seventeen owns my heart

ITALIAN GRAND PRIX 2023 FP1 "I’m so sorry… I don’t think I can do this." "Why are you sorry, Shua? Come on in.”

“Because,” he croaks, voice hoarse and cracking every other syllable, “I haven’t missed a single race since I started.”

“It’s about time then! All the more reason to ditch,” you say, shrugging a shoulder. You smile at the team principal when he shoots you a severe look from down the pit wall. Your job probably entails encouraging Joshua to tough out whatever nasty bug he caught and see the weekend through, but you literally only have a handful of races left before you’re done with McLaren. You cannot be bothered with repercussions. “Don’t feel bad. This is what the reserve drivers are for. We all want you safe and healthy more than anything else.”

“Maybe not all of us,” Wonwoo mutters, side-eyeing the team principal as the man continues glaring at you. 

You ignore him in favor of Joshua. “I’m so proud of you for even getting out there for free practice. Frankly, you’ve looked horrible since we landed in Italy.”

“Gee, thanks.” He can’t even say those two words without coughing horribly. You wince at how congested and phlegmy he sounds, and it makes your own chest hurt.

You briefly wonder if this is what it’s like to be in love—if near-debilitating empathy is part of the deal. Because if Joshua was sad, you were near tears. If he was angry, you were ready to deck someone. If he was sick (like he is now), you suddenly wanted to go back to school to study pathology and find a way to eradicate germs forever (like you want to now). If this is what it’s like to be in love, you must have been in love with Joshua for so long before ever really knowing it. You’ve always been this way with him. It just feels so much bigger now that you notice it.

“What the fuck was that? Why did you tell him to ditch his job?”

“He’s still got the lead in points even if he misses this race,” you say simply. “He can afford to rest.” You don’t bother explaining why Joshua would still deserve to rest even if he couldn’t afford it.

“You don’t make that decision! This is not about Hong; it’s about the team! Did you not stop to think that the points Hong would contribute from this race would put us further up for the Constructors’ Championship?”

You’re out of your seat and walking away from the wall before the team principal can continue his line of angry questioning, leaving Wonwoo to take care of the mess you made when you encouraged your driver to drop out. Of course you thought about the hit the team would take from pulling him from the track, but the thing is, the team principal is mistaken; it is about Joshua Hong to you. And you’d let McLaren lose every single championship for the rest of time if it meant Joshua was healthy and happy.

Your driver is already parked and out of his car, pitifully swaying on his feet as you approach him. He’s struggling with removing his own helmet, and by the time you get to him, he still hasn’t gotten it off.

“God, you’re really going through it, aren’t you?” you mutter, gently slapping his hands away from his own chin.

He reaches up to shove his visor open, bloodshot eyes looking at you with so much exhaustion, you feel it seep into your own bones. It gives you pause, your fingers stilling against the buckle. 

“Shua, you look like death,” you inform him.

“Not really enjoying this never-ending parade of insults,” he grumbles.

“I'm not trying to insult you,” you insist as your fingers continue to work. The buckle releases, and you gently tug his helmet off him. He’s sweating profusely, hair stuck to every spot it touches his skin. You fight the urge to push it back off his forehead. A member of the crew grabs the helmet from you wordlessly, scurrying off to do whatever they have to to prepare Joshua’s reserve driver. “I’m just confused about why you went out there in the first place.”

His skin is pale and clammy, and it looks like it will take every ounce of energy in him to respond. He does it anyway. “Didn’t want to let anyone down,” he breathes, hand instinctively grasping your forearm when the step he takes forward makes him too dizzy.

“You’re not letting anyone down,” you assure him, guiding him into the garage. “We want you healthy.”

“You want me to be healthy.”

“Well, yes.”

“McLaren wants me on the track.”

“And who cares what they think?” you scoff, sitting him down on a bench while you grab him a water bottle. You hand it to him and he presses it to his forehead, so you grab him another one. He looks at you in confusion. “One for your forehead, the other to drink. Please hydrate.”

He nods once, accepting the bottle after you open it for him. “Thanks.”

“Let’s get you to your hotel room.”

“Let’s?”

“Who else is going to take care of you?” 

“I’m not taking you away from the race,” he argues, shaking his head at you as he slumps against the back of the seat. “They’ll have our heads.”

“Joshua, I’m a handful of races from leaving McLaren,” you say, ignoring the wince it inspires from him. Maybe if you keep mentioning it casually enough, he’ll believe it isn’t the huge deal it is to both of you. Maybe you’ll believe it too. “And you’re primed to win your second title. What are they going to do? Fire us?”

You reckon he doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore because he says very little as you start to get him ready to leave, fighting furiously against a blush when you bring him to the private driver’s suite and realize you have to change him out of his race suit and into his sweats.

“You sure you can’t just… go home in the suit?”

He slumps into a seat at one of the tables and cranes his neck back to look at you with an unamused expression. He’s most literally drenched in sweat from FP1, and you imagine asking him to go home in his race suit would be the equivalent of asking him to swim in his own filth in the midst of this sticky summer. While sick.

“Right.”

“Don’t worry,” he coughs, waving a hand weakly at you. “If you grab my stuff out of my locker, I can change myself.”

You do as he requests, only taking a minute—two tops—but when you come back, his neck is limp, head thrown back where he immediately fell asleep the moment you turned your back on him. You sigh, shoulders sagging.

“Lord help me,” you whisper, shaking your head to yourself as you set his clothes on his lap and get on your knees.

You unlace his boots slowly, taking them off one at a time before pausing and steeling yourself for what’s next. The good news is there isn’t much to change Joshua out of. The bad news is that the shoes are the only things you can remove to stall. The next item is already his race suit. And once that comes off, all that will be left is Joshua in his fireproof underwear, and the idea makes you shiver against your will. It’s not seeing him without the suit that scares you because the fireproof garments are long sleeves and pants. But Joshua is going to want to change out of those too. And if his suit and his garments are soaked in sweat... his underwear will be too. And he'll want to change out of those. And—

“No, no, I cannot do this,” you mutter, scrambling up from where you’re kneeling. “It’s an invasion of privacy!” 

Joshua groans in his sleep at your shriek-whispering but doesn’t wake up. You call the only other person you know can help. Wonwoo shows up in less than five minutes, kicking you out of the suite so he can change your driver, assuring you he’s seen Joshua in the locker room enough times that this would not be a “gross, horrible invasion of privacy” that would make him “utterly and wholly” despise you.

After he’s changed, Wonwoo gives you the OK to come back in, and you find Joshua conscious again, smiling at you lazily. 

“See, told you I could change myself.”

“Wonwoo changed you.”

“Yeah… kinda crazy to wake up in the middle of a fever to a six foot man tugging on your underwear...”

“Okay, shush, come on. Let’s go,” you say, jerking your head toward the door. 

“Um, and where are you going?” Wonwoo asks.

You glance at Joshua, who glares at you, saying everything he wants to say without having to: You should stay here. You should do your job. You ignore him, pulling your boss aside to talk in a hushed whisper.

“Wonwoo, look at him. Do you really think he’s in any state to get back to his hotel room and take care of himself?” you ask. 

“An assistant, whose job is to do these kinds of things, can get him back to his room, where he’ll sleep like the dead for the rest of the weekend. Then, you can check in on him. After you do your job and get his reserve driver ready for Q1, which is where Joshua would want you anyway,” he says in that tone you hate—the one that reminds you he is your boss at the end of the day.

“I’m almost done!” you whisper, glancing at Joshua to see if he can hear you. You almost roll your eyes when you find the man knocked out again. “I only have seven races left after Monza. I’ve been training my replacement for three months now. Let him show the execs what he’s made of!”

You actually don’t care about the development of the race engineer stepping into your role, but you know it’s a good enough argument.

“I can’t.” 

Or not. 

“I can cover a lot for you, but I cannot give you permission to miss a race, Y/N. Not without a good reason.”

“This is a good reason!” you argue. What could be a better reason than your best friend being so ill, he can’t hold himself up?

“A good reason is you being sick. Are you sick?” he asks, making it clear it’s not a rhetorical question when he looks at you expectantly. You clear your throat in a weak attempt at a cough. His eyebrows fall flat as he glares at you. You shake your head. “A good reason would be a family emergency. Or an emergency involving a significant other. Are you either of those to Joshua?” he asks, tilting his head at you like he knows you’re in love and is daring you to say it.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re being condescending.”

“No, I’m being your boss. We’re friends. Good friends. You’ll be standing up there with me as a groomswoman when I marry whatever unlucky person stumbles into my life.” You can’t help your pout. “But I’m also your boss. Getting my job done involves you getting yours done. You might be leaving at the end of the season, but I’ll still be here, and my neck is still on the line too.”

You look up at him, feeling ashamed of yourself. You have the utmost respect for Wonwoo. He’s been your biggest supporter and ally. He’s unlocked and held doors open for you for the last five years—even kicked them down for you sometimes. But when it comes to Joshua, it’s never been a choice for you. There’s very little that you wouldn’t do for him, especially now that you know you love him and especially now that you’re on borrowed time. 

“Wonwoo,” you sigh, defeated. “I’m going.”

He sighs twice as hard, shaking his head at you. “You’re unbelievable.” The shame grows. “Ever since he came into your life, you’ll do anything at the drop of a hat for that man. You’re incapable of thinking of or choosing yourself anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask, voice sounding as small as you feel. 

“It means I know exactly why you’re leaving McLaren,” he informs you. 

It would be easy to play dumb with anyone else, but the way he looks at you so intensely—a gut-wrenching mix of satisfaction and disappointment—makes it impossible. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He nods. 

“Yeah. Surprise, I have fucking eyes… and glasses.” The addition pulls an unexpected laugh out of you, but you quickly cut it out when he makes it clear how annoyed he is. It takes a moment for him to shake his head and speak again. “And the dumb thing is you don’t even need to leave. I wouldn’t let them do anything to you about it. Joshua—would—never,” he emphasizes the words with a fist to his open palm on each syllable, “let them do anything to you over it either.” 

Your eyes flit to the man’s form, where his body twitches randomly as it falls deeper into his sleep cycle. 

“But you’re always convinced you know what’s best for everyone and that the only way for you to make things right is to bend over backwards in the most ridiculous, impossible positions,” he says. You think this is the most you’ve ever been perceived. “You could just ask for help. You could just ask for partnership. You should know all about that.” He inhales before ending his rant with: “I can’t make you stay. But I can ask that you think about what Joshua would want too. Because I don’t know him even a fraction as well as you do, and even I know the last thing he’d want is for you to give up something you love so much because of him.”

“It’s only one race.”

“We both know I’m not talking about the race.” His eyes soften and he shrugs. “If you need to go tonight, then go. I’m not going to get fired if you don’t stay; McLaren would burn down to the ground without me anyway.” You both smile because you know it’s the truth. When his smile fades, Wonwoo says, “I just want you to think about whether you’re doing the right thing… or if you’re just doing the easy thing. Is this what’s best for you two, or is it easier for you to pretend like it doesn’t exist if you’re not looking it in the face every day?”

You don’t have anything to say to him, so he leaves, clapping you on the shoulder before he does. You both know you won’t be joining him at the pit wall. Even with all the questions he’s left you with, and even with the doubt that’s now blooming in your chest, you’ll choose Joshua.

You’ll get him back to the hotel, and you’ll take care of him all weekend, ignoring calls from the team principal and CEO. He’ll feel better by the time you get back to London, but you’ll inevitably come down with whatever it was he had and passed onto you. And he’ll miss almost a week of work to take care of you as a thank you for your service in Monza, which results in McLaren pettily benching him for the next race—an empty threat that goes nowhere since Wonwoo points out Joshua missing another race on top of the Italian Grand Prix would put the Constructors’ Championship in jeopardy.

And instead of accepting the help like your boss would tell you to, you’ll focus on just how easily Joshua let himself get in trouble for you and how quickly he comes to your side whenever he even thinks you might need him, and the guilt will set in. You’ll convince yourself that even if Wonwoo is right about everything, leaving is what needs to happen if it means Joshua won’t be burdened with you and your feelings anymore. 

You don’t need or want his input about it. You do know what’s best, at least where Joshua Hong is concerned. You’re his fucking race engineer, after all. Knowing what’s best for him is literally your job.

You and Joshua both swore you’d talk, but it turns out there’s not much talking either of you really want to do. Instead, for the next several weeks following the night in your garage, you both fall into a routine. 

Every night, you leave the Academy together since he practically moved back into your home. You make dinner together or you pick up takeout. Maybe you work some more or watch a movie or just hang out, wildly laughing in the living room like kids. But most of the time, you’ll end up pinned under him—on the couch, in your bed, against the shower wall, on the floor—begging for both a reprieve and even more. In the morning, if he wakes up first (although a seldom occurence), he lazily fucks you awake until the two of you are inevitably and embarrassingly late. You dodge Jihyo’s wiggly eyebrows, Eunchae’s huge, prying eyes, and Joshua, himself, who’s hellbent on getting you to display any level of PDA toward him—even if it’s just a touch of his arm. Then you repeat. 

And you don’t get tired of it. You can’t imagine ever getting tired of it. Your heart and body are both making up for lost time and you get the feeling that they'll never really catch up. At least you hope they never do. Nothing in your life has ever felt as good as being in love with Joshua does, and you’re getting swept up in the sensation of him loving you right back. He shows it in everything he does and says. He shows it in every glance, embrace, and kiss. He shows it every time he loses himself in you—every time he leaves a piece of himself inside you. 

So you don’t talk. You avoid bringing up what this means for you. You don't discuss his sabbatical, his inevitable departure, and your commitment to making it work regardless of where he is in the world. You start to think the words can be left unsaid—that maybe it will be easier to just cross that bridge at the end of the season. That maybe confessing your love to each other was enough to communicate everything you wanted to say anyway.

You tell yourself that as time continues to fly until it’s suddenly the girls’ fourth race and F1’s Canadian Grand Prix in Montreal. 

Saki has a healthy lead in points with Megan following and Eunchae, having climbed up in the last two races, right on her heels. You're now halfway through the season, and you're happy to see that Joshua's words stuck with them. The girls continue to huddle together in their pre-race pep talks, double check each other's helmets, cheer with near-animalistic energy for the drivers that make it to the podium, and hold each other tight when some inevitably don't make points. They also continue to bond over shamelessly catcalling professional F1 drivers, which is exactly what they're doing as Joshua's very own reserve driver, Soonyoung, approaches the pit lane to say hi to their instructor.

“Wow, you just let them treat the drivers like pieces of meat like that?” 

You swivel around in your chair so abruptly, you almost throw yourself right off of it. “Wonwoo?!”

Your body is up and running toward him before you can even fully register that the ever-elusive engineer is standing on the Academy pit wall.

“Missed you too,” he laughs when you do nothing short of throw yourself into his arms.

“Oh my god! You’re always so busy on race weekends!” For the last two years, no matter how many races of the Academy’s overlapped with F1, neither of you ever found the time to see each other even for a moment; you only really saw him during the off-season, when you would visit him to make sure you kept your groomswoman status.

“Yeah, the briefing went smoothly and our drivers are pretty much set, so I thought I’d make good use of my break and come find you,” he explains, grin wide on his face as you pull away. “You have some time to catch up?”

“Yes!” you exclaim excitedly, glancing at Joshua to find the man violently shushing the girls while the driver next to him blushes furiously. You figure you have about half an hour before they'll need you back in your seat for the race. “Yes, of course! Let’s go to the Academy suite. How’ve you been?” He smiles, following you as you start to lead him down the wall and through the paddock. 

“I’ve been really good. Busy as always. Of course, everyone misses Hong, but I’m still having the time of my life drowning in spreadsheets.” You laugh because you know it’s not an exaggeration. “How about you? How’s the Academy? How's it like having Hong work for you?” 

“He doesn’t work for me,” you correct him, rolling your eyes. “He works for Jihyo.” 

“Pfft. That man has only ever worked for one person, and it sure as hell isn’t my CEO and it’s definitely not your CEO. You’re the only breathing being in the world that can make him work as hard as he does… maybe aside from his own mom.” You glare at him over your shoulder. “What? You disagree?”

“Um, yes?” You throw the door to the Academy’s hospitality suite open, not bothering to hold the door for Wonwoo, who just laughs again.  

“Okay, well you’ve always been stubborn.”

“Don’t I know it.” You groan when you see the only other person in the suite is Jihyo. She’s seated at the break table in her Academy tee and black jeans, eyes glued to her phone as she undoubtedly sifts through emails. She greets Wonwoo without looking up. “Hey, Jeon. I see you’ve found your star engineer.”

“I have,” he nods, immediately going for the couch as you go to the mini fridge to grab yourselves water bottles. You leave one on the table in front of Jihyo, who mutters a thank you, immediately opens it, and takes several sips.

“What’s she being stubborn about now?” Jihyo asks. 

“Nothing,” you answer before Wonwoo can. He just smirks as he takes a bottle from you, his body jostling as you plop down on the other end of the couch. “How's it going without F1's best race engineer by your side?”

He snorts. “It's going. Though if you ever want to come back, you—”

“She doesn't!” Jihyo cuts in, smiling tightly at Wonwoo, who shrinks back into the couch a bit. “She's perfectly happy here, aren't you, Y/N?”

You laugh. “Eh, I'm doing okay.”

Jihyo doesn't entertain your joke. “But if you ever get tired of working for The Big Papaya,” she says to him, “I'd be more than happy to find you something to do at the Academy.”

You scoff. “Um, hello? You already have a head tech exec. Me? What the hell are you going to have Wonwoo do if not replace me?”

She shrugs. “I'd double his McLaren salary just to have him sit in my office and answer my phone if it meant pissing off that CEO.”

He grins and shakes his head. “Really enticing offer—fielding calls for you instead of overseeing the most prestigious racing series for the most successful team on the grid. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”

“Do that,” Jihyo says with a nod.

“She can't keep from poaching everyone from McLaren,” you explain to him. “I'm not sure why she's so set on robbing that man of all his talent.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Does she need a reason? You of all people should know how fun it was to make him mad.”

“Fun?” you repeat incredulously. “Yeah, if you consider leaning back at a 45 degree angle while he screams at you for 15 straight minutes because you're afraid the vein in his forehead is going to explode, then yeah. That was fun.”

“Sorry, with how often you got yourself into trouble, I'd assume pissing McLaren's CEO off was your favorite pastime.”

“Ooo,” Jihyo jumps in again, thumbs still flying against her screen as she continues working without missing a beat. “Share with the class, Jeon. What kind of trouble did our sweet Mickie get up to?”

“Let's see… where to start…”

“How about we don't start at all?” you ask sarcastically. He ignores you and barrels straight ahead, rattling off memories of all the times you got your ass handed to you by Wonwoo's boss. 

“Oh, how about the last time we were all here in Montreal?” You have to fight to refrain from groaning as Wonwoo tells Jihyo why the CEO of McLaren was on the verge of strangling you that weekend. “She and Joshua thought it would be fun to spend the entire race doing karaoke instead of their jobs.”

“Oh my god, I remember this!” Jihyo exclaimed, looking away from her phone briefly to grin at you. “My entire feed was clips of your radio transmissions for weeks! You do a fantastic rendition of ‘I've Had the Time of My Life’ by the way. Joshua definitely carried the team, but entertaining nonetheless.”

“Why, thank you so much.”

“They got slapped with a time penalty for singing songs F1 doesn't have the royalties to,” Wonwoo says flatly. You roll your eyes. 

“And he still ended up on the podium, did he not?”

“Okay,” he nods and sits up like he's preparing to have an argument with you. “How about the time you two stayed up so late on a race night, he managed to forget what box meant and missed a pit stop?” 

“Thankfully, I'm a ridiculously prepared and responsible engineer that makes enough of a buffer for him to be able to afford a missed stop,” you point out haughtily. “And again, he still made the podium that weekend.”

“You nodded off and woke yourself up with your own snore.”

“Yeah, after he had already crossed the finish line!” you argue. “My job was done!”

“Oh my god, what kind of shit do you do at the Academy?” Jihyo mutters like she's second-guessing who she hired. 

“There was the time she refused to sandbag Joshua during FP; she also edged out his teammate for the podium that weekend.”

“Ah, my first-ever offense,” you hum as you nod. “What a sweet, sweet memory.”

“You were an entirely different person, huh?” Jihyo muses, smirking as she types. “She's been with me going on her third year now and she has yet to commit her first offense.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “Yeah, because you didn't have Hong around.” He sighs dramatically. “I invite you to think hard about her behavioral changes after you poached Hong.”

Jihyo rolls her eyes. “Why is that everyone's favorite word? ‘Poached,’” she says the word with the disgust only someone who has never poached employees from McLaren can be capable of. She takes a moment to think before she tucks her phone away and smiles at you. “Come to think of it, she's never pissed me off, but once Josh joined the team, her punctuality went down the drain.”

You wince as you think of all the sleepovers where Joshua refused to open his eyes in the morning and forced you into a situation where you had to dodge Jihyo's suggestive smiles all day.

“And they can't pay attention in meetings they're both in for the life of them,” she tells Wonwoo.

“I think our work speaks for itself,” you mumble.

“Sure, sure.”

Wonwoo nudges your foot with his and when you look at him, he smirks. “Speaking of you and Hong… lots of rumors going around.”

You groan just as Jihyo starts giggling the way she uncontrollably does every time she thinks of the social media shit storm that came from Shanghai's media pen. She has dozens of the memes that resulted from it saved on her phone.

“And they're all true,” Jihyo says, incredibly smug. You gasp at her willingness to divulge your own secrets. “Love is in the gasoline-polluted air.”

Wonwoo's brows reach his hairline as you hiss at her. “You have the biggest mouth.”

“We're all besties here,” she replies, shrugging.

“Oh my god, they're actually true?” Wonwoo asks, voice cracking a little from surprise. “He took the sabbatical to help you through a pregnancy…?”

Jihyo chokes on nothing, hand going to her chest as she starts coughing erratically, while you nearly spit out the water you just took a sip of. 

“Oh my god,” she wheezes, “that's a new one, oh my god.”

“What?!” you shriek. “No! No, I am not pregnant, what the fuck?!” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Where are these jobless people getting their information?! No, we are not married or pregnant or on our honeymoon or any of those ridiculous things! We're just…”

“Yes, please do tell us what you are,” Jihyo says, having recovered from her coughing fit. Voice deadpan, she sarcastically tells you, “I've been dying to know.”

You glare at nothing in particular. “We're… just… we are exploring.”

“Exploring…” Wonwoo repeats with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. Exploring what this could potentially be… and whatnot.”

“‘Whatnot’ is code for exploring each other's bodies,” Jihyo clarifies. 

“HR is never around when you need them,” you lament.

Your ex-boss cracks a smile at that, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when you sink lower on the couch and cross your arms over your chest petulantly. 

“I'm not shocked,” he says, waving a hand at your silent and contained tantrum. “You two were always just a matter of when. Seven years is a crazy ‘when,’ but to each their own.”

“Sorry, and who are you dating?” you ask with narrowed eyes.

“Touché, but when I do date someone, I will not take seven years to do it.”

Jihyo giggles again, earning another glare from you.

“Being bullied by you two is exhausting.”

Wonwoo sighs, shaking his head. “What a shame.”

“What is?”

“I guess I was just holding out hope.” When he notices you still look clueless, he continues. “I mean even though his email sounded pretty serious, I was hoping he'd change his mind, but now that I know the rumors are true and you two are an item… well, no chance of him changing his mind now.” He shrugs. “I guess McLaren will have good news for Soonyoung.”

You frown. “What? What do you mean?” you ask, the question obviously taking him by surprise. When he doesn't immediately answer, you tell him, “Joshua is still going back to McLaren at the end of the season. It's just a sabbatical.”

You think of the way his smile has gotten bigger, his laughs are louder, his skin glows brighter, and his eyes shine with renewed joy and purpose as he works with the girls. He has undoubtedly fallen back in love with the sport, and you’re certain you've done a good job of steering him back to where he should be when the season ends: right there, back with Wonwoo and the rest of the team.

Jihyo looks at you with a carefully blank expression. “What do you mean?” she asks quietly. “Haven't you two talked yet?”

It might have been a while since you updated Jihyo on the non-updates you have regarding your intention to talk to Joshua, but something about the way she asks forms a knot in your stomach.

“No?” you answer, perplexed. “Talked about what?” For once in her life, she looks speechless. You turn back to Wonwoo. “What are you talking about? What email?”

He looks between you and your CEO uncomfortably, but he knows you well enough to know better than to make you press him for answers. 

“Uh, Hong… he, um—he formally resigned from McLaren,” he answers, making your stomach abruptly and violently lurch. There's a sudden and unrelenting pounding in your ears, making it hard to hear the man even though he's right next to you. He fidgets as he informs you, “He didn't provide a reason why.”

“What…?” Your voice sounds so far away. “He can't do that! He can't quit! He…” It can't be true; his demeanor has improved so much since you first spoke to him about his position in Barcelona. F1 is where he belongs. F1 is not F1 without Joshua. 

You must've said the thought aloud because Wonwoo smiles weakly and says, “I mean… F1 has been around since before Joshua's mom was even born, let alone Joshua.” You look at him incredulously and he hurriedly adds, “But totally! I get what you mean!”

“When did he submit his resignation?”

Wonwoo fidgets uncomfortably, glancing at Jihyo, who simply shrugs at him. He answers, “About a week before your season began.”

You scoff. “Okay, that was months ago! He probably did that when he was still caught up in all his feelings from announcing his sabbatical.”

It's an easy explanation; he’s had months to change his mind, and now that he’s enjoying his time at the Academy, it should be clear this world is where he belongs. He must have changed his mind by now.

It's an easy explanation and Wonwoo decimates it with just as much ease. “He's going to be at MTC next weekend to complete his exit process and work with PR on an announcement,” he tells you, grimacing as he does. “He reconfirmed his availability just a few days ago.”

Your chest feels heavy and you lay a palm to it, pressing and rubbing firmly like that will help you breathe a little easier. It doesn't.

“I… I thought I was handling it.”

“Handling what?” Jihyo asks softly.

“Making him fall back in love with racing again,” you mutter. “He was right,” you say, referring to McLaren's CEO, “Joshua lost his spark, but… I thought I was helping him find it again… I thought I was helping him find his way back.”

“Oh honey,” Jihyo says, standing and making her way over to you. She sits on the other side of you and rests a hand on yours. “That was never your responsibility.”

Wonwoo nods in agreement. “Hong's a grown man. He knows what he wants and he knows what's best for him.” He says the words emphatically and they sound familiar. “That was never a burden for you to take on. Not then, not now.”

“This is his sport,” you say to yourself more than anyone. “This… is our sport.”

Jihyo purses her lips like she's begging her filter to work for once and truly mulling over what the right thing to say is. Wonwoo doesn't look any closer to figuring it out either.

“What is he going to do? This is a temporary position… what is he going to do next…?”

Your CEO squeezes your hand. “I think it's time you talk to him, babe.”

Wonwoo nods solemnly. “I'm sorry. I don't know why I assumed you knew.”

You shake your head but that's all you can manage right now to communicate it isn't his fault. “I, um.” Swallowing feels like choking back sawdust. “I should head back to the wall. The race is starting soon.”

“Of course. Let's go,” Jihyo says, standing with you. “I'm going to watch.”

“I gotta head over to the garage,” Wonwoo says, joining you. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N. I… I hope everything works out with Hong. Call me when you're free to have dinner, okay?”

You nod and try your best to smile at Wonwoo as he quickly hugs you and makes his exit, feeling an inkling of guilt for ruining your first time together at a grand prix since you left. It's useless, though; you know it's a sorry excuse for a smile and that you've thoroughly ruined the happy mood. You can't help the way the disappointment paints every part of your face and body. You failed. 

You set out to do the single most important thing you would ever do for Joshua, and you failed.

ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX 2019 "It doesn't even matter if you make podium or not. You literally just need to be above him." "I'm a little offended you don't know by now that that's just not going to be good enough."

You nod because it was the response you were 100% expecting. Of course it wouldn't be good enough for Joshua to win his first title in only his second season in F1; he has to do it in first place too. 

“Right,” you say before pursing your lips. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you like he's silently asking you what you expected. You wave him off wordlessly. “Okay, well. If my driver wants first place, I guess he's getting first place.”

“Mmm, that's more like it.”

The lights go out and without a beat of hesitation, Joshua's car takes off from P2, right behind Mercedes's veteran driver Ocasio in pole position.

Lights out and away we go! the commentator shouts from the stream. We've got Joshua Hong on McLaren and Benito Ocasio on Mercedes battling it out for the championship tonight with both coming into this race tied at 369 points. We're in a unique situation for this race. The gap in points between these two drivers and the rest of the grid is large enough that the next two places on the championship lineup were already decided several races ago. This grand prix tonight, here in beautiful Abu Dhabi… it might as well just be Hong and Ocasio alone on that track. This race will decide the fate of only two drivers tonight. This is a battle between 95 and 31. Everyone else will be smart to stay out of their way tonight.

“Clean, clean, keep it clean,” you whisper to yourself as Joshua defends the first turn from P3. In general, the first lap always makes you nervous because it's generally where most of the crashes in a race happen, but the first lap of a championship race? Your nerves are so tightly wound, a simple “hello” from someone right now has the power to send you into psychosis. 

As if wanting to prove you right, two cars toward the middle of the pack make brief contact, one of them wobbling dangerously before eventually losing control and crashing right into the barrier instead of making the turn. Even with Joshua far from the fiasco, you clench your muscles as you watch the other cars frantically dodge the pink car. No one else crashes.

“Alpine just crashed,” you inform Joshua. “Safety car coming out. It'll be quick, but I'll let you know if you're about to lap.”

“Copy. Is he okay?”

You watch as the marshal reaches the crash and the driver clad in pink pops up and out of his car, visibly angry as he kicks the rear tire in frustration.

“He's fine. Focus on Mercedes.” Joshua doesn't need to be told twice, giving the driver absolutely no breathing room as he stays on his ass for the next three miles. By the time they finish the first lap, the safety car is gone and full-speed racing has continued. 

Nothing changes for the first dozen laps, both you and Joshua saying very little to each other as he focuses on trying to overtake P1, and you focus on staying on top of his strategy.

“He's got him pegged,” Wonwoo groans. “This guy majored in Joshua Hong. Got a fucking minor in McLaren.” You bristle at the idea of Mercedes locking their driver in a room to study yours—his strengths, weaknesses, techniques, and strategy—for hours on end. Sure, you and Joshua did the same, but you hate the idea anyway. 

“He doesn't have him pegged,” you insist even though you don't quite believe that yourself. “He's only seen what's been broadcasted.”

“Yeah, and everything has been broadcasted,” he mutters. You don't have the emotional capacity to fit irritation alongside everything else so you don't bother glaring at him. 

Since the race first started, you've been wracking your brain for something—anything. And for the first time in 48 races… absolutely nothing is coming to mind. Ocasio is just as hungry for it as Joshua is; he's been in F1 three times as long with no title to show for it, and his contract with the prestigious works team is on the line. This is the closest he's gotten to becoming the world champion, and he's going up against a second-year driver for it. You wish you could tell yourself it’s okay if Joshua doesn't win—that he has the rest of his career to achieve so much, but this could very well be Ocasio's last chance to be something great in Formula. You wish you could. Instead, you tell yourself you'll actually have a full blown meltdown if you get this close and don't get Joshua on the middle of that stupid podium. 

Everyone else is worried over winning the Constructors’ Championship over Mercedes; you're worried over letting Joshua down over something he so badly wants.

“It's only your second year. Don't be so stressed,” you told him just before the race, even though you had zero place giving anyone advice about what to do with their stress when yours was currently completely ravaging your body.

You handed him his helmet, which no one had touched aside from you. This time, he had secretly asked that not even Wonwoo touch it today—something about feeling extra protective of his energy. He put it on and stared at you with those expressive eyes, and you saw the desperation and nervousness and doubt. You felt like you were staring at a boy. You felt like you were staring at a younger Joshua on the verge of achieving everything he'd ever dreamt of. You saw how much it meant to him.

“I'm not stressed,” he said, voice even. You didn't fall for it, though, and he knew you didn't. His mother was right; he was such a bad liar. 

“We’ll win.”

“Okay,” he said just before he flipped his visor down and turned away to get into his car. He didn't say it sarcastically—like he didn't believe you. In fact, it was very much the opposite. He said it as if just because you had uttered the words, they would be true. He said it like he really believed anything you told him was right.

And it instilled an unfathomable and unexplainable fear in you to know someone trusted you so deeply.

“Shua, how are the tires feeling?” you ask on his 22nd lap. He's the only driver on the track who hasn't boxed yet, continuing to insist the degradation feels minimal. The only reason you keep allowing it is because he never fights you back on anything, and you want to trust he’d be honest with you.

“Manageable” is all you get. You sigh and turn around and away from your monitor, watching as Joshua passes in a blur of orange. He disappears into a turn and you glare at nothing in particular. Is this the best you can do? Have your driver chase another and hope the other one fucks up?

“He has to box soon,” Wonwoo tells you. You're about to turn around to agree when something catches your eye. A single cloud—huge and fluffy and shaped perfectly like the head of a cauliflower. 

“Rain isn't on the forecast, is it…?” you ask, knowing damn well it’s never rained hard enough at Yas Marina to warrant wet tires.

Your boss makes a sound of surprise. “Rain?” he repeats. “No, it's not on the forecast.”

You frown at the big, chunky cloud as it slowly crawls across the black sky, taller than it is wide. “Did you even look?”

“I don't need to look,” he snorts. “It's never rains at—”

“Well, please look,” you say before speaking into your headset. “Shua, track check, please.”

“No changes,” he grunts.

“Clear?”

“Yup.”

“Oh shit,” Wonwoo says behind you just as Joshua asks, “Why?”

“Just checking,” you tell him. “Thanks.”

You turn back to Wonwoo, who's peering at another engineer's monitor. You lean into his personal space to get a look, and you thank whatever god exists for your eighth grade science teacher and for the other teams’ complacency with this track. If you're smart about your moves, no one will realize that the cloud you spotted is the first thunderhead heading toward Yas Marina until it’s already pouring, which the forecast estimates will be soon.

“Remind me what tires Ocasio is on?” you ask. He took his pit stop just three laps ago. 

“Hard,” someone answers, confirming what you were hoping: Mercedes changed out his tires without looking at the weather.

“Okay,” you sit back down, adrenaline flooding your system almost immediately. “The second we pit him and change to intermediates, the entire grid will hear it on the broadcast and know to check the weather, and they'll be onto us fast. How many laps can he go before he absolutely has to box?”

“I say five max,” the performance engineer says. “More comfortable with four.” That's around 6-8 minutes if Joshua keeps driving each lap at the speed he has been.

“We'll box him on lap 27,” you make a split decision and tell your team, taking the risk to push your driver for five more laps. “That gives these clouds eight minutes to cook up a storm for us.”

You switch to the private channel to notify the pit crew, telling them to refrain from bringing out the intermediates until the very last moment. 

“Shua, your air pressure is looking a little funky,” you say, even though the telemetry data clearly shows it's fine. You know he'll remember your code for the rain. “You'll probably feel fluctuations for the next five. Keep it calm and clean for now.”

“We need, like, a million code words and phrases,” Joshua said, sprawled across the floor of Wonwoo’s office. The head engineer laughed through his nose as he pored over his work at his desk—probably because you and Joshua met just yesterday and this is one of your first orders of business.

“A million seems excessive,” you responded from where you were seated on your boss's worn armchair, a McLaren relic at that point.

“Well, a million different things could happen on the track.”

You nodded. That was very true. “What about a code for…”

“Rain?” Joshua offered, looking at the windows as it poured outside. You smiled. 

“Why would I need to warn you about rain if everyone has access to the weather app on their phones?” 

He glared at you. “What if it's at a place where it never rains?”

“Then I probably wouldn't need to warn you that it's going to rain,” you pointed out, ragebaiting him. He felt familiar enough to do that with already, like an old friend.

“What if we're in Saudi Arabia… or Bahrain?!” he asked. “What if you don't expect rain but it's coming and you have to warn me?”

“Okay, but in what world would I know it's going to rain before everyone else does?”

“I don't know you,” he said petulantly. “You could be psychic. How would I know?”

You smirked, finally letting him have his way. “Okay… say I'm psychic. What should we say for rain then?” 

“How about, ‘Do you like the song Purple Rain by Prince?’”

“Way too obvious,” Wonwoo muttered without looking up.

“Fair,” Joshua sighed.

“We can work off that, though!” you encouraged him. “How about something like ‘groovy’? Get it? Because Prince? And grooves on a tire?”

“Also obvious,” the head engineer muttered again. Both you and Joshua scowled at him.

“Okay, genius, how about you tell us what the code word should be?” you asked him. He looked up from his work and stared at you both blankly. 

“If we're sticking with the Prince theme… I guess ‘funk.’”

You both stared at him. “In what context would I say ‘funk’…?”

“In what context would you say ‘groovy’?” he shot back. You bit back your laughter.

“Touché.”

“You could tell me something in the telemetry data looks funky,” Joshua said, nodding at the word. “I like it.”

“Okay, so I'll choose something that's very obviously not funky,” you added. “And then I'll find a way to give you a number and that will be the number—”

He joined in as you both finished the sentence. “—of laps until it starts raining.”

“Perfect!” he grinned. “Now. How about if there's going to be a blizzard?”

“Where the hell would there be a blizzard?!”

The memory of sitting in Wonwoo's office for hours last year, coming up with code words makes you smile a little. Joshua's line stays silent for a moment, and you know he's debating whether or not he should ask you if you're sure—not about the air pressure, but about the rain. In the end, all he says is: “Copy.”

You switch channels and tell the pit crew, “Get ready. Five laps. Don't let them see what you're up to until you have to.”

“Copy,” the head mechanic confirms.

“We should bring the other driver in too,” the team principal, who's sat smack in the middle of all of you, says. Your head whips toward him.

“You can't,” you argue. Joshua's teammate just boxed a lap ago. “If he comes back in, everyone will know something is happening and they'll find out sooner.”

“A second sooner isn't going to—”

“A second is a lifetime in F1,” you interject. You're not sure why you have to explain that to the team principal. “It will make a difference. We need every moment we can get before everyone else realizes it’s about to rain.”

“We have a responsibility to the team,” he says—a condescending reminder you don't need. Everybody knows every constructor on the grid only cares about the team.

“The other driver isn't even in the points!” you nearly shout. “Bringing him in won't help him; it will just squash Joshua's advantage!”

“No, we'd be giving them both an advantage and getting us closer to the championship.”

You fight with every fiber of your being to stop yourself from laughing right in his face. Joshua's teammate, much like Benito Ocasio's, doesn't have nearly enough points to contribute to the WCC. This truly is a battle between Joshua and the Mercedes driver.

“With all due respect, if Hong loses this, sir, the team loses the Constructors’ Championship,” Wonwoo emphasizes your point. “Our time is best spent focusing on him.”

You hate the way the team principal actually takes pause to think about it just because the point came from a man's mouth.

“As long as we get Hong to finish above Ocasio, both trophies are McLaren's,” your boss punctuates the point. The team principal purses his lips before nodding once at him and avoiding eye contact with you as he turns back to his monitor.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath as you and Wonwoo do the same.

“Breathe,” Wonwoo whispers. “You have a driver to focus on.”

You shake your head as your blood goes from a mild boil to a simmer. 

By the time Joshua gets to his 27th lap, the clouds have rolled in considerably, but none of the other teams’ radios or pit crews show any sign of boxing their drivers. 

“Everyone's so focused on the track, no one even notices how dark it's gotten,” Wonwoo says with wonder as he looks out at the circuit. To be fair, the floodlights that blanket the track are near-blinding. If you hadn't been desperately searching the circuit for an answer, you probably wouldn't have noticed either.

“Box, box,” you call loudly into your mic. 

“Boxing,” Joshua confirms as he takes the last turn before approaching the pit lane. Ocasio zooms past as he does, the next three drivers replacing Joshua not far behind. He stops in front of the garage, the pit crew doing a phenomenal job of hiding the tires until the very last second. “You sure?” he finally asks. His eyes are on you. You nod. He glances up at the sky before looking back at you and laughing. “Good thing we came up with the plan then, huh?”

You smile. “I guess you were on to something with your millions of codes.”

The team signals it’s safe to pull away and he does. As he disappears once more, you brace yourself for the commentator to announce Joshua is on wets now, but they don't. Instead, they're in a commotion over Red Bull. 

Unbelievable! Kim is attacking his own teammate, Kwon! he shouts. Even you get distracted for a moment, eyes bulging as you turn to the broadcast. You watch as both drivers, while battling for P3, go full speed down the west straight of Yas Marina, side-by-side and dangerously close with neither of them easing up or falling back as they approach the turn. One of them is going to have to give way or Red Bull will be finishing the season with two DNFs!

“Shua,” you speak to your driver. “You're four seconds out from P3, both Red Bull drivers battling.”

“What?” he asks in disbelief.

“One of them is going to crash—maybe both,” you say, 100% confident of it as they close in on the turn. If they refuse to back off, they'll either take it full-speed and lose control, or they'll brake too late and too hard and lock out. “Be careful.”

“Got it. Let me know if—”

Oh my god! the commentator shouts as Mingyu finally falls back.

Soonyoung slams on his brakes, locks out exactly like you knew he would, and fishtails wildly before crashing straight into the barrier, going at least 180mph. The car doesn't stop, catching air from the impact, grinding across the top of the barrier, and rolling several times before landing back on the asphalt upside down.

Kwon has taken a nasty crash into the barrier as Kim mercilessly takes P3 without so much as a blink! Red Bull is rightfully losing their minds on the pit wall, and the safety car is out!

“Kwon crashed; the safety car is coming out,” you tell Joshua as the car speeds onto the track and overtakes your driver, slowing him down as they approach the crash site. 

“Oh shit,” Joshua breathes as the Red Bull car comes into his view. On the broadcast, you can see smoke rising from the engine, his car looking like The Hulk smashed it between both fists, smoothed it back out, and then flattened it with the heel of his foot.

Both the safety car and Joshua pass Soonyoung just as the marshal reaches the Red Bull driver. 

“Is he okay?” your driver's voice is small.

You hold your breath as Soonyoung's unconscious body is dragged out from his car, limp with his arm bent at an awkward angle. You look away quickly.

“I don't know,” you say for the first time. Soonyoung and the wreckage of his car is taken off the track and the race resumes, with little news about whether or not the driver is okay.

"He has to be okay,” Joshua says a minute or so later. You know he's befriended the driver since Soonyoung was one of the few who didn't look at him like he was a poor piece of gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. “They would've stopped the race if he wasn't.”

“Exactly,” you say, surprised by how shaken you sound. You clear your throat and nod even though he can't see you. “Just focus on making Mingyu pay for it.”

He doesn't even bother with confirming he heard you, instead flooring it as he closes the gap between him and Mingyu. You'd almost forgotten about the rain until Joshua reaches the remaining Red Bull driver just as the first drops begin to fall.

“Here we go,” Wonwoo inhales.

What’s this? the commentator asks, bewildered. Is it raining in Abu Dhabi?

As if it heard him, the sky opens up with a boom of thunder, and suddenly, the rain comes down all at once, pounding the pavement almost violently.

“Holy shit.”

A Formula first, folks! We have a wet race in Abu Dhabi! the commentator laughs incredulously. And we've already got several drivers hydroplaning on their slicks!

Immediately, several drivers lose control, sliding all over the track like their cars are skating on ice. You have half a mind to start dancing and celebrating when you see that not only is Kim Mingyu one of them, but so are P1 and P2, leaving a wide open window for Joshua.

“Shua!” you shriek excitedly. “Two seconds to P1, and he slid off track! It's yours! Push now!”

“Pushing,” he says, passing P3 and P2 easily as they struggle to take control of their cars long enough to get them to the pit lane to change out their tires. 

Hong is breezing past these—he’s on wets! When did that happen?! He's on wets! The McLaren driver is on intermediates; we're being told he was switched out during his last pit stop right before the Red Bull showdown! Here's the radio transmission.

They show the play you and Joshua conducted and you tune out, watching as your driver zooms right past Ocasio's still, helpless car, an unstoppable, orange blur. You can't help but clap as he does, widening the gap between him and the rest of the grid considerably.

“When does the rain let up?” you ask Wonwoo.

“Can expect it to lighten in the next 20 minutes,” he answers.

“Good job, Shua!” you congratulate him on his placement. “Keep a close eye on the track for me, okay? The moment it starts drying up, we need you back in the pit to change you up.”

“Got it, boss,” he says, a smile in his voice. “Good call. How'd you know? That handy app on your phone?”

“No, even better. My eyeballs and deep knowledge of cumulowhatever clouds.”

“Amazing, thank you, cumuloso-and-so clouds.”

Joshua widens his gap from P2 to a whole minute as everyone struggles to get to the pit in the downpour, easily lapping P17-19. By the time Ocasio's team gets him on tires suitable for the rain, he's already almost an entire lap behind Joshua. To top it all off, the Mercedes driver is only on his rain tires for two laps before Joshua radios in to let you know the track is drying. He pits at the next opportunity, the team putting him back on slicks, and he pulls away, considerably faster. 

Phenomenal driving from Hong, and a truly magnificent show of expertise and talent from his engineer, Y/N L/N, the commentator says. Not only was he ahead by already being on wets by the time this history-making storm rolled in, but now, he's ahead as the track starts to dry up. Talk about intuition and foresight!

It's over and you know it. You don't say it out of fear that you'll somehow jinx it, but it's over. There are only three laps left, Joshua has lapped half of the grid, and Mercedes is so far behind, you could pit Joshua a third time for shits and giggles and he'd still be in P1.

Because you were fighting tooth and nail to keep your job last season, you were too busy trying to show your worth to your CEO to have any sort of tangible goals. Your sole focus was having another season at all; you wouldn't have ever thought a world title was on the horizon.

It isn't until he only has half a lap to go that you finally say it. “It's yours, Shua.”

“It's ours.”

He flies past the checkered flag to a roar of delighted screams and celebrations, fireworks and flashing lights, confetti and champagne, tears and laughter. As you watch Joshua's dreams come true, you get the nagging feeling that maybe his dream had become yours sometime in the last two seasons without you noticing.

You find you don't mind it.

Joshua Hong, in his second season, has won not only the Formula One’s World Drivers’ Championship, but has secured the World Constructors’ Championship for McLaren for the first time since 1998! Some drivers go their entire careers never reaching these heights, and Hong has done it in only two seasons! F1’s unlikeliest superstar has proven everyone wrong in the best way. He entered McLaren’s development program as one of their oldest participants and became a rookie with the least amount of karting experience on the grid, and now here he is: 2019’s World Champion… unbelievable, truly unbelievable. I don’t think there’s a person in the world right now who can argue how deserving the McLaren driver is of this. A job well done by Hong and a job well done by L/N. Congratulations to them and to McLaren!

The first time you met Joshua was at the McLaren Technology Center just a week after you practically begged your CEO to give you a chance with this rookie. You'd heard little to nothing about him—this Joshua Hong. All you knew was that he entered the karting program way later than any of the other current drivers on the grid, and his stats from the development program were the best you'd seen in years. Still, everyone was writing him off.

There were jokes made that he was McLaren's Cinderella—that it was a wonder he got this spot over other drivers in the program who had paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to be here. There were people who attributed his climb up into F1 as a pity pick—just someone with a rags-to-riches story to please the media and fill the spot, while McLaren desperately tried to win their first driver or constructors’ championship in years with their most senior driver. 

Even the CEO made it clear the organization's focus would remain on their veteran driver, who they thought was primed for a title. Wonwoo had also already been forced to spend most of his team's time and resources with him. You knew it was going to be an uphill battle, but almost having this opportunity ripped away from you before it was even yours lit a fire under your ass, and regardless of who was correct about who Joshua Hong was, you were going to make him bring F1 to its knees. 

When you met him in the lobby of MTC, with his manager and an HR representative in tow, he was dressed in a white T-shirt tucked into black slacks—plain and forgettable on anyone else, but almost 10 years later, you still remember every detail. You still smell the cologne he had on, the way his clothes didn't have a single wrinkle, how big his smile was as he told you, “When I heard my race engineer was a woman, my mom and I were so excited.”

You can't say you fell in love right then and there because you don't think you'll ever be able to pinpoint the exact minute you did, but he definitely already had your heart one way or another—whether or not you knew it at the moment. He was your best friend from the start. 

Which is why you’re so confused about why he would decide to keep something as big as his resignation from F1 a secret from you.

As soon as the girls’ race was over, you made your way back to your own hotel room, forgoing the media pen altogether. And instead of being able to drive yourself crazy all alone, thinking about what went wrong, when Joshua made this decision, and if you could've even done anything at all, Jihyo decided you could do all that with a friend. 

She was at your hotel room in her sweats and a bare face just three hours after you left the race.

“I told Joshua I had an emergency and to stay and help the other staff tear down,” she says when you open the door. Her arms are full of snacks and she has a small, almost nervous smile on her lips. “Can I come in?”

You answer by stepping aside and opening the door wider. She comes in, kicking her shoes off before wandering deeper into the room and throwing the snacks onto your bed.

“I got the paddock services team to open a vending machine for me and I completely raided it, but if there's nothing here you want, we can order room service,” she says, taking a seat next to her mountain of stolen snacks. “On the company card!”

“All of our meals are on the company card on race weekends,” you point out.

“Sure, but none of your meals are ever the $90 surf and turf,” Jihyo counters. You have nothing to say to that so you sit on the other side of her mountain.

“This is good,” you mutter, going for a bag of gummy bears. 

You're only on your second bear when the CEO gets straight to the point. “So… what are you upset about?”

You stop mid-chew and stare at her blankly. “Seriously?”

“I'm not asking in a dismissive way,” she clarifies. “I'm asking so we can, I don't know. Unpack your feelings? Get down to the root of this? If you're not going to talk to Joshua, you should talk to someone.”

You can't help the embarrassment that warms your skin. You don't know why you've put this conversation off for so long; if you'd had it earlier, maybe he would've told you that he resigned. But you didn't, and now this conversation is going to be three times as hard as it originally would've ever been.

“Well?”

You put the bag of gummy bears down and wipe your fingers on your sweats, grateful when Jihyo doesn't bat an eye at you.

It's hard to explain why you feel so gutted over a decision that doesn't affect you. To make it even more complicated, you don't understand why you feel almost betrayed you had to hear it from Wonwoo instead of Joshua, especially if he decided so long ago. You went back and forth with yourself for the last few hours, trying to make sense of it, and you still haven't gotten anywhere.

“I'm mad that he’s quitting something he obviously loves just because of a bad season,” you say because it's the easiest thing to pick out and you have to start somewhere.

Jihyo nods as she grabs and opens a bag of Hot Cheetos. “Maybe it's not because of a bad season.” You know she's right; Joshua told you as much in Barcelona. “How do you know he still loves it anyway?”

“Have you seen him lately?” you ask, flailing a hand like you're gesturing to an imaginary track inside your hotel room. “The man is in love with racing! You don't look like that and sound like that and teach like that and not absolutely love what you do.”

She hums quietly, processing your words as the sound of her crunching fills the room. You can tell she's trying to think of where to guide you and the conversation next, but you're a race engineer. You're not the one who follows blindly, and now that you've started talking, you suddenly can't stop.

“Devastated is the closest word I have to what I felt when he told me he was tired of this world,” you admit to her as you think about that day you came to get him. “How can he be tired of this world? He worked his whole life for this! He's just barely approaching the peak of his career, and he's ending it before he can even get there.”

“Is it the end?”

“What?”

“Of his career,” she explains. “Is it the end of his career?”

“What else would he do?” you ask, finding it impossible to figure out what on earth Joshua would be if it weren't an F1 driver. A fucking professional LEGO car builder? A sleepy pancake eater?   

“Whatever brings him happiness,” she says easily. You open your mouth to say the obvious (of course F1 makes him happy), but she continues before you can. “Whatever energizes him instead of drains him. Why is it so hard for you to believe that this is what he might actually want? That this isn't the mistake you think it is?”

You look up at Jihyo and expect to find judgment on her face because after all, it's a good point and what kind of person would you be to want Joshua to stay with something that only brings him exhaustion? But it's the opposite. She looks at you with a sort of curious compassion, and you know she truly is trying to help you unpack this. 

“Y/N…” she sighs, bringing her legs up onto the bed so she can turn to face you fully. “Why are you really upset? Don't think about a right answer or a nice answer. First thing that comes to your mind. Why are you upset?”

“It feels like he's leaving me behind,” your mouth says for you before you can even fully process the reason for your meltdown. You widen your eyes at your own confession.

“Okay!” Jihyo encourages you, nodding. “That's real! we're getting somewhere. Why do you feel like he’s leaving you behind? Your worth isn't tied to F1. He can leave F1 and still be with you.”

“I know…” you say helplessly because you do. That's why it's so hard to understand. “It just… it feels like I tried my hardest to get him to stay in this with me, and… he still decided he was done with F1. With me.”

“He's the opposite of done with you.”

You know realistically, that's true. You two have never been closer—have never given yourself to one another the way you have in the last few months. But you can't help but tie everything you two are with this sport, and not having Joshua in it—even if you're not the one guiding him on the track—feels too massive of a change for you to comprehend.

“He's just doing what he thinks is good for him. Isn't that what you did?” she asks. “Isn't he allowed that too? He gave you that grace once, didn't he?”

The regret that seizes your heart is sharp and it leaves you breathless. She's right; Joshua literally watched you make a decision on your own, watched you prepare for months to create a new life without him, and then you didn't even give him the chance to watch you leave. You took that away from him. You left him with an incomprehensible change yourself, and you did it without even saying goodbye. And not once did he complain or hold it against you.

Giving you grace was an understatement. 

“Oh my god, I'm so stupid.”

“No,” Jihyo argues. “You're just a little lost in your feelings. That's why I'm here.”

