of the world, and not have it end in absolute disaster. He wonders if he will ever be able to share any of this.

He doesn’t even know if that’s what he wants. What he really, really wants. He knows that he doesn’t want to be alone, but he has Sungchan. He knows that he wants to share this with the world, but he doesn’t want to share Sungchan with anyone else. The experience of being angry, and having that anger be caused by Sungchan, all this want, all these emotions — This is Wonbin’s alone to experience. He knows that he doesn’t want to go through this soulmate bond alone, but he knows that he doesn’t want to hurt.

He knows he wants to be alone, but he can’t be alone because Sungchan is here. Sungchan is always here.

The fight does not end once a driver ends up at a top team. In fact, the fight has only begun.

The Tifosi are easily the most intense and passionate fans out of any team, with a fire that has been burning inside of them for seventy-five years. They are also the hardest to win over. Wonbin is Ferrari raised since he was fifteen, yes, but that is not enough to prove where his loyalty lies. He has been dreaming of red cars since he first held a toy car, but that is not enough. Everyone wants to race for Ferrari. Everyone bleeds red from their red heart. The point is now to prove just how oxygenated his blood is— Just how badly do you want this?

He has had six terrible races in a row. He can see that. The team can see that. The fans most definitely see that. Everyone can see that at this stupid f*cking pity party. There was a certain hype built around Wonbin after winning F2 three years back, which only died when he couldn’t secure a seat the following year and ended up as an unused reserve driver. The excitement was reborn when he signed with Haas with a clear path to Ferrari, only to die by the end of the year with only seventeen points to his name. Yes, everyone was excited, yes, everyone could see his potential as a driver — But not many people care about teams fighting for points rather than wins. Especially not with Red Bull, Mercedes and Ferrari at the front. (Especially not with Jung Sungchan at the front.)

Finally, finally, his car is red. The wings on his back are red. He has a powerful car, a good car— One that is more than capable to fight for wins, and yet, it seems to be that either God thinks he still hasn’t proved himself worthy to drive one of His angels to the finish line first, or he’s just that bad, or he’s just so unlucky to crash with Sungchan and find out they’re soulmates at the worst possible time. Whichever one it is, there is a common denominator in all of them.

Imola is Ferrari’s home race. Actually, Ferrari has two home races with Monza later on in the year. The difference is: Ferrari have won twenty times total at Monza, and eight times at Imola. The difference there is twelve, but Ferrari are still the team that has won the most at both Monza and Imola (with Williams also holding eight wins at Imola, but it is not their home turf, and therefore not as glorious).

The Tifosi have still not taken to Wonbin so eagerly or kindly, especially given his performances the past six races. He can’t blame them for it. Six races into the season and he hasn’t finished two of them, missed the points out of another, and he only has twenty points in total to his name. He knows how hard he’s fought to drive for Ferrari, and nobody on this planet Earth will ever know as well as Wonbin just how hard he’s fought, but— It’s hard. It’s hard not losing confidence after so many terrible performances and the futile efforts to stop it from happening, it’s hard when all it seems like is that his effort is going down the drain, it’s hard when the Tifosi cheer louder for Yunho than they do for him. He is starting to believe that the Tifosi may never cheer for him as loud as they do for any other Ferrari driver, living or dead.

Least liked or most hated — There is barely any difference worth talking about.

He knows that this mentality is not race winning, let alone championship winning. He knows he needs to man up and stop acting like such a puss*. He knows he needs to stop giving such a sh*t about what he thinks. He knows, he knows, he knows.

It just turns out that it’s very hard to remain positive, and strong, and optimistic when the person who is supposed to complete you in many ways, is ruining you instead. It’s hard to be strong when your soulmate is taking a knife and slashing it across your angel’s chest, stabbing deep between its ribcage, and draining all its blood. Wonbin’s blood.

Yes, it’s hard to remain positive. Wonbin will invent a different way.

Hai rovinato le mie gare. Mi hai rovinato la vita. Continui a rovinare tutto ciò che è importante per me.

What? Why are you talking now, in the middle of qualifying, what are you do—

Vorrei che fosse semplice. Vorrei che fosse facile non odiarti. Vorrei invece che amarti fosse come respirare.

Wonbin, I get that you’re mad, but please, please—

Ma è così difficile.

Holy sh*t, that corner— Wonbin, please, if you want to talk—

E se non posso avere la vittoria, allora non puoi riuscirci neanche tu.

Is this—

Continuerò a parlare. Continuerai a distrarti. Sarai dietro di me. E vincerò la mia gara di casa. Non salirai nemmeno sul podio.

Why are you doing this to me?

Me ne assicurerò.

In the end, Sungchan qualified P10, and Wonbin misses out on pole by one hundredth.

He parks his car into second place, and he wants to scream. He wants to rip his helmet and balaclava off his head and throw it down onto the ground with such force it creates a crater in the pavement the size of a meteor. He wants to be alone. He wants to be glorious. He just wishes he could think in English in his own f*cking head and not have someone else there to understand it. He wants to be buried in a red grave. He wants the red to be the colour of blood. He wants it to be blood.

Instead, he places his fingers underneath his helmet and unclasps it. He gently takes it off his head, then drags his balaclava over and up his head. He places it down. He faces towards the Tifosi, and he smiles. The crowd roars. It’s loud. It’s a proper lion’s roar. It’s so loud that his ears start ringing, but he can’t help but to think about what they would sound like if he had gotten pole and not P-f*cking-2.

Despite qualifying two positions more than Yunho, the Tifosi don’t cheer nearly as loud for Wonbin than they do for him. He recognizes the crowd’s roar for him not as a lion’s, but as a cub’s. Not nearly as powerful, no, not at all. He wonders if he will ever get something even nearly as powerful as that.

He wants so much. None of which he can achieve, it seems.

If he had one more lap, he could’ve won. He had the faster car, the better car, he could have won. Could have.

The fact is— Sungchan was leagues behind. He was quiet. He did not talk in the corners, down the straights, when Wonbin was overtaking or being overtaken. Wonbin talked in Italian gibberish the entire qualifying as to stress him out and make him lose out on positions, and even if he made it to Q3, he was still P10. He had a mega recovery drive, but missed out on the podium by two seconds and ended up P4. He was quiet and focused in on driving and overtaking, and Wonbin was— He was—

Distracted. A fool. Stupid. He was so focused on a car that started eight positions behind him, a thing he intentionally orchestrated to gain an advantage at his home race, that he let himself get overtaken by a McLaren not once, but twice, and he lost out on what could have been his first win as a driver, and with Ferrari in their own home turf.

The fact that he didn’t win today when he could have, when he had all the means to do so, does not mean Sungchan is the problem here. He may have never been the problem to begin with.

On Baader-Meinhof Syndrome, Grief, and Formula One Racing

Formula One is the highest class of international racing for open-wheel single-seater formula racing cars sanctioned by the Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile (FIA). The FIA Formula One World Championship has been one of the world's premier forms of racing since its inaugural running in 1950. A season consists of a series of races, known as Grands Prix . Grands Prix take place in multiple countries and continents on either purpose-built circuits or closed public roads.

The fastest ever recorded speed for an F1 car is 231.5 miles per hour, or 372.56 kilometres per hour. The sound of the car can reach 130 decibels, the equivalent to a gunshot at close range, a jet take-off, or a jackhammer. Full wet tyres can displace up to 300 litres of water per second, enough to fill the average bathtub. The steering wheel alone can cost the same amount as a nice sports car. The car can have up to 80,000 assembled components. The brakes get hot — Extremely hot. They can reach up to 1800 fahrenheit, or 1000 celsius. In theory, they have enough downforce to drive upside down. In essence, these cars are freaks of technology. They shouldn’t exist. They’re almost alien-like, so advanced and so unbelievable they could only be from a different planet.

At forty-one years old, I have lived and been a fan of motorsports long enough to witness Senna’s death live on television, then Ferrari’s absolute domination with Schumacher, then Vettel’s Red Bull reign, then Yunho’s glory with Mercedes. I was, of course, happiest with Schumacher’s domination.

I have been a Ferrari fan my whole life. My father was a diehard Lauda fan — he certainly would’ve killed and hidden a body for the man if asked, and certainly he would’ve done it faster and with less thinking than he would’ve done the same for me — and I inherited his love. I think that, even when we were on his deathbed and watching the 2019 Monaco Grand Prix, with the death of Lauda looming over us both (and of course, the stench of incoming death and mourning in the very room we were in) — We both knew we’d faster do what Lauda would’ve told us than what we asked of each other.

It’s always been like that, me and him. We would’ve rather saved face in front of strangers — yes, strangers we had idolised, but strangers nonetheless — than family. That is how we always worked.

There are many pictures of me as a toddler wearing my father’s oversized Ferrari caps, shirts and sweaters. My mother took us on vacations to the seaside, my father took us to every Grand Prix we could’ve feasibly afforded. I have an older brother and younger sister, but neither of them took to Formula One the same way I did. To me, it was always this prospect of imminent danger that I had enjoyed about it — Maybe every child has a weird, morbid obsession with death, or maybe that was just me. Probably the latter.

Whatever it was, that was the most obvious reason I enjoyed the sport as much as I did, I believe. As I grew older, of course, it was the driver’s skills, the insane overtakes, the defiance of nature that kept drawing me back, and back, and back again to the sport, but all of that had its common factor — Which is, the danger. The very fact that just one wrong manoeuvre would have the driver spinning out and into the barriers. The fact that they are only moments away from death at any point. The fact that I had no real concept of death and its finality, and I wanted a real example. Something to hold onto.

Of course, since then I’ve had many experiences with death in my personal life, and there have been many deaths in the sport too. None had hit me as hard as my father up until that point. We used to always compete about who was the bigger Lauda fan, but I gotta say — Passing away within two weeks of your lifelong favourite driver has got to be one way of proving that. Nice one, dad.

I would say that he could’ve picked a less extreme method next time, but there is no next time, and his extreme personality is exactly what drew him to the sport and what drew him to Lauda, above all. It’s very in character for him, and that’s something I had to constantly remind myself of in his final months.

Even in our final moments together, he and I could never be truly honest with one another. I could’ve asked him many things: What could’ve possibly made you so angry at a twelve-year-old boy that you broke his door handle, then had to fix it out of shame only moments afterwards when he couldn’t get out of his room? I honestly don’t remember, and if I was being honest with myself also, I don’t think he did either. I don’t think he remembers anything but the shame, just like I don’t remember anything but the anger. What made it so hard for you to accept me for who I am? What was your relationship like with your father? Was it so silent like this? Was it so dishonest?

I didn’t ask him any of this, of course, even with the fact that me and my siblings all knew what was going to happen in only a matter of weeks, and maybe even days. In the end, it was all my choice to keep our relationship as it was — Quiet, dishonest, and only connected when we were watching the Grand Prix together. It seems like it was my only choice.

I love Scuderia Ferrari very fiercely, and any person in my life can attest to the same, but it was not my choice. It was inherited. My love for Lauda as a child came from a sort of mythos, even as I recited the facts almost robotically when asked who my favourite driver was: He had twenty-five wins, fifty-four podiums, twenty-four pole positions, three driver’s championships in 1975, 1977 and 1984, two of which had came after his near fatal accident in 1976 at the German Grand Prix. There are only ten drivers in history who have won at least three world titles in their career and he is one of them. He was the fourth driver to achieve this record, and at that time he was only surpassed by Juan Manuel Fangio with his five titles. After his near fatal accident, he was back on track only forty days after at Monza, and he finished fourth with his injuries not yet healed. All in all, an inspiration. He’s an absolute legend of the sport. He has forever etched himself into the history of Formula One, and certainly in the history of Ferrari — He was buried in his 1974-77 racing suit, the same one he won two of his championships in, per his request.

I knew this all by heart, I loved Lauda and Ferrari very fiercely and was completely overjoyed by Schumacher and Ferrari’s era of dominance in the early 2000s, but I knew that this was all inherited. It never felt truly mine. I felt it all, I felt it deeply, but I still felt that sort of otherness because it was my father who introduced me to it all. He witnessed all of Lauda’s Grand Prix and championship wins live — I was only an infant when Lauda won his last championship.

In the months following my father’s death, I took it upon myself to go back through the archives and watch any and all races of Lauda’s that I could find. I went through plenty of sketchy places on the internet to find home tape recordings, that’s for certain. It was a way for me to not only remember my father for what he loved, but to reclaim what I had always called mine. I had watched through the 1977 South African GP, the 1982 United States GP, the 1984 French GP, the 1985 Dutch GP, the 1976 Monza GP, and my personal favourite — the 1975 Monaco GP. Watching a Ferrari win Monaco will never not bring me joy.

I tried to analyse why. This was always something I had known about myself, but I had never before deeply questioned this feeling of joy when I saw a red car cross the finish line first. Maybe it’s because I had always known the answer too, but I was just too scared to face it: That maybe this is one of the very few things me and him could always agree on. This became the thing that I held onto in the grieving process of it all, the centrepiece.

However, I’m not the only one to connect my grief to Formula One. There have been a number of both personal deaths in the driver’s lives, and then driver deaths themselves. Despite how safe the cars have gotten in modern times, despite all our best efforts, people still die in and out of the car.

I started noticing it then: how all these things that made this sport special to me could become a symbol of something much more sinister and hurtful to someone else. My favourite tracks have and always will be the older ones, Monaco, Imola, Monza, but the sheer precision needed to drive on one of these tracks due to the lack of runoff areas is exactly what leads to tragedy. All the different parts of the car, the halo, the mere size of them, the survival cell — Just how much death was needed to get to here? How much grief?

Baader-Meinhof Syndrome: When the brain becomes fixated on a certain word, concept or idea after first discovering it. It seemed to haunt me wherever I went.

It didn’t help that deaths in Formula One are often painted in a glorious, almost voyeuristic light, that the drivers and their grief become public property because they are public entities. These personal deaths, they’re often painted as the ‘catalysts,’ the ‘launching pads’ for good drivers to become great drivers, but that never sat well with me. The grief I held after both Lauda and my father passing away wasn’t pretty, it didn’t serve to launch me into great success, and it certainly wasn’t for others to spin a narrative around me. It wasn’t public property.

I am still, and always will be, a Ferrari fan. That’s a given. It’s always going to be that way, and I know that for a fact, sports team loyalty is no joke. However, grief has given the team and my loyalty towards it a wholly new meaning over the past few years, and I am grateful for that. Truly, I am.

At least now I can finally call my love and loyalty for the team truly, truly mine. That’s not something I was able to do before. And if it just so happens to be the grief that’s tying me to it — Then let it. I will never not know grief for the rest of my life. I’ve known Ferrari since the beginning. That seems like a pretty good point to connect, doesn’t it?

The Monaco Grand Prix has been held every single year since Formula One first began except for 2020.

Monaco is unlike any other track on the calendar. For one, it’s the only track that doesn’t fit the FIA’s track width regulations. It is incredibly gruelling and unforgiving. At Monaco, the drivers slow down to about thirty-five miles per hour to go around Lowes hairpin; they then blast through a tunnel at one hundred and eighty miles per hour. There is no straight at all. The pit ‘straight’ is a curve. It is narrow, incredibly narrow even when the cars were smaller and lighter, and overtaking is difficult. There is no such thing as relaxing when driving around the Monaco circuit — It is the ultimate test of a driver’s skill, precision and endurance, especially considering it is the shortest and slowest track, yet has the most laps out of any other race. The driver must pay very close attention to detail, stay hypervigilant and be very meticulous about how they go about racing around this specific track.

Monaco has also become incredibly boring.

Overtaking was difficult when the cars were smaller and lighter, but it was still possible if the drivers themselves were skilled and talented enough. Now, it is nearly impossible to overtake with how much bigger and heavier the cars have gotten in response to safety regulations. Safety is necessary, yes, but there are arguments to be made in favour of making them smaller and keeping them just as safe — But that is not the reality still. The reality still remains to be that the Monaco Grand Prix is boring save for crashes, racing incidents and the beauty of watching drivers and their angels making beautiful, breathtaking turns only centimetres away from the wall, their best attempt to fight something that cannot be beaten. That’s only viable for the fans watching in the grandstands, however.

Everyone dreams of winning the Monaco Grand Prix, just like everyone dreams of driving for Ferrari. Every driver dreams of winning a Grand Prix, no matter which one it is, of course, but winning Monaco means something different. Wonbin, for instance, hasn’t even finished a full race around Monaco. He had to retire last year after he had a hydraulics failure in his Haas. He was very, very disappointed. He did a track walk here last year, but he’s doing it again this year, hoping that he can at least finish in the points here. He was strong here, and the only reason it didn’t show is because he didn’t yet have a powerful enough car for it.

At least you were in good company, right?

Right. Sungchan had retired last year, too.

Not so lonely, were you?

Actually, retiring in Monaco was scary. There are no runoff areas around the track, so his car had to be lifted with a crane and there was a red fl—

Stop ignoring me, Wonbin. We have to talk.

Wonbin sighs with irritation, What do you want, Sungchan? I’m doing a track walk. I’m trying to think here, in some f*cking silence.

That’s just another excuse, he answers back. And the fact that you’re irritated at me for talking to you right now indicates that we really need to talk. About us.

He kicks a marble aside, still left there after the two practice sessions earlier in the day. The practice sessions went okay. They didn’t talk much. It’s probably best if it stays that way. We don’t have anything to talk about.

Yes, we do. You know we do, He could almost hear the sigh in his voice. Wonbin. Listen. I know racing like this is difficult, and racing has been our lives up until this point and probably will be for the next twenty years, but what happens after that?

What do you mean? Wonbin cannot imagine himself without a race suit on, no matter what colour it just so happens to be. Blue, red, black, white, green, it doesn’t matter. Wonbin is racing. Racing is Wonbin. (He does not think he’s earned the right to say that Wonbin is Ferrari, or Ferrari is Wonbin, not yet. Not yet.)

What I mean is that we’re not going to be here forever. Even after our final Grand Prix, we’re still going to have to deal with each other, he replies back. He sounds frustrated. Annoyed. Like he’s talking to a child who won’t listen to him.

He scoffs, So deal with it.

I can’t deal with it if all you’re going to do is be a bitch towards me. Sungchan barks back, Like it or not, we’re stuck with each other until the end of time. Even if you go all the way to Antartica, you won’t be able to escape how I feel and think.

Do you want to see me try?

Ha ha, very funny. Wonbin thinks he’s hilarious, personally. You’re not.

Hey!

That got you to listen. Wonbin, look— I don’t want to hate you.

Wonbin doesn’t respond. He thinks about Barcelona, 2019, when a freshly eighteen year old driver bought enough alcohol to drown himself in it and Sungchan and Wonbin got drunk off Spanish wine and hope on the roof of their hotel. They were seventeen. They acted like that night never happened afterwards, even though they didn’t talk much about anything. Not anything concrete. He thinks about Bahrain, Jeddah and Miami. He’s thinking about dreams. And red. Mostly dreams.

When he says, And you don’t want to hate me either. So how about instead of bickering, we try liking each other instead, yeah? — All Wonbin can think about is how Tempranillo tastes like cherry, plum and vanilla. He still doesn’t respond.

He can hear, and feel, the way Sungchan is quickly losing his confidence. Or, at the very least, we try tolerating each other, like we did before. Just— Be neutral with me.

Okay, he breathes out, and thinks about how he can push himself to go on the limit when he goes out of Turn 6. Fine.

Have fun with the rest of your track walk, okay? And good luck in quali tomorrow.

He finds it in himself, deep, deep within himself to taste cherries and to respond back with, You too.

FP1: Chicanes are so sh*t. I can never get the timing right. If I DNF again No. Useless to think about. Strive for perfection. I will win

FP2: Car is better. Need to get better at early acceleration out the corners. Better gear ratios for sure. Slipstream. Track walk later.

FP3: Better acceleration!!! Sungchan keeps distracting me and it makes my concentration worse. I should be used to it by now but I’m not. I should be used to him, but I’m not. He’s so different now. He confuses the f*ck out of me. He makes me so angry. He makes me feel so WEIRD. And I don’t want to admit that I don't want to hate him. Whatever

Quali: P2. I’m gonna kill Sungchan

The exact moment Ferrari are done with their debrief and dismiss the team for the day, Wonbin storms over through the back of the Mercedes hospitality without a single thought. No personnel saw him, and even if they did, who would stop him? Does anybody have the guts to?

There are no thoughts. There is no telepathy strong enough to communicate his anger. He is so sick with it, he can’t begin to spell out the words. If he did, it would start and end with— Why did you impede on me at the very last moment when it mattered the most, right after you told me I should try and ‘like you,’ you f*cking asshole?

He rips the door open to Sungchan’s driver room, it’s not hard to miss with the big bold letters that spell out JUNG SUNGCHAN, MERCEDES-AMG PETRONAS FORMULA ONE TEAM, but at the moment, all it looks like to him is STUPID c*nt. The stupid c*nt in question looks up when his door is opened in confusion, his race suit tied around his waist. “Wonbin?”

“You-” He slams the door shut behind him, tugging on Sungchan’s race suit to pull him up. He almost stumbles into Wonbin, but regains his balance quickly when Wonbin lets his race suit go. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He still has the gall to look confused, and a little baffled even. “Did what on purpose?”

“I could’ve gotten my first pole position. I had a fast enough car for this. I could’ve— f*ck!” He thinks of the track walk. He thinks of his tires barely scraping by the edges. He thinks of skill, precision and Monte Carlo. I’m thinking about you and me. I’m thinking about how it’s been you and me for a very long time. “...I don’t want to hate you, you’re right. But you make it so f*cking hard not to when you ruin my last flying lap and I end up in P f*cking 2 instead of pole. You make it so hard.” He shakes with honesty. He shakes with the adrenaline and anger and acknowledgement that Sungchan can, and does, hear all of this. “It’s so hard. With you being inside of my head all the time.”

It’s so hard when I hear you speaking the language we should both know but only you understand. It’s so hard when you can’t sleep and you wake me up. It’s so hard when you talk in the corners when I’m turning and I lose focus. It’s so hard when I don’t understand you. It’s so hard when I realise that I really don’t understand you at all. It’s so hard when I realise that you are the rest of my life personified, and I have nowhere else to go but to run to you. It’s so hard when I realise that you’re made for me. It’s the hardest when I realise that I’m made for you.

He speaks quietly, “I didn’t do anything.” Yes, the FIA deemed it with ‘No further investigation,’ but that doesn’t mean he didn’t do anything. The FIA makes stupid decisions more often than not, and the data is all there. When he saw it in the debrief, the missing second he lost with Sungchan impeding him, he was shaking with a kind of boiling hot anger not even a volcano could host. Sungchan is even quieter when he says, “...And you’re not exactly pleasant to share a head space with either.”

He’s right. He is completely right. Wonbin is not pleasant. He is not kind. He is not soft. He is not here, dressed in red, to make friends. No, not even his soulmate— and maybe especially not his soulmate when they clash this aggressively. They got the wrong ones. Maybe Wonbin and Sungchan are not meant to be soulmates at all.

You— I heard you. His eyes are wide and shaking, his fireproofs tight against his skin in a way that accentuates his shoulders. There is a distant echo of Maybe we are not soulmates bouncing back and forth in his head like a ping pong machine. “You always bitch and moan and complain about me being there, thinking that I don’t hear you. It’s funny, you complain about me being in your head but you still can’t comprehend that I can hear you. I hear everything. Invest in a f*cking journal if that’s all you wanna do.”

Maybe this is precisely the problem. By now, their thoughts were supposed to quiet down significantly — Supposed to. If anything, it’s only gotten louder. They are not supposed to be this accessible and broken open and flayed raw in front of each other. Humans are built for connection, but not this kind. I am made for love and adrenaline and champagne. I’m not made for this.

Quietly, very quietly, he thinks to himself, I am not made for you.

Sungchan breathes in deep, the shudder of his shoulders and the neck that holds him together, “I am trying to accept that you are with me for the rest of my life.” He opens his eyes. He is the rest of his life. “And yes, you are making it difficult for me, too.” The truth remains to be still, as the universe deems it: I am made for you. These hands and cells, they’re all for you. This head and heart, bones and blood, they’re made for you. I’m purpose-built for you.

I just don’t understand what the purpose is quite just yet.

It doesn’t feel like it’s for love. Not at all. Especially not when he says, “You are just as distracting. You are just as annoying—” A finger poke to his chest, pushing him back. It feels like a screwdriver between his ribs rather than a knife — blunt and far too big to fit neatly between his ribcage. “—And complicated—” Another poke. A dull ache. No, this is not a neat and tidy kind of pain. “—And f*cking irritating as I am.” He is breathless and wild and hurt, like an animal. It could be love when he says, “But I am trying.” The reason it isn’t is: “I don’t think I could say the same for you.”

Sungchan does not know the half of it. No, he does not know the nights turned into early mornings he’s spent on track, nor the sweat, nor the hunger. He does not know how much he’s read up on Sungchan’s racing career, and greetings in French and German, or how much sleep he’s lost thinking about that one night in Barcelona nearly six years ago. He doesn’t know half of just how much he’s tried. Just how much Wonbin is trying.

For that, Sungchan stays. For that, Wonbin leaves and he does not look back.

Neither of them won in Monaco. There are two crashes and a double Williams DNF, but no overtakes. Wonbin ends where he started. Sungchan starts and ends in P3. With Wonbin setting the fastest lap, that is a difference of four points — but Sungchan is still ahead of him in the Drivers Championship, and Mercedes are still ahead of Ferrari in the Constructors.

Wonbin could melt an entire mountain with his anger, bend it into a collar and chain, then chain himself to the cage that is Ferrari — and by extension, his anger. Sungchan could split an entire mountain in half with his anger, and see, that is the difference. His anger is just his anger. There is no deeper meaning, no deeper utility to being angry, or joyous, or terrified. Sungchan experiences emotions as they come at him — Wonbin catches them, lets them stick to his hands and bones, and holds onto it. Tight. That is the difference. The real one.

It still stands true that he does not want to hate Sungchan, nor Sungchan him. It still stands that they are making it extremely f*cking difficult not to for each other. At least that’s the one thing that is truly tying them together.

It still stands true that Wonbin has a small, sneaking suspicion that all of this is a f*cked up, cruel joke, and he and Sungchan are not soulmates. The jury is still out on that, and they might not hear the final decision until Abu Dhabi — or maybe, just maybe, when they die. Wonbin hopes it rains when he dies.

F1 INSIDER: MERCEDES’ JUNG AND FERRARI’S PARK SEEM TO NOT HAVE A GOOD RELATIONSHIP, RIVALRY BREWING?

According to some paddock insiders, it seems that resentment has grown between the stars of both Mercedes and Ferrari. Mercedes’ Jung Sungchan and Ferrari’s Park Wonbin were teammates for two seasons in F2, and they have known each other for a considerable length of time, which has gone with no issue for the most part.

However, following Park crashing into Jung in Australia, Jung causing Park to crash in Miami, and Jung impeding on Park during Q3 in Monaco, it seems the pair have quickly grown a relationship full of resentment. Will this further escalate into more on-track collisions, or will the pair be able to settle this calmly off-track?

There hasn’t been a single word in English he’s heard inside of his head since Monaco. The silence gets them nowhere way too fast.

Sungchan lives in Monaco, but Wonbin goes back to the factory in Maranello before heading to Barcenola on Wednesday. He sits in the simulator for hours, until his eyes are burning images of chicanes in his head and he can almost smell the tarmac and burned rubber, and he does not think about Sungchan. No. Not at all.

Monte Carlo and Maranello are only 492 kilometres in distance. He can still hear Sungchan crystal clear — His perfect flow of parent-taught Korean and Monégasque French, then the way he stumbles over his German but keeps going with it anyway. Sungchan does not like mistakes, especially not in German. Sometimes, he’ll even look up German grammar when he’s on the treadmill or he’ll break his reps just to confirm that he’s conjugating an irregular verb correctly. He hasn’t looked up a single rule since their spat in his driver’s room, even though he’s heard the cringe in his voice multiple times when he knows he’s f*cked up another conjugation. Of course he deems a fight where he does not want to speak with his soulmate as a perfect opportunity to practise German. Of f*cking course.

Sure, Wonbin does not know Korean, but he has a better grasp on his Italian than Sungchan does on his German. He still has an English-Italian dictionary in his bag, but he hasn’t once picked it up since the season started. Since all of this started. Nobody in Maranello has corrected him once the entire day he was in the factory, no matter how much he encourages them in the case that he does make a mistake, and he can’t help but take pride in that.

Yes, he knows it’s petty, but he doesn’t care. All of this is petty. And no, he does not care that German is Sungchan’s fourth language and Italian is Wonbin’s second. He still has a better grasp. He still hasn’t looked up how to conjugate verbs in months. It’s still worth something, and Wonbin will take whatever he can get.

He sits in the simulator, and he does not think of Sungchan. He goes home and sits on his balcony, and he does not think of Sungchan. He dreams in a language not his own, and he does not think of Sungchan. He flies out to Barcelona the next day with a plane full of Ferrari staff, and he does not think of Sungchan. He lands in Spanish heat, gets offered Spanish wine and takes it, and he does not think of Sungchan.

He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t—

He doesn’t.

But maybe— Just maybe, he should explain the Barcelona thing.

There is a certain kind of ugliness inherent in wanting. In theory, it should feel good and pleasurable, that burning want, but in reality— and maybe this is just Wonbin— It only feels dirty. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel desirable. Wanting has only ever made Wonbin feel pathetic and desperate. Yearning is not the gentle, soft thing they make it out to be. ‘I want you, I want this,’ it is such an ugly thing to say.

One of the F2 drivers turned eighteen the weekend of Barcelona. Too excited with a newfound adulthood he had no idea what to do with, he bought enough alcohol for himself and all the other drivers he was close with at the time. Wonbin wasn’t close with him, but Sungchan was. Honestly, even if he feels a little bad about this, he doesn’t remember the driver’s name. If he met him now, maybe he would know, but last Wonbin heard he was competing in Formula E. Or WEC. Either one.

That’s not the point. The point is that Sungchan slipped out of his hotel room with a bottle of wine that he certainly didn’t pay for, slipped back into his and Wonbin’s hotel room, already to the point that he was tipsy, and asked Wonbin to drink with him on the rooftop. He doesn’t know what possessed him to say yes, but he did. He said yes.

Wonbin had always had this sneaking suspicion about himself that he drowned in favor of racing. There was always this fever, this penchant for something inside of him that he did not want to name. He was seventeen at the time, and Sungchan was seventeen going on eighteen. One hundred and seventy days apart, but not a year. Sungchan had a girlfriend. They broke up a race or two prior, but that’s not the point either. Boys and their girlfriends. Girls and their boyfriends. Wonbin hasn’t had either. He wants one more than the other, and that’s always been a little terrifying to think, and even more to say out loud.

Okay. Sungchan was tipsy and stumbling all the way to the rooftop. Wine tastes f*cking awful on its own (or at least it did to Wonbin’s underdeveloped seventeen year old tastebuds), and they had no chasers since Sungchan was more focused on stealing the alcohol than stealing a liter bottle of co*ke.

It was cold outside. Wonbin was cold, and the alcohol was only really making his cheeks burn. That, and Sungchan snuggling up into his side.

He kept complaining about the cold, even though he runs so warm when he drinks. He knows that because he also kept complaining about how warm he was at the same time, and Sungchan was complaining about it back at the Miami afterparty. Sungchan kept splaying his hands over Wonbin’s body, the flesh of his thighs, then on his hip with his fingertips underneath Wonbin’s shirt, then his lips a breath away from Wonbin’s neck, and Wonbin was…

He’s not stupid. He’s not completely unaware of what the rest of the outside world his age were doing, including the others on the grid. He understood what was happening, but he neither knew how to let himself be touched, and he— Wonbin had always drowned this desire to be held in favour of racing. He couldn’t possibly get distracted now. He had things to lose. He had championships to win, yes, but more importantly than that, he had many things to lose.

Sungchan was so drunk. It’s possible he’ll never get that drunk again in his life. He was so drunk that he had lifted his head up and off Wonbin’s shoulder, looked at him with half-lidded eyes, and giggled, “Wonbin, you’re so pretty.”

“What?” Wonbin wasn’t even half as drunk as Sungchan was, but he was drunk enough that he couldn’t tell if he was warm because of the wine or because Sungchan was touching him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about—” Hand on his chest, pushing him down and towards the wall. “Your long hair. Your eyes. Your lips. Sometimes, you look like a girl. You’re so pretty. It confuses me.”

Wonbin had wrapped his fingers around Sungchan’s wrist, trying to gently pry him off, no matter how much he had this feeling that he really didn’t want to. No matter the knowledge that neither of them had wanted to. “Stop talking nonsense. You’re so drunk.”

“You being pretty is not nonsense. You look so pretty gulping the wine down — Even though I know you think it’s so bitter and awful. You’re doing it for me, I think.” He was slurring his words, eyebrows knitted together. “You’re so beautiful. I’ll show you.” He moved forward, and time stopped.

He kissed back.

He had spent seventeen years suppressing this deep desire for human connection, this deep want to be held and kissed and needed, and Sungchan had unearthed it all with just one kiss. He remembers it still, all the raw and overpowering emotions coming over him in waves. Sungchan was giggling into his mouth, then with a hand on Wonbin’s neck, pulled him in for more. That was his mistake.

He had always hated Sungchan a little bit for unearthing this overwhelming desire inside of him, and hated him more for having soft yet wandering hands, this fierce need to win, this gentle disposition. He hated Sungchan for all of it. He couldn’t stand being so vulnerable, and he couldn’t stand the way Sungchan made him want, and want, and want.

Now— He can’t stand this. He can’t stand the way Sungchan is still making him want things he shouldn’t have, but he’s more than capable of reaching them now. He hates that he still can’t calm this desire. He hates that his heart is still tender and fresh for the taking, but only for one person. He hates that he still wished Sungchan would’ve kissed him more, laid him down on the rooftop, and f*cked him open with nothing but spit, the same spit the flavor of Spanish wine. He hates that he wishes Sungchan would’ve taken his virginity, and he hates the knowledge that he will never be able to take Sungchan’s more. He hates that he doesn’t have something more to cling onto rather than just a kiss that they both don’t dare to mention.

He hates that Sungchan is still ahead of him. He hates that Sungchan is twenty-five points ahead of him, and they are eight races in. He hates staring at the back of Sungchan’s Mercedes, and maybe that’s why he crashed into him in Australia. Maybe this is all his fault. He wouldn’t be surprised if it is.

One thing will always remain true: The kiss was Sungchan’s fault.

Wednesday afternoon is when Sungchan speaks in English for the first time since Monaco. He’s on a plane, flying to Barcelona — Sure, Wonbin doesn’t know what a Flughafen or 공항 is, but he knows what an aéroport is and Sungchan just happened to decide his language for today is French. Checkmate.

Wonbin. I think that we should talk. He doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t sound upset. If anything, he mostly just sounds like— He’s trying hard not to sound like anything. That makes it worse somehow.

Wonbin tries doing the same when he says, I’m not stopping you from talking, but it comes off too snide to fool anyone, and especially not Sungchan.

Wonbin— There it is. The upset. The hurt. Okay. I’m not falling for that. A very large pause before he sends an almost exasperated, I’m sorry.

That is not enough. For what? For what he’s done, they both know that’s not enough.

For impeding you, and for crashing into you in Miami. I’m sorry for insulting you. I’m sorry about letting it get to this point. It’s incredibly pointed when he adds, But you have things to be sorry about, too.

Of course, Wonbin has things to be sorry about. His performances, his crash in Australia, his existence are all perfect examples. His anger, his sorrow, his indignance. When he tries to analyse just why Sungchan makes him so angry however, he finds it deep within himself to admit that it’s not Sungchan at all. He’s just the representation of a wider problem. And at his core, Wonbin doesn’t want to be like the soulmates who never talk or view each other as nuisances or demand the other to be quiet and undisruptive. Really, he just doesn’t want to end up the same as Yunho and Jaejoong. He wants to escape the narrative.

Sungchan calls out, almost a little concerned, Wonbin?

I’m trying to collect my thoughts. Okay. He takes a deep breath, and thinks of the pain and regret barely hidden on Jaejoong and Yunho’s faces when they’re forced to talk to each other nowadays. No, he really doesn’t want to end up like them. Okay. I am— I’m sorry about Imola. I’m sorry for bitching about you being in my head. I’m sorry about the anger. You are still right. I don’t want to hate you.

Sungchan had Yunho as his teammate, too. They won’t talk about it explicitly, but the implications of hating each other as drivers is there. I don’t want to hate you either, I hope you know that.

Well. I hope you know that— You’re wrong. He takes another deep, stabilising breath. He’s thinking of the many, many articles. He’s thinking about how to say his name and age in German. I am trying. I’m trying really hard to understand you, just like you’re trying hard to understand me.

Sungchan doesn’t send anything back for the moment, and in the space between them, all he can think about is how different everything is now compared to six years ago. Drastically different. Of course it’s natural, but Wonbin still sometimes finds himself deep in these moments where he cannot believe just how much he’s changed. Just how much things have changed. In Wonbin’s seventeen year old head, he was supposed to be a world champion by now. He hasn’t even won a race.

But— But. All of these circ*mstances are just— Making it so hard to understand you, to hear you. And that is the problem, beneath it all. He was supposed to be a champion, but he is still winless. Sungchan was here before him, and he has eight wins to show for it. All of these things combined together, moving to Ferrari, crashing into you, finding out we’re soulmates, struggling with nearly every race since, the pressure, the media— It feels like nothing is going right for me. It feels like Ferrari are going to kick me out any day now, and— Yet, you manage to still stay ahead of me despite it all.

He can’t read Sungchan's feelings when he says, You were ahead of me in the past two races. Monaco and Imola.

What Wonbin did in the Imola qualifying session sits between them, swimming in implications. Who knows if he would have still been ahead of Wonbin if Wonbin didn’t do what he did. Yes, but I DNFed in Miami before that and performed worse than you in every single race before that, too. He feels like his head has been cracked open with the blunt end of a knife. He feels hopeless. He feels like he will never know the weight of a trophy in his hands ever again. I feel like— I am playing a losing game. I cannot win this. I cannot win with you. I cannot win with you. I cannot win— Whatever this is supposed to be.

Do you think it’s easy for me? Wonbin, I— He takes a deep breath. He can tell. He is— Frustrated. I am trying to gather my thoughts too. Another long pause before he speaks, calmly and carefully, Yes, you have been performing poorly. Yes, there were many moments where you could have done better, or Ferrari could have done better with their strategy. Yes, you have a lot of pressure on you, but— Careful. Very careful. You are not the only one.

He— He knows that. He knows he’s not the only person on this planet, and he knows other drivers have a similar pressure placed on them every single time they strap themselves in the car, and he has fans who are willing to stick it out with him through the good and the bad, but it’s incomparable. You have many supporters. You have so many fans who are willing to stick with you even when you perform poorly.

Sungchan sighs, So do you.

Not like you do. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Still.

There is a long pause before Sungchan sighs again, sounding exasperated, You are so in your head, Wonbin.

Now what’s that supposed to mean? He furrows his eyebrows, confused. You’re in my head.

You don’t get it. What I am trying to say is that you are not the only one who has ever felt like this, especially not in this sport. If that’s so true, then it certainly doesn’t feel like it. Sungchan puffs, Yes, you are right, I’m in your head. Do you know what that means?

So far, it has meant earning only fifty-six points in eight races. It meant being just outside the points in Shanghai, crashing out to no fault of his own in Miami, and missing out on his first pole position in Monaco. It meant no peace, all distractions, and learning how to be even quieter than he already was. Somehow. Wonbin thought he was the quietest machine in the world, and so far, that hasn’t been exactly proven true. He knows that these are false definitions, resentful ones, but he doesn’t know how to make sense of any of this otherwise. What is it? He is, however, open to suggestions.

Sungchan sounds urgent when he says, That means you are not alone anymore. He sounds desperate and alive, just like Wonbin when he says, Even when you feel like it, you’re not. It means no more loneliness until the end of time. And that is… A concept most unfamiliar to Wonbin. The forever thing, and the no more loneliness thing. I don’t know what you think about soulmates, or us being soulmates, or about me, but this is how I feel about it. To me, you are— He takes a deep breath. Wonbin tries not to believe that he meant to say something else, but he caught himself just in time. Maybe it doesn’t matter anyway, since he says, This is what I have decided. To me, you’re a constant reminder that I am not alone anymore, and I will never be alone again.

Wonbin ruined Sungchan’s race in Australia, his qualifying in Imola, and almost every race of his this season so far. If Wonbin hadn’t crashed into him, they wouldn’t have found out that they’re soulmates, and if they weren’t soulmates, Sungchan would be much, much higher in the standings than he currently is. Both of them would be. How is it then, that you don’t let this define us? How does it not kill you? How does it not eat you alive?

Yes, all of that means that Sungchan is not alone, not anymore, but— Isn’t that just so awful, not being alone anymore? Is that how you feel? Is that how you really, really feel?

Yes. He can see it now, the way his lips tremble, the way his chest rises with an inhale and exhale. That’s just who he is. Even when I’m angry at you, or you’re angry at me, you still remind me that I’m not alone anymore. I wouldn’t be angry if I was alone.

Wonbin has been angry since Miami. He has been angry, so incredibly angry, for a little over three weeks straight. He has been so angry with this other person in his head. This other person, who says being angry means they are not alone. Sungchan values not being lonely more than he values points or a championship. He ranks anger lower than loneliness, but Wonbin has been lonely all his life. He hasn’t ever been this angry. Which means— It means—

Yunho and Jaejoong love each other very, very much.

Yes, they fought like dogs and ripped each other’s limbs apart and crashed into each other an endless amount of times — even if they know how to fight wheel to wheel perfectly fine with any other driver, it’s just that with each other they wanted to experience the full force of their fury, a real, tangible thing — but they love each other. They can’t help it, the fact that they love each other. They love each other so much, they followed each other into Formula One from the lower karting series. They love each other so much, they ripped each other apart. They love each other so much, they couldn’t stand being in a room alone together.

There is an implication here. An underlying message. Even if they don’t want to, even if they do everything in the world to fight against it — crash into each other every single race, fight it out on the parc fermé, even if they were to never speak in the same language ever again — they will still love each other. They will still find a way to love each other.

The beach in winter. An empty street. A cemetery. A pantomime of love, breathing and ghost towns — Quiet, quiet, quiet. Be quiet. The problem for Wonbin isn’t the knowledge that he will find a way to love Sungchan regardless of anything, nor the fact that Sungchan will love him regardless of anything — Regardless of everything.

Okay. It still doesn't feel like it. Are we okay?

Yes. But Sungchan sure makes it seem like it. We are okay.

The problem is that he might have loved him all this time, and that is f*cking terrifying.

To me, you’re a constant reminder that I am not alone anymore, and I will never be alone again.

What a peculiar thing.

It’s Friday evening after he’s gone back to his hotel room that Sungchan talks to him again. Concretely, and not just distant whispers of something completely unrelated, like Eunseok being annoying about his reps or something. He sends, Wonbin, are you sure we’re okay?

This confuses Wonbin to no end, who was just mindlessly scrolling on his phone otherwise. Huh? What? What happened?

It’s just— Well. You’re not talking to me. He actually sounds a little… Embarrassed is the word. It’s kinda funny. Or it would be.

Uh. I don’t really have anything to talk about? Well, he does, but it’s mostly about Sungchan and certainly nothing he can say directly to his face, so. Or through telepathy. Any form of communication that they can have. You know, it’s kinda awkward to go from like… You know, not having the greatest of relationships to being all buddy-buddy. In a way.

I get that. He still sounds embarrassed. I guess I was just kind of hoping we would skip the awkward phase from before.

Wonbin rests his phone against his chest, turning it off. He can’t help but laugh, just a little bit. Mate. I called you a c*nt. Like. At least twice.

I know that, but— A pause. Hold on. Twice? When was the second time?

He’s laughing when he sends back, Yeah, twice is a lil generous. I kept calling you a c*nt under my breath and cussing you out all the way to your driver’s room after Monaco quali. He’s laughing even harder when he hears Sungchan’s gasp on the other end. Wonbin knows it wasn’t so long ago that he was absolutely teeming with anger, begging to explode at any moment like a ticking time bomb, but now that the anger has dispelled and he’s able to reflect back on it, he can’t help but to find himself a little silly. Just a little bit. Even when it was justified, there was honestly no reason for him to react so explosively.

Well. He sounds relieved, in a way. Can’t say I’m any better. Didn’t exactly have the nicest words for you when I was angry at you, either.

He’s still smiling when he sends back, Throw me some examples of the wonderful nicknames you had for me.

Uhhh. He imagines Sungchan at eighteen, red-faced and always just a little embarrassed about everything. c*nt, mostly. Motherf*cker. Piece of sh*t. Muppet. Spiteful, petty arsehole.

Okay, okay, He’s giggling into his pillow. I get it. You were mad, I understand.

Hey, you asked! Sungchan sounds like he’s laughing, too. He hasn’t heard much of that lately. Anyway, um. Yeah, I think I get what you’re trying to say.

The giggles slowly leave his lips. I guess so, yeah. It’s gonna take some time, but I think we’re okay. Genuinely.

Okay. It’s easy to consolidate F2 Sungchan and F1 Sungchan into one when he’s like this. It’s— Endearing, in an odd way. Sorry. Guess I just needed some reassurance that you’re really not mad at me anymore.

You’re okay. I’m just a little busy, I think. It’s much easier this way. He can even see them escaping. But yes, we’re fine, and no, I’m not mad at you anymore.

He sounds embarrassed, but very relieved, when he sends back, Thank you, Wonbin.

You don’t have to thank me for it. He fumbles with his phone still resting on his chest. It’s what I’m supposed to do, anyway. It’s quieter than the rest of his words.

They don’t say anything for the rest of the night. Wonbin sleeps a little easier, however. Maybe it’s just the effect of not having to spend any energy on not hating his soulmate, and centering it on— Liking him, at least if nothing else. It’s easier this way.

Wonbin takes his first pole position in his F1 career in Barcelona, three hundredths clear of Sungchan in second position.

Neither he nor Sungchan thought of a single word the entirety of Q3. There were some gentle whispers here and there in Q1 and Q2, but he heard nothing except his own breathing, the screech of his engine and tyres, and his race engineer otherwise. So. It’s as quiet as having a soulmate and being an F1 driver can get.

When he parks his car right in front of the P1 sign in parc fermé, unlocks his wheel and rests it on his angel underneath the halo, he is so unbelievably—

(He thinks about his first kart, the one his father poured endless nights into fixing and polishing. He thinks about how he used to watch Schumacher and Lauda’s best races over and over again with his father, and how he used to point out, See how he braked there? See how excellently he hit the apex there? That is what you must do, Wonbin. You must. He thinks about how it felt to win in karting, and for the first time, he feels like he might be closer to that feeling than he thought. It’s not a win. Not yet. But it is his first pole position, and Sungchan was right next to him, and they are so quiet, and the crowd is so loud, and—)

Happy. He’s so happy. Sungchan parks his car right next to his, and when Wonbin pulls himself out of the car by the halo and he looks over to the black and silver car that holds Sungchan in it, he realises that Sungchan’s visor is already up and he is looking at him. He doesn’t need the helmet off to know that he’s smiling, nor for to hear— I’m so proud of you.

He knows that there is still much to go for them to fix their relationship, and to be good soulmates. There are many different ways to be a good driver, and to be a good soulmate, and he’s starting to find all the ways in which they overlap. He wishes it was easy, or easier, but he knew that that wasn’t the point in Japan, and he certainly knows it now. His entire life has never been about what’s easy.

He looks back at Sungchan and lets his gaze linger long enough to send back, Thank you. He then turns his head towards the crowd, finding each red dot in the crowd screaming and roaring at him with happiness and excitement and pride, and he roars back just as loud.

He could get used to this.

He doesn’t win Barcelona, and neither does Sungchan.

Ultimately, a seven and a half second pitstop for Sungchan and a safety car that caught Seunghan and not Wonbin ended up in not only McLaren’s first win of the season, but first win in four years, and Seunghan’s first win in Formula One. There are tears, many of them, from Seunghan crying the moment he parks his car to the fans wearing McLaren orange in the crowd to, curiously, Wonbin.

Honestly? He doesn’t know why. He’s not sad about losing, not at all. He’s just overwhelmed, he thinks. Wonbin doesn’t know what comes over him when he sees Sungchan climb out of his car, visor up, and he runs up towards him. He even catches Sungchan by surprise.

He doesn’t know what he was going to do. He’s just overwhelmed, and he knows he should do something, but not sure what. He sees the smile on Sungchan’s face only through his eyes, and while they don’t fully hug, he pulls them into a kind of side hug. It’s a bit awkward, thick race suits and helmets and all, but it’s warm in a way that he likes. Sungchan says something, but he doesn’t hear through his helmet and the crowd, and Wonbin doesn’t ask him to repeat himself either.

They separate to each go up to Seunghan and congratulate him — Sungchan first since they’re friends even outside of racing — and when they’re all on the podium together, Wonbin doesn’t miss the way Sungchan looks at him first when it’s time for the champagne. He doesn’t go for it out of respect for Seunghan, and for the absolutely golden opportunity to absolutely shower him in champagne for his first win, but he didn’t miss it.

Of course, he didn’t. Wonbin looked at him first, too.

TRANSCRIPT FOR POST-RACE INTERVIEW, MIAMI GP, JUNE 1st — HOSTED BY Jaejoong KIM

Jaejoong KIM: Wonbin! What an absolutely incredible race for you, and an incredible pole position you took yesterday! It’s only a shame that the safety car did not work out in your favour. Tell me, what are your thoughts coming out of this race?

Wonbin PARK: [SMILING] Well, of course, I would’ve liked to win, any driver would, but I’m so happy for Seunghan! He really deserves it. There’s really no use in pondering about the ‘what if’s, what could have happened and whatnot, it is what it is, and again, Seunghan deserves it. I’m happy for him!

KIM: After Ferrari have had a pretty rough start to the season this year, do you believe that this signifies an upward trajectory for the team for the rest of the season?

PARK: I think I can only say my gratitude for the team for working so incredibly hard on the upgrade packages so far, but words are useless without results, no? Results are my way of thanking them for all the hard work they put in, and of course, it’s not over yet. My goal is always the top step of the podium! The fight certainly doesn’t end here, and I will keep working for them, and of course, the incredible Tifosi who always show up for us, regardless of anything.

[CROWD CHEERING OFF-SCREEN]

KIM: Of course, there are no fans as fierce as the Tifosi! [SMILES] Sungchan too had an incredible performance!

PARK: Oh, definitely! He was giving me a run for my money on some laps, especially in the middle there, before the safety car! [LAUGHS] He’s a great racer, of course, and it’s great to be racing against my former teammate. It’s a lot of fun, and it reminds me of the time from when we were younger. Yes. Lots of memories!

KIM: Wonderful, thank you, Wonbin!

PARK: Thank you! [NODDING, SMILES, WALKS OFF CAMERA]

KIM: Sungchan, what an absolutely thrilling race! You did absolutely wonderful around this track. You were so close to catching enough pace to overtake Wonbin just before the safety car, what were your thoughts on those laps, going wheel to wheel with Wonbin?