“What I did was so much fucking worse, and I have the nerve to throw myself an all-day pity party.”

“Yeah, well… you live and you learn,” she shrugs. You glare at her and she snorts. “What? What you did was objectively worse. You're by no means a bad person, but I do agree with you. I would much rather have my best friend or situationship or fucking-whatever-you-two-are prolong telling me about their resignation than take that resignation without saying goodbye.”

“Okay!” you shout, throwing a gummy bear at her face. It bounces off her forehead and makes it into her bag of chips. “I get it! Shut up now.”

“You come to cheer up a friend and you get pelted by gummy bears,” she clicks her tongue in disapproval, fishing the bear out and popping it into her mouth even though it's covered in Cheeto dust. “Ingrate.”

You sigh. “Thank you. You're a good friend. And I love you.”

“I know,” she smirks, eating another chip before saying, “I love you too. And you're just as good of a friend. To me and to Joshua. You just need to see past your fears and let him explain.”

You frown at the idea. “What do you mean see past my fears?”

“I mean, you're so afraid you're losing him that you're just letting that be the whole picture. He hasn't even said anything to you. He doesn't even know you know!” she points out, scoffing a little. “And you've already gone and made a whole story up about how he's giving up on his dream and it means the end of his career and the end of you two.”

Your frown deepens.

“In reality… you don't know anything at all, really. You just know what your fear has told you.”

“Oh.”

“It's seriously time you guys talk.”

“I guess it is.”

“But before you do… can I interest you in surf and turf?”

It's well past midnight and you didn't respond to any of his texts or calls after the race and you didn't let him know you'd be coming, but you know Joshua will open the door and welcome you in anyway. He proves you right after only the second knock.

“Hey!” he breathes, so heartwrenchingly happy to see you.

He's in an oversized tee and white sweats, his hair damp from a shower he must have taken in the last hour. He smiles and doesn't hesitate to pull you into his arms, holding you tight against his body. Even with all the emotions warring inside you, your arms still instinctively wrap around him and you press your cheek against his chest, closing your eyes briefly. He kisses the top of your head, lips resting there for a moment.

“I missed you, my love.”

You open your eyes and your hold on him loosens.

“I was worried about you but I figured you were just napping.” He pulls away, stepping aside to let you in, and closing the door behind the both of you. “Is that what you were doing?”

“Huh?” you ask as you slowly follow him further into his room, where he has race highlights playing on his laptop on the floor, several pages of notes surrounding it. 

He laughs, looking up at you, brows furrowing a little in amusement while he bends down to clean everything up. “Napping? Were you napping?”

“Oh,” you shake your head, watching him gather every last sheet of paper before heading to the desk to put it all away. “No. I was…” After several moments trying, your brain won't supply the proper words, so instead, you just come out and say, “Joshua, I know you resigned from McLaren.”

His hold on his laptop slips, but one end was already on the table so it doesn't fall far. His back, turned to you and hiding his face away from you, is completely stiff, every muscle in his body seemingly frozen. 

“I ran into Wonwoo today,” you explain, shifting your weight nervously from foot to foot. “He let it slip thinking I knew, but… obviously I didn't.”

Joshua exhales slowly, hanging his head in what you imagine is shame. “I'm sorry,” he says, turning around to face you, already looking deeply regretful as he meets your eyes. 

You pause to take a shaky breath before you take a few steps closer. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes tiredly like he's been dreading this conversation—like he always knew this was going to be a point of contention for you. 

He places his glasses back on his face and inhales deeply before stepping forward, resting his hands on your biceps, and saying, “I was going to tell you… I promise I was. You were going to be the first person who knew—at least, outside of everyone else who had to know first… y'know, for legal reasons. My manager. The CEOs. Wonwoo. The PR teams. Lawyers… but you were going to be the first one that mattered, I swear. I haven't even told my mom.” 

“I'm not mad you didn't tell me,” you say truthfully. It's been an hour or two since Jihyo dragged you back to your senses, and you know you're being honest when you say that. Parts of you are mad but not because Joshua kept this to himself. You've kept larger things to yourself for much longer. One of those things being that you were in love with him.

His eyebrows rise. “You're not?”

You shake your head. “I'm… a little hurt and confused and… scared, I guess. But I don't think I'm mad—not about you keeping this a secret.”

He rubs his hands up and down your arms, looking at least a fraction less on-edge than he did a moment ago. “I don't want you to be any of those things, most of all scared. Nothing has to change between us. I don't want anything to change between us.”

“You're leaving F1,” you say as if that's a point to counter his. 

“F1 isn't you,” he tells you like he knew this was going to be how you felt—like he knew you'd equate his departure from F1 to leaving you behind too. “I'm not leaving you. I'm not even truly leaving F1.” You look up at him and tilt your head in question. “I'll always be a part of this world. One way or another, even if it's through you. Or just as a fan in the grandstands. I don't think I could ever fully step away. I'm just… trying something new.”

“Being unemployed?” you ask, sulking.

He laughs now, his hands coming up to your shoulders and then cupping around the back of your neck to pull you forward so he can land a kiss on your forehead. “Resting,” he says. “And focusing on something that makes me a lot happier than going vroom vroom in a car.” You can't help but grin at the phrase you recognize Eunchae saying several times in class before.

“What could possibly make you happier than going vroom vroom?” you ask, rolling your eyes at him. He returns the roll right back as he leans in to kiss your forehead again, this time leaving pecks on your cheeks, your nose, and your lips too.

“Take a wild guess,” he says against your mouth before leaning back once more.

“Me?” you ask incredulously, your panic, which had already been simmering down considerably, suddenly spiking again. 

“Yes, you,” he laughs, frowning a little like it's crazy you wouldn't connect that—as if that's crazier than leaving his sport for you. “I finally have you. I'm not going to spend the majority of the year away from you now that I finally have you.”

“Joshua, I—”

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, not now!” you shriek frantically as he pouts at your usage of his full name. “I can't be the reason you leave F1!”

“Okay, well. One, you're not the only reason, and two, why not?”

Your mouth drops open in astonishment at the question. How do you point out that this might not work without hurting either of your feelings? How do you say that he can't change his entire life for you?

Jihyo's voice suddenly cuts through your thoughts like a knife. Isn't that what you did? You suddenly have nothing to say.

“You're scared things won't work out between us and I'll have made this huge life decision for nothing,” he mutters quietly, hands coming back to your arms to rub them comfortingly. “Of course, I've thought about that. Of course, I know that's a possibility. I don't care, though. I'm not happy in F1 anymore, Y/N. I haven't been in a while, and I'm… I'm really tired of pretending I have been.” 

You sigh, knowing that if it's a case of Joshua's happiness, you've already lost any argument this could have turned into.

“If it helps you feel better,” he says, squeezing your arms, “I made the decision before anything even happened with us. I made it with a clear head… at least, a semi-clear head.” He smiles at you and you feel your resolve slip completely. “Kind of hard to think totally straight whenever I'm even in the same city as you.”

It's impossible to suppress a smile after hearing that, and he immediately laughs and pulls you flush against him.

“Is that a smile I see?” he asks, as he brings a finger under your chin to tilt your head up at him. His lips twist into a playful smirk. “Pretty.”

You glare at him. “Are you sure about this?”

“I've actually never been surer. I promise.”

You let that sink in. With Joshua, it's always been a game of hoping you can trust each other to be honest and to make the best choices, and not once has he ever let you down. You know you have no choice but to trust that this is the best path for him.

“Okay,” you finally say, nodding. “Joshua Hong is leaving F1.”

You know he's telling the truth when the sentence makes him smile widely. “He sure is.”

Laughing a little, you shake your head and scoff. “I can't believe I left F1 for you just for you to follow me.”

His smile falters slightly and his brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Your heart stops. What is in the air in Montreal? Did you catch something from Wonwoo and his big mouth? “I…”

Your face and hesitation must give you away because Joshua's smile completely disappears now, and his brows pull down even further. “Y/N… what do you mean you left F1 for me?”

“Shua…” you stammer his name, unable to figure how to say what you know you need to. The weeks of putting off talking have led to this; you've always needed to tell him this. You just never figured out how to.

“Are you saying… did you…” His grip on you loosens. “Y/N, why did you leave McLaren?” he asks bluntly.

“Please don't be mad.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I left because… I was in love with you,” you finally say it. “I was in love with you and I knew it would ruin our careers and I didn't want to fuck everything up when you were literally at the top of—”

“Are you serious?” he asks, hands completely falling away from you now. It makes you run cold. He pushes his glasses up into his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut. “Please tell me you're joking right now. Please tell me it was solely because Jihyo poached you and you didn't throw your life away because of me.”

“I mean… I don't know that I would call it throwing my life away,” you say meekly, huffing a nervous laugh. Joshua drops his hand from his face and levels you with a flat, unamused look. You purse your lips before admitting, “I can't tell you that because it's not true.”

“Oh my god,” he laughs, though it's clear he doesn't find this funny. “Why would you do that?!”

“I told you, I—”

“No, don't say it was for me and my career, please don't say that.”

“But it was! It was for mine too! I—”

“I can't be the reason you left!”

You glare at him now, anger replacing all the complex emotions you had earlier. “I can be a reason you leave F1, but you can't be a reason I do?”

“Exactly, I can't!” He agrees with your point. You narrow your eyes at him. 

“That's so hyp—”

“It's not,” he says sharply, shaking his head like he can't believe you don't see whatever it is he does. “It's not hypocritical when you already spent five years making your entire life about me!”

“What?” you ask, your confusion stalling your irritation. “What are you talking about?”

He stares at you, breathing too quickly for your liking. Even during races, he was the picture of cool, calm, and collected. You don't think you've ever seen him like this. It drains you of your fight. Exhausted, you plop down on the edge of his bed, shoulders sagging a little.

“Look… I'm sorry I left. I am. You know how guilty I feel over it. But… I couldn't be the female engineer who fell in love with her driver.”

Joshua's face softens and he shakes his head. “No, I know. I—I'm not mad you left. I'm… I'm mad that after everything we've been through together, you had to do something as big as change your entire career because of me. For me.”

You wait for him to continue, watching as he obviously tries to gather and make sense of his thoughts. He removes his glasses from the top of his head, using his shirt to clean the lenses before putting them back on.

“You don't think it made me feel guilty?” he asks, shaking his head and leaning against the dresser across from you. “From the moment you woke up to the second you fell asleep—you don't think it made me feel guilty knowing your entire life had to be me?”

“Shua, I—” He doesn't let you tell him that you loved your time at McLaren. That caring for him wasn't just something you were paid to do; it was something you loved to do.

“I was so committed to staying happy for you when you told us you were leaving for the Academy because… because at least that meant you were going to get to be your own person without the baggage of an F1 driver constantly looming over you.” You frown at the wording. You hate it. “Just to find out now that that wasn't even the case, and you left because of me. You left because of the baggage of an F1 driver—just another thing to add to the list of things you've had to do for me.”

“You are not and have never been baggage to me. I love you,” you remind him. “I did those things because I love you.”

“And trust me, I feel like the luckiest man in the world. I'm so grateful you do everything that you do for me…” he insists, “but I don’t want everything that happens between us to be you guiding and you providing and you sacrificing. You having the burden of deciding what's best for both of us. You’ve given me F1, you’ve given me the Academy, you've given me everything you've ever had to offer me.” He pauses to catch a breath before saying, “It's my turn. You have to let it be my turn at some point. You leaving F1 and me leaving F1 aren't the same, not when you've already given up so many things for me.”

“But I didn't give you anything," you correct him. “You worked for and deserve everything you have—more than anyone else! And I didn't even have anything to do with you getting into F1!”

He exhales through his nose. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” 

He shakes his head and glares at the ceiling. “I spent five years, Y/N. Five fucking years with your voice as the soundtrack to the best and most thrilling and craziest and proudest and happiest moments of my life. And I thought it was the racing I loved. I thought it was the racing that made life feel so good. I swear to god that’s what I thought it was.”

His eyes come back down to you, almost pleading with you to believe him.

“But then… then, you left, and my headset went quiet and so did everything else and none of it mattered anymore and… it… it wasn’t the racing!” His voice rises again. He runs his hands over his face and shakes his head. “It was never the racing. Because it’s not worth it if I’m not doing it with you.”

As soon as the words really hit you, you stand and close the distance between the two of you. His hand comes up to rest on your waist as you cup his face.

“Shua,” you whisper. 

“And that’s not true just for the sport—life is better when I do it with you,” he tells you, eyes a little glassy as he does. “F1 was only a means to an end. I did that for my mom—to pay her back and to make her proud—but you still had me believing McLaren was my dream come true anyway. The cities I’ve loved I only ever loved because of you.”

You think you understand what he means when he says you gave him F1 now, but you let him continue anyway.

“Now, you have me thinking the Academy is the best thing to ever happen to me—that this is my dream come true now. I'm starting to think I could follow you to the depths of hell and you’d find a way to make that feel like home too.”

You laugh a little at that and he smiles at the sound. He squeezes your waist.

“I don't want to fight with you, baby, I really don't. I just… I love you, Y/N. I love you.” You nod, thumb caressing his jawline as you do. “Since we finished that first track test and every day since, I’ve loved you with everything I have. And watching you have no life outside of work because of me, get scolded for something dumb because of me, be expected to ensure I'm healthy and in tip-top shape at all times… it made me feel more like an inconvenience to you than your best friend.”

“Joshua, I never—”

“I know, but you see what I mean, right?” he asks. “Why it's so… gutting to hear that the one time I thought you were finally doing something for yourself, you were really doing it for me. Again. After all the things you already had to do for me.”

You frown, realizing he sounds a lot like Wonwoo did when he was begging you to reconsider your decisions in your last year in F1. You're always convinced you know what’s best for everyone, he had told you. He pointed out that you thought the best way to help was to bend over backwards. I know the last thing he’d want is for you to give up something you love so much because of him.

You nod. “I do. I see what you mean.”

“I wish… I wish you would've just told me. I wish you would've let me be part of that conversation, and I know you'll think that's rich because you weren't part of the conversation when I decided to leave McLaren, but…” He shrugs. “I want to be someone who can guide you and sacrifice for you and provide for you too. Now that I know you feel the same about me… I want you to know that there’s no world where this sport means even a fraction as much as you do to me. So… no, its not the same, it’s not hypocritical, and it’s my fucking turn.”

You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you lean closer to him, his legs widening to give you the space to.

“I'm sorry,” you apologize. “I'm so sorry I ever made this feel like it was just me calling all the shots and me deciding everything. That wasn't fair, and I know my decisions have caused you a lot of pain. I'm sorry.” He opens his mouth, but you shake your head and keep speaking. “I need you to know I never—not once—thought of this as an uneven relationship. I never thought loving you was a burden, and I never thought I helped you more than you did me. If anything, I was even more determined to do right by you because of the way you made me feel.

“This probably doesn't surprise you, but I've been a bad ass my entire life,” you say, coaxing a laugh out of him. You grin. “I've always been confident in my abilities, and I've always known I could do whatever I wanted. But you… the faith you put in me and the ferocity you believe in me with… you make me feel unstoppable. You make me feel loved. You say it's your turn, but you've done so much for me already.”

He snorts sarcastically. “Like what?”

“Like advocating for me at every turn during those five years together,” you say without missing a beat. If this is the game he wants to play, you have a list longer than all the tracks in F1 combined. “Giving me a best friend I never even had prior to you. Showing me what caring about something really means—beyond the accolades.”

His frown melts away, so you continue.

“Always having my back even if you knew I was wrong. Being the only person who ever took the time to get to really know me. Taking care of me every time I got sick. Getting fined several times for it because you kept skipping your training sessions.  Sharing your mom with me.” He clears his throat and looks down as his eyes get shinier. “How about swallowing all your sadness to try and be happy about me leaving for F1 Academy? How's about dropping everything and coming to London with me just because I asked even though we hadn't talked in two years?”

“Okay, I get it,” he says, voice dangerously watery. You smile, pressing the back of your pointer finger to his waterline to collect the tears there before they fall. 

“Joshua, my time in Formula has only been as exciting and fruitful and unforgettable as it has been because of you. Even now. I love the Academy so much, but having you here this season has been… it’s been a dream come true,” you tell him, borrowing his own words. “It's not anyone's turn. This is what we do, isn't it? This is how we love each other? Both of us strategizing what's best for the other one… neither of us knowing how to exist if it doesn't include the other one's dreams coming true?”

He smiles as he sniffles. “Is that what that was? Your reluctance to let me retire—was that just you thinking you were helping me hold onto a dream come true?”

You shrug a shoulder. “It's F1. And you’re… you.” 

He shrugs right back. “I'm not going back to racing every track in the world just to spend the entire time thinking about how bleak it is doing any of it without you. I can’t.”

“And I won't ever make you again. Not without talking to you first.”

He nods. “Thank you.”

You lean forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you. For everything. You have no idea how much I cherish you.”

He chases your lips to give you another kiss before he leans back and takes you in. He blows a breath out before asking, “Okay… so what now…? I've never had such a mature argument with someone. Are we just… done talking now…? Should we watch a movie…?”

You laugh loudly, rolling your eyes at him as he grins at you. “How about…” you press yourself close to him between his legs, your mouth grazing his ear as you say, “we celebrate your retirement?”

He squirms a little but doesn't move away. “Celebrate my retirement? You mean the thing you were just protesting 30 minutes ago?”

“If you're happy, I'm happy,” you tell him honestly. “So let's celebrate.”

“And how should we do that?” he asks, swallowing loudly. 

You don't bother answering, instead letting your hands fall to his thighs. Before you can even begin to let them start traveling up toward his crotch, he wraps both arms around your waist, straightens up against the dresser, and kisses you deeply. Momentarily forgetting what you wanted to do, you bring your arms up to wrap around his neck, smirking into his mouth a little when he brings a large hand to your ass and squeezes so that your hips press harder against his. 

“I love you,” he breaks away and says, his voice still emotional. “This is all I want. You're all I want.”

“I love you, too,” you breathe, pulling away and looking up at him. You grind against him subtly, smiling when you feel him hardening against you. “Will you let me show you?”

He smirks. “Nice try.” Your face falls. “We can forget about taking turns tomorrow, but tonight, it's still my turn to provide.” He squeezes your ass again mercilessly hard. 

You squeal when he uses a little nail, making him laugh. He gently rubs the spot to soothe it afterward, but you know either way, it'll bruise. Without saying anything, Joshua pushes himself off the dresser and turns the two of you around, easily lifting you up and seating you on the wooden  surface. He smiles at you softly, but his eyes are dark and hungry and you feel like you're about to get eaten alive.

He removes his glasses, folding them and putting them on the dresser beside you before his fingers find the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms as he removes it, breathing loudly and slowly through his nose when he realizes you don't have a bra on. Instead of touching you like you were hoping he would, he hooks his thumbs into the thin fabric of your sweats, pulling them off you along with your panties in one go when you lift your hips to help him.

You try not to think too much about how naked you are and not-naked Joshua is, and thankfully, he helps you with that. He starts by slotting his lips to yours, his hands holding your face in place as he does all the work of sucking, licking, and kissing. It's slow and languid and messy, and you feel the wetness gathering between your legs more with every second you stay empty. 

When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects your lips, and he follows it back to you, pressing a kiss to your mouth once more. You inhale sharply when you feel two of his fingers—startlingly cold—press between your legs, right on your clit like he's already memorized exactly where yours is. 

“Wait,” you whisper, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your mouth. You smile sheepishly. “Your hands are cold.” 

He watches intently and unblinkingly as you open your mouth and take his fingers into it, pressing your tongue flat against the pads of his fingers and sucking. 

“Oh my god,” he breathes.

You swirl your tongue around the prints of his fingers until they no longer feel cold against your muscle, and you release them from your mouth with a pop. Then, for extra measure, you exhale hot air onto them before slowly bringing his hand back to your cunt, refusing to break eye contact with him as you do. He looks so sexy like this, so smug and pleased to see you doing exactly what you want with him before he completely undoes you. It's hypnotizing. 

As soon as his fingers are on your clit again, they start to move in slow circles, and try as you might to maintain eye contact, the sensation steals your breath away and has you tilting your head back and thrusting your hips toward Joshua in desperation. He doesn't quicken his pace, though, taking his time tonight to draw out your ecstasy. Slow, firm circles.

“Shua…” you moan, eyelids fluttering as you stare at the ceiling.

“Hmm?” His hum is low. He brings his free hand up to your waist, grazing it up your ribs, and finally cupping your breast, his thumb running back and forth across your nipple gently. “What is it, my love?”

He leans forward and kisses the space where your shoulder meets your neck. You groan as he sucks lightly, not enough to leave a mark but just enough to make your pussy twitch. Between all three places where Joshua's body comes into contact with yours, you're hurtling toward your first orgasm at an embarrassing speed. 

“Use your words,” he says, his voice deep and breathy—the only sign that he's as affected by you as you are by him.

“Feels so good” is all you manage to say as you roll your hips into his fingers. His hand comes up from your breast to your shoulder, and he gently pushes you back, forcing you to lean away and plant your hands behind you on the dresser. With the space, Joshua bends down and attaches his mouth to your nipple, his fingers never losing their pace or pressure.

“Oh god,” you whine, trying your best to keep your legs open for him as your cunt starts to spasm.

His tongue circles your nipple just as slowly as his fingers work, wet and warm as he takes his time making you lose your mind. Your hips start to roll on their own, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you let your head fall back. His hand comes down to your hips, and you brace yourself for him to still them—to keep you from getting to your orgasm too early—but he doesn't. Instead, as he releases your nipple and starts marking the flesh of your breast (a habit he's formed every time you've slept together), he simply massages your hip comfortingly, and his fingers start to pick up pace.

“Mmm, Shua, gonna come,” you moan, your hips twitching under his hold.

He moves from your tits to your collarbone, kissing his way up your neck and your jawline. His hand leaves your hip to grasp your jaw and pull your gaze back down to him. His smile is long gone, and he already looks dazed and fucked out without having been touched at all yet; the sight has you groaning again. He surges forward and connects your lips, enveloping them with so much vigor, it's the last push you need to send you careening toward your orgasm.

You gasp against his mouth, one hand coming up from the dresser to grasp Joshua's shoulder desperately. 

“So beautiful,” he mutters against your lips before he pulls away. 

Before you can even begin to complain about it, his fingers are both slipping inside you, his thumb replacing them on your clit. Your grip on him tightens as you try not to shout, his fingers pumping in and out of you, fucking you through your orgasm. And because that doesn't seem to be enough for him, he lets go of your jaw and pulls you to the edge of the dresser, making you lean even further back until you're slumped against the wall. He falls to his knees.

“Joshua, fuck!” you gasp when he lifts his thumb and flattens his tongue against your clit.

He glares up at you from where he kneels, but you don't have the wherewithal to correct your usage of his name. He stiffens his tongue and swirls it around your clit, downright refusing to let your orgasm fade as you helplessly writhe under his hold. He eats you out like he hasn't been fed for days—feral, messy, desperate—and you actually start to wonder if you're going to survive, your body trembling as your first orgasm goes right into a second.

It feels like the best and worst thing that's ever happened to you. You feel euphoric and drunk, but you also feel like if it goes on for any longer, you'll just disintegrate under his fingertips.

“Please,” you breathe, chest heaving as your hands start to frantically grasp at nothing against the dresser and the wall. Hot tears begin to stream down your face, and you're losing control of your legs, Joshua taking it upon himself to pin one down with his free hand. “Please, please, I—oh my god, I can't, please—”

He hums against your clit, the vibrations drawing obscene sounds from you. Then, finally taking mercy on you, he removes his mouth from your pussy, makes two beckoning motions with his fingers before sliding out and leaving you empty, and lets you catch your breath. He cleans his fingers in his mouth, smiling against them at the taste before standing and leaning over you. He circles both his arms around your middle and grins proudly before kissing you softly and sweetly like he didn't almost just kill you right now. You lazily wrap your legs around him, and the moment you do, he lifts you up and off the dresser, and takes you to the bed.

He drops you on the mattress, making you bounce a little, and he stays standing over you, looking down at his work. His cheeks are a deep, pretty pink, his mouth is a little swollen, and his dick strains hard against the confines of his sweats. It makes you whimper a little.

“Aw, don't cry, baby.” His sweetness wars with the mean smirk his mouth twists into. “Don't worry, I'll give you a break.”

He plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, propping himself up with a hand by your head. He watches you carefully while he takes his time pushing your hair away from your damp forehead, caressing your cheeks, tracing the mark he left on your breast. 

“My pretty girl.” You smile faintly and breathe deeply, feeling a little more in control of yourself again. “Feel good?”

You nod, not quite able to find the energy to speak just yet. Instead, you lift a hand to rest against Joshua's chest, rubbing a silent thank you over where his heart beats erratically. After a moment, you let your hand fall to the hem of his shirt, and you pull it up his torso, revealing the cut body F1 has demanded of him. He smiles but doesn't lift his arms to let you remove his shirt completely.

So you take your time letting your hands explore his bare chest, running over and pinching his nipples, squeezing his waist, tracing his abs with a single finger—until you've reached the waistband of his black boxer briefs, just barely peeking over his sweats. You hook one pointer finger into the band, and you cup his erection with your other hand. His smile widens at the sensation, rocking gently into your hand. 

“So big,” you sigh softly. 

“I'm all yours if you can take some more,” he says, hips rolling gently against your hand. You nod quickly, hating the idea of the night ending there. You don't think you've ever needed Joshua's cum inside you more than you have tonight. 

“I can,” you insist, taking your hands back and propping yourself up on your elbows. Joshua takes the opportunity to kiss you, his tongue wasting no time finding yours. 

You don't know how long you two stay like that, just making out and lazily running your hands all over each other, but by the time you break away, you're craving a lot more than his mouth again.

“Take it off,” you whine, yanking at his shirt again. He lets you remove it this time, smirking when he sees your eyes roaming his body. You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pull, but the angle doesn't let you get far at all. “Those too!”

“Bossy,” he mutters as he pulls his sweats off, kicking them off his legs, but makes no move to do the same with his underwear. You groan but he doesn't do anything to appease you.

Joshua finally joins you in bed, letting the leg holding him up on the ground come to rest by your hip before he wraps an arm around your waist and moves you up the bed until your head is on his pillows. Before he can situate himself above you, though, you lock him between your thighs and roll you both over until he’s on his back and you're seated on his lap, right on top of his completely hard cock. You both moan at the contact, his hands coming to your hips and gripping them bruisingly tight.

“So wet,” he mutters, eyes locked on your pussy as you try (and fail) not to roll against him. You look down and realize the spot on his boxers where you two meet is already growing wet and shiny from where you've ground your cum and arousal onto him. 

He doesn't give you a chance to feel self-conscious over it, though, because he takes one hand and slips two fingers between you, gingerly running them up and down your slit before slipping them inside you. He looks pleased when you push down harder on his hand, taking more of him in until there's nothing else to take. He takes his other hand and places it behind his head like he’s making himself comfortable for the show, and the way his muscles flex make you squeeze around his fingers.

“Shit,” he whispers when he feels you close in around him. 

“Not enough,” you grumble, lifting your hips and doing nothing short of slapping his fingers away from you. He snorts with amusement but is cut off with a grunt of surprise when you violently tug at his boxers, enough that it drags his whole body down a bit.

“Okay, okay!” he laughs, hands closing over yours. “You're gonna rip them! These are Givenchy!” As if you don't know what the tiny logo in the middle of the band is.

“Good!” you huff, pulling even more.

He laughs harder as he tries to take your hands off of him to no success. He settles for simply planting his feet into the bed and bridging his hips up to make it easier for you, and you finally, finally peel off his underwear.

You throw what you're sure are the most ridiculously priced boxers somewhere behind you as you grin and take your place back in his lap.

“You're crazy,” he laughs again. “Those boxers cost—”

He never finishes his sentence because at that moment, you hold his bare cock up at its base and you press it flat against you, rolling your hips into him shamelessly, your wetness spreading more and more across the underside of his shaft with each movement.

“I think it’s my turn,” you tell him, smirking when he actually whimpers under you. 

Feeling re-energized and a bit slighted from your earlier never-ending orgasm, you don't bother easing his cock into you. In one motion, you split yourself open on him, fighting to keep from immediately crying again when he's fully sheathed inside you. The labored breathing and soft moans from Joshua under you are a helpful distraction from the delicious burn, though.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, eyes wide as his hands find their way back to your hips.

You lean forward, lips grazing his throat after a particularly loud moan, and you hum before asking, “What is it, my love?” You try not to sound too mean when it’s your turn to say, “Use your words.”

“Fucking hell,” he swears, his hold on your hips impossibly tight. You can tell he’s fighting not to move under you—fighting to keep from driving his hips up and fucking into you uncontrollably like he has before. It should endear you since you know it's probably to help you get used to the feeling of him stretching you wide open, but it just makes you want to push him more.

“Do you like having me like this?” you ask, rocking your hips the tiniest bit. The small movement sends his hands straight to your ass. He squeezes desperately. “Hm? Do you like being able to fuck me raw like this?”

“Oh my god,” Joshua pants, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Do you like knowing you're the only one who gets me like this?” you ask, pressing a kiss to the middle of his throat. You feel his Adam's apple bob under your lips as he swallows. 

“I fucking love it,” he pants, voice raspy. You feel him twitch inside you and you know your resolve is thinning just as fast as his is. “Fuck, I love it so much. I love you so much.”

You look up from where you're hovering over his throat to find him looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. His chest heaves as he brings one hand to your face, brushing your hair back behind your ear so he can see your face clearly.

“This was always how it was going to be,” he whispers, cupping your face with his hand. “It was always going to be you.”

You don't know if he means you over F1 or you with him like this or just you in general, but whichever one it is, the words make your heart swell three times its size inside your chest. Without lifting your chest up from his and without saying anything else, you lift your hips all the way to his tip, relishing in the sensation of his cock dragging against your walls, before you slam back down. You give him no time to recover as you pick up an unforgiving pace almost immediately.

“Shua,” you gasp when both of his hands grip your ass, following your movements as you fuck yourself on his dick. “I love you.” Your whispers are staggered and hardly discernible but you know he hears you because he starts to thrust his hips up to meet yours.

It doesn't take long before his movements become frenzied, and he pushes himself up on one hand so that he’s sitting, the other arm wrapping around your waist to support you. Then, he starts thrusting into you so hard and so fast, it immediately fucks every thought out of your head, and you're rendered useless, your body limp and boneless as Joshua holds you up and fucks you like his life depends on it. Your head lolls forward until your forehead is resting against his.

You lock eyes with him and neither of you can seemingly look away as you both inch your way closer to a climax. You don't think anyone has ever looked at you the way Joshua has—not in this moment and not even when you were still at McLaren, trying your hardest to be nothing more than best friends. It's hard to even explain, but you think it’s the closest way he can tell you he loves you without saying it outright. You hope he feels the same when you look at him.

“‘m close,” he pants, immediately turning you over and pinning you under him once more. 

Joshua keeps his arm wrapped around your middle, bringing you as close to him as he can. He continues pounding into you, his dick kissing your cervix and balls slapping against your ass with each deep thrust. Both sensations have you curling your toes and digging the heels of your feet and your fingernails into his back.

“I could stay in you forever,” he tells you. “I could do this for fucking ever. God, I never want to stop.”

“Come in me,” you beg, tears escaping the corners of your eyes again. “Fill me up, Shua. Please, come in me.”

His hips snap forward harder and rougher as he starts to struggle to keep his head up, his forehead finally coming to rest against your shoulder just as you start to come.

“Shit!” you breathe, every place you're holding Joshua tightening around him without your permission, including your cunt. 

“God,” Joshua grunts against the sensation of you clamping down on his cock. “Oh fuck, so close.”

You barely hear the words over the rush of blood in your ears as he chases your orgasm mercilessly. Your pussy flutters around him uncontrollably, spasming up and down his shaft as the feeling of helplessness and overstimulating pleasure return from earlier.

“Joshua!” you shriek, hand flying up to the headboard above you and pushing against it to ground you as his movements begin to violently thrash you further up on the bed.

You feel the delicious, burning heat of him inside you before he tells you it’s happening.

“Coming,” he gasps, “I'm coming, I'm—fuck!” He thrusts several more times before he starts to slow the roll of his hips.

You feel him dripping out of you, and you smile at the feeling, knowing he filled you up just like you begged him to. You hold him close to you and breathe deeply as he finally stops and collapses on top of you, the aftershocks of pleasure slowly spreading from your core to every other part and corner of your body like a slow-moving magma.

You both lay there like that for several minutes, waiting for your hearts to stop beating so fast, and when your breaths return to normal, Joshua carefully slides out of you, presses several kisses to various parts of your face and body, and helps you up and into his restroom where he insists on running you a bubble bath despite it being the middle of the night. You have zero desire to object.

He sits you in between his legs, carefully and gently washing your hair and skin as you two talk and, at some point, start laughing over his boxers—him teasing you for being so desperate and you teasing him for spending almost $400 on underwear (“It was a brand gift! I'm literally a Givenchy ambassador!” “I don't care, it's ridiculous!”). 

The conversation fades, and you wonder how long he's been holding back since you got into the tub when his hand comes down your body to rest between your legs once more. Neither of you say anything as he starts to gently rub your clit, the other hand massaging your tit from behind. He peppers kisses on your skin as you tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, your eyes zoning out on the ceiling as he pulls one, last orgasm out of you for the night. He whispers all sorts of things about how much he loves you before he moves to get you out of the tub, dry you off, and prepare you for bed. You don't remember much from there, aside from being tucked into his bed, his chest against your back as you both fall asleep. 

When you wake up, it's to Joshua's hand around your breast and his cock poking at you between your cheeks. You groan, sleepily grinding against him without opening your eyes. 

“Morning,” he rasps, laying a kiss on your shoulder.

“What time is it?” you ask, voice muffled by your pillow. 

“Early. Plane doesn't take off for another few hours.”

You do nothing aside from grunt and push your ass back onto him in wordless consent. His hand starts at your shoulder, caressing down your curves with the back of his fingers until he reaches your thigh. He turns his hand over palm down against you, slipping it over your thigh and lifting until his knee slots between your legs, propping your top thigh up on his. 

“Okay?” he asks, his own voice so thick with sleep, you're a little surprised he has the energy for this. 

You yawn and nod. 

“Wanna hear it,” he says closer to your ear this time, his lips grazing you. 

“Keep going,” you say, still managing to sound whiny even half-asleep.

He hums in approval as he starts to press down on your clit in an effort to get you wet enough for his size. Without opening your eyes, you bring your hand to your mouth and spit as much as you can, then you bring your hand down and reach for his length between your legs, pumping the wetness onto him a few times. You feel him bury his face in your hair, his nose pressing against the nape of your neck as he curses under his breath.

“Can I go back to sleep?” you ask sleepily.

“Of course, baby,” he says, kissing your shoulder again before removing his hand from you and bringing his head back to his own pillow. You frown and open one eye. When he doesn't touch you again, you open both eyes and turn halfway toward him. You still can't see him but you're too sleepy to turn any more than you already have. 

“No, keep going.”

“Hm? I thought you wanted to—”

“Yeah, while you fuck me,” you explain. “I think it’ll be nice.” You turn back to your side and close your eyes. “Come on.”

He laughs through his nose but obliges, his hand coming back to your clit. 

“Put it in.” 

“Babe, I—”

“Just do it, Hong.” It's not much more than  whisper and it carries only a tiny fraction of the authority you know you're capable of, but it’s as much as you can manage when you're basically asleep and still trying to boss him around.

You don't remember if he said anything else, but the next time you feel something pulling you out of your sleep, it's because Joshua's cock is sliding in between your folds and into you from behind, his hand holding your thigh against his own to keep you open for him. You're not sure if it’s been seconds or minutes since you asked him to fuck you, but you sigh happily. 

He takes his time fucking you, like he always does when it's morning sex. It's lazy and slow and sometimes both of you end up falling asleep before anyone can even have an orgasm, but it's some of your favorite sex with Joshua. It's close and intimate, and there’s something about needing each other being the first thought either of you have in the morning that makes you feel extra loved.

At some point, Joshua must wake up a little more because he hooks your leg on the inside of his elbow and brings it up higher to thrust deeper. He also massages your tit with more fervor and hooks his chin onto your shoulder, kissing, sucking, and nipping at your skin desperately. The jostling wakes you up too, and when you open your eyes, you realize you're both facing the full-length mirror hanging on the wall, and Joshua's gaze is zeroed in on you already.

He had thrown the covers off you while you were asleep, and you find that he has the perfect view of his dick disappearing into you. You inhale sharply, your breath coming back out as a moan.

“Good morning,” he says again, this time his voice completely coherent, though equally breathy as before. “Still okay?”

You nod quickly, a hand coming back to thread your fingers into his hair. “Oh, Shua,” you breathe, scratching his scalp. He hums against you, eyes fluttering at the feeling. “I love you so goddamn much.”

He smiles into your skin. “I love you, baby.” His hips still as he reaches up and over to kiss you on the lips. He mutters, “But now that you're awake, I'm going to come in you, okay?”

You bite your lip as you nod, and it’s clear that however long he was fucking you for, Joshua was holding back in an attempt to let you sleep. Now that you're awake, the man drives into you brutally, all the while watching you come apart for him in the mirror. The last thing you see before you're forced to squeeze your eyes shut is the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.

As you tilt your head back into him, the hand under you goes from your breast to your throat, his fingers splaying across them, and from the way his hips become frantic, you know he likes how that looks in the mirror. You're not sure what it is, but just the mere thought of that brings you straight into the throes of your orgasm.

“That's it,” he breathes, fingers pressing against your throat a little more firmly. “Oh yeah, that's it. Come on my fucking cock, baby. Fuck.”

“Shua…” you whine.

Just like the night before, you feel his climax before he warns you, your cunt filling with hot, sticky streams of Joshua's cum. He holds you against his own body tightly, biting down on your shoulder as he finishes, rolling his hips slower and slower until the waves of bliss slow to a gentle tide.

“Mmm, Sh—mmugh,” you groan nonsense, officially fucked stupid from the last several hours.

“I know,” he agrees, laughing a little as he pecks your cheek. “But unfortunately, we have to start getting ready for the airport, my love.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You open your eyes and glare at him in the mirror, ready to start an argument, but he’s not looking at the mirror; his eyes are on you—the you in bed with him. And he’s looking at you like he’s wondering how he got so lucky, his lips curled into the softest, gentlest, and sweetest smile. It wipes away the exhaustion you feel, and you turn away from the mirror to meet his eyes.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go.” 

He nods once and begins to pull away, but you hold him where he is.

“But not before you remind me how much you love me.”

He grins at that. “Easy. I love you so much, I'm starting to think it’s the thing I'm best at.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Even better than dr—”

“Yup,” he says resolutely. He spanks your butt lightly and jerks his head. “Now come on. Time to get up.”

You smile. “I love you too, by the way.”

“Good. Admitting that I quit F1 because I'd rather be near you would be awkward if you didn’t.”

You laugh as he detaches himself from you and drags you out of bed with him. 

JAPANESE GRAND PRIX 2019 "Y/N, can you come to the garage?" "Hey, you're on the radio early… shouldn't you still be relaxing? The race doesn’t start f—" “Somebody touched my helmet."

Joshua watches from across the pit lane as you violently tear off your headset upon hearing that, not bothering to respond to him at all. You practically throw yourself out of your seat, and he bites his laughter down as he returns Wonwoo's headset to him.

“You're ragebaiting her,” the head engineer says, shaking his head.

“A necessary evil,” Joshua claims, grinning. 

The other engineers seated next to you smirk in amusement as you stomp away, screeching, “It's been five fucking years, people! Why are we still breathing anywhere near Joshua Hong's fucking helmet?!” so loudly, even Joshua can hear you from across the lane. 

A mechanic from another team squeaks as he dives out of the way to avoid your rampage. Instead of heading straight to the garage like Joshua requested of you, you do exactly what he predicted you would. You turn to go toward the driver's suite, where the extra helmet you keep in case this ever happens again is locked away safely in Joshua's locker. Though after the absolute crashout you had last time it did happen two years ago, he knew no one would ever actually go near his helmet again.

As soon as you're out of sight, every McLaren engineer previously seated with you on the wall comes running across the pit lane and into the garage.

“Okay, everyone!” Joshua shouts, ushering them all to join the pit crew and hide in the corner furthest from the garage door. “Places, places!” He turns to the performance engineer that works on his team with you. “Gap to surprise?”

He looks down at his tablet, where a live feed of you stealthily being followed by a McLaren intern and a GoPro shows you exiting the driver's suite with Joshua's helmet. 

“Gap to S1, 7.9 seconds,” he answers.

“Copy. Jesus, she’s fast when she's mad. Alright, remember: stay hidden and I'll bring her around,” Joshua says to everybody as both Wonwoo and the engineer join the rest of Team McLaren. “As soon as you see her, you jump out and yell—”

“Shua!” you practically bellow before you even enter the garage.

Joshua scrambles away from the team, quickly hurrying to meet you out in the pit lane. He turns out so fast, you jerk back in surprise. 

“Hey! So fast!” he breathes, smiling. He curses his horrible acting abilities when you immediately narrow your eyes at him.

“Who the fuck touched your helmet?” you ask. He realizes now that your eyes are narrowed in rage more than they are in suspicion. 

“No one, actually,” he laughs, smiling sheepishly. 

“Huh?” your anger dissipates quickly and it amuses him even more. “But I got your helmet…”

“Right, thanks!” he points at it, tucked under your arm and against your waist. “But that actually isn't my helmet.”

“What?” you ask, irritation immediately coloring your voice. He knows it’s because anybody that pretends to know more about him than you—even if it's Joshua himself—annoys you. “What are you talking about? Of course it's your helmet. I literally put it in there before FP1 on Friday. This is your hel—”

“No,” he says again. He switched out the spare helmet once you left after Qualifying yesterday. “It's yours.”

You frown. “Huh…?

“It's your helmet,” he repeats. He nods at it. “Take a look.”

His spare helmet is an exact replica of his main racing helmet. Both are a pretty gradient that goes from pink to blue top down, with black doodles all over it—street art of everything that makes Joshua Joshua. The state of California, the Korean flag, palm trees, a guitar, the One Piece logo, a taco wearing a crown, a cross, the year his mom was born, the outline of a car that's just vague enough to be McLaren-approved but only you two know is supposed to be an Integra (which is what he raced as a teenager). Each repeats endlessly to cover the entire helmet. 

This helmet—the one you're holding—was created by the same artist Joshua commissioned for his. It's the same gradient and the same style of street art, but instead, it's not only everything that makes you you, it's covered in memories you've both shared over the last five years. Memories of every moment you've both laughed, cried, and raced through. Memories of every moment Joshua fell deeper and deeper and hopelessly in love with you. So many that none of them need to repeat at all to cover the helmet.

He knows you realize it the moment you look down and scrutinize the helmet for more than a second.

“Shua… is this…”

“The flag of your home country,” he starts reciting as he watches where your finger traces. “The first car we raced together. Your headset. The hanbok Mom made you wear when we went home to LA for Chuseok.” 

You smile softly at the memory, and he feels his heart crack a little more knowing he’s losing someone who loves his mother just as much as he does.

“A finger heart for your secret K-po—”

“Shut up,” you mutter as you quickly move on. He laughs.

“Your childhood pet. Chocolate from Belgium. An arcade coin from the first time we went to Miami.” He clears his throat as you get to the night he realized he was in love with you. “‘Hola!’ for—”

“The night you pretended to be fluent in Spanish,” you finish, laughing. The sound is watery and you sniffle. Joshua has the decency to draw little attention to it, simply pressing the back of his hand to your eyes as he continues.

“A cumulonimbus cloud.” 

You snort at the fact that he actually learned what it's called instead of guessing, like you've both grown accustomed to. He names every single thing until you find the lettering scribbled in his own handwriting just above the visor of the helmet. 

“‘Copy, L/N'?” you tilt your head as you read it.

Joshua smiles. Without a word, he walks over to his car parked right outside the garage. He fishes his own helmet out of it and looks down at the addition he requested when he commissioned yours. If he stares at it too long, he knows he'll fall to his knees and beg you to stay with him, so he quickly looks away. He turns the helmet over and shows you.

Keep it cute, Hong.

“Joshua…” 

He doesn't have time to correct you because you throw yourself into his arms, the two helmets making it awkward and clunky. Neither of you care. He holds you close to him, resting his lips on the crown of your head briefly before turning to press his cheek to it. He purses his lips tightly to will his tears to stay where they are as you hug him tighter than you ever have.

Joshua loves you. He loves you more than he's loved anything or anyone else. He loves you more than he loves F1, and he thinks there's a possibility he might even love you more than he loves himself. And that's why he'll continue to be supportive and he'll continue to cheer you on ferociously. Because as heartbroken as he was when you first told him you'd be leaving, and as much as the crack in his heart continues to lengthen and deepen every day you two get closer to the last grand prix, he craves your happiness more than he could ever crave your presence there with him.

His heart begs him to be selfish with you every day. It begs him to tell you he's in love with you, and although he only realized during the 2018 Spanish Grand Prix, he knows with every fiber of his being that he fell in love with you the moment he saw you standing in the lobby of MTC. It begs him to tell you that he'll always be in love with you.

But you're off to bigger and better things. Things that don't involve being expected by a bunch of misogynists to wait on him hand and foot. Things that don't involve having your talent and achievements attributed to him. Things that just won't involve him, period.

And if that's what's good for you… if that's what's best for you, he has no business saying any of these things to you. He reminds himself of that as he holds onto you now. 

“You're my best friend,” you say.

“And you're mine. You always will be.”

You both stand there for a few more moments before you pull away and say thank you. He smiles and wipes your tears away, thankful his are gone now.

“Come on, one more thing to show you.”

“What, did you buy me a matching F1 car too?” you ask, laughing.

“Damn, I should've thought of that,” he says, clicking his tongue in disapproval at himself. “But no. Something else.”

He leads you into the garage, and when the team sees you, they all scream, startling you backward and into Joshua's chest. Flustered, you apologize and step away. He wishes he could tell you to just stay there. Let him hold you like that. 

Joshua frowns at the team as they all scream wildly different things, creating a confusing chorus of “Congratulations!” “Surprise!” “Farewell!” and one, insanely loud “PLEASE DON'T LEAVE” from the team principal, who came around to becoming your biggest fan after you and Joshua won the title in 2019. 

“Guys, what the hell,” Joshua mutters.

“You didn't tell them what to say and you know this team needs very specific instructions,” Wonwoo says before he hugs you and congratulates you. 

You go off to hug everyone and thank them for the surprise party, and Wonwoo takes your spot next to Joshua.

“You’re really not going to say anything?” he asks. Joshua sighs. Your boss has known since the very first year, becoming his confidant in all heartsick manners. 

“I can't.”

“You can.”

Joshua looks at him wordlessly. They've discussed this enough times; the engineer knows well how much Joshua wants—how much he needs to see you do something for yourself.

He sighs and nods. “Well, you did a really good job with this. I gotta give it to you, Hong.”

“What?” he asks, eyes returning to you.

“I didn't think you could do anything better than F1, but I think you love her a little better than you handle a car.”

“I could've told you that,” he says bitterly.

Wonwoo claps him on the shoulder before heading to the catered lunch and desserts Joshua had arranged for this. 

“This is what's best for her,” he mutters to himself. You turn from the mechanic you're talking to and your eyes scan the garage, lighting up when you find Joshua. You beckon him over. “This is what's best for her.”

He takes a deep breath and heads to you.

“Babe, I'm home!” Joshua shouts before he stops and realizes your apartment, though he moved out of the hotel and has been living with you for months, is technically not his home, as you two never truly discussed it. He shrugs the thought away, knowing that even if you decide it’s too cramped in here for an ex-F1 driver, he'll still make a home out of wherever you are no matter where he lives.

There's no response as he drops his backpack on the floor next to the door and kicks his shoes off. He could've stayed the night in Woking after spending the morning taking care of his exit papers at MTC, especially since Wonwoo and the others asked him to dinner, but the thought of just coming back to the apartment and being with you seemed so much nicer than sleeping in a hotel room alone ever again. So instead, he took the first train back into London and miraculously made it back while the sun was still out. 

The entire train ride home, he thought he'd be sadder. He thought that maybe he'd be assaulted by memories of karting and racing in the development program and making his way up into Formula One. He thought he might even cry, but after signing all the papers, having a media briefing with the PR team, and recording several different video messages for social media, he finds that although he knows he'll miss that part of his life sorely, more than anything, he's just relieved.

He's relieved you're back in his life, he's relieved he's inspired by his work at the Academy, he's relieved he doesn't need to worry about potentially ruining another engineer's career because of his apathy to the sport. He's relieved that after everything, it turns out you love him just as much for just as long as he's loved you.

“Hello?” he calls, checking the bedroom, the spare, and the restrooms before pulling his phone out. You don't answer the call, so he texts, catching just as he presses send that he accidentally called your apartment home again.

The Academy is empty. The first place Joshua checked was the auditorium, where most staff meetings took place. Then, he checked the conference rooms, the classrooms, the simulation room, even the cafeteria. The Academy has literally never been this empty since he started.

“Hello?” you answer your phone on the first ring.

“Hey, I'm here… where are you…?” Joshua asks, looking around outside Jihyo’ office like someone will magically appear.

“I'm at the Academy,” you say simply, though there's an undercurrent of mischief in your voice that makes Joshua pause and narrow his eyes at nothing in particular.

“Okay… where?” 

You suppress a giggle. “Have you checked everywhere?”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“Everywhere?”

“Yes!” he says, feeling a little crazy.

“Really? Even the one place you've trained yourself not to check?”

It feels like a light bulb going off above his head. He glares. “I'll be there in a minute and you should expect to be punished, having me run around a school like this.”

You laugh before saying, “Okay, well you are at school so let's keep this PG.”

“Vom.” He hears Jihyo in the background. You must shove her because a string of curses leaves her mouth next.

“Not what I meant but I can arrange for that tonight,” he says, smirking now as he heads to your garage.

“See you!” you say giddily before hanging up.

Joshua thinks he understands what’s happening when he gets to your garage and finds the door rolled up, a trail of confetti leading to the track, where an Academy F4 car sits, backlit by the nearly setting sun.

“What the hell…”

He walks out to the track, looking around and finding more nothing and more no one. When he gets to the car, he realizes it's not-at-all a normal Academy car. He squats down to admire it closely, absolutely awestruck.

It's the exact same pink-blue gradient of his F1 helmet, with his name and racing number plastered on the side in the same style of graffiti he knows the LA artist he commissioned for his gear does. It's also covered in signatures and messages by the girls that read things like “Best driving instructor ever!” “JHONG IS FOR THE GIRLS” “F1 Father Hong” “Can you get me a ginger chew sponsorship?” “Thank you for my imminent illustrious F1 career” “Joshua GIRLYPOP Hong” “We love you!” “I won't forget you when I'm in F1 and more famous than you” “95 FOREVER,” and a ton of others. It's easy to tell which ones are Eunchae's. Most of hers include something about how beautiful and smart you are and how lucky he is to know you. He laughs to himself at all of it, touched beyond belief.

This brings him to tears faster than anything at MTC did.

“The girls designed the livery themselves.”

He turns from where he's crouched and finds you at the mouth of your own garage, smiling at him widely with your hands behind your back.

“What is this?” he asks, hearing the emotion in his own voice. 

“A congratulatory present,” you say, walking over to him. He stands just as you reach him, stopping short a few steps. “You're reaching a new milestone, Hong. You need to be celebrated.”

He watches you as you obviously suppress a wide and knowing smile.

“Have anything to tell me? Maybe something about what exactly we'd be celebrating right now?”

Joshua sighs, blushing at having been caught trying to arrange something before finding the right time to tell you twice now.

“I'm staying at the Academy,” he says. “Jihyo offered me a full-time job, and I'm starting as the permanent Head Driving Instructor next season… but it seems like you already knew that.”

Your smile becomes unrestrained now, and it makes his chest feel so warm seeing how happy hearing that information come from him makes you even though you already knew.

“Now that you've been promoted,” you say, nonchalantly making his heart stop, “Jihyo is now my one and only best friend. Did you think she wouldn't tell me?”

“And what exactly have I been promoted to?” he asks as he feels his mouth unconsciously curling into a smirk. 

“That wasn’t the point.” You blush a bit.

“Right.”

“I have something else for you.”

He frowns. “What's better than a car?”

You bite your lip as you carefully move your hands from behind your back and present him with his F1 helmet.

“A matching helmet,” you answer.

It's not his F1 helmet. It's the same in every aspect, except this time, instead of repeating the original icons, it has new additions. The sesame balls from Shanghai, a LEGO piece, the smash burgers from his first day of work, each girls’ racing number, pancakes, the McLaren logo, an email addressed to “CEO,” his Integra (except now it's an actual Integra), and a ginger chew.

"I thought it would be cute to display both of ours side-by-side at home or something," you tell him, very obviously smitten with his choice of words regarding your apartment.

“Babe…” He shakes his head. He actually has no words. You sigh like you've been thinking about what you're going to say to him for a long time now.

“I love you, Joshua,” you say, the happiest he's ever seen you. “I'm sorry it took me so long to say it, and I'm sorry it took me so long to see you've loved me for as long as I have too. I should've seen it a long time ago. You are the best when it comes to loving me. I'll be happy if I can measure up to even a fraction of that.” You don't let him protest to tell you that you surpass it and more. “But now that you're home,” you say, smiling widely at the word, “I'm going to spend every day making sure this works—for both of us. 

“No forcing your path because I think I know what you need. No worrying that you're not doing enough for me because you've already done so much.” He sniffles, turning away from you briefly to wipe at his eyes. “This is a partnership. And if we're getting the chance to team up again to build something great… we have to do it better this time. We have to build this dream together. Right, Hong?”

You cock an eyebrow at him and he grins, shaking his head in disbelief—disbelief that you're real, you're his, and that this is his life. Disbelief because this world that he's found feels too good to be true. But he's never going to question it; whatever it takes, he's keeping all of it for as long as he can.

“Copy, L/N,” he answers.

You grin right back, and he takes the helmet out of your hands before finally throwing his arms around your waist, pulling you in, and kissing you senseless. Your hands cradle his face as you kiss him back, your mouth curved into a smile the entire time you do it. 

Joshua's happiness threatens to make his heart burst, right there, in the middle of the Academy track. If the heartache of losing you for those two years meant he'd always have this to come back to at the end, he knows that without a doubt, he'd go through it over and over again. 

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I know. I love you too.” 

He presses a few more pecks to your mouth before leaning back and admiring you in the light of the setting sun.  

“So is that what this is?” he asks, smirking. “A partnership?”

You roll your eyes. “Have we ever been anything else?”

He nods. “Touché.”

“Besides,” your blush deepens as you brush a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, “you already called me Mrs. Hong. It would be awkward if we weren't partners.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth shyly, leaning in to bury his face in your hair. “Hmm, Mrs. Hong sounds nicer the more we say it, huh?”

You giggle, slapping his chest as you push him away. “A conversation for another time,” you say, stepping away and winking at him. “For now, there are some other people who want to celebrate you.” 

You nod in the direction behind him, and he turns to find the entire Academy staff and class, the fence to the grandstands behind them open from where they quietly snuck onto the track. As soon as he turns, they scream, “Welcome home!” while Jihyo and her assistant pop their massive confetti canons, and Sophia and Saki spray what he assumes is non-alcoholic champagne everywhere.

Joshua laughs as both you and he are soaked by the two girls, confetti flying in the breeze as he, for the nth time in the last 24 hours, thinks about how fucking lucky he is. The staff and girls all carry signs that congratulate him or welcome him home, and when he spots Eunchae's, he snorts.

MCL ACADEMY DREAM TEAM OTP 4EVER

“We saw you kiss!” she shrieks. “You can't deny it anymore! You're welcome for getting you together, by the way!”

He rolls his eyes and laughs as she joins her friends in spraying each other. He gets to one last sign at the back of the crowd, and his smile slowly fades.

I am, I have always been, and I will always be proud of you.

All his effort to keep his tears at bay go to waste because as he looks up to find the person holding the sign, Joshua can't help the tears that immediately begin streaming down his face.

“Eo—eomma…?” 

She has tears in her own eyes as she nods, smiling at both of you. It’s clear as day to see how honest her sign is.

“Go,” you whisper, nudging him forward. 

The Academy parts to allow Joshua through to his mother, who he sweeps into a hug, crying in her arms like a child again.

“Aigoo… it’s such a happy occasion," she whispers, her own voice sounding just as emotional as he feels. “Don't cry anymore.”

“Eomma,” he breathes, shoulders shaking. “I've missed you so much.”

“What's there to miss, hm?” she asks, rubbing his back as she pulls away just enough to look up at him. She wipes his face with the heel of her hand. “I'm always here. I'm always here. And I'm so proud of you, Joshua. So proud of you for everything you've done, for being so brave, and for always being so kind and sweet and good.” She desperately tries to keep from crying any harder. “I couldn't have asked for a better son.”

She pulls him into her arms once more, the two of them standing there embracing in silence for several seconds.

“By the way, I'm glad you finally got the girl,” she says in Korean, breaking the silence. He smiles. “I always thought she would make a good daughter-in-law.”

“Yah, eomma,” he whines, rolling his eyes and pulling back. After a moment, he smiles. “But yes. She will be a good daughter-in-law to you.”

His mother squeals, slapping his shoulder repeatedly before she catches sight of someone over it and starts beckoning frantically. He looks over just in time to see you join them. His mom opens their arms to you, pulling you into what Joshua imagines is the happiest, most wholesome group hug he's ever been a part of.

“Thank you for flying me out, darling.”

“I'd buy you a house out here if you let me,” you say, smiling.

“Never,” she sighs, resting her head against yours. “But if you ever want to buy yourselves a home in LA… well, I wouldn't hate that.”

“We'll see,” Joshua says, laughing. “I still need to sell my house in Barcelona.”

You look pleased at that. “Yes! Your Spanish wife and Korean-Spanish kids have got to go!”

“Eh?!” his mother looks at him incredulously.

He gives you a flat look. “Okay, seriously, you need to tell me what you're talking about. Why do you keep saying that?”

“Hello!” Jihyo suddenly pops up over your shoulder. You smile at her without breaking the group hug. “Hate to interrupt a beautiful family reunion, but I do have to let you two know we actually do need to file paperwork regarding your relationship with HR, so please do that first thing on Monday. Thanks!” 

She quickly scurries off as you scoff and excuse yourself to follow her, shouting, “Oh, so now we care about HR?!” as you do.

Joshua's mom steps away from his arms to turn and watch you, tilting her head at you and Jihyo curiously. “So. Am I going to end up adopting that cute, scary girl as my future daughter-in-law's sister?” 

“Jihyo?” he asks as he throws an arm around her shoulders, watching as you two bicker and Sophia cackles while soaking both of you in champagne, too high off the celebration to be scared of her CEO. His mom nods. Joshua laughs. “Yeah, probably.”

“The more the merrier,” she says, smiling. After a moment, she cranes her head to look up at Joshua. “I love the life you've built for yourself. I can't wait to see what you and Y/N build together."

Joshua watches as your face splits into a smile at something Jihyo says, and the two of you suddenly set your sights on Sophia, chasing her down and tag teaming to corner her and her bottle. He thinks of your years at McLaren, and he looks around at the Academy staff and the girls and the way everyone here has only ever wanted the best for one another—none more than you. And he knows whatever the two of you build here, and anywhere else in the world… the best part of it will be having done it with you.

“Me neither. I can't wait.”

THE END 

A/N: pls. i'm emotional. i love them so much. ugh. bye.

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EPILOGUE

LAPD RADIO TRANSMISSION DISPATCH: 7-Adam-16, we have a code 23109 and a code 23103. Several vehicles without license plates. Last seen on the intersection of Wilshire and Western. UNIT 7-ADAM-16: 7-Adam-16 inbound on Wilshire. Requesting another unit for pursuit.

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me."

The crowd disperses with shouts and screams as at least three police cars descend on the finish line, where Joshua just won an $800 pot not even a minute ago. He grabs the rest of the cash from the host’s hand and pockets it quickly, grunting as his friend shoves him toward his car before throwing the door to his own open. 

“Turn your radio on!” he screams at Joshua before disappearing into his Honda and whipping his car around and away from the commotion. 

Joshua does the same, cursing repeatedly as he throws his car into gear, honking desperately as people run in all directions. Once he finds his open, he floors it, his exhaust roaring as he does. He turns the dial on the radio that he and his friends had absolutely no business installing in their cars before unclipping the mic from its mount and resting it in his lap.  

He climbs up his gears, body jerking each time he does. Joshua wasn’t even supposed to come out tonight; last week’s race had added more than enough money to his savings to get his mom off weekend shifts for the entirety of the next three months if she wanted. But like he constantly does, he let his friends manipulate him into coming out and entering a last-minute race. Just one measly reminder that he’s close to earning enough to get his mom to completely quit one of her jobs, and Joshua is in his car, speeding to wherever the night’s activities are. If he gets arrested tonight for street racing, he’ll set his mom back so far. She works a grueling schedule so he can get through school and make something of himself, not so she can bail him from jail and pay a huge ticket and a fee to get his car from the impound lot. He curses at himself. He really should’ve stayed his ass at home and just studied for his calculus quiz. 

“If I get arrested, I’m literally going to fucking kill you,” Joshua says over the radio.

He throws the gear into fourth in one clean motion, the shift gate clacking as the tachometer chases the red line. The engine of his ‘96 Integra GS-R screams as his car jerks forward, widening the distance between him and the flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror. 

“You’re not getting arrested,” the voice over the radio crackles with static, but Joshua can hear the laidback, cocky attitude clearly. It grinds his gears. “As your hyung, it is my responsibility to make sure I get arrested before you do.”

“LAPD. PULL OVER.” The cop’s voice booms over his car’s PA speaker, agitated and antsy.

“For the millionth fucking time, you’re not my hyung!” Joshua shouts. 

He glances quickly over his shoulder to assess the gap between him and the lights on his ass. He turns back forward, making the split decision to drift right, knowing his GS-R will handle it a lot better than a cop car can. He yanks the e-brake, swinging the rear through the turn as his tires squeal and smoke curls into the air behind him. Just like he expected, the police car doesn’t quite make the abrupt turn, forcing it to a stop to keep from barreling right onto the sidewalk. 

“We are the same fucking age, you asshole!” Joshua continues his rant as he tries to take advantage of the gap he just gave himself. 

“Jeez, you seriously need to fix that sailor mouth of yours. Do you know any other words aside from f—”

“Fuck you!” Joshua’s head is on a swivel as he crosses Vermont Ave., and when he sees no flashing lights, he shifts down to third. 

“Love you too.” There are a few beats of silence before he says, “Okay, it’s been five minutes. I think I lost my pig. Where are you?”

“Just crossed Vermont,” Joshua mutters. 

“What?”

“I just crossed Vermont!” he shouts in irritation, his knuckles turning white as he grips his wheel. 

“That could be anywhere, bro. Wh—”

“I just passed the liquor store you get your cigarettes from, you asshole.”

“I sense you’re a little anxious. Understandable. I think what would make this better—”

“I truly need you to shut the fuck up right now and just let me drive,” Joshua interjects, kicking back into fourth gear when he notices a cop car several blocks behind him, lights off and slowly driving through the intersection. It’s obviously searching for cars without license plates—cars like his.

It takes just three seconds after that for the lights to start flashing blue and red again, but Joshua’s headstart is strong enough that he thinks he can lose them one more time. Then, he will never race ever again. He’ll never even drive ever again. 

“Dear god, if you are listening, if I get out of this without a ticket or getting arrested,” Joshua whispers, “I will become a born-again good boy, and I will get a normal job mopping floors. I swear it.” He turns onto another street, immediately regretting it. “Fuck!”

It’s 2 a.m., but it’s Koreatown, it’s the weekend, and he’s close to several bars and nightclubs, and this street is lined with patrons—drunk patrons. He immediately turns on the next intersection in an attempt to get away from anyone fortunate enough to remain uninvolved in his problems, but the detour puts him back a few seconds, and the next time he sees the flashing lights, they’re a lot closer than they previously were. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he breathes, feeling his panic coming to a head as he tries to breathe through it. Panic will only muddy his thoughts, and that will only narrow his options.

“Where are you now?” the radio crackles alive again.

“3rd,” Joshua answers. 

“Perfect. Jun finally fucking woke up. Go to the garage and wait it out ‘til the cops leave.”

“Cool, and how the fuck am I going to do that with a cop on my ass?!” Joshua shouts, glancing left and right as he approaches an intersection. 

“Leave it to hyung.”

“You are not my—”

“Drift left.”

“What?”

“DRIFT LEFT.”

Without thinking about it, he drifts left as he enters the intersection, tires screaming as a familiar silver Civic EK hatch also drifts left from the opposite direction, effectively taking Joshua’s place in front of the police car. The tinted window comes down just enough to fit a peace sign out of it in his direction, then the EK is gone, the police happily chasing him down instead. 

“You’re welcome! Get to the garage and stay there until it’s safe to leave.”

Joshua doesn’t argue, immediately making his way to Jun’s big brother’s garage. “Thanks, dude,” he breathes after a few minutes. He doesn’t receive a response and he hopes it doesn’t mean his friend has been arrested. Annoyed as he might be about the race and some loser calling the cops on them, he still wants his friends safe in their beds at the end of the night—or in their case, the beginning of the morning.

Hours later, when Jun gets the all-clear from his brother and Joshua returns home, he doesn’t have much time to think about anyone else’s whereabouts because his mother is waiting for him with dozens of questions, and well. Joshua is a horrible liar. 

“This is about to be the best vacation of my life.”

Joshua grins, thumb caressing your hand where it’s joined with his over the middle console. Your hair whips at your face but you pay it no mind, very obviously enjoying the rental convertible coup more than you care about the potential tangles you’ll have to wrestle with later. 

“Better than—”

“Yes, because none of the places you’re about to name can be considered vacations because they were 100% race weekends,” you point out. Joshua pouts and you grin. “But I obviously wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.”

“Mmm,” Joshua hums, bringing your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on it. “Nice save.”

He lifts your hand a few centimeters from his face to admire the rock on your finger. It’s already been a few months, but seeing the engagement ring he chose and he bought and he proposed to you with on your finger still gives him the best kind of chills.

“Okay, okay,” you giggle, wriggling your hand out of his. “Eyes on the road, mister.”

“I’m a professional driver.”

“Oh sorry, do professional drivers suddenly have no need to focus on the road?”

He smiles, slapping your thigh playfully and laughing when you squeal. “Are you ready to answer Mom’s millions of questions for you?”

You nod, completely unfazed, as you usually are when it comes to most things regarding his mom; the two of you are the best of friends—talking on the phone far more often than even he does—but he fears you’re overestimating how laidback she’s going to be about her only son’s wedding. He already knows she’ll be testing your limits until after the wedding is over. 

“Yes, I’m excited to talk to someone who isn’t convinced I should go down the aisle in a kart.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You roll your eyes but smile all the same. “Right. Anyway, I hope she’s ready for my millions of questions.”

Joshua frowns, laughing a little. “What questions? You know Mom never got married.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have fabulous taste and correct opinions, you silly man.”

“Okay, fair,” he nods as he pulls into the gated community where the house he bought his mom as soon as he broke into F2 resides. It’s another 10-minute drive through the winding hills before he parks in her private driveway, the backyard view of LA already visible even from the front lawn.

“Oh my god, this is gorgeous,” you say, mouth ajar as you stare up at the house from inside the car. 

Joshua hops out, already collecting your bags and dropping them on the front step before coming back for more. Your stay in LA would be extended, lasting through to right before the next season at the Academy starts, but it wasn’t even that you two overpacked; you just came with months worth of gifts from the past season, both from you and Joshua and from Jihyo. 

You follow suit, scoffing whenever he pushes your hands away from grabbing anything.

“The rock on your hand is too heavy, you shouldn’t carry anything else,” he jokes, smirking as he plants a kiss on your forehead. “Come on. I’ll get the rest later.”

He leads the way to the front step, but you pause just short of it, staring at something in the distance. He turns to look at you. “Hey, whose car is that?” you ask, pointing. 

His eyes follow your finger and he frowns. A ‘99 Honda Civic EK hatchback sits at the other end of the U-shaped driveway, opposite from where you two entered. It’s technically off-property, far enough away that Joshua can pretend his heart doesn’t stop at the sight of it, but close enough that it makes him want to get back into the car, go back to the airport, and fly right back to London. 

“Um…” 

It isn’t the silver he remembers, and it doesn’t have any of the stickers or dents and dings it has in his memories, so there’s that. But it is restored to near-new quality, sporting a beautiful sky blue wrap and deep blue Volk Racing TE37 wheels, and while subtle enough to pass as a normal car, it’s a little too specific of a street performance car to be in his mom’s neighborhood. 

“I… don’t know…” he says, hoping it’s the truth. 

“Really nice,” you comment, craning your neck like that will help you see more than you can. “You see those calipers? And the fitment of their wheels?” Then, you snort and ask a question that validates Joshua’s fears. “Does Mom have street racing friends too?”

“Come on,” he urges you, quickly turning toward the door and ringing the bell. 

“We should walk down and look at it,” you continue talking about the car. “I want to see what kind of brake kit they have. Then maybe you can tell me about your—”

“Kids!” his mother screams as she throws the door open and does nothing short of assault both of you with kisses, hugs, and questions she gives neither of you time to answer. “How was the flight? Were your seat neighbors good? Or did you waste all that money on first class again? Oh my god, did you rent that? A convertible? Seriously? Oh my god, show me the ring! Oh, it’s beautiful. Oh, look at it. Look at you.”

“Eomma, whose car is that?” Joshua asks, jerking his head toward the hatchback. 

“Huh?” she asks, looking up from where she’s ogling the ring on your hand. You turn to Joshua with your eyebrows raised and he knows you can hear the anxiety in his voice. He clears his throat. “Oh, that’s—”

“Ahhh, I can’t believe this.” Joshua’s blood runs cold as the door opens wider, the undisputable owner of the EK standing before him. “How lucky of me to catch you while I’m here, Joshuji.”

“Look who stopped by!” his mom exclaims excitedly. After a few beats of awkward silence, she scolds him. “Joshua, say hello to your friend, what is wrong with you?”

The man laughs but waves a hand. Still, Joshua offers him a flat “hey.”

Yoon Jeonghan grins at the two of you. He still keeps his hair long and dark, though it’s currently pulled back by the sunglasses atop his head, helping show off his uniquely beautiful and very mischievous face. He’s dressed in a leather jacket, a white tee tucked into black slacks, and panda dunks. He’s a grown up, slightly more fashionable version of the same kid who served a 5-year prison sentence on Joshua’s behalf when they were 17. 

“Wow, you’re even more beautiful in person,” Jeonghan tells you, making your fiance clench his jaw. He notices, of course, and it feeds the fire that’s always burned off of Joshua’s discomfort and irritation, his eyes shining with amusement. “Yoon Jeonghan.”

He extends his hand and Joshua’s own mother releases your hand to transfer it to his, and he gets the irrational desire to call her a traitor. Joshua’s eyes go down to your hand in Jeonghan’s, and his heart squeezes as he looks at the ring on your finger. You shake hands with his childhood friend, having no idea that this man knows enough secrets about your fiance to end the engagement and send you running for the hills.

“Y/N L/N,” you tell him. 

He smirks. “I know.”

“Are you the owner of that EK?” you ask excitedly. 

“Ah, I am,” he says proudly, nodding. “She’s been around for quite a while.” His eyes slide to Joshua as he finally releases your hand. “Joshuji and I were still in high school when I first got her.”

You look over at him. “And you didn’t recognize it?!”

He tries not to show his irritation, but he knows his nostrils are flaring. “It looks a lot different than it did back then.” His shortness seems to get you to understand his discomfort extends beyond just being surprised by an old friend he didn’t expect to be here. You tamp your excitement and let the questions stop there, tucking yourself back under Joshua’s arm and rubbing his back as you do.

“She sure does,” Jeonghan agrees, smiling nostalgically. “Well, I just came by to say hi. I recently came back to town and reached out to eomma-nim to see if I could stop by and catch up. I had no idea you two were on your way until I was already here.”

“Jeonghannie brought me rice cakes!” she gushes. “Come on, let’s all eat them!”

“No, no, I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Jeonghan says, shaking his head when Joshua’s mom starts protesting. “I’ll let you two rest after all your travels,” he tells you and Joshua, “but Joshuji, we should catch up. I’ve moved back to LA.”

“Oh” is all he says. His refusal to be any more hospitable to Jeonghan doesn’t deter the man.

“Number’s still the same if you want to grab something to eat,” he informs him as he bounds down the steps past you two and fishes his keys out of the pocket of his pants. He turns back toward the three of you, walking backwards as he drops his sunglasses back down to his face and runs a hand through his hair. Joshua—pathetically—wants to cover your eyes. “Or, you could just stop by Jun’s garage. I’m helping him out right now. Bye, eomma-nim!” Then, he points at you and smiles. “Lovely meeting you, Y/N. Something tells me I’ll see you again. ‘Til next time!”

He turns and saunters off Joshua’s mom’s property, toward the same car that got her son out of hot water all those years ago. 

“Are you okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joshua lies, nodding and giving you a tight smile. “Just… surprised is all.”

“He seems… interesting.”

“That’s one word to describe him.”

He can think of a million others, too, but as the day drags on and Joshua continues to ruminate on the interaction, all he can actually think of is if Jeonghan’s re-entrance into his life is a harbinger for something a lot worse—something that could ruin everything he’s worked for up until now. Including you.

He knows the only way to find out is to take the bait. When you fall asleep that night, he grabs the keys to the rental and heads to a place he didn’t expect to ever visit again: the garage that completely re-routed the course of his life.

BONUS CONTENT

just some random stuff i thought would be fun to include :)

Hong sabbatical Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> To: Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 5:00 Good morning, sir. I’ve thought about our conversation quite a bit, and for the sake of giving the organization as much time as possible to prepare for the next season, I am officially tendering my resignation from McLaren as a main driver. Attached you’ll find a formal letter for your records.  Thank you so much for the last seven years and the opportunities that came with it; I will never forget my time here. I’m committed to making this transition as smooth as possible, so please let me know when it’s a good time to come to the facility for any exit processes I need to complete. Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’ll always be rooting for McLaren. Best regards, Joshua Hong

———

RE: Hong sabbatical Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> To: Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 5:03 bruh. wrong ceo. p.s. ?!?!?!?!!!!? Sent from iPhone

———

RE: Hong sabbatical Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> To: Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 7:19 Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I think your email address auto-populated when I wrote “CEO.” Any chance we pretend this never happened and you don’t tell Y/N about this?

———

RE: Hong sabbatical Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> To: Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 7:20 maybe.. but need a favor. Sent from iPhone

———

RE: Hong sabbatical Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> To: Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 8:53 Can I know what the favor is before agreeing?

———

RE: Hong sabbatical Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> To: Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 8:54 ofc. i’m not a monster 🙄 numbers for girls looking v good—better than they have since we started f1a (good job). if ur really resigning from mcl, let’s talk. i want u to stay with us permanently. u can say no ofc. but i will be telling MY BEST FRIEND that u accidentally sent this if that’s the case. not a threat. just a crazy coincidence that will 100% happen if u say no. so. Sent from iPhone

———

RE: Hong sabbatical Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> To: Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 12:22 Meeting Invite: Today, 12:30 (1h)

———

RE: Hong sabbatical Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> To: Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 12:23 Meeting Invite: Today, 12:30 (1h) Jihyo Park has responded “Yes”. kinda rude for u to take so long to reply and then send an invite only 8m before the meeting but ok? stop by the caf and get me a bbq beef bowl tho Sent from iPhone

———

Hong x F1A Contract Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> To: Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 20:47 Hello, Permanent Head Driving Instructor Joshua Hong :) Per our discussion today, you’ll find a copy of the contract we negotiated and signed attached, as well as a handbook of benefits and resources for our full-time employees. HR will complete your onboarding and will reach out to you separately to schedule a full orientation. I’ve also asked them to walk you through our policy for intercompany dating. Just in case you’re interested in that.   This information will be handled with discretion and will remain on a need-to-know basis until we are ready to inform “best friends” and the PR team.  In all seriousness, thank you for agreeing to this, Hong. I’m truly grateful for what you’ve already done with the students, and I’m excited to see what heights you, Y/N, and the rest of the staff can elevate them to.  Jihyo Park (she/her) CEO, F1 Academy f1academy.com  

———

RE: Hong x F1A Contract Hong, Joshua <[email protected]> To: Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> Monday, March 3, 21:08 Jeez, are you still at the Academy?  Anyway, appreciate you for being so flexible about meeting today… and I guess for calling your lawyer and demanding they draw something up on the spot… even though I assured you many times I could wait. I know we haven’t started the season yet, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as fulfilled as I do here. I wouldn’t have ever thought to take up teaching, so thank YOU for thinking of me and offering me the temp position—and now the permanent position. It kind of feels like I’m benefitting more in this “favor” to you, but I won’t complain.  Regarding the intercompany dating policy, I could pretend I don’t need that, but because I know you have functional eyes and a very big, wrinkly brain, I will simply say… thanks for your foresight. Go home and sleep please. – Josh P.S. I am working on the “best friend” situation. Please stop rubbing it in my face with the quotes, whether in person or in email -_- Sent from iPhone

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Hong CEO <[email protected]> To: Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> Wednesday, March 5, 8:17 So my best race engineer wasn’t enough; you had to take my best driver too?  Sent from iPhone

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RE: Hong Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> To: CEO <[email protected]> Wednesday, March 5, 8:19 First pick from the Academy for the next two years. And before you try to fight me on that, remember that the next classes of girls will be raised up by your very own driver. Bet you can imagine how well they’re doing. Jihyo Park (she/her) CEO, F1 Academy f1academy.com  

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RE: Hong CEO <[email protected]> To: Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> Wednesday, March 5, 8:20 Make it three years and consider it done. Also, stay away from Jeon. You can’t have all my employees. Sent from iPhone

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RE: Hong Park, Jihyo <[email protected]> To: CEO <[email protected]> Wednesday, March 5, 8:20 Deal. Also, don’t tell me what to do :) Jihyo Park (she/her) CEO, F1 Academy f1academy.com  

BRITISH GRAND PRIX 2021 POST-RACE INTERVIEW “Do you have anything to say about the rumors that you and your race engineer are romantically involved?” “Um. Sorry, I—the rumors that… me and my—that Y/N and I… sorry, what?”

“Oh my god.”

“Oh my god?” you repeat after Wonwoo as you both watch the TV from the paddocks. 

A handful of people already had their eyes on you before that question dropped, having recognized you as Joshua Hong’s race engineer. Now that you’re apparently Joshua Hong’s “romantically involved” race engineer, everyone is looking at you—some with their phones out, shamelessly filming your reaction. You quickly school your face. You knew it was a mistake going to the general area to watch Joshua’s post-race interviews, but no, Wonwoo needed a break from the very safe, very private garage. So here you are, being gawked at like an animal in the zoo, while you fidget on a stool that’s making your ass hurt, at a highboy table that won’t fit more than Wonwoo’s sad basket of nachos.

Rumors have been circulating that you and your race engineer are romantically involved, having been spotted out getting dinner on numerous occasions. The journalist (if you can even call him that) looks down at his notes as he speaks. Your radio transmissions are also constantly going viral; even non-F1 fans enjoy them. Everyone loves your chemistry. Do you care to comment on that?

Your driver has the most bewildered look on his quickly reddening face as he stammers through his non-answer. Um, I, uh…

You can’t even blame Joshua for being as flustered as he is. You feel a little guilty he has to answer it at all because you know it has to do with the uptick in your media appearances lately. Since Joshua won the title, and since he won’t shut the hell up about you, you’ve been given a PR manager at McLaren—one who looks at you like god’s personal gift to her, shoving you at every media opportunity she can secure. So far, you’ve been given countless interviews alongside Joshua himself, a few covers for women’s magazines, and a Forbes 30 Under 30 nomination. The spotlight is brighter on you than it has ever been for any F1 race engineer, and you know that’s the only reason any sort of rumors are “circulating.” 

It drives you up a wall. No one but Wonwoo knew how insanely difficult it was for you to be here, and most days, it still felt unbelievable. You fought an uphill battle for an entire season and successfully dodged a demotion after your first year as a race engineer, but you didn’t stop there; you soared to unfathomable heights. You’ve led your driver to a world championship title faster than any other rookie, you play a huge part in the records Joshua is constantly setting, and the conversation on the lack of female talent in the F1 space is hotter than it has ever been. But somehow, that same conversation has suddenly become about a budding romance that doesn’t even exist instead of asking Joshua about his 2nd place finish, here at Silverstone.

“Let’s calm your face down a little; people are watching,” Wonwoo mutters without moving his lips. You thought you were keeping your face calm, but after you check in with yourself, you find your brows intensely furrowed at the huge TV screen. You take a deep breath and force yourself to relax the muscles in your entire body. 

Sorry, you’ll have to forgive how, uh, unprepared I am to answer this. He finally speaks, frowning a little as he clears his throat. Then, he’s smiling his signature winning smile again, but what comes out of his mouth next isn’t at all part of Joshua’s signature anything. I was expecting a question about the race, seeing as, y’know, this is F1… and racing is kind of the whole point… and I just placed second… at the race.

Your efforts are all for naught because your muscles immediately forget how to relax as both your eyebrows and Wonwoo’s shoot up toward your respective hairlines. Joshua is media trained to the gods; he has never lost his cool with the press, and he’s honestly been asked more ridiculous things, like if he’s ever had plastic surgery or if he wears underwear underneath his race suit. He’s taken everything gracefully and has always been able to redirect the question or make a joke out of it. He seems to have zero desire to do that today, though.

Sure, I have some qu—

Maybe you do, but instead, you wasted it on asking me something trivial, irrelevant, and frankly offensive. The journalist squirms now, but Joshua doesn’t slow down. That’s my race engineer. My race engineer, who’s the only woman in her role on the grid right now. My race engineer, who just gave me the best first two seasons of any rookie in F1, and a world title. I’m more than happy to talk about her and answer any questions—I’d actually prefer you ask me about her during these things because she’s the only reason I do so well on the track.

He’s obviously no longer flustered, speaking a mile a minute with zero hesitation. And the more he goes on, the more you become the stunned one. 

But if you’re going to ask me about her, I demand respect when you do it. 

“Holy shit,” Wonwoo breathes, a high peal of delighted laughter escaping his mouth as he starts clapping. You look at him incredulously. “What? This is amazing!”

“Maybe you calm down a little; people are watching,” you hiss his own words back at him. He sighs, rolling his eyes and waving a hand. 

You’re going to ask me what I think about her strategy, he continues, what about her technique makes it so easy to trust her, or if I’m worried that she’ll realize I’m actually a loser and find a driver more worthy of her talent. 

There’s the joke he’s been trained to land, easily getting a laugh out of the press, and to your horror, dozens of people around you, who are still very much watching you. You wish you could rub the red off your cheeks because you know people will just use that to fuel rumors; really, you’re just hot, tired, and irritated from the long day, and on top of that, you’re unsure whether to feel touched or mortified that Joshua Hong is talking about you like this on international TV.

I am, by the way—both a loser and worried. He earns more laughs before he turns serious once more. What you’re not going to do when you ask me about my race engineer is diminish her hard work this weekend and show more interest in a dating rumor—one that I assure you neither of us have even heard about—than you do the fact that she just got her driver to the podium despite that loser getting her a 10-second time penalty.

You glare at the screen; even though the race is over and he still got second, you feel the vexation of watching him impatiently speed behind a safety car bubbling under your skin again.

And even if we were romantically involved—

The words make you kind of dizzy.

—which again, I assure you we are not and never have been, that really isn’t any of your business, right? It has nothing to do with my performance, and I’d appreciate it if we all had the tact to ignore these kinds of rumors. They could be harmful to people’s careers. 

He gets a bunch of nods and grunts of affirmation. He tilts his head at the person who asked him the question in the first place.

We good, man? he asks, smiling and raising his eyebrows at him like he didn’t just rip him a new one in the classiest, most polite way.

Understood. Apologies.

No worries. Gotta commend you for trying, he smirks and gets a few more chuckles from the press. No more questions for me, folks. Have a good one. There’s a chorus of groans and complaints as Joshua is escorted away by his manager. You don’t envy that journalist, who you know will be on the receiving end of many a death glare from his colleagues today. 

Obviously unprepared for the turn of events, the cameraman hastily pans from Joshua and his abrupt exit to a very amused Kim Mingyu, who looks directly at the camera, jabs a thumb in the direction of your driver, flashes his eyebrows, and whistles. You have no doubts he’ll have stupid things to say about this in his own interview.

“Okay, so…” Wonwoo laughs like he’s not sure what he just witnessed was entirely real. “Um… that was… interesting?”

“Interesting,” you repeat. “Sure, that’s one word for what that was. We could also use bizarre, uncomfortable, odd, fucking weird.”

Your boss smiles, throwing a tiny piece of tortilla chip into his mouth before pushing the basket away like the nachos that were once in it hadn’t already been demolished. “What was weird? The question or the way Hong answered?”

The question was definitely weird, especially because Joshua was right; neither of you have heard any rumor of the romantic sort—with each other or anyone else—since you started working together three years ago. It’s more than just the question, though, but you can’t bring yourself to call Joshua’s answer weird because it was touching to be spoken about in such a revered way. It’s not the first time the driver has done it; you just don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. You feel an odd sensation in your chest, and you can’t pinpoint why, let alone explain it to Wonwoo.

You shrug and instead of answering properly, you say, “Yes.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head. “So all of it was weird.” You neither confirm or deny, letting your eyes wander away, relieved to find that the crowd has largely dispersed—at least away from you. Their eyes and ears were now on whatever Mingyu was busy going on about.

“I’m an engineer,” you remind him. He shoots you a look that tells you he obviously knows that. “I didn’t make this career choice to stand in the spotlight. If I wanted to do that, I’d just take Joshua’s job.”

“You make being the best F1 driver on the grid sound so easy,” Wonwoo says, smirking.

“How hard can it be,” you mutter even though you know damn well it’s grueling. You watch Joshua train and practice more than you see the inside of your own home; of course you know. “I’m just not used to being important enough for people to waste time making dating rumors over. Or for Joshua to keep talking about me in such high regard.”

“Really?” he asks like he’s genuinely surprised. “After three years of him talking about you like you single-handedly invented F1 just for him, you’re still not used to it?”

“Wonwoo, you fidget if someone perceives you for longer than two seconds,” you remind him, pausing to pointedly stare at him. He proves you right when he looks away and readjusts himself in his stool almost immediately. You snort. “You think you just get used to someone talking about you like that?” 

“Okay… fair point…” he says slowly. You nod sarcastically. “I see why it might feel weird.”

“Do you not think it’s weird?” you ask, frowning. It’s weird to you because it’s about you, but is it not just objectively weird?

Wonwoo shrugs. “Not really. I think it would be easy for people to assume that you two are dating. Or at the very least, into each other.” He looks at you like he’s trying to be subtle about searching for a sign that maybe you are.

The rate at which you feel your skin burn up is almost as embarrassing as what your boss just said. “What?” you practically squeak.

“You guys spend all your available time with each other,” he says, scoffing as if you’re faking ignorance and he’s irritated with it. “You’d think you two are handcuffed together the way you don’t leave the other’s side.”

“He’s my best friend!”

“Right, but to other people…”

Your mouth pops open a little as you think about how the two of you are constantly going on food runs for breaks from the facility, no mind paid over who sees the two of you out in public. Or how Joshua always hugs you after each race, how his Instagram carousel of photos recapping every Grand Prix includes several shots of you without fail, how he nonchalantly walks around with his arm around your shoulders, or how you call his mom Mom too and talk to her even when he’s not around. 

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “I would totally think we’re dating if I were a stranger,” you realize aloud.

“Yeah,” he says, laughing. “So no, I don’t find it weird at all. And I don’t find his answer weird either. I actually find it right in line with how I would expect him to react.” He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. “If anything, I guess I think it’s a little odd that the question went unasked for this long.”

“Huh,” you say, hardly hearing him.

Dating Joshua Hong—being the person he intertwines his fingers with in more than just the platonic way he already does with you, being someone he kisses, being someone he spoils and laughs with and cares for and protects and loves. Huh. What an interesting thought.

Later, the driver finds you in the garage, cleaning up and packing out, and he asks if you saw the interview from earlier, uncharacteristically nervous as he does.

“I did,” you say simply, standing and wiping your palms on the thighs of your jeans.

“Was my answer okay?” he asks, skin pink as he anxiously scratches his ear lobe. “It was such a surprising question, and I didn’t want it to affect you or anything, and I—”

“Shua,” you interrupt him, smiling and shaking your head. “It was the perfect answer. I’m very lucky to have you as my driver and my best friend.”

He sighs in relief, every ounce of tension leaving his muscles. “Oh. Okay. Good. That’s… good.”

“You should be glad your rumors are about dating your race engineer and not that you have three baby mamas and a secret army of children, like somebody we know,” you joke, referring to the (very fake) scandal surrounding Mingyu that rocked last season. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he says, suppressing a laugh.

“I am. Besides, you would be very lucky to have a girlfriend like me,” you tell him, grinning as you turn back to your boxes to pack the last of your things away. “Overall, a good rumor to have if you ask me.”

With your back to him, you miss the way Joshua’s smile becomes a little softer and his blush a little deeper.

Race days are early starts for the entire staff, but no one gets a start earlier than the students and their driving instructor—in this case, the man you had in your hotel room less than five hours ago. The same man you haven’t gotten a chance to see since waking up to a hastily written note that he was late to meet the girls and that he’d see you as soon as race day was over. If it were anyone else, you’d think you got ditched. But from the heart scribbled in the corner of the hotel notepad, and the way his entire face lights up when he sees you on the wall from down in the pit lane, you know he’s really just as happy as you are that last night unfolded the way it did.

You don’t think anyone would be able to tell a difference in your dynamic because he hides it well, keeping his posture relaxed and his thick arms crossed over his chest as he looks up at you from under the lid of his cap, only sparing you a wink and a sly smile before he turns his attention to a frantic Megan begging for ginger chews as they quickly approach race time.

You, apparently, don’t hide it as well, because just seconds after you turn from where you were staring at him, Jihyo is standing before you, the most smug expression on her face.

“Good morning, Jihyo…” you greet warily as you attempt to step around her to sit at your monitor. She, of course, doesn’t let you, stepping in the same direction.

“Are you going to make me ask or are you just going to tell me?” 

You narrow your eyes at her. “Ask me w—”

Like with everything else, Jihyo doesn’t have the patience to spare. “This morning, Joshua was 20 minutes late to call time. He missed the shuttle and had to take a taxi here, where the girls were already stretched and warmed up by the time he came in, thanks to their responsible and punctual CEO.”

Your eyes widen. When you saw that his note said “running late,” you thought he must have been maybe five minutes late. You didn’t think he was missed-the-bus late.

“I know,” she says, shaking her head at the astounded look on your face, “So unlike him. But what was even more unlike him was that while he did say sorry, he did it with a huge smile on his face, skin glowing like he was seized by the ankles, dipped head first into the spring of eternal happiness, and frankly, waterboarded. He did not look sorry at all.”

You wish you could be impressed by Jihyo’s storytelling, but you feel your grip on your composure slipping the more you hear confirmation that Joshua was as affected by all of this as you are. As you fell asleep late last night—for the first time, with your best friend wrapped around you—you had a fleeting thought that things were going to be different. That maybe, he would wake up, realize he made a mistake, and ask to forget everything. You had no evidence to support that and you were trying to be brave about wanting Joshua, but your brain forced you to think it anyway.

Maybe your friendship is too precious to risk, especially now that you two just got it back. Maybe it’s going to get too complicated with him having to return to McLaren at the end of the season. Maybe he just dove into it too fast. 

Instead, you were met with the warmest smile from the pit lane, a wink that could make you combust into flames on the spot, and an account from Jihyo that the man is every bit as flustered as you are. You can’t help the small smile that begins to grow on your lips, and even though you lift your hand to cover it before it even really forms, Jihyo sees right through you.

“You touched lips,” she says, trying to sound accusatory, and to her credit, she does; the huge grin on her face gives her away, though. “You so touched lips! And you did more than that; you touched—” As the CEO, she at least has the sense to refrain from vocalizing her next thought, but her eyes dart from your face to your crotch several times pointedly to finish her question without words. “Didn’t you?” she asks, nodding and blinking rapidly.

“Oh my god, Jihyo,” you groan, your smile falling right off your face as you step around her and take your seat at the monitor. “Please tell me you don’t talk like this with anyone else and that I’m your only victim because you are very much a workplace harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”

She scoffs and takes the seat next to you, oblivious to the performance engineer who was just about to reach their monitor, having gone to grab coffee earlier. Without hesitation, they turn on their heel smoothly and find a place to hide while their CEO monopolizes their space.

“Really bold of you to assume I talk to anyone else, period,” she says like it’s the most ridiculous thought you’ve ever had. “Everyone here is scared of me; you’re my only friend.”

Your fingers still against your mouse. You and Jihyo have a sibling-like relationship more than anything. At least you think you do; you wouldn’t really know, but you imagine this is how sisters act: bickering all the time, whispering in corners, barging into the other’s office just to exist quietly in the same space for hours, walking arm in arm laughing and enjoying life then shoving each other away and slapping the other the next moment. You take for granted how hard it must’ve been for Jihyo to get to where she is—having to have such a tough and frightening exterior so that she could survive with the “big boys,” finding little to no female camaraderie throughout her career, and still having to maintain a large part of that facade so she can keep the Academy afloat and be a good role model to her students. It mostly is a facade; she can be scary but she’s mostly funny, supportive, honest, and curious. And it takes you a beat to realize you wouldn’t have even shared that moment with Joshua last night if it weren’t for Jihyo.

The least you can do is tell her everything and anything she wants to know, even if your inability to suppress your giddiness embarrasses you to oblivion. 

You turn to her in your seat, and she frowns at how serious you suddenly look. “What…?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

You rest a hand on hers and her gaze darts between you. “We did not touch…” you clear your throat, pointing your gaze downward with your eyebrows raised. “But we did touch lips.” She bites her lips to keep her own smile from swallowing her face whole. “And he did sleep over… and we did cuddle.” 

Her other hand slaps over yours and squeezes unforgivingly as she begins giggling and convulsing.  A few engineers look at the two of you with wide eyes, obviously not used to seeing the CEO of F1 Academy act like one of her students. That’s what’s beautiful about girlhood, though; it never ends. 

“Oh my god, I knew it!” she whisper-shrieks, your hand turning a concerning shade of reddish-purple as she squeezes the life out of it. You grunt as you yank it out of her grip, shaking it as blood starts rushing back into your fingers. “You two wear your feelings so openly on—”

She’s cut off by the 120-decibel roar of an F4 engine, startling the both of you and inspiring you both to scramble for headsets. 

“Oh my god,” she breathes into it once you have them turned on and on a private channel. “I haven’t been on the wall for one of these in so long,” she says, a hand to her heaving chest; she liked to watch from the Academy suite in the paddocks during the race so she could peacefully take notes and field off calls and emails.

You glance down at the lane to find Sophia in the car that nearly gave Jihyo a heart attack. She revs again and you laugh when it makes the CEO flinch again. “You should stay here today. Maybe I’ll tell you all about last night.”

She glares. “You kissed. It will not take you the entire race to tell me about that.” She doesn’t even give you a chance to counter. She smiles widely and kicks her feet excitedly. “Okay, fine, I’ll stay.”

“Cool, but you need to move; the performance engineer sits there,” you inform her, catching the eye of said engineer, who is very clearly wrought with anxiety as they try to decide whether or not they should ask the CEO to move now that you’re a few minutes from the formation lap starting. “We’ll get you another seat.”

The first race starts not long after you ask an assistant to bring Jihyo a chair, and with your engineers well prepared and familiarized with the girls, there isn’t much for you to do other than keep an eye on your monitor and tell Jihyo everything. 

You tell her about how you were literally and figuratively backed into a corner, and how you told Joshua as much as you could without saying the actual words, “I love you.” Jihyo has a lot of faces to make over that piece of information, but you ignore her because when you get to the part where Joshua kisses you, you have to bury your face in your hands and try your best not to scream. She, on the other hand, doesn’t try anywhere near as hard and scream-giggles, slapping you repeatedly as you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your giddiness to dissipate. It doesn’t, so by the time Jihyo is violently shaking you to continue, the best you can do is just continue the story with a smile that feels like it’s splitting your cheeks open and a face redder than F1’s logo. 

You two stumbled into your hotel room, a tangled and frantic mess of lips and limbs, his arms holding you up by your waist, your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you even though it was impossible to get any closer. You tripped a few times as he walked you back toward your bed. 

“Oh my god, you dirty, little liar,” Jihyo muttered, eyes wide on you. “You totally touched his di—”

“I did not. Do you want to hear this or what?”

“Okay, okay,” she says, waving a hand for you to continue, the race completely forgotten to her. Luckily for her, you’re used to having to hold a conversation while doing your job, so you’ve taken it upon yourself to take notes for her this one time. 

You felt the bed against the back of your legs, but before he could take you any further, you turned the both of you around, pushing him down to take a seat instead. He made a sound of surprise as he looked up at you, eyes huge and lips parted in anticipation. It stopped you right in your tracks. You wanted to crawl right onto his lap, grind into him, let him feel how he made you feel. But he was so beautiful, and the sheer gravity of it stopped you before you could lift a knee to rest on the bed. 

Instead, you laid a hand on one of his cheeks as his large hands massaged your waist gently. His lips quirked up into the smallest smile at the sensation of you against him. His head tilted into your palm, pressed his lips into your skin, and you fought to keep the odd sensation of suddenly wanting to cry at bay.

“What?! You wanted to cry?! Why?!” Jihyo shouts, startling you. 

You shrug. “I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I think I was just… overwhelmed that it was happening at all. I was prepared to never tell him how I felt—ever. And then it just came out last night, and suddenly we were…” you look around before mouthing, “kissing.” Jihyo giggles at how elementary it is of you two to be whispering about kissing a boy like this. “It was like, finally! But also, what the hell is happening?”

Jihyo hums, nodding at the poorly communicated thought process. “Ah, it is overwhelming. But happy crying, though, right?” You nod. Definitely happy crying. 

“Shua,” you breathed as you brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes fluttering closed as your finger traced over his skin. He looked so dreamy and unreal like this—like your touch was the best sensation he’s ever had the pleasure of feeling. You wanted this moment to last forever. He opened his eyes and lifted his head away from your palm. “Are you okay?”

You nodded quickly. The last thing you wanted was Joshua thinking anything was wrong. This was perfect. You just wanted to… You grinned. “I’m just enjoying the moment,” you said his own words back to him. His face lit up so gorgeously, his eyes sparkling like they never have before. You wonder how you were able to tell so much about him through his eyes and not see this. How were you able to look into his eyes and not see how much he cared about you?

“Okay, okay, we get it,” Jihyo groans, waving for you to move on. “You can see Ursa Major and the rest of the fucking galaxy in Joshua’s eyes—get to the good stuff!”

You glare at her before continuing.

He gave you only a second to appreciate it before he was pulling you in to stand between his legs and burying his face in your stomach in embarrassment.

“I’m happy,” he said, voice muffled by your own body. You laughed, hand coming up to thread through his dark hair, scratching his scalp the way you used to back at the McLaren facility when you knew he needed to nap but was fighting his exhaustion. “We should just… sleep, right…?”

You were glad he couldn’t see your face because it was hard to fight the smirk off it. You didn’t even really try. “Yeah,” you sighed. “We probably should. Early start.”

He groaned before lifting his head and looking up at you. “And we probably have some things to… sort out before we—uh, before… before anything else.”

“You two are grown ass adults and you can’t say ‘sex’?!” she laughs. You shoot her a look when an engineer very clearly hears her. They cough a little and look away, posture too stiff to play it off naturally. “We are all grown adults here!”

“Grown adults at work,” you remind her as you scribble down a stat you know she’ll want later. “But he was right. I don’t want to go there until we talk things out.”

She sighs exaggeratedly. “And what do you need to talk about now?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe we can talk about how I’ve been in love with him for practically the entire time I’ve known him?” you hiss sarcastically. 

“Yawn, he knows that. Next!”

You scoff, leaning back in mock offense. “I assure you he doesn’t, but alright, how about the elephant in the room?” Jihyo gives you nothing more than a bored stare. “The fact that in a few months, he’ll be back at McLaren, traveling the world racing again, and I’ll be here.”

Jihyo shamelessly blows a raspberry at you. “Pfft! Almost all of our races overlap with his! You will also be traveling the world! Next!”

You roll your eyes. “You’re biased. You don’t view that as an issue we need to discuss because you just want your little rom-com happy ending.”

“Sure do, and I’m getting my rom-com happy ending,” she says, pointing a finger at you threateningly. “And you’re right: I don’t view these things as issues because they’re not issues. They’re excuses for why you can’t go all in.” She holds a hand up at you when your mouth opens to argue with her. “They’re shields to hide behind so you can tell yourself if it doesn’t work out, it’s not because you failed; it’s because the circumstances stopped you from even trying in the first place.”

“I…” the single syllable is out of your mouth, ready to dispute that when you realize you actually have nothing to say. You’re not ready to admit it right now, but the notion is merited. 

Because this time, you don’t really have an excuse—not the way you did two years ago. Being with Joshua now wouldn’t ruin either of your careers, not when he’s the most valuable driver on the grid and not when your own boss is practically begging you to get into bed with him. You’re established enough and far enough removed from Joshua’s racing career to know it won’t derail your life the way it would have before. Is that all your fears are now? Excuses to keep from trying? Didn’t you tell yourself you’d be brave with him?

“Great counterargument, truly,” she jokes when you say nothing else, “but I’m correct.” You want to roll your eyes at her, but you’re too stunned to. She takes advantage of your stumped state to drive her point home: “I seriously respect your decision to leave McLaren, I really do. I understand more than any of these men—” The few male engineers on the wall readjust uncomfortably, leaning away from the conversation. “—the sacrifices you have to make when you’re a woman in F1, and I think you ultimately did the right thing for yourself and your career. But at this point…” 

She looks away like she’s trying to piece together the right words to say to you. When you follow her gaze, you find it on Joshua in the pit lane with the rest of the crew, nervously playing with his earlobe as he watches his girls race each other. 

“The same fear that saved you from a ruined career two years ago is only going to result in time wasted now. It won’t save you from anything. There’s nothing to save you from. You said it yourself; you waited years for this. It would seriously suck so much ass if you made yourself wait more. If you need to talk about that, talk about it, but don’t approach it like it’s an issue to tackle. Discuss it like they’re just logistics you need to sort out with a partner because that’s exactly what it is.”

You watch as Joshua cheers and claps, too far away for you to hear anything, but you can hear the joy in it anyway. It’s the only sign that tells you someone has finished the race and you missed it. Maybe you’ve missed too many things. 

“How did he end up staying the night anyway?” Jihyo asks a few moments later.

You tear your gaze away from the driving instructor and look back to your friend. Her eyes are on you, casually expecting more gossip like she didn’t just possibly change your life. 

“Thanks for staying,” you whispered once you two were in bed, face-to-face with his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

“Thanks for inviting me to… though I probably would’ve begged anyway,” he admitted, squeezing you briefly. You laughed and shook your head at him. 

After a few moments, you said, “I’m happy too,” remembering to return his earlier sentiment. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Happier than… when we won the title the first time?” he asked. 

You grinned. “Yup.”

“Happier than… when we won the title the second time?” You levelled him with a glare and he laughed louder. “Right. Sorry. A lot of things were happier than that night. How about… when we went clubbing in Miami?”

“Oh, you mean when we went to the club for 20 minutes, decided we hated it, and ended up drunk at an arcade?” you clarified. He nodded, smiling softly at the memory. You realized now that faraway look he often got was probably just him revisiting a moment he filed away previously. You loved it so much. “Yes, happier than that.”

“And when I got you chocolates at the Belgian Grand Prix?”

“You never told me how you found time to do that,” you pointed out. You had complained about having zero time to try the world-famous chocolates from the start of your first-ever race weekend in Belgium, until the very end. Then, when Joshua came to hug and thank you after he placed fourth, he did it with the most beautiful boxed assortment, and the two of you picked at it all night while watching movies in his hotel room. You couldn’t remember if the chocolates were as good as you thought they were or if Joshua was what made it all so sweet.

“You just make things happen when you have a crush on someone.”

You scoffed, sitting up a little on your elbow to look at him closely and make sure he was being serious. “Belgian Grand Prix of 2018. You’re telling me you had a crush on me back in 2018?”

“Babe, I’ve had a crush on you since the moment I met you,” he mutters, yawning before his mouth settles back into that content smile it’s been sporting all night. 

You let that information sit with you. You found out you were in love with Joshua in 2023. You wished you could pinpoint when that happened or when you started seeing him that way, but you know it was long, long before that Spanish Grand Prix. In those five years working together, he had settled over you gently and slowly, and by the time you realized it, there wasn’t a spot of you that wasn’t covered in him. 

“Yeah,” you finally answered. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes and it was clear he was halfway to falling asleep. “Happier than when you got me the chocolates. How about you?” you asked before he could bring up another one of your millions of happy memories together. “Are you happier than—”

“I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life,” he said, pulling you back down so you were nestled safely and snugly against his chest. He pressed a kiss against the crown of your head. “So save your breath asking me about all the things we’ve experienced together.”

You smiled against his chest as you both wrapped your arms around each other a little tighter. 

“This is always going to be the happiest.” He paused. “At least until the next kiss. And the next hug. And the next late night working. And the next burger. And the next LEGO set. And—”

“Good night, Hong.”

He laughed quietly, his chest shaking you as he did. “Good night, L/N.”

At the end of their first-ever F1 Academy race, Saki is in the middle of the podium, with Megan and Lara flanking her, the top Qualifiers managing to keep their same spots. Saki is smiling the largest you’ve ever seen her smile, and the best part is that all the students are happy for her and for each other. Of course, there are disappointments and regrets, but there are more smiles than tears, and you know from the way Joshua looks at them so proudly, that he sees it too. His pep talk from Qualifiers got through to them. They stepped out of their cars and off the track, and they still had their best friends. 

It’s heartwarming to walk around with Jihyo, supervising as the girls are photographed and interviewed—as they’re given a taste of what their lives will be like when they break into F1. Sophia is a natural; the camera loves her and she oozes charisma, getting the interviewer to ask her more about herself and her life instead of the actual race, and she loves it. Eunchae, unsurprisingly, only ever gets asked one question at a time because she spends her entire slot with each journalist talking their ear off, flowing from one tangent to the other; everyone is endeared by her. 

You’re standing with Jihyo and the Academy PR team (who gesture for Megan to shut up as she starts begging the journalist’s camera for a ginger chews sponsorship) when your name is called. You turn to find a woman you’ve been interviewed by before, waving you down. Standing with her are her cameraperson and Joshua, whose eyes follow you in amusement, and you have no doubt he told her to call you over to join his interview. 

“Uh—”

“Nope,” Jihyo rejects your excuse before you can come up with it. She unceremoniously jabs her elbow into your side and shoves you in the direction of the group. “Leave them,” she barks when a PR manager tries to follow you. The poor girl flinches back to where she was previously standing. “They’re media trained. They’ll be fine.”