Sungchan JUNG: Oh, it’s always good fighting with Wonbin. [LAUGHS] I mean, what else is there to say? It was fun, it was clean, it was a really great race. I’m over the moon for Seunghan’s first win, but Wonbin’s first pole position too! I think they all did great, Wonbin especially. Yes. I’m happy for him. [SMILES]

KIM: You are?

JUNG: Oh, of course. He deserved this pole position, he had the car for it, he earned it. Of course, there is no use in fantasising over what if’s and I’m happy for Seunghan’s win here, but Wonbin’s achievement shouldn’t be diminished either. It’s incredible what he did. Yes.

KIM: I agree! Sungchan, you have shown yourself as a fantastic driver with Mercedes time and time again, and I think it shows that you have bounced back from your rough start with them this season. Next up is Canada which you have proved yourself to be incredibly strong in, no matter the conditions, do you believe you’ll be fighting for a fourth win in a row here?

JUNG: First, I have to thank the team for just always being so supportive and so incredible, always working hard to improve on our good areas to make them great, our decent areas to be incredible, and special attention to the areas where we aren’t the greatest, of course. I wouldn’t be able to do this without them, and I sincerely thank them for their continued support and belief in me. As for a fourth win in Canada, I mean, I always go into every race weekend with the same belief that I will win, and Canada is no—

[CROWD CHEERING OFF-SCREEN]

JUNG: [SMILES] Canada is no different! It’s special to me, but every race is special, and every win is special. I’ll go in it same as always, because I always believe that I can win.

KIM: Of course! Thank you, Sungchan.

JUNG: [SMILES AND NODS, WALKS OFF-CAMERA]

Just because Wonbin doesn’t know a lick of Korean or German does not mean he can’t tell when something is wrong with Sungchan.

When Sungchan’s side of his head goes quiet, it usually means a small number of things — He’s sleeping, reading, or he just doesn’t have much to think about. Simple enough. But sometimes, Sungchan’s side is such a fast-paced garble of English, French and Korean that he can’t not notice. Especially when it’s so loud, it stirs him awake.

He expects it to be light outside and to hear birds chirping when he slowly wakes from sleep, blinking slowly. His mouth is dry with the taste of sleep and his body is stiff. He doesn’t see anything in the darkness in his room, nor does he hear anything from beyond his head. He slowly sits up in bed, turning on his bedside light when he sends, Sungchan, what’s wrong?

Oh, f*ck, sorry. He sounds panicked, and— Upset. Tired. I’m so sorry, I know you hate it when I wake you up. Sorry. You can go back to bed, I’ll try to shut up.

He opens up his phone. Four in the morning. Might as well. It’s fine. What’s troubling you?

It’s- It’s really stupid, you can just go back to bed. He sounds embarrassed, also.

He rolls his eyes deep into the back of his head when he carefully slides his slippers onto his feet, getting out of bed slowly. I am already wide awake. Just tell me so I can make this worthwhile.

Um— It’s just— A long pause. Long enough for Wonbin to trudge over to his kitchen and open up the cabinet with all his cups inside. f*ck, this is embarrassing.

Everything is embarrassing, Wonbin sends back, taking out his favourite one. It’s red, of course. We’re soulmates. We can hear everything. Mostly everything, anyway. And mostly everything is embarrassing.

Another long pause as Wonbin opens up the left side of his fridge and leans his cup against the water dispenser. He has to remind himself that the only sounds in the apartment are running water and Wonbin’s slow, sleepy breathing right now. That’s a thing that’s really hard to get used to about having a soulmate, yes, even after all these months of having one — Getting used to talking to someone and being mindful of the fact that they’re not with him. He is talking to Sungchan, but he’s not in Maranello. He is 492 kilometres away. Four hundred and ninety two. There are one hundred and seventy days between himself and Sungchan. Count the numbers, do the maths.

Well, it’s just— I’m looking at my ex’s Instagram account. Ah. Yeah.

Suddenly, Wonbin wishes that either he had never asked about it or that the floor of his apartment would open up like a blackhole, and swallow him bone by bone, muscle by muscle.

Instead, he says, What did you find? He’s not so sure that that’s the greatest thing he could’ve said, but he said it. So. No take backs. Quietly, so quietly he shoves it to the back of his head, the trunk of his brain — He won’t be liable for Sungchan seeking love advice from a virgin. That’s his problem. Even if he doesn’t know that Wonbin is one. So.

I think— I think the problem might just be that I didn’t find anything. He sounds deeply embarrassed. It’s hard to think that Jung Sungchan, Mercedes’ best, their working horse, the one who tries to stay calm and collected despite everything thrown at him on track, could get embarrassed. It’s a hard concept to grasp — Shame, that is. It’s— We broke up during the off-season. I thought that we had been doing so well, you know, I was so excited to spend some time with her after being so busy all season, but then she just— She dumped me. I was really f*cked up over it.

Wonbin does not care for the other drivers’ girlfriends and wives. Unless he’s particularly buddy-buddy with another driver, he never learns any of their names, and why should he? The grid is forever rotating in and out and their girlfriends are no exception. It’s not worth the effort. But— Quietly, he can’t help but admit that he knows who Sungchan is talking about. He knows her name, he’s scrolled through her account more times than he’d like to admit, and he knew that they had broken up once she deleted everything and closed up her account. He can’t describe the feeling he had then. It was confusing to him then, and now with all this between him and Sungchan, it’s even more confusing. He can’t make sense of it.

It’s so strange. It feels so— Weird. Isn’t it? She told me that it’s because I’m so busy, and that it’s hard to be in a relationship with someone who’s gone for most of it, and I can’t say that I blame her for that but— It still makes me feel like sh*t, even though it’s been a good couple of months since then.

He has to quiet down the thought before it gets too loud, so loud that Sungchan will hear it — but the thought that he wouldn’t have that problem in his relationship if he was dating someone who understood him, someone who was in his exact same position, jumped out at him before he could even begin to understand it. Christ.

It’s four in the morning. That’s what that’s about. Drink your water and shut up, Wonbin.

Thankfully, Sungchan is far too preoccupied with his side of their head to notice. It’s just— I know it’s silly, I know this is how break ups work, but… Now that she’s deleted any and all traces of me from her account, from her life, I just can’t help but think— Am I really that easily removable? Is it really this easy to just… Let me go? A pause. Sorry. I know it’s dumb, especially when I was so busy our entire relationship, but that’s just how I feel.

He brings the cup up to his lips, tilts his head back, and lets the water trickle down his chin and the column of his throat. It’s so cold that it wakes him up a bit, and that’s what he needs. At least he thinks so, to have a conversation like this. It’s not silly, I don’t think. It’s easy to be jarred after someone cuts you out of their life. Sungchan doesn’t respond. He goes wide out of the turn, and that gives Wonbin room to overtake. Way too much. Do you ever think about that phrase, ‘cutting someone out?’ I always picture the person taking a pair of scissors, and carefully taking the page that I’m written on in the journal of their life, and cutting me out. Everything that they liked about me, and everything that they hated too. It always gives me a weird feeling in my tummy.

Well, no, I hadn’t, but now that you mention it— Wonbin feels himself burning up. Wrong move. Yeah. Gives me a weird feeling in my tummy.

Yeah, it never made Wonbin feel much better either. Sometimes, he just says things without thinking. I’m sorry, He sets the cup down. That probably didn’t help much.

Not really. But um, I’m glad that… You’re here anyway. Certainly not helping with the whole ‘burning’ thing. It’s a little better, but still, I just— Sometimes, I just can’t help but think— This time. Would it be different this time? Will it be like before? Will it ever be the same? Wouldn’t that be the problem then, it being the same? He sounds… Really hurt. Wonbin’s never really heard him so hurt before. Well, he has, but not like this.

He looks around his apartment. It’s really quiet. Maybe once he really settles into this whole being an F1 driver at a top team thing, he should consider getting a dog. Wonbin’s been in a similar position before, even if it’s not in the same context. It’s easy to get caught up in the ‘what if’s, and he does so every day. This moment is a long string of ‘what if’s that had never gone in the direction he wanted it to go. Sungchan chimes back after the bit of silence, Sorry. You’re not really supposed to hear any of that. I just can’t really help it. Soulmates and all.

He takes a deep breath. It’s okay. I just— I don’t really know what to say.

Sungchan posits the golden question of the hour, You’ve never missed an ex before?

Um. Quietquietquiet. It’s more like… I used to wonder about that person, but now I know. He already knows that he can’t speak Korean, if he happens to find out about the other big secret of his that is infinitely more embarrassing, he’ll disappear off the face of the Earth.

He seems like he’s expecting a specific answer when he asks, Is it the same?

Quiet. Not at all. Yes, because you’ve changed since then. Since the time we were seventeen, eighteen. He only thinks of him because he’s the closest experience he has to an ‘ex,’ of course.

And he seems hopeful when he asks again, Is that a good thing?

I am talking to you right now. Yes. You have changed so much. It’s a very, very good thing.

He’s glad that Sungchan has changed. He used to be a bit unsure of himself in F2, just a little less confident than what was needed in his racing, and he’s a lot more sure of himself now. Though, maybe it’s just that Wonbin was the only one who noticed. Still, he just has to ask— Since we’re already awake and talking. Can I ask you something?

Hit me with it.

Why did you say— Then, when all of this first happened. Why did you say that this is not a dream, and it’s a job? What is the difference?

Well, it’s an important distinction to make. You, as anybody in this business knows, just how fickle teams are. He knows, but he tries not to think about it. He says that, but he also knows that he thinks about it all the time. I’m useful to them now, yes, but Mercedes will be more than willing to throw me out the exact second that I’m not. I can’t get attached to this.

He understands that. He applies pretty much the same philosophy when it comes to human relationships. Wonbin is not stupid either, he’s very aware that Ferrari could drop him at any moment — he’s incredibly aware actually — but it’s hard to not hold onto the idea when he’s wanted it since he could remember.

But seeing you, so hopeful for Ferrari — so entranced by its mythos — I can’t help but be moved. I wish I had something that I was so hopeful for. Something that I believed in so greatly. I mean— I think I’ve found something. He sounds like he’s smiling. Something to believe in, I mean.

Wonbin can’t help his heart jumping into his throat. Sometimes, it just does its own thing. Yes? Care to share?

You will find out. Eventually, you will find out.

He doesn’t have the energy to unpack what that means. Sometimes, it seems like Sungchan speaks in nothing but code, and Wonbin kind of wishes there was a manual guide that came with him when they crashed in Australia. Kind of. Um— From now on, if you can’t sleep, just tell me what’s bothering you. Okay? It’ll make us both feel better.

He sounds a bit surprised when he sends back, Both of us?

He does not have the courage to admit that this has given him perspective on who he is, what he’s doing all this for, why he’s sitting here in his Maranello company given apartment and talking to his soulmate through telepathy — Yes, his soulmate. Suddenly, the words feel much better to say. ‘I have a soulmate,’ you could make a haiku out of that somehow.

He doesn’t have the courage to say any of it, so he holds it very quietly and operates the machine to instead say, Yes, both of us. We’ll both be able to sleep better without you blabbering on by yourself.

Of course. He sees it now — The surprised smile on his face, eyes soft and— No. He can’t think about that. Not right now. I’ll do that. I am feeling better, after all.

Wonbin is surprised with his own tone when he sends back, Are you now?

He can see it now. The smile on Sungchan’s face, the kind that translates to something fond and gentle, the soft corners on the edge of his mouth. Yes. Thank you, Wonbin.

Ah. He doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, at all. Yes, well. You’re welcome, I think.

Yes. Goodnight.

Goodnight, Sungchan.

Quietly—

It’s not that Wonbin doesn’t think about it. Dating, sex, romance, that kind of thing. He’s twenty-three years old. He’s gone through puberty. Of course, he’s thought about it. It’s not that he doesn’t want to think about it either, especially in the context of soulmates, and by extension, Sungchan.

Not all soulmate pairings end up romantic, yes. Jaejoong and Yunho weren’t. Some still insist that they were, but both of them deny it incessantly. That is— Jaejoong denies it, and Yunho doesn’t acknowledge that he exists for the most part. Yunho got married a year into them being teammates, and therefore a year after they found out. Even if they were romantic, then it wouldn’t be good for them to confirm it either way. Nobody likes a cheater.

Here’s the facts: There are platonic soulmates, but over three fourths of soulmate pairings are indeed romantic. Out of those who are romantic, a third of them become romantic at some point during their lives, but break up. Twenty-three percent get back together only to break up again. Ten percent never get back together.

It’s not that Wonbin does not think about it. He’s thought about the way his hands would fit on a person’s face more than once — The unfamiliar sound of skin scraping against skin, what it’s like to kiss someone below their neck, what it’s like to worship someone’s physical form and the foundation it’s built on. He wants to kiss someone. He wants to be kissed. Want and be wanted, need and be needed, hunt and be hunted. His problem might not be that he doesn’t think about it, and instead might just be that he thinks about it too much.

I could. I could, I could, I could—

I could be your lover. You could make love to me. I could kiss you. You could kiss me back. I could demand your love. You could give it to me willingly and without me asking. I could fall asleep next to you. You could wake me up by kissing me. I could be your vampire. You could let me take what I need from you. I could find something meaningful. You could find a way for us to survive this. I could be your only one, and you could be mine.

Instead, I will—

I will not tell you about it. I won’t tell you about any of this. I will sleep on my side of the bed, the couch if you’d like, and I won’t tell you. I will operate this machine to be deathly quiet, and I won’t tell you about how much you’ve changed my life, or how much I need you, or how much I want you. How sick I am with this want, and how I don’t know what to do with it, or myself, or you.

I won’t tell you about it at all.

After Barcelona, the summer starts settling in with full force.

Canada is not exactly known for its beautiful weather, especially not in the colder months, but it’s quite pleasant in the summer. Montreal is the centre of the Quebec region, and its French influence is felt everywhere, but especially in the cobblestone streets and bistros. It’s France without nearly as many rude people. It’s great.

Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve, which holds the Canadian Grand Prix every year, is also great.

The circuit is a fourteen turn, particularly narrow track which switches between long straights and slow corners making for an exciting circuit, and often driver-favourite. It’s fast and low downforce, with lots of heavy-breaking chicanes. The most iconic part of the circuit comes right at the end of the lap: the Wall of Champions, named after the 1999 Canadian Grand Prix when Damon Hill, Jacques Villeneuve and Michael Schumacher all crashed into it.

It’s also the circuit which Sungchan has won three years in a row. It’s his strongest track in every possible way — He’s seen the onboards. He won when he was on pole once, and he won when he wasn’t. He won when the Mercedes upgrades were working, and when they weren’t. Even in the Williams, he was able to get up to P8. He’s won in the rain and in the dry. There are three certain things in life since Jung Sungchan has entered Formula One: Death, taxes, and him winning the Canadian Grand Prix.

It’s interesting then, being his soulmate and hearing his quiet commentary throughout the track during the Free Practices. Usually, it really bothers Wonbin, but this time he might actually care to listen. Get the right line out of T1, use as much of the kerb. Keep the inside line to optimise the exit. Use the kerbs in the first chicane. Very long exit, smash the power. Faster chicane, use the kerb. Do not lock up. Open up the line. Keep it steady.

He actually cares to listen this time. He even cares to watch Sungchan’s onboards from his previous wins, and takes notes on all the sectors, laps and moves he deems interesting. He notes down where Sungchan decides to push all he can out of his tyres and angel, and where he decides to be more on the conservative side. When it’s all jotted down into his notebook, he takes a step back, and thinks to himself — Huh.

Maybe there’s an advantage to having a back to back three-time Canadian GP winner for a soulmate this time around, right?

To absolutely no one’s shock, Sungchan takes pole position. To some shock however, Wonbin takes P2, and that’s another front row lock out for the only (?) current (?) soulmates on the grid. Shotaro is very close behind, as he took P3. (As the season goes on further and further, it seems that Red Bull are far more touchable than untouchable, but Shotaro is still miles ahead of the rest of the field. That’s just the natural consequence of being generational, and also having all the resources in the world for racing since Shotaro opened his eyes.)

In parc fermé, they do that same slightly awkward half-hug as they did in Spain, but it’s with the same amount of happiness and enthusiasm as before. Wonbin doesn’t miss the opportunity to return the favour and say I’m so proud of you back to Sungchan, even if it was expected for him to take pole. It’s still a pole. Conditions are always unpredictable, and he has taken it every single time anyway. That’s impressive.

Sungchan nods, happy, and after getting congratulated by an equally as happy Shotaro, he turns towards the crowd. It’s hard not to consider the stands as a kind of silver tornado — As it’s Silberstern’s best track by a long shot, Mercedes fans are absolutely teeming out of every corner like particularly enthusiastic ants. It’s usually pretty easy to spot Ferrari red out of the crowd, but it’s actually quite difficult this time around.

Sungchan brings his fist up to the sky, only his index finger uncurled to signify his pole position — And if they were screaming before, the fans are screeching now. He wonders if it was just as loud for Wonbin at Barcelona, or if he just didn’t notice from all the adrenaline.

He shoves down the need to compare, and continues with the intense analysis of Sungchan’s onboards around Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve when he gets back to his hotel. He might just need it for tomorrow.

“You are P1. P1, currently. Sungchan is nine tenths behind you. Fantastic job, Wonbin. Keep it steady. Bring it home.”

It is hard to focus on being quiet when he’s racing, and he’s in P-f*cking-1, so instead, he will think in another language. The language of Ferrari, and the language Sungchan does not understand.

He knows that this is— Wrong, in certain ways. He is using Sungchan, in a way. Someone could certainly view it that way if they wanted to. He’s not sure if Sungchan would be too happy if he found out. Watching onboards of older races, legendary drivers, well. That’s just standard homework. Watching onboards of current drivers, of his soulmate, listening in on all his quiet ramblings and thoughts to himself— Now, that’s a little different.

“Jung, one point six seconds behind you. Gap is becoming wider. Keep it that way. Bring it home.”

He has forgiven the anger, but he hasn’t forgotten. No one ever truly forgets what it’s like to be sick with anger, of course. It’s insidious, and it sticks to Wonbin in a way that’s hard to ignore, it’s all-consuming. He’s forgiven Sungchan for it, but he just doesn’t know if he’s quite forgiven himself. Honestly? He doesn’t think he’s earned the right to. Not until that trophy is in his hands, beautiful and shiny and glorious. Not until he looks into the mirror and finds himself beautiful, and shiny, and glorious. Not until then.

He meant it when he said that bringing home the results would be his ‘thank you’ to the team and the fans, but most of all, it’s a ‘thank you’ to himself, and everyone who has supported him up until this point.

There are seventy laps around Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve, and when he is still leading on lap sixty-one, he starts thinking, quietly, to himself. Thank you for the anger. Thank you for all the nights you spent sad and alone. Thank you for all your effort on this track. Thank you for your blood, embedded deep in this angel. Thank you for your effort, and all your energy, and all your sacrifices. Thank you for doing what you had to do, no matter how painful it turned out to be.

He thinks to himself— Thank you, Wonbin. It is lap sixty-five.

“You’re doing good, you’re doing amazing, Jung four point fi-”

“Just let me bring it home, okay?” He clicks on the radio button before he even knows what he’s doing, his grip on the steering wheel incredibly, horribly tight. “Okay? We’ll talk after. Just let me bring it home.”

“Okay.” His race engineer is unoffended, and he even sounds like he’s smiling. That’s very nice for a change, actually. “You know what to do.”

Yes, I do. I’m going to win. I’m going to do it in a red car with red wings, the one I’ve been dreaming of since I was old enough to remember. I’ve prayed for this time to come, and I’ve willed it. I’ve earned this. I’ve earned to be here. It is lap sixty-eight, and I am going to win.

And no, I’m not going to be sorry about it.

AN UNEXPECTED TURN: FERRARI’S PARK WONBIN AND MERCEDES’ JUNG SUNGCHAN HUG IN PARC FERMÉ AFTER PARK’S CANADA WIN

He parks his car into the P1 spot. His hands are trembling as he unlocks the wheel, stands up in his seat, and locks it back in. He stands on the nose of his car.

He screams in victory. His fists are tight, shoulders back, and he is screaming with every last bit of power he has in him. It’s all he has. Power. Forza.

The crowd roars back. The loudest are, of course, the Tifosi: screaming and jumping and crying red tears. He thinks of lions. He thinks of how his engine produces the same decibels as a lion’s roar. He thinks of how lions roar for protection, communication, and above all, gauging strength. He thinks about how a lion’s roar can be heard five miles away. Today, it will be heard from all over the world. It will.

He hops off the nose of the car, and he doesn’t know what comes over him to open up his arms when he sees Sungchan getting out of his own car. Maybe it’s an invitation, or a new beginning. It’s probably the same thing. He opens up his arms, and he sees Sungchan’s eyes light up even if his visor is so dark, and he runs.

Sungchan completely crashes into Wonbin’s arms, almost sending him tumbling back and onto his angel, but they are both laughing far too much to really care. The crowd is still roaring, high and loud and bloody murder, when Sungchan says against his helmet, “I’m so f*cking proud of you, do you f*cking know that?”

“I’m so f*cking happy,” He says back, and he’s never been more alive. “I’m so f*cking happy.”

He stands back just a bit, but still holds Wonbin close. He thinks he prefers Sungchan like this. So close, so warm, so alive. He says, “You earned this, Wonbin. You f*cking deserve it. I’m so proud of you.”

Yes, yes, yes, I’ve earned this. I deserve to be here. I deserve to be in Formula One, and call myself a Ferrari driver, and I deserve to be standing in front of you. I deserve it all. I’ve never deserved it more.

He can tell that Sungchan is smiling all the way, the one where his eyes turn into crescents. You do. You really do, Wonbin. He didn’t realise he was being loud, but he doesn’t particularly care. He was only telling the truth.

For a moment, Wonbin considers kissing Sungchan. The next, he’s grateful they still have their helmets on.

Although the adrenaline never really settles down, not after his first win, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet, it still calms down enough to allow a few thoughts slip through. Namely—

Wonbin wonders how his dad is doing these days. His mum, too. He wonders if they still argue over the AC and who snores more and who hogs the blanket more. He wonders if his mum still thinks of him when she’s drinking her afternoon coffee, which would be strange, of course. He only drinks tea. He wonders if his dad still likes racing. He wonders if they turn on the TV at all lately. He wonders if they see him now. He wonders if they’ve turned on the TV, or if they stick strictly to streaming services to avoid the inevitable.

He wonders. He leaves the thought aside, for now.

Sungchan is the sole reason he goes to the afterparty. If it was up to him, he would be already flying back home actually.

Yeah, yeah, you’d be back home smoking cigarettes and farting it up in the simulator room at Ferrari HQ. Sungchan looks back at him, making sure he’s still there as they weave through the crowd and towards the bar. He’s holding onto his wrist for extra support and navigation. Live a little.

Wonbin rolls his eyes, Whatever, mate. There are a lot of things about being soulmates, both good and bad, but he can probably count being able to have a coherent talk with Sungchan even in the loudest of clubs as a good thing. That would probably go in the guidebook for being soulmates and F1 drivers at the same time that he’ll never write.

Hey, Sungchan. He turns around, eyes so bright even in the darkness of the club. How about I go get us drinks, and you go find us a seat, yeah?

Fine with me. He shrugs, and lets go of Wonbin’s wrist. He ignores the slight disappointment in his stomach, even if he knows there was no other way. I’ll be in the VIP section. Don’t get lost.

Ha ha. Very funny. And he knows that Sungchan can see him roll his eyes just based on the cheeky smile on his face alone. Quickly, he disappears into the crowd and vaguely in the direction of the VIP section, and Wonbin focuses his attention on the drinks.

Soon after he approaches the bar and orders the drinks however, he feels a hand creep onto his shoulder. He turns around and he’s completely ready to sock someone in the jaw, but it’s just— “Shotaro!” He breathes a sigh of relief, heart pounding. “f*ck, you scared the sh*t out of me.”

He quirks an eyebrow up, “Like that’s so hard to do.” He pushes him against his shoulder, then squeezes tight. “When did you get here?”

He shrugs, “Like. Not that long ago?”

When the bartender slides his drinks in front of him, that’s when Shotaro notices the fact that he got two drinks and not one, and he asks, “Did you come here by yourself?”

For a moment, just a moment, he does consider lying. “Uh. No.” However, he knows Shotaro would be very mad at him if he somehow found out he lied, so he decides on the truth. “Came with Sungchan.”

“Speaking of that, what’s with you and Sungchan lately?” He narrows his eyes at him, and Wonbin feels a kind of heat pool underneath his collar. “That hug in parc fermé was crazy, can you tell me what that was all about-”

Suddenly, Sungchan interjects with, Uh. Wonbin. How far along are you with the drinks?

Uh. He looks down at the two glasses in front of him. They’re here, I’m just talking to Shotaro.

Sungchan sounds very uncomfortable for someone who’s just trying to find some seats in the best place in the house. That might be a red flag. Um. SOS?

He furrows his eyebrows, What? What’s wrong?

Just hurry on up here, please. I’m at the back of the VIP section. And he’s being vague, which doesn’t help.

“Wonbin? Hey, Wonbin!” He suddenly gets taken out of his head and looks up at Shotaro. He registered that he was talking, he just wasn’t listening. “Are you even listening to me?”

He picks up the drinks carefully and, already leaving, he quickly yells out to him, “Hey, Shotaro, I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?”

“Wonbin—”

He makes a note to apologise to him later, and properly celebrate with him, too. Later. Sungchan needs him at the moment. (And it does feel good to be needed, in an odd way.)