You bite your tongue to keep from cursing at her in the middle of the press storm, instead walking toward Joshua and his interviewer. For someone who was apparently late enough he missed the bus to the circuit, he looks infuriatingly sexy. He lost the cap sometime between the race and this interview, his hair styled back and away from his face. He’s dressed a touch more smartly than he was yesterday, his fitted Academy polo tucked into crisp black slacks that sit higher on his waist and sneakers so clean, they look like they came right out of the box. The entire outfit is making it absolutely impossible to miss the way his athletic body tapers into a V, and you fight to keep your mouth from watering.

As if he can read your thoughts, he smirks and removes one hand from the pocket of his pants and holds an arm out toward you as you reach them. You smile, trying to push aside your nerves. Even though you’ve had enough time training with PR managers over the course of your career, you still get nervous doing appearances and interviews. Like you told Wonwoo so many times at McLaren, you didn’t get into this for the limelight, and you don’t imagine you’ll ever really get used to it. 

On top of that, it doesn’t help that you haven’t gotten a chance to talk to Joshua at all since saying good night. 

Your heart beats thunderously as you accept his side embrace, not paying any mind when he squeezes you tightly to him and rubs your arm comfortingly. You hook your hand around the small of his waist, taking a deep breath. As predicted, he knows exactly what situations make you nervous and exactly what calms you down in them (mostly just him).

“She asked me how I ended up at the Academy,” he informs you, mouth so close to your face, you smell the mint he always popped before his post-race interviews. You understand why you’ve been called over, and you nod, mouth forming around the sound “ah” without fully saying it. 

“Thanks so much for joining us,” the journalist says, saying your full name for the camera. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but we’ve talked before for Sebong TV. It’s nice to see you again. It’s been a while!”

You nod. “Yes, I remember you,” you tell her, fishing her name out of the bank of journalist names in the back of your brain. She lights up when she realizes you actually do remember her. “You did my last interview of my career with McLaren. Qatar Grand Prix. Nice to see you again.”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yes, which—” she lowers her microphone briefly and shoves the camera away gently, evoking a squeak from the cameraman. “—thank you so much for giving me that time, by the way. It really helped get my name out there.”

“Oh, no worries. You had great questions,” you say, laughing a little. You can’t imagine your name helping anyone else’s name get out there, but you blush and accept the thanks all the same, trying to be gracious about it. She allows the camera to focus back on you, lifting the microphone to her mouth once more.

“So Joshua told us you went all the way to Barcelona to recruit him,” the interviewer clarifies, a hesitant and excited smile growing on her lips as her eyes dart between the two of you. You’re not sure what exactly she’s smiling at but you try not to dwell on it. It’s easy when you have Joshua pressed against your side, his cologne filling your nose and sufficiently pulling your thoughts away from how nervous you are.

“I did,” you nod, speaking into her microphone. “We watched his press conference announcing his sabbatical—in the middle of class, mind you—and I was on a flight to Spain to beg him to take the spot immediately after.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Wow, talk about going after what you want.” Her eyes dart down so briefly, you don’t have more than a second to wonder what she’s looking at. “What made you think of Joshua for F1 Academy?”

“I wish I could take all the credit for roping him into this circus,” you say, laughing a little nervously. “But that was CEO Park. I just reaffirmed what we all already knew: that this role would be perfect for him.”

“And what makes you say that?”

You glance at Joshua. He readily meets your gaze and smiles at you encouragingly, giving you another gentle squeeze. It’s the only reason you realize his hand found its way from your shoulder to your waist at some point without you noticing. You feel his thumb rubbing the space there, eyes trained on you like he refuses to be the one to look away first. For the first time, you can understand why Eunchae is so annoying about you two being able to read each other’s minds; Joshua’s eyes say everything he can’t in front of a member of the press. They say that you’re doing well, that he’s happy you’re here—yes, happier than any memory you can think to compare this moment to—and he’s in this with you. 

“Um…” your interviewer stutters, though she doesn’t sound at all put-off by how long you’re taking to answer. She calls your name.

You manage to tear your eyes away from Joshua when he gives you a reassuring nod. When you meet the journalist’s gaze again, she has a thrilled, somewhat frenzied look in her eyes, which are widened at the both of you, her smile now fully spread across her face. You try not to frown on camera. 

“Right, uh—sorry, what was the question?”

She giggles, proving it incredibly hard for your brows to refrain from furrowing in confusion at her. You’ve only been interviewed by her once, and sure, it was two years ago, but you definitely don’t remember her eyes being so flighty and her behavior so… odd. 

“I asked what it was about Joshua that made you think he’s perfect for this role.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. It’s an easy question to answer. “He’s so fantastic at empowering women, and he doesn’t even have to try. I know firsthand from his advocacy of me and my career during our time together at McLaren.” His grip on your waist firms and you shuffle a little, moving even closer to him to keep his hold from getting too tight. “He always believed in me and my talents, trusted me wholeheartedly, and not only did he treat me with the utmost respect, but he demanded that same behavior from everyone around him.” You make it a point not to look at him now or risk getting entirely and hopelessly sidetracked. “He elevated me at every turn. I knew without a doubt he would do the same and even more for these girls if given the chance.”

Her mouth pops open a little in what you think is awe, and you give her a close-lipped smile when she doesn’t ask or say anything for a few moments. “Uh, I—um, that was such a touching answer,” she says, quickly recovering. “Just one last question: Joshua.” 

She turns to him and you take this opportunity to do the same, knowing he’ll have to look at the interviewer instead of you, saving you from becoming a bumbling idiot. His cheeks are dusted a shade of pink they weren’t before, and you enjoy the thought of being the reason for that. He nods at her.

“What’s next?” she asks simply. “The Academy season goes through until November and your sabbatical will be over shortly after. Any thoughts on what you’ll be doing when that time comes?”

You’re not as afraid of the question as you think you would’ve been before this weekend. After your conversation with Jihyo, the decision Joshua will have to make about his F1 career is already on your mind, and thanks to the sage advice of your boss, you’re familiarizing yourself with the idea that whether his sabbatical leads to a comeback or a retirement, maybe that’s something you can figure out together.

It’s your turn to rub your thumb into Joshua’s waist and lend him any encouragement you can give him. He leans into your touch slightly. You expect him to stumble through the answer. You expect his posture to stiffen a little. You expect discomfort and confusion and uncertainty. But he’s only ever stumbled through an interview once in his career during the 2021 British Grand Prix, and even then, he handled it elegantly. This is easy in comparison. 

“Oh, I have a lot of thoughts,” he says, laughing. The sound immediately makes you smile. “Tell you what, you’ll be the second person I tell once I know.”

“The second…?” she asks, looking entirely unimpressed with that number. He laughs louder now. 

“Yes, second,” he confirms. He tilts his head in your direction without looking at you. You look away as you feel the giddiness ramping up again. You bite down a smile. “She’s gotta be the first.”

The scowl on your interviewer’s face turns back into a grin and she nods enthusiastically. “Of course, of course. But to be abundantly clear, I will be the first journalist you tell, yes?”

You both laugh and Joshua nods, saying her name as he assures her that yes, she’ll get the exclusive. After you both say your thank yous and goodbyes and exit the flow of interviews, Joshua releases your waist and casually throws his arm over your shoulders, guiding you aimlessly away from the crowd.

Jihyo catches your eye but looks away before you can mouth a curse at her. You don’t miss the way her lips turn up into a smirk, though.

“That went well, no?” Joshua asks. They’re the first words he’s saying to you privately since last night, and you think they’re fitting. 

“Hello to you too,” you murmur, a slight smile on your lips.

“Why hello, beautiful girl,” he greets you, stopping the both of you in your tracks, looking down, and flashing his eyebrows at you. He smirks when your cheeks immediately turn pink.

“Oh my god,” you groan, letting your face fall into your palm. “No, please don’t do that. I won’t survive if you do that.”

“Do what?” he asks, smirk deepening. “I’m just saying hi.”

“Have you just been suppressing this flirtatious monster this entire time?”

“Um, no, you’re actually just oblivious, but it’s okay,” he says, the speed at which his words exit his mouth increasing when he sees you preparing to untangle yourself from him and start arguing. “But I’ve definitely been holding back a little!” he admits frantically, tightening his hold on you as he continues walking. “Please do not ask me to continue to do that, though. I’ve tasted freedom. I don’t want to go back. Don’t make me.”

“The drama,” you tease, rolling your eyes. “That went well,” you finally agree. “It’s so crazy to think I haven’t interviewed with you since…”

“Mmm… gotta be that profile Time Magazine did,” he answers for you. “The one where we accidentally told them about you leaving.”

You snort. “We?”

Joshua sighs heavily. “You can never just let that go, can you?” 

“Because we didn’t do anything! You told them!”

The news of your departure from McLaren to join F1 Academy hadn’t been announced yet, and when asked about his motivations for a second world title, Joshua—always being entirely too comfortable in your presence—accidentally told the journalist, Well, my motivations stay the same: to be the best and to make the people I love proud. I guess the only thing I’d add this time is that I want to give my race engineer the best last season before she leaves. McLaren’s PR team worked tirelessly with Time to fix that. The team profile quickly became an exclusive headline: 

Team McLaren prepares to bid their first female race engineer farewell  F1’s arguably most prolific engineer to date broke glass ceilings with the motorsport giant. Her next venture will redefine what it means to be a woman in Formula.

You cringe when you think about that interview. It was a mess of surprised shouting, Joshua panicking, and you trying not to strangle him.

“Okay, but a really kickass spread came out of it, so we still won,” he points out, grinning foolishly at you.

“They called me the wind beneath your wings.”

“And you are.”

“Ew, stop! That’s so cheesy and corny,” you complain even though you feel your face growing warmer. He laughs, pulling you even closer to him as he does.

“That’s never been a secret, pretty girl,” he tells you. “You’ve always been the engine powering this duo.”

You grunt, choosing to ignore his flirtatious comments. “Better metaphor, I’ll give you that.” You try to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “The journalist from today is nice. I don’t quite remember her being so… excitable though.”

“We’re an exciting couple.”

You realize there is no safe territory to steer Joshua to. “Is that what we are,” you deadpan.

“Sorry,” he says, stopping and maneuvering you away from under his arm so you’re facing him, “did you want to have this conversation here, in the middle of the media pen, with Eunchae completely bombing her current interview because she won’t stop staring at the two of us?” 

You look over your shoulder to find Eunchae with a journalist who is looking at her quizzically while her big eyes are trained on both of you. When you make eye contact with her, she does nothing short of jump and begin rattling nonsense at her interviewer.

You turn back to your best friend to see him smiling widely. “No, definitely not.”

“Thought so,” he says, nodding.

“But we will. Talk.”

“Of course, we will,” he agrees, guiding you back so that you’re tucked under his arm again as he continues to guide you away from the media pen. “How else will I be able to hold your hand in public if we don’t talk about it first?”

“Joshua,” you groan through gritted teeth. 

“I waited a long time for this,” he says seriously. “Just let me have it.” That kills all the complaints you have on your tongue, and you find it in yourself to swallow them. You’ll just have to spend the night screaming into your pillow to release all this pent-up giddiness from Joshua acting like… a boyfriend. “And stop calling me that.”

“It’s literally your name.”

“Not to you, it isn’t.”

You roll your eyes but smile all the same. “Anyway, I believe we promised the girls a full team dinner.”

“Ah, I believe we did.”

“We have two hours before it’s considered an appropriate time for dinner activities.”

He stops walking, eyebrows rising as he looks down at you. “Yes. It seems that we do…”

“What should we do with those two hours?”

“Know about any janitor closets we can make out in like two crazed teenagers?”

You elbow his side hard enough to make him cough and free yourself from his grip. “No, but I know about a vendor stall at the paddocks that I want you to buy a milkshake for me from.” You walk off, leading the way without him. “Janitor closets,” you mutter, shaking your head. 

“Yeah, okay, milkshakes,” he wheezes, catching up and throwing an arm over you again. “That’s what I was thinking too.”

“This is your fault!”

You can barely hear your own voice over Jihyo’s maniacal cackling. You’re a little bewildered to realize this is the hardest you’ve ever seen Jihyo laugh, but you are not surprised that it’s at your expense. The story with Sebong TV dropped, and because the universe has absolutely no mercy on you, it dropped while you were 10,000 feet in the air for 12 hours with no access to the internet. The flight landed, you got off the plane, and it felt like every single person’s phones got possessed at the same time, staff and students alike.

You thought it was some terrible world news event. Or maybe someone really important and beloved died. 

No, it was just your interview with Joshua that had everyone losing their minds, and who better to break that news to you than Eunchae, who immediately started playing the video for the entire 2025 F1 Academy class, right there, on the tarmac.

You spent your interview, unbeknownst to you or Joshua, wrapped up in the driving instructor like you’ve been married for years. He held you close to him, kept his hand around your waist, never looked away from you while you were speaking, and you—you.

You held him just as close, you looked up at him with lovesick heart eyes, and you tilted your head toward him enough times, it looked like you were straight up resting it on his shoulder. You see exactly why Eunchae couldn’t focus on her interview that day. You might as well have been screaming, HEY! WE KISSED LAST NIGHT!

And neither of you had zero recollection of any of this happening.

“How—” Jihyo wheezes between uncontrollable laughter. “—on earth—” she squeals with delight. “—is it my fault?!”

“You made me go alone without a PR manager!” you screech. “She would’ve clocked our body language immediately and told us to stop!”

Jihyo laughs for what feels like several years before she finally calms down enough to catch her breath and look at you with teary eyes. She simply shakes her head and says, “I love the internet.”

You scoff. “Are you going to do something about this?” you ask again. You asked the first time while you were still on the tarmac yesterday, and you didn’t think you’d have to ask again today, but after more than 36 hours without a statement, it seems you have no choice. 

“No,” Jihyo says it like you’re the crazy one. “They’re harmless dating rumors! We can’t just make statements about every little thing people whisper about in F1 or we’d be putting statements out every hour!”

“Jiji!” you shriek, actually startling her in her own office. “They’re calling us papaya mates. You have to do something!”

That sentence just makes her burst into a new round of giggles, her hand waving at you in an effort to wordlessly tell you to stop. As if you’re making her laugh on purpose.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, sinking into one of the seats across from her. “You’re useless.”

“I don’t know why you’re so mad!”

“I’m not mad! I’m embarrassed!”

“Why?!”

“Because I was acting like a desperate little weirdo on camera and I didn’t even know it?!”

“Literally no one on the internet has called you a desperate little weirdo,” Jihyo says, rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, really?” you ask, taking out your phone and opening an app. Jihyo leans across her desk and snatches it out of your hand before you can get anywhere. “What the hell?!”

“No one said anything bad about you, just trust me,” she assures you in a way that tells you she cannot be trusted. “And if they did—which they didn’t—it would only be because they’re super mega jealous of the girl that Joshua Hong is so very obviously in love with!” 

The last three words come out as a horrifying giggle-scream, and the CEO devolves into several giddy spasms, kicking and shaking like a small child as she laughs. This is what a ship sailing looked like for Jihyo. Complete insanity.

“It’s not embarrassing!” she shouts at you in irritation when her giggles subside once more and she finds you staring at her blankly. “It’s cute and it has people who don’t even give a shit about F1 screaming, crying, and throwing up, so be happy!”

She gets up and walks over to your side of her desk, throwing herself into the seat next to you. You snort when you see she’s in fluffy unicorn house slippers instead of the 4-inch heels you saw her in at the beginning of the workday. 

“Look!” she says, unlocking your own phone and navigating your social media apps. “These people are so happy for you. They see what everybody else has seen for the past decade!”

“Seven years.”

“Decade!” she repeats louder. 

She shoves your own phone in your face and you find it on a post by a fan account. It’s a photo of you and Joshua at the 2018 Spanish Grand Prix—the first time you raced there. It’s only now that you remember what he said about this track in Shanghai. I fell in love during that race.

The photo is of you and your driver in the garage with his hands on your shoulders, and you recognize it as the moment immediately after he had just hugged and thanked you. You don’t remember him looking at you the way he was looking at you in this photo—with adoration and reverence and… love. 

What was it that you had said that would evoke this reaction? You bring a lot of joy into the sport.

It was just fun, he told the girls at the restaurant. It brought so much joy to the sport.

“He wasn’t talking about the circuit.”

“Huh?”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, letting the hand holding your phone fall into your lap. “Joshua loves me. He fell in love with me.”

Jihyo raises her eyebrows as she looks between your phone and you, dumbfounded. “You mean to tell me, all I had to do was show you the profile of a McLaren Dream Team shipping account and you would’ve realized that two years ago?”

Is it too big-headed of you to think that he was talking about you in that restaurant? If the circuit was really just a coverup for whatever he really meant, it had to be you, right? He had zero time to meet anyone else that weekend! He confirmed he had no Spanish wife or Korean-Spanish children! 

Why else would he be so obsessed with winning that track? He told you himself to be careful with your praise or he’d have to win it every single year. 

“Hello?!” Jihyo’s hand waves frantically in front of your face.

You glance at her, confused. “What?”

“No… you what?”

“You’re so confusing,” you tell her as you stand and pocket your phone. 

“I’m confusing?! You’re the one staring off into the distance muttering nonsense in my office!”

You look down at your friend, once again realizing every step forward you’ve taken since Joshua announced his sabbatical has been because of her. 

“I love you, thank you for everything, you’re the best,” you say suddenly, kissing the crown of her head before pushing it away from you and leaving her office.

“Yah! What the fuck?! What’s going on!” When you don’t answer, she shouts, “Love you too!”

You hastily make your way to your garage, ready to collect all your things, go home, call Joshua, and ask him to come over to talk. Because Jihyo is right; you have nothing to lose now, and you’ve wasted enough time. You’ve wasted enough of Joshua’s time. 

“2018,” you whisper to yourself as you turn the corner down the hallway to the facility’s individual garages. 

You thought Joshua was joking when he said he’s had a crush on you from the moment he met you. You thought he was being cute and cheeky the way he always is. Was he being honest? In the hotel room? In the restaurant with the girls? In every interaction you’ve ever had with him? Has he always been this obvious? 

You’re actually just oblivious, he had told you after the interview that has you all riled up right now.

“2018!” you groan this time as you throw the door to your garage open. “Unbelievable!”

“What is?”

You shriek as you turn toward the car you’ve been restoring for the last two years, safely tucked away under a cover—a cover Joshua is currently fingering at, very obviously toying with the idea of taking a peek under to see what car it is. 

“What are you doing here?” you breathe, hand on your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow down. “How did you even find my garage?!”

He tilts his head at you curiously and laughs. “I’m the head driving instructor here. They showed me where everything was on my first day. Any time you weren’t in your office the last few weeks, I assumed you were hiding in here… avoiding me.” He throws you a glare but it’s clear from the way his eyes look like they’re dancing that it’s playful. “Aren’t I so respectful? Letting you have your space even though I knew where you were?”

You give him a flat stare. “I wouldn’t call what you did giving me space, but okay.”

He laughs through his nose. “I went by your office to see if you wanted to hang out but you weren’t there, and I thought after this weekend…” he clears his throat. “Maybe I have a pass to come check if you’re in your garage now.” You smile a little at the thought of Joshua wondering whether or not he was allowed in here. “I saw your stuff and figured I’d just wait until you came back from wherever you were.” 

You turn to see his own duffel and laptop bag with the things you were rushing over here to gather. All that urgency is gone now that you’re with the man you were so desperate to see in the first place.

Joshua grins as he starts pacing around the car. “What’s under the cover?”

You try not to visibly cringe at the idea of him finding out what’s under it because that reaction will just make him even more curious. “It’s a car.”

He nods, looking at you like you might have lost all your brain cells. “I gathered…”

“Yup” is all you say.

He raises both eyebrows at you. “That bad?” he asks, laughing a little. “What, is it a Ferrari?” 

“No,” you scoff but offer him no answer.

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“No reason. It’s just… a car.”

Without warning, he yanks the cover off of it, making you shout all kinds of apologies before he can even process what he’s looking at. 

“You have… a Mercedes?” 

A Mercedes 300SL Roadster. A Mercedes 300SL Roadster that would burst into flames under Joshua’s glare right now if looks could kill.

“It’s not as bad as a Ferrari!” you immediately reason. “I mean, McLaren uses a Mercedes engine! How traitorous can it be if McLaren—”

“The one time I lost Barcelona-Catalunya with you,” he interjects, eyes huge. You squeeze your eyes shut because you know exactly what he’s going to say next. “Who did we lose to?”

“Mercedes,” you whisper, opening your eyes slowly.

“Mercedes!” he shouts, shaking his fist with the cover still in it. “And you bought a Mercedes?!” 

“Look at her!” You gesture to the convertible. “She’s so pretty! Look at her, and tell me she isn’t the most gorgeous, little thing you’ve seen!”

He levels you with a glare and deadpans, “She isn’t.”

“Okay, well, you’re lying,” you accuse him. “She’s stunning and you’re holding something that isn’t even her fault against her. Blame the driver, blame me! But don’t blame her!” You lean down to pat her headlight like an actual pet. 

After a brief pause, he sighs in defeat. He turns away from you and heads to the sofa tucked away in the corner of the garage along with a small bookcase, a lamp, and a few cozy string lights. It’s meant to be somewhere nice to nap or even spend the night whenever you need to. Joshua plops down in the middle of it, propping one ankle up on his knee and throwing one arm casually over the back of the couch.

“What’s her name?” he asks, giving in.

You bite your lip. You technically won in getting Joshua to stop hating on your car… but you didn’t anticipate having to tell him what you named her.

“What?” he prods, still bitter. “Did you also name her after the fucker who took my first place trophy in 2022?”

You choke on nothing at Joshua’s sudden cursing, coughing several times before you’re able to shake your head and assure him no, you did nothing of the sort. “The opposite, actually.”

“The opposite?”

“I named her Jisoo,” you say meekly, unable to meet his eyes when you tell him.

“Jisoo…”

“Yeah, Jisoo.” His Korean name. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I’m not making it a thing.” 

You look over at him and see his big, shiny, emotional eyes and you scowl. “You’re making it a thing!”

“I’m not!” he insists. “You arguably made it a thing when you named her Jisoo!”

You huff and stand back up, crossing your arms and looking at him. “I was… sad when I got here,” you explain a little more seriously. “I needed a hobby, and I came across the car, and I missed you. And no one knows your Korean name, so…”

By the look on Joshua’s face, he’s so making it a thing, but you don’t fault him for it. It’s a testament to how much he means to you, and you hope he sees that. You hope that if he has really been waiting since 2018, that this is a small way of showing him you’ve thought about him this entire time too. He doesn’t say anything, just patting the spot next to him. 

You oblige, sitting down on the couch where his arm is laid out. You take a moment and look at the space between you, and you’re aware you’re taking too long when his gaze hesitantly follows yours. His eyebrow rises in question. Be fucking brave, you idiot, a voice screams at you. It’s probably Jihyo’s. Trying your best to be shameless, you suddenly scoot over, sitting as close as possible and cuddling up under his arm. 

“Oh,” he breathes, smiling immediately. His hand wastes no time coming up to your shoulder and massaging the knot there. You sigh, slouching even further into his side. “You smell nice,” he says softly. You swear you feel the ghost of a kiss on your head. The two of you stay like this, quietly enjoying the moment. Then, Joshua asks: “What’s unbelievable?”

“Hm?” you ask, honestly halfway to sleeping with how comfortable he is. 

“When you came in,” he reminds you. “You said something was unbelievable.”

“Oh, I… don’t remember,” you fib. “I was coming from Jihyo’s office so definitely something having to do with her.” It’s not dishonest.

He laughs at that. “What was Jihyo up to?”

“You mean, what was she not up to,” you grumble. “She was not doing anything about that interview and all the rumors it caused.”

Joshua snorts. “Ah, right. Did you see that we’ve been in a secret relationship the entire time I’ve been in F1?”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “Did you see that you actually took your sabbatical so we could go on our honeymoon?”

“Sure did, Mrs. Hong,” he says, laughing. Your face burns hot at the joke, and you have to look away to maintain your composure. He catches on though, taking the hand on your shoulder and using a single finger to poke your chin and turn you back toward him. “Aw,” he coos when he sees your blush. He smirks. “Did you like that? Being called Mrs. Hong?”

“I hate you!” You immediately start pushing away from him, but his hands are on you too fast, pulling you back easily.

“No, no, okay, okay, okay, I’m sorry! I’ll reel it in!” 

You fall against his chest, cheek pressed against his pec as you glare up at him. “You’re insufferable,” you say, the words jumbled from how tightly he’s holding you against him.

“That’s fine as long as you stay here,” he responds, smiling like he’s proud of himself. After a moment, he looks down at you and you watch his eyes visibly melt—it’s so obvious, you think. “Hey,” he greets you softly. “Haven’t gotten a chance to just… say hi to you all day.”

Although the girls got a break the day after a race weekend, head executives weren’t so lucky, which meant you and Joshua were at the Academy up and early, getting things squared away in preparation for the next race. And unfortunately, just when you’d finally stopped avoiding him, the day was busy enough that you didn’t see him once.

“Hi,” you practically squeak. He smiles before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I can do that now, right?” he asks, barely moving away from your mouth. 

“Kiss me?”

He hums. “Mhm. Whenever I want?”

Joshua catches your lips once more, this time sucking on your lower lip gently before releasing you. “Sure, yeah, whatever,” you breathe, chasing him as he breaks away.

He laughs, his hand squeezing your shoulder to keep you from following him. “Okay, well, you’re on the verge of helplessly distracting me, and I actually wanted to talk.”

You can’t help the way you stiffen. Even with everything you see now and everything you know, you’re somehow still terrified to have this conversation. “Uh yeah, me too.”

“I figure it’s just about… us…?” he asks, referring to the conversation you two said you’d have the night he stayed in your hotel room. You nod. “Okay, well, before we do… I thought of a nice, little activity we can do to loosen up a little first.”

“What…?” 

He untangles himself from you, pulls you up off the couch, and leads you to the garage door. He presses the button on the wall to open it, and when it does, you find two karts waiting for you where the garage opens up into the Academy track. 

“You want to kart?!” you ask, unsure if you’re horrified or excited. 

He laughs and nods. “Yup. Got Jihyo’s permission to borrow them.” She’s truly the CEO that keeps on giving. “I figured if you’re too terrified trying to drive this thing at no more than 40mph—” he gracefully dodges your fist. “—then you won’t be too terrified to have a conversation with me and risk having to leave the country.”

“Ha ha,” you sneer at him before pouting. It’s infuriating because it’s so accurate. For someone whose entire career has been in Formula, you surprisingly don’t enjoy driving at potentially neck-breaking speeds. 

“Plus, it’ll be cute to see you struggle with this and realize being on the other end of the radio isn’t so easy,” he adds.

“Oh, I’m going to pulverize you.”

“Sure you are, baby,” he says easily. You’re not sure if you scoff because of the sarcasm or the pet name, but you do it all the same. “But before all that, c’mere.”

You turn away from the karts to face him, finding him holding a helmet already sized to you. You step forward, expecting him to slip the helmet onto you, but instead, he steps around you, gathering your hair and expertly putting it into a ponytail at the base of your neck.

You frown at him as he steps back to your front. “Why do you know how to tie a ponytail?” you ask.

“Hm?” he looks up from the helmet at you innocently. “My mom. I used to watch her do her hair when I was little and wanted to learn,” he explains, shrugging. “I can only do ponytails and regular braids, though. Everything else was too hard.”

You want to laugh at the F1 driver thinking anything more than braids is hard, but instead, you’re so endeared, it hurts. 

“Ugh, you’re so annoyingly perfect.”

He laughs, smiling wide. You openly stare at him as he pulls the helmet over your head, brows furrowed in concentration as he makes sure all your hair is tucked away from your eyes and face, and that everything fits well in all the right places. Then, he fastens the helmet, and when he’s done, he leans back to admire his work and smirks.

“You look hot.” Before you can throw another tantrum about his flirting, he leans forward and plants a kiss on the helmet where your mouth would be. “Get in.” He turns you around without another word, slapping your butt in the direction of your kart. 

You yelp in surprise, astounded at how easily you follow directions when Joshua decides to lead. You’re so used to him letting you take charge, you almost don’t know what to do with yourself other than dazedly follow what he says. When you’re all strapped in, he walks over to check, double-check, triple-check that you’ve buckled yourself into your kart properly before he leans over you, one hand on each side of the vehicle so he’s caging you in.

“Okay, listen up,” he says in his race voice. You hate the way your posture straightens. “Both hands on the wheel at all times. I’m serious. If I see you waving at me when you pass, we’re done, understood?”

You feel shame at the way the space between your legs aches from the way he’s talking to you. “Mhm” is all you can manage.

“Feet flat on the pedals—right for—”

“Shua, I’ve driven a kart before.”

“I don’t care,” he says without missing a beat. “Feet flat on the pedals,” he emphatically repeats, very clearly set on giving you the entire safety speech, “right for accelerate, left for brake—do not use them at the same time.”

“But—”

“No,” he says, unknowingly causing the ache to grow. “Power braking is for advanced drivers. You are a little baby driver. So no braking and accelerating at the same time or we’re done.”

“You did not just call me a baby driver.”

He grins for just a moment before continuing his rundown. “Look ahead and around you. If you’re staring at my bumper, you’ll hit it.”

“What makes you think I’ll be staring at your bumper?” you taunt him. 

“You will be,” he responds simply. You’re wetting your panties and you don’t even care. “Brake before corners, not in the middle of it, and keep your elbows tucked in.” He adjusts the positioning of your arms to show you how he wants you. “If you spin out, stay in the kart—do not get out until I come and get you.”

“Got it,” you nod when he pauses for your acknowledgment.

“Lastly… just be safe, okay?” He taps the top of your helmet. “My favorite person is under there. Don’t let her get hurt.”

You’re glad the helmet hides the way you turn an undoubtedly startling shade of red. “I’ll be as safe as someone can be while kicking a professional F1 driver’s ass.”

He rolls his eyes before glaring at you. “If you hurt yourself trying to go faster than me, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted.”

He shakes his head in mock exasperation. “Little miss bossy pants can’t take directions, go figure,” he complains, pushing your helmet away from him. You slap at his hands as he stands up. Before he turns to leave, he says one, last time: “I mean it. Be safe. Don’t make me regret doing this.”

“I will, Shua,” you whine, feeling adrenaline leaking into your system already. “Go put your helmet on! Hurry up! We’re losing sunlight!”

You’ve karted before. Sure, it was only once, and it was during a staff bonding day at the Academy so it was very leisurely (aside from Jihyo going 3x faster than the rest of the karts and trash talking every single person on the track), but you are confident you can at least keep your head above water against Joshua, who will surely take it easy on you.

The first few laps, you both go slow, getting the hang of things (you go slow and Joshua just sticks by you). He narrows his eyes at you every time he pulls up next to you and your gaze goes to him, like he’s waiting for you to wave or stick an elbow out or some other forbidden thing. But you break none of the man’s laws, proving to be a model driver.

Until around the 10th lap, when you decide you’re an expert at this track now and you’re ready to grind Joshua into the asphalt. You pick up speed, and sensing you’re no longer interested in a cute sunset drive with him, Joshua matches you. You can feel him throwing looks at you that you decide not to meet. It only takes you two laps to figure out how to edge him out; you were his race engineer after all. You know all his tricks and habits. It takes another for him to overtake you, and another four for you to gain your spot back when you go wide on a turn he defends the inside on. Realistically, you’re only going 60-70mph, but your adrenaline is pumping, and you know if you think about it too much, you might lose control and die from the sheer panic of being in this tiny kart going this fast. But it’s the most fun you’ve had in years, and every time you catch a glimpse of Joshua’s eyes through his helmet’s visors, they’re little crescents, crinkled in the corners from how hard he’s smiling.

It takes several more laps of the two of you trading P1 and P2 repeatedly before you hear the first booms of thunder, and only a half lap after that before the rain is coming down so hard, you mistake it for hail at first. It immediately takes you out of the race, and you frantically look around for Joshua. He’s already pulling up ahead of you, one arm held out in your direction, gesturing for you to slow down behind him. You follow, gripping your wheel so hard, you’re sure it’ll snap under your fingers. He leads you back to the mouth of your garage, parking and immediately turning toward you and gesturing for you to stay in your kart, so you do, shivering like a chihuahua and letting the rain soak you to your bones.

When his seatbelt is undone, he hauls himself out of the kart, running toward you as he sheds his leather jacket. He throws it over you and leans over, unbuckling you in a manner of seconds. When you’re free, he doesn’t wait for you to stand, simply tucking his hands into your armpits and lifting you out like it’s nothing. You sway a little when he sets you on the ground, but his hand finds yours, and he’s leading you back into your garage, both of you looking like you just went swimming in the Atlantic Ocean.

“What the fuck?” you complain as you fumble with your buckle. Joshua removes his helmet easily and gently pushes your hands away from your chin, undoing and removing it for you. “Was rain on the forecast?”

“You’ve lived in London for two years and you’re not used to the shitty weather yet?” he asks, laughing as he sets the helmets aside. 

“Not when I’m in the middle of kicking Joshua Hong’s ass at his own sport!” you whine. You stop when you notice your best friend frozen where he stands. “Um, are you okay?”

“Uh, I—sorry, I’m—your—” he stammers, forcing himself to look away as he gestures at your torso. You look down, just now remembering the very white shirt you're wearing, now completely sheer and displaying your bra freely.

“You’re wearing white too,” you say dumbly, eyes on the way his nipples poke through the fabric. “And you don’t even have a bra on.”

He looks back at you incredulously, and after a moment, you both erupt into fits of laughter. When you catch your breath, he’s right there, hands cupping your face. He just stares at you, and you know it’s one of those moments again, so this time, you join him. You take note of the way drops of water race down his tan skin, something else you can add to the list of ridiculous things you’re jealous of. You make sure you’ll remember the way his hands feel against your face, soft but rough where his palms meet his fingers—blisters from lifting in the gym. You file away details about his eyes: warm honey, crackling fire, a man in love. You see why he falls silent so often; this feeling is addicting.

“We should talk,” he says, voice husky as his lips hover over yours.

“We should,” you agree, hands grasping his forearms when his thumbs start caressing your skin. Your eyes flutter closed.

“We also have the rest of our lives to talk.”

“We do.”

He calls your name softly, but it sounds like a gunshot in this moment. You open your eyes.

“I need you,” you answer.

Joshua’s hands are on you immediately, pulling you flush against his body. 

His mouth is soft and burning hot compared to the cool drops of water running down his face—dripping down his hair, his cheeks, his neck, his chest. He pulls at you like he can’t get you close enough, even with his tongue inside your mouth, even with his other hand kneading your ass shamelessly. You think this is as close as you can get without completely melding into one another, but you share his urgency anyway. It’s still not enough.

You lift a leg and hook it onto his hip in an attempt to bring him closer and feel him against you—an attempt to have any kind of friction against your wet, aching cunt. Seeming to know exactly what you want, Joshua holds your leg against him, and breaks your kiss to pull your other leg up and around him, lifting you up into his arms without so much as a grunt. His lips are on yours again, swallowing your squeak of surprise as he walks away from the mouth of the garage. 

As the only thing in here that even gets close to resembling a bed, you would’ve guessed your next stop was the couch, but when Joshua begins to hinge at the hips to lower you, and your ass hits a cold, smooth surface, you realize he’s laying you down on the hood of your Mercedes. You let him, laying back all the way and pulling him so he’s bent over you, kissing you so desperately and fervently, you wonder how you ever doubted if Joshua could return your feelings. He kisses you and you feel like you’re all that’s ever mattered to him.

“Thought you hated the Mercedes,” you mutter against his mouth. 

“Figured fucking you on it might change my mind,” he grunts, pressing his fully hardened length against you, making you forget every thought you’ve ever had. You moan loudly at that, and Joshua takes every sound of pleasure, swallowing it down and licking into your mouth for more.

When you break away for air, he doesn’t miss a beat, moving to your neck to leave open-mouthed kisses, nipping and biting teasingly as he does.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathe. You’re not going to be forced to wear turtlenecks as the weather gets warmer.

“I would never,” he says far too innocently for you to believe it. A moment passes before he smirks into your skin and adds: “Not anywhere anyone else can see, at least.”

The words send a thrill straight to your pussy, and you know Joshua feels it from the way your thighs squeeze around him infinitesimally. But of course, he notices, and instead of teasing you some more like you expect him to, his movements suddenly become crazed, his hands moving from your thighs to the waist of your jeans, undoing the button and zipper frighteningly fast. You immediately lift your hips up and he shoves your jeans down, practically ripping your shoes off and pulling your pants completely off you. He quickly comes back between your legs, and when he sees you laid out on the hood of your own car like this—just in your panties with your bra very visible underneath your wet shirt and your legs once again wrapped around him—you can see the moment he completely loses his composure. 

His eyes darken, and for the first time, you see Joshua Hong’s patience truly crack as he starts to undo his own belt and pants, hands shaking with near-unmanageable desire. He doesn’t give you what you want just yet, though, keeping his cock in his boxers and too far out of your reach for your liking. Instead, he roughly shoves your panties aside, holds your gaze once more, and starts to collect your pleasure on his finger tips, running them up and down your folds. You try to maintain eye contact. You try to keep your eyes open so you can admire how absolutely fucking divine Joshua is when he looks at you like this—like you’re something to worship—but when he plunges a finger into you without warning, your effort is for nothing. You groan lewdly, eyes squeezing shut without your permission. His free hand comes to your hip, holding it down firmly to keep you from squirming too much against the cool metal. 

His finger is long and reaches the right places as he pumps it in and out of you, masterfully drawing the most foul moans out of you—sounds you haven’t even heard yourself make. You’ve had enough nights out in whatever city your job took you to by now to know that no one has ever made you feel the way you do in this moment. 

“More, Shua,” you gasp, gripping his forearm and fighting to keep from bucking your hips. “God, please, more.”

He curses under his breath as he bends over you, releasing your hip to rest his forearm next to your head. Just as he adds a second finger, he catches your lips with his, effectively swallowing the obscene noises your mouth keeps trying to make. You know you can take a third, but you don’t even have the mind to ask for it because he finds the ridged spot inside you and immediately starts making a beckoning motion with his fingers. You can’t help but tear your mouth away from his as you throw your head back in dizzying pleasure.

“Joshua,” you moan, feeling completely helpless under him.

“Pretty,” he mutters, kissing your jawline sweetly and gently—a stark contrast to the way he’s fucking you open with his fingers. “You sound so fucking pretty.” Something about knowing Joshua curses during sex makes you even wetter. “And you look even prettier. All ready for me like this.” 

You sigh into the kisses he leaves across your skin. “Been ready,” you breathe, barely understanding what you’re saying yourself between the cloudiness in your brain and the sound of the rain pounding on pavement just outside the garage. His fingers slow inside you. “Waited for you for so long. Loved you for so long, Shua.”

The words are out before you even realize your mouth was planning to say them. You’re not sure you even realize you said them at all until Joshua speaks. His fingers stop inside you for a few moments before he completely withdraws them. You blink your eyes open slowly, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Before you can find the energy to lift your head, he’s nose-to-nose with you, eyes searching yours like they’re looking for any semblance of this being some kind of illusion. When he finds whatever it is he wants, he smiles softly and kisses your lips so gently, you immediately miss the ghost of his mouth as soon as he pulls away. 

“I love you,” he whispers, breath hitting your lips as he does. “From the time I met you, through the two years we didn’t speak, and I reckon for the rest of my life. I love you.”

You will yourself to keep from crying at the words. Seven years, two of them wasted for nothing, and this still couldn’t have been more perfect than this. You nod as a tear traitorously escapes, sliding down your face and into the hood of your car.

“I love you,” you say more consciously this time. 

The words do it for him, and he roughly pulls you lower on the hood before he shoves his boxers down and wraps a fist around his cock, pumping a few times before he leans back down to kiss you. You cage his face with your hands as he does, your own heart beating furiously against your ribcage. 

“Don’t have a condom,” he grumbles between kisses. You hear the worry in his voice and you smile.

“Don’t want one.”

“Fuck.”

You gasp, hips twitching, when you feel the tip of Joshua’s dick run up and down your slit.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he groans, breaking the kiss to squeeze his eyes shut. You dig your heels into his back to bring him closer, hoping it’ll help quicken the process. He resists, though, opening his eyes to watch you. “Hey, slowly.” You pout and he laughs. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“What if I want you to hurt me?” 

He proves to you in one motion that he truly is in the business of giving you what you want because one moment, you’re desperately pressing your heel against his back, and the next, you’re filled to the brim with Joshua Hong. He buries his cock in you, and his eyes never leave your face as you both adjust to the sensation, your walls furiously pulsing around him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

You can’t bring yourself to speak when you’re so full like this. Mindlessly, you bring your hands down his neck, to his shoulders, down his wet shirt. You catch sight of his nipples again, and you bite your lip as you reach out to pinch one. You gasp when it causes Joshua to buck his hips into you, dick so impossibly far inside you, you’re sure there’s nowhere else for him to go. 

“Please move,” you beg as you release his nipple, gripping his shirt like a needy, hungry slut. Your grasp on it sends water running down your arms, but you don’t mind—or notice—because Joshua is your driver. And he has always been good at giving you exactly what you ask for.

He kisses you once before holding himself up and starts rocking his hips slowly, barely leaving the warmth of your pussy to allow you some time to adjust. When you start to rock your hips with his, though, he throws all caution to the wind, drawing out all the way before mercilessly slamming back into you. After that, you don’t have to ask for anything else; he freely gives it all to you. 

The garage is a cacophony of sounds as he fucks you on the hood of your Roadster. The creaking of the car under the weight of you two. Skin slapping against skin. The filthy squelch of your soaking cunt sucking Joshua in. Heavy sheets of rain. But most beautiful and addicting of all: the grunts and moans escaping Joshua’s mouth with every thrust. They’re soft—almost inaudible amongst everything else—but every single one drives you closer and closer to an orgasm.

It’s something about knowing that you’re the reason why he feels so good—why his brows furrow in the middle like he’s desperately trying to fight off his own climax. You suddenly need to be closer, and the only way you can be when his dick is already inside you, is by kissing him. You push up off the hood of the car, his rhythm stuttering as you sit up, careful to keep him inside you. You come chest-to-chest and  eye-to-eye with him, and he wraps his arms around your waist as he starts to move again in this new position. You hold his face once more as you guide his lips down to yours.

The moment your lips touch, a sharp ache of pleasure reverberates through your core, and you know you’re closer than you thought you were.

“I’m going to come, Shua,” you whisper against the kiss. His hips reflexively snap forward faster and harder. “Oh my god. Shua, I’m—I’m going to—”

“Open your eyes,” he says, pulling away from you enough to look at you. You didn’t realize you had closed your eyes in the first place. His voice is as soft and gentle as it always is, but the unrestrained desire coursing through the demand makes goosebumps erupt across your skin. “Look at me when I make you come.”

His gaze—hard and determined—is trained on you when you follow directions and open your eyes, and it shoves you even closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” he breathes, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. He runs his thumb across your lower lip, and he curses when your tongue presses against it. “My pretty fucking baby. Look at you.” 

Hearing the pet name when he’s conscious and not fully passed out on your couch makes you lose it.

“Ugh, Shua,” you whine, eyes rolling as you tilt your head back in mind-numbing pleasure. It’s almost enough to bring you to tears.

“Uh-uh,” he grips your chin and tugs, forcing your gaze back down on him. 

“Oh my god,” you dry-sob. “I’m going to—I’m—”

Your words die on your tongue as your orgasm rips through you, strong enough that your vision goes dark for a moment. Against your will, you clench as hard as humanly possible, inspiring a litany of curses from Joshua, and you use your own bottom lip as a gag to keep from screaming. It’s a lot, so much, and too much, but he fucks you through it, his pace becoming slow and languid, rolling into you gently to refrain from overstimulating you. You feel boneless as you slump against Joshua, who peppers the crown of your head with kisses before laying you back down on your hood.

“You did so well,” he mutters, as his hips slow to a practical stop. He leans down, shoves your shirt up, and pulls your bra cup aside, mouthing your nipple and causing your cunt to spasm even harder. He doesn’t let that stop him, though. “Do you think you can take more?” he asks softly, biting and sucking at the flesh of your breast and making good on his promise to leave marks where no one else will see them.

“Yes,” you nod frantically. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t get Joshua his own orgasm the first time you finally sleep with him. “Yes, yes. Please, keep going.”

“So eager,” he chuckles, pressing his lips to the newly blooming mark on your chest.

You don’t answer, instead gently unwrapping yourself from him and kicking him away. He makes a disgruntled noise of surprise when he slips out of you. You readjust your bra and shirt before you slide off the Roadster, hook your thumbs into the band of your panties, and push the irreparably soiled pair to the ground, kicking them away as you do. Joshua’s mouth falls open in awe, as if he isn’t standing there, wet, see-through shirt and dick hanging out of his pants like a fucking god.

You plant a quick kiss on his lips before you turn away from him, bend over, and rest your head on your crossed forearms on the hood, making a show of arching your back and rocking your ass a bit.

“I’m a little eager,” you say as you briefly lift your head to look over your shoulder at him. His eyes are on your ass, his hand hovering over your hip like he’s afraid to touch you. His gaze flicks up to you. “Aren’t you?”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Then we should have some more fun before that happens.”

He finally lets the hovering hand rest on you, squeezing your hip tightly as his other hand starts to massage your left ass cheek, his groans growing louder each time he spreads it apart and exposes you. You impatiently push your hips back when you feel his tip at your hole, but his strong grip on you stops you from moving any closer. He doesn’t admonish you or withhold anything from you as punishment though; it seems his own patience can’t handle that much today. He pushes back into you at his own agonizing pace, chanting your name as he does. When he finally bottoms out, he rests his forehead between your shoulder blades, a mixture of his sweat and rainwater dripping onto your shirt. His breaths are ragged, and you know it isn’t going to take much to get him to the finish line now.

Without another word between the two of you, his cock drags out slowly before his hips snap forward and his large hands—grip so tight, you think he may leave bruises—yank your hips back to meet him with near violent force. You gasp at the roughness, but you don’t tell him to stop, relishing in the idea that something about fucking you brings out a side of Joshua you don’t get to see any other time. 

“You look so beautiful like this, spread out for me,” he breathes, words barely discernible as he grunts and groans from the feeling of you clamping down around him. 

“All for you,” you respond, reminding him that for you, it’s only ever been him. “Only for you.”

“Fuck.” His pace quickens.

One hand frees your hip and slips under the back of your shirt, expertly undoing the hooks of your bra. When it snaps open and loosens around you, he leans forward so that his chest is pressed up against your back, and the same hand presses against your stomach, trailing up until it’s cupped around the same breast he marked earlier. 

“Oh my god,” he near-whimpers as he massages your breast, fingers catching the nipple and pinching mercilessly. 

“Joshua!” you cry, hips twitching against his. 

“You’re so goddamn perfect, you know that?” he asks almost frantically now. He fucks into you like he’s completely lost control of his own body, his hips jerking back and forth erratically and his hands caressing every inch of you they can—your tits, your stomach, your back, and finally, your clit. “So perfect and all mine.”

He rubs the spot, heightening the sensation of his cock pounding into you and his mouth leaving hot kisses on you, and you feel yourself quickly hurdling toward another orgasm. You know one more like the first and you’ll be too overstimulated to go on.

“Shua,” you gasp, breaths broken as you move with Joshua’s rhythm. “Shua, baby, please tell me you’re close. Please, I—”

“I’m right there, baby,” he moans. “I’m going—I—where do you want me?”

“Inside,” you say quickly. “Inside, oh god. Fill me up, Shua. Please, god, fill me with—”

You don’t beg for long because Joshua delivers, his cock pulsing against your walls as he empties himself into you, his cum thick and hot as it finds a home inside your cunt.

“Fuck!” His hips roll as he insists on fucking every last drop into you, and the entire time, his fingers don’t let up on your clit—not until you’re right there with him, coming so hard it has your back arching and lifting right up against Joshua’s chest, head tilted toward the ceiling. He holds you to him as his hips start to slow, his mouth on your neck as he fucks you through a second orgasm.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, watching Joshua with heavy-lidded eyes as he holds you up. His hand splays across your throat, his pointer finger on your chin. He leans down to catch your lips, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth when you feel his cock twitch inside you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes when you break the kiss and collapse onto your Roadster. He immediately begins massaging the space between your shoulders, a weak attempt at distracting you as he slowly pulls out. You wince from the sensation of being empty anyway.

The warmth of his hips and chest against you disappear, but you’re too limp to lift your head up and see where he’s going. You hear the sound of zipping and rummaging, and when he comes back, you feel a tissue gently wiping at the cum between your legs before Joshua is guiding each of your feet into the legs of sweats—his, you assume. He brings it up, kissing your bare cheeks before he properly situates the sweats on your hips. He even reaches around you and tightens the band, tying it into a tight bow for you. When that’s done, he gently pulls you up and turns you around, sitting you down on the edge of your Mercedes.

He gestures for you to put your arms up. You obey, and he removes your soaked top and bra before replacing them with one of his huge McLaren shirts—one you recognize he’s used as a sleeping shirt numerous times at your apartment. 

When he’s all done, he presses his forehead to yours, his smile lazy and fucked out and best of all, blissful. You imagine you look the same.

“You love me,” he says, smile widening at his own words.

“I do,” you confirm. “And you love me.”

“I do.” His hands squeeze your sides as he pulls you closer to him.

“And you’re still happier than any other moment we’ve had?” you ask, thinking about the two of you in bed in Shanghai. 

His answer carries zero hesitation. “No doubt about it.”

A/N: hope you enjoyed bc i’m gonna go kms now :)

permanent tag list: @chicken-fifi @markoplolo @nahyuckism @soonwongyu @thestraybunny @bramos91 @chariseiswriting @whos-kkira @minorwithchampagneproblems @midnight986 @combinatoright-blog @min-has-trusttissues @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @lovelynx @fayhaflyyy @sapphireserpens @metaphorandmoonlight @hopecutie @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken

SPANISH GRAND PRIX 2018 “Did you know I’m fluent in Spanish?” “What? Really?” “Yeah, I studied it in high school.” “Okay, say something.” “Hola, soy Joshua.”

You wait a few moments for him to continue, but he doesn’t. You frown. “Is… is that all…?”

He doesn’t dignify that with a proper answer. “¿Cómo estás?”

“Estoy bien pero un poco cansada. ¿Y tu?”

“Bien!”

You’re willing to bet a month’s salary that Joshua had no idea what the first part of your response meant, but you let him keep his ruse up for a little longer. “Ah, me da gusto saberlo.” You watch as he closes in on Mercedes. “Podrás pasarlo en la siguiente recta.”

“Uh…” 

You and Wonwoo both erupt into laughter at the way your driver’s brain immediately stalls. “You can pass Mercedes on the next straight.”

Once he does as he’s told, he sighs and says, “Okay, so I’m rusty.”

“Right.”

“I swear I’m fluent.”

“Sure.”

“How do you know Spanish?” he asks suddenly and in an accusatory tone. You can picture him narrowing his eyes at you in suspicion. You grin.

“I’ve picked up my fair share of languages traveling as much as we do for the job,” you explain. “Spanish, Italian, and French came easily. I’m sure you understand why—as a fluent Spanish-speaking citizen of the world, of course.”

Joshua scoffs loudly. “Of course! They all came from Latin. I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I never said you were,” you say, trying to suppress more laughter. “You’re 0.4 seconds from P5.”

“Copy.” After a moment, he asks, “Would you rather be able to know every language in the world or be able to talk to animals?”

You snort. “What?”

“Would you rather—”

“No, sorry, I heard you,” you clarify. “I guess your idea of race talk just surprised me. If racing at speeds upwards of 200mph has you bored, I can put your precious Maroon 5 on.”

“I’m not bored!” he protests, sighing dramatically when P5 defends his spot. “I’m just getting to know you.” 

You don’t bother to point out that it’s only the ninth race of the season, and he already knows more about you than anyone else does. It’s nice to have someone who cares to ask you about yourself beyond the track. “P5 is going wide on the turns,” you inform Joshua before you say, “Talk to animals. I at least have the opportunity to learn every language if I wanted to, but I can’t learn to talk to animals. How about you?”

“Okay, fair,” he cuts himself off with a grunt as he overtakes P5. He continues like he’s not racing the Spanish Grand Prix for the first time ever right now. “But with our schedules, we probably wouldn’t be able to learn another language, and I’m not around enough animals, so… I’d choose to know every language in the world.”

“Also fair,” you nod as you look over his stats on your monitor. “Then you’d finally know Spanish.”

“I know Spanish!” he protests, seemingly more impassioned by convincing you he’s fluent in the language than he is about competing in F1 right now. 

“Lo que tú digas.” You don’t give him a chance to pretend to know it means whatever you say. “Gap to P4 is 1.1. Leaders are head-to-head with P1-3 all nose to tail. If we box now, we can get you fresh rubber and fuel to last to the end.”

“Tires still feel… bien,” he mutters, at least having the good sense to sound embarrassed. You cover your face with your palm for a brief moment to keep from laughing. “I think I can stretch it.”

“Copy, but you’re about…” you glance at the performance engineer for a confirmation of the number you want to give Joshua, “six-tenths off our target pace right now. If you stay out, you risk giving P5 back to Williams.”

“Copy. We’ll be ahead of P4 after the pit stop?”

“Yup,” you say before Wonwoo gives you a look. “Affirmative,” you correct yourself quickly. “Then, we’ll have you attacking for the podium.”

“Okay, okay, got it, boss. Boxing now.” Joshua pulls into the pit lane and you swivel in your seat toward him to wave from the pit wall like you have been for every single pit stop he’s had since his debut. And just like every other time, you hear him huff a laugh as he waves back, the crew descending on his car like vultures. “Hola.”

“Oh my god, give it up,” you laugh, shaking your head. His eyes make crescents, crinkling in the corners and letting you know he’s smiling under his helmet. 

“Fine. Maybe I need a tutor,” he admits, his car shaking him around as his tires are changed out. “Are you free?”