The moment Wonbin finds Sungchan however, he freezes. There’s another guy with him. He doesn’t look like a mechanic, and he’s certainly not one of the other drivers on the grid. He doesn’t know how this guy got in here, but he’s here, and he’s—

Close. He’s sitting very close to Sungchan, fingers dancing along the length of Sungchan’s thigh. He can’t hear what they’re saying, and frankly, he’s glad he can’t. He can’t see his expression either, but he’s sure it’s something… Flirty and coy. He can see Sungchan’s expression however, tight-lipped and very uncomfortable, and even more so when the guy pulls out a little plastic bag and nods his head in the direction of the bathroom.

Wonbin’s hold on the drinks becomes even tighter. Coward. If you’re going to do co*ke, you should do it out in the open in front of everyone. Don’t be shy. (Though that’s not the point, of course. There’s a reason why he wants Sungchan to be there too, and not just any other person in this club. There’s a reason it’s Sungchan.)

The thought must be loud enough for Sungchan to notice, because he looks up and almost melts in relief at the sight of Wonbin, drinks in hand. That feels good, in its own way.

He hears the tail end of the conversation when he approaches, “—That kinda thing. And my drinks are here, so.”

Surprisingly, the guy gets up from the seat with little protest. He does still manage to throw in a dirty look at Wonbin, but he just shrugs. When he leaves, Wonbin decides to sit on the other side of Sungchan.

He settles the drinks down on the table, sliding over the gin and tonic to Sungchan’s side of it. “That was the SOS?”

“Yeah.” He seems a little embarrassed, but relieved nonetheless. He takes a sip of his drink, “He obviously wanted me to do lines with him, and I can’t since I have no idea how long that sh*t stays in your system. So. Don’t want the FIA to get my arse.”

He takes a mental note of the fact that it’s not that Sungchan didn’t want to, he just can’t. Interesting. Wonbin takes a sip of his own drink, trying not to make a face, when he looks at Sungchan and says, “He was flirting with you, I think.”

He doesn’t miss the way Sungchan freezes, even if it’s for a moment. He does his best to relax the next moment. “Yeah.” There’s a puff of air that leaves him. “I know.”

The club is alive with people talking and dancing, sex smell and vape smoke, the music loud and piercing. The loudest thing still remains to be Wonbin’s own heartbeat in his ears. Thump, thump, thump. “Oh. Do you—”

“Yeah.” Sungchan narrows his eyes, scrutinising him for every little tiny expression. He’s trying to find something that isn’t there. What is there is quite the opposite, actually. “Is that a problem?”

He hopes the club is loud enough to drown out anything Wonbin is saying in his side of their head, just enough for Sungchan to not hear him think— I realised I was different because of you. I knew it before, but what happened between us confirmed it. I tried kissing a girl once, but found that a girl’s spit doesn’t taste the same. “No. Of course not.” I still don’t know if it’s because it’s just you, or because you’re a boy. Well. You’re not a boy anymore. You’re a man, and I’m a man, and apparently—

You like that. Or, you could like that. You could like that, but you didn’t like him. That makes me—

“Ah.” Whatever tension that was in Sungchan’s shoulders before visibly dissipates into nothing. He looks off to the side, and brings his drink up to his lips, “That’s good.”

That’s not just good, Wonbin thinks to himself. Quietly, of course. That’s amazing. That’s wonderful. That’s—

Water dripping in caves, late nights and monasteries. Reflection in the pool, snowfall and vineyards. Quiet, quiet, quiet. So quiet.

Jung Sungchan likes men.

He has always had this sort of sneaking suspicion, hard not to since Barcelona 2019, but now— It’s different now. He has confirmation. He knows for sure now that he’s not crazy, he’s not just imagining things, there might be a reason why Sungchan has been so nice to him lately, so weird about him lately, there might be a reason why he got— Jealous. He got jealous over some stupid PR videos he had to do with Yunho. There is a reason.

Not all soulmate bonds are romantic. Not all of them are compatible romantically, and instead, some soulmates work much better as friends. Sometimes, gay men and lesbians end up in soulmate bonds with straight men and women. Sometimes, they end up in a soulmate bond with each other. Sometimes, the sexualities could match up in theory, but it still doesn’t have to mean anything. Wonbin likes men. Sungchan likes men, too. Ultimately, this does not have to mean anything. They could just be friends as they’ve always — sort of — been.

But friends do not— They don’t figure out their sexualities because of the other. They don’t kiss when they’re seventeen and never talk about it again. They don’t care so much about what the other thinks. They don’t celebrate the other’s wins like they’re their own. They don’t take them out to dinner just to not address this something, something between them. Wonbin hates parties. Even though it’s for his first Grand Prix win, he wouldn’t have attended if Sungchan hadn’t asked him to.

Wonbin has never felt more vindicated. He’s never felt crazier. He’s never felt more sick with want pooling in his stomach, swirling like a tornado. When Sungchan kissed him, he liked men. When he crashed into Sungchan in Australia, he liked men. When he ruined his qualifying in Imola, he liked men. When they fought in Sungchan’s driver’s room, he liked men. When Sungchan still wanted to make this work, to get it through to Wonbin’s head that ‘he doesn’t want to hate him,’ he liked men. When Sungchan told him I’m so proud of you and Congratulations and You earned this, he liked men.

This doesn’t have to mean anything. He knows that, but he still wants it to mean something. He needs it to mean everything.

Everybody knows that I want your love. I’ve been making myself out to be such a f*cking fool — Trying to pretend you don’t exist, acting like I could ever hate you, going insane when you hooked up with a random girl. All this time, I’ve been suppressing it because wanting this much is scary. It’s making me sick.

He gets taken out of his thoughts, just for a moment, when Sungchan presses his shot glass against Wonbin’s neck. He forgot that they were drinking. He forgot they were partying. He forgot he just won a Grand Prix only mere hours ago, and he’s tonight’s number one wanted man, and he is here. He forgot where they were at all. He finds that they’re in the bathroom, sitting against the wall in the disabled stall. Gross. So f*cking gross. Why is he here? “C’mon, drink up,” He slurs, happy little giggles falling from his lips. “Drink up, Wonbin. Wonbinnie.”

Ah, right. I’m here because of you. It’s been you all along.

Sungchan places his hand underneath Wonbin’s chin, and presses his shot glass against the seam of Wonbin’s lips. Sungchan’s eyes are scanning all over the place, but Wonbin keeps his locked to Sungchan’s lips shamelessly. He opens his mouth, Sungchan pushes his head back with his hand just a little, and he lets Sungchan pour the shot into his mouth. It’s straight gin. He doesn’t hiss. Not when Sungchan presents him with a gift.

Sungchan looks so happy that he fed him that shot. He looks so happy that he’s here. He looks so happy that they’re alone. Together. Sungchan likes men. And all Wonbin wants to say is, I want you, I want you, I want you, Jesus f*cking Christ—

Wonbin finds himself in Sungchan’s hotel room the morning after with fifty missed calls and one hundred something messages. Some of them are from Shotaro, sounding all too excited. The most important ones are the ones from Silvia which read, ‘The moment you wake up, call me. Immediately. Not without a single moment wasted. Do you understand?’

Are first time Grand Prix winners supposed to be filled with this much dread the morning after? Google is of no help. Despite the fact it’s twelve in the afternoon and Silvia emphasised to ‘call her immediately,’ Wonbin actually decides against calling her, and decides on getting out of bed first.

When he walks into the side room, he finds Sungchan eating lunch at the table by the window. He looks like it hasn’t been too long since he’s woken up himself, eyebags and messy hair and everything. He looks up from his phone, and Wonbin doesn’t miss the little bit of shock on his face. “Oh, hi.” He gestures towards the other plate on the small table on the opposite side, with pancakes and eggs on it. “Uh. I didn’t know what you would’ve liked out of the whole menu, so I just went with something basic. The pancakes have protein powder in them. So.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you, I appreciate it.” He sits down across from Sungchan, and Sungchan goes back to scrolling through his phone. When he cuts a tiny piece of the pancake, that’s when he gathers the courage to ask, “Hey… Um. What happened last night?”

Sungchan looks up from his phone, but just shrugs. “Someone recorded a video of us celebrating when we were drunk off our asses. We didn’t say anything bad or do anything bad really, we were just drunk. Still, not the greatest image, I suppose.” He takes a bite out of his own eggs. “I already talked with my PR officer about it, but uh. You’re definitely taking the heat of it, I think. Man of the hour and everything.”

“Oh.” His fork hangs in mid-air as huge waves of dread start tornadoing through him. Not off to a great start. He kind of doesn’t want to eat anymore.

Sungchan shifts in his seat, “Yeah. So after you eat and take some painkillers, you should go talk to your team.” He does his best to put on an encouraging smile, “You know, just a piece of advice: You’ll be fine. I promise.” He wants to believe him. “I know it’s gonna seem like the end of the world because it’s your first controversy, but you’ll be fine. It’ll go away in two days, tops. Okay? So don’t worry too much about it.”

He does his best to smile, “Yeah. I’ll try.”

Sungchan is smiling too, but he can tell that it’s genuine this time. “As long as you’re trying, right?”

He wants to say that it feels like all he’s doing is trying, and trying, and trying, but he ends up not saying anything at all for the rest of their ‘lunch’ together. Sometimes, he prefers it that way.

Just for clarification, Silvia sends him the video that’s been shared around, and just like Sungchan said, it’s nothing bad. They don’t make any obscene gestures, they don’t say anything bad (mostly because not even Wonbin can make anything of their drunken ramblings), and nothing that can be considered a true PR disaster happens. They’re just drunk. If there is anything to be upset about, people are just mostly confused on how he and Sungchan suddenly got so— Close.

And that is certainly a feature of the video: Just how close they are to each other, if only in a physical sense.

Otherwise, Wonbin wouldn’t find himself too bothered by the video. He’s drunk and singing and celebrating, that’s all normal for a person celebrating their first win. The thing he finds troubling is— Sungchan’s arm around his waist, still there even when Wonbin’s shirt rides up. Wonbin’s arm around Sungchan’s neck, laughing into his hair. Their wandering hands, touching each other all over their chests and shoulders and stomachs. Sungchan remains just as touchy as he ever is when he’s drunk, and Wonbin remains too willing to participate in it as always. That much hasn’t changed.

It’s the fact that Sungchan touched his bare waist, splaying his hand over his skin, and he doesn’t remember it. It’s the fact that he had Sungchan’s scent in all of his senses, and he doesn’t remember it. It’s the fact that he was so close, one move too far to the left could’ve ended in a real PR disaster, and he doesn’t remember it.

It’s the fact that most others would be happy that they don’t remember being so touchy with another man like that, and Wonbin is upset that he doesn’t. He hates himself for being so close, and not remembering.

Jesus Christ.

TRANSCRIPT - AUSTRIAN GP PRESS CONFERENCE, JUNE 26th, 2025

INTERVIEWER: Yes. Question for you, Wonbin and Sungchan— A video of you two together after Wonbin’s win in Canada has gone viral. Do either of you wish to comment on it?

Wonbin PARK: Um. Not particularly, no.

Sungchan JUNG: I mean, what’s there to say? We were celebrating. A first win is always a cause to celebrate. So. No, I don’t feel it’s necessary.

INTERVIEWER: Right, of course. A question for you, Sungchan— Canada has been home to many maiden wins, including yours in 2022. You’ve always been very strong around this track as you have won it three years in a row, and you were a strong contender coming into the race as you took pole position. How do you feel now, knowing Wonbin has also claimed Canada as his maiden win?

JUNG: [SMILES] I think our celebration says everything. I am very happy for Wonbin and I’ve congratulated him many times on his win. We fought on track, yes, but we raced nice and clean, and he was simply better than me this time. That’s just racing, no need to get hung up over it, really. I will say that I have no plans on taking it easy and I will be beating him next year, however!

INTERVIEWER: Of course! Wonbin, care to add anything?

PARK: [SMILES] He said everything, I think! Minus him beating me next year. That’s not happening.

JUNG: We’ll see!

INTERVIEWER: Of course. If I can comment— You two were teammates under Prema in F2, and Sungchan, you commented upon the announcement of Wonbin promoting to F1 and racing with Haas last year, saying you were ‘happy’ and ‘always excited to see your former teammate racing alongside with you.’ Many fans noticed a tension between you two for the past handful of races however, but now it seems you two are in good relations once again. Would either of you like to comment on that?

PARK: I—

JUNG: Well—

[PAUSE]

JUNG: You can go ahead.

PARK: Okay, thank you. Well, first I would like to say that— Comparing us to where we are now to where we were in F2 is honestly like night and day. We were very young then — seventeen, eighteen, I believe — and of course now, we’ve grown up a bit and changed quite a lot. When we were teammates in F2, I believe it was easier for us to get along given our age and our inexperience with a lot of things, I think. What happened between us the past few races, we were able to settle it privately and we’ve come to that same kind of understanding that we had before. I think it just— Took us some time, but that’s normal. Yes, racing is high adrenaline and things can get out of hand, but thankfully, we’re not children racing. We’re adults. We can handle that, and not let our on track relationship affect our off track one more than it already has.

INTERVIEWER: Of course. Sungchan, care to add?

JUNG: [SHAKING HIS HEAD] He’s said everything.

INTERVIEWER: Fantastic. Now, a question for Seunghan—

Wonbin has feelings for Sungchan.

Jesus f*cking Christ.

Confessing Your Feelings: How To Tell A Girl You Love Her

Here are 5 Ways of Confessing To Your Crush

FAQs About Having a Crush: Signs, What to Do, and More

What does ‘having’ feelings for someone mean, anyway?

Feelings aren’t tangible. You can’t ‘hold’ them, or ‘have’ them. You can’t place them anywhere. You can’t store them away. You can’t throw them, or mould them, or turn them into something else. They are just feelings, and Wonbin has always had a lot of feelings. Honestly, what would make these select feelings different?

Maybe it’s the fact that he can’t stop staring at the video of them in Canada. Maybe it’s the fact that his face can’t stop feeling fifteen different kinds of warm. Maybe it’s the fact that he wishes he could remember it, so he could keep all the details stored away somewhere, even if he knows it’s impossible. Maybe it’s the fact that he wishes he knew what shampoo Sungchan uses, or what his cologne is, or how it feels to hug him. Properly. Maybe it’s the fact that he wishes he could take his finger, and trace all of Sungchan’s features, from his eyebrows to his lips to his neck. Maybe it’s the fact that he wishes he could stare at Sungchan’s lips shamelessly. Even when he’s not drunk. Maybe it’s the fact that he wishes Sungchan would stare back. Maybe it’s the fact that he wishes Sungchan could stop whatever this is, and take Wonbin’s face in his hands, and lean forward, and—

Maybe.

But Wonbin has always been a quiet machine whirring with a desire for many things, none of which it can achieve.

There are platonic soulmates, but over three fourths of soulmate pairings are indeed romantic. Out of those who are romantic, a third of them become romantic at some point during their lives, but break up. Twenty-three percent get back together only to break up again. Ten percent never get back together.

The Austrian GP is forgettable for the most part.

Wonbin qualified P3, and managed to get up to P1 halfway through the race with Shotaro’s Red Bull right on his tail. However, one of the backmarkers decides to be very f*cking stupid and doesn’t let him through, causing what the stewards call ‘a racing incident.’ Sure. Whatever.

Shotaro wins, and he tries to do his best to be happy for him even as the sweet champagne in his mouth is a tinge bitter. Shotaro was happy for him on the Canadian GP podium, so he will be happy for Shotaro’s wins too (even if he has many of them). He will.

Quiet— Really, the only thing that he will never be able to forget is just how much of a freak he was around Sungchan. He couldn’t stop staring at him, and getting lost in his eyes mid-conversation, and he doesn’t think he ever once had a resting heart rate around him the whole weekend, either. If Sungchan noticed, he didn’t care to comment. That’s very nice of him.

The day after the race, he tries thinking of all the many ways he could bury himself into a hole, and somehow, his mind ends up wandering onto Sungchan’s face each and every time. How embarrassing. Just utterly embarrassing.

Quiet.

In a very short amount of time, Wonbin has decided that he is too old for this sh*t.

He is only twenty-three, yes, but he is still far too old for this sh*t. Everyone can say it’s not like that, everyone grows at their own pace, but it’s true that there are certain ‘checkpoints’ of adulthood Wonbin should have met a long time ago, despite what everyone says. He is twenty-three. He should’ve had plenty of crushes, plenty of friends, kissed and been kissed plenty of times, had sex in every which method and every which way.

Sure, it doesn’t have to be something super kinky or ‘out there,’ but he should know what it’s like by now. The fact remains that he doesn’t know. He has no clue what it’s like, at all.

It’s something especially embarrassing when he has all the ‘resources’ to know. He’s a goddamn F1 driver. He’s been invited to join Raya multiple times. He’s been to dozens of parties, and even when he was in Haas, he had more than one person inviting him back to his hotel each night. It’s tripled now that he’s in Ferrari. Shotaro has even tried pairing him with various men, even some in different racing series. He’s had all the chances to learn, none of which he’s taken.

It’s mostly because it’s never… Felt right. Let’s say that he did go back to a random hotel room with a random person — There’s no way in hell that he would actually have the courage to be honest with them that he’s never done this before. It would’ve been cute, maybe, when he was still in F2 and nineteen, but it’s not cute when he’s this old and racing in the most elite form of single seater racing. It’s not charming. It’s embarrassing. The person would had to sign fifteen different NDAs just to be extra sure, and that’s just too much paperwork.

Quiet. Again, he wishes that Sungchan would’ve gotten it over with when they were seventeen. Now that his— ‘feelings’ for Sungchan have resurfaced, he can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if he allowed Sungchan to go further then. It’s a distant memory now, but no one really forgets what it’s like to be touched for the first time. Hands on his thighs and underneath his shirt. Sungchan’s grip on the hem of his shirt and his neck. That kind of thing. He doesn’t remember the intricacies, but he remembers the major details of the picture, and that’s more than enough to find it stored somewhere deep inside.

Sungchan said that ‘it’s weird seeing how much he’s changed and how much he’s stayed the same, all at the same time,’ and Wonbin couldn’t agree more. Six years of separation, but Wonbin still can’t help but to indulge himself in scrolling through Sungchan’s entire Instagram feed. How much can a person really change? Not much, apparently.

There are, of course, way more photos now. Photos from his lavish vacations, photos from his podiums and wins, photos of him in the gym. When they were teammates and training together, Wonbin had a difficult time prying his eyes away from the curve of Sungchan’s spine and the slope of his shoulders. He’s only grown in size and muscle mass since then. Wonbin’s screen time on Instagram has doubled in the past two weeks and it’s just because he can’t stop staring. It’s horrific, really. He’s made himself a burner just as a way of foolproofing against the embarrassment of possibly liking pictures from eighty-four weeks back.

He stares. He stares, and stares, and stares. He can’t believe that this is the same person who took his first kiss. He can’t believe that this person is his soulmate. The Big S Word. He constantly has to remind himself that just because Sungchan is his soulmate and he likes men doesn’t have to mean that he likes—

He thinks about it more than he would like to admit. That is, what would happen if Sungchan were to get a girlfriend or to hook up with another person again. Even worse, if he were to get with a man. He’s seen the old pictures from his ex-girlfriend, now scattered all over fan archives. He’s a gentle lover. The type to organise candle-lit dinners and roses to her doorstep and leave sticky notes all around her apartment while he’s gone, things like ‘I love u:)’ and ‘Have a nice day, pretty ♡’ and ‘Remember to eat something tasty!!’. Things like that.

He’s that kind of lover. Before, Wonbin found these kinds of things incredibly corny and cheesy, and he always rolled his eyes when the accounts of his coworkers’ girlfriends pop up on his feed and they’re all that kind of thing. Now, he tries imagining Sungchan doing the same for him, and he can feel his whole face go warm. He wants… That kind of thing. He wants it if that’s what Sungchan wants, if that’s how he loves.

He can’t stop thinking about it. Would he be gentle with them? Would he open their mouth gently with his fingers on their lips? Would he explore their mouth with his tongue? Does he prefer opening their legs with his hands, or with a knee between their thighs? Does he like to take control, or give control? Does he f*ck their mouth, or is he the one to use his mouth? Does he like to take it slow and sweet, or does he like to go hard and fast?

He can’t stop thinking about it. His gentle face of concentration, and the sweat dripping down his temple and his back, and his little sounds. He knows it’s so perverted to think about him like this, he knows it’s wrong. He knows, he knows, he knows. But when he has all these feelings and nowhere to go, it’s difficult to find a place to put them. He tries to imagine someone other than himself as the recipient of all of Sungchan’s love and affection, and he can’t help it when he frowns. Wonbin just goes back to imagining that it’s himself, instead. It’s better this way.

It should— It should be me instead. It should be me that you are—

Huh? Wonbin, did you say something?

Wonbin gasps at the sound of Sungchan’s voice, his eyes going wide as saucers before he screws them shut. He hangs onto each soundwave of Sungchan’s voice, and he makes a wish that he could hear Sungchan’s voice right beside his ear rather than it sounding like it’s five rooms away. It’s that last little push he needs before he completely— Rutting into his mattress like a pathetic animal—

Wonbin? Hey, are you good?

No, He sends back, boneless and deeply ashamed. He feels open in a way he doesn’t like. He feels f*cked in a way he really, really doesn’t like. It feels lonely. It feels pathetic. It feels— I mean, yeah, I’m good. I didn’t say anything.

Disgusting. It feels disgusting to want something like this. It feels horrible, and wrong, and immoral. Completely immoral. What the f*ck is he doing?

Oh, okay. There’s a pause, like he’s a little unsure if he should keep talking. Wonbin wants him to talk forever, but it’d probably be better if he never talked again. If you have something that’s bothering you, you can always talk about it with me. You know that, right?

No, it’s nothing. He feels the way his shirt sticks to his back. Go back to sleep. He looks down at his bedsheets, and his trembling thighs. His boxers are on the edge of the bed.

He screams into his pillow, happy that his walls are made of concrete.

If Sohee finds it a little strange that Wonbin has requested a more intense workout routine than before, he doesn’t comment on it. He needs something to take his mind off ‘it,’ and this is all he’s ever known. In the times of something deeply unfamiliar, Wonbin will always fall back on the familiar to cope.

When Wonbin walks onto Shotaro’s jet on Wednesday and he sees Yeji, Anton and Sungchan, in that order, he can’t say he completely holds his cool with no issue at all. At least Yeji and Anton look pleasantly surprised, and Sungchan is only a little bit shocked. He sends, What are you doing here?

Wonbin narrows his eyes at him, settling his backpack beside his seat. What are you doing here?

Well. Whaddya think? He smiles.

Wonbin can feel his heartbeat exploding at the sight of Sungchan’s smile, and feels his pulse points go wild like a speaker at full volume. There’s your answer. It’s f*cking embarrassing.

It’s also the exact moment they both realise that they were just staring at each other without any words actually spoken, and Shotaro, Yeji and Anton are all looking at them weirdly. Mostly at Wonbin, who hasn’t greeted them or acknowledged they exist in any way since he walked in, just staring at Sungchan the entire time.

Wonderful way to start a three hour flight. He greets them, sits down, and only sends a quick prayer for someone to take the whole plane down. It’s quick, so it doesn’t really count. If that’s how that works.

About an hour and a half into the flight, Shotaro confronts Wonbin in the back cabin when he’s coming back from the bathroom. “Okay.” He’s whispering, very seriously, “You need to tell me why you’ve been acting like a freak this whole flight.”

It catches him off-guard. “What?”

He has his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “Don’t What me. Something is up. Clearly. Tell me what it is.”

He looks around the corner to check if the door to the front cabin is open, and he finds that it’s half-way open, but it's full of chatter that all distinctly (and excitedly) sound like Yeji, Anton and Sungchan. “Um.” Usually, he would lie and say it’s nothing, but it’s Shotaro. He’ll find out sooner or later, and it’s probably best if it’s sooner, unless Wonbin wants him snooping around his business, which he doesn’t. “Shotaro— How mad would you be if I told you I caught feelings for another driver?"

“What?” His serious expression melts away in one moment, quickly replacing it with absolute shock. “Another driver?”

Before he can puss* out of it and say ‘just kidding,’ he quickly adds, “And said driver might be on the plane with us right now?”

He looks off to the front of the jet, and some kind of realisation dawns on him. “...Oh my God.” That realisation might not exactly be correct, however. “Wonbin, you dog. He’s like a little baby!”

In what world is Sungchan a ba— Oh, brother. “No, not Anton, Jesus!” He splutters, shoving Shotaro by his shoulder. He can’t even remember the last time they had a conversation. If it was Anton, that would be even more embarrassing. He mutters afterwards, “He’s not even a baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shotaro remains just as upset when he says, “He’s a baby to me.” Then the gears start turning. When gears are turning in Shotaro’s head and not in his car, that almost always doesn’t end up well. “Wait— If it’s not Anton—” He stops, confusion and almost betrayal written all over his face. “No. You wouldn’t. Surely, you wouldn’t.”

Wonbin sighs, face in his hands, “This is embarrassing enough, mate. Act normal.”

“Oh my God, you’re serious?” Shotaro looks oddly stressed. He drags his hands over his face, groaning, “f*ck, I owe Seunghan five hundred Euros. Why would you do this to me?”

Hold the phone. “You betted on this?”

“Listen, you and Sungchan have just been so buddy-buddy lately that Seunghan and I made a bet as a joke. I can’t believe it’s actually real.” He explains it as if it’s the most simple thing in the world, and Wonbin is the idiot for not following. Great. That’s certainly how that works.

Before he can question Shotaro on it further, Yeji’s voice from the front of the plane comes echoing, “Shotaro! Wonbin! The hell are you doing back there?”

“Coming!” Shotaro yells back, and then turns to Wonbin and says, “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

He doesn’t want to leave a five hundred Euro bet aside, but it seems that it’s only a significant amount to Wonbin and not Shotaro, since he’s earned his riches already. Whatever. They head to the front, and Yeji and Anton’s giddy faces spell nothing but trouble.

As soon as they sit down, Yeji is again the one to proclaim, “So happy that the lovebirds could join us. Welcome back!”

Shotaro immediately shoves her by the shoulder, exclaiming, “Quit that!”

He’s laughing, though. He’s known him long enough to tell it’s genuine, so all Wonbin can do is laugh too, even if it’s a little forced. When he looks over to Sungchan however, he follows the lines of his face and sees it’s formed in a scowl. When he follows Sungchan’s line of sight, he finds him looking at—

Shotaro. Ah. f*ck.

Hypothesis: Sungchan has feelings for Shotaro. Conclusion: Wrong. Justification: It was actually just Wonbin’s lovesick brain being paranoid, and upon further inspection, they are just friends and they only treat each other as friends.

Whew.

While Austria is forgettable, Silverstone is fun.

Silverstone almost always manages to create thrilling races, both for the drivers and for the fans. It has eighteen turns, it’s 5.891 kilometres long, and it’s a mix of fast corners and technical sections. The long straights, such as the Hangar Straight and the Wellington Straight, allow cars to reach blistering speeds and provide important overtaking opportunities. Silverstone requires commitment in a way other tracks don’t. High-speed corners, optimising lines, managing tyres is a nightmare, that kind of thing.

Wonbin qualifies P2, which is good, but not great. He aims for pole position every time, but of course, Shotaro takes it instead. Sungchan is in P3 behind him, and after the formation lap, Wonbin is hyper aware of the Mercedes behind him. He’s more than aware that he can’t f*ck his start up or his race if he plans on winning, or if he even plans on keeping his podium.

When the chequered flag is waved, he finds that he doesn’t have to. Sungchan got completely f*cked by strategy and ends up in P5. Wonbin doesn’t win, but after trading places with both Anton and Yeji behind him, he still manages P2.

It’s him, Shotaro and Anton on the podium. He ignores the feeling in his stomach that it should be the other Mercedes driver on the podium, and it’s far too easy to do so since Sungchan is silent. Completely silent.

He finds him in the paddock afterwards. He tries with, “Hi.”

Sungchan looks shocked to see him. He is PR trained though, and he always knows how to save face, even in the most dire of situations. He quickly forms it into a smile. “Hey.”

“Uh.” Wonbin is not particularly good at this. The whole comforting others thing. That was always more Shotaro’s deal, and he was always best at listening. However, he wasn’t good at either the quiet thing nor the forever thing before, and he’s getting better at it, so. It’s possible. He wants to try. “How are you feeling?”

He nods curtly, saying, “I’m good. How about you? Shame you didn’t win today.”

The unfortunate thing about Sungchan that Wonbin is sure his PR officer hates is that no matter how many PR sessions he gets or how long he stays in the public eye, it’s easy to decipher what he’s actually feeling beyond what he’s just saying. Maybe that’s just Wonbin though. He was teammates with him, and now he’s locked forever into a soulmate bond with him, so there’s that to consider.

He tries again with, “Sungchan.” A little firmer, a little heavier. Swimming in implications. Wonbin’s good at that, if nothing else. “You can talk to me. Maybe I don’t know how to help, but I can listen.”

Sungchan puts up a big effort to try and brush it off at first — smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes, smiling but his eyes don’t have that spark in them for even a moment — before his face just crumples. Suddenly, it’s easy to see the seventeen, eighteen year old boy in him. He looks very young. The anxieties are ancient, and haven’t ever gone away. No, not properly.

“I’m just—” He takes a deep breath, and he’s not looking into Wonbin’s eyes. “It’s kind of difficult. For me right now. I think I’m just— I’m having a hard time.”

He offers, “With what?”

Sungchan sighs, visibly deflating. “Just… You know. Everything. At least when it comes to racing, yes.” Another thing about Sungchan: He always makes sure to emphasise that it’s ‘not you,’ it’s not Wonbin, it’s just Sungchan. He doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad habit. “You know, I try not to think about it, but it is kind of hard to deal with— Something like a precedent. You know. I’m sure you understand, with Ferrari and all.” There’s a little smile about that. Sungchan does like to tease him about his ‘Ferrari monologues,’ whatever that is, afterall. “But, you know, being a driver for a team right after their eight time world champion left is difficult. There’s always that expectation on me that I’m going to be just as good as Yunho, if not better. I’d like to believe that, of course, I’m better, every driver needs to think like that, but lately—” He takes a shaky breath. “It’s been difficult to believe. That I’m still a good driver. And beyond that, an even better driver than Yunho.”

Yunho is one in a billion. He has 101 Grand Prix victories out of 360 starts, winning half of those from pole. He has one hundred pole positions. He has set seventy-one fastest laps. He’s raced twenty thousand laps, leading a quarter of those. He is also the only person in the world who currently holds eight championships. He is the greatest to have done it, and Wonbin understands the impulse to have him as a benchmark.

“You got f*cked over by strategy.” However, that still seems a little unfair to Sungchan. “That’s not your fault.”

“Yes, I know, but Yunho’s gotten f*cked over by strategy countless amounts of times, and he still somehow made it to the top.” Sungchan almost looks— Unfamiliar like this. He’s never seen him look so insecure. Sungchan looks better when he’s confident in himself and happy. “And it doesn’t help that—” He takes a shaky breath. I mean, how do you feel about Yunho?

The switch from talking out loud to inside their head almost throws Wonbin completely off, but he manages to catch it nonetheless. How do you feel about Yunho? There is an awkward silence on the other end. He sees the way Sungchan is biting down on his lips, rolling it between his teeth. He clarifies, I mean, he was your teammate for two seasons. You know him better than I do.

Sungchan shrugs, looking up from the ground at Wonbin. Well, I’m asking for your opinion.

When it comes to the racing part of Yunho, there is certainly a lot to be said. His greatest victories, his greatest pole positions, his most satisfying championship wins. Well. Um. Obviously, it’s great to be racing alongside an eight time world champion. When it comes to Yunho as a person, however, there’s really not much to say. They don’t exactly ‘hang out,’ and they don’t talk outside of racing. The only real things he knows about Yunho as a person is what he’s asked him in PR interviews.

Sungchan rolls his eyes and looks down again at his hands. The same hands that have won him his eight Grand Prix victories before. I’m not asking for your PR answer. I’m asking for your real opinion of him.

He thinks of their little ‘talk’ in Jeddah, which was more like a Q&A session with dire implications. He’s nice. He shrugs, Again, I do mean it when I say it’s great to be racing alongside him because he teaches me a lot of things. You know, things only someone as experienced as him could teach me. He looks at Sungchan, and sees that tight, quivering lip. He’s trying so hard to suppress it, but Wonbin has seen that before. He saw that on the plane on the way to Silverstone. What? Does it… bother you?

There’s a hot moment where Sungchan doesn’t say anything. Not out loud, not telepathically. Even if he did, Wonbin is pretty certain that he wouldn’t be able to hear him over his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. Quietly, even though he’s pretty certain Sungchan is far too preoccupied with his own thoughts to hear him, Sungchan is not just bothered by Yunho in a racing way. He’s bothered by Yunho in a— Wonbin way. There’s a Wonbin way. He can’t help but to find that amazing.

He speaks slowly, It’s just– I know that, realistically, reasonably, I shouldn’t be bothered by it because no one knows that– You’re my soulmate. No one knows you’re… anything to me, actually, but I just— He hears the deep, shaky breath that Sungchan takes, but he knows him well enough now that he could imagine it if needed. His thick eyebrows knotted together, the slight pout on his lips, coming together as he sighs. It’s vivid and all there, as much as it’s confusing.

A confession. I can’t help it.

Um. Wonbin has gotten very good at taking deep breaths, through his nose and out his mouth, to be able to calm himself down when Sungchan is being confusing like this. When he is— When Sungchan is. Full stop. Do you want to tell Ferrari and Mercedes? We can, if you want.

No. His reply is instantaneous, and that’s even more confusing. That’s not- That’s not it, either.

You are my soulmate. I am made to understand you. What is ‘it,’ then? But God, sometimes you really make no sense.

I don’t know. He sounds upset. He sounds like he wants to cry. Maybe that’s why he switched to telepathy, because saying it out loud will make it more real than he’ll know how to deal with. Possession is quite a dirty thing to feel, most especially when it’s not yours. Not really. Not honestly. I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.

Well, that’s not it for me either. He tugs at his drawstrings, feels the way they squeeze around his waist. It’s more like- I’m confused, and I’m trying to understand how you feel.

Yeah. He sounds really, really upset. Me too. With himself. It’s only really with himself.

Well. Um. He takes a deep breath, looking down at his own hands, the one that gave him a victory in Canada. I know it might be weird to deal with the fact that no one knows what we are to each other, but you can always seek comfort in the fact that— I know. He rubs his thumb alongside the lines of his other palm. I know what you are to me. You’re my soulmate, and whether people know that or not isn’t going to change that.

There’s a long pause on the other end, which makes Wonbin look up. He finds Sungchan looking back at him with eyes slightly wide, something like a smile forming on his face. When Sungchan sees the confusion on Wonbin’s face, that’s when he speaks up and says, “You said it.”

That only confuses him more. “Said what?”

“That I’m your soulmate.” The smile is fully formed now. There are still traces of his turmoil from minutes before, but it’s not nearly strong enough to overpower the smile. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before.”

“Um. Have I not?” He suddenly feels his face go warm. It was warm before, but it’s hot now. He’ll just blame it on the summer temperatures, even if they’re in England. “Well. That’s what you are. So.”

“Yeah.” Sungchan tries biting on his lip to suppress his smile, but it doesn’t work. The fact that it doesn’t is sending Wonbin’s heart in disarray. “Thanks, Wonbin. I’ll see you in Spa.”

That’s two weeks away. He really doesn’t know how he’s going to survive. “Yeah. See you in Spa.”

They wave goodbye, and Wonbin does allow himself to look back, just this once. He finds the sight of Sungchan turned to him, his black race suit tied around his waist and full broad back on display so heart wrenching, he might just throw up. He wants to say— I don’t want to leave you, I don’t want to not see you for two weeks, take me back to your place in Monaco, please, please, please.

Unfortunately, the dial on the machine is turned all the way to the left.

Still. Over three-fourths of soulmate pairings are romantic. Wonbin might just be willing to take those chances.

Aside from the Sungchan thing, Wonbin is feeling quite incredible these days.

He’s performing well, even if the car is the third fastest on the grid. All his training is going to plan. Sohee has no notes for him, not on his technique, not on his form, not on anything. His team principal is very happy with his performance. More and more, the Tifosi are starting to warm up to him, and claim him as their own. ‘Pantera nera’ and everything. He made the front page on all kinds of Italian newspapers the day after Canada, and on his podiums since. The wider motorsport community is starting to warm up to him, too — They’re starting to see where his talent lies. Now that his soulmate bond with Sungchan is much better (that is, much quieter), he’s performing great. A year ago, this would be all he could ever ask for, aside from winning the championship, of course.

The only thing that he doesn’t feel so great about is Sungchan. Not about Sungchan as a person (or his, cough, feelings for him), but rather the fact that— His races have been effectively f*cked over the past three races, including the fact that he didn’t win Canada. Wonbin won Canada. No one has ownership over a circuit, winner takes all, yes, but he can’t help but feel like—

Hey, Wonbin.

If he gets startled by Sungchan’s sudden interjection into his thoughts, he wouldn’t ever admit it. Yeah?

Sounding dead serious, Sungchan asks, Don’t you think it’s insane how Donald Duck never wears pants? Like, Mickey and Minnie do, so does Goofy, how come he never does? That doesn’t make any sense.

He blinks. Then, he grins from ear to ear.

It’s crazy just how much life has gotten better ever since I let you into it. Who would’ve thought that you could’ve become the light of my life like this? Yes, I do think it’s quite insane.

Now that I think about it, Daisy also doesn’t. That’s just so— Uncouth. Sungchan is giggling, he can hear it, when he adds, Hey, you’re laughing!

He is. Sorry. Can’t help it.

He can tell Sungchan is smiling by the way he says, I’m leading very serious discussions about the pants wear of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse over here.

He rolls his eyes and tries not to think about how badly he wishes he could hear Sungchan’s voice in person, and not five rooms away. Yes, professor. I’m listening.

Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me, alright? He’s still smiling, he can tell. He never knew just how much he could hear a smile in a person’s voice until he met Sungchan, and subsequently had him barge into his head, and into his life. I’ll bounce back. Just enjoy your victories and your podiums for now, because sooner rather than later, I’ll come to snatch it up. Trust me.

He widens his eyes in realisation. Ah, yes. Volume. Embarrassing.

Volume. He’s got that kind of smile where a person could see his bunny teeth out on full display. You’ve gotten better at it, though. Sometimes, I do miss your Ferrari monologues.

Piss off.

It’s true.

Sure, it is.

Suit yourself.

He thinks of the machine, and turns it all the way down. There is something to be said about having a crush on your soulmate, and just being happy to hear their voice. He likes that Sungchan’s voice is soft and smooth, and that lilt in it he gets when he’s excited. He likes the distant sound of Sungchan’s voice when he accidentally wakes him up in the middle of the night, and he likes falling back asleep to it too.

In an effort to get to hear more of Sungchan’s voice, he (and he does this in a very careful and cool, boyish way) asks, So. Um, what have you been doing these days?

It’s been three days since he last saw him. Fortunately for him, Sungchan falls into the trap like clockwork. Well, Eunseok and I have been—

Turns out, Wonbin doesn’t have to worry about not seeing Sungchan for two weeks. It’s more like one. Still torturous, yes, but not as excruciatingly long.

After a few days of just talking about nothing and everything (You know, I’ve never really liked chocolate that much. Really? Me neither), they both arrive at Spa on Monday, days before they have to do any team related obligations. What’s there to do in Spa? A lot, as it turns out.

Wonbin is quickly getting better at Rocket League, despite the fact that Sungchan is still beating his ass in every which way. They go out to the local cafes for lunch and the local restaurants for dinner, and they take more than one photo with fans on the streets. On Tuesday, they take a spontaneous day trip to Brussels and usually, Wonbin hates things like this. He hates going somewhere with no plans. He wants something clear-cut and definitive.

However, the sight of Sungchan looking at the Belgian countryside in awe on the train to there and back made up for it. So. There’s that.

(Speaking of Sungchan and his eyes, sometimes he catches Sungchan looking at him, and for a moment, just for a moment— He wants to believe that there is something there. He wants there to be a deeper reason for Sungchan to want to keep talking to him, and to arrive earlier than what he had originally planned, and to look at him like that. When he sees just how Sungchan looks at a fan that asked for their picture on the streets of Brussels, however, he gets reminded of the fact that… Sungchan is just like that. He is in love with everybody. He does his best to avoid Sungchan’s eyes after that. Otherwise, he’ll start thinking about silly things again.)

When the race weekend actually rolls around, Sungchan still makes an effort to carve out time to hang out with Wonbin around the paddock. They arrive on media day together. The pictures of them arriving and together around the paddock ended up on Wonbin’s social media feed later that night.

He stares at the photos carefully. There’s a smile on Wonbin’s face in the photos, all of them, and for the first time, he finds that he doesn’t hate it. There’s a similar smile on Sungchan’s, and he finds that he really enjoys the feeling of making Sungchan smile.

He saves all the photos, then they go into his Hidden folder.

FP1: So far so good. A bit of understeer going into t7, but I think I can fix that during the next practice session. The straights are a bit sh*t but fast enough in the corners to make up for it. Its not that bad anyway. I don’t think my crush on Sungchan is going away.

FP2: Understeer still not completely fixed but straights are much better. And that’s terrifying. It is so scary to feel them becoming more and more real by the second, and not being able to do anything about it.

FP3: Did a bit of a setup change that would optimise quali better, but it felt worse. Changing it back to the one from yesterday. Hoping for the best. Pole position!!!!!!! It’s even scarier to know that I can only think about it when I’m writing about it, because even though I’ve gotten so much better at controlling myself and being quiet, I know if I think about it otherwise, it’s strong enough that he’ll know.

Quali: P2!!! Best lap was in Q2 (1.42.56), but still. JSC P4. Yunho P3. Disappointed its not a pole, but if I get my head in the game… I could win. He will know. I don't want him to know. I’m not sure if I ever want him to know. f*ck my life I guess

The night before the race, Shotaro calls him. He has to put the phone away from his face as soon as he picks it up because he is screaming absolute nonsense into his ear. He yells back, “Shotaro, Shotaro, calm down, calm down!”

He can’t help but be concerned. Was he in an accident? Is he stranded somewhere? Was he just kidna—

“You and Sungchan!” Oh, brother. “The photos. The photos. Wonbin, this is huge.” He honestly sounds out of breath. That’s a little funny. “How are you not screaming about this? Hello? Did you even see the way he looked at you?”

He shrugs, “Well. I was there. What do you think?”

“Oh, quit being smart!” He holds the phone away from his face for a moment just to laugh. When he puts it back to his ear, he hears Shotaro ask, “Well? What are you gonna do?”

Okay. Clearly whatever book they’re sharing, they’re on completely different pages of it. “What do you mean, what am I gonna do? There’s something to do?”

He groans very loudly on the other end of the line, “Oh, you are useless. Absolutely useless.” Well, that’s not very helpful, is it? “I mean, are you gonna confess how you feel?”

He would like to imagine it as rose-coloured as possible: pink petals, their initials carved into a tree, kisses and hugs and flowers. He’d like for it to be simple. He would like for him to tell Sungchan he has feelings for him, and then for Sungchan to take his face into his hands and kiss him senseless. Feelings are complicated, but he doesn’t want anything like that in the case he confesses his feelings. It makes him nervous and warm just thinking about it. Realistically, however— He doesn’t know if that would actually happen. Yes, soulmates can be romantic, yes, Sungchan likes men, but that doesn’t have to mean anything. This doesn’t have to mean anything. “Um. I’m not going to?”

“You’re not going to?” He actually sounds— Confused. Almost a little disappointed. That, in itself, is confusing. “Why not? I think he likes you, too.”

He sees how Sungchan looks at him. He’s aware of where they stand. He has the video of them drunk and celebrating burned into his eyelids. He knows it’s a possibility, but the bigger possibility is this: He saw the way he looked at Shotaro on the plane, and he remembers everything Sungchan said during the Miami afterparty too well. Far too well. He knows Miami was months ago, but it’s still too fresh in his mind, and it implicates everything but Sungchan feeling the same about him. “Well. I don’t know about that.”

Shotaro is quiet and awkward on the other end of the line. He diverts to talking about how excited he is for Spa, and Wonbin has always been much better at that. Racing is all he knows, and it will most likely stay that way. Forever.

He never said that he was happy about that, but that’s just the way things are, sometimes.

They arrive together on race day. It’s not super planned or intentional, he just woke up that morning to the sound of Sungchan’s voice asking, Hey, are you awake? Do you wanna go to the track together?

And, well. Wonbin is just a boy with some feelings that are hard to keep quiet about. So, of course, he answered, Yeah, sure. We can go together.

The pictures of them arriving on track together are uploaded onto Instagram about five minutes after they enter the paddock. Also at the same time, Shotaro starts blowing up his phone. He puts it on silent and goes about his day.

Spa is a favourite all around the board for a reason. It’s fun. It’s amazing.

It used to be fifteen kilometres before the revisions and now it’s seven kilometres, but it still remains to be the longest track on the calendar. The Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps is all trees and elevation, a sharp contrast from the more recent and less popular street circuits, and its high-speed corners. The most famous is the sequence leading directly out from La Source, often referred to simply as Eau Rouge, though it consists of the right-hand turn called Raidillon that leads uphill over a blind crest into the Kemmel Straight, also. A modern car takes these corners flat-out at two hundred miles per hour.

Its mix of long straights and challenging fast corners allows for drivers to truly test the capabilities of not only their cars, but themselves. The track has been Wonbin’s favourite since he began racing in F2, and the only reason he’s never said it in interviews is because he’s Ferrari-raised. The Tifosi have been kinder to him since he’s won Canada, but he’s still not nearly as loved as he would like to be.

That goes for a lot of different areas in his life, all of which he would like to improve. He doesn’t take pole position, but he does take P2. He thinks he could work with that.

RADIO TRANSCRIPT — BELGIAN GP, JULY 27th, 2025

RIZZO: We won it! Fantastic job. Absolutely brilliant job out there today! Congratulations! [VARIOUS CHEERING IN THE BACKGROUND]

PARK: Oh, my f*cking radio button wasn’t on!

RIZZO: [LAUGHING] That’s alright.

PARK: Well, I was just screaming anyway! Thank you! Thank you guys! Thank you so much. Grazie, grazie. Forza f*cking Ferrari. Sempre!

RIZZO: Te lo meritavi. Te lo meritavi davvero. Un lavoro incredibile. Congratulazioni, Wonbin.

PARK: Minchia! f*ck. Jesus. Grazie alla squadra. Grazie. Incredibile. Cazzo!

He is shaking and bursting with adrenaline all the way to the podium. He was barely able to keep his hands still in parc ferme, or when he was getting weighed, or in the cooldown room. Shotaro and Yeji were very lively in the cooldown room, trying to get Wonbin to engage in their talk too, but all he could think was — He’s really here for the second time. Parked in the middle, sitting in the middle of the cooldown room, and standing in the middle of the podium, listening to the Italian anthem.

He can’t believe it. He is so, so happy, he could just—

You’re beautiful.

Huh? He looks for the sound of the voice, until he realises that it’s Sungchan. His eyes scan the crowd, until he sees him — Standing somewhere off to the side of the podium, looking up at him, smiling. He was P4, and he still made sure to attend the podium celebration. He doesn’t know how he pulled that off. All the air instantly gets knocked out of his lungs. What did you say?

He repeats, You’re really beautiful. Sungchan sounds like he can’t believe his own words, the fact that he’s really saying them. He sounds desperate and alive. He’s still smiling at him. When you’re winning, and you’re on that top step.

Oh. He can’t breathe. Thank you.

Sungchan sounds a little breathless himself when he responds back, Yeah. You’re welcome. He looks away.

Wonbin gets too drowned in champagne by his race engineer and Shotaro to be able to process anything else.

2025 BELGIAN GRAND PRIX

25 - 27 July 2025

Technical Delegate’s Report

After the race of the Belgian GP, car number 7 (Park Wonbin) was randomly chosen among the top ten cars for more extensive physical inspections. Subject to these physical inspections was the steering wheel with internal electronics, connected wiring looms and software. All inspected components were found to be in compliance with the 2025 Formula One Technical Regulations.

Jo Bauer

The FIA Formula One Technical Delegate

Wonbin’s face hasn’t stopped burning since he got off the podium, nor can he stop thinking about Sungchan saying You’re really beautiful, nor can he stop thinking about Barcelona, 2019. “Wonbin, you’re so pretty. I’m talking about— Your long hair. Your eyes. Your lips. Sometimes, you look like a girl. You’re so pretty. It confuses me. You being pretty is not nonsense. You look so pretty gulping the wine down — Even though I know you think it’s so bitter and awful. You’re doing it for me, I think. You’re so beautiful. I’ll show you.”

Six years separates us from now and then. So, tell me. Is beautiful just your favourite word with everyone, or is it your favourite word when it comes to me?

You think I’m pretty. You think I’m beautiful. You think I look so pretty, gulping down your wine. You got happy when I called you my soulmate. You wanted this to work. You looked so relieved when you told me you like men, and I said I have no problem with that. You got bothered by Yunho, and not just in a performance precedent way, but in a me way. You fed me a shot in Canada. You always get so touchy with me when you’re drunk. I’ve seen the other videos of you getting drunk — You never touched their shoulders, or creeped your hands underneath their shirt, or allowed them to sit with you, thigh to thigh.

You think I’m pretty.

When Sohee makes him an ice bath after the race, he summerges not only his whole body, but his face too. To no one’s surprise, his face doesn’t get any cooler.

Sungchan starts acting weird around him afterwards. While that would hurt in any other situation (and it still does in this one), he finds that in this one, it only makes Wonbin suspect him even further.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. At the end of the day, humans will only serve their best interest, and Wonbin’s best interest is to protect himself and his own heart, always. However, the signs and the stars are all aligning up just a little too perfectly. Just a little bit, but enough to make even Wonbin suspicious, and that’s quite hard to do.

He turns the dial all the way down.

There’s the way Sungchan keeps having an issue of keeping his thoughts quiet lately, and when Wonbin does hear them, they sound like a nervous mess of all the different languages Sungchan knows. He sounds restless. He sounds nervous. He even sounds a little embarrassed. There’s the way Sungchan keeps getting… scared when he realises Wonbin is there. Even when they’re hanging out on their own in Wonbin or Sungchan’s hotel room, he seems to suddenly forget that Wonbin is there and he surprises him, every time. Clearly, there’s something he’s hiding, even if they’re not— Feelings. For someone. For Wonbin.

The truth is: The concept is very difficult to grasp. When he tries to think about what it would look like, concretely, for them to mutually have feelings for each other, he can’t seem to make any sense of it. Wonbin, Sungchan, feelings. Me, you, in love. The words can’t seem to go together. They don’t seem to make any sense. He can’t understand it.

Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s never dated anyone before. What is he supposed to expect out of a romantic relationship, really? All the things that he can think of are the things that they do already. Hang out, talk, touch. They do that. What would make it different then? Sungchan kissing him? He did that already, though. A long time ago, sure, but he did it.