Just as fast as he came in, he’s being cleared to leave and he doesn’t hesitate, throwing a hand up at you in goodbye as he zooms past. You scoff. “To be your tutor? Not only do I not know enough Spanish to be your tutor, I also am not paid enough to add another thing to my plate.”

“What, you don’t like your entire life having to revolve around my wellbeing and success?” he asks sarcastically. You roll your eyes but smile all the same.

It’s not an exaggeration of what your job is, to be honest. Sure, most of your responsibilities that involved Joshua were on the track, but with how insistent the man was that you two stuck together for every waking moment you had at the McLaren facility, everyone had come to know you as Joshua’s person. If someone needed to get something to him and couldn’t find him, it went to you instead. If Joshua’s performance on the simulator was below target, you were expected to talk to him and figure out the issue, even if it meant he was just tired and needed to sleep (yes, you were expected to force him to leave the facility to rest and no, he would never leave, instead opting to nap on the couch in Wonwoo’s garage). As sarcastic as he’s being now, your life has very much become about Joshua Hong’s wellbeing and success. 

“Clear to overtake P4, gap to leaders will be 0.7,” you say before sighing and leaning forward on your elbows to study the monitor. It’s a miracle you’ve learned to read it while Joshua spends every race yapping in your ear. “I guess I don’t mind it. Aside from your weird lucky helmets, you’re not too high maintenance.”

“You can’t hate my lucky helmets; you’re literally the reason I have my lucky helmets,” he tells you.

Wonwoo looks at you like you’re responsible for a crime against humanity. “You told him his helmets were lucky?!”

“I did no such thing,” you mutter, throwing a hand up lazily to wave him off. Joshua’s lucky helmets have been somewhat of a sore spot for the team—mostly because not enough people knew he was near neurotic about it and would get their grubby hands all over his precious helmet. “I’ll bite, Hong. What the hell are you talking about?”

He giggles like a delighted child as he takes P4, making the team smile at their monitors in endearment. When he regains his composure, he explains, “Melbourne. You were the last person to touch my helmet, and I became the first rookie to win their debut race.”

“Pfft, Wonwoo also touched your helmet,” you point out. He had handed you the helmet to hand to Joshua. After all, it seemed that no one bothered to do anything directly with the driver anymore now that you were considered an extension of him. 

“Yeah, which is why only you two are allowed to touch my helmets,” he says as he closes in on P3, putting all four cars head to tail with both Ferrari drivers leading, Mercedes in the middle, and Joshua at the end. “The next race, someone else handed it to me, and I didn’t make the podium.”

“A little dramatic, but whatever,” you mumble as you set aside all the small talk. “This is going to be a hard podium to crack, Shua. You have two vets and Choi at P2.”

You hear the shift in his voice immediately as he locks back into being the competitive racer you know he is at his core. “Copy. I think I can overtake P3.”

“Agreed. His rears are fading,” you say as various stats are recited to you by the performance engineer. “You can take him on the final chicane if you stay on his ass; he’s been slow out of Turns 14 and 15.”

“Copy.” You watch as the podium leads Joshua into the final chicane, leaving close to no breathing room for the Mercedes vet in P3. 

“Keep it clean…” you mutter quietly, mostly to yourself. Your driver seems to know that because he doesn’t entertain you with a response. All four cars play it safe, decelerating considerably on the chicane. Once they’re on the straight, you tell your driver, “You’re within DRS.”

He activates DRS as they approach the next turn, brakes late, and moves on the inside, easily and cleanly taking P3. You whistle as he announces, “Got through.”

“Amazing work, Shua,” you praise him as you turn your sights on Choi Seungcheol of Ferrari. “Podium at Barcelona-Catalunya for a rookie would be quite the achievement. Only one other driver has done it.”

“And how many drivers have cinched first?”

You sigh heavily, making Wonwoo laugh. “What, you expect him to settle for third?”

“I mean, it would be nice to sit back and take a break,” you joke with your boss. You like to pretend that your job would be easier if Joshua would just be happy with any spot on the podium, but Wonwoo knows better than anyone else how badly you need Joshua to get as many first place finishes as possible. He’s the only one that knows your contract is in jeopardy.

“Well?” Joshua probes you to answer a question he clearly already knows the answer to.

“None, Joshua,” you deadpan. “No rookies have gotten first place on this circuit.”

“Okay, relax,” he scoffs, most likely referring to your use of his full name. “Holding steady. What’s Choi’s deal?”

If it were up to you, the rundown you have on Choi Seungcheol would go something like this: Joshua’s fellow rookie driver is a Leo. His MBTI is ISTP. He’s 5’10”. He’s got a twin sister he’s fiercely protective of. He’s widely known to have the fattest, juiciest ass in F1 (the amount of edits online are both insane and awe-inspiring). He told Buzzfeed that his type is someone who’s into cars, understands the demand of his career, and is passionate about their own hobbies and interests. You think that sounds like you, but that’s definitely not what your driver is asking for right now. So instead of saying any of that and getting yourself fired, your eyes slide over to your performance engineer. 

“P2’s front left tire is overheating, dropping his speed into turns,” he reports. “He’s also been prioritizing defending the inside of Turn 1 every single lap.”

“You’re on fresher rubber than he is,” you answer Joshua. “His front left is overheating and he’s covering the inside at Turn 1.”

“Leaving him slow on the next turns.”

“Exactly. Your window is going to be at Turn 4 next lap or the one after. Pressure him into Turn 1, he’ll defend the inside hard, and we’ll set it up for 4.”

“Copy.” He does exactly as you say when the time comes, even doing the things you didn’t have to say. Joshua baits Seungcheol by feigning an attack on the inside of Turn 1, just to back out at the last moment when the Ferrari driver brakes a little earlier than usual in an attempt to defend the inside. He enters and exits Turn 2 with his speed compromised, and when he tries to accelerate to make up for it into Turn 3, his front left tire slides a bit just like your team predicted it would. 

“Okay, here it is,” you say as Joshua closes in on Seungcheol, even less room than he afforded Mercedes earlier. “Stay tight. He’s going to defend the inside line. Your tires have more traction; you’ll be able to take him on the outside.”

The only acknowledgment you get now is his driving. The two rookies go head to head on the apex of Turn 4, and when Seungcheol’s tires can’t hold traction as well, Joshua advances forward, edging him out on the exit and taking P2. 

“Woo!” He immediately starts whooping and shouting, though by now, you’ve come to expect it and know to turn his volume down right before he takes spots close to first. “Through on P2!”

“Copy, you’re on your way to first, Hong.”

“All in a day’s work,” he says boastfully. He must know you’re rolling your eyes again because he follows it with “just kidding” fairly quickly after. “Choi is really giving me a run for my money.”

You hum as you watch Ferrari box Seungcheol. If you can get Joshua to overtake the other Ferrari driver, though, he won’t have time to catch up on the new tires. “Two remarkable rookies to watch in a season… it’s rare, but we know who the better one is.”

“We do,” Joshua agrees, “but just to be abundantly clear, I’d love to hear you say who you think that rookie is.”

You smirk because you want to choose Seungcheol just for the fact that his ass is so delectable in his race suit, but the clear answer is your driver. “Gotta be you. You have the best race engineer on the grid, after all.”

Anyone else probably would’ve scoffed and teased you for having a big head, but Joshua just hums in complete seriousness before saying, “Damn right.”

“You know…” you say as Joshua closes the gap between him and P1, “for someone I’d assume is under an immense amount of pressure, you’re so levelheaded and… casual during these things. Except when it comes to your helmets. Not-at-all levelheaded or casual.”

“Enough with the helmets,” he barks, though you hear the amusement in his voice. “Sorry, am I mistaken or do you want a high-strung driver?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He laughs. “Well, I guess it’s easy to stay this cool when you’re having this much fun,” he says just as he reaches P1’s tail. 

Your job is the most fun you have, so you understand that, but at the same time, you don’t think anything is ever fun enough to forget about the nerves that come with being on the track with millions of eyes all over the world watching. You’re not even the one driving and you’re constantly getting pre-race jitters. The only thing that has calmed you down has been Joshua’s insistence that you two talk almost the entire race—save for his precious Maroon 5 breaks.

“Wow, your love for this sport never fails to astound me.”

He snorts. “Right. The sport.”

Before you can even think about wanting more clarification, the side of your brain focused on getting Joshua first place kicks into gear and your mouth is moving on its own. “P1 pushed hard fighting to keep this spot, Shua. If he doesn’t box soon, he’s going to be on dead tires, and there are only six laps left; they’re not going to risk boxing him now.” The only logical reason they have to box Seungcheol is to make sure he keeps P3 from Mercedes. 

“He’s not going to give me an inch.”

“Just hold it steady. Don’t get too close. I think I have an idea.”

The Ferrari veteran is most definitely not going to give your driver an inch. When Joshua won Melbourne over this veteran, his post-race interview told you everything you needed to know about him. The words ring in your head now: I’ve been racing these tracks for more than a decade. I’ve had my fair share of overeager rookies who burn bright and fast. I’m not worried. Well, you decide for him now that he should be.

Unfortunately, it does take three laps for you to grasp a plan that will squeeze Joshua in. 

“Okay, thank you for holding; I appreciate your patience,” you joke like you’re a customer service representative. 

“Oh, no problem at all,” Joshua plays along even though any other driver probably would’ve been panicking with three laps to go and no word from their engineer. Instead, you can hear his smile through the radio. “Maybe next time, instead of leaving me with the voices in my head, you can play elevator music, though?”

“Noted,” you bite down a laugh. “This driver expects you to be aggressive and overeager, but we’ve kept you at a safe distance the last few laps. His guard is down and he’s going to expect you to attack at all the usual turns.” Joshua hums his understanding. “But you’re going to attack mid-lap. He’s not defending Turn 10.”

He barks his laughter at you. “You want me attacking on ten?!” It’s the most difficult turn on the circuit and everyone on the pit wall knows that. You get a few skeptical looks, but Wonwoo doesn’t even bother, his faith in you (as usual) completely unwavering.

“Ten,” you confirm. “With the heavy braking, he’s not going to expect you to try and take him there.” Joshua exits Turn 6, the two drivers quickly approaching the corner in question. “He’s convinced you’re going to pull the same thing you did with Choi—he keeps defending Turns 1-4 and leaving mid-lap open. I’m telling you: with your newer tires and his ego, you’re going to take it easily.”

Joshua sighs but other than that, he doesn’t place any doubt on you. “Copy. Ten.”

As they approach the most notorious turn at Circuit de Barcelon-Catalunya, you feel your palms get clammy, your body getting nervous enough for both you and Joshua. “He’s relaxing his line,” you inform him once P1 has his guard down. “The zone is open. Take your shot.”

“Copy,” he breathes. “Here goes.” It’s the first time you hear a bit of anxiety in the driver’s voice, and you know it’s because this has every opportunity to go badly if either driver loses their nerve. It’s too easy for accidents to happen at Turn 10.

“You got this, Shua,” you remind him quietly. “Best rookie on the grid.” He entertains you with a small exhale of laughter as he goes for it. You watch, dumbfounded, as Joshua easily passes the veteran up on the turn, his mastery of his car’s acceleration and deceleration so clear, it makes your pride swell uncontrollably. It’s obvious from the ease he took P1 with that the Ferrari driver didn’t even consider being overtaken on Turn 10 an option. He practically gave it to you two. “Woo! Easy!”

“Okay, let’s add psychology to the tutoring list,” Joshua breathes after laughing like a maniac. “How the hell did you know that was going to be so easy?”

“I’m magic” is all you offer. You grin wider when you hear commentary from the broadcast. What a masterclass in patience and timing. Hong and his race engineer are really shaping up to be this season’s dream team. Let's listen to the transmission leading up to that play. 

“You certainly are,” Joshua agrees easily. 

When the race is over, and the craziness of celebrating a rookie winning the Spanish Grand Prix for the first time passes, Joshua finds you the way he always does, wrapping you tightly in his sweaty hug that you never mind, his chin hooking over the crown of your head as he sways you both back and forth. 

“Thank you for being as brilliant as always,” he says, pulling away. You grin back up at him. 

“Thank you,” you say for the first time since he’s started this tradition of thanking you post-race. He looks at you quizzically and you explain, “You have so much fun out there that this has become fun for me too. I’m not going to pretend like I still don’t get anxious, but you bring a lot of joy into the sport. And I love it even more now because of you.” 

His face softens at the words, his eyes getting so impossibly warm, you swear you’ll melt under his gaze. They search your face for a few moments, and just before you’re about to ask him what he’s looking at, his lips curl into a gentle smile, and you make a noise of surprise when he pulls you into another brief, tight hug. When he releases you, you add one more thing. 

“Also, I don’t say this enough, but I’m so proud of you, Shua. Barcelona isn't an easy one, and you killed it out there. I’m so impressed.”

“Whoa, okay, enough,” he says, blushing as he does. You laugh as he huffs. “Don’t praise me so much or else I’ll have no choice but to win this circuit for you every year.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Eh. That would be a cake walk for you.” You falter a little when you notice the way his eyes don’t leave you—the way it almost feels like he wouldn’t be able to look away even if he desperately wanted to. “What?” you ask this time. 

“Nothing,” he says quietly, shaking his head once and smiling that wide, beautiful smile of his. “Just enjoying the moment.”

“You and your moments,” you sigh. “Come on. Vamos a comer.”

“Oh, I know what that one means!” Joshua exclaims excitedly as he wraps an arm around your shoulder and you both walk toward the garage. 

You hook your hand on his waist and roll your eyes. “Of course you do.”

“We’re going to go get our grub on!”

The months leading to the Academy’s season fly by faster than you’re ready for them to. It’s not that you’re surprised; after all, busy seasons of your life tend to go by quickly. It’s not that you’re nervous for the girls either because their stats have improved an unfathomable amount under Joshua’s tutelage. It’s the fact that with the start of the season upon you, you realize that you have a ticking clock until it’s time to bid Joshua farewell again. And after three months of spending practically every waking moment with him, you’re finding the idea more and more gut-wrenching than you already thought it before. 

Since you both mustered up the courage to talk about Abu Dhabi, you’ve been glued to the hip—not that you weren’t already. But something opened up with Joshua after that night; he smiled more widely, laughed a lot harder, and (mortifyingly enough) showed affection with you more freely. Your nerves were frayed from having to anticipate his touches and refraining from flinching every time. Jihyo’s eyebrows were in danger of falling off her face from the constant wiggling they were doing in your direction when no one was looking. To top it all off, Eunchae’s comments were reaching a fever pitch alongside everything else; it was all, “Wow, ML, you look so pretty! Anybody would be so lucky to have you!” “I hope I find a best friendship like you two someday,” and “I watched an old race of yours, Josh! Your chemistry with ML is amazing—yes, of course, that’s what I meant! On-track chemistry! What else would I have meant?” And you’re not dumb; a part of you realizes this must be happening because you’re being too obvious. Maybe you didn’t need to have lunch with him every day. Maybe you didn’t need to have combined classes at least twice a week. Maybe you didn’t need to keep communicating via telepathy, as Eunchae would put it. But you also couldn’t stop. Time with Joshua felt like drugs to you, and you let yourself be greedy with it.

Every day after classes, if the two of you weren’t staying at the Academy working late, he’d come to your place to hang out or you'd show him around the city. More often than not, he was crashing in your second bedroom (an upgrade from the couch). It started with him passing out in your home in his outside clothes with only a spare travel toothbrush you found under your sink to brush his teeth. Then, one day, without either of you really noticing, he started keeping clothes at your place, even helping you do laundry on the weekends. Decided to leave a toothbrush in your bathroom. Got a spare key from you. It was clear to anyone with a pulse—none more so than to Jihyo—that he was practically moving in, but you held out on formally asking him anyway because that just blurred the lines for you too much. Even if it was temporary and even if he was going back home to Barcelona at the end of this, the mere idea of having him formally living in your apartment as your roommate had the potential to send you running to another country again. And you can’t run again because you promised Joshua you wouldn’t. But as you see it, the only way you’ll be able to give him a proper goodbye this time around is if you hold him at arm’s length. If you stop freely giving him all your time, if you stop getting used to having unlimited access to him, if you stop yourself from falling deeper and deeper in love the way you have been every day since he came back to London with you… then maybe you have a chance of saying goodbye without your heart being totally shattered into teeny tiny pieces.

Because that’s the point of all this. The entire point of getting him to the Academy wasn’t so Jihyo could have a star instructor; when you found him in Barcelona, you promised yourself you were going to make Joshua fall in love with racing again. And if you succeed—and you still fully plan on succeeding—saying goodbye is mandatory. 

So that’s what you do. You hold him at arm’s length. One month from the girls’ first race of the season, you start drawing lines between you and Joshua. When he asks what you two are doing for lunch at the Academy, you make the excuse of having office hours with the girls or having to meet with Jihyo. When he shows up at your office at the end of the day ready to walk out together, you feign having too much work and stubbornly deny letting him stay to help you. When he tells you he misses your breakfasts, you remind him they can’t be better than room service at a 5-star hotel. When he says he needs to stop by to get something he left at your place, you tell him you’ll just gather up all his stuff and bring it in the next day. That last one seems to do the trick because beyond giving you a hurt look that threatens to crush your soul, he also stops coming by to check in as often, several times a day dwindling down to one or two. 

Now, it’s time to go to Shanghai for the girls’ first race weekend, and you’re seated next to Jihyo after you pretended not to notice that Joshua saved the seat next to him for you. A seat that is now occupied by Eunchae, who won’t stop talking (loudly) about you. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Jihyo says about an hour into the flight, when the girls’ conversations have settled down to a low murmur and the plane is cruising. 

“Hm?” you hum as you pretend to be busy on your phone. 

“I know what you’re doing!” she repeats, letting her irritation color her voice as she snatches your phone out of your hand. You scoff in surprise and look up at her to find her glaring at you. It’s a feat to keep from cringing away under the intensity of it. “Why are you avoiding him?” The question at least comes out in a low whisper no one else will hear.

“I don’t know what—”

“Yes you do, let’s skip that bullshit,” Jihyo interjects. “What’s going on with you two? Did you finally touch lips? Did you get freaked out?”

You hate that you wish that’s what it was even though that would just complicate everything even more. “No, we did not touch lips, you weirdo. We really need a better HR department, by the way.” Jihyo rolls her eyes at that one but her glare doesn’t let up. You sigh. “I’m just… thinking about how we’ll have to say bye again at the end of the season, and I’m making it a little easier on myself.”

Jihyo’s expression softens into something a little less severe. She leans back in her seat as her mouth makes a small o of understanding. “You’re pushing him away before he can say bye.” She doesn’t wait for you to confirm or deny it. “God, you’re so dumb.” 

“What?!” you squeak loud enough that Joshua’s gaze slides from Eunchae to you. You accidentally meet it before looking away quickly. “What do you mean I’m dumb?” you ask in a whisper this time. “I’m just a woman protecting her heart! You monster.”

“You’re a coward who can’t communicate her feelings properly, so instead, you childishly—and unfairly, I might add—ice your best friend out. You monster.”

“I’m not icing him out,” you protest. “I still talk to him and see him every day.” You wouldn’t be able to fully ice Joshua Hong out if you wanted to. The man was constantly in your office even with the millions of excuses you’ve used at this point. “I’m just trying to limit the amount of time I do those things.”

“And that’s unfair.”

“Why is it unfair?”

“Because he doesn’t know why you’re pulling away!” she points out. “Look at him—okay, well don’t look at him right now; he’s looking over here. But the man is clearly distraught over the sudden limits you’ve single-handedly placed on your friendship. Even if I weren’t shipping the hell out of you two—and rest assured, I absolutely still am—I would still tell you what you’re doing isn’t very nice.”

It’s an admonishment you expect from a kindergarten teacher to a toddler, but it works. An ugly, tight ball of shame forms at the bottom of your stomach. You look up at Jihyo earnestly, as a friend and not as your boss. “Jiji…” you sigh. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” she says plainly. “It’s a scary thing. But isn’t it nice that you two have cleared the air and become even closer? Don’t you think that the goodbye at the end of this season will be a lot better than the one in Abu Dhabi? This one won’t feel so final. You’ll be able to text and call and video chat and visit. It doesn’t have to feel like forever this time.”

She’s right, and it’s something you’ve tried to tell yourself too, but the truth is, nothing compares to having Joshua to yourself all hours of the day. You’re just stopping yourself before you become too codependent.

“It’s not going to work,” Jihyo says bluntly when you don’t respond. “It’s going to hurt even more because he’ll leave, and sure, the goodbye might feel less significant, but when he’s not here, you’ll miss him, and you’ll regret losing out on all the time you could’ve just enjoyed together.” She hands you your phone back and shakes her head. “It’s not going to work.”

“You’re the one that always warns us not to let men distract us,” you point out petulantly, having run out of valid counterpoints. She snorts and rolls her eyes.

“First of all, I say that to teenage girls who have yet to fully develop frontal lobes that will allow them to distinguish men of quality from men who will derail their lives.” Fair, you hate to admit it so you don’t. “Second of all, look me in the eye and tell me you really think Joshua Hong is just a distraction.” When you stay silent for several moments, she smirks and slips her eye mask over her face, seemingly in favor of a nap over continuing to berate some sense into you. “I rest my case. Stop ignoring the guy.”

That guy is persistent in not letting you ignore him because when Saki, who was seated across the aisle from you, stands to use the restroom about a half hour later, her seat is quickly replaced by your best friend. You startle a little, reluctantly moving one headphone aside so that it’s no longer covering the ear closest to him. When you look over, he has one elbow on the armrest, his other hand resting on his wrist as he leans over toward you, a small smile on his lips. 

“Need any dramamine? I’m stocked up,” he informs you. You almost want to groan and scream at him to stop being so thoughtful and sweet and heartbreakingly perfect. Only he would remember to buy dramamine despite having zero issues with motion sickness himself. He only ever brought it on trips for you. 

And you hate that you have to say, “Actually, yes” because you forgot to bring some yourself. Like you always do. His smile grows and he reaches into his pocket, producing a small tube of the pills and handing them to you. “Thank you,” you mutter as you take one. When you try to hand the tube back, he shakes his head and gestures for you to keep it. You stifle the urge to yell at him.

“So,” he says slowly, his lips curling into a smirk, “how do you like sitting next to Jihyo?” You follow his gaze to find Jihyo with her head tilted back, mouth wide open as she slumbers. You turn back and bite back a sigh.

“It’s fine,” you lie. “Peaceful, I guess.”

“Must be nice,” he grumbles as you both look back to his seat partner to find Eunchae trying to look nonchalant as she sneaks glances at the two of you. She’s failing. “Do you even realize how much that girl loves you? She will not stop talking about you.” Your cheeks burn because you know Eunchae is not chatting Joshua’s ear off about you just because she loves you (though you don’t doubt she does). “And I get it, I assume I’m like that too when you’re not around, but I really think she thinks it’s a competition… and that she can actually beat me. Which, she can’t. Obviously.”

“Oh, shut up,” you say, trying not to smile at the thought of Joshua talking about you whenever you’re not around. It’s astounding, actually, that you can dodge him for weeks on end, and all it takes is a few words from him to have you blushing like this. 

He grins. “Any chance I can convince you to trade seat partners?”

“I don’t know that Eunchae wants to sit next to her CEO,” you say truthfully because you know she’ll spend the rest of the 12-hour flight trying not to breathe wrong. 

“Who said anything about Eunchae sitting next to Jihyo?” he snorts. “I meant you take the chatter box, and I take Sleeping Beauty over here. I could use the silence.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your mouth then. You catch Eunchae tamping down her own smile as she looks away from her two teachers. “Sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “I think I like my seat.”

He sighs, faking a pout. “Fine. And I take it you won’t switch with Eunchae either?” he asks, the hope in his voice potent. You shake your head again and he nods in defeat. “Worth a try.” You hum and silence falls over you. You watch as Saki exits the restroom, stopping at Eunchae’s row to talk to her when she notices Joshua in her own seat. “Hey.” His voice suddenly turns serious. “I miss you.”

You look away from the two girls to look at Joshua. His eyes are big and shiny and a little sad, and you feel an immense pang of guilt. You brought him to London and you insisted this would be good for him. And even though you get the feeling you’re reigniting his love for his sport, you should also be doing everything to make sure he’s having a good time, even if that means you’re left behind with a broken heart at the end. Jihyo is right. It’s just going to hurt more when you’ve actually run out of time with him and realize you’ve spent it so poorly. Still, you can’t bring yourself to admit that right now. Not 10,000 feet up in the air at least. 

“I’m right here,” you say, hoping it will suffice until you can properly sort through your feelings.

He watches you for a moment more like he’s trying to discern whether or not you really believe that—that you’re here and present with him right now. You know he sees right through you, but he doesn’t call you out on it. He just gives you a tight smile before exhaling forcefully through his nose and standing. “I’ll see you when we land, then.”

Saki is back in her seat moments after that and although she’s not as forward as Eunchae, you don’t miss the way she side-eyes you like she knows you’ve been acting weird and she’s trying to make sure you’re okay. You’re not sure you are.

Joshua was serious in his insistence that he “see you when we land” because as soon as you’re all given the go-ahead to get up and out of your seats around 10 hours later, the man is retrieving your carry-on from your overhead for you, holding it the whole way to baggage claim, lugging your suitcase from the carousel, and basically strongarming you into a window seat on the shuttle to the hotel, trapping you in when he slouches into the aisle seat. You simply stare at his knee pressed up against yours to accommodate how spread his legs are. 

“What are you up to tonight?” he asks casually. You watch as Jihyo makes her way down the aisle, willing her to look at you and see the silent cry for help you’re sending. She doesn’t even breathe in your direction, though you know she’s well aware of your predicament because she struggles to hide her amused smirk as she moves along. 

“Uh…” You try to stall because the truth is you have absolutely no plans, and saying “work” isn’t going to cut it because Joshua knows that the entire staff is free to do as they please. You curse Jihyo for the millionth time as you think back to her reminding everyone to stay away from work and relax since it’s basically the only night anyone will be able to. “Sleeping.”

“It’s 2 p.m.”

“Jet lag.”

“And the best way to beat jet lag is to stay up.”

You try your best not to bite your knuckle and scream from how hard he’s making this—as if it isn’t already impossible to begin with. “Is it?” you ask, tilting your head and averting your eyes from his knee. “I feel like I could probably sleep all the way through to the morning.” It’s not a complete lie. You are exhausted. Mostly from the emotional labor of avoiding Joshua.

When he doesn’t respond, you look over to find his eyes narrowed at you. “Okay,” he says slowly, elongating the word so that you know he doesn’t buy anything you say for a moment. You just narrow your eyes back at him. “Well, you at least need to eat.”

“I was just going to do room s—”

“Y’know, you’re really testing my patience.”

You stop speaking, leaning back a little in surprise. In all the years you’ve known Joshua, he’s never snapped at you off the track; even on the track, the times he “lost it” were fairly mild.

“What?”

He laughs through his nose, and you honestly can’t tell if it’s humorless or if he’s genuinely laughing at how difficult you’re being. He shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing. Here.”

He hands you one of his earbuds before situating himself so he’s half turned away from you, and because your feelings can’t make up their mind, you have the audacity to feel affronted at the literal cold shoulder. You look down at the earbud, a little confused until you realize your own headphones are in your carry-on… which he packed away for you in the shuttle’s luggage bay. As always, heartbreakingly perfect.

After the first two songs, you sigh and nudge his knee. At first, he clearly pretends to ignore it, but you just shove him harder. He glances at you, not even having it in him to properly glare at you. 

“I can do dinner.” 

He grins widely. “Perfect.”

The Academy’s race weekend, like it often does, coincides with F1’s. Usually, on weekends that overlapped, you spent the day feeling a little anxious. Two years had gone by without you ever running into Joshua, or anyone else from McLaren for that matter, but you always went into the weekend with a tiny ball of dread in the pit of your stomach. You would see his face everywhere—on posters, on the broadcast, on fans’ signs, shirts, and merch—but never in person, and every time, instead of feeling relieved over it, you’d feel a little disappointed. 

Now, you’re at Shanghai International Circuit, your eyes trained right on the driving instructor as you stand next to your CEO, and you’re confused to find that you still feel those lingering bits of anxiety. This time, because you have no idea what to do with him—how to move forward with him. Do you just lean right back in? Go back to spending all hours of the day together? It would be easy to. After your shuttle ride to the hotel two days ago, the two of you spent the afternoon together settling in and wandering around the hotel until dinner, which lasted three hours with all the talking you two did—talking that made your food go cold before either of you fully enjoyed it.

Or, is there a way to do this so that you can still protect your heart without hurting him? Do you try to draw fairer boundaries? Boundaries that you can discuss together instead of imposing by yourself? But how do you talk to Joshua about boundaries without having to explain to him it’s because you’re in love with him? 

As you stand next to Jihyo, showing your support while the girls do their pre-practice huddle with their driving instructor, you’re riddled with a million more questions than answers. And they all fly right out of your head whenever you lay eyes on him. The F1 driver is in a moisture-wicking tee that sports the Academy’s colors and fits his biceps and pecs entirely too well, carving out every dip and curve deliciously. He’s in black fitted joggers, sneakers you know are more expensive than your entire outfit, and an Academy-branded cap to match the shirt, his sunglasses resting on top of the cap’s lid so that he can, you assume, make eye contact with his students. You hate that you’re thrilled every time he makes eye contact with you, though, and it happens enough times that you’re leaning more toward spending all hours of the day together again.

Shanghai International Circuit is buzzing with the excitement of thousands of people—hundreds of them right there in the paddocks with the students, who are all awestruck by the commotion of this side of the world. The deafening roar of the cars as they whiz by, the pit crews taking note of their equipment, the drivers shouting over the noise about what is and isn’t working with their cars, the VIPs boisterously laughing and shrieking, no doubt already drunk this early in the day—it’s all new to the girls, and you can see in their eyes just how badly they want to be a part of all of it.

To be fair, Joshua had their attention for a good ten minutes, until the F1 drivers’ FP1 ended. After that, you watch in sheer amusement as he tries and fails to keep the girls’ focus for more than a second; there are just too many stars passing by for them to give their teacher anything other than distracted glances. The man constantly has to repeat himself, answer the same questions over and over again, and deal with students asking—screaming—about every famous driver that walks by. 

“Wait, is that Choi Seungcheol?”

“Oh my god!”

“That’s totally S. Coups! I know F1’s ass when I see it!”

“Josh! Do you know him? Is he as dark and broody as he seems?”

“Is his ass as plump as it looks?”

“How would Josh know that?”

“Girls, please don’t objectify the drivers. We—”

“Oh my god! He’s coming this way!”

“Choi Seung—”

“Shut up, Sophia! Have some decorum! You can’t just scr—OH MY GOD, KWON SOONYOUNG?! KWON SOONYOUNG!” 

“Soonyoung! Soonyoung! I love you!”

“Jesus Christ,” Joshua mutters as he pulls the lid of his cap lower over his face like that will hide him from his peers. 

You think it might’ve been a good idea for the girls to have one or two sessions with the Academy’s PR team, but that ship has sailed and you’re thoroughly delighted by the faces Joshua makes as he tries to figure out how to best navigate the hormones of teen girls.

“You see why I tell these little gremlins to mind their distractions?” Jihyo mutters without looking at you. “Frontal lobes. Underdeveloped and obsessed with the likes of Kwon Soonyoung. Silly.” 

“He’s cute,” you mutter, shrugging as you watch the driver in question turn at the commotion, smiling widely at the girls and nodding once before continuing on to the McLaren garage. He is cute. Not Joshua Hong cute. But he’s cute. 

“Right. A cute crashout waiting to happen,” Jihyo scoffs. “Not sure why they’d still be letting him race.” You don’t respond because Joshua’s voice is suddenly doubling in volume.

“Girls!” he shouts just as Eunchae gets her hand around Sophia’s mouth, wrestling her away from the outskirts of the group, where all the F1 drivers are walking by. Eunchae rips her hand away in disgust and Sophia laughs, obviously having licked her palm. “I hate to be this guy, but if I need to ask CEO Park over there to remind you all about distractions, I’m not above that,” he says, tilting his head back so he can cock an eyebrow at the group from under his cap.

All heads snap back toward you and Jihyo, and several girls wince when they inadvertently crack their necks doing so. Jihyo gives them a flat stare, and the next response Joshua gets is their wide eyes and their silence. He smiles at them.

“Perfect!” He claps once. “Now, FP1 starts in just 30 minutes, which means I want you in your cars and ready to go in 15. You’ll connect with your engineer on the wall, you’ll take a formation lap, and whenever the two of you are ready, you’ll go ahead and take as many laps as you need. Just remember, you only get 40 minutes. When you get into F1 someday, it’ll be one, full hour.”

He does that with everything he says to the girls; he teaches them Academy standards, then never forgets to teach them what it will be like when they reach F1—never if, always when. You never miss the ambitious glint in the students’ eyes whenever he says it too. It’s infectious and it reminds you of what it feels like to chase a dream.

“After FP1, we’ll break for adjustments and lunch, and then you girls go into your first-ever Qualifying! How are we all feeling? Excited, hopefully?” You see Joshua’s own elation shining in his eyes as he looks around expectantly. It’s how you know this is all working; his help with the girls is reminding him how much he loves the thrill of the race.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Megan grumbles. It’s just a passing comment, but Joshua takes it seriously, nodding. His hand disappears into the pocket of his joggers, and when it comes back out, he has a small piece of candy in it. He steps forward and hands it to her. 

“Ginger chew,” he explains when she takes it with wide eyes. “They help with nausea.”

“Aw,” Megan coos mostly to herself as she immediately unwraps it and pops it in her mouth. “Thanks, Josh.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiles before looking at the other girls. “I have an obscene amount of those ginger chews in my backpack, so if anyone else thinks they’re going to throw up—which, completely fine, completely normal—” 

Jihyo laughs and leans over to whisper, “He’s so good with the girls.” It’s an observation that anyone would be able to make, but for some reason, it makes you feel warm. He is so good with the girls—maybe even better than you are. 

“Let me know and I’ll grab you one,” he says, pausing to make sure the girls nod their understanding before he continues. “Other than that, how are we?”

“I hate that we’re competing with each other,” a student named Lexie says from the back, a scowl on her face. “These are my friends.”

Joshua purses his lips, nodding slowly as he clearly tries to figure out what he wants to say. You and Jihyo could easily step in here to talk about the complexities of having to compete with other girls when it feels like there’s already so little space for women in the sport as it is; the two of you have had to discuss it several times with the current and past classes anyway. But Joshua doesn’t give either of you the chance to do so. Instead, he tackles the sentiment with grace and elegance and with no help from you or his CEO.

“I’m not going to pretend like I understand how frustrating it is to be pit against each other like this,” he says. “No one needs to remind you that, yes, I am a man.”

“And we’ve already forgiven you for that, Josh,” Sophia assures him, the other girls nodding along seriously.

He laughs. “Thanks, Soph.” He gathers his thoughts before proceeding. “I am familiar with the awkwardness of competing against friends; I did it every day. But I know the fact that you’re all young women adds an extra layer of… difficulty to this.” He sighs and steps forward, waving the girls to form a tighter circle around him. You and Jihyo join them, too curious about what he’s going to say to keep the distance you have been up until now. “Look, I’m going to be real with you. I know you all feel like there’s only room for one driver in the Academy to advance to F3, F2, and F1, and I don’t blame you. That thought has probably been drilled into your heads relentlessly since first stepping foot in London.

“I’ve seen and heard firsthand how hard it is for women in this sport.” His eyes flitting to you super briefly. The girls catch it, though, and some of them look over at you, expressions a mixture of respect and sympathy. “I know firsthand there are too many people—too many men here that don’t want to see you join their ranks. They’ll tell you they support this program and that they’re excited for the day women are more widespread in F1, just to insist there’s only space for one of you in the same breath.

“Do not—do not ever let them convince you that’s true,” Joshua says with a vehemence so fierce, it threatens to make you cry. “If you learn just one thing from me this season, I want it to be this: this seems like a competition now, but there’s room for every single one of you. This is my sport. This is my track. This is my world.”

The confidence that Joshua says those words with fills you with so much relief, you could fall to your knees. He used present tense. He knows this is still his if he wants it.

“I’m more than qualified to tell you that there isn’t a student in this season who doesn’t deserve to enter F1. You’d give some of these same men you’re screaming over some real competition.” Several students grin widely, like the idea of beating Seungcheol’s ass on the track is now a lot more appealing than seeing how plump that same ass is. “Give it your all on the track, and don’t leave any room for regrets, but know that when you all get out of those cars, you’re all still going to have something a lot of these guys don’t even have: best friends to lean on and turn to,” he assures the students. “What do you guys always call it… girlhood. I’m lucky enough to witness how precious that is every day in class with you. Don’t let them take that away from you. Don’t let them tell you it has to be F1 or your friend.” 

The words strike you personally because isn’t that exactly what you did? Didn’t you tell yourself it was F1 or Joshua? And you both know what you chose. You try to imagine what a world where you had both looked like. You can’t, not at McLaren, anyway. The CEO had been too eager to cast you out in those first few months as a race engineer, and you didn’t doubt that your situation would have been reason enough for him to fire you and give some other family member a try.

“Josh,” Eunchae says quietly, almost drowned out by the noises that score race weekend. “You’re a great teacher. You’re really for the girls.”

Every student nods her head in agreement, and you find yourself and Jihyo following suit. A soft pink dusts over Joshua’s cheeks, and he smiles, his eyes twinkling with gratitude at the appreciation. “Thank you, Eunchae. I’m not entirely sure what that last part means, but I’m 90% sure I appreciate it.”

“You should 100% appreciate it!” someone claims. There’s a chorus of affirmations and he grins. 

“Okay, well then thank you, girls. You all make teaching very easy. And thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. If any more pop up, or if you want to talk without an audience, let me know, alright?” He nods and looks down at his phone, scrolling through his notes. “Just a few logistical reminders before we head over…”

“God, have these always been so emotional?” Jihyo asks as he lists the housekeeping items. The CEO sniffles as she shoves her oversized glasses up the bridge of her nose violently. You try not to gawk at her and when she notices you staring, she turns her hand palm up, wrist going limp as she wiggles her head at you. “What? It was emotional.”

“No, yeah, for sure, it was emotional,” you agree. “I’m just… I am not used to—” she shoots you a look you can tell is severe even with the sunglasses. “Nothing. I’m not used to nothing.”

Happy with that response, she nods once and turns back toward the driving instructor. 

A few moments later, Joshua suddenly calls your name and you feel like a student getting called on for a question when you were just nodding off to sleep—except instead of sleeping, you’re thinking about how Jihyo was right; pre-practice huddles have never been that emotional—not the first of the season or even the last of the season. You’re thinking about how this might be the most confident an Academy class has ever been going into their first race. You’re thinking about how perfect Joshua is for this role. You’re thinking about Joshua, period. He gestures to you and the girls look back. 

“Can you give us a reminder of what we should be paying attention to during FP1?” he asks, giving you an unrestrained smile. It only took some of your time and attention to do that; before your dinner together, those smiles were much smaller. Much more… joyless.

You nod. “Um. Yes, of course. Just—uh, spend the first few laps working with your engineer on getting your setup right. You can be 100% on the simulator and completely blow it on the track if you overestimate your familiarity and neglect the fine tuning. Get to know the circuit—every crack, bump, turn—get a hang of how your tires feel, and when in doubt, ask your engineer.”

“And when your engineer asks for a radio check, make sure you sing them a good song,” Joshua adds. “I recommend Sunday Morning.” You bite your lip to control your smile.

“What’s that?” Eunchae asks.

Joshua’s mouth falls open. “Sunday Morning? By Maroon 5?” He’s met with blank looks.

“Okay, old man, go get your students ready,” Jihyo says, waving a hand and trying not to laugh. Joshua sighs and obliges, turning without another word and waving for his students to follow. “Good luck, everyone! You’re gonna do awesome!”

“Remember everything you learned in evaluations!” you add as they all start to follow Joshua away.

“Let’s kick ass, ladies!” Sophia whoops, jumping and clapping, very clearly hyped after Joshua’s pep talk. Her classmates echo that energy, and you’re warmhearted to watch them all leave, their spirits high.

“Thanks, Mick! Thank you, CEO Park.”

“Thanks, ML!” 

“Thank you, both!”

When they’ve all filed away, Jihyo turns to you, a small pout on her lips. You would guess your face is doing the same thing. “He’s perfect for this.”

“I know,” you sigh, the previous fear that drove you to holding him at arm’s length wiggling its way back into your chest. You try your best to ignore it. “I can’t believe it’s only for one season.”

Jihyo doesn’t respond right away, just watching you carefully. Finally, she smiles and completely changes the topic. “So I see you are no longer ignoring the love of your life.”

You try your best not to sigh deeply. She can read you like an open book, and it’s both touching and grating. “Again… I was not ignoring him; I was drawing boundaries on our friendship.” She stares at you blankly. “But yeah, I’m not ignoring him anymore.”

She grins and claps a few times before she starts walking toward the pit wall. You fall into step beside her. “It’s kind of crazy seeing how different the vibes can change with you two.”

“What do you mean?” you ask even though you think you know. It was in the way Joshua’s smile changed in the span of two days. It was in the way you felt lighter and happier. The way even the girls seemed to have let out a breath they were all holding. You still want to hear someone confirm your own thoughts, though. 

“I mean, it’s been so… dismal being around you both this past month,” she says bluntly. “Also, I’m just gonna be so incredibly honest with you… you guys slip on the quality of your work when you’re sad.”

That stops you mid-step and she turns, startled to see you stopped in the middle of a high-traffic area, several people having to step around the two of you. “Excuse me?” you squeak. You have never gotten feedback about the quality of your work slipping. “What do you mean the quality of my work slipped?”

“Babe,” Jihyo laughs a little as she retraces her steps to meet you once more. “The spreadsheets you sent me two weeks ago for the girls’ latest grades? You remember that?” You nod, still looking at her like she’s grown two extra heads. “You left Saki’s row completely blank. I didn’t bother asking you because I know she’s your top student, but… hello?” You balk at her. There’s no way you completely missed that. “On top of that, you forgot to change the file name from your very cleverly titled, ‘girls just wanna have F1.’”

Your palm meets your forehead before she even finishes her sentence. “Oh my god. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jihyo snorts, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand back down to your side. “If it were an issue, I would’ve talked to both of you. But I knew you two were just being weirdos. Besides, they weren’t even huge mistakes.” She loops her arm through yours, ushering you to keep walking alongside her. 

“Well, what were Joshua’s mistakes?” you ask, feeling guilty that he was distracted enough to make a mistake because of you. Joshua did everything in his life to near perfection; it’s why you two worked so well together. It was excellence or nothing.

“Nothing too important. Forgot a 1:1 meeting we had scheduled… sent me an email meant for someone else,” she says. The smile on her lips tells you she’s not being entirely truthful. But you reach the pit wall and the girls’ FP1 starts soon. You have a job to do, so you let her have her secret for now, making a note to yourself to ask her again later; you’ve learned enough about Jihyo to know to be most suspicious of her when she’s quiet.

The girls’ very first FP1 goes smoothly, mostly without any issues aside from some nerves and jumpy driving. By the time they go into Qualifying, not only are they warmed up; they’re out for blood. F4 cars are, on average, 50-70mph slower than F1 cars, but even with as seasoned as you are, it’s hard to tell the difference with your naked eye. It always makes you a little nervous, especially with nothing to do other than supervise, to watch teenage girls going at neck-breaking speeds and listening to them laughing and shrieking like little, adrenaline-crazed banshees. Thankfully, no one crashes (or crashes out), and although there are somber faces, there are no tears at the end of the race. You think you can attribute that to Joshua’s pep talk. 

By the end of the day, the three drivers at the top of the lineup are Saki, a student named Lara, and Megan, who thankfully, did not throw up and was absolutely convinced ginger chews were witchcraft. You’re in the Academy suite, refilling your water bottle, when Eunchae, Sophia, and Saki come into the room, heads frantically snapping back and forth as they look for someone. When they gasp at you at the water cooler, you know you’re that someone. 

“Can I help you, ladies?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at them. 

“Josh is taking all the students out to dinner to congratulate us on our first track run!” Sophia nearly screams. You smile as you bring your bottle up to your lips for a sip. The first round of the season is always funny because the adrenaline seemingly never leaves the girls’ systems all weekend, resulting in a lot of screeching. 

“Aw, that sounds fun,” you comment as you go toward the break table to grab your laptop and backpack. “I know the man is loaded but please have some manners and refrain from draining his bank account, okay?”

“No promises,” Saki says quietly, her energy much more subdued than the other two but buzzing all the same. 

“Well, he asked us to come get you!” Eunchae informs you. Your eyebrows raise as you throw your backpack on. “He went ahead to the restaurant to reserve tables! All the other drivers are waiting for the four of us at the shuttle! We’ll go back to the hotel to freshen up first then meet at the restaurant.”

“Oh, girls, I don’t know, I’m tired and I have jet lag and…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders and hoping that will be enough, but these are teenage girls with no tact so of course it’s not. 

“And…?!” Sophia taunts. “Come on Mick, we just raced for the first time! Celebrate with us!”

“Technically, your first race isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Oh my god,” Eunchae groans, inadvertently shaking Saki, who her arm is interlocked with, when she stomps her foot in protest. “You know what we mean, ML! Come on. Come with us! Please?” She elongates the word and you know what comes next. 

Both Sophia and Saki take it as their cue to join in, all three of them parroting the word PLEASE at you at varying levels of volume, elongation, and desperation. 

“Joshua told us not to come back without you!” Sophia pleads. 

“He told us we can’t come at all unless we get you to come too!” Eunchae adds. Both Sophia and Saki falter at that, throwing their friend an incredulous look. 

You laugh at that. Joshua would never withhold that kind of happiness from the girls. You tell her just as much. “Okay, he would never say that. Besides, I think he’ll understand that I’m tired, and—”

“He will not!” the youngest disagrees, shaking her head vehemently, her bangs still sticking to her forehead with sweat. “We’re a team! The team is not complete without our ML!”

It touches your heart in ways you can’t explain with words. You always got close to every season of girls, but there was something about this year’s class. Maybe it’s that they’ve been so devoted to befriending not only each other but the staff as well—to degrees previous classes didn’t bother with. Whatever it was, Eunchae knew you had a soft spot for them and she constantly abused it. 

“Okay, so then is CEO Park invited?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at them, knowing they would sooner release you from dinner obligations than have to sit and worry about acting appropriately in front of the Academy’s big boss. They all stop their chorus of begging and stare at you like you’ve just doused them with cold water. “She’s a part of the team too, no? And the rest of the pit wall? The crew?”

“Well,” Sophia clears her throat when Eunchae looks to her for help. “Um… Josh didn’t quite say?” She squints at the ceiling like she knows it’s not a good enough explanation for why only you’re invited. 

“You told us not to break Joshua’s bank,” Saki points out. “So we’re keeping it as minimal as possible.” She counts on her fingers. “Students, Joshua, you. It would be a little rude to invite people Joshua didn’t give us permission to invite, right? Maybe we can have a bigger team dinner with everyone after the actual races… on the company card!”

You sigh. These two would bring the one student with them that could talk her way out of that. “And you’re sure I can’t just join you for that post-race dinner?” 

They all shake their heads resolutely. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint Joshua, right?”

“Joshua?” you repeat, frowning. “Why would that disappoi—”

“Us,” Sophia corrects Eunchae, pinching the elbow she has her arm looped through without looking at her. “She meant you wouldn’t want to disappoint us, right, Mickie? We really want you there.”

They look at you with their huge, shiny eyes and you know you’re done. You heave a sigh, and just like their CEO, they don’t have the modesty to at least wait for you to vocalize your surrender. They immediately erupt into victorious cheers, Eunchae and Sophia untangling from each other to squeeze you between them, their arms linking with yours. 

“Yay! Let’s go!” Sophia screams, probably shattering your ear drums. 

Joshua either knows someone at the restaurant or he promised them his first-born child because when you all arrive, the establishment—beautiful, chic, and in the heart of the city—is teeming with patrons, the ambiance bright, fun, and lively. And despite the wait being over two hours with not a single open table in sight, the driving instructor managed to snag a private room. And that private room is in a greenhouse patio with the most beautiful view of the city’s lights. 

“Holy shit?” someone mutters just ahead of you when you follow the group and the restaurant's host into the room reserved for Hong. You don’t even berate whoever it is for her language; you heard way worse over the radio today, and you share her sentiment. Holy shit is the only proper reaction. 

“Hey!” Joshua exclaims, rising from his seat, where he was scrolling on his phone. He spreads his arms out wide, very clearly proud of snagging the room. He’s freshly showered, hair still a little wet and pushed away from his bare face. He’s in white sweats, an oversized white tee, and his glasses once again. “Well? Isn’t it pretty? Not bad for a congratulatory dinner, no?”

“Yes!” Lara exclaims softly, eyes huge as she looks around, mouth slightly ajar in awe. “It's gorg!”

“Sit, sit!” he says, gesturing to the open seats. “I already ordered basically the whole menu—don’t worry! All allergies taken into account!” 

“Oh my god, the March photo dump is gonna go so crazy,” Sophia murmurs, already straying from the others, who start to take their seats, to take several photos of the view.

When the group separates to claim their seats (with Eunchae not-so-subtly shoving girls away from the seat across from Joshua at the end of the table), the instructor’s eyes rise up to meet yours as you walk up to the spot you know the student is saving for you. It only takes one look at the astounded expression on your best friend’s face for you to realize that same student blatantly lied to you about Joshua inviting you. 

He breathes your name in surprise, eyes widening. “Hey! Oh my god, hey,” he repeats, rounding the corner and enveloping you in his arms. He smells faintly of body wash, none of any of the colognes he usually wears. 

“Sorry,” you apologize in embarrassment. “Someone told me I was invited, but it’s clear you had no idea I was coming.” You glare at Eunchae, who was just about to take the seat next to you. Upon hearing you, she pauses mid-sit without meeting your eyes and rises again, promptly finding another seat far from you.

“What?” he laughs, scoffing a little as he steps around you to pull your chair out for you. You try not to seem too flustered as you take your seat. He helps you scoot the chair in before leaning down, his mouth too close to your ear to keep goosebumps from erupting all over your body. “You, Y/N,” he whispers, “are always invited wherever I am. You should know that by now.” 

He straightens and sits across from you, somehow looking even happier than when the girls first walked into the room. 

“And no,” he admits, shaking his head. “I had no idea you were coming, but I’m very happy you’re here. I would’ve told you myself but I figured you’d be tired and want to go back to your room to sleep for 14 straight hours.” Even when you want to be a little wounded that he didn’t actually invite you, he still finds a way to make you feel seen.

“Yeah, well. I would’ve fallen asleep in my bathrobe if the girls didn’t come by to drag me back out of my room.” Your smile reflects his without your permission, making your cheeks hurt a little. The two of you just stare at each other for a moment, and you know he’s logging this away as a memory he enjoyed, like he always does.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he says again. 

“Swanky place,” you say instead of what you actually want to respond with. Why? Why are you happy I’m here? Is it anything like the happiness I feel around you? “What did you do to get this room last minute?”

He grins and shakes his head, the movement loosening a strand of hair so that it forms the shape of a comma on his forehead. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“If it’s more than my rent, then no, I probably wouldn’t like to know.”

“So then maybe we won't talk about it.”

You whistle and he laughs. “Got it.”

When the entire group is seated, you find Megan, Saki, and Sophia sitting at your end of the table, and as the dinner goes on, they’re not-at-all shy about including you in their conversation, telling you two all about their troubles (which range from transmission issues on their cars to their individual icks when dating), teasing Joshua about how lovely his pre-practice huddle speech was, and asking you about the car you’ve been restoring in your garage at the Academy since you were first hired. It turns out to be quite the lovely dinner, packed to the brim with drunken chicken, ma lan tou, spiced tofu, braised pork belly, sautéed clover, and all kinds of stir fry. Like most events you originally didn’t want to go to, you find yourself grateful you did go by the end of the night. 

As you’re waiting for the check, the girls ask you and Joshua about your own F1 war stories, and you both gladly get lost in the memories of working together. You tell them all kinds of things, the two of you sighing heavily over how much you miss those times, scoffing at all the annoying people you came across in those five years, and laughing so hard at memories you’d tucked away, you’re almost crying. The girls are absolutely enthralled, buzzing with an anxious and excited energy that only a race can bring, and the questions don’t stop coming. Did either of you cry when he became a world champion? What was it like being the first rookie to win their first race? Do you guys have any pre-race rituals? Surprisingly, it’s Saki that asks the question that inspires a hundred of your own questions.

“What was your favorite race?”

It’s not the question itself, though that’s plenty mortifying for you too because honestly, your answer is that last one in Spain. It was still one of the scariest nights in your life, watching Joshua avoid an accident so narrowly, but it was also the night he held you like you were his. It was the night you allowed yourself to pretend like you were just two people in Barcelona in love. But it’s not the question that gets you feeling cagey. It’s Joshua’s answer.

“Spanish Grand Prix in 2018,” he says easily and without hesitation. It’s clear Saki—ever the true, die-hard F1 fan—is trying to remember that race, and when she does, you see that she remembers what anyone else would: it was a great performance—a historic one even—but compared to all the other objectively crazy things Joshua accomplished in his career, nothing really edge-of-your-seat exciting happened. 

“Why?” she asks, head tilting a little.

His eyes go to you now, unrelenting as he obviously turns his answer over in his head, and although you’ve already gotten acclimated to his persistent staring again since breaking your self-imposed siege on your friendship, you still squirm. 

“Josh?” Sophia calls his name when he says nothing.

“I fell in love during that race,” he answers Saki’s question, eyes refusing to leave you as he does. Your stomach drops the way it would on a free-fall ride, and you immediately feel sick.

The sounds that come out of the girls' mouths make you look toward them. They’re all frozen, eyes wide, mouths hanging open, desserts completely forgotten as their eyes dart between you like they would at a tennis match. It’s confirmation they heard the same thing you did. 

He fell in love? What the fuck does he mean he fell in love? Your brain frantically tries to remember what happened during his first race in Spain. Did he meet someone? No, any time he wasn’t on the actual track, he was doing his interviews, photos, or stuck to you. He literally made you hang out in his suite with him until you both fell asleep and you forced yourself to get back to your own room when you woke up in the middle of the night. When would he have found the time to fall in love?

“Um,” Eunchae coughs, suddenly appearing on Sophia’s other side. You’re a little startled, but it’s the one time you’re thankful she’s so nosy and a serial eavesdropper. “Uh, sorry. What do you mean you fell in love?”

Your eyes go back to Joshua to find that he’s still staring at you intently. His eyes are dark and his lips aren’t upturned in his usual resting smile, and it makes you feel naked under his gaze. There are a few beats of silence, just you two in this bustling restaurant, completely alone even with the entire Academy class at the same table as you, even with all of Shanghai twinkling right outside the greenhouse panels. Can he see the panic you feel? Panic that maybe he found and had someone that entire time? That maybe that’s why he moved to Barcelona? For some he fell in love with? 

He breaks out of the trance first, clearing his throat and smiling tightly as he turns to Eunchae. “I fell in love with the track.”

“The… track…” the student repeats, one eyebrow rising to show him just how unconvinced she is.

“Yup, Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya,” he says like anyone needs clarification. “I fell in love… with… the circuit.” He clears his throat again.

“The circuit.” It’s Megan’s turn to repeat what he just said, a look on her face as equally befuddled as the one on Eunchae’s.

The silence tells you no one at this end of the table believes him. Saki is the one that puts him out of his misery. “Oh… cool! Um, what do you like about the track?” 

Joshua smiles thankfully at her. “A lot. More than anything… it was just fun.” You frown slightly, another memory you tucked away stirring in the back of your mind. You can’t quite grasp it, though. He watches you struggle with it as he says, “It brought so much more joy to the sport.” He blinks several times and forces himself to look away from you. He looks back at Saki. “You’ll understand once you find your circuit. Once you find the one for you.”

The check comes out after that, and the girls are all ushered out of the restaurant and into the Academy’s appointed shuttle ahead of you and Joshua. You stop before fully entering the bus, turning over your shoulder to glance at him. He raises his eyebrows at you in question. You’re on the first step of the shuttle, and he has one foot on the same step, the other foot on the curb. His hands are wrapped around the handrails on either side of you, and he looks up at you patiently even though the driver is waiting for you two to board. 

You want to ask him if he was serious; did he really fall in love with the circuit, or did he find someone all the way back in 2018? Did he find someone right under your nose? Had he been with them for seven years at this point? Was that why he was always so crazy about winning Barcelona? Was that why he moved? Was that why he was still living there? 

In the end, you don’t have the guts to ask, nor is it the right time or place to. So you cover up your hesitation with another, less daunting question. “Want to split the dinner? That had to have been a painful bill.”

He snorts, shaking his head and releasing one railing to press his hand to the small of your back gently and guide you further into the shuttle. The touch makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand. “Shut up,” he says, laughing. 

You sigh. “It was worth a try,” you grumble. In the five years you worked together, the driver never let you pay for a single thing. You knew he wouldn’t start now, but it was all you could pull out of your ass instead of begging him to tell you he wasn’t secretly married with five kids.

The shuttle to the hotel is quiet, the girls finally letting the exhaustion of the day blanket them. They sleepily pad past the two of you once you arrive, quietly muttering good nights to the both of you as they all go their separate ways to the rooms they’re sharing with each other. 

Megan is the last to say good night, but before she walks away, she looks at the two of you and smiles softly—a little deliriously, like she’s already half asleep. “I’m glad you two are talking again,” she says, her voice hoarse with fatigue. Both you and Joshua tense a little, but of course, she doesn’t notice. “Everything feels right again.” She starts walking away even though she’s still muttering, her voice gradually getting less audible the farther she gets. “Everything feels better when you two are together. My favorite teachers, for real. Good night.” 

“Um, good night, Megan,” you call after her. She waves a hand over her head without turning back, following Saki to their shared room. 

You look over at your best friend to find his eyes on the floor. He glances at you when he notices you turn toward him, but he doesn’t say anything, simply offering a tiny smile as you both begin to walk in the other direction, the staff’s rooms on the opposite side of the floor as the students'. You two seem committed to ignoring Megan’s nighttime soliloquy as you walk in silence, and you don’t notice that that’s probably a weird occurrence for him as the more talkative one in your friendship. You’re too preoccupied with which flavor of Ben & Jerry’s you’ll be demolishing in one sitting when you find out that Joshua has a Spanish wife and perfect, Korean-Spanish children who look just like their stunning dad and their bombshell mother waiting for him at home.

You arrive at your room first, and you reach for your handle, the words “good night” already out of your mouth when he cuts off your access to your own door, stepping between you and the only way into the room. Your hand accidentally presses up against his hipbone from where you were reaching for the door handle, and you quickly take it back, muttering an apology as your cheeks are set ablaze.

He tucks his hands into his sweats and leans against your door, crossing his legs at the ankles. You want to scoff at how casual and unbothered he looks when you, on the other hand, are a single jumped conclusion away from being sent to a psych ward.

“I am not hanging out in your room, Shua,” you say, a yawn interrupting you toward the end. “I’m tired.”

He doesn’t laugh, just shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to ask you to hang out. I just have a question to ask you before we go to bed.”

“Pfft,” you blow a raspberry before you can stop yourself. “I have quite a few questions myself.” You don’t know why you say it because it’s not like you’re ready to ask him about it right now. 

Joshua’s eyes study you, but for once, he surprisingly doesn’t cater to you first. He asks his own question instead of encouraging you to move forward with yours, which is what you had been expecting—not that you wanted him to do that. You have no idea how to ask about his Spanish wife and Korean-Spanish kids.

“Why were you avoiding me?” he asks, obviously still thinking about what Megan said while you were freaking out about a Grand Prix that happened seven years ago. 

The question makes every muscle in your body lock with anxiety, expelling all the sleepiness you had been slowly succumbing to since boarding the shuttle. You’d gotten so lost in making up a fake family for Joshua that even with Megan’s reminder, you forgot that just two days ago, you were committed to staying away from him.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, Shua.” Even you can hear how weak a lie it is when the words leave your mouth. “Things were just so busy.”

He sighs through his nose, softly leaning his head back against the door to your room. “We’ve been busy the entire time we’ve known each other,” he says, eyes searching yours. “Try another one.” The words aren’t resentful or angry or hurt. They’re just as gentle as they always are, like he’s actually encouraging you to cycle through your lies until you finally land on the truth. You save both of you the trouble.

“I was just… a little tired,” you say truthfully. It’s as honest as you can stomach being right now. You open and close your mouth a few times to add more because you know you should, but nothing comes out. 

He purses his lips momentarily, averting and narrowing his eyes a little as he nods to himself like he’s sifting through his own rolodex of responses. When he’s done, he looks back at you, his eyebrows pinching with worry, and he asks, “Of what? Me?”

“No, no, of course not,” you say quickly because you would rather have your heart ripped clean out of your chest at the end of the season than let Joshua ever think you’ve grown tired of him. 

“You understand why I might think that, though, right?” he asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his knuckle. “I can’t help but feel like you were actively pushing me away, and you only stopped when you thought I was mad.” He pauses to lick his lips nervously. You’re realizing that Joshua is so much more astute when it comes to your thought process than you ever gave him credit for. “I… I just… I don’t want to feel the way I did back in Abu Dhabi at the end of this season.”

You’re not sure why it didn’t occur to you that while you were losing your mind over how afraid you were about having to say bye to Joshua at the end of the season, he was spending that time equally afraid that you wouldn’t be saying bye at all. Of course he’s afraid you’re going to wordlessly bail again. You haven’t given him much reason to believe otherwise, especially in the last month. 

“Joshua,” you start, trying to breathe evenly. He lifts his head up off your door and shoots you a flat look. You correct yourself without rolling your eyes the way you normally would. “Shua. I was avoiding you.”

He heaves a short laugh and nods. “I know.” His smile slowly fades. “Why?”

“I’m… the season came so fast, didn’t it?” you mutter, wringing your hands in front of you like you’re trying to squeeze the anxiety out of your body through your fingertips. “It came so fast, and it will be over so fast, and your sabbatical will end with you back in Barcelona…” With your wife and kids, you think bitterly, “and… I’ll…”

“You’ll be here,” he finishes, nodding like he finally understands why you were acting the way you were. “I’ll be in Barcelona, and you’ll be here.” 

You nod wordlessly. Just the thought being voiced out loud by him creates a knot in your throat. He gently pushes himself fully off the door now, taking a small step toward you. You swallow around the knot as you challenge yourself to stay rooted in place. At his full height, you have to tilt your head back a bit to maintain eye contact. His glasses slide back down a little as he looks down at you, but he doesn’t bother fixing them this time, watching you over the frames of them. 

“Are you scared?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you admit easily. “I am. Of what, I don’t know.” Another lie. How many more of those can you speak before he’s pulling the real truth out of you? Are you willing to give that to him tonight? If at all? Do you have a choice?

“Could it be that you’re maybe scared of losing me?” he asks, head slightly tilting to the side as he shuffles closer. “Because…” he clears his throat. “I know I’m scared of losing you.”

You swear your heart is beating hard enough that if Joshua really concentrated, he’d be able to see the shape of it slamming up against your chest. The lump in your throat is threatening to choke you and you suddenly lose the ability to speak. The best you can do is give him a small, meek shrug of one shoulder as you look down at the ground. 

“Don’t do that,” he says softly, even closer now—so close, you watch as his feet slot between yours. So close you can feel his breath on your hairline as he speaks. If you leaned forward just a tiny bit, your forehead could rest on his shoulder. His hands cover yours—big and cool and soothing—and he separates them from each other, cradling them as he rubs circles into your skin with his thumbs. Each circle wipes away every dumb doubt you had about Joshua and his fake family. “We’re almost there.” His voice sounds a little pained, a little desperate. “Don’t pull away now, not when we’re almost there.”

You furrow your eyebrows as you continue staring at the ground. You think you know what he means—or at least, you know what you hope he means—but you can’t afford to be wrong. You could assume to know, and you could operate on the deliriously lovely idea of Joshua returning your feelings—the idea that he’s returned them for as long as you’ve had them, and that he’s waited just as long as you have. That maybe he feels like this is the moment you two tell each other the truth. What you want him to mean is: Don’t pull away when we’re almost ready to say it all out loud.

You’re not ready to say it out loud, but in this moment, as you watch Joshua’s fingers thread through yours, you remember that your best friend has hardly ever been ready for anything you’ve thrown at him. He wasn’t ready for you to leave McLaren, he wasn’t ready for you to show up on his doorstep in Barcelona, and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to drop everything and follow you to London to become a teacher to 17 teenage girls when he had zero teaching experience. And he still trusted you enough to let you take the lead each time, with no question and no hesitation. Maybe it’s time for you to do something you aren’t ready for. Maybe it’s the least you owe him.

“Yeah,” you finally breathe after several moments. “I am. I’m fucking terrified.” He brings your joined hands up until he’s holding them against his chest. It feels safe here. It feels like you’re allowed to say something you’ve held close to your own chest for years. “You’re my best friend, Shua. You’ve become the most important person in my life—you have been since that very first year. Even through the years we didn’t talk… you were still on my mind every day. And these past three months… I’ve had so much fun. I’ve loved every moment of it. But we’re on borrowed time, and I’m… I’m panicking.” He squeezes your hands to remind you he’s there, even if you refuse to look him in the eye. “Because I’ll have to say goodbye, and you’ll leave, and I’ll just… I’ll feel as heartbroken as I always do whenever you’re not near me. And I don’t know how to do all of that a second time.”

There. It’s out. It’s not what you meant to say, and it’s not a complete portrayal of how deep your love for him runs, but it’s the best you can do.

His hold on you falters a little and it takes everything to keep from pushing past him, letting yourself into your hotel room, holing up in there, and refusing to come out for the rest of the season. But then he squeezes again, and lifts even higher, until his lips are pressed against your fingertips. You look up at him to find his eyes still trained on you over his glasses, soft and so full of love, as he takes his time bringing each finger to his lips. When he’s done, he pulls you closer, placing your hands around his waist and only letting go when he’s sure you’re not going to remove them. You flatten your hands against his back, and if you weren’t so flabbergasted about touching Joshua so intimately right now, you’d be squealing about the way you can feel the hard, taut muscles under his skin—muscles he trained from his time in F1 with you. He brings his hands to your face, holding it so delicately, you could probably convince yourself he’s not even there—that he’s not real at all. 

His gaze skitters around your face like it does whenever he’s committing something to memory. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, breath grazing your lips as he cranes his head down toward you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. Your eyes flutter a bit without your permission, the feeling making you dizzy all of a sudden. 

“For what?” you ask, eyes closing and fingers gripping the back of his shirt when you sway a little from the feeling of having so much of Joshua’s skin touching so much of yours.

“For not pulling away,” he answers. You open your eyes, and when you meet his half-lidded stare, he smiles a little. You were right. You weren’t ready to make the assumption but you made it anyway, and you were right. 

Joshua tilts his head, leans forward, and closes the distance between you two. He stops just short of your lips like he’s still giving you the chance to pull away. When you don’t, his smile widens to its full capacity—the one you love so fucking much—and he surges forward, pressing his lips to yours.

It’s warm, it tastes a little like the sweet bean from the sesame balls you all had for dessert, and it feels a lot like watching Joshua’s car cut through the smoke. It feels like Joshua’s hand hooking around your neck to hug you closer to him and his mother. Like successfully navigating him through a hard line on the track. Like watching him change 17 young women’s lives forever.

It’s a moment that cuts through all the noise and quiets everything else. You think it’s the first time you’ve truly understood Joshua’s compulsion to stop, take everything in, and file a memory away for safekeeping. It’s a moment you want to remember forever.

He keeps one hand on your face, his thumb caressing your cheek and fingers hugging the curve of your neck, threading into your hair, and massaging gently. His other hand comes down and snakes around your waist to pull you even closer. You bring your arms up and around his neck to allow yourself the space to press your body completely flush to his, from chest to thighs, your body on fire everywhere Joshua is.

You don’t know when, but he turns both of you around at some point, and you don’t fully realize it until your back is pressed against your own door, his body trapping you there against the wood as he wastes no time starting to lick into your mouth like he’s waited far too long to do exactly that. In fact, he kisses you with the fervor of someone who waited as long as you have.

“Um,” you breathe when his mouth leaves yours for just a brief moment. But then they’re on you again, swallowing whatever it was you were going to say—you’re not even sure what it was. It’s not until he’s kissing up and down your jaw and your neck a few moments later that you remember. “Joshua,” you breathe.

“I don’t think so,” he mutters, voice husky with want as he skims his nose against the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“Shua,” you try again. You feel him smirk into your skin before pressing his lips to you. You try your best not to shudder, your chest already heaving and giving you and your desire away. “So you don’t have a Spanish wife and Korean-Spanish kids?”

He practically rips his head away from your neck, leaning back to look at you incredulously. “What?”

You grin. His reaction is enough of an answer for you. You shake your head. “Nothing. Come here.”

You envelope his lips with yours once more, and he doesn’t protest or press you to clarify what the fuck your question meant. Instead, he helps you find your hotel key when he notices you frantically trying to get it out of your purse, both of you stubbornly refusing to stop kissing for even a second to look at what you’re doing. And after several pathetic tries, you’re finally successfully shoving it into the slot without leaving each other’s lips, and you stumble into your hotel room, giggling like kids—like you’re still a rookie driver and a rookie race engineer except this time, you’re both brave enough to take what you want.

And you’re tired of suppressing that part of you. You’re going to be brave because all you want is Joshua.

A/N: this was only supposed to be half of part two, but it got way too long. so now, it's been split into a part 2 and a part 3, then we'll have a part 4/epilogue rolled into one! i know i said this is updating weekly, but tumblr has exhausted the fuck out of me this past week, and i am actually going to go on a mini hiatus and remind myself how much i love my life outside of the hellhole that is the internet LMAO. i hope you'll understand. it won't be long, and i'll be right back to updating this once i'm back.

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ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX 2023 "I can't believe this... I can't fucking believe this."

Joshua’s voice comes through the radio so soft, it’s barely audible over the roar of his engine. Your instinct is to keep your eyes on the screen, confirm that your driver’s tires are fine, fuel levels okay, no other car on his ass. But it’s useless because Joshua is seconds from the finish line with no chance for anyone else to take it and no time penalties to serve.

“Believe it, Shua,” you say into your mic as you swivel your chair around and away from your monitor. Your eyes immediately find the signature papaya orange MCL60 approaching the checkered flag like a bullet. “You did it.”

The words are bittersweet, and if this had been last season, you would’ve been jumping up and down with the rest of the team, screaming into Joshua’s earpiece and losing your goddamn mind. Today, though, you stay glued to your seat. Even when the wind of Joshua crossing the finish line right before your eyes whips at your face, even when the world explodes around you in a vivacious spray of confetti and champagne, even when Joshua Hong becomes a two-time F1 world champion—you stay seated. 

“We did it,” he corrects, sounding as calm as you feel. You wonder if you sound it, though—if you sound lonely too, because you are. “And that’s not what I can’t believe.”

You watch as his car starts to slow across the track. “Oh yeah? Always knew you were going to bag another title, did you?” you joke. He doesn’t laugh. You clear your throat and sigh, knowing you’ve been skirting around the devastation of this all. “What can’t you believe, Shua?”

Silence. His car feels impossibly far from you even though it’s only been seconds. You think the irony is cruel. You wait a few more moments for his response, and when you receive none, you assume he’s already disconnected from the radio. Just before you take your headset off, he answers you. “I can’t believe that you’re really leaving me.”

Your stomach twists painfully. He makes his way back, pulling into the pit lane, where he parks next to the first place sign meant for him. Immediately, staff members are already swarming the car—some to tend to the car, some to offer him water, some to scream and cry and congratulate. But still, he stays inside his vehicle, and he stays connected to you. There are a multitude of things you want to tell him. 

You want to tell him you aren’t leaving him because you want to; you’re sparing both of your careers from the scrutiny that would inevitably come if you stayed. You want to tell him he’s currently the best driver on the grid. Your absence isn’t going to change that, especially when he’s so seasoned, that most of what you do now is just play music for him and inform him how many seconds he has until he reaches the next car. You want to tell him this is the right thing to do, no matter how horrible it feels.

Above all, you just want to tell him you love him—that although you only found out a few months ago, you think you fell in love with him the moment you both turned your radios on the first time you raced together—and that’s why you have to go. That’s why you can’t be his race engineer a second longer. In the end, “I can’t either” is what you settle on. I’m so sorry rings loudly in your head but never leaves your mouth.

“So this is it, huh?” His breath comes out shaky and you know him well enough to know it’s not from the adrenaline of winning another world title.

“This is it,” you confirm, a knot forming in your throat.

“It was a good run, L/N.” You think you hear a knot in his too.

“The best run, Hong.” You can’t help your voice from cracking when you add: “The best of my life.”

“Mine too,” he says with no hesitation, though his voice sounds watery now. You feel your heart break. 

“Shua,” you croak. 

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For the past five years, for genuinely believing I could get you here, for… being my… my friend.” The word hurts you in unimaginable ways. “The best friend. Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It was easy,” he responds. “You made everything easy—all of it. I should thank you… you… you make this sport worthwhile.” You press your lips together to keep from breaking out into uncontrollable sobs, nodding to yourself as you try to wrap your mind around this being your last real moment with Joshua. He sighs deeply, another brief silence engulfing the two of you before he speaks again. “I’ll see you out there?”

You hum because you can’t bring yourself to tell him he won’t. As you take your headphones off, the first of your tears fall and you let them; it’s the one time you can without being judged for being too emotional or too feminine. Every grown man on Team McLaren is bawling right now, anyway. You slide off your seat and watch from the pit wall as Joshua exits his vehicle a few moments later and waves at the deafening crowd. For five years, you’ve guided Joshua through every F1 track in the world, you weathered countless storms—literal and figurative—together, and you’ve made him a world champion twice. 

But for almost ten years, since the time you started as a low-ranking mechanic at McLaren, you also endured misogynistic slights from the more old-school members of your team, comments that it doesn’t take much to do your job when Joshua Hong is the driver, and teasing that you were only in this to snag a rich husband off the grid. You persevered. You clawed your way up the ranks. You earned the respect you wanted so badly, and as much as you want to say fuck it and just stay, you can’t. Because being around Joshua when you’re knowingly in love with him feels impossible. And if you can’t hide it, then you’ll have to say it. And if you say it, your career will be over, and you can’t let it be tarnished now—not when it’s at its peak. Not when Joshua is at his either. Loving him will ruin everything you worked for. Loving him will not only cut you at the knees, but every woman after you who vies for this position. And it’s not going to happen.

Joshua doesn’t see you out there. You leave long before he even gets off the track and long before his time is freed up post photo ops and interviews. You can’t stay and confront the betrayal that’s been dancing in his eyes for weeks, even though he swore up and down that he was happy you found something new and exciting. You can’t let him wrap his arms around you one last time while he whispers heartfelt thank yous for an amazing season—an amazing five seasons—into your ear, confetti raining down and champagne soaking the both of you through to your bones. You can’t do any of it because if you do, you’ll lose your nerve and you’ll stay.

And you can’t. You have a flight to catch and the best F1 driver in the world to forget about.

Abu Dhabi two years ago was the last time you saw or heard from Joshua. A small part of you hoped he would reach out, but you knew that was a selfish thing to want; after all, you were the one that ran off without a proper goodbye after a five-year career together. Still, there were a lot of days you looked at your phone and wished he would send one of his silly memes or just ask how the job was going. Conversely, though, you never texted either. Not when he bombed his very next season, and not when he lost this season’s title by a hair. But now… now feels like as good a time as any to text.

The computer lab is in an uproar as your current class of female drivers stop what they’re doing to leap out of their seats and crowd around the massive flat screen television mounted on the back wall, gaping at it. You gape from your desk at the front of the classroom.

“Whoa, didn’t you work with him, Mickie?” For McLaren—a nickname that kind of irritated you at first but have grown accustomed to.

“She was his race engineer!”

“He’s crazy!”

Saki, who had been at your desk to ask a question when you noticed Joshua on the TV and immediately unmuted it, speaks softly—surely not meant to be heard amongst the other girls’ shouting. “He did seem tired.”

You tear your eyes off Joshua to frown at the student. You’re unsure if she was talking to you or to herself, but the observation shakes you to your core anyway. You would never admit it, but you watched every single race of his since you left. Before this, you don’t know that you would describe him as tired, but now, you’re not sure if you managed to miss something your student saw. You choose not to respond, finding your way back to your ex-driver’s face.

“There’s no way he’s serious! Is he serious?” 

“Why wouldn’t he be serious? His career has been tanking.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s because his race engineers haven’t been as good as Mick.”

“Maybe it’s time to get ahead of it and just retire while people still like him.”

“Shut up, Sophia!”

“Don’t talk to each other like that,” you mumble half-heartedly, too distracted by the TV to really reinforce the reprimand.

“He’s a legend! He had one bad season—” 

“Two,” someone says.

“Well, that’s not fair, he did pretty well this season.”

“—and now no one will give him a break.”

“Girl. He’s giving himself a break,” another voice chimes in.

“Anything other than first place is for losers.”

“This isn’t a break, this is career suici—”

“Okay!” a voice cuts sharply into the noise. You don’t flinch the way the girls do, eyes glued to the screen as Joshua patiently answers questions. The unmistakable clacking of the CEO’s heels striking the floor have all the girls straightening their posture. “Crazy news, I know.”

The TV turns off and you fight the urge to whine alongside the girls. You turn to look at Park Jihyo, who puts the remote back down on the edge of your desk where she found it.

“I know you’re all excited to be here together, but the season starts in just three months, and we’re hitting the ground running,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and looking every driver in the eye. “And you aren’t going to let news about the millionth man in F1 derail your chances at getting into a major team, now are you, ladies?”

There’s a chorus of nos as Jihyo nods once and claps her hands before making a shooing motion. 

“Good. Because there’s no room for distractions when you’re a woman,” she reminds them. It’s something you’ve heard nonstop since coming to F1 Academy as a technical executive and instructor. Most of the time, you felt like it was being drilled into your head, not the girls’. “Now get back to working on… whatever engineering thing Y/N has you working on.” You snort. “You’re due at the gym for cardiovascular training in two hours and I don’t want to hear that a single one of you was late, understood?”

“Understood!” a bunch of girls chirp as they hurriedly turn back to their respective computers. You sigh, ready to get back to guiding and teaching them, when Jihyo steps into your path. She smiles mischievously. 

“What…?” you ask slowly, subconsciously slinking away from her as she leans forward.

“Got a minute?”

You want to say no, but as close as you personally are to Jihyo, she’s still your boss and you refuse to show her any sort of disrespect in front of the students, whether or not it’s a joke.

“Sure,” you say, nodding for her to enter your office ahead of you before turning back to the girls. “Listen up. You feel something off in your steering—slight pull to the right, but there’s no warning on the dash. You’re in the points with 10 laps to go. Give me a few minutes with CEO Park and when I’m back, I want to hear what you’re telling your engineer and what your game plan is.”

The girls don’t bother responding, immediately turning back to their notebooks or computers and parsing out their thoughts. You follow Jihyo into the office attached to your classroom, closing the door behind you. She takes the seat at your desk across from your own, obviously expecting you to sit there. Instead, you plop onto the couch face down, making your boss roll her eyes at you.

“So,” she starts slowly and awkwardly, “how are you feeling…?”

You stare at her blankly, cheek pressed into the fabric of the sofa. “Fine?”

“Pfft.” She kicks her heels off before she sinks lower in her seat, making herself just as comfortable as you. “Joshua Hong just announced a sabbatical and you’re ‘fine’?”

The words are surreal. You just watched a news broadcast of his announcement and the subsequent press conference, and still, your brain wants to convince you Jihyo is lying. The sabbatical is one thing—that was becoming a more normalized event in the sport as drivers started to focus on their families and their mental health. But Joshua’s own words during the interview was another.

Joshua, what does this sabbatical mean for your career? Do you plan on returning to to the track?

I’m not sure at the moment what it means. Maybe it’s time for me to rest and get my head back in the game for next season. Maybe it’s the beginning of an early retirement. I don’t know. I just know it’s needed and I’m grateful McLaren is working with me to make it happen.

No hesitation. The words “early retirement” really came out of Joshua “I’m Going to Be Buried in an MCL60” Hong’s stupid, pretty mouth. You never thought you’d see the day.

“Why would Joshua Hong’s career decisions affect me?” you ask stubbornly, knowing you’re being purposefully daft. “We don’t work together anymore.” You throw a hand up to gesture lazily at your office. “Obviously. You poached me.”

Jihyo lets out a single bark of laughter. “HA! Poached! That’s funny considering you had your foot halfway out of McLaren when I reached out to you. Why was that again?” she asks with fake forgetfulness. “Oh, right! You fell in love with your driver.”

“Every day I regret telling you anything about myself.”

“You didn’t tell me. Drunk you did.”

You wave your hand at her in a silent “whatever.”

“Well, if you’re so ‘fine,’ I have a favor to ask of you.” 

“Okay?” you sigh, feeling very much like the teenage girls outside of your office right now. It’s crazy what a man can do to your mood even two years after completely abandoning him. “You need me to look over more designs for this season?”

Jihyo scoffs like she’s about to say no before stopping herself. “Actually, yes, I do, but that’s not what my favor is. Especially because that’s not a favor, that’s your job.” You try not to laugh. “I need you to poach someone for me.”

You immediately tense. She doesn’t continue, letting the words really sink in. You scramble up onto your knees from where you were sprawled across the couch. “What the hell are you saying right now?”

“I’m saying that the best driver on the grid is on sabbatical a measly 2-hour flight from here, for who knows how long, and these girls could benefit from learning from the best of the absolute fucking best.”

“Joshua wants to rest,” you immediately argue. “And frankly, he needs it! The man has been behind some kind of wheel for an ungodly amount of years!”

“And you don’t think going from his schedule at McLaren to a schedule teaching girls here won’t be a significant change of pace for him?” she asks incredulously. “Please! Tell me that the transition didn’t feel like a full-on retirement, even for you.”

Jihyo isn’t wrong. Being a race engineer was deceptively tiring. A lot of people reduced it to sitting at a monitor for two hours, but your days were long and grueling and a lot more demanding than just race days. You were involved in what felt like countless hours of engineering debriefs, research and development, spreadsheets (god, the spreadsheets), and not to mention, Joshua made you somewhat of his personal therapist, begging you to follow him around the facility when he was in for practice sessions or training. If you stood your ground and refused, you’d find him following you around. Not to mention the traveling. Or the actual race days.

Coming to F1 Academy was a breath of fresh air. Sure, you came feeling like the wind had been knocked out of you, but that had more to do with leaving Joshua than anything else. F1 Academy slowed life down for you. The schedule wasn’t completely less forgiving; you were still on a race schedule, but instead of traveling to 21 different countries and having 24 different races over the course of nine months, you only had to attend 7 races in 6 different countries in roughly the same amount of time. On top of that, you weren’t a superstar driver’s race engineer. You weren’t anybody’s engineer; all you had to do was supervise and step in if someone was struggling with a student driver. Compared to F1, it practically felt like vacation. And even more than that, it felt meaningful, cultivating the careers of aspiring female drivers and giving them a path into a male-dominated sport. You know better than anyone else that Joshua would absolutely love it.

“I think this would be good for Hong, and I think this would be good for you,” she tells you. 

You try not to balk at her. “Do you hear yourself? You think it would be good for your technical executive and head engineering instructor to work with the man she left her last position for? You said it yourself! I was in love with him!” You ignore the way Jihyo very obviously tries to keep from rolling her eyes at your use of the word “was.”

“You can deny it all you want but I know there is something very… unresolved there,” she says, lip curling in mock disgust at the sheer thought of emotions. “And even if it’s not romantic—”

“What do you mean?!” you laugh incredulously. “It should not be romantic if we’re going to be working here together! You should actually be discouraging that as my boss.”

“Pfft,” she waves a hand. “I’m not in HR. That is not my job. If I want to ship two of my employees—”

“He’s not even an employee yet.”

“—then I will ship two of my employees.”

“You are so ridiculous.”

“Besides, you didn’t even let me finish,” she pouts at you. You nod in defeat and let her continue. “Like I was saying, even if it’s not romantic—and I’ll proudly be the first to admit I hope it’s romantic!” she says the disclaimer quickly and in one breath, “I’d still love to see you fix your friendship with him. I know it mattered a lot to both of you.”

Your relationship to Jihyo changed overnight. One day, she was your funny, albeit intimidating boss, and then with the help of several bottles of soju and an Academy staff karaoke night, she was suddenly visiting your office at least twice a day, you were constantly hanging out outside of work, and you knew everything about each other. Including how much you cherished Joshua, not as someone you were in love with, but as a human being you loved, period.

“But I won’t pretend this is selfless,” she sighs. “We’re three seasons into the Academy, going on four, and we have yet to see any of our graduates enter F1.” You fidget uncomfortably. It’s a stress point for the entire organization and something you’re reminded of in what feels like every meeting. “I don’t need to remind you what little time we have to prove this program a success.”

Three more seasons after this next one. 

When the program was conceived, F1 agreed to see what the Academy could achieve in seven seasons. They wanted at least two female drivers in F1 by then, but the stretch goal was to have the winning graduate from every season on a team, even as reserve drivers. That didn’t happen, but they could still get two girls in there; it would just mean having to do it very, very soon.

“No…” you shake your head. “You don’t need to remind me.”

You sit on your couch properly and stare at Jihyo, who refuses to continue speaking. She’s letting you stew in your thoughts, well aware your overactive brain will be better at convincing you than she ever will. 

Finally, you groan. She doesn’t even have the decency to wait for you to agree that Joshua is the best answer before she’s clapping excitedly. She’s infuriating but she’s right. It would be mutually beneficial; the girls would inherit a wealth of knowledge from a driver like him, and he would see what you get to every day: how easy it is to make a difference when your life isn’t solely on the track. And you don’t know why he’s taken this break, but you have a nagging feeling that’s exactly what he needs.

“Okay, okay, relax,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “How do we even do this? McLaren would’ve had him sign an ironclad agreement that guarantees his return to the team from sabbatical… unless he decides to retire.” You feel your stomach lurch at the idea.

Jihyo waves a hand like the legalities of Joshua’s employment don’t matter to her. “You don’t worry your beautiful, little head about that. While you were all busy screaming at the TV like banshees, I was already on the phone convincing the big guy to let us at him.”

“You asked the CEO of McLaren? And he agreed to you stealing Joshua during his sabbatical…?” 

It doesn’t sound anything like the staunch businessman you came to know over the decade you spent at his organization. He was nice enough, but he was also incredibly greedy—in all the ways that rich men always are. But there was nothing he was greedier about than talent. When he liked a driver—and more importantly, when a driver delivered wins, and therefore money—he kept him forever. Even if that meant convoluted contracts with tricky fine prints. You doubt that has changed.

“No,” she says, smirking and looking incredibly pleased with herself, “I did not ask. I bartered. I already had a leg up since that tangerine orange eyesore of a company of yours is our biggest proponent.”

“Papaya.”

“Whatever.” If McLaren’s CEO’s greed was good for one thing, it was that he wanted the best of the best, and that absolutely included women. As such, he’s been the only CEO very enthusiastically circling the Academy looking for his next star. “I told him if he gave me Hong during his sabbatical, he could have first pick from our litter of talented ladies during any one season he’s interested in,” Jihyo informs you.

You stare blankly at her. “Like the NBA draft…?”

“Girl, I only know cars. I don’t know what that means.”

“Right,” you nod, opting to move on instead of explain. “What if that girl doesn’t want to sign with McLaren?”

Jihyo scoffs. “Then she doesn’t sign with McLaren! I’m not the devil, Y/N; I’m not selling souls here. I’m just giving him the first chance to meet and talk to a driver of his choice before any of the other neanderthals. Convincing her he’s good enough to sign with him is all on him.”

You hum in understanding. “Okay, so why can’t he just tell Joshua himself?”

“So that’s my hiccup,” she groans. “He said he’s all ours if he says yes, but he seems convinced that this is the last thing Hong would want to do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay… well then, he doesn’t know him at all. This is the exact kind of thing he’d want to do.” You know because he invited you to enough non-profit events he supported in the off season to volunteer with him, join him on a panel about F1, or just show face. This is exactly up his alley.

Jihyo shrugs. “He says, ‘The boy has lost his spark,’” she imitates him in an exaggeratedly deep and hoarse voice. “Even if that’s true, I have the perfect person to give him that spark right back!” She grins widely, blinking her eyes rapidly at you.

“Your faith in me is astronomical.”

“No, your doubt in yourself is astronomical,” she corrects, rolling her eyes. “I’m willing to bet $100,000 that even two years after quitting each other cold turkey, Joshua Hong is still willing to bend over backwards for you.”

You wince at the wording. You don’t like the idea that you quit him because it wasn’t like that. You quit the chance to stay in love with him. 

“He has never bent over backwards for me.” In fact, you’d argue the roles were reversed. It was kind of in your job description as his race engineer: bend over backwards to make sure your driver becomes a renowned champion.

“Oh, Y/N,” she sighs, smiling softly. “My naive child.” You glare. “No bet?” she asks innocently before shrugging. “Okay, smart move for you, honestly. You would’ve been out a pretty penny.” She starts slipping her feet back into her heels, obviously ready to go off to whatever her next endeavor is. Probably plotting what other ways she can complicate your life. “Look,” she sighs, slapping her hands against her lap when she finishes putting her shoes on, “if he doesn’t want to do it, then he doesn’t want to do it and I’ll just have to take no for an answer. It would suck because I’d still have to hold up my end of the bargain with McLaren either way, but we obviously can’t force the guy to do anything. It would just be a nice plus for not only the girls, but for you. I know it.”

You don’t bother trying to deny it, not because you agree; you actually vehemently disagree, and you have the evidence to prove it would not be good for you. 

Exhibit A: in the months following your realization you were in love with Joshua Hong, you were a nauseating mix of absolutely miserable and absolutely thrilled any time you were with him (almost all the time). It was exhausting and it sucked the life out of you. 

Exhibit B: you were always distracted. Maybe never during a race because your only focus was making sure your driver won and that he won safely. But every other moment of the day, you were thinking about Joshua, talking to Joshua, listening to Joshua, trying not to scream while Joshua followed you around everywhere, watching Joshua, averting your eyes when Joshua looked up, talking to Wonwoo about Joshua, studying Joshua’s stats, debriefing Joshua’s last race, wondering if you’d see Joshua, daydreaming about Joshua, getting hopelessly lovesick over Joshua—Joshua, Joshua, Joshua!!!

None of that can be good for you.

You don’t deny that it would be good for you because you agree with her; you just don’t have the energy to confront the questions that would require denying it. The main question being: would any of that even be a problem if you’re not in love with him anymore? Because wasn’t that the point of leaving McLaren? To stop being in love? And if you’re not in love with him anymore, then why are you so worried about having to be in his proximity?

You take a deep breath as Jihyo stands. “When do I go?” you ask, looking up at her as she walks to the door of your office. She looks back at you and smiles.

“I have the company plane ready for you at Heathrow. Wheels up in an hour.” Your mouth drops in shock. She turns to leave before seeming to remember something. “Oh, and your sub is standing in the hall ready to take over for the girls.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Wrong. I’m efficient.”

SPANISH GRAND PRIX 2023 “I can’t lose again, Y/N. Not this one.” “You’re not going to. I won’t let you.”

There was something about racing Spain that made Joshua more on edge than any other race—more than Abu Dhabi, even. He was typically a cool and level-headed driver; he never cursed, never told you to shut up the way other drivers told their engineers to, and he always took your advice seriously, never steamrolling your suggestions, at least not without some semblance of a discussion first. 

He was good at tamping down his hunger for the podium; it’s what made him an outstanding driver. But every time he set foot in Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya, he became voracious. It started your second year with him, and you’re not sure why. He usually had a healthy enough lead in points by the time they got to Barcelona that winning wasn’t as high stakes as he made it feel. On top of that, it wasn’t even the native Angeleno’s home track, at least not technically. His third year in F1, he picked everything up and moved to Barcelona. When he told you he planned to, you just gawked at him.

“You’re moving for a circuit?”

“I’m moving for my favorite circuit,” he said cheekily.

You couldn’t blame him. Racers did more extreme things for less. This is his favorite track, and in the five years you’ve worked together, he’s only lost it once—last year. And since then, his intensity over it has been cranked up, and if he loses again this year, you know you’ll never hear the end of it. You’ll also never sleep again because at this point, Joshua and you feel like one. If he loses this, it’s a massive loss for you too. You want this for him just as badly.

“So then let me do something!” he shouts, voice laced with frustration you aren’t used to but also aren’t fazed by. This is your job, calming your driver down enough to make him see what you do. Right now, you see a clear way to first. “He’s killing my race!” he yells. “Let me send it! I can take him.”

A few of the guys on the pit wall throw incredulous looks at you upon hearing the transmission, and you know it’s because they have no idea why the driver with the most points on the grid right now is asking a woman permission for anything. 

“You send it now and clip a wing, the weekend is over, Shua,” you remind him, voice even. “You’re better, you’re faster, and you’re smarter.” You run over the numbers on your monitor. “There’s a way in. We’re going to take P3 in the next few and we’re going to do it in a way that keeps the spot. I need you to trust me.”

He says your name with thinning patience. “I’m not sitting behind this fucker for even one more lap, do you understand the words coming out of my mouth?”

You clench your jaw to bite back the remark on the tip of your tongue just as the head engineer freezes beside you, side-eyeing you to gauge your reaction. You don’t bother holding back your glare when you turn to your boss, muting your mic and letting him have your irritation instead of Joshua. “And what are you looking at, Jeon?”

“Literally just the monitor,” Wonwoo mumbles, making a show of leaning far too forward for someone with glasses on and watching it intently. You’re lucky your boss has also become your friend or you’re sure you would’ve been thrown right off the wall.

You take a deep breath before you unmute. “I get it, Shua, I promise I do,” you soothe him. “I want you to win just as badly. I’m right here with you. A loss for you is a loss for me too. But right now, winning means you’re going to have to trust me and listen to me. It’s been five years and I have never led you astray. I would literally lay down and die before I do something that’s not in your best interest. Do you understand?”

There’s a beat of silence as his car erratically swerves again, Ferrari defending aggressively enough to warrant a time penalty if, god forbid, Joshua did attempt an overtake and ended up running off the track. “Copy,” he finally says. You release a breath.

“Plan 2 minus 1 confirmed,” you announce to the team radio, praying to whatever god is listening that Ferrari’s pit wall is tuned into and eavesdropping on your channel. “Be patient with me, Shua,” you add, already beginning to sell your bluff. “We’ll get him after, okay?”

“I’m trusting you.”

Everyone’s eyes slide to you as you point at the pit crew and nod. They jump into action, bringing out the lollipop, jack, tires, fuel, and everything else they need for a pit stop. Except Joshua’s not taking a pit stop but no one needs to know that.

“Think they’re watching?” you mutter to Wonwoo, who’s the only one who knows about the silly name you and Joshua gave this plan. You were both bored on a rare, uneventful day and thinking up random race scenarios in the head engineer’s garage when it was born. 

Wonwoo doesn’t even turn to look at the other team’s pit wall. “Oh yeah,” he says, leaning back and smirking. “Trust me, they’re watching.”

“You can’t fucking pit him right now,” a strategist suddenly stands from his seat and shouts at you from down the row. “It’s too early to pit and he’ll get caught behind the cars in the lane right now! You’re going to screw him over!”

“Sit your fucking ass down,” Wonwoo cuts in, glaring at him. “You’ll talk to Joshua Hong’s race engineer with some fucking respect or you’re off the wall.” You feel your face warm a bit at being called Joshua Hong’s anything. “We’re a team! You should be embarrassed letting anyone else see you yell at a teammate like that.”

The strategist turns a furious shade of red before sitting back down, not bothering to apologize.

“It’s okay,” you mutter under your breath so no one aside from Wonwoo can hear. “Makes it more believable.” He scoffs but doesn’t respond. “Box this lap, Shua,” you say clearly into your mic, completely ignoring the other men on the wall.

“Fucking ridiculous,” you hear the strategist mumble, a few others agreeing with him. Really, the only people who have any trust in you are Joshua and Wonwoo, and they’re the only ones that count for anything anyway.

“Are you sure?” your driver asks, but his voice lacks any of the frustration it had just a moment ago. You want to call him a bad actor but you know to anyone else who doesn’t know him as intimately, it passes well enough as doubt. “It’s too early. My tires can hang on.”

“Positive. Box this lap. We’re undercutting him and taking P3 on the next one.”

Wonwoo swivels in his chair to watch the track, subtly side-eyeing the other walls for a brief moment before averting his eyes. “Ferrari’s taking the bait. Their pit is setting up. How do you even know they’ll defend the undercut?”

You watch unblinkingly as the two drivers get closer to the pit lane. “Joshua’s been on his ass for the last 7 laps without letting up. That’s gotta do something to a driver’s nerves. Even if P3 can go a few more without swapping tires, I’m banking on Ferrari being nervous enough to defend anything they think Joshua is doing just for the sake of it.”

Wonwoo whistles and says something you don’t register because the cars are arriving. And they’re doing exactly what you hoped they would. You watch as the Ferrari driver ahead of McLaren defends an undercut that Joshua won’t be taking. He pulls into the pit lane to take the early stop he didn’t even need and you just baited him into, effectively stuck behind the cars the strategist was so worried about.

Wonwoo grins as you shake a silent fist in the air, trying to refrain from shouting a FUCK YEAH into the team channel.

“You with me, Shua?” your voice borders on shouting as you stand from excitement.

“Oh, I’m with you, baby!” Joshua whoops and laughs as he starts pushing, his speed reaching upwards of 205 mph now. 

You look over your shoulder just as the Ferrari pit wall watches Joshua completely blow past the pit lane, some looking absolutely baffled, most glaring over at you and your retreating pit crew, realizing immediately it was a fake out. You refrain from waving and turn back to the monitor instead.

“You sneaky, sneaky girl,” Joshua breathes between laughter.

You smirk, noticing the mouthy strategist’s head is now conveniently buried in his work. “Glad you remembered 2 minus 1.” You note you’ll have to change the name of the plan now. “Push hard. Gap to P2 is 0.6. P1, 1 second.”

“You want me attacking?”

You look at the strategist directly to Wonwoo’s right. He nods. “Both P2 and 1 are on old rubber,” he informs you. “They’ll both have to box soon… and it’ll be the fourth pit stop for both of them.”

“The fourth?!” you ask incredulously. 

You’re on lap 40 out of 66. The circuit has some of the roughest turns in F1 and is known to eat at tires faster than any other, so it’s common for drivers to take three, sometimes four stops total at the Spanish Grand Prix. The fact that the drivers are already going on their fourth with more than a quarter of the race to go tells you they’re maxing their laps too hard, and if they keep it up, they’ll be pushing five pit stops.

“That leaves more than enough laps for them to wear their tires out again and box a fifth time before the race is even over.”

“That’s only if they continue driving the way they have been,” another strategist notes. You point at him and nod.

“Yes. And we can bet that they will because when we get Joshua to P1, they’ll be panicking and driving even more recklessly than they already are, and they’ll be forced to box.” No one has an argument for that. “So we run Joshua for several more laps until we can’t anymore, and he’ll only need to box that one time before he takes the win.”

You look to the performance engineer for confirmation and he gives you a thumbs up. “He’s good to wait. That works. He goes once, the other two go two more times; they won’t be able to catch up.”

The strategist tilts his head and winces a little. “But you do have Kim Mingyu in P1, so all bets are off.”

You heave an irritated sigh. The Red Bull driver is known for being reckless and risky in the name of winning. You wouldn’t put it past him to forego a pit stop entirely even if a blown tire—or worse—was likely. But like you said, Joshua is better, faster, and smarter. He trusted you to get him to P3; it’s time for you to return the favor.

“Shua,” you say, sitting back in your seat as you watch the feed. “P2 is staying center but leaving room on the outside going into turns.”

He hears the order you don’t give loud and clear. “Easy enough,” he huffs, breathing hard. 

You watch as he takes the information you’ve given him and uses it to easily overtake Kim Mingyu’s teammate, going wide on the turn and pulling ahead. You look over at the Red Bull pit wall, and when you watch multiple strategists throw their hands in the air or grab fistfuls of their own hair, you can’t help but smile. The smile just grows wider when you hear Joshua’s adrenaline-fueled shouting in your ear.

“Woo!” he yells as he guns it toward Mingyu. “That’s what I’m talking about! This is my track!”

You roll your eyes but laugh all the same. “P1 is due for a pit stop any lap now,” you inform him, shaking your head at his antics. “Leave him some space and keep it steady.”

If it were anyone else, you’d let him try and take it, but with Mingyu’s track record of causing accidents with his uncompromising—and usually illegal—defense, you’re not going to risk Joshua’s safety for a few seconds on Red Bull. 

“You got it,” he agrees without challenge, easing up on the accelerator. 

You review numbers with the strategists in the meantime, Joshua’s entire team keeping track of Red Bull’s channel for whenever they decide to box Mingyu. After a few moments, his voice comes through your headset again.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You hum distractedly as a strategist runs numbers on your own monitor. “What is it?” you ask when he doesn’t respond.

“Sorry, by the way.”

You frown, holding a finger up to the strategist, who immediately returns to his seat. “For what?”

“Losing my cool with you.”

“Pfft,” you laugh. “That was you losing your cool?”

From the way he speaks, you know he’s smiling. “Yeah… what, was it not mean enough for you?”

“Hardly,” you snicker. “Mildly annoying but not mean.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway,” he says, grunting a little from the force of taking a turn. “You’re right. Five years in and you still haven’t let me down.”

You nod to yourself, a funny feeling settling at the bottom of your stomach. You wanted to please Joshua from the start; it was the opportunity of a lifetime being a race engineer for such a prolific team, and you were determined to do a damn good job at it, regardless of who your driver was—better than any man they could’ve and wanted to put in your place. But then you met your rookie, and he was kind and trusting and so receptive to your ideas and strategies, and most importantly of all, he never ever doubted you just because you were a woman. Your ambition multiplied tenfold after meeting him, and you really didn’t think that was possible. He just made it so easy to want to do anything to ensure his victory. He didn’t cringe at being the only driver in McLaren history with a female engineer; it was a fact he was proud of, and a fact he brought up at every single post-race interview without fail.

“Y/N is the brains behind the wheel. I’m just the guy that follows directions.”

“I don’t know, you should ask Y/N. She knows better than I do, honestly. I’m not sure why she doesn’t join me on these things.”

“I couldn’t have done this without my race engineer. She’s the best of the best and I’m lucky to have a woman like her on my team.”

His advocacy of you actually made you a regularly viral topic on F1 forums and broadcasts and had invites to interviews consistently coming in, so of all the drivers you could’ve been dropped into the lap of, you’re endlessly grateful it was Joshua’s. You don’t care that they only gave you to him because he was a rookie and they had reservations about the both of you. Five years later and neither of you have let the other down.

“Yup, and I’m not starting tonight,” you say, smiling.

“Me neither. Don’t plan on ever starting.”

The strategist you were just working with taps you on the shoulder and nods in the general direction of Red Bull’s pit wall. You nod a silent thank you before warning Joshua, “They’re boxing P1 in the next few laps, Shua, get ready.”

“Copy.”

You turn to the performance engineer. “Can he max out once P1 pulls off?”

He blows out air as he studies his monitor. “Temp’s rising and tires are fading. I’d say he can go for one. Two max. If he goes for two, we’ll have to box him sooner—maybe even the lap right after.”

“And if we max for one?”

“We can put off a stop for… maybe five more laps if we’re being safe.”

“Shua, once he pulls in, push it,” you decide in that split second. “One lap, then hold it steady.”

“One? I can go—”

“One.” 

“One. Copy,” he repeats, huffing an amused laugh. Your nerves are wound too tight to ask him what’s so funny.

You watch as Red Bull pulls into the pit lane, their crew in a frenzy as Joshua floors right past, the roar of his engine shaking your bones and the wind of his speed slicing at your face. Lap after lap, you never get tired of that feeling. 

Mingyu’s team finishes faster than you’d like, and even with the few seconds it takes his lollipop man to safely clear him for departure, the driver is speeding away what feels like a millisecond after he stopped. 

“Alright, Shua, he’s got fresh tires.” You glance at the strategists for a number. “He’ll be on you in 1.7.”

“And he’ll stay behind me,” he says confidently.

“Right… until we box you,” you remind him. 

He snorts. “Won’t matter.”

You roll your eyes. “Lap’s almost up,” you tell Joshua when he approaches the pit lane again. “I want you easing up even if it means you give him P1.”

Surprisingly, Joshua doesn’t argue, and it feels more like the driver you work with on any other circuit aside from Barcelona. “Copy.”

When he finishes the lap, he follows directions, relaxing on the gas while managing to hold Red Bull off. “Stay clean!” you practically bark at him when he defends an attempt at an overtake a little too aggressively. “A time penalty at this point will kill us. Keep it cute, Hong.”

He laughs, knowing the last name only comes out when his driving is making you nervous. “Cute. Got it, L/N.”

He and Mingyu do their little dance for two more laps, Joshua never giving an inch, before it’s time to box your driver. “Nice job keeping him at bay,” you tell him. “Time to swap. P2 will pull ahead, but you should be in and out of here before P3 catches up. We’ll get you P1 back.”

“Counting on it,” he says as he pulls into the pit lane. 

He swaps his tires and refuels with no issues, back on the track exactly where you told him he’d be: at P2, a healthy distance from P3, chasing Mingyu. You watch them closely as the race gets nearer and nearer to its end, the laps winding down and down until there are only five left. You’re sweating through your clothes and it isn’t because of the glaring sun.

It’s because Kim Mingyu was due for a pit stop seven laps ago and he hasn’t taken it, nor does he show any sign of taking it.

“What is he fucking doing?” the performance engineer mutters. 

“Fuck if I know!” you shout in frustration. You point at a strategist. “Tune into Red Bull.” 

You don’t like to listen in on other teams because you’re paranoid that what you did to Ferrari earlier will happen to you, but you need Joshua to win first place today. You watch as they find Red Bull’s channel, their brows furrowed as they listen to the transmission. 

“They’re telling him it’s wisest to box this lap but they’re leaving the call up to him. He says he can hold Hong off and finish it without stopping.”

“Shua,” you immediately call out to him. 

“His tires have to be fucked,” Joshua says through gritted teeth. He hardly ever curses so you know his newfound patience is quickly dissipating again. “Why isn’t he fucking boxing?”

“He’s refusing,” you relay the information to him. “He’s going to finish this on dead tires.”

“Is that what he calls strategy? What the fuck is Red Bull snorting? I’m gon—” You turn Joshua’s volume on your headset down as someone waves for your attention.

“He’s not going to finish at all because the tires are going to blow,” Wonwoo corrects you. “He probably thinks he’s fine because the right side is fine, but the left side has to be completely degraded by now.”

The circuit’s rough turns and abrasive track meant that the left side’s tires were constantly wearing faster than the right’s. 

“Then what the fuck?” you ask dumbly, turning Joshua’s volume back up to find him still droning on. You simply tune him out, trying not to think about how his rant will absolutely go viral on social media later.

“His team is just enabling him,” the eavesdropping strategist says. 

The performance engineer nods. “With the natural degradation of his tires and the sun, he has to be pushing at least… 105? 110 Celsius?”

You look over at the Red Bull pit, and although a few of the strategists are visibly frantic, their team principal and head engineer look largely unbothered, and it disgusts you. Their desperation for a few points can kill Mingyu. It can kill Joshua.