Maybe the difference is in the quantity and frequency. They already hang out a lot, but maybe it would be every day instead of every other. Right. Sungchan would invite him back to his apartment, and not just his hotel if they were dating. Wonbin would invite him back to Maranello, too. He’d have to pray to every God above that no Ferrari employee snitches on him, but he would still do it anyway. They talk every day, but maybe they’d be talking about different things. Boundaries, feelings, all the mushy-gushy stuff that Wonbin hates. Usually. He hasn’t experienced it for himself. Maybe if he did, he wouldn’t hate it so much.

And— Sungchan wouldn’t just kiss him once. He’d kiss him multiple times. Every day. He would— He would do more than just kissing, too.

Well. Maybe this dating thing isn’t so bad. Maybe. He hasn’t experienced it for himself, and he’s not sure if he ever will, but he’d like to hope. He’d like to dream about it just a little longer.

The Hungaroring is a twisty, technical track with many 180-degree corners and few overtaking zones, meaning that qualifying is crucial, and so is undercutting. It has sixteen turns and it’s 4.381km long, a race being seventy laps. It’s Monaco without the barriers.

Maximum speed, eighth gear. Going into Turn 1, it’s a tight hairpin that requires hard, late braking and yet a clean exit. It falls downhill into Turn 3, a 180-degree left which is far too easy to f*ck up, especially with the straight that comes afterwards. Off camber. Turn 4 is more of an extension to the straight than a corner, really. Open the wheel. Uphill to Turn 6, it’s fast, blind on entry, and the apex is difficult to catch. Turn 7 is another long, 180-degree corner. The kerbs need to be utilised in Turns 8 and 9 in order to maximise corner speed. High speed. Turns 10 through 13 are the most fun, but also the most easy to f*ck up. Out of Turn 14, it’s easy to want to speed up here, but in the case he speeds up, he runs the risk of going wide, and no one wants that. After that, it’s another long 180-degree right onto the start-finish straight.

It’s also how Wonbin gets his second pole position. He hadn’t even noticed until his race engineer and team principal were congratulating him over the radio.

The Hungaroring is a track with little overtaking opportunities. Qualifying is important. This is the last race before the summer break, and Wonbin may even walk away into the summer break with three wins.

It’s almost too good to be true.

Sometimes, it’s good to listen to your gut instinct. Maybe if something is too good to be true — It’s probably because it’s too good to be f*cking true.

Wonbin didn't win the Hungarian Grand Prix. Yeji did. It’s her first win this entire season, and therefore the first Red Bull win that isn’t Shotaro. He does his absolute best to be happy for her, showering her with champagne on the podium, but it’s hard, especially knowing it’s not her fault. She just happened to be smart about it, and the Ferrari strategists just happened to go out for a drink at the same time, it seems. She won because of Red Bull’s good strategy calls, and that’s fair and square.

He still can’t help but feel so— Angry. This anger is familiar, but it still overtakes him completely like before. This is a track where qualifying is important, and he got it. He got pole position. He had the skills and the position to lead his angel over the finish line first, but finds that maybe his team doesn’t care about his angel nearly as much as he does.

It’s so hard, believing in something that doesn’t believe in you half as much. It’s hard driving an angel, and not being a perfect angel himself. It’s hard driving for Ferrari, and not being a Ferrari driver. All of this is so difficult. He hasn’t been so angry since Monaco, and that was nearly three months ago. It’s hard being angry, because anger is a burdensome emotion. It often doesn’t lead to any good, and it only makes Wonbin look like a fool.

He is trying to hold onto the bits of childhood dreams he still has in palms, the idea that Ferrari are a perfect team and all he has to do is drive perfectly in order to win. The idea that he will win a championship with this team, and the idea that this team is starting to choose him too, and not just Wonbin choosing Ferrari over, and over, and over again.

He has red wings. He’s starting to question if they’re dyed that way naturally, or through blood splatter. Though, blood is only natural. Maybe they are one and the same.

When he sees Sungchan in the paddock afterwards, he thinks about how he hugged him both after his first pole position in Barcelona, and his first win in Canada. Maybe the hug has become a placebo, a sensation he can only associate with feeling good. Feeling amazing. He wants to feel better, and he doesn’t want to be angry anymore.

Misery loves company. Sungchan got just as badly f*cked over in strategy, and he should’ve been on the podium with Wonbin too, but he ended up in P6 instead. He doesn’t know if he heard him and his thoughts, or if this was just an original idea, but as soon as they see each other, Sungchan opens up his arms.

My life has been much better since I allowed you into it. Properly into it. Not just in the sense of crashing into you, but accepting you as a full person with your full needs. I want to comfort you. I want to tell you that it’ll be just fine. It’s not your fault. I want to kiss you just as badly as I did when you hugged me the last time.

He falls into Sungchan’s arms easily. The last time, they had helmets on. This time, they don’t have anything much but their race suits. When he wraps his arms around Sungchan’s neck, he’s not able to miss the bright red colour of his race suit in his peripheral, and that serves enough to deter him from doing anything stupid.

You still drive for Scuderia Ferrari, and you still have a duty to complete. There are still cameras lurking around every corner, ready to catch you. If you do anything stupid, you won’t get to complete the thing you’re here for, and then what will you be? Forever empty, and wanting, and completely hollow. Sungchan can’t fill the hole in your heart, no matter how hard he tries.

Still, they stay like that for a long moment. Sungchan sighs into his hair, tightens his hold around Wonbin’s waist. How is that not enough? How is this not enough? ‘I did not understand why the FIA banned interdriver soulmate bonds. I always thought of it as silly, because of course. Of course, we could make this work for us. Of course, because we have always made this work for us. I will always see him as the boy I grew up with, my dear friend through karting, but this—’

Sungchan pulls back, and so does Wonbin. They both take at least three steps back, and the illusion is shattered. “Um…” Sungchan looks nervous. He’s seen him nervous before, but never to this extent. Almost instantly, the alarm bells in Wonbin’s head start ringing so loudly he’s a little afraid even Sungchan will hear them. “Do you have any plans over the break?”

He finds the question a bit strange, but he answers honestly. “Uhhh… Not really.” Last year, he spent a week in Shotaro’s apartment in Monaco, and they had a lot of fun. Otherwise, he didn’t do anything special. He trained a lot and shopped for a lot of clothes in Rome and Milan on a weekend trip, but that’s about it. “Probably would have just stayed with Shotaro after he comes back from— The Carribeans, or something. Why?”

The tension isn’t releasing in Sungchan’s shoulders. “Uh.”

Wonbin rolls his eyes. He’s never been a fan of beating around the bush. “Out with it already.”

“Wouldyouliketostaywithmeinstead?” Huh? It comes out too fast for Wonbin to understand what he’s saying. Sungchan clears his throat and tries again, “Um. Well. I was just going to ask if. If you would like to stay with me instead. At my apartment. In Monaco. I uh. I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“Oh.” He’s really praying that his face isn’t burning too much. “Um. I’ll think about it?” He thinks about his wish back in Silverstone. ‘Take me back to your place in Monaco, please, please, please.’ He didn’t possibly hear that, did he? And even if he did, that was just a product of Wonbin being dumb and lovesick. He meant it, but he didn’t mean it. Does that even make any sense? “It’s just— Kind of a lot. Wouldn’t I be inconveniencing you?”

“No!” He clears his throat for the second time in two minutes. A record. “Uh. Not at all. I mean, I’m the one asking you to stay.”

“Ooookay.” He thinks about the relief he felt when Shotaro told him last year that he’s going to Majorca first and then he’s coming back to Monaco. “Um. Well, I’m not going to lie, I kinda just want a week to myself, but—” He sees the disappointment instantly flash on Sungchan’s face, and he just can’t help himself. “After. I can stay after that.”

“Okay.” He pulls his hands out in front of him. Wonbin can still tell he’s a little disappointed, but not as much as the prospect of Wonbin not coming at all, so. “Yeah. After.” Against all logic, he even asks, “When does summer break start again?”

He answers, feeling a bit awkward and somehow disappointed himself, “Um. Tomorrow? August 4th.”

Sungchan pursues his lips. “Right.”

“Okay.” He points over his shoulder, “I’m gonna—”

He’s overcompensating by enthusiastically waving too much at Wonbin, and then once he realises that could be seen as he’s happy to see Wonbin go, he puts his hands behind his back. “Yeah! Yeah. Um. See you.”

He nods, unable to say anything else. “Yes.”

Looks like the longest season in the history of Formula One extends to his summer holidays, too. And it’s only three weeks. f*cking hell.

In all honesty, Wonbin has no idea why he asked for a week by himself. This is mental torture.

All week, he’s been ready to jump out of his skin at any moment, thinking about what lies ahead of him the week after. It honestly sounds like a rumour a particularly pressured reporter made up to stir some drama and meet their quota — Ferrari’s Park Wonbin stays with Mercedes’ Jung Sungchan at his Monaco home over the summer break. Is there a potential bromance brewing?

Really, Wonbin has tried to keep a level head about his — quiet — feelings for Sungchan, and he’s done a pretty okay job of doing so at least this far, despite all the pestering he’s gotten from Shotaro about it. Yes, he got his hopes up when he realised Sungchan likes men, but he quickly shoved that down and tried to continue to behave normally. Semi- normally. Yes, he knows now that Sungchan likes men. Yes, Sungchan knows that Wonbin knows he likes men. Yes, they both certainly are more than aware that it doesn’t have to mean anything. He’s also pretty certain that Sungchan doesn’t know that— Wonbin likes men, too. It’s still quite a difficult thing to come face to face with, even though he accepted it years ago.

The entire first week, he spends most of his time working out. He knows that it’s summer break and even Sohee told him to chill out with it when he texted him about his progress and suggestions on meal plans, but he can’t help it. He tries to play video games, the ones on his phone, and his mind eventually wanders to Sungchan’s face. He tries to read a book for a change, and his mind wanders off within the first two paragraphs. He tries to go shopping for clothes online, but keeps thinking about what would look good for Sungchan instead. Long legs, wide shoulders, perfect frame. Certainly, stylists must be delighted when they get him for a photoshoot. He tries to watch his previous races and onboards to try and see where he could improve some more, and his mouse magically seems to hover over Sungchan’s onboards instead. It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it?

He’s just too nervous. He can’t calm down. After years of doing it, he’s starting to find working out quite boring, but at least there’s no opportunity for him to think about anything at all when his muscles are screaming at him after a ten kilometre run or an hour on the stairmaster. Maranello is much quieter now as a lot of Ferrari employees have gone on vacation, either to Monaco or to Croatia or to other parts of Italy, and his morning runs have been quite nice. Sometimes, he tries to take a walk instead, but then he thinks about how he will stay with Sungchan at his home in Monaco and be alone, uninterrupted, and together the entire time.

He usually starts running about five minutes in. That’s being generous, of course. It’s more like two.

Sungchan is quiet on the other line, and if he’s not quiet, he’s usually thinking in German or Korean, most of which Wonbin can’t understand a single lick of. They talk sometimes, but it’s impersonal and certainly avoiding the Big Bad between them. Even Sungchan sounds a bit— Nervous. He’s always been a bit nervous around him lately, ever since Spa really, but it seems that even Sungchan can’t avoid the Implications. How often do drivers spend their summer break with each other? Certainly, not often.

One morning, he’s feeling a bit… Experimental. Experimental is a really good word for it. In the middle of his run, he pauses and takes out his phone. He opens up his front camera, and despite any of the usual reservations he has about taking photos when it’s not for a Ferrari PR photoshoot, he decides to snap a picture anyway. Sweat glistening down his neck in the morning sun, lips in a slight pout, his tank top allowing his collarbones and shoulders, that kind of thing.

He uploads it onto his Instagram with only a star emoji covering a licence plate in the background, and adds the random Michael Jackson song he was listening to while he was running. He posts it and thinks nothing of it. It takes a minute to do from start to finish. He continues with his run, and Sungchan is quiet the entire time.

The moment he starts speaking, not to Wonbin, is when he gets home twenty minutes later. It’s a bunch of German and Korean smashed together in a way that doesn’t make any sense. He sounds flustered. He sounds like he’s completely unaware that he’s loud to the point of Wonbin hearing him. The problem is that Sungchan is usually pretty good about keeping his volume down.

He’s still going on about it when Wonbin gets out of the shower. He’s still going on about it when he goes back to his bed. It’s ten in the morning, and Sungchan can’t stop thinking about something so schön and 예쁜 and süß. Wonbin has his face smushed into his pillow, listening to Human Nature by Michael Jackson on full volume, face burning.

Who knew summer break could be so excruciatingly long?

Sungchan tries convincing Wonbin that he’ll buy the plane tickets for him, but he insists on taking his car to Monaco anyway.

He says it’s because he doesn’t get many opportunities to drive his BMW M3, but it’s mostly because he’s a race car driver. Driving is a relaxing activity for him when it’s not on a circuit, believe it or not. It’s only 452 kilometres, anyway. That’s basically about two-thirds of a race, but way slower. It’s great, and driving in the Italian countryside is even better.

Ultimately, it gives him something to do for the entire time instead of staring up at the ceiling of the aeroplane and praying to God to calm his nerves down. He listens to music on full volume, windows down, and tries not to look into the part of his rear view mirror where he can see all of his suitcases. His suitcases remind him of where he’s going, and that’s no good. Even if he is willingly going there.

The truth is, he’s nervous. He’s incredibly nervous. He told Shotaro about it and after sending him paragraphs of key smashes, he kept sending him lines and lines of the eyes emoji. There are implications here. His heart can only calm down when he forgets about where he’s going, but as soon as he sees the border patrol and tells them he’s going to Monaco to visit a friend, his heart is all kinds of f*cked up again. (One of the border patrol officers recognizes him and, against all professionality, asks for a picture. He gets out of the car and takes one anyway. The Tifosi have a better view of him now, but still not the greatest that it could be, so any fans that he does have, he plans on keeping.)

From there, it’s less than an hour to Sungchan’s apartment complex. He gets a little lost and debates on asking Sungchan for help, but decides against it. (It might have been his tactic to prolong the drive and therefore he can keep delaying the moment he actually has to get confronted with the consequences of his actions. Particularly the one where he said yes to staying at his crush’s apartment, alone, and for weeks. God.)

Hey, Sungchan. With his car right outside of the gates of his apartment complex, he sends, Uh. I’m here.

I told the security guard you’ll be coming, so just say your name and you should be fine. He sounds just as nervous, and that does make Wonbin feel better. I uh. I’m in the garage, waiting for you. So. You can park right next to my car.

Okay. He’s ‘waiting for him.’ That’s the same brand of tender as ‘in another universe.’ They can’t seem to escape any kind of implications, it seems.

Well. There are a lot of implications when it comes to the prospect of being soulmates in and of itself, so. Wonbin is quietly reciting the statistics to himself (Over three fourths of soulmate pairings are romantic. Out of those who are romantic, a third of them become romantic at some point during their lives, but break up. Twenty-three percent get back together only to break up again. Ten percent never get back together), and pulls up to the security checkpoint.

This has got to be the most uncomfortable experience of his entire life, and that’s saying something.

First comes the fact that Wonbin somehow managed to drop one corner of his suitcase on Sungchan’s foot, which is harrowing enough on its own. He’s fine, but he was very clearly in a bit of pain lugging two of Wonbin’s smaller suitcases up the stairs, so there’s that. Second is the failed lines of conversation that go absolutely nowhere (So uh. What have you been doing over the summer break so far? Uh. Nothing?). Third is the fact that they are awkward. Just so awkward. They are both so obviously nervous and neither know how to dispel it.

(Part of the reason might be because upon seeing Sungchan for the first time after a week apart, one of Wonbin’s first thoughts is— Holy sh*t. What the f*ck. How have you gotten hotter when you only spent one week out in the sun. What the hell. This is not fair. He does look gorgeous, though. That’s not Wonbin’s fault.)

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Uh. The guest room has its own bathroom.” Ah. Somehow, he’s forgotten that Sungchan is a multi-millionaire. It honestly might be impressive that he has. “Yeah. The apartment has two bedrooms and three bathrooms, so.”

An apartment with two bedrooms and three bathrooms. Just wonderful. Somehow he keeps forgetting that Monaco is Rich People Central and Sungchan is, indeed, one of those Rich People. Well. Sungchan has always been one of the richer ones in the karting and junior series, but Wonbin’s not quite sure he’s ever been this rich.

When he realises that he’s still just standing in the middle of the living room, suitcase in hand, he tries his best to walk back into the guest room as smoothly as possible — Which is to say, speed walking and hitting his knee on the bottom of his suitcase in the process.

He does have to take a moment to just take in the guest room when he walks into it. The guest room is better prepared than when Ferrari gave him the keys to his Maranello apartment, which is saying a lot, since Wonbin thought that was fancy enough. He has a vanity, a walk-in closet, a king-sized bed, a mini-fridge stocked with water and all kinds of protein shakes and smoothies, and when he walks into the bathroom, the shower rack is stocked from head to toe in toiletries so fancy Wonbin hasn’t even seen the brand names before.

There’s a note on the bathroom counter. It’s in Sungchan’s handwriting, all small and lumped together, reading, Hope I got everything u need. There’s more stuff I bought for you in the kitchen fridge that’s not in your mini-fridge. I didn't know what brands of shampoo you liked, so I got a lot, and there’s some basic skincare in the bathroom drawers. As for alcohol, I have a cellar so you can just ask if you want to drink. I think that’s all. If you have any questions, you can just ask me. I hope you have a nice stay. :-) -SC-

Wonbin is so overwhelmed with affection that he has to take the coldest shower on the planet just so he can feel like he’s a normal temperature, and not a walking human volcano.

(He does also keep the note, stuffed away in one of his suitcase pockets.)

Wonbin wakes up three hours later. He checks his phone to see that it’s just past five in the afternoon. Great. Not his fault Sungchan’s guest room bed is just this comfortable. This has to be Egyptian cotton or something. Or maybe he was just too tired from driving for five hours straight, even if driving is his job. Whatever.

He finds the main thing that woke him up outside the room — The noise, and above all else the smell, coming from the kitchen. When he walks out, still sleepy and a little bit sweaty from his nap, he finds Sungchan in the kitchen, back turned to him. When Sungchan hears him approaching, that’s when he turns around.

“Hey. Good morning.” He’s smiling. That’s a better start, for sure. “I’ve made dinner. It’s nothing much, just some pasta, but should fill you up enough right?”

Wonbin has spent the past seven days doing nothing but working out. He hasn’t had a single ‘cheat’ day, and he’s been eating mostly nothing but egg whites, chicken breast, oatmeal and greens. He usually likes keeping his form even throughout summer and winter break, and the pasta Sungchan just made probably has way too many calories and carbs than what Wonbin would like usually. Sohee would be ecstatic that he’s finally eating something other than what’s laid out for him in the diet plan, but Wonbin wouldn’t be able to share the same sentiment. “Yeah. I’ll grab a plate, thank you.”

Sungchan looks far too pleased with himself.

When they both sit down and eat, the awkward air surrounding them continues. Wonbin almost has the thought of packing up all his things and leaving in the middle of the night, but he deems that far too cruel. He’s gone all this way, he might as well stay. Sungchan is halfway done with his plate and Wonbin’s a quarter done with his when Sungchan says, “Do you want to go out on the yacht after this?”

Wonbin nearly drops his fork. “You have a yacht?”

“Yeah. I own it myself, I don’t rent or anything.” At least he has half the shame to let his cheeks burn a bit red at that. “It’s not like one of those mega yachts you’re thinking of, that’s not really my thing. It’s a smaller one. Fit for only a few people.”

He doesn’t know why that brings him a sense of relief. “Oh, well. Yeah. Sure. I’d love to.” He picks some of the pasta up, and right before it goes into his mouth he adds, “Never been on a yacht before.”

“Well, it’s just a fancy boat. So you’ll be fine.” He smiles. “Plus, the weather’s nice and it’s gonna be absolutely beautiful out there with the sunset and everything.”

The word ‘beautiful’ has become much like a sleeper agent for both of them. He’s about to comment that yeah, that does sound nice, when he processes what Sungchan just said. It’s the same moment that Sungchan also processes what he just said.

They eat in silence for the rest of the dinner.

Being out on the yacht is actually really, really nice. If Maranello wasn’t so far away from land, maybe Wonbin would consider getting his own yacht once he has enough money, too.

Sungchan turns around to him from his place at the steering wheel, Or you could just use your soulmate’s yacht?

Ah. He coughs into his hand, Volume.

Sungchan smiles at him, Volume.

Is this what you do all day? Drive around on your fancy yacht?

Look me dead in the eye and tell me this isn’t relaxing. Sungchan doesn’t turn back around, and Wonbin suddenly decides to look out at the water instead of the back of Sungchan’s neck for once. That’s what I thought.

Whatever. He sticks his hand out into the water, and it’s cold. That’s good. He needs something to distract him from spending all his time just staring at Sungchan’s back, broad and barely covered by the stupid expensive blouse he’s wearing. He needs something to distract him from the view of Sungchan’s suntan skin and the fact that none of the buttons at the top of his shirt are buttoned up, and the fact that he saw a tan line right above where Sungchan’s boxers rest on his hips.

He’s thinking about machines and the ocean, the pure antithesis of one another. If he dropped his machine into the ocean, it wouldn’t be able to adapt, too full of saltwater to function. It couldn’t carve gills into its neck, or find a pocket of oxygen somewhere, or float to the top, not like other species do. It would just sink down to the seafloor. It would just die.

His machine is the only thing that’s still keeping him quiet. Otherwise, how would he survive being in the presence of Sungchan like this? His heartbeat is loud enough. Too loud, in fact.

When Sungchan turns around to look at him again, and the setting sun is hitting the side of his face and his hair all in the correct way, and his shirt is doing nothing to conceal his collarbones or even his shoulders, and he is suddenly hit with the very simple fact that— He is here. Every single decision I’ve made led up to crashing into you, and then into sitting here, staring at you like a goddamn fool.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can survive being quiet. Sungchan smiles at him, and Wonbin smiles back, despite himself. He has to hold down the dial of the machine himself, or otherwise he’ll have to risk spilling all his guts out on the sea. He’s just fine with all the fish getting to eat his liver and lungs, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have his heart.

His angel has already taken his blood, and Sungchan has his heart. He doesn’t know how much more he can give until he becomes hollow. He suspects that it’s not much. Not much at all.

Still, Sungchan manages to convince him to go swimming in the morning. Turns out, not many of the people in Monte Carlo want to swim at six-thirty in the morning.

It’s nice. It’s really nice. He does have to ignore Sungchan, shirtless and beautiful, right in front of him for the most part, but it’s nice. The water is lukewarm save for some hot patches, and the sand is pebbly, and not sandy. Usually he’d complain about the pebbles hurting his feet, but he’d rather have that than having sand up every crevice of his body for days after, so. Pebbles it is. He could have gone to one of Italy’s many sandy beaches, white or golden, if it was that much of an issue, but he didn’t. He’s here, in Monaco, swimming in the ocean with his rival/soulmate/crush. Sounds about right.

They spend at least an hour or two swimming, and surprisingly, Wonbin doesn’t get tired of it at all. Not even when Sungchan initiates a water fight between them — which he does win by a landslide, by the way — and not even when he gets breathless from Sungchan wrestling him into the water, despite all his protests. (It’s the moment he realises just how strong Sungchan is. He keeps that information tucked away for later. For what? He doesn’t know.)

They’re not nearly as awkward as they were the day before. Sungchan still smiles at him with that hint of nervousness, but so does Wonbin. Wonbin apologises a million times about not bringing extra clothes and entering Sungchan’s Porsche 911 in his sopping wet swim shorts, but Sungchan insists that it’s fine.

Wonbin will pretend like it doesn’t make his heart race that, according to Sungchan, ruining the passenger seat of his one hundred thousand Euro car with salt water and pebbles is ‘fine.’ The heart does funny things when you have a crush, really.

When they get back to Sungchan’s apartment, both of them still sticky with salt water, the tension from before between them permeates through the air. He doesn’t know why. They were wrestling in the water, more than just close to one another, only forty-five minutes ago. Maybe being in the apartment is a reminder then — That you really asked me to come all this way for you, and I really did come. There’s an implication there.

Sungchan looks like he has something to say. He can see it in his furrowed brows and the way his mouth keeps opening and closing.

He nods stiffly, a little awkward after Sungchan’s third attempt at talking, “Okay.” He turns around, definitely not awkward at all, “Gonna go back to my room now.”

When he turns around, Sungchan moves forward to grab him by his arm. He quickly turns back around, and Sungchan manages to pull him in closer. He looks— Frustrated. Like at any moment, he’s going to break completely. It would be refreshing in a way, knowing that even Sungchan could break apart so easily, but it just proves to be terrifying.

“Wonbin, I– f*ck.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I really don’t know how much longer I can keep quiet about this.”

Wonbin looks at him, and follows the line of his body. He’s trembling and nervous. He’s gorgeous and alive. “...What do you mean?” He thinks he knows, but he asks anyway.

“Wonbin, I—” He licks his lips, a shallow breath leaving him. He can see it in his chest. They’re so close that he feels like all of Sungchan’s emotions are transferring over to Wonbin, skin to skin, heart to heart. He watches Sungchan’s spit-slick lips, plump and red, before he averts his eyes up. Sungchan notices. “I just— I want you so much, I’m making such a fool out of myself, doing all this. It’s really driving me crazy.”

Ah. “Say—” He chokes on his own heart in his throat. “Say that again?”

He stares into his eyes, searching for something meaningful. Searching for a way for them to survive this. “I want you.” There’s a tremble in his voice, but not— Not in an uncertain way. More like he’s so certain about this, the force is making his voice tremble. Sungchan’s hand on his arm is tight, so tight he’s certain there’ll be an angry red mark in the shape of Sungchan’s palm afterwards, before he lets go. “Park Wonbin, I really want you. So much.”

He feels his heart, red and bleeding and all there, pulsing in his chest when he says, “You want me?”