“They’re reporting his left side at 150,” your eavesdropper says, stunned. “They’re finally telling him to box now. He’s still refusing.”

Your veins run cold. “Oh my god. He’s not only stupid, he’s fucking crazy,” you murmur to yourself. “He’s fucking crazy!” you shout and before anyone can respond, you’re talking to your driver again, interrupting his rant.

“—and another thing! Kim Mingyu is—”

 “Joshua, back off.”

“Whoa, ‘Joshua’? Getting real serious in here,” he finds it in himself to joke. 

“Shut up and put some fucking distance between you and P1 now!” you snap.

“Ope, yeah, actually getting serious…” he grumbles to himself. He eases up the tiniest bit, probably thinking that will appease you but he’s still too close for comfort. “What’s going on? I’m not giving this asshole any more space than this.” You watch with dread as they approach turn 10, the toughest turn on the circuit because of how hard drivers have to brake. If Mingyu’s tire is going to give out, it’s going to be here. “We only have three laps left and—”

“He’s overcooking!” Something in your voice must signal how distraught you feel to Joshua because you watch as his car slows another fraction of a second. “His team is reporting his left tires at 150! He’s going to let—”

“FUCK!”

It’s the last thing you hear from your driver before Mingyu’s front left tire explodes as he takes the turn with little deceleration. The sound reaches you even at the pit wall, sounding like a gunshot ringing through the circuit, making you flinch so hard, you accidentally step back into Wonwoo. A huge cloud of smoke immediately covers the car you’re responsible for, so opaque, you can no longer see even a sliver of McLaren’s color.

Your heart feels like it’s stopping. Both Red Bull and McLaren’s walls mirror each other now—every person on their feet, every pair of eyes on the black RB19 as it fishtails violently across the track, cutting through the racing line like an unruly blade. You want to scream Joshua’s name—beg him to tell you what’s happening—but you know it will only pull his focus. Instead, you turn his volume all the way up and endure the roar of his engine and the sound of Mingyu’s car screeching across the track. Mingyu’s right side crashes into the barrier, sending him completely off course, where he spins twice before coming to a rest what feels like years later. The car is still intact, smoke rising but no sign of fire.  

You want to run out onto the asphalt. You swear your worry for Joshua can bring you there faster than any of these stupid fucking race cars can right now. But as a yellow flag emerges from the flag post closest to them, you remember you were hired to do a job, and as far as you know, you’re still on that job until you see or hear otherwise.

“Teams, be aware, yellow flags,” the steward announces over the radio. “Turn 10, car 9, front left tire failure. Driver is out of the car and uninjured. Marshals on site. Proceed with caution.”

“Only car 9,” Wonwoo breathes. “They would’ve included Joshua if—”

Just then, papaya orange cuts through the smoke, the cloud dispersing around Joshua’s car as he makes it out of the accident, going half the speed he was when it happened. You exhale so hard, it comes out as a groan, and suddenly everyone’s hands are on you, on each other, slapping backs and pulling in for hugs.

“Joshua,” you breathe into your mic, relieved.

“There we go again with the ‘Joshua,’” he says playfully. You shake your head but revel in the ounce of normalcy in what you think might’ve been the scariest moment of your life. “Is he okay?” he asks, voice serious now.

“He’s okay,” you assure him. “He’s out of the car and uninjured. He’s fine.”

Joshua clears his throat. “Okay, good. Let’s finish this then.”

After Joshua wins, after he’s thoroughly checked for smoke inhalation, and after he celebrates in the first place spot on the podium, he doesn’t pose for photos or sign autographs or take questions like he usually does—like the CEO wants him to. Instead, the first thing the driver does is head to the garage, right to you. He has his racing suit unzipped and peeled off his upper body, the sleeves of it tied around his waist and his toned, Barcelona-tanned arms on full display under his tank. You have only a moment to feel flustered by them before those same arms are pulling you in and squeezing you tightly. He’s drenched in sweat and he smells like smoke and grease and like… boy (not in the good way), but you melt into him all the same. He embraces you after every race. It’s always a hug, a thank you, and a reminder that you’re the best. Today, it’s different.

He clings to you for far longer than usual, and every time you think he must finally be pulling away, he doesn’t. He speaks right into your hair. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you. You warned me with just enough time. I only avoided crashing right into him because of you.”

“Because of the team,” you correct.

“No,” he says simply, like it’s an actual fact. “No. No one on the team—no one in my life—is ever going to have my back the way you do. Thank you.”

You tighten your own hold on him against your will, and you just force yourself to nod and accept it. “I’ll always have your back.”

Joshua leans back but keeps his hands on your shoulders. He’s smiling that beautiful smile—wide and unbridled and all-consuming. The one that reaches his eyes and creates those endearing lines at the corners of them. “Let’s eat. Just you and me. My treat.”

You two have had dinner together countless times, whether with other team members or alone. Tonight, it feels worlds different, and it only takes you half a moment—as you watch him stare down at you like you’re his biggest blessing—to realize why. Half a moment to realize something you’re sure your heart has already known for years.

You’re in love with Joshua Hong.

In retrospect, you should’ve absolutely denied that dinner you had the last time Joshua raced Barcelona—at least the last time he raced with you as his engineer. You didn’t.

He took you to a restaurant he frequented on the off season. He claimed it had the best paella, and it was good, but you really didn’t know enough about paella to say it was the best. He waxed poetic about how much he loved Barcelona without ever really telling you anything substantial about it, just droning on and on about the architecture and the food and the music and Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya, laughing and nodding when you casually mentioned Spain’s bad habit of colonizing countries. 

“You’re right,” he sighed. “I guess it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Well, you live here and you love it. I suppose I’ll also try to love it. At least for tonight.”

You never told him but you did love it. For that one night, you loved Spain and Barcelona and even the stupid circuit, and you think it was the one and only night you allowed yourself to feel your love for him too. When dinner was over, he seemed eager to keep the night going, so you did. Then, somehow you were in his home, just minutes from the circuit, drunk off wine he swore was also the best, and you watched as his eyes progressively got heavier and heavier, until he was asleep on the floor next to you, and you confronted the horrifying feelings stirring in your chest. You didn’t tell Joshua for another few months, but you decided right then that it was your last season with McLaren. With him. 

You should’ve just left Spain for the next location like you always did, and maybe you’d still be his race engineer, and he would have two more titles under his belt by now. Or maybe falling in love was inevitable and you were always meant to be exactly where you are. 

You land in Barcelona a measly three hours after your conversation with Jihyo, and you don’t know how she does it, but the woman manages to have a driver ready for you, already knowing exactly where to go. His home.

His press conference ended hours ago, and you’d watched the rest of it on your phone on the drive over to try and curb your growing anxiety as you started to recognize the streets leading to his majestic, obnoxiously priced home. It didn’t help much, his words only making you more nervous and infinitely sweatier.

“We’re here, ma’am,” the driver announces even though you don’t need him to. It looks exactly the way it did the first and last time you were here—even better now with the sunset serving as the backdrop.

“Thank you,” you say shakily, undoing your seatbelt and getting out with your purse, the only thing you brought with you. “I’ll, um…”

“Miss Park instructed I wait for you as long as you need,” he supplies, turning back to you and smiling brightly.

“Perfect. Thank you,” you repeat, closing the door and turning toward the house. You shake your head and whisper to yourself, “This is fucking insane.”

The car pulls away and out of the driveway, parking on the street to give you some illusion of privacy as you have a meltdown in your head. The entire plane ride here, all you did was watch and rewatch Joshua’s press conference, trying to find signs of why he was taking his sabbatical or which way he was leaning toward: rest or retirement. Of course, you had no idea because you can’t tell that kind of information by just staring at the way he smiles or nods and listens attentively or the way his jaw clenches when he’s asked a question about last season.

But it was a nice distraction from the fact that you were about to face someone you loved so wholly but were never supposed to fall in love with in the first place. And it stopped you from asking yourself if you still love him even now—even two years later with zero contact during that time. Without that distraction, you feel your brain maxing out. 

“This is fucking insane,” you repeat. 

Will he hate me for how I left? you wonder. What if he just slams the door in my face? What if I cry?! 

The last thought has you panicking because the idea of crying in front of Joshua right now makes you want to beg the driver to take you back to the airport. So before you can psych yourself out, you walk forward. You walk forward until you’re at his door, until your finger is pressed against his doorbell, until you’re sure you’ll pass out from holding your breath in anticipation. Until the door finally opens.

And although he’s a little more tired and a little more worn down by life, Joshua is just as beautiful as you always knew him to be.

He’s the same in a lot of ways. His hair is still dark and long enough to have to be styled away from his face during races. He wears all the same, plain silver hoops and studs in all the piercings in his ears. His arms are fighting against the confines of his T-shirt, as threatening as ever. He’s wearing the pair of glasses he wore whenever he wasn’t racing or doing some media event. But you spot the little changes too. You notice his skin has become a little paler, a little duller. The space under his eyes is just a shade darker than they used to be. His posture isn’t as straight and proper—not as careful as he had always been about it. You wonder if he sees the sameness in you too. You wonder what differences he sees, if he spots any at all.

His eyes widen for a moment before his brows immediately pull down into a confused frown, and if you weren’t so terrified, you would laugh at the way he looks behind him into his own home, then behind you like he’s waiting for someone to pop out and scream, “Got you! It was a prank!” in his face. Several seconds pass and when that doesn’t happen, he starts stammering.

“I… wh—? What… wh—I… you—what?”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Hi,” you say softly. “I’m sorry to drop by so unexpectedly.” His frown deepens like he’s even more confused you’re actually real and speaking. “I was in the neighborhood,” you say before scoffing at yourself. “That’s a dumb joke. I wasn’t. You don’t even have a neighborhood—you just… own all this land.” You frown a little at the fact that you’re just now realizing Joshua’s nearest neighbors are at the bottom of the hill. “I was not in the neighborhood. I flew here. From London,” you clarify. “Okay, anyway. I saw your announcement today, and I was—oof!”

You grunt as all however many pounds of Joshua’s pure muscle slam into you, his arms immediately wrapping around you like they never forgot what it was like to have you there in the first place. You try not to audibly sigh, but you know he feels it when the tension in your shoulders dissolves and you sag against him, your own hands coming up to rub his back. The last time he hugged you in Barcelona, he smelled disgusting. Today, he smells fresh, clean, and… woody. He smells like he always did when he used to follow you around the McLaren facility instead of practicing or working out.

“Hi,” you murmur against his shoulder.

“Hi,” he says, voice deep and raspy. You always loved hearing it directly in your ear like this. This is better though; you feel the vibrations of it against your own chest. “I missed you.”

You want to go back to the Academy and throttle Jihyo in the face. You don’t know why on earth she thought you coming over here to convince Joshua to go back with you was a good idea. Two years did absolutely nothing to help you forget and move on. All it took was Joshua telling you he missed you, and you were right there again, in the McLaren garage on Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya, realizing you were in love with the man in your arms. You were there, at the McLaren Technology Center, meeting your rookie driver for the first time. In Vegas, trying slot machines and tilting your heads in confusion because neither of you understood the point. In Silverstone, where he first received the question of whether or not the rumors that you two were dating were true. In Abu Dhabi. Leaving him for London.

Your fingers clench around the back of his shirt against your will, but he doesn’t pull away or complain, instead pulling you in even tighter. It’s only been a handful of seconds and already, you have the answer to your question.

If you’re not in love with him anymore, then why are you so worried? Well, because two years apparently wasn’t enough. After a few moments, you find the courage to say, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t” is all he says back. So you don’t. It feels like ages have passed when you pull away, but when you do, you feel a little lighter and a little less terrified. He lets his arms fall to his side but he doesn’t step away. “I assume we have a long conversation ahead of us?” he asks, smiling tiredly. 

You nod. “I think so.”

“Come on in then.”

It’s not as awkward as you thought it was going to be and that’s probably because of Joshua himself. Without missing a beat, he falls right into the same rhythm the two of you used to have. 

He asks you something simple like how your day is going. You answer mindlessly. 

“It’s fine.” 

He nudges you with his elbow but says nothing else. You immediately give into him. 

“It’s going really well; Wonwoo liked my presentation.” (He celebrates you with a hug and all kinds of praise that make your heart thunder). 

“It’s literally just… fine. Nothing remarkable, nothing bad.” (“Okay, then let’s make it remarkable starting now.”)

“It’s shit and I don’t want to talk about it.” (“Alright, we won’t talk about it. Can we… eat about it?”)

But today is a little less like that. Today, your answer is: “Who the fuck cares about me right now? What do you mean you’re taking a sabbatical?”

He snorts before sighing. “Can I offer you a water? Juice? I have wine?”

You glare at him. “Joshua.”

“Two years without a peep from you and the first thing you say to me is my government name,” he whines. “Harsh.”

The reminder that the two years you spent apart is your fault has you pausing and biting your cheek to keep from pushing even harder. He doesn’t notice the turmoil on your face though as he turns to grab two water bottles from his fridge before leading you to his backyard. You didn’t get to see it since it was the middle of the night the one and only time you visited, but in the light of the sunset, it’s truly majestic. Joshua could’ve just shown you a photo of his backyard and you would’ve immediately understood why he loves Barcelona so much. It’s not surprising that he has a sprawling view, seeing as his home sits at the top of a hill, but that’s not what impresses you most. It’s not even the massive pool or its waterfall or the outdoor bar or the half-court basketball court or the McLaren go-kart in the corner that has you slack jawed. It’s the ambiance. 

It’s the infinite stringed lighting hung over the space and dappling the entire backyard with a soft, warm glow. It’s the firepit he already has going and the book he has open, face down on his outdoor sectional, spine battered and cracked. It’s the opened bottle of wine and the singular glass next to it, half full. It’s the slow, jazzy music he has playing over his installed outdoor speaker system. It’s the fact that this is the most Joshua space you’ve ever seen. It’s the fact that you can tell he’s trying his best to self-soothe right now.

“Wow.”

He looks over at you and once he sees the awe on your face, he gives you your first favorite smile of this trip. It’s close-lipped this time, but his eyes still crinkle in the corners, sparkling even more under these lights. “You like it?” he asks, sitting down where he was obviously lounging before you came barging in. 

He pats the space next to him even though the sectional is more than big enough for you to choose any other seat. You don’t have the willpower to sit anywhere other than right next to him, though. He hands you the water bottle he retrieved for you, setting his own on the side table next to his wine. When he’s done settling in, Joshua turns toward you, one arm propped up on the back of the sectional, and stares at you like he’s waiting for you to speak. You don’t, simply staring back. He laughs a little as he averts his gaze, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his knuckle.

You don’t ask again and he doesn’t wait for you to. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze once more.

“I’m just tired, Y/N,” he states plainly. And he sounds it. He sounds more tired now than he ever did on a schedule that had him racing in 21 different countries a majority of his year—training the rest of it. You can’t believe Saki, a student who’s never even spoken a word to this man, clocked it before you did.

“Tired of what, Shua?” you ask, not meaning your voice to come out in the whisper it does. He smiles at the nickname and you feel your heart beat a little harder for him. 

“Racing,” he answers like it’s obvious, and in some ways, it is, but he’s still the last person you expect to say that. Your immediate frown makes him chuckle. 

“How are you laughing?” you ask incredulously. “What do you mean you’re tired of racing?”

“Come on, don’t pretend like you don’t understand,” he shrugs, rolling his eyes playfully. “You’re still in this world. I know the Academy is at seven of the circuits the same weekends we are.” 

You feel your cheeks warming at the unspoken accusation: your girls would race my tracks on my weekends and you still didn’t come find me. You still didn’t bother talking to me. Joshua would never say that, and even if he did, he would never deliver it so callously, but that’s almost why you feel like you have to do it on his behalf. You get a sinking feeling he won’t blame you for anything and that somehow feels worse than punishment.

“Even if you didn’t see it with your own eyes, I know you know how bad my first season without you was. Is it so surprising I’ve grown tired?” he makes his point. “And yeah, this past one wasn’t as terrible—”

“You placed third in points,” you interrupt. “That’s fantastic, Shua.”

He pauses, watching you carefully. You aren’t sure what he’s studying on your face—if maybe he thinks you’re only saying that to spare his feelings. Just as you’re about to assure him you’re not, he says, “It’s not about placement.”

You refrain from raising one eyebrow at him skeptically. You nod slowly, trying to understand because as far as you know, it’s only about placement to these men. To you, it’s about building and fixing cars, studying numbers you find fascinating, solving problems for Joshua. For the drivers? Nothing matters aside from winning. 

“I… don’t follow,” you finally admit. He looks down and exhales slowly through his nose, not impatiently but heavily—under an obvious weight he’s shouldering on his own. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you force the words out of your mouth. They’re not the words you want to say. What you really want is to violently shake the truth out of him. 

“I just… realized a lot about myself this season,” he finally says. “I did a lot better than I did last year, so you’d think I’d be happy my career isn’t over and that 2024 was just a fluke, but I… I didn’t really care.” You don’t voice any of the surprise you feel, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought as he picks at nonexistent lint on his pants. “You remember how I feel about the circuit here,” he states it more than he asks. You nod anyway. “The one time I lost it, I was in a bad mood for weeks.”

“That’s generous,” you interject. “You were in a bad mood until you raced and won it the next season.”

He rolls his eyes and suppresses a smile as he shakes his head and finally looks away from his own lap and back at you. “Yeah, well,” he sighs, smile fading. “I lost so many races in 2024, including Catalunya, and I didn’t give a shit.” Your eyebrows rise at the declaration. “I didn’t feel mad or frustrated or panicked or embarrassed. For the first time in my life, I truly just… did not care.”

“Oh,” you manage to squeak. It’s not what you were expecting when you came here.

You’re not sure what you were expecting. Maybe you thought you’d come here and have to convince Joshua he was still the best driver on the grid regardless of two less-than-stellar seasons. Maybe you thought you would just find Joshua resting, already equipped with a game plan for how to tackle his next year with McLaren. Or maybe—and probably most likely—you thought you’d come here and not get a chance to say or hear anything at all. Maybe you expected a door slammed in your face. What you didn’t expect was for Joshua Hong to not care. He cared entirely too much. 

He was always a little too involved in the design and build of the cars, disagreeing with engineers on matters he sometimes didn’t even fully understand. He was, to the designers’ dismay, right most of the time (and you like to think it was because he was unconsciously absorbing your unsolicited lectures) but it was considered annoying for a driver to be so involved. He didn’t let anyone outside of you and Wonwoo touch his helmet pre-race (something about how it wiped away the good luck), and the one time someone did, he insisted on an entirely different helmet, one he had hidden away in the paddock in case someone did touch his original one. You were in charge of keeping emergency good luck helmets after that. Every call, every decision, every penalty—anything that happened on the track—was something that could make or break his entire month. He was infinitely better than other drivers at keeping his cool and checking his temper before it even culminated into words, but if something bad happened during a race, no matter how small, his vexation with himself showed easily. It was evident in his intense obsession with running strategies with you and Wonwoo, in his insistence he perform the same simulations over and over again until he was sure he wouldn’t make the same mistakes, in the way he’d restlessly fidget with his hands before the next race as he wondered aloud if it would be better this time.

All of that was normal to you. Easy. Joshua not caring is not easy.

“I imagine whatever you’re feeling that’s making your face do that is how I should feel,” he mutters, smirking.

You clear your throat and school your face into a neutral expression. “What was my face doing?”

“You looked horrified,” he informs you, reaching for his wine glass. He offers it to you first and when you decline, he brings it to his lips, tilting his head back for a sip. Your eyes can’t help but go down to his neck, where you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I thought a sabbatical would horrify me too,” he says, breaking you out of your daze and sucking air through his teeth briefly before smacking his lips a few times. You have no idea why wine drinkers do that but you don’t bother wasting a question on something so trivial.

“So… you’re retiring…?”

“No,” he says, setting his glass back on the table.

“Oh. Good.”

“But I might.”

You frown. “Oh…” Not good.

He shrugs far too nonchalantly for your liking. “I don’t know yet. I guess we’ll see after this. My sabbatical will last throughout the 2026 season, then I’ll be back at the drawing table.”

“You’ll be back on the track,” you say resolutely. He raises his eyebrows in amusement at you. “You will, Shua. There isn’t a world where you’re not racing. That’s… that’s weird!”

“Oh, is that what it is,” he snorts. “Weird? And what’s so weird about it?” he asks, obviously unconvinced. Just the fact that he has to ask what’s weird is weird. The real Joshua Hong would know why the idea of him retiring from racing so early on in his career is weird.

“What is happening?” you ask yourself under your breath instead of dignifying him with an answer. Louder, you tell him, “Look, you had a hard two seasons—I get it, you got stuck with an engineer that wasn’t ready—”

“He was ready,” he says, smiling tightly. “He was great—said and did all the right things, made all the right calls, seemed to have been receptive to whatever you told him about me because he was prepared for everything. He was fine, Y/N.”

You falter. This entire time, you attributed his bad season to the struggle of acclimating to a new partner, and maybe that was just your ego talking, but if that wasn’t the reason for it, then Joshua isn’t mistaken and he isn’t lying to you. He really does not care.

“I do feel bad for him. He lost the spot because of my performance; McLaren thought it wasn’t working, so he got demoted back to wherever he came from. I’m not sure, I didn’t talk to him much.”

Every sentence out of the McLaren star’s mouth is sending you reeling. After your first meeting, you and Joshua could probably easily win a Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? style game based on each other’s lives. And after your first race, you knew you two were going to be attached at the hip. You can’t imagine spending an entire season not talking to your assigned driver, least of all Joshua.

“So when I got my next engineer this year, I did better so I wouldn’t lose sleep over messing up someone else’s career,” he informs you. “But… it was honestly soul-crushing—having to pretend to care… having to try. For the first time in my life, this felt like work, Y/N. Like… actual work. It felt like a fucking 9-5 I was dragging myself to every day.”

You try not to react to his cursing. It’s something you always wanted him to do more of because you have the mouth of a sailor, but hearing it like this—alongside the fact that he doesn’t care—feels wrong. You suddenly see why McLaren’s CEO was convinced Joshua wouldn’t want anything to do with the Academy. He really did lose his spark. The thought is devastating. You two practically started your careers together—everything you both ever worked for culminated in the five years you spent together. When you think of racing, you think of Joshua. When you think of the most fun and exhilarating times of your life, you only see memories stained with him. And now, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t find joy in it, and he’s seriously entertaining the idea of completely leaving it behind. It feels like he’s leaving you behind. As soon as you think it, you hate yourself for letting it even enter your brain. You’re the one that left first. To make it worse, he’s just trying to escape something that’s robbing him of joy; you went out of your way to escape him. You silently shake your head to yourself.

“I… I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying as if he could hear your thoughts and you needed to apologize for it.

“For what?” he laughs.

“I don’t even know,” you tell him honestly, slouching against his couch in defeat. He looks down at you curiously as you slide down even further. He mimics your movement until you’re shoulder to shoulder. “I guess… for leaving for starters.”

“I told you,” he says, looking away immediately and clearing his throat. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I do,” you argue, turning away and watching the flames dance in his fire pit. “It was kind of sudden—the decision, I mean. I didn’t really give anyone time to process it… not you, not Wonwoo.” You stop there because those are the only people you really care about inconveniencing. “And then that last race, I—”

“I really don’t want to talk about Abu Dhabi, Y/N,” he interrupts without looking at you. You glance at him and find his eyes on the fire too. When he doesn’t expand on why he’d rather not talk about it, you look away once more.

“Okay,” you agree slowly. “I won’t talk about it. Just know I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” he parrots back. You try not to wince, knowing that’s as much of an acceptance you’re going to get… so not an acceptance at all, really. “Are we done talking about all this BS now?” he asks, pushing his shoulder against yours. He nudges but doesn’t pull away after, keeping his bicep pressed to yours. “I mean, you’re here… in Barcelona, with me!”

The excitement in his voice is so palpable, you want to slide all the way down until you’re sprawled across the floor, kicking and giggling. You look up to find him already looking down at you, a soft smile on his wine-stained lips. You wish you could reach up and just kiss him—that you could run your fingers through his long hair and see if it’s as silky as it always looks.

You smile, forcing yourself to look away. “Yeah, I’m here. With you.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” he starts, “because I’m really happy you’re here and you’re always welcome.” Your heart screams. “But why are you here?”

The easy answer is that Park Jihyo, the most power-hungry, stubborn, and arguably sadistic CEO in all of F1, manipulated you into kidnapping Joshua by any means necessary. The honest answer—the one you only realize is the actual answer at this very moment—is that you’re going to make Abu Dhabi up to Joshua. If he can’t find it in himself to forgive you, that’s fine and you respect it. You can live with that, but you can’t live with the idea of him quitting on something he loves as much as racing. You’re not only going to bring those girls at the Academy an absolute legend of a driver; you’re also going to revive his love for the sport while you’re at it. You’re going to be his engineer again, and this time, the checkered flag is going to be at the starting line of the 2027 season. Jihyo is wrong; you will not be taking no for an answer, and you will be forcing this man to go back to London with you if you have to. 

Your heart starts beating erratically, adrenaline suddenly pumping through your system the way it used to when you two were still partners preparing for a race. You abruptly push yourself up on the couch, jostling and startling Joshua since he was leaning on your shoulder. He sits up too.

“I am here,” you start with renewed ambition, turning so that you’re fully facing him. He mirrors you, eyes widening a little at your sudden burst of energy. “Because Jihyo and I have a lovely offer for you.”

“Park Jihyo,” he says. “Your CEO.”

You nod, glad he already knows who she is. “Yes! My boss. We saw the news of your sabbatical and she asked if I would come speak with you.”

He seems to deflate a little, brows furrowing together in what you perceive as perplexity. “Oh. Sure. What do you need to speak with me about then?”

“Keep an open mind, okay, Shua?”

One corner of his mouth quirks up in a small smile. “Okay, Y/N.”

“We’d love for you to come work with us at F1 Academy as a mentor for the current class of drivers.”

It takes a startling amount of energy to refrain from shrieking this at him now that you have absolutely zero doubt about how badly Joshua needs to be at the Academy with you. 

“Wh—”

“The girls are great, Joshua,” your words are tumbling out of you now, very clearly desperate for a yes from the man. “They’re young and green and hungry and bright! Oh my god, they’re so fucking bright!” The bewildered expression on Joshua’s face settles into a soft, amused smile, and you take it as encouragement that you’re already on your way to convincing him. “They’re such a talented bunch this season—I mean, they have been every single season! It’s like they were born to do this. Every time they get out on the track, I think of you.”

You’re a little mortified at how truthful you’re being, but you know better than anyone how to get Joshua to where he needs to be. Your honesty and vulnerability over the radio always warmed him up to your suggestions, and if that’s what will make him come back to London with you, you’ll allow him to have it.

“Me?” he asks dubiously even though it’s obvious he’s pleased. 

“Yes, you.” He smiles and shakes his head at you like you’re being silly but you don’t care. “Granted, they’re much slower—they are in F4 cars, after all,” you continue, “but when I watch them on the asphalt… when I see the way they drive like it’s the last time they’re ever going to be on the track because it might actually be, I think to myself, this must have been what you were like just before we met at McLaren. And it feels so special, y’know? To watch such talented people and know that some of them can possibly become the next Joshua Hong.”

You pause to glance at him, a little surprised to find his face unnervingly close to yours with an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen on it. He almost looks like he’s frowning—like you’ve confused him so much, he’s no longer comprehending what you’re saying. It’s his eyes that give him away, though. They’ve always been his tell. He watches you carefully, eyes glassy, unmoving, and trained on you. His gaze is full of warmth and tenderness and affection, and it steals your breath to be on the receiving end of it.

“They’re, um,” you stumble over your words, having lost your train of thought. 

“Yeah?” he encourages you quietly when you don’t continue, blinking rapidly. He’s close enough that you feel his breath on your lips when he speaks.

“Wh… what?”

He glances down briefly before looking back up at your eyes. Did he just look at my lips? “They’re…?”

Right. The Academy. “Uh, yes, yeah. The girls—they… they’re—” 

You clear your throat uncomfortably, forcing yourself to break his eye contact and turn back toward the fire. You’ll never be able to speak otherwise. He inhales deeply as you find the words you were trying to say, following your lead and turning away as well.

“They have so much potential, Shua,” you say, all your previous energy gone now. You feel something more invasive seeping into its place. You feel the self-consciousness, the doubt, the discomfort, the excitement of being near someone you’re in love with again. “They already have the talent and the resources. They just need a little something to push them over the top. They need someone to teach them what being a driver—a good, respectable driver—really means.”

You see his head turn toward you in your peripherals but you don’t meet his eyes this time; you don’t want to risk every thought flying out of your already near-empty head again.

“And the current staff is great, don’t get me wrong, but…” you sigh, shaking your head, “the lead racing instructor has been out of the sport for decades, and as kind and well-meaning as he is, he doesn’t know the first thing about empowering young women.”

“I don’t either, Y/N,” he says like he thinks he’s reminding you of a fact. 

You scoff. “Of course you do.” You take the risk and look at him now. You’re relieved to see that he’s no longer looking at you as intensely as before. Instead, he seems genuinely baffled this time. “Shua… you don’t actually believe you don’t know how to empower women, do you?” you ask, clearly amused. 

He raises an eyebrow at you. “What on earth makes you think I know how to do that? I’ve literally been surrounded by a sea of men my entire life. You’re literally the only woman I know other than my mom.” You laugh loudly at that, feeling some of the wound up nerves in you loosen a little. “What are you laughing at?” he deadpans, glaring at you even though you know he’s equally amused. Always the eyes. “I’m being 1,000 percent serious.”

“I know,” you say, your laughter dwindling down to a satisfied sigh. You know his mother well and you don’t know how it isn’t abundantly clear to him where he learned how to treat women so well. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”

He doesn’t respond, turning back to the fire and staring at it hard like you’ve just given him a calculus problem to solve. You smile and admire his profile for a moment before speaking, the orange glow of the flames dancing across his smooth, tan skin.

“Shua, did you know my contract with McLaren was only supposed to last a year?” you ask him even though you know the answer. 

“What?”

“Your race engineer was supposed to be a man named Min Yoongi,” you inform him. “The year you debuted, Wonwoo told me that there would be an open slot for a new race engineer and that he was putting my name in the ring. I was told the position was as good as mine. But then the CEO brought him Yoongi’s resume. He was an external candidate from some aerospace engineering company.”

“But they chose you,” Joshua says, sounding happy that it turned out that way. 

“No,” you correct him, shaking your head. “They chose Yoongi.”

His head snaps toward you like you just said the most offensive thing. “What? No… it was you.”

You suppress a laugh at the fact that he’s trying to rewrite your own history for you. “No, it was Yoongi. He was not only a very qualified engineer, he was also the CEO’s nephew.”

“Not the fucking nepotism,” he groans, throwing his head back onto the sectional. Joshua was one of very few F1 drivers that came into the sport from absolutely nothing, so you know why he’s irritated. 

You sigh. “The only people who know about this are the CEO, Wonwoo, and me. Now you,” you tell him. “I know it’s not but I sometimes feel like it’s embarrassing for me to share this because I like to think I earned the spot—and I did. Later on. But initially, that spot only really became mine because I begged for it.”

“What?” he asks a third time, this one with a bit of bite. He lifts his head up off the sectional once more, narrowing his eyes at you. “What the fuck do you mean you begged?”

“Exactly that. I barged into the CEO’s office with Wonwoo and a 32-slide Powerpoint presentation, and I showed him every reason why I deserved the spot while Wonwoo practically held him hostage for me,” you recall, smirking. Joshua doesn’t look the least bit entertained, though.

It felt so humiliating and demeaning back then, but it just makes you laugh now—only because it turned out fine. The thought of any of your girls going through that makes you want to tear your hair out, though.

“In the end, he agreed to a 1-year contract. He told me he would give me a chance with his new rookie, and if I performed well, he would give me a ‘real’ contract.” Joshua’s mouth drops open the tiniest bit. “I knew how he felt about talent,” you say. “I knew that all that mattered was how much we won, but I underestimated how badly he wanted McLaren to be a family business. So even though we had a wildly successful debut, and even though you literally turned F1 on its head—” Joshua snorts in faux modesty. “—Wonwoo warned me about halfway through the season that the CEO was going to give the role to Yoongi and that I would return to my old position.”

“So… what happened…?”

You smile widely. “You happened. Instead of talking about your background and your upbringing and your talent, you spent every single interview that season talking about me. Crediting me. Praising me.”

He frowns. “Okay… I don’t get it…?”

You sigh. “I forget that at the end of the day, you’re just a man.”

He huffs out a single laugh. “Forgive me for being born this way.”

“I forgive you, I guess,” you shrug dramatically. He rolls his eyes but smiles all the same. “See, you empowered me without even realizing it,” you point out. “By the time the season was over, we were being touted as F1’s dream team. I was reached out to so many times for interviews that McLaren’s comms team assigned me my own PR manager. The CEO was forced to turn his nephew away and give me a real contract, unless he wanted to lose out on all the media attention and risk messing with our chemistry, and therefore messing with your success.”

One of Joshua’s eyebrows twitches at that.

“Our on-track chemistry,” you mumble your correction quickly, face burning.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat and doing a horrible job of concealing a smirk. 

“Anyway, my point is… your advocacy of my work literally saved my career. Even with F1 Academy—when Jihyo approached me, she told me I was her first choice because the coverage on my career was inspiring to girls trying to get into the sport.” Pride blooms in your chest when Joshua reaches over to squeeze your hand quickly at that bit before pulling away. It’s nothing new; his victory had always been yours, and yours his. “So if you were able to be such a strong ally to me and my career without even knowing it,” you say, hoping this will push you across the finish line, “what do you think you’ll be able to do with these students when you’re actually trying?”

“Ah,” he says, nodding as he finally sees where your story was going. He narrows his eyes at you all of a sudden. “Whoa, you’re really good at that.”

You smirk. “I know. I did convince the CEO of McLaren to give me that first contract.”

He laughs. “Convincing woman, indeed.” He pauses, biting his lip in thought before scooting closer and leaning his shoulder into you once more. You try not to stiffen at the contact. “I’m sorry you had to beg. I hate hearing that. You deserved it. I would’ve never won those titles without you.”

“Yes yo—”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” he says with a calm certainty, so much so that something stops you from arguing with him. He looks down at you and smiles your favorite smile, this time with all his teeth showing. “We really were the dream team, huh?”

You grin back, leaning right back into his shoulder subconsciously. “We were.”

“Think we’ll become the dream team of the Academy too?”

Your smile drops right off your face as you search his face for any signs that he’s joking with you. The crinkles around his eyes just deepen. 

“When’s our flight to London?”

LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX 2018 “You doing anything after this?” “I don’t know. Sleeping?” “Weird question, but would you want to meet my mom?”

It’s an uphill battle to keep from stammering in surprise as the eyes of every strategist on the pit wall who’s tuned into Joshua’s channel slide to you. The driver grunts on a tighter turn before speaking again. 

“Hello?”

Wonwoo clears his throat then turns to the others, demanding bits of random information about the drivers just ahead and behind Joshua in a thinly veiled attempt to distract them.

“Your mom?” you repeat. “Clear to take him.”

“Yup,” he responds through gritted teeth as he overtakes P5. “She flew in from LA last night to watch. She’s in the paddock right now. I’m taking her to dinner at the buffet at the Wynn if you want to join us. I ma—nice try, buddy,” he says, defending an attack from the driver he just stole P5 from.

Your mouth waters at the mere mention of a buffet. It’s the one thing you make time to do every year when F1 comes to the city, whether it’s with Wonwoo, another coworker you can stomach, or even by yourself (you’re not above eating at a buffet on your own, especially not a Vegas buffet). 

“Oh, that’s a good one,” you comment. Your favorite, actually. “Have you been?”

“Nope. You can show me and my mom your favorites.”

You can’t deny you’re incredibly curious about the woman who raised this year’s star rookie all by herself without the riches it usually requires drivers to participate in the sport. You shouldn’t be so surprised; you and Joshua had become fast friends, spending almost all your time together since both of your lives were run by McLaren. Meeting his mom would be fun! So why does it make you want to throw up then run right off the pit wall and head into the first salon that will take you for a last minute hair, nail, brow, everything appointment?

“She wants to meet you,” Joshua adds, not-at-all helping the nerves.

Your eyebrows rise. “And why is that? Gap to P4 is 0.8.”

“Copy.” He drives the city easily and calmly—far calmer than a lot of other drivers are about being on their home track. “Something about you being the only woman I’ll ever have the time to talk to so she might as well befriend you.”

Even with how focused you’re trying to be on the race, you laugh suddenly at that. “That’s kind of sad.”

“I don’t think so!” he says lightheartedly. “You’re my best friend at this point.”

Your laugh settles into a soft smile as you nod. “You’re within DRS. Take him on the next straight, bestie.” He chuckles at that before obeying, his car pulling ahead and taking P4 from Mercedes. “I’ll come,” you decide. “But only if you snag us podium.”

He scoffs. “Don’t insult me. I’ll get you first.”

His confidence is well-placed because he delivers, standing right in the middle of the podium when the race is over, and sure enough, a few hours later, you’re seated across from him and right next to his mother at the buffet, her hand wrapped around yours as you both cackle at stories she’s sharing about her son and your driver. And Joshua, endearingly, doesn’t complain or blush in embarrassment; he just watches the two of you contentedly, absentmindedly picking at the scraps of his food he’s too full to finish. There’s a soft smile on his lips that reach up into his eyes, and you can tell he’s happy in a way he isn’t usually. So when the laughter dies down to giggles and his mom sighs, you vocalize an observation. 

“You two are really close, huh?” Joshua’s eyes were already on you, and once he hears your question, his eyebrows rise a little. His mom hums and tilts her head, a lot like the way he does when he thinks.

“Yes, I always wanted to be a mother who could also be best friends with my child,” she says, nodding with her eyes still trained on the ceiling as she seemingly thinks aloud. “I suppose the fact that it was always only the two of us helped push us even closer together.” Her gaze comes back down to her son. “Hm, Josh?”

It’s virtually the only fact about Joshua you knew before meeting him. If there’s anything F1 had a hard-on for, it was a Cinderella story, and Joshua certainly had one of those. They’re rare to come by in the sport, with families easily spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to give their child a chance—not even a guarantee they’ll make it. And even though the details of his Cinderella story are still a closely held secret, everyone knew McLaren’s newest driver was the child of a single immigrant mother who worked several jobs and went into severe debt to get him into F1.

He averts his eyes from yours, suddenly finding the tiny bits of his steak that were too well done for him to enjoy more interesting. He nods as he pushes them around with his fork. “Mhm, right, eomma.” 

“I sometimes felt guilty when he was growing up—”

“Eomma,” Joshua sighs the word like a warning. Like he doesn’t want to hear whatever she’s about to say for the millionth time. His exasperation barely passes as so, though. He still says it so politely, it doesn’t deter the woman next to you at all.

“Why is that?” you ask, too curious for your own good. Joshua throws you a withering look and you have the shame to offer a small, embarrassed smile.

“Well, I had to work multiple jobs for practically all of Joshua’s childhood. Money was never steady or guaranteed. He was alone for a lot of it,” she says, turning to you when Joshua refuses to look up at her. 

You can tell so clearly where the driver gets his charming, expressive eyes from. You can see everything she’s telling you right there, in her eyes. The days she worked as a cleaner, the nights she labored as an overnight caretaker, and the weekends she “took it easy” as a part-time cashier at a gas station. You see how little money it still brought in and how she cried on the hardest days because she just sorely missed her son—her son, who had to get ready for school by himself, feed himself, put himself to bed. You see the panic in her eyes from when Joshua started getting into trouble in his late teens. Street racing. 

“Street racing?” you ask incredulously. “But you were in the McLaren development program! They would’ve never taken on a street racer!”

“That’s why we don’t share that information freely, eomma,” Joshua deadpans, trying to glare at his mom. He fails when his lips immediately begin to quirk up into a smile.

She scoffs and waves a hand at him. “She’s your engineer! She’s the one who wants what’s best for you most in this world! After me, of course.” She winks at you. 

You grin. It’s nice to feel like you’re a part of this small club—this small club of people responsible for Joshua Hong’s safety, success, and happiness. The small club of people he allows to get close.

“I won’t tell anyone, Shua,” you assure him. He spares you a brief smile that churns the obscene amount of food in your stomach before his eyes slide back to his mom. “I’m honestly just… surprised.”

“That a good boy like him was speeding around the city avoiding the LAPD every night?” his mom asks, glaring right back at her son. Hers is a lot more convincing and he looks back at you to avoid it. 

That’s exactly it. Those big, shiny eyes. His obnoxiously pink lips, constantly curled into a delicate smile. His exceedingly gentle nature (off the track at least). This man was illegally racing on the streets of Los Angeles as a teenager?

“Yeah, I was surprised too,” his mom sighs, shaking her head and clicking her tongue at him. 

You laugh. “Nope, cannot imagine that.”

“Well, he was,” she huffs, obviously remembering the grey hairs it got her. “And the only reason I found out was because it was one of the times I got let off work early, and I caught him coming back in. This boy can’t lie for shit. He practically told me everything before I could even finish asking where he’d been.”

You laugh gleefully at that as Joshua groans, cheeks turning a touch redder. You find it hilarious he’s more embarrassed about this than he was about his mom recalling how he cried so hard saying bye to her on his first day of kindergarten, he peed his pants and had to go home.

“I wanted to do better than my parents did,” she says contemplatively when you both stop laughing at him. “They were so… set in their ways and so hard on me. And if it had been them, Joshua would’ve been black and blue by morning.” He looks up at his mom with such fierce love, protectiveness, and respect, it makes you feel like you shouldn’t be here. It makes you feel like you’re witnessing something special that was never meant for you. “But I always told myself I’d do better, even if it was just a little bit. Because then, he’d be better, and maybe if he had kids later on, they’d be even better too. Little by little… each of us doing better than the ones before.”

“You were better, eomma,” Joshua says resolutely. “Are better.”

She smiles softly at him before looking back at you. “I took a few days to think about everything before figuring out what to do with him and his reckless behavior—” She shoots him another scathing look that he chuckles at. “—and the man who hired me to take care of his elderly father during the night… when he heard about why I was so distraught, he told me about a program I could look into for Joshua. For karting, then if he was good enough, eventually—”

“Formula One,” you both say. She nods, grinning.

“He was in the development driver program two years later,” she informs you, filled to the brim with pride. 

“And competing in Formula four years after that,” you mutter as you try to recall the stats you read on Joshua what felt like eons ago now. “And now debuting in F1.”

If you sound like you’re in awe of him, it’s because you are. The odds were stacked against him in every way possible, and you already knew that, but hearing that he was practically plucked off the streets and dropped into McLaren is astounding to you. Most drivers spent their entire lives karting before breaking into a team, and it couldn’t have been easy for him to not only compete against that caliber, but on top of that, have to navigate the transition from racing a street car to a kart. Suddenly, his even temperament and intense dedication to kindness is even more impressive to you. 

“Wow, Shua, I had no idea,” you breathe. He shrugs one shoulder as he finally sets his fork down and sits back, throwing an arm over the empty chair next to him and crossing his legs. 

“It’s not something I dwell on too much,” he states, and you can tell he’s not just saying it to be modest. 

If the commentators of F1 weren’t dedicated to mentioning Joshua was raised by a single mother with little money every single race, you’d have no idea. He has the same air of self-assuredness and poise his wealthy and nepo baby counterparts do. And after getting to know his mom, you know that confidence has everything to do with how he was raised.

“You did a really good job with him,” you say quietly.

His mom, who never once let go of your hand since you both finished eating, squeezes you and sighs happily, resting her head against yours. You smile and lean right back into her, trying not to think about how you never had this—how you might have traded your privileged upbringing for the struggles Joshua experienced if it meant that you at least had this kind of love.

“Thank you,” she says just as quietly, patting your hand with her free one. “The guilt has subsided for the most part. It seems silly to think about it too long when it was obviously worth it. Right, Josh?”

She asks it like she needs the reassurance that sacrificing her time with her child to provide a better life for him was worth it—like she needs the forgiveness. Joshua stands and slides himself into the space on the other side of his mom, his arms snaking around her. He even includes you, his arm reaching across her back and his hand hooking around the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Of course, eomma,” he says. “Look at my life. Everything is thanks to you. I won’t ever be able to thank you enough for all the sacrifices you made.”

Later, after you’ve said your goodbyes and have made promises to keep in touch via the numbers you exchanged, Joshua will walk you back to your hotel and you’ll think about how maybe his hunger to win isn’t driven by the thrill of the race the way the other drivers’ are. Maybe it’s driven by his duty to his mother. You’ll understand him a little bit more, and your own need to get him to the podium as many times as possible will increase exponentially.

“Oh my god!” 

The screams are shrill and grating and have been going for a minute straight nonstop, but you can’t help the face-splitting grin as you watch your girls swarm an immediately flustered Joshua Hong.

“I can’t believe this!”

“I have your poster in my bedroom back home!”

“Oh my god!”

“My dad took me to see you at Silverstone in 2021! It was insane! You made podium that day!”

“Aw, that’s—” Whatever he was about to say is cut off by another piercing screech. He tries not to flinch and you try not to cackle.

“You’re my idol!”

“Oh my god!”

“You’re even more handsome in person!” Joshua throws you the most helpless look as some of the girls start to ooo and ahh at his face.

“Soooo handsome!”

“What’s your skincare routine?”

“Oh my god!”

“You look unreal! ML!” Eunchae, a younger student, looks back at you from where she’s sandwiched between two other girls pushing to get near the driver. “ML, isn’t he so pretty?!” She wags her eyebrows at you and your smile immediately drops as you glare at her. She simply giggles.

“Okay, girls!” you call, clapping your hands loudly. “Let’s maybe give the super duper pretty F1 legend some room, yes?” There’s another round of shrieks and laughing as Joshua rolls his eyes. “Take a seat, please.”

You never need to raise your voice with them; the students at the Academy are always respectful every season, and being one of the younger staff members, a lot of them treat you like some kind of revered older sister. The girls scramble to their seats and Joshua is finally able to fully enter the classroom, joining you where you’re leaning up against your desk at the front. He gives you a bewildered look.

“You hold so much power,” he mutters, smiling a little. You snort before gesturing to him.

“I don’t know if you guys know him, but this is Joshua Hong,” you say sarcastically, inspiring a new round of giggles. “He’s going to be spending time with us this season.”

There’s a chorus of excited gasps and whisper-shrieking at the news, the girls straightening up in their seats like they’re trying their best not to fully stand up in their elation. You know this was the last thing they expected after watching the news of Joshua’s sabbatical two days ago.

“Is this where you’ve been, ML?!” Sophia screeches, referring to your sudden departure to get Joshua, plus the full day you missed yesterday trying to get him situated at the Academy since a certain CEO insisted he begin immediately. A full day that included unceremoniously sending the current driving instructor off on a mandated vacation—not that the near 70-year-old minded at all.

“Oh my god,” Megan gasps again, face turning pale. “Are you going back to being his engineer after his sabbatical, Mick?” The others look horrified at the mere thought. She turns to the driver now, having zero issues with glaring at the two-time world champion. “Are you stealing Mickie back?! Because you can’t have her!”

“Yeah!” Eunchae throws her support behind her. “ML is my favorite instructor!”

“Okay, well you’re not special, she’s mine too!” someone shouts.

“Who do you think you are!” Joshua balks at that one.

“She’s probably contracted,” Saki points out quietly. The girls within her vicinity nod in agreement but she mostly goes unheard by the other more raucous students.

“I am not stealing… Mickie…?” Joshua asks, turning to you with one eyebrow raised in question. You shake your head and mutter you’ll explain later. “Not that I could. She’s made it very clear how much she loves it here.” The entire room seems to sag with relief, straightened postures all gone now.

You smile. “Though I will say, I am flattered by how fiercely you all feel about me,” you say. “But no, I’m not going anywhere. Now if you would all be quiet and let the man introduce himself, maybe we’ll be able to tell you what he’s doing here.” There isn’t a single noise from the girls as they all stare up at the two of you with wide, expectant eyes.

“Hi,” Joshua greets them with a chuckle, raising his hand in a small wave. “I’m Joshua. You can call me Josh or just Hong.” 

Some students start whispering, probably about how crazy it is to be told they can call the best driver on the grid by a nickname, regardless of how basic it is. You’d react the same if you were told the same by any of the drivers you admired at their age.

“I am currently on sabbatical from F1, as you…” he gestures to Megan who looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Megan,” she informs him.

He nods. “Ah, yes. I’m on a break right now, as Megan so generously reminded everyone,” he says, smiling. Both of you laugh a little when she sinks in her seat, blushing as she mouths a silent apology. “And I’m actually here to help with instructing you this season.”

If you thought the screaming was loud before, you were obviously sorely mistaken. The students jump out of their seats, all shouting over the other as they immediately begin dreaming up fantasies about being Joshua Hong’s singular prodigy F1 Academy class. You laugh as you let them revel in the joy and excitement of the moment, knowing the next few months are going to be incredibly rough on them physically and mentally in comparison. Plus, it will be a fond memory for them no matter where in Formula they end up. 

Joshua grins at you as you both wait for their energy to simmer back down; you know from experience it could be a while. “They’re so funny.”

You return his smile, shaking your head as you do. “Definitely a bunch of characters this season,” you agree. “Don’t tell any other graduating class, but I’ve had the most fun with this group so far and all we’ve done is prep.”

Both of you watch as Megan bounces over to Saki, who has remained in her seat the entire time, excitedly grabbing her shoulders and shaking violently as she shouts nonsense. Saki lets her, simply smiling up at her though she makes no move to get up or make even a fraction of the same noise.

He snickers. “Reminds me of high school.”

“It basically is high school except if you gave all the teen girls a 1,200-pound car and let them drive up to 165 miles per hour,” you say nonchalantly.

“Fun,” he says just as the girls finally begin to take their seats once more. You wave your hands to quiet down the last few shouting students.

“Like CEO Park said, the season is only three months away,” you remind them. “We’re incredibly lucky to have Joshua—” ever the complainer, the driver coughs loudly at your use of his full name. “—here with us,” you say, frowning at him briefly for the interruption, “but even with how early we have him, we’re already behind if we’re going to get you a proper curriculum.”

“How behind?” someone in the back asks.

“How long have you been here again?” you ask, feigning ignorance. “However long that is. That’s how behind we are.”

“What?! We’ve been here for two months!”

You nod. “Yeah, and that’s two, whole months of learning from someone who isn’t Joshua Hong… a.k.a. your teacher.”

“Right…” Sophia breathes. “We’ve just been learning from a random grandpa…”

“Sophia!” the girl next to her shoves her. 

“What?!”

You try to ignore their antics and continue. “Your original driving instructor is on vacation—”

“Did you guys fire him?!”

“I mean, if it was for Joshua Hong, then I’m fine with it.”

“Well, let’s not start rumors,” Joshua laughs nervously.

“How will he feed his family?!”

“His family is grown,” Megan scoffs. “Also, he’s a millionaire, hello?”

“Right,” Sophia says again.

“Girls, please. He’s not fired. He’s on vacation,” you sigh, squeezing the bridge of your nose. There are a few apologies as you try to get your train of thought back on track. “Joshua—”

He coughs again, louder and more openly in your face this time. You try not to curl your lip at him in disgust in front of the girls, so you instead glare at him for a moment. 

“Aw, you guys really are best friends!” Your head whips toward the students to find Eunchae smiling widely. The observation takes you by surprise because of course he is, but after two years, you’re not sure that’s something he’d want to call you anymore.

“How can you tell? They’re just… standing there,” another student deadpans.

“How can you not? They’re doing the whole glaring and giggling and silent communicating thing!” You and Joshua frown at each other. “See!”

“We’re never going to hear what Mickie has to say,” Saki sighs, this time loud and clear. She isn’t annoyed or exasperated; she says it the way she says most things. As fact. 

“Okay, okay!” Megan nods. “Everybody shut up now. For real.”

“Please stop telling each other to shut up,” you remind them. You’ve been reminding them since they first came together in your classroom two months ago. You glance at the clock. “You menaces have wasted so much time today. Gym is already in 15 minutes and all we did was discuss the morning simulation and scream over a man.”

“Once again, sorry I was born this way,” he mutters to you.

“Inside jokes! Bestie behavior!” Eunchae accuses.

“Be quiet!” Megan whispers.

“Look, we’re obviously not going to get through anything else today,” you say, glaring at the clock. “But before I release you to swarm Joshua—”

“Sorry, what?”

“—I want us all to be on the same page. Joshua is going to shadow me for the rest of this week, just so he can gain his footing and learn all of you menaces’ names. Then first thing next week, you’ll be hitting the simulators to show him what he’s working with.” There’s a hum of nervous murmuring. “You’ll each be running five laps on Silverstone so he can assess what he needs to do with each of you,” you inform them. 

“Five?!” Sophia exclaims. “That’s it?!”

These girls might lack decorum but they don’t lack confidence. If they’re nervous, you know it’s because they fear they’ll choke in front of Joshua and lose the chance to make up for it in time. 

“Yup,” Joshua says casually, making you smile at the fact that he’s comfortable enough to answer questions himself. “A lot can happen in five laps. I’ll honestly be able to tell a lot about your driving style, reaction times, and emotion regulation within the first two.”

“And the other three…?” Megan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“To see how well you do under the pressure of a world-renowned driver watching,” you answer. It shuts everyone up even though Joshua laughs and shakes his head.

“She’s kidding,” he assures the wide-eyed girls as you mouth that you aren’t. “It’s just to confirm whatever I take note of.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Okay, well then it’s for me to see how well you do under the pressure of a world-renowned driver watching, and trust me, I will be using what I learn about you in class.” The girls look just as horrified at that, and you don’t bother trying to assuage the nerves; it’ll be a million times worse when the season starts. “Once the simulations are done and we have all the proper data, from there… well…” You look over at Joshua, whose eyes are on you, following your lead. You sigh. “We get you ready to kick ass by the time the season starts.”