“Yes,” Sungchan swallows. “I do. Everyone wants you.”

He’s not—

He’s not dumb. He’s not completely unaware of what the fans say about him, or how the commentators sometimes try to call him ‘pretty boy’ as an insult, or his general perception. He’s seen the fan edits, he’s gotten all kinds of fake marriage proposals, the marketing team regularly uses his face to their advantage. He’s well aware of everything. Everything. All of that however is just artificial. It’s not real. It’s not genuine and tangible. It’s not right in front of him, panting with desire. It’s not Sungchan.

“But not in the way you do,” Wonbin is hyper aware of the way his saliva is building up in his mouth. His cottonmouth. “You want me, but not like everyone else does.” What he means is, That's terrifying. You know that, right?

Sungchan frowns. The desire to kiss him is so strong, it’s even more terrifying. “What’s so scary about that?”

“I-I—” He can’t seem to find the words. It’s between I can’t believe you want me and I can’t believe anyone wants me. He had a sneaking suspicion that this was the case, that Sungchan really did have feelings for him, but now that he’s confronted with the reality of it and not just his rose-coloured fantasies, it’s hard to believe. It’s difficult to believe that this is real, and actually happening, and there are no secret cameras anywhere ready to record his reaction to an audience of people laughing at him for thinking that someone actually wants him. It’s quite jarring. Being wanted, that is.

His silence only makes Sungchan more worried. His frown furthers, “Is it because I’m a man? Have you never— Y’know, never—”

You know, for someone who’s in my head, you don’t understand what goes on in it about eighty percent of the time. “I’ve never— Full stop. I’ve never.”

His face dawns with realisation. He looks somewhere between mortified and relieved, and he doesn’t know which one it is more. He honestly doesn’t know what goes on in Sungchan’s head eighty percent of the time, either. He certainly didn’t know about… This. He almost wishes he had overheard him just so he wouldn’t be so blindsided now. He wishes he could hear all of Sungchan’s thoughts as he’s standing here, right in front of him, nervous and wanting.

“It’s just so—” A deep breath. He needs it for the expectant eyes, boring into his soul. He whispers, not having the strength to say it any louder, “I always feel like I’m behind you.”

“But you’re not?” He’s so… He wants to say ‘sweet.’ Yes, sweet is the word. “You’re with me, right now. You’re facing me.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He smiles, despite himself, whispering, “You know it’s not.”

He very, very carefully thinks about this as to not spill it over into Sungchan’s head, even though he is so close, so agonisingly close — There are one hundred and seventy days between himself and Sungchan. That translates to five months and seventeen days. An incomplete six months. They are born in different years, yes, but there isn’t a year between them. In those days, the four thousand hours that separated their existence, what happened is this: Sungchan has been racing since 2007, and Wonbin has been racing since 2008. In the seventeen years since then, they’ve shared five seasons together, two of which have been in Formula One, but Sungchan was the first one to arrive there. When Wonbin won F3, Sungchan was in F2 already. Neither of them were able to clinch a title as Prema had major reliability issues in both seasons they were together, but when Wonbin finally won F2, Sungchan was in F1 already. He was the one who was decided to be better suited for F1 then, despite the only five months and seventeen days that separates them.

In Sungchan’s second season of Formula One, after a fantastic rookie year driving for Williams, he got promoted to Mercedes to drive alongside eight time world champion Chung Yunho. After Wonbin’s rookie year at Haas, he also got promoted to Ferrari to drive alongside eight time world champion Chung Yunho. It’s the same, but Sungchan still did it first. At nearly every step of the way, he has been behind Sungchan, and that’s not a matter of opinion but rather fact.

And not only has Sungchan been ahead of him in terms of racing, those one hundred and seventy days between them has somehow also translated into Sungchan losing his virginity before Wonbin. And not only his virginity with a woman, but with a man too. Possibly more than one. Probably more than one. How great!

It’s not hard to see why it’s so easy for Wonbin to feel— Inferior. He feels inferior. Left behind is a better term for it. How is it then, that Sungchan had all this time for relationships and sex and hookups? Did you have more time because you were ahead of me? No, it couldn’t have been, you were so busy because you were ahead of me. Did I have more time that I didn’t know about because I was behind you? But no, I spent so much time trying to catch up to you. And now I’m here. I’m caught up. I’m driving for Scuderia f*cking Ferrari and I’ve won twice, but you’re still ahead of me.

Sure, they got separated in racing because of finances and sponsorships, that makes sense enough. He could accept that as an answer. He couldn’t have afforded F2 nor F1 sooner than when he entered it, sure, whatever, that’s all fine. But how— Just how did they get separated in this area, too? This must be a cruel joke.

And still, he has feelings for Sungchan that are so, so hard to keep quiet about, and yet he does for his sake. For Sungchan’s sake. What do you mean then, ‘you want me?’ That is so— It’s just so—

“Absurd.” He sees the flash of hurt that goes across Sungchan’s face, and quickly tries to fix his mistake. “This is just— I just can’t help but feel like it’s so absurd that this is happening.”

He is still hurt. Understandably so. Wonbin has never been too good with articulating into words what he’s feeling. He’s never used his hands for writing things down, especially not his emotions. He’s always used them for racing. Sungchan half-whispers, “I don’t think having feelings for you is absurd.”

“But how could you—” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. It doesn’t help much. “How could you.”

“Can I show you?” He takes his hand again, gentle this time, and Wonbin has to genuinely fight the urge to pull away. Not because he doesn’t want Sungchan to hold his hand, if anything he really wants him to, but it’s just because he’s not so sure that Sungchan knows what he’s doing. Rather, what he’s implying when he does. “If you don’t believe me, then I should show you how I feel about you.”

Wonbin can’t help the frown on his face. It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s that I do, and that’s terrifying.

It’s easy to believe that Sungchan loves someone. That’s what he does. He loves, and loves, and loves. It would be only harder to believe that he doesn’t love someone, that he actually hates them instead, and there was a moment in time where that’s how he felt about Wonbin. The moment has since passed, and it’s been a long time since it has but— There was a time where Sungchan hated Wonbin. There was a time where he believed that he was ‘annoying, irritating and complicated.’ Where he believed that Wonbin didn’t spend nearly as much effort as Sungchan did.

“The thing is— You… You love everyone.” How can I be so sure then, that you love me? “You’re in love with everybody. You fall in love every day.” I only love you. I can’t love everyone like you do.

Sungchan uses his other hand to place it under Wonbin’s chin and gently guide him to look up. This is a familiar position. The fact that it is only makes Wonbin burn even more. “Wonbin. I don’t just— I don’t just love you because we’re soulmates, and that’s what we’re supposed to do, or whatever.” It’s at this moment that he notices that Sungchan— Sungchan is burning up, too. “I would’ve loved you even if we weren’t soulmates. I can’t help myself.”

His heart is rabbiting wildly against his ribcage, begging to shatter it. “You can’t help yourself?”

“No.” He’s still trembling. “I really, really can’t help myself. At all.”

You had no way of knowing we were soulmates at seventeen, and you still kissed me. You still kissed me.

Ah. f*ck it.

He surges forward to kiss him, and Sungchan catches him easily. He tastes like sea salt. They both do. The kiss is at an awkward angle, he can tell even though he hasn’t been kissed all that much in his life so far, and Sungchan is the one to readjust them. He kisses back eagerly, and Wonbin wraps his arms around Sungchan’s neck, pulling him in closer. Closer, closer, closer.

He’s been waiting for this for so, so long. Way before he realised he had feelings, way before he crashed into him. The truth is that yes, Wonbin did think about dating, sex and love. He thought about it all the time, and he had everything necessary at his disposal to break it, and certainly a lineup of willing participants.

The reason he didn’t is because they’re not Sungchan. They’re not warm and touchy. They’re not complicated and irritating. They didn’t take his first kiss. They’re not purpose-built to understand Wonbin. They’re not Sungchan.

“Wonbin, baby.” He tries to chase after Sungchan’s lips once he pulls away to whisper against his skin. It’s embarrassing, but he doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this for six years. “Breathe through your nose. Suck, don’t bite. Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.” He’s staring at his lips. He has Wonbin’s spit all over his lips. “I’m listening very well.”

He’s laughing against Wonbin’s mouth, his hands underneath Wonbin’s shirt, “You’re not listening.” How could he? Sungchan is touching him, and kissing him, and he’s not drunk. If anyone had told him this six years ago, or even six months ago, he would tell them that they’re crazy.

“No. I’m not.” He confesses, and then he looks up. He’s never been a fan of beating around the bush. “Take me to your bedroom, please.”

Sungchan’s eyes completely light up. He nods, very enthusiastically, “Yes. Okay.” He’s smiling from ear to ear.

I’ve waited so long for you. I’ve waited my whole life, just to understand that you’re made for me, and I’m made for you. Let me show you all the different ways we could fit together.

Not even five minutes later, Sungchan has Wonbin shirtless and panting on his bed, his hands pinned above his head. A lot can happen in five minutes. “Sungchan, please—”

He’s completely breathless. “I can— Between your thighs.” He’s barely managing to get the words out, and they could both just talk in their heads, yes, yes, but. It means something different when they take the extra mile to do this instead. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Even if he did hurt him, Wonbin is burning with so much desire that he wouldn’t give a f*ck. You’re already inside of my head. What could hurt so much with one more thing? He would even wear the hurt like a badge of honour. Look, you hurt me. You hurt me. Isn’t that just the greatest thing in the world?

Sungchan’s eyes widen in shock. He feels the hands Sungchan has around Wonbin’s wrists go deadly still. Wonbin is still trying to escape out of his grip, in an effort to get Sungchan to touch him where he wants, so he can get to touch Sungchan everywhere he wants, his shoulders, his chest, his—

“Say it.” Sungchan holds him tighter. No fair. He’s completely breathless, and still able to be so incredibly strong. That’s not fair at all. He’ll just have to ask Eunseok for his workout routine, then. “You have to— I want to hear you say it. With your pretty mouth.”

He stops resisting only to lean his head against the pillow, look up, and say, “Please.” He sees exactly where Sungchan’s resolve starts disappearing first — His eyes. Then, his lips, licking them as if he’s a predator that can already taste the blood of his prey. “I want you inside of me.” There’s a desire you unearthed that you should’ve f*cked out of me years ago. Take responsibility. Pay your dues.

“I—” He looks up, towards the ceiling. His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow, and Wonbin wants to bite on it. “God. I’m trying to hold myself back, but when you say things like that—” It drives me f*cking insane. He looks down at Wonbin again, and holds Wonbin’s wrists with one hand just so he can cup his cheek with the other. “Wonbin, you have to be certain that you want this. Okay? You have to be a hundred percent certain.”

He’s about to cry. He’s been angry to the point of tears before, but never horny to the point of crying. That’s a first. “Sungchan, please.” It seems like he’s unlocking a lot of firsts with Sungchan, anyway. I’m made for you, right? And I’ve waited all this time. Twenty-three years. Don’t make me wait any longer. Please.

That’s when all of his resolve completely and utterly demolishes itself in front of Wonbin. It’s wonderful. “Jesus f*cking Christ.”

He gets to work then, haphazardly pulling down Wonbin’s swim shorts which are dry for the most part now (and Wonbin does his absolute best to not be embarrassed by the prospect of being naked in front of someone else for the first time, in front of Sungchan), and then he just as hastily kicks off his own shorts. They both land somewhere in a corner — Sungchan’s room is huge. Even bigger than the guest room, if that was even possible.

He gets to see Sungchan’s tan line on full display now. It makes him want to drool. Once he does, Sungchan leans forward and lays his warm hand on Wonbin’s waist, places a kiss right on Wonbin’s sternum. Wonbin can only hope that his ribcage won’t shatter.

It feels– Almost ticklish, getting kissed like this. Everywhere Sungchan touches with his lips leaves its own heartbeat, its own story. His body is now a storybook, then. Sungchan looks up at him, his lips red and his fingers gently brushing over his hip bone, “You’re so pretty, Wonbin. So f*cking beautiful.” You don’t see how everyone looks at you. They look at you like they understand how beautiful you are.

Although it’s quite difficult to think when Sungchan kisses the underside of his stomach, he tries nonetheless to remember even just one person, and how they looked at him. All he can see is Sungchan, and that one day trip to Brussels, and all the photos he has of them around the paddock. Immortalised affection.

Wonbin can’t help the noise he makes when Sungchan gently pries his legs open with his hands, and sends him, They don’t understand at all. I’m the only one who understands the depth of it, and how it feels to have you look back. (It also doesn’t help that he suddenly has the thought that— Yes, the horny out of his mind post-Austria but before-Silverstone Wonbin was right, Sungchan is the kind of lover to pry his legs open gently. He’s about to faint if he’s not careful.) You’re mine. You’re my soulmate.

“Stop saying such—” The breath escapes him before he can even finish the thought. Sungchan is only kissing his body, and yet, this is how intense his reaction is. Awful. “Embarrassing things, Jesus f*ck.”

He places a kiss on the inner line of Wonbin’s thigh, winks, really badly, and says, “I didn’t say anything.”

He hates that he even finds his terrible wink attractive. All of this is just so awful, and so relieving at the same time. “Christ, you’re annoying.” He takes a deep breath as Sungchan’s hand rests on his inner thigh. I thought— He does not have the courage for this. Not at all. You were embarrassed, that one time. When you couldn’t understand why you were bothered by Yunho. I thought you were embarrassed that I’m your soulmate, or something. I don’t know.

Sungchan makes something of a shocked noise, looking up from his place between Wonbin’s thighs. The sight is really dizzying. “Jesus, of course not. Don’t go thinking such silly things by yourself, baby.” I just thought that I didn’t deserve to be jealous. I don’t deserve you. He places a kiss on the underside of Wonbin’s stomach, saying, “You’re so precious. Wertvoll.” What’s that in Italian?

He’s just a little embarrassed when he speaks up. “...Prezioso.”

Sungchan looks up at him with this absolute awe in his eyes, this reckless abandon, and groans before “God, if I didn’t want you in that Mercedes seat so badly, I’d almost be glad Ferrari snatched you up.” Wonbin acts like he didn’t see Sungchan open the lube bottle. It’ll be better for his health, he thinks. “You’re so f*cking sexy when you speak in Italian.”

He wants to make a smart comment back, something along the lines of ‘You and I know damn well I’m never leaving Ferrari as long as I can help it,’ but Sungchan’s finger lands somewhere near Wonbin’s rim, and. Well. His brain short circuits, to be frank.

Sungchan hums, Have you fingered yourself before, Wonbin? He thinks about lying, but. He nods instead. He doesn’t have the mental energy to lie. Yes? What were you thinking about?

What are you usually thinking about when you’re fingering yourself?

Sungchan smiles, I’m asking you. What were you thinking about?

It’s the exact moment Sungchan pushes the tip of his finger inside. “Ah, f*ck—”

Sungchan insists, his voice a little strained, “Tell me.” He pushes his finger inside until it reaches his knuckle. He’s very quickly finding out the differences between fingering himself, and Sungchan doing it for him. It’s very different.

Wonbin’s hiding his face behind his hands, and thankfully, Sungchan doesn’t have any complaints about that. “You.” I was thinking about you.

“Yes?” He sounds— Delighted. Strained and turned on, yes, but absolutely delighted. “Tell me everything.”

I was thinking about— He shoves his hand over his own mouth, biting down on the fleshy part so as to not make a noise when Sungchan slowly, very slowly, pumps his finger. In, out. In, out. What kind of lover you’d be. I was thinking about how you would kiss me, and how you would touch me, that kind of thing.

He’s so smug when he asks, Have I met expectations?

I really— Wonbin wants to slap him, but he fails to suppress a whine when Sungchan starts f*cking his finger into him just a little faster. Considering they’re race car drivers, it really shouldn’t be considered that fast, but it is to Wonbin, alright. I really want to say something smart like, you haven’t proven yourself at all so far, but f*ck. You’re good.

He chuckles. It’s just one finger, baby.

Yeah, well. One more finger than what I’ve had so far. “f*ck.” He really can’t think right now. Someone else’s, I mean.

Yeah, well. Before Wonbin can fully adjust to just one finger, Sungchan is quickly shoving in another.

“f*ck!” His hand flies to Sungchan’s shoulder, squeezing on for support. Now, this— This already feels like too much. Sungchan is doing his best to slowly ease him into it, kissing along his thighs and stomach, but that only makes it worse, actually. He tries to bite down on the moan, but Sungchan pulls both of his fingers inside down to his knuckles, and that’s really hard to keep quiet about.

“You can be as loud as you want,” Sungchan reassures him in a half-whisper, “The walls are concrete. No one’s gonna hear you except for me.”

Sungchan is very greedy when it comes to the exclusive things about Wonbin, it seems. First he liked getting to hear all of Wonbin’s thoughts, and now he wants to hear all the sounds Wonbin makes for him, and him alone. He’s especially greedy when he brings a hand around Wonbin’s co*ck, already weeping with precum down the side even without any touch, and all of Wonbin’s shame shatters in front of him.

If Sungchan’s goal is to hear noises no one else will ever hear, then he’s right on the money with squeezing Wonbin’s co*ck, his thumb at the tip, while pumping his fingers in and out of his hole. Jesus Christ.

It all falls apart far too quickly after that. Wonbin is sure he’s leaving marks in the shape of his fingernails into Sungchan’s shoulder blade, making all kinds of noises he’s never even heard himself make before, but he doesn’t care when it just feels so— Overwhelming. So full.

“Sungchan, Sungchan,” He tries to make it sound like a warning, but he knows that all it sounds like is encouragement on Sungchan’s side. It doesn’t really work. “Please, it’s too much, I’m gonna—”

His back arches off the bed with a broken sob of both embarrassment and pleasure, his cum pooling around Sungchan’s fist. Sungchan at least has the common courtesy of unwrapping the hand he has around his co*ck while he deals with his high hitting him in all kinds of waves, both low and high tide, though he still keeps his fingers inside.

God, he just wants a meteor to hit him and kill him on impact. Now, preferably.

“It’s okay,” Sungchan half-whispers as he pulls his fingers out. Wonbin whines at the loss. “It’s your first time. You’re still sensitive, and that’s normal. Don’t be embarrassed about it.” Then, he brings his hand up. “Plus, I get to do this.”

He watches with abject horror as Sungchan pulls his fingers into his mouth and licks it all up, drop by drop. “Sungchan!” He exclaims, launching forward despite all the weakness in his bones. He sees the way Sungchan’s throat bobs as he swallows. Jesus. “Oh my God. You’re really f*cking crazy.”

He smiles wide. Just what the hell has Wonbin gotten himself into?

As weightless and hot as he feels post-org*sm, Sungchan pulls himself up and reaches for his bedside drawer. He pulls out a condom, and Wonbin watches him with a kind of morbid curiosity. Sungchan is very careful with the way he rips the packet open, pinching out the air at the tip of the condom, and carefully rolls it onto his co*ck. His eyes follow Sungchan’s hand as he reaches for the bottle of lube, and Sungchan notices. He smiles. It’s that moment that Wonbin looks away.

When he hears the click of the bottle closing, his heart jumps. He’s thought about this so much, but— He still can’t believe it’s happening. He especially can’t believe it’s happening with Sungchan, all these years later. It’s no more fantasy, and it’s all desire and want and red, just like it’s always been.

The weight and warmth of Sungchan’s co*ck, resting against the inner line of Wonbin’s thigh — It’s almost scary, as much as it’s enticing. He looks up and finds Sungchan just as wrecked as he is, even if he hasn’t finished, his hairline all sweaty and his cheeks flushed. He’s seen Sungchan like this before, but it’s been only through the thirst traps he posts on his Instagram. Here, it means something different, because Wonbin made him like this.

He thinks about how strange it is to see want realised in another person, right before Sungchan presses the tip of his co*ck against Wonbin’s entrance and slowly, inch by inch, starts pushing himself inside.

Wonbin races cars for a living. Freaks of technology, aerodynamically perfect angels, four wheels on steroids, whatever you want to call them. He’s had crashes with up to 30G worth of force. He drives cars that can go up to two hundred and fifty miles per hour, and he does that every other weekend. He’s had to stand in the middle of a track with cars going just as fast moving past him like he’s nothing, like he doesn’t exist, while waiting to get picked up by a medical car. He’s experienced all kinds of pain and forces and sensations that no average person ever will in their entire life, and he’ll keep doing that for at least the next twenty years of his life. At least.

He’s experienced all this, and still, Sungchan’s co*ck remains to be the most Earth shattering experience yet. Funny how that works.

“It feels so—” He takes a deep breath. That, somehow, makes it worse. “Weird.”

Sungchan laughs with affection, barely leaving any room for space in between them, “Yeah, that’s normal. I think.”

He hasn’t even done this with a toy before, just his fingers. (He’d prefer dying of embarrassment than having the audacity to buy that kind of thing, anyway.) It feels like— He can’t breathe. It feels like he’s full, but not in a pleasurable way, not yet. It just feels like he has no air.

Sungchan, on the other end, seems to be enjoying it much more than he is. He can tell by his parted lips, barely holding back a moan or a grunt, the way he looks up and does his best to breathe. He watches his chest, the way it rises and falls, the way he shudders. He looks like he’s doing absolutely everything in his power to hold himself back.

Wonbin really likes that, actually. He likes holding Sungchan’s pleasure in his palm. He likes knowing that Sungchan is just as affected by this as Wonbin is. He likes the bead of sweat that rolls down the column of Sungchan’s neck, and he wants the exact HEX code of the shade of red Sungchan is sporting. Maybe he’ll suggest it for a special livery.

“Sungchan,” He tries, very clearly struggling to form a coherent sentence together, but Sungchan once told him ‘it’s good as long as you’re trying,’ so. “You should— You should start moving.”

He looks down at Wonbin, his lips somewhere between a gasp and a moan. Are you sure?

Wonbin hesitates just for a moment, until he remembers just how long he’s been waiting for this. He wanted this to happen so badly at seventeen, just as badly as he wanted it to happen at twenty-three. He really doesn’t have any more excuses to hesitate. Not any longer.

He takes a moment, and then he nods. Sungchan’s heart-shaped Adam’s apple bobs. He nods, and just like Wonbin had asked him to, he starts moving.

The first thrust hits them both much like a trainwreck would. Well, maybe not as much for Sungchan, but it’s certainly the case for Wonbin. The second one is like a car crash, and he’s had plenty of those in his lifetime. It hurts more than it’s pleasurable, and it’s only by the fifth slow thrust inside that it starts hurting a little less.

“Are you okay?” Sungchan says, still going sweet and slow. He looks up at Sungchan, and he sees it all. The desire. The want. The need written all over his face. It’s truly dizzying.

“Hurts.” He manages to mumble, “But. Keep going.”

He presses a kiss against Wonbin’s shoulder, and starts peppering them along the line of his collarbone. He hears, Are you sure?

Yes, I’m sure, He knows he’s just a little annoyed, but he’ll blame that on the hormones swirling through his brain at such a rapid speed, he might even be drunk. You don’t have to treat me like fragile porcelain.

As if to make a point, he thrusts in a little stronger and faster than he did a moment ago. Wonbin couldn’t stop the sob escaping his lips when he did. Well, if someone told me you were, I’d believe them.

He moans, feeling so helpless that he can’t help but kick up in the air beside Sungchan’s waist. Now is not the time to flirt with me.

Sungchan’s giggle mixes with his breathy moan, and that is so, so hot. It’s always a good time to flirt with you. What are you talking about?

It starts feeling good when Sungchan starts building a pace up, his strokes steady and confident inside of Wonbin. It starts feeling amazing, actually. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with his legs. Wonbin has no idea what to do with himself, he’s never felt so— Complete. It’s so strange, but it feels so right.

You know, I— Wonbin can barely hear him and understand him over the sheer overwhelming feeling of his co*ck inside him, f*cking him and filling him up in ways he thought would be physically impossible before. Sungchan is a miracle, so it seems then. I’ve… Done things, too. Thought about you in a way that I thought that I shouldn’t.

It’s a miracle he manages to string together a thought when Sungchan f*cks into him with a particular stronger force, Tell me all about it.

Sungchan has never hesitated once he has permission to do something. I want to f*ck you all night long. I want to f*ck you on your stomach, on your side, on your knees. I want to use toys on you until you cry. I want to suck you off and eat you out. I want to make you cum until it comes out clear. I want— He takes a shuddering breath, bottoming out. It only makes Wonbin groan. So much. But I can’t do it. I don’t want to hurt you.

With Sungchan still, he’s able to tell him, You’re such a f*cking freak. He pulls his head back against the pillow, gulping down on the spit pooling in his mouth. All that sounds like is sexual torture. And he won’t admit that he would much like for Sungchan to do all of that. Pretty please with a cherry on top.

You’ve unearthed a desire I didn’t know existed in me, too. He leans forward, placing a kiss on Wonbin’s neck. You’ll learn quickly enough. You’re fast.

He groans. Sungchan leaning forward uncovers a new angle he’s not sure he’s ready for yet. The only time you’re willing to admit I’m fast, and it’s when you’re between my legs. Great.

Sungchan makes a curious noise, something between a hum and a grunt. Surely, I’ve told you you’re fast before.

He hums, biting down on his lip, Yeah, maybe, but not as willingly as when you’re shoving your co*ck inside me, so.

“Crude.” He places a kiss in the middle of Wonbin’s chest. He’s smiling. “So crude.” You asked for this, by the way.

Yeah, I know. He takes a deep breath, “So you should really get going on the whole ‘f*cking me until my cum comes out clear’ thing.”

Sungchan listens. Considering the fact that Wonbin is way more sensitive than he thought of himself previously, this might turn out to be a mistake.