“I have a question!”

“If it has nothing to do with the curriculum, no.” Eunchae’s hand immediately goes down, making you smirk. “Okay, go ahead and spend your last ten minutes annoying your new teacher all your non-curriculum related questions.”

Joshua barely has a word of protest out before he’s surrounded by aspiring female drivers and dozens of questions. He throws you a few helpless looks, but you just stand off to the side, smiling at the image of a flustered Joshua Hong bombarded by the class that the Academy’s very first F1 driver will graduate from. 

This season is going to be the season, and you’re sure of it.

“Your CEO seriously scares me.”

You look up from the several new car designs scattered across your desk to find Joshua leaning against the frame of your open office door. You smile, leaning back in your chair and letting your neck and shoulder muscles relax for the first time in two hours.

“She definitely knows what she wants and she will not hesitate to steam roll everyone in her way,” you agree. “But I’ve grown to admire it… or else the fear will eat me alive.”

He laughs and fakes a shudder. “I’ll have nightmares.” You shake your head at him but laugh along anyway. “Hey,” he says when his laughs peter off, looking like he just remembered something. “Why do the students call you Mickie and ML?”

“Take a wild guess.” He tilts his head, and when he doesn’t come up with an answer, you nod at the McLaren poster on your wall. “Ah,” he nods. “McLaren.”

“Mhm,” you hum affirmatively. “They won’t let me forget.”

“Do you want to forget?”

He keeps his face carefully blank, but it’s clear what he’s asking. It’s easy for you to immediately shake your head. “Never. Don’t tell them because I pretend to make a fuss over it sometimes, but I love the nickname.”

He smiles softly, leaning his head against the frame in exhaustion. He’s spent this entire first day being pulled in every direction by students, by staff, by you, signing all kinds of forms, completing random trainings, and introducing himself to everyone (though absolutely no one actually needed a legitimate introduction to Joshua Hong). You know he’s, at best, in dire need of a nap and at worst, rethinking all his choices. Although if it were the latter, he would never tell you.

He doesn’t say anything initially, simply staring at you from where he uses the doorframe as a vertical makeshift bed. You got used to this a long time ago; Joshua was constantly going quiet and the staring apparently came hand in hand with that. You asked him once what he was thinking about whenever that happened, and he said he was taking time to just enjoy the moment. It was a sentiment you could appreciate, especially with how fast-paced his life was. You were used to it, but you couldn’t help the way it still made your heart beat violently in your chest. It seems you’re constantly stuck in a battle between wanting Joshua’s attention on you and wanting to be invisible to him.

“I like it here,” he says eventually.

“Do you?” you ask, unable to keep the excitement from seeping into your question.

He smiles a little wider and nods against the frame. “Yeah. I do.”

You look down at your designs. Your final choice is due to Jihyo in the morning, but right now, you care more about making Joshua feel welcome, especially since you were the one who forced him to be here. You look back up at him. “Want to come over and eat some dinner? Tell me more about how much you love it here—”

“Like,” he corrects. You ignore it.

“How much you love it here, and maybe help me with all this crap?” You gesture weakly to the papers covering every last inch of your desk.

He lifts his head as his eyes lazily drop to the surface. His eyebrows rise. “Designs?” You nod. He grins. “Hell yeah.”

You smile. “Thought so.”

It’s nice to know that even though everything feels like it’s changed, it seems this is one of the things about Joshua that hasn’t: his near-neurotic need to be thoroughly involved in every single decision made around his car. Though this isn’t his car, he will be teaching the girls the best way to race them, and you know he’s going to want his frustratingly big, talented (veiny) hands all over anything having to do with it.

It doesn’t take you long to pack up, say bye to Jihyo, and lead Joshua through the public transportation system of London, to your favorite burger spot, and to your apartment. And as you’re putting the key in your door, you’re horrified to realize this will be the first time Joshua is in your home, and it will only be the second time (save for your recruitment two days ago) hanging out knowing that you’re head over heels in love with him. 

You get brief visions of Joshua cringing in disgust at whatever horrors lie behind this door, and you shudder. Obviously, you didn’t quite think this through.

“Mmm, is everything okay?” Joshua asks, looking at you with curious eyes when you don’t turn your key in the lock. “Your precious smashburgers are going to get cold.”

You throw an irritated glare at him before shaking your head. “I just… um, I’m suddenly remembering that I’m not sure when the last time I cleaned my apartment was…?” You roll your lips in between your teeth in embarrassment.

He gives you one of his big, crinkly smiles. “Oh my god, who cares?” You stare at him blankly and blink once. He rolls his eyes and sighs. “You do. Of course you do. Okay, fine.” He presses his back against the wall opposite your door and cocks an eyebrow at you. “How long do you want?”

You smile bashfully. “Give me five minutes?”

“Three,” he deadpans, lifting the brown paper bag he’s carrying so that it’s in line with his head. “Cold burgers were not part of the deal, L/N.”

“You make a good point, Hong,” you mutter, quickly turning your lock and opening your door just enough to squeeze through without letting the man see anything inside. “Three it is!”

You slam the door and let your backpack and laptop case fall to the floor as you assess the damage. You wince. 

Three bras hanging on the backs of your breakfast stools, air dried from when you did laundry last week. Spreadsheets, driver profiles, and contracts you printed out because you were getting a migraine staring at your laptop until three in the morning over the weekend—all strewn across your entire dining table, some even on the floor. The incomplete LEGO McLaren F1 MCL60 on your coffee table that you foolishly started the night before the girls arrived at the Academy and still haven’t continued (you’re sure there are several blocks missing by now). Your yoga mat rolled out in front of the TV from when you told yourself you’d find a video online to walk you through a workout but ended up falling asleep on the floor instead. A mug, a glass, and a small pan from when you drank your coffee and ate your pancakes straight out of the pan this morning, rushing to get to the Academy before Joshua did. You succeeded but at what cost? Now you have to figure out what to prioritize cleaning in the three measly minutes you have.

You figure the LEGO set will take too long to set aside and you don’t want to risk losing any more blocks than you possibly already have. The bras are a no-brainer and are already in your hands, being thrown into your bedroom haphazardly with the door quickly shut behind them as you decide the dishes need to go too. You wash and scrub like a madman, and you thank god for the wildly expensive nonstick set Jihyo got you as a housewarming gift when she saw your sad 12-year-old pan because everything cleans easily and quickly. You manage to get your yoga mat rolled up and thrown into your spare bedroom and are in the middle of organizing your dining table when Joshua knocks once. He doesn’t bother waiting, simply opening the door and yelling, “Burger time! I’m coming in!”

You smile. “It’s fine, come in. I just don’t want to hear about how messy it is in here, okay? I am barely home and when I am, I only really sleep and—” 

“I love it,” he says as the door clicks shut behind him. You roll your eyes and are about to make an exaggerated quip about his beautiful Barcelona mansion when you look up at him.

As always, it’s in the eyes that you clearly see he’s being absolutely genuine as he looks around, smiling at every little thing in here—the art of circuits and cars you have on the walls, awards you received throughout your career, books on the shelves that you read ages ago and haven’t touched since. He looks through everything like they’re all the most important things he’ll ever lay eyes on.

You try not to stammer as you pile your spreadsheets together. “Oh. Thanks.”

“It’s so you. I love it. Feels like a home. It’s not messy at all,” he assures you, putting the burgers on your kitchen counter before walking over to your coffee table. You could’ve guessed that would be the first thing he’d notice, and maybe you subconsciously chose to keep the LEGO set out because of that. He points at it and gasps. “This is sick! I have a friend who loves putting these kinds of things together. Didn’t realize F1 had LEGO builds.”

You nod as you decide the dining table is tidy enough to eat at without getting the crumbs and grease of your dinner on your work. “Yeah, it’s the MCL60. The—”

“The last car we raced together,” he finishes, glancing at you and smiling. It somehow hurts more to see how happy that makes him than it would if he was just angry at you for everything that happened the last day you both raced the MCL60. “This is awesome.”

You set the table as you let him absentmindedly work on your car. When you finish and he doesn’t seem like he plans on doing anything else, you ditch the table and bring the plates, napkins, and burgers to him on the couch.

“Thank you,” he says distractedly as you set his burger next to the car. He places three more blocks before reaching for his plate and leaning back into the couch. He laughs when he notices you’re already several bites into your burger. “Good?”

You nod, cheeks too full to say anything. He takes his first bite and his eyes get so wide, you have to try your best to keep from choking as you start laughing. “See,” you say when you’re sure you’re not going to die. “Good!”

“Amazing,” he insists, shaking his head. “This just made me realize I haven’t had a good burger since, like, May.”

You frown, thinking back to what race he had in May. “Miami? Why not Austin or Vegas?”

He snorts. “BBQ for Austin, buffet for Vegas, Miami for everything else I miss from the States.”

You smile. “And now you’re having an amazing burger in London.”

He shakes his head regretfully as he takes another massive bite and shamelessly talks with his mouth full—another thing you got used to a long time ago. “Feels like cheating.”

“Kinda does, huh?” you giggle.

He watches you in amusement, chewing through his insane bites. You both eat in comfortable silence, smiling or laughing a little for no reason whenever you make eye contact. When you’re both done, you go to collect his plate but he refuses, collecting yours instead and washing both plates for you. You’re glad you decided on cleaning the dishes over the LEGO set.

“You can keep building the car if you want,” you say as you go to lay out the designs you brought home from work on the dining table, effectively replacing one work mess with another. “I think I can settle on the final tweaks pretty fast.”

“How about I help you with designs because I might actually lose my mind not getting a say in them,” he starts, making you snort, “and then I finish your car for you since knowing you, you will never get back to it.”

You stop to look up and you find him drying his hands on your towel, smiling to himself. It’s been two years and the smallest things still take your breath away. Like the fact that he knows your life is almost entirely run by your career—that having a LEGO set to finish is just a part of a fantasy where you do cutesy things like that to unwind. Or the fact that he’ll finish it for you at all. Even now, you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut just watching him dry his hands. His profile, the way his lips constantly look like they’re keeping a secret, the strands of hair that have fallen away from the rest and brush against his forehead. Your gaze follows his arms down. His large hands, adorned with silver rings—all of them always changing except the pinkie ring on his right hand. From head to toe, there isn’t a part of him that doesn’t make you feel like you’re incapable of speaking—like you’ve never even known a single word in the English language to begin with. 

He finishes drying his hands and looks up. You quickly avert your eyes back to the papers before you, and you sit down abruptly, barely noticing the way your chair screeches against the floor because of how loud your thoughts are.

“So what are we working with?” he asks, taking the seat next to you instead of across. You try not to stiffen when he reaches into your space to pick up one of the designs.

You clear your throat and force yourself to explain where you’re at: almost completely done, just running through some last tweaks that your team of engineers have suggested, each of them coming up with several solutions you need to sift through and pick. And as you continue talking, your nerves settle and you both get into a familiar flow you didn’t realize you sorely missed until now. There’s no one else you can talk like this with and be assured they’re having just as good a time as you are. You walk him through each decision made for the current iteration of the car and why it was made. You even answer questions about the cars from past seasons and the issues you faced before, and you’re pleased to find that although he still doesn’t know a lot of the technical things—as all people with no background in engineering wouldn’t—his opinions and input are just as valuable as they always were when you were still at McLaren. He gives you the most valuable perspective to have: the driver’s itself.

Hours pass and even when you both have final decisions made to present to Jihyo in the morning, he insists on helping you get through the rest of the work he noticed despite your frantic three-minute tidying. And when that’s done, he also insists on finishing the LEGO set, though you do more watching and bossing around than actual helping (“So typical of a race engineer,” according to Joshua). 

You’re not sure when either of you fall asleep. The last thing you remember is laying on your stomach on the couch, watching him look for the correct blocks through heavy lids, and the next thing you know, you’re in your bed, waking up in the same clothes from the night before, your nightstand clock reading 5:01 a.m. And when you walk out to your living room in a confused daze, wrapped in your blanket, you find Joshua draped across your couch. He’s far too big to be sleeping on it. You can’t help but pout a little at his sleeping form under the jacket he was wearing last night—in place of a blanket he didn’t bother waking you up for. He’s on his side facing the TV, one arm tucked under the throw pillow under his head and the other hanging off the couch, along with one leg. He’s practically half off the sofa. You gently remove his jacket and slip your blanket off your shoulders, placing it on him instead. He stirs under it but stays asleep, readjusting and immediately bunching the blanket under his chin with his fists. You try hard not to, but you can’t help when your hand reaches out and brushes the strands of hair on his forehead back. His lips twitch a little and he exhales through his nose.

You retreat back into your room, quietly showering and getting ready for work before coming back out to cook breakfast (and wash the dishes immediately after). Joshua doesn’t wake up during the entirety of it, so you set his plate on the coffee table in front of him next to the now finished MCL60, and yours across from him. You take your seat on the floor facing him, enjoying being able to openly stare at him without being scared you’ll get caught. Then, when you know you’re both about 30 minutes from officially running late for work, you wake him up.

“Shua,” you start softly as you begin cutting into your pancake. “Shuaaaaa.” He groans in his sleep and you smile around your fork. “Shua, I made pancaaaakes,” you sing-song gently in between bites. “They’re yummyyyyy. I even made eggs and bacooooon.”

He doesn’t stir. You roll your eyes.

“Joshua Hong,” you say a little louder.

“‘S not my name,” he mutters sleepily.

“Okay, I’ll call you Shua… but only if you wake up.” Nothing again. A moment later he snores once and you sigh. “Joshua, we’re going to be late.” 

A whiny groan escapes him. “Five minutes, baby,” he breathes. “‘M tired.”

You freeze, eyes wide. “Shua,” you call a little more sharply.

“Mmm,” he hums, turning on his side so that his back is to you like that will help drown your voice out.

“Joshua!” your voice escalates to a shout as the panic of him calling you a pet name in his sleep starts to take you in its grasp. “Wake the fuck up!” you practically screech as you take your house slipper and throw it at his head. “I made you breakfast, you idiot!”

“Ungh!” he grunts, turning over, sitting up on his elbows, and looking around with barely open eyes, a deep frown etched on his face. You momentarily forget what he just called you as you suppress a giggle at how disheveled and disoriented he looks. “What…?”

You point at his plate with your fork. His gaze follows before going back up to your face. You smile tightly and squeak, “Breakfast!” 

“Mmph.” He runs a hand over his face and groans as he turns over on his stomach, wraps the blanket around him more tightly, and squishes his cheek against the couch. You think he’s fallen back asleep until he mumbles, “Feed me.”

You scoff. “I already cooked for you and you want me to spoonfeed you too?”

“I carried you to bed and tucked you in last night, you monster,” he grumbles, mouth barely forming around the words as he drifts back to a half-asleep state. “Feed me.”

Your cheeks get hot at the information, and when you think about the three bras you threw into your room and had to step over numerous times this morning, you start to feel like your face is on fire.

“Food,” he demands when you say and do nothing. You glare at him as you wonder if it’s too late to tell Jihyo you regret all of this and you both need to fire him and send him back to Spain immediately.

“The nerve,” you complain under your breath as you set your own fork down and scoot to his side of the coffee table. “Helpless, little driver needs his race engineer to do everything for him.”

You glare harder when you notice traces of amusement on his mouth. You begin cutting his pancake, and when you bring it up to his lips and he smells the sweetness of the syrup right under his nose, he lifts his head just enough to be able to open his mouth. You feed him, wincing when his lips close around the fork with his eyes still shut. They’re a little chapped from sleeping in the coldness of your living room, but you still desperately want to press your lips to them. 

“S’good,” he mumbles, nodding as he lets his head fall back against the fabric. You sigh when a light snore immediately follows.

You call Jihyo and let her know both of you will be a little late for the morning meeting, and you ignore the way she cackles at the fact that Joshua very clearly spent the night at your place. He doesn’t wake up until the plates are empty, cleaned, and in the drying rack, and you finally (and violently) yank the blanket off him and return it to your room. By the time you’ve both stopped by his hotel room and gotten him a change of clothes, you’re nearly an hour late. And when you can’t escape the smirks Jihyo throws at you during your design presentation (and throughout the entire day), you have zero qualms about blaming Joshua.

AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2018 FP3 “Radio check.” “Sunday morning, rain is falling.” “Okay, okay, enough.”

You roll your eyes as you shake your head at the driver’s surprisingly amazing singing. Your boss suppresses his own smile as he watches over your shoulder, supervising your last practice run of the weekend with the McLaren rookie. You’ve already spent an insane amount of time with Joshua since meeting him. From the jump, both of you were on the same page about needing to get along well to create the best possible conditions for racing—conditions founded on trust. Day in and day out, you two were working together, taking breaks together, eating together, napping in Wonwoo’s office together, and following each other around the McLaren facility every moment in between, just getting to know each other.

You’re confident the two of you will work just fine; you’re confident the chemistry and compatibility will translate onto the track. Still, ever since you secured this position, this weekend has been keeping you up at night, worried that something will go wrong and your already frail one-year contract will be torn to shreds right in front of you. 

“Enough with the singing or the song?” Joshua asks, breaking you out of your thoughts as he takes what would be his formation lap if he makes it to the race tomorrow—when he makes it to the race tomorrow.

“Yes,” you answer.

“Wow,” he sighs. “My mom tells me I could’ve been an idol in another life and you don’t even want to hear?”

“Your mom has to be nice to you.”

There are a few beats of silence before he reluctantly says, “Fair.”

You snort. “I’m kidding. You actually have a really nice voice,” you assure him as you watch his stats on your monitor. “I’m just… a little nervous. Especially because a man named Wonwoo is breathing down my neck.”

He immediately steps away and drops into the seat next to you, glaring at you before turning to his own monitor. You grin. “Sounds like a micromanager.”

“Watch it,” Wonwoo cuts into the line. He sounds intimidating, but you’ve worked with him long enough to know he’s a good sport, and Joshua has already hung out with the man a few times outside of work.

“Ope,” your driver squeaks. “Sorry.” Wonwoo smiles but doesn’t respond, and the line falls silent again. A moment later, Joshua asks, “Why are you nervous? We’re just practicing.”

You know that he knows it’s not just practicing. This weekend is his debut into F1, and this is Free Practice 3, his last practice before he goes into qualifying later today. The first two practice sessions were largely about fine-tuning the car to his needs and making sure he felt comfortable. This last session is going to be the biggest indicator of where Joshua will fall for qualifying because it’s the one that will focus on his timing. “Just practicing,” you repeat with a scoff. “Why am I more nervous than you?”

He laughs easily and you do your best to stifle the sudden urge to strangle him and his easygoing attitude. “I’m saving my nerves for tomorrow.”

“We need to get through qualifying first.”

“We will,” he says it with so much conviction, that if he left it there, it would be enough. 

Even with the stress of having such a temporary contract (that Joshua doesn’t even know about), you would accept it and believe him. Because in the short time you’ve been working with him, you know he wouldn’t lead you astray. He doesn’t stop there, though.

“I trust you. You trust me,” he states, not even needing to ask you to confirm that you do. You’re glad he doesn’t. “And that’s going to be enough. Okay?”

You exhale slowly and nod more to yourself than anybody else. “Okay.”

“Okay!” he shouts suddenly, making you flinch. The man hardly ever raises his voice; in fact, he’s so softspoken, you had your volume turned up fairly high. Wonwoo snorts and turns it down on the monitor for you. “Where do you want me, boss?”

You look over at the performance strategist, who quickly rattles off numbers at you. When he’s done, you ask Joshua, “Everything’s feeling good?”

“Yup,” he answers, popping the p. “Drives like a dream.”

“Then you’re ready to go,” you tell him. “We’ll begin taking your time when you cross the starting line—about four seconds out.”

“Copy.” His voice comes out lower and with a bit of an edge to it, and you realize this is what it sounds like when Joshua Hong is locking in. It gives you a bit of a thrill. “What are we aiming for?”

He would need at least a 1:16 lap to safely pass qualifying later, and 1:14—his average time for this track on the simulator—would be entirely too fast. It would actually be a record-breaking pace for this track, and it would show your cards to the other teams too early in the season. You have to sandbag it at least a little, no matter how badly you want to see him full send.

“Let’s give it 95%,” you decide. That would put him at around a 1:17 lap—enough to be in the middle of the pack while keeping how fast the car really is a secret. 

“You got it.”

Joshua crosses the starting line and becomes a different person. He becomes one with his car, flying with it, turning with it, groaning with it, and ultimately forgetting anyone else around him exists. His breathing is more labored and his communication on the line is more clipped, brief, and straightforward. He doesn’t make conversation the way some of the other drivers do, so you don’t either, following his lead and giving him what he needs to concentrate. He finishes the first lap at 1:18:32.

“You can afford to shave half a second,” you tell him. He confirms his understanding before going for his next lap.

“Big guy said to send him at 90% his regular speed,” Wonwoo reminds you offline. 

“And I say 95,” you shoot back, smiling sweetly at him. He sighs deeply through his nose. 

“You should be doing whatever you can to extend your contract. That includes listening to the CEO. Y’know, the dude in charge of said contract?”

You scoff and put yourself on mute. “Wonwoo, sending Joshua at 90% his full power would put him at almost two minutes a lap. The longest this track takes is a minute and a half! Do you really think I’m going to let him come in last a full 30 seconds after everyone else?” Wonwoo winces. “Exactly! It was a ridiculous thing to demand in the first place!”

“It’s your job on the line,” he reminds you.

“Yeah, well, it’s his too,” you say. “Those drivers are already writing him off as an underdog rookie that’s not good enough to be here, and even worse to them, not rich enough to be here,” you point out. You’ve overheard enough of them talk about Joshua to know he has no friends on that track right now—not even in his own teammate. “Those assholes are always going to think he’s beneath them. I’ll sandbag it and make him seem average but I’m not going to make him the laughing stock of this weekend just because ‘the big guy’ said so.” 

Wonwoo has nothing to respond to that with. He just nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he turns back to his monitor, allowing you to work. You unmute yourself and continue to do your job. The trash talk isn’t even something that bothers Joshua; he’s so focused on himself and his own growth that he doesn’t find it interesting enough to tune in to what the other drivers are saying about him on his downtime. But it bothers you. Because that’s your driver for the next year, and he’s your friend now too. Plus, you refuse to let people think you’re the race engineer for a loser. This race is going to be the last time anyone has anything stupid to say about Joshua Hong. His next lap comes in at 1:17:52, and though it fluctuates each time by anywhere from a quarter of a second to a half second, he averages just under 1:17:30 across all 13 laps he takes, and you’re more than pleased with his performance.

It turns out, though, that McLaren’s CEO is not. As soon as Joshua is back in the garage cooling down as the engineers check his vehicle and debrief, the tall, daunting man is at your side, giving you a tight smile—the one that tells you he’s trying not to make  a scene right now—asking to speak with you privately.

“I thought we agreed we’d start Joshua at 90% power during FP3,” he states once you’re alone.

“I made a call to put him at 95,” you say, fighting to keep your voice from wavering. As stubborn as you are, you’re still human and you’re still afraid he’ll rip this opportunity away from you. “He finished with an average time that put him at P16. I think that’s still sufficient as far as sandbagging goes, and we don’t have to humiliate him in the process. The other driver got P5. I don’t see why it would matter where Joshua lands after that.”

He stares at you hard before he smirks and shrugs. “Well, if the first year race engineer says it’s sufficient, then it must be,” he says, snorting. “You’ve got spunk and I can appreciate it—I’ll give you that.” His expression turns serious again. “But come qualifying, I don't want any surprises. Hong can finish any place you want him, except for first. He doesn’t get pole position.”

You fight to refrain from glaring. You don’t have to ask why; you know it’s because he wants the other McLaren driver there. CEOs are here for one thing, and that’s to secure the constructor’s championship, and right now they’re putting all their hopes into Joshua’s teammate. You should technically align your goals with theirs, and up until a few months ago, you were. But Joshua is the kind of person who’s hard not to prioritize, and you decided long ago without even knowing it that you will be prioritizing him. Winning him a driver’s championship is a lot more important to you than where McLaren lands at the end of the season.

“Are we clear?” your CEO asks.

“Crystal.” 

“Perfect. Good job today.” He dismisses you.

You leave with a genuine smile on your face because in a handful of minutes, the man annihilated any trace of nervousness you had about this weekend. You couldn’t give less of a shit about qualifying or pole position. You’re getting Joshua on the podium, and you’ll laugh in the CEO’s face when you point out that you were told to stay away from pole position, but he didn’t say anything about winning the race. Joshua trusts you, and you’re going to deliver.

You watch the girls stretch with each other as they all wait to start their five laps on the simulator. Joshua stands next to you, tilting his head back and forth too, like he’s warming his own neck up for a race. You smile but don’t point out the habit.

“You remember my debut race?” he asks, a McLaren cap pulled down so low over his face, you can barely see his eyes. You give up trying to and turn back to the students.

“Of course,” you answer. “It almost lost me my job before I even really started.”

Joshua shakes his head. “Now that I know your contract was so… temporary, I don’t understand why you took the risk getting me to the podium.”

You think about the day of that race. You had Joshua stay back for qualifying, snagging an easy P11—a nice, safe middle-of-the-pack position that would gain the attention of absolutely no one. Come race time, no one was prepared for the random driver who placed so low to dominate most of the race. Then, he brought it home, and he became the first-ever rookie to win his debut race. His teammate placed P4, booted off the podium because of Joshua. And you reveled in it. A first place trophy for your driver, and you got to piss everyone off while you were at it. Even when the CEO was screaming in your face and Wonwoo was freaking out over your position, you were high off the feeling of everyone looking at Joshua the way they did that day—like he was a god amongst men. And no one could stay mad at you either; within a week, Joshua had several interviews and appearances lined up, and F1 was immediately obsessed with his rags to riches story. After a few races, even the CEO was putting all his resources behind Joshua too. And sure, he tried to give the star rookie to his nepo baby nephew at one point, but he didn’t. Because at the end of the day, Joshua became a star with you backing him. 

Looking back at it now, you’re not sure how you didn’t realize how much you loved him sooner. Back then, you told yourself it was your pride. Or that it was your intense need to win. To prove to the world you and Joshua weren’t a pair to skip over. But now, you see it for what it is: even as early as it was, you loved him too much to let anyone make a mockery of him—to let anyone be a priority over him.

“I needed you on the podium,” you say simply. It’s as honest as you can be without having to sacrifice a more important, more sacred truth. “You deserved it and the world needed to see it. And they did.”

He smiles bashfully as he nudges your elbow with his. You know it’s his shy smile because it shows none of his teeth and the corners turn down a little in a weak attempt to suppress his happiness. “Are you only being nice to me so I don’t go too hard on your students?” he jokes.

“Yes,” you answer immediately, making him laugh. You grin at the sound, and you’re thankful for the segue. “You ready to become a teacher?”

He exhales through his mouth then claps and rubs his hands together. “Absolutely. I’m going to make legends out of the girlies.” 

Joshua hasn’t even been here a full week and he’s already picking up random phrases and lingo from the students and using it every moment he can. You roll your eyes but smile anyway.

“Alright!” you call across the room at the girls. “Any volunteers to go first? If not, we’ll just go in random order.”

“Actually,” Joshua cuts in, surprising you. He quietly asks if he can change things up and you motion for him to take it away before you step aside, all-too-willing—as always—to give him the driver’s seat. “I came up with an order I want to see. So we’re going to have Sophia go first.”

The student perks up from where she’s seated on the ground, immediately untangling herself from the stretch she’s in as she stands and grins at her new driving teacher. “Good choice!” she says, glossy lips turning into her signature smirk as she looks over her shoulder at her classmates. “Watch and learn, girlies.”

You sigh but don’t say anything, allowing Joshua to handle his class however he wants to. And he just smiles good-naturedly like he always does. The other girls scoff and roll their eyes, though most of them are smiling too because they’ve lived with Sophia for two months now; they know she’s too confident for her own good and incredibly full of herself, but they also know she’d lay down on the track in the middle of a grand prix before she let anyone or anything hurt any of them.

“Ready?” Joshua asks, motioning to the simulator. Sophia climbs up the rig like she and the other students have several times before.

“Born ready,” she says as she settles into the chair and starts strapping herself in. 

The simulator is probably the most expensive thing the Academy has. It’s a top tier, state-of-the-art system that boasts a 360 ultra high definition screen, perfectly mimics the F4 car the girls will be driving, and recreates the conditions of every track in the world to the last crack and pebble. It’s in a dark, concrete room, and it reminds you of playing video games until the sun rises—thrilling but also kind of depressing. 

“Okay, the rest of you, go watch in the waiting room,”Joshua orders. There are TVs that will show both Sophia in the rig and what she’s seeing on the screen waiting for the girls in there.

The students file out and when it’s just the three of you left, Joshua nods. “Alright, we’ll go into the control room and I’ll evaluate you from in there while Y/N—ML works with you.” You smirk at how bad he is at referring to you by your Academy nicknames.  

“Got it, Josh!” Sophia chirps, making you shake your head in amusement. 

“Good luck, kid,” you call as the two of you exit into the neighboring control room—a space with one wall entirely made up of screens showing Sophia at different angles, the simulation itself, and her stats. It’s usually full of engineers tapping away on their monitors on an official evaluation day, but today, it’s just you and Joshua.

You take a seat at one of the many computers and put your headphones on as the driver plops down next to you.

“So why Sophia?” you ask as you pull up what you need on your monitor. 

“I think you’ll get it when we’re done,” Joshua says without looking away from the screens.

You turn away from your computer to make fun of him for being so mysterious, but when you look at him, you’re thrust into one of those moments that leaves you shellshocked and breathless. He’s not doing anything special. Actually, he’s slouched in his seat, half manspreading, and his arms are crossed as he frowns at the screen in concentration, so really, it’s the opposite of special because you imagine this is what he looked like as a moody, street-racing teenager. But his hat is pulled down low, and for once, you can’t tell what he’s thinking because you can’t see his eyes, and you’re forced to take in everything else about him. His lips and the way they part slightly when he seems to mentally take note of something. A jawline that could cut glass. His Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows nothing. How thick his neck is from years of training it to handle the G-force of F1. The way his long hair pokes out the back of his hat, slightly curling up against the nape of his neck like they can’t bear to be apart from him for a second. You almost scoff at his hair. Is this rock bottom? Being jealous of his hair?

“Ready, Sophia?” he asks into a microphone that feeds into both her headset and the waiting room.

“Yup!” she shouts, making you wince. You turn down her volume and Joshua laughs.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry for all the times I shouted into my mic,” he says, tilting his head up a tiny bit so he can see you better from under the lid of his hat. The apology makes you realize it’s the first time he’s ever seen you actually do your job.

“You should be,” you joke. “You should be especially sorry for how loudly and how often you sang Maroon 5.”

Joshua grins mischievously at that. “Never.”

You roll your eyes as you unmute yourself and speak to Sophia. “Okay, we’ll take a formation lap, then your evaluation begins,” you tell her.

“Got it.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘copy,’” you correct her. Joshua laughs, probably thinking of all the lingo he had to learn too.

“Right, right. Copy.”

Sophia’s evaluation starts not long after that, and her first lap goes smoothly, aside from all the gloating she does to no one but herself. At any other stage of your life, it might have annoyed you, but you just smile at it now, a little fond of all the random bursts that include: “I’m the gnarliest bitch on this track,” “I’m the shit!” and your personal favorite, “I am Sophia La-motherfuckin’-forteza!” Though as a teacher, you do have to tell her to stop cursing. On her third lap, just when you can tell she’s starting to get a little too comfortable, Joshua leans forward and changes a few settings on his own monitor. You raise an eyebrow when the system processes his commands, and Sophia’s computer-run teammate flanks her.

“Tell her to let them through.”

Both your eyebrows rise now. “You want Sophia to give up her position. To her teammate.”

He looks at you and smirks. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want Sophia to do.”

You think back to the times Joshua has been told to give up his spot. Once, during his debut race. He was more than willing, but he was committed to listening to you. And you told him to hold his position so he could secure the podium.The second time was the grand prix immediately following that one, when the CEO wanted you to bend to his will as a lesson. You did, but only because you had already proven your point. Joshua still ended up in the points, and laughably enough, ahead of his teammate, who got a DNF because he took a turn too fast and crashed into the barrier. Both times, your driver never questioned the order. He trusted you to know what the best choices for him were.

You shrug. “Your funeral.” You speak to Sophia now. “Team order: let them pass.”

“What?!” she shrieks. Thankfully, you’re well into her evaluation now that you know the perfect volume to have her at. “What do you mean team order? There’s no team!”

You snort. “I’m not sure if you were ever informed of this, but Formula One is comprised fully of teams, Sophia,” you say sarcastically. “And yours is ordering you to let them pass.”

“But why?!” she whines just as Joshua leans forward and makes the car tailing her a touch more aggressive. She swerves dangerously to block it.

“Strategy. Let them through, and keep it clean,” you say, reciting exactly what you would tell Joshua if it were him, “I promise you there will be opportunities to prove yourself later. I’ll make sure of it. Move aside. We gotta let them have this one.”

“No,” she says through gritted teeth. You exhale through your nose slowly, and you can tell from the way he tries hard to refrain from staring, that it fascinates Joshua to see you on this side of the track. “I only have a lap and a half left!”

“Sophia—”

“I’m faster!” she shouts. “It doesn’t make sense!” She grunts as she blocks another attempt for her teammate to pass her up.

“Keep it clean, Laforteza!” you bark at her. Joshua shudders. You frown at him and he shrugs.

“PTSD,” he mutters and you roll your eyes at him.

“Tell them to back off!” she pleads. “I’ve got this! I—god, get off my ass!” 

You groan as her defense sends the car off track. “That’s a penalty,” you grumble.

“I don’t care! I’m not moving!”

Joshua smirks and shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing a single button. The simulator shuts down. He stands as he speaks into the mic. “Yeah, because you just failed.”

Reviews happen with all the other girls, and when Sophia emerges from the simulator room, she’s red and sweaty and angry, but she remains silent, simply choosing to stand in front of you and Joshua to receive her marks. The other students watch with huge eyes.

“Any idea why I chose you first?” Joshua asks. Sophia shakes her head. “A girl like you—confident on the verge of being arrogant… I don’t want to see the first time you get shaken to be on the track during a race, when it matters the most,” he explains. “I needed to lay the pressure on thick.” Sophia closes her eyes briefly like she knows she lost the race before she even started. “And I’ll give it to you,” Joshua continues, nodding, “you weren’t nervous under the regular pressures of the race. But no race is ‘regular.’ I wanted to see how good you are when you’re emotional. I wanted to see how you treat your engineer when you don’t agree. I wanted to see how well you listen.”

You suppress the urge to tell him how impressed you are; his read on her is scarily accurate.

“You failed this evaluation, but you’re not a failure, Sophia,” he reminds her. “This isn’t just an exercise in knocking your confidence because frankly, you’re going to need every ounce of it when you’re a female driver surrounded by men. I’m not interested in doing that; the rest of F1 will be eager to do it themselves.” The girls all wince but it’s a truth they need to hear.

You glance at him, and though they’re in the shadow of his hat, from this angle, you see his eyes. It makes you fall in love even harder seeing how genuine he is. 

“This season, I want you working on how to reign in that confidence so that it works for you. I want you to be confident that your engineer has your best interest at heart, and confident that you’re always going to perform your best despite the times this sport feels anything but fair. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, nodding. “Got it, Mr. Hong.”

You laugh. “Mr. Hong?”

“Turn on teacher mode for ten minutes and they don’t want to call me by my name anymore,” Joshua huffs in a faux complaint. He turns to you. “Any feedback?”

You nod. “It’s okay to disagree with calls,” you tell her. “I mean, that’s probably debatable person to person actually—” Joshua grins. “—but a good engineer and a good driver will find a way to compromise. There’s a reason why this evaluation is a joint effort, and it’s not just because Joshua’s been shadowing me.”

“Or because you’re best friends?” Eunchae asks. You glare at her and she immediately pretends to be preoccupied with the wall.

“It’s because,” you say emphatically at Eunchae before turning back to Sophia, “you can’t win without the other. You’re a team—probably more than your actual F1 team will ever be a team to you.” Your ex-driver nods pensively. 

“A driver is only as good as their engineer,” Joshua states. Sophia nods. “Any questions?” he asks. She shakes her head, obviously completely depleted of anger. She just looks exhausted now. “Okay, good job otherwise, Laforteza. Fantastic reflexes and even better trash talk.”

You grin as Sophia finally smiles. “Thanks.”

“But stop cussing,” Joshua adds, making the room laugh. Before he can announce the next student’s turn, Eunchae raises her hand. 

“If this has nothing to do with evaluations—”

She interrupts you. “No, it does! Well, kinda. But it definitely has to do with what Josh just said! Promise!” You narrow your eyes at her and she stares at you with her huge, puppy eyes. You finally nod at her to continue. “How do you build trust with an engineer? What if they suck? Wasn’t your engineer after ML really bad? How did you build trust after ML left?”

You inhale sharply and Joshua coughs in surprise at the bluntness of her question. Eunchae doesn’t seem to understand how personal of a question she just asked—why would she? 

“Uh…” he stammers, stumped for the first time since he’s gotten to the Academy. “That’s a good question…” he says, trying to buy himself some time. “Y/N—ML—no sorry, you know what? I can’t keep calling her that. Or Mickie. It’s weird.”

The girls mostly laugh but you don’t miss the wicked, little twinkle in Eunchae’s eyes and the small, matching smile that accompanies it. You know she’s just bookmarking everything that happens as evidence for her little “best friend” agenda. 

“I built trust with Y/N before we ever even raced together. I don’t think you necessarily need to be best friends with your engineer—”

“But you two are, right,” Eunchae states more than asks. “Best friends?”

“Of course,” Joshua says easily, and you can’t help the way your eyes widen a little at that. He doesn’t notice the way your gaze snaps to him, searching for signs that he’s lying or that it was a mistake and he misheard her. But he just continues with his train of thought, ignorant to how the two words just tilted your world on its axis. “She’s my best friend, but again, not everyone needs to be. In fact, it’s probably going to be rarer that you do become best friends with your engineer,” he says.

You never stopped thinking of him as your best friend, but after everything, he still considers you his too. Present tense. You strain to hear him over the blood rushing in your ears.

“But either way, get to know them. Learn how to communicate with each other. The more you know about each other, the easier it is to trust the other and see how compatible you are as partners.”

“And you’re compatible? As partners? You and ML? More than the next engineers you had after her?” Eunchae asks. 

You only realize at this very moment that your student is a master actress. She really had the whole big, innocent eyes thing going for her—really fooled you into thinking she had a “Joshua and Y/N” are the cutest besties agenda—but it’s now, as she barely contains her excitement with every new question, that you remember at the end of the day, she’s still just a teenage girl. And teenage girls gain their life force from two things: terrorizing adults and shipping anyone with a pulse together. You narrow your eyes at her and sensing that you’re onto whatever she’s doing, Eunchae immediately sits back in her seat and her face drops all signs of mischief. 

“I…” Joshua seems to be at a loss for words, searching for the right way to phrase his thoughts. He briefly meets your eyes, and he isn’t shy about holding your gaze for a few moments like he’ll find the answer somewhere on your faces. He gives you a small, sheepish smile before he turns back to Eunchae. When he continues, he tells her, “I wouldn’t say that I wasn’t compatible with the engineers that came after. I just wasn’t as willing to try to be, and you can clearly see where that got me.” The girls nod regretfully. “So take that as a lesson that your relationship with your engineer can make or break you.”

The words leave you feeling a little hollow.

“Okay, next one: Megan. Let’s go.”

Evaluations last the rest of the academic day, mostly without a hitch. Joshua noticed Megan’s almost neurotic need to study theory excessively, and correctly predicted her approach would be entirely too clinical. He tested Eunchae on her eagerness (a trait that often led to sheer recklessness), and she ended up crashing before the five laps were up. The only person he couldn’t peg was Saki, and you couldn’t blame him. She was an enigma, and she hardly spoke, but you knew what she was like as a driver so you weren’t surprised when she took every one of the F1 driver’s tests and elegantly crushed them. Suffice it to say, Joshua proved to be a fantastic, natural-born teacher.

You tell him as much at the end of the day, when everyone has left the Academy, the girls are back at their dorms, and the two of you are in your office, debriefing each performance.

“And you were worried you wouldn’t know how to do this,” you scoff as you both finish up your discussion. You gather your respective notes and leave them in two neat piles on your desk but make no move to get up. “You were born for this.”

His smile is lopsided as he shakes his head. “I think you just have too high an opinion of me.”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

He laughs as you both slump in your seats, thoroughly exhausted from the day. You enjoy a brief and comfortable silence before he nudges your foot under the desk with his. You, as always (at least ever since your annoying epiphany at the 2023 Spanish Grand Prix), fight not to flinch. “Y’know, I think you were born for this,” he says like he’s thought about it. “As amazing as you were at McLaren, I think you’re exactly what these girls need.”

“And what is that?”

“Someone to look up to and show them it’s possible. Someone that will keep it real with them but believe in them fiercely.” The words have your heart thundering in your chest. “Huh,” he mutters like he’s just now realizing something, “I guess you are to them what you’ve always been to me.”

You snort at that and look at him incredulously. “What?”

He smiles softly, almost like he’s too tired to give you a smile any wider. “Don’t play dumb; we both know you’re the only reason my career has been as successful as it has. Even Eunchae knows it. She’s a nosy, little thing, huh?” You both snicker at that.

“Stop attributing all your success to me,” you groan. “It wasn’t me. You did absolutely fine this past season—even better than some of our seasons together.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“So what do you mean?”

He straightens up and leans forward, forearms resting on your desk as he stares at you intently. You sit up a little, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. “I mean, you made it all feel… fun and worth it, and… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You made anything we did together feel like… everything. It’s the only reason I worked so hard. It’s also the reason these girls work so hard. You make this all feel like it’s the best thing anyone can be doing.”

You’re not sure if Joshua understands what his words are coming across to you as. Your naive heart—the one that still belongs to him—wants to believe this is him realizing how special the bond you shared was. This is him catching up to what you knew two years ago. This is him telling you he’s always loved you just as much, and he’s always felt all the things you’ve felt too. But you know that’s not what he’s saying. You know that Joshua has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and that he’s never shied away from telling you everything that was on his mind. This is him appreciating your friendship. 

“I could say the same about you,” you sigh, trying not to put so much weight in either of your words. “You’ve only been here a week, and it’s already been such a big reminder of how fun it is to work with you.”

“Work? Just work?” he scoffs. “You’re my best friend and we hang out every day, but the best you can come up with is I’m fun at work?”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, yeah, I guess the other stuff’s fun too.” 

He glares at you before his smile wins out. “I meant it, by the way. You are my best friend. Even though so much has changed… you never stopped being my best friend.”

The confirmation that what he told Eunchae wasn’t just for optics or just a reflexive answer to her probing question is balm to your anxieties. After everything—after what you did in Abu Dhabi, he still considers you part of that special group. The one that consists of you and his mom. The one he trusts to love him and keep him safe. But still, neither of you have talked about that night, and as determined as he is to bury the fact that it ever even happened, you know it’s something you want to properly apologize for.

“You’re mine too,” you say before mustering up the courage to ask, “Should we talk about it?” 

Joshua winces. “Sorry, I know how that sounded. I swear I didn’t mean to make it about… that.” He can’t even say it. He can’t even say that you left.

“It’s okay, I think we should talk about it at some point. Clear the air,” you say. “Best friends should be able to talk about hard things, right?”

He takes a beat to respond but he eventually nods. “Right. Okay then…” he starts hesitantly. “Should we get comfy?” He motions to your sofa and you nod.

You sit side-by-side, with no space between you, every bit of you from your shoulders down to your feet pressed up against Joshua like he thinks if the two of you are close enough, talking about this won’t hurt as much. There’s a pregnant pause of silence as you both try to figure out where you should even start. You would’ve guessed that he’d dance around the topic from the way he’s asked you to refrain from talking about this. You would’ve guessed wrong.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks quietly. It somehow still feels like he’s shouting the question at the top of his lungs. “Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?”

“I already had,” you say. “Or, I thought I already had.”

“That’s a copout,” he accuses you in the most polite way. He keeps his tone respectful and even though his words cut, his eyes stay kind. “Our last conversation wasn’t a goodbye. Even if it was, it wasn’t the goodbye our relationship deserved.” You know what he means by relationship—you know that being friends and coworkers to the degree you were constituted as a type of relationship. That doesn’t keep your heart from racing at the word.

“I know,” you agree. “And I’m sorry. I really did think it was our goodbye; it felt final enough to be one. But I see now that I was just… sad.” Joshua’s gaze is heavy and unrelenting, and you try not to squirm. “I was sad to leave, and I was scared I wasn’t making the right choice, and most of all… I knew if I had to say goodbye while looking you in the eye… I’d chicken out and stay.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” he claims quickly and resolutely. “This was the chance of a lifetime for you. I never would’ve let you stay.”

You don’t tell him that the idea of that would’ve hurt just as much—that his refusal to keep you would’ve hurt you. There wasn’t a scenario that would’ve left you unscathed, so you tell him part of the truth. 

“I just didn’t want to have to face you,” you admit. “I felt like I was betraying you by leaving you. I felt like I was ruining everything for you. I told myself it was a good enough goodbye, but I know it was just a way to make it easier on myself. I should’ve known leaving like that was a betrayal on its own.”

Joshua nods but doesn’t immediately say anything, simply processing the words. When he does speak, he doesn’t mince his words or try to hide his feelings, and you think this must be why he didn’t want to talk about it back in Barcelona; maybe he wanted to spare your feelings. Maybe he knew his honesty would be a lot for you. 

“It should’ve been the happiest night of my life, and instead…” he shakes his head to himself. “I got off the podium, I finished my interviews, and I went to look for you just like I always do, and all I found was Wonwoo. He didn’t even have to say anything. He just had this… this look of pity on his face, and I knew you were gone. And now every time someone mentions that I’m a two-time world champion, or they even say ‘Abu Dhabi’… I think, ‘God, that was the worst night of my life.’”

The sharp inhale you take is involuntary, and you’re horrified to find your eyes immediately welling with tears already. 

“Can you believe that? I was the youngest driver to win two championships, and I can’t stand to talk about the night it happened.”

“Shua, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” he says, shoulder pressing firmly against yours in an attempt to comfort you. Because that’s the epitome of who Joshua Hong is—a man who comforts you when you’re the one who hurt him. “I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty. Like you said, it’s best we clear the air, and… I guess I just need you to know how badly it hurt.”

You nod, blinking rapidly and willing your tears to stay where they are. The last thing you want to do right now is make Joshua have to comfort you even more when it should be the other way around.

“After five years—five years closer to you than anyone else I’ve ever been in my life… the way it ended, with me alone on the track… it hurt,” he says, clearing his throat before continuing. “I didn’t think you betrayed me. I was sad to see you go, but all of your wins are my wins. We always said that, right? It was always going to be hard because any day without you is hard. But I was always going to be happy for you no matter what.”

You find the courage to look up at him then, and he turns to meet your gaze too. He smiles, reaching up to wipe at your eyes with a thumb before letting his hand fall on top of yours. He squeezes and doesn’t let go.

“I just wish I got the chance to tell you I was happy for you, I was proud of you, and I would always be there for you,” he says, sighing. “But I guess telling you now is better than nothing.”

“Shua,” you sniffle, shaking your head and laughing a little at how pathetically easy it is to make you cry when it comes to him. “If I could redo it…”

There are a lot of things you want to say. If I could redo it, I’d find a way to stay and love you without it ruining our careers. If I could redo it, I would’ve at least told you before I left. I would’ve told you I loved you, I’ll always love you, and that’s why I’m leaving.

“If I could redo it,” you repeat, voice a little shaky, “I would be brave and I would wait. And I would be there in the garage, waiting like I always did. You deserved a proper bye. I’m sorry I took that away from you.”

Joshua threads his fingers through yours properly now, eyes on your hands like he’s studying the way they fit. He squeezes again before nodding. “Thank you. I accept your apology.” You sigh slowly, smiling a little when you realize how badly you needed that. He doesn’t stop there, though. “And I’m sorry I didn’t text or call for the last two years. I thought I was bigger than that, but… seems like at the end of the day I’m still just a man—” you laugh at his imitation of your voice. “—and I let my pride keep me from checking in.”

“I could’ve checked in too,” you say. “But let’s not dwell on that. You’re here, we’re okay, and we know better now.”

He nods. “No Irish goodbyes please.”

“Never again.”

“Good,” he says, grinning. You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder and willing your heart to shut up and let you have a quiet moment with your best friend. 

“I’m really glad you came back with me, Shua,” you say after a few seconds. “It feels like you belong here.”

He hums. “Maybe I just belong wherever you are.”

The first thing your brain does upon hearing those words is curse Joshua Hong’s mother for raising the sweetest, most earnest man on planet Earth. The second thing it does is try to convince you to throw caution to the wind and just kiss his face senseless. Kiss his face senseless and confess everything you ran away from when you left him two years ago.

“Ew, cheesy,” you force yourself to say instead, as you lift your head up and take your hand back from his. He laughs when you get up from the couch to put space between yourselves. “Get up, cornball. Let’s get food.”

“I want tacos.”

“I don’t care,” you say defiantly as he laughs harder, like he knows why you’re suddenly being a brat. “You’ll eat whatever I decide we’re getting.”

“Fine. You’re the boss.”

“And don’t forget it.”

a/n: i'll be posting weekly! we're looking at three parts and an epilogue right now :) if you want to be on the tag list, plsplspls comment here because the initial tag list is from cam&em, and they will not be tagging you in each part! i'll be tagging you if you were on that list, but if you don't want to be, just send me a quick ask or message—no hard feelings at all! thanks for reading and hope you'll check out everyone else's work :)

ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX 2023 "I can't believe this... I can't fucking believe this."

Joshua’s voice comes through the radio so soft, it’s barely audible over the roar of his engine. Your instinct is to keep your eyes on the screen, confirm that your driver’s tires are fine, fuel levels okay, no other car on his ass. But it’s useless because Joshua is seconds from the finish line with no chance for anyone else to take it and no time penalties to serve.

“Believe it, Shua,” you say into your mic as you swivel your chair around and away from your monitor. Your eyes immediately find his bright orange MCL60 approaching the checkered flag like a bullet. “You did it.”

The words are bittersweet, and if this had been last season, you would’ve been jumping up and down with the rest of the team, screaming into Joshua’s earpiece and losing your goddamn mind. Today, though, you stay glued to your seat. Even when the wind of Joshua crossing the finish line right before your eyes whips at your face, even when the world explodes around you in a vivacious spray of confetti and champagne, even when Joshua Hong becomes a two-time F1 world champion—you stay seated. 

“We did it,” he corrects, sounding as calm as you feel. You wonder if you sound it, though—if you sound lonely too, because you are. “And that’s not what I can’t believe.”

You watch as his car starts to slow across the track. “Oh yeah? Always knew you were going to bag another title, did you?” you joke.

He doesn’t laugh. You clear your throat and sigh, knowing you’ve been skirting around the devastation of this all.

“What can’t you believe, Shua?”

Silence. His car feels impossibly far from you even though it’s only been seconds. You think the irony is cruel. You wait a few more moments for his response, and when you receive none, you assume he’s already disconnected from the radio. Just before you take your headset off, he answers you.

“I can’t believe that you’re really leaving me.”

Your stomach twists painfully. He makes his way back, pulling into the pit lane, where he parks next to the first place sign meant for him. Immediately, staff members are already swarming the car—some to tend to the car, some to offer him water, some to scream and cry and congratulate. But still, he stays inside his vehicle, and he stays connected to you.

There are a multitude of things you want to tell him.

You want to tell him you aren’t leaving him because you want to; you’re sparing both of your careers from the scrutiny that would inevitably come if you stayed.

You want to tell him he’s currently the best driver on the grid. Your absence isn’t going to change that, especially when he’s so seasoned, that most of what you do now is just play music for him and inform him how many seconds he has until he reaches the next car. 

You want to tell him this is the right thing to do, no matter how horrible it feels.

Above all, you just want to tell him you love him—that although you only found out a few months ago, you think you fell in love with him the moment you both turned your radios on the first time you raced together—and that’s why you have to go. That’s why you can’t be his race engineer a second longer.

In the end, “I can’t either” is what you settle on. I’m so sorry rings loudly in your head but never leaves your mouth.

“So this is it, huh?” His breath comes out shaky and you know him well enough to know it’s not from the adrenaline of winning another world title.

“This is it,” you confirm, a knot forming in your throat.

“It was a good run, L/N.” You think you hear a knot in his too.

“The best run, Hong.” You can’t help your voice from cracking when you add: “The best of my life.”

“Mine too,” he says with no hesitation, though his voice sounds watery now. You feel your heart break. 

“Shua,” you croak. 

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For the past five years, for genuinely believing I could get you here, for… being my… my friend.” The word hurts you in unimaginable ways. “The best friend. Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It was easy,” he responds. “You made everything easy—all of it. I should thank you… you… you make this sport worthwhile.”

You press your lips together to keep from breaking out into uncontrollable sobs, nodding to yourself as you try to wrap your mind around this being your last real moment with Joshua. 

He sighs deeply, another brief silence engulfing the two of you before he speaks again. “I’ll see you out there?”

You hum because you can’t bring yourself to tell him he won’t. As you take your headphones off, the first of your tears fall and you let them; it’s the one time you can without being judged for being too emotional or too feminine. Every grown man on Team McLaren is bawling right now, anyway. 

You slide off your seat and watch from the pit wall as Joshua exits his vehicle a few moments later and waves at the deafening crowd. For five years, you’ve guided Joshua through every F1 track in the world, you weathered countless storms—literal and figurative—together, and you’ve made him a world champion twice. 

But for almost ten years, since the time you started as a low-ranking mechanic at McLaren