He tries to keep his head up, but if he does, all he can see is Sungchan and the beads of sweat running down his chest, or his face as it opens up in pleasure, and that only brings him closer to cumming and not slower. He can’t help it.

And as if being inside him is not enough, he leans forward and whispers, “Open up your mouth.” Wonbin listens to him, so obedient, and Sungchan takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth. He runs his tongue along the inside, along Wonbin’s lips, his teeth.

“Wonbin.” He moans, sounding wrecked himself. Wonbin finds that he really likes the sound of it. “Wonbin, Wonbin, ah, Wonbin–”

“Sungchan—” Why do you keep calling for me?

It feels so good. He likes all of Sungchan’s sounds. His moans, his deep breaths, his voice. He likes everything about Sungchan. To have you like this, and to be able to say your name.

Wonbin can’t tell if he’s moaning because he said that, or the fact that Sungchan is f*cking into him harder. He’s not sure if he wants to find out.

Sungchan is so strong. So strong. He could f*ck him against the wall, on his knees, or in the air, and he could still support all of his weight. Right now, the thought of becoming Sungchan’s ragdoll doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea. You could— You could f*ck me on my knees. Right now. If you’d like. If that’s what he likes. If that’s what he wants. Wonbin would pretend like it’s not serving his best interests, too.

Much to Wonbin’s surprise, Sungchan responds back with, Don’t be ridiculous. His thrusts slow for a moment, still with the strength to rattle his brain into mush inside his skull, If I take you on your knees right now, you’ll hate me forever. Believe it or not, I’m actually trying to keep your back intact over here.

He doesn’t have the courage (nor the brain function at the moment) to admit that he could never hate Sungchan. Never in his wildest dreams. And even when he did, it wasn’t real. It was just his best attempt at pretending he didn’t want something more. Wanting more than he’s allowed to have, and not knowing if it’s even okay in the first place to do so, is scary. It’s terrifying.

Sungchan starts pistoning his co*ck into Wonbin at the speed which feels more like he’s trying to turn his brain into goo than anything else, which is the moment he drops that train of thought. Turns out, Sungchan f*cking him is a very quiet activity. Not literally, they’re both groaning and moaning like wild animals, but in the sense that Wonbin can barely think a single thought. At all.

It remains a miracle that Sungchan still can. When you were f*cking yourself with your fingers, you were thinking of this, weren’t you? Wonbin moans, a potent mix of pleasure and pure embarrassment. When you came to my voice, I know you wished you had my mouth around your co*ck. I know you wished that I had came inside you instead.

“You’re crazy–” He’s breathless, his legs shaking even as they wrap around Sungchan so tightly. “You’re really, really crazy, ah f*ck, Sungchan—”

Sungchan is right, by the way. It feels so good to be able to call his name and to know that yes, this is real, and it’s happening, and Sungchan feels just as good, too. He wants this to last forever. Whether ‘this’ refers to Sungchan f*cking him or Sungchan feeling just as good as Wonbin, he has no idea.

Wonbin is still sensitive from his first org*sm, and Sungchan just keeps f*cking into him with the same strength and force it takes to shunt into a barrier. He feels his second org*sm coming at him in quick, relentless waves, the kind where it’s hard to keep his head above water. When Sungchan hisses against Wonbin’s neck, he thinks it might be from Wonbin scratching his nails all over his back. He would say that he’s sorry, but he’s really not.

Sungchan notices, how could he not, and he wraps his hand around Wonbin’s co*ck for the second time. All Wonbin wants to know is why it feels so much better when Sungchan pumps his co*ck in quick, rapid succession, rather than when Wonbin does it on his own. It can’t possibly be the technique, can it?

It’s honestly a miracle he held out for so long. Sungchan lets go of his co*ck before he arches his back off the bed, thrashing his legs as he c*ms in ropes onto his tummy. He would be embarrassed about cumming before Sungchan not once, but twice, if Sungchan didn’t cum almost right after. Sungchan is just that kind of lover, and Wonbin will have to learn how to not be embarrassed by this kind of thing sooner rather than later.

Sungchan f*cks out the rest of his high into Wonbin, like it’s a ride he can’t come down from. Wonbin feels the tears from overstimulation prickle at his eyes, but he pulls his head back and shuts them tightly. He won’t cry because he’s sensitive and Sungchan still isn’t done, he won’t. So, he doesn’t.

When Sungchan c*ms while still inside of Wonbin, grunting a mix of English and Korean curses Wonbin can’t make any sense of, he collapses on top of Wonbin. In a weird way, Wonbin can’t say he’s not disappointed when Sungchan pulls out, despite all the sensitivity. Maybe he could get used to it if Sungchan just… Never pulls out? That could happen.

Sungchan pulls his head up, and places another quick kiss on Wonbin’s forehead. Before he gets out of bed, presumably to go find some towels for them both, he says, Don’t be ridiculous.

Ah. His eyes go wide. Volume.

Yes. Sungchan is smiling, all the way up to his eyes. Volume.

As soon as he sees Sungchan disappear into his bathroom, the one connected to his room, Wonbin rolls over and tries not to scream into Sungchan’s pillow. He thinks he can hear a giggle in the other room.

“So?” Sungchan appears in his line of vision as Wonbin stares up at the ceiling, sex stupid. Sungchan’s hair is sticking to his forehead, and he’s dressed in a tank top now. What a shame. Wonbin was so distracted he didn’t even get to try and make a hickey on Sungchan’s skin, either. Bummer. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” He responds honestly, “Check back in twelve business hours.”

The gears start turning in Sungchan’s head, brows furrowing in concentration. He looks so cute that Wonbin wants to grab his face and kiss every inch of his skin. He really needs to get a grip. “So like… Tomorrow afternoon?”

He shrugs, “Probably. If that’s how business hours work.” He groans, turning over on his side. His entire lower back area, his hips and his thighs are very, very stiff. For a moment, he wonders how mad Sohee’s gonna be when he gets back to Maranello and they do Wonbin’s first ice bath and massage. “God, I’m so dickmatized, can’t even think.”

He feels the weight of the bed shift next to him. Sungchan’s whole face scrunches up when he says, “Don’t say dickmatized, that’s so crude.” He still looks so f*cking good that it almost makes Wonbin want to pant like a dog.

He narrows his eyes at him, “You f*cked me stupid and now I can’t think properly. What’s a word that could efficiently describe how I feel right now?”

He suggests innocently, “Dazed?”

Far too innocently for the same man who was describing all the different things he wanted to do to Wonbin just twenty minutes ago. “Dickmatized, correct.” The same man he is now— Well. “Um. So. Uh.”

Sungchan smiles, tilting his head. He’s waving his hand encouragingly when he says, “C’mon. Spit it out.”

“Does this—” He’s tracing a line down Sungchan’s shoulder and bicep. It’s firm and smooth. He’s not the only driver who’s ripped like this, all the drivers are very fit of course, but Wonbin prefers Sungchan’s brand of fit. Obviously. “Our relationship has changed now, yes?”

Suddenly, Sungchan looks just as confused and awkward. “Uh. Well, I would think so, yes.”

He nods, “Okay.” Still, he needs Sungchan to say it. He’s drawing a heart on Sungchan’s skin when he asks, “Are we dating?”

“Uh. Yes.” He doesn’t sound so sure. Isn’t he supposed to be sure? “If you want to be?”

Now, that’s just silly. Wonbin wants a lot of things, and he’s never wanted anything else more than this. “Of course I want to be. I’m just confirming that you want to be.” He narrows his eyes, drawing circles, “Am I pressuring you?”=

“No, no!” In his panic, he moves away so far that Wonbin can’t keep drawing shapes in his skin. Shame. He holds the side of his head, his fingers clutching his hair, “No, I mean— Argh, this is so frustrating. Yes, we are dating, and yes, I want to be. Dating you, I mean.”

He tries to bite down a smile, but he can’t help it. Teasing Sungchan is fun. He asks, “I thought you were the experienced one?”

He sighs, and leans back forward. Wonbin resumes with the shapes in his skin. Now that he knows that he can touch Sungchan too, he doesn’t ever really want to stop. “I’m just as inexperienced as you, Wonbin.” He’s currently spelling ‘Forza Ferrari’ into his skin, just because the thought of him catching on is funny. “Well, not just, but. Not that far off. I’ve only ever been in two relationships. My first one lasted like three months, and the other lasted like… ten.”

He hums, “Well, that’s thirteen months more experience than I have.” He’s still dazed, but his head is clear enough to remember it’s August 12th. There are still thirteen more days of summer break. He hums again, “It’s good we started dating now. We’re guaranteed to always have our anniversary during the summer break.”

Sungchan takes a moment to respond. “Oh. Right. Didn’t think of it like that.”

He looks up with narrow eyes, “What were you thinking of?”

“That I just wanted to have you to myself as soon as possible.” Sungchan moves forward to place a kiss on top of Wonbin’s head. That— That feels really nice, actually. He wouldn’t have known otherwise. Maybe it’s because it’s Sungchan. “I’m not joking. As soon as I realised I had feelings for you, I was on the move.”

“Cute.” He thinks back to even just this morning, and he can’t help but laugh a little bit. He was so silly. They were so silly. “As soon as I realised I had feelings for you, I wanted to dig a hole in the ground and never come out.” He sees the flash of something on Sungchan’s face, which is the moment he realises that it came out wrong. He cringes. “I mean— Not like that. It’s not because it was you. It’s because I don’t know how to handle this… Feelings, thing. It’s embarrassing experiencing a crush for the first time at twenty-three, you know?”

Sungchan laughs. He sounds sweet and boyish. There’s something comforting about the fact that Sungchan could change everything else about himself if he would like, but his laugh stays the exact same from when he was seventeen years old. “Yeah. I know.”

He looks up at Sungchan, and finds him looking back. He’s never seen him look so… In love, would be the best words for it. His eyes are dark and sweet, his lips pink

I want to be your broken TV. I want to be your ocean. I want to be a reservoir for all your love and affection. I want to be your cherry scarf. I want to be your steering wheel. I want to be your ring. I want to be everything that you want. I wish that every single cell of my body was made so it could fit perfectly with every cell of yours.

Thankfully, he thinks to himself quietly as Sungchan runs a hand through his hair, I’m your soulmate. I’m already all that, and so much more. So are you to me. Thank God, you are.

Sex is—

Well. Um. He would love to say that it’s actually not all that great, it doesn’t feel that good, but the thing is that it does, and it feels better each time, and he learns what Sungchan likes more and more, and— Well— Uh.

He gets it. Now. He gets it.

Maybe it’s not that sex itself is good, but sex with Sungchan is good and that’s the real difference, but he neither wants to nor cares to find out. He especially likes how— Quiet his head gets. After the first time, they are so quiet, and it’s not by force. The world goes so completely silent. The only things he can hear are the little things Sungchan likes to whisper against his skin and the sound of their bodies. He’s gotten so used to the volume now inside of his head — a garbled mix of English, Korean, German and Italian — that he’s never realised just how loud it can get. Even before Sungchan was here.

It’s a special thing too, the way Sungchan likes to place kisses all over his body until it’s burning hot from his shoulders to his thighs. The way his hands are constantly moving and never stopping, trying to grab as much of Wonbin as he can physically hold onto. The way he’s relentless but always gentle. The way he always makes sure Wonbin is okay before he keeps going. Maybe that’s just common courtesy, but Wonbin melts inside every time.

If Wonbin spent one week pent up and a little horny over the implications of him and Sungchan all alone in an apartment for themselves, then he’s spending another week getting all that out of his system. This week is for getting all the other feelings he’s had nestled somewhere deep inside for years out. And if he’s being honest, that will take months, not a week. Maybe even years. He can just hope that Sungchan is ready for the ride.

“Well, first of all, are you ready for the ride?” Sungchan says, smiling. He’s naked and pressed up against Wonbin’s side, and it’s not exactly naughty, but not exactly innocent either.

It’s two o’clock. He doesn’t know how many times they’ve done it just today. Honestly? No. He’s not ready. At least not right now. He groans, “Ugh. I’m so tired.” Wonbin rolls over and away from Sungchan, burying his nose in the pillow and muffling, “No more. No more sex. So tired.”

Sungchan lifts himself up so he’s still in Wonbin’s field of view, tapping his nose. Wonbin looks up at him. “You scrunch your nose when you finish.” He places a quick kiss on his shoulder. “It’s so cute. You gotta understand me, it’s so cute that I just want to see it all the time. Right?”

He does exactly that. “There. You happy?”

Sungchan pouts. “No.” He’s ridiculous. “It’s not the same. It’s only special when I make you cum.”

He wiggles out of Sungchan’s embrace, and grabs the pillow underneath him. “Stop—” Augh. “—Saying—” Oof. “—That! You freak!” Ah!

Despite the fact that he just got hit with a pillow in the face, he giggles, “Baby.” He moves the pillow out of Wonbin’s hands, and takes them into his, instead. “Wonbin.” He pulls Wonbin’s hand, warm against his face. “My baby.” He kisses his palm, leaning into the touch. “My baby.”

While Wonbin would love to tell him to f*ck off in some way, shape or form, he’s actually melting. So. That’s a new development. “You are so cheesy. I could have never seen this coming.” He hesitates, “You’re–” You’re my baby, too.

Say it out loud. Sungchan pouts against his hand, “Please, baby?”

He shoves down all his embarrassment into the back of his throat. He’s gotten good at that, lately. He whispers, hand still pressed against Sungchan’s face, “You’re my baby.” What he wants to say is, Bello. Sei molto bello.

With how good Sungchan is at picking up languages, he’s actually slowly starting to understand Italian, too. He definitely knows ‘bello.’ Wonbin says that one a lot. He turns to the other side of the bed, abandoning Wonbin’s touch in favour of whining, “God, you say no more, but when you do things like that…”

Another new development: Sungchan is much like a whiny baby when he doesn’t get what he wants (or, more accurately, when he knows Wonbin wants it just as much as he does, but doesn’t have half the courage that Sungchan does).

“Christ.” He groans, “Just one more.”

Sungchan shoots up, exclaiming, “Yay!”

Wonbin rolls his eyes as Sungchan starts patting his lap. “Don’t say Yay when you’re about to f*ck me again, you idiot.” But he does climb into it very willingly. That’s neither here nor there.

“Sorry.” He is not sorry. “Got excited.” He’s actually smiling, ear to ear. Cheeky.

When Wonbin gets out of bed hours later to try and make dinner, Sungchan is not far behind. That’s what the past few days have looked like in a nutshell.

“Move to Monaco.” Sungchan snuggles up against Wonbin’s shoulder, his best attempt at making himself smaller. He’s a big fan of doing that despite being 6’1, apparently. “The entire grid is here. You should. You really should.”

“Don’t have Monaco money quite just yet.” He leans back against Sungchan’s chest, melting into him. He chuckles, “I’ve only just started driving for Ferrari, y’know. Takes time to accumulate enough wealth for that.”

He can tell Sungchan is pouting when he says, “Who says you need money?” He places a kiss on the space between Wonbin’s neck and shoulders, saying, “Just live with me.”

“You’re crazy.” Wonbin turns around, and sees the pleading look on Sungchan’s face. He’s serious. “Nuh uh. That’s not happening.”

“Whyyy?” He only tightens the hold he has on Wonbin’s waist. “Aren’t you having fun with me here?”

Wonbin can’t help but giggle. He brings a hand up to Sungchan’s head, carding his fingers through his hair. Much like a puppy, but he has his doe eyes on full display. Just awful. “Sure I am, but that doesn’t mean I should just move to Monaco willy-nilly.”

“Why not? All Maranello has is the Ferrari HQ, and it’s so far away. I’m gonna miss you.” Sungchan leans into the petting, still whining. “Plus, someone could snatch you up while you’re not on my watch. That’s very scary. I don’t want that to happen.”

“Snatch me up? God, you’re so dramatic.” He rolls his eyes without much real annoyance, “Maranello is not even that far away. It took me five hours to get here, and that’s just driving. You can take a plane.”

He gasps, “Dramatic? I don’t think I’m being cautious enough.” He pouts, tightening his grip with one arm, but bringing his hand up to Wonbin’s collarbone with the other, “Everybody wants you, and I’m possessive.”

Wonbin hums, “Oh, really?”

“Mhm. Extremely.” Sungchan continues with his touching, his fingers going up to Wonbin’s neck. He traces a line back and forth in the middle of the column of his throat, then down to his collarbones. “I wish there was like— Soulmate collars. Like if someone tried approaching you with naughty intentions, it’d propel them away. An invisible barrier and all the letters read Soulmate property of Jung Sungchan.” He tries, so innocently, “Or maybe an actual collar. How would you feel about me getting you one?”

Wonbin smiles, “Kinky.” Then he places a kiss on Sungchan’s chin, and tries pushing him away. “Also, not happening.”

Sungchan shrugs, not letting go. “I tried.” Then, he gives him his best doe eyes. Beautiful, big, dark doe eyes. Sungchan has become more than just aware in the very short time that they’ve been dating just how hard it is for Wonbin to resist his eyes. “You should still go to Ibiza with me.”

He throws his head back, groaning, “Suuungchaaan.”

“Pleaseee!” He’s also become very good at whining his way into getting what he wants. “It’ll only be for a few days, I promise. It’ll be just the two of us.”

He points his head towards the window, “If you want to go to the beach and to the club, the beach is right down the street and Jimmy’z is right there too.”

“But I can always go to Jimmy’z. I’ve been going to Jimmy’z since I was eighteen. I’ve been in Monaco my whole life.” Sungchan is really pulling out all the stops with his begging this time around. “Please? I just want to have a fun weekend with my lover. Come on, baby.” He’s even pulled out the big guns, the one that he knows Wonbin has the hardest time resisting: Peppering kisses along his neck. “Go to Ibiza with me.”

“You’re so annoying.” He sighs, and with a heavy heart he says, “Fine. I’ll go to Ibiza with you.”

If Wonbin was a weaker man, Sungchan could’ve killed him with the storm of kisses he attacked him with afterwards.

Despite how much he protested against it, he does end up having fun during the weekend with his boyfriend in Ibiza. Who could’ve guessed? Surely, not Wonbin.

It’s not much different than their time spent in Monaco. Sungchan still rents a yacht for them in the evening, they swim in the early mornings, laze around during the day, and one night, they even go out to a club. Some kind of a rave. He had fun and got drunk, but his biggest complaint was seeing all the hookups and all the couples on the floor, kissing and grinding and doing all the things couples do. He didn’t bother being quiet about it either. He has no reason to now.

In return, Sungchan started talking about how much he wished he could f*ck Wonbin on the dance floor, so. They didn’t exactly stay for too long. Sungchan is an even touchier drunk once you start dating him, by the way. Again, who could’ve thought?

The day he has to leave Sungchan’s apartment in order to go back to Maranello and prepare for Zandvoort is, quite possibly, one of the hardest days in Wonbin’s entire life. That’s no joke.

This time around, the Italian countryside doesn’t give him any peace. He still drives with his windows down, but the songs are noticeably less upbeat than they were before. If he’s being really honest, he did have to make a stop in the middle of absolutely nowhere just because he couldn’t stop thinking of Sungchan’s face, and his heart ached so much, it felt like it was bleeding. That was embarrassing.

Zandvoort is another forgettable race. The only thing that he does remember is the look on Sungchan’s face when he saw Wonbin in person again, then the way he kissed him. It was wonderful.

(They were only separated for four days, by the way.)

Wonbin is whisper-yelling as soon as he opens the door to his hotel room and finds his boyfriend standing there, staring back at him with a smile on his face, “What in the world are you doing here?! The hotel is full of Ferrari and McLaren staff!”

Sungchan shrugs like he’s so innocent. He doesn’t miss how he’s dressed in his pyjamas. This is a coordinated attack. “I missed you?”

“I am literally in your head, what in the world are you talking about! Oh my God.” He resists the urge to face palm. He grabs Sungchan by the shoulder, trying to usher him inside. “Just get in here before someone sees you!”

“Hehe.” As soon as the door closes behind him, Sungchan envelopes him into a hug, his chin on top of Wonbin’s head. At this angle, he can listen to Sungchan’s heartbeat. He has no choice but to wrap his arms around Sungchan’s waist, really. “Plan worked.”

If this in any way got out, especially because it’s the race weekend of Monza, Silvia would have a bounty on his head by tomorrow at noon. Silvia, however, doesn’t need to know about this at all.

His voice is muffled as he speaks into his chest, “I’ll kick you out myself, so help me God, Jung Sungchan.”

“Okay, okay!” He pulls away just enough to be able to place a kiss on Wonbin’s forehead. That does help. Marginally. “Just let me stay and I’ll leave before dawn breaks.”

He looks up, just slightly offended, “Before dawn breaks? What, am I just your side piece?”

Sungchan rolls his eyes, whining, “Oh, you know what I mean!”

He does know what Sungchan means. He’s just taken a big liking to teasing him. He thinks of it as payback, and a way to express himself. What he really means is — Thank God you’re here, and thank God you miss me just as much as I miss you. He wouldn’t know how to be able to handle anything else.

Monza is the oldest track on the entire calendar. Built in 1922, it was the third purpose-built racing circuit after Brooklands and Indianapolis and the oldest in mainland Europe. It has very, very long straights, and some tricky chicanes even right after the start line. In other words, it’s uncomplicated. Because it’s so simplistic in shape, the main things here are good pace and perfectly working brakes and alongside it, a good, smooth braking technique.

Just because it’s uncomplicated however, does not mean that it’s easy. Monza is also one of the longer tracks on the calendar, clocking in at 5.8km, and drivers are on full throttle for well over three quarters of a lap. It’s why Wonbin DNFed last year to no fault of his own. Using that much of his throttle was way too much for his engine, and he had to retire on Lap 41, just twelve laps shy of the chequered flag.

This time, however, he finished on the podium. It’s not a win, not like he would have liked it, but the fans are just ecstatic to have a Ferrari driver on the podium at all.

Wonbin thinks he could get really used to this — Winning, glory, love, he means. He might just be built for this, also. He still has a feeling in his gut that something is going to go wrong, but he can’t help but think that things going wrong is exactly how he ended up here. He wasn’t supposed to crash in Australia nor Miami, but that’s how he got here. He was supposed to get pole in Monaco before Barcelona, but that’s how he got here, too.

He wants to have some hope in himself that even if it does end up going wrong, he’ll eventually manage to start steering towards the right. That’s what he’s good at, afterall.

After Monza, instead of heading straight to the factory like he usually does, Wonbin flies home with Shotaro to Monaco. And instead of going back to Shotaro’s apartment to hang out like they usually do, he goes straight to Sungchan’s apartment instead. (Shotaro was making obscene motions as they were leaving his jet, which Wonbin very kindly told him to ‘f*ck off’ for.)

He turns the dial to the machine all the way to the left once he’s in front of Sungchan’s door, and thinks to himself, It’s not that I’m worried about money when it comes to moving to Monaco to live with you. I’m just worried about— The possibility that you might get sick of me if you see me all the time. We already see each other every race weekend, and days before it, too. Would you get tired of me? Would you not want me around anymore? I’m already in your head. Is this too much?

When Sungchan opens the door to his apartment and, upon seeing Wonbin with his suitcases in tow, blooms the biggest, most beautiful smile he’s ever seen — He thinks to himself, Well. Maybe you won’t if I’ve seen you this much already, and I can never get enough. I might just have to take you up on the offer. You wouldn’t mind, right? You suggested it.

You have the sun and I have the moon, afterall. We need each other, don’t we?

Wonbin wakes up on the morning of Sungchan’s birthday in Sungchan’s bed, warm and sleepy. When he barely opens his eyes, he finds Sungchan staring back at him, already awake. “Morning, baby.”

“Creep.” He mumbles, mouth too dry to speak above a whisper. “Good morning. Happy birthday.” He closes his eyes again and leans into Sungchan’s embrace, mumbling against his collarbone, “Are you not gonna throw a party today?”

Sungchan shrugs, a hand gently caressing his hair. “You don’t like parties.”

He furrows his eyebrows, still not opening his eyes. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, I want to spend my birthday with you, and if you don’t like parties, then I don’t want to throw one. Simple.” He can’t help it. He smiles into Sungchan’s skin. The fingers carding through his hair, swiping each individual strand into place, certainly doesn’t help either. “Hey, baby. Open your eyes.”

Despite any reluctance he has and the urge to go back to sleep, completely embraced by his boyfriend, but he pulls his head back anyway. As soon as he does, barely even opening his eyes, Sungchan places a kiss on his lips. Before he was dating anybody, Wonbin found the idea of kissing someone with morning breath disgusting. He still does, but it’s Sungchan, so it’s just a little bit more bearable.

When Sungchan pulls away, he narrows his eyes at Wonbin, though Wonbin is a little too distracted by the pout on Sungchan’s face. That’s just what happens when you have a boyfriend with perfect lips, it seems. “Why are you not responding?”

He tilts his head. “Huh?”

“I just told you something in our heads.” He smiles, leaning in to kiss him on his forehead. “Okay, you must be too sleepy. Let’s try again.”

Sungchan stares at him with expectant eyes, warm in his embrace. He stares at him for a hot second, and he can’t tell if he’s trying to pull a prank on him or not. Did he get so good at being quiet, he forgot how to turn the machine all the way up? That would be funny, to be fair. Just a little. “Um. I didn’t hear anything?”

Sungchan stares at him a little longer, searching for sincerity in his eyes, and when that’s seemingly all he can find, he sits up in a panic. “What did— I just– I just thought of something. What did I think?” Sungchan looks— Scared. He looks the most terrified Wonbin has ever seen him. He has his hand on Wonbin’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “Wonbin. What did I think.” He’s trembling. Sungchan is scared and trembling. Wonbin doesn’t even— “Please. Please tell me. You have to tell me what I just thought of, just now.”

Oh. Jesus f*cking Christ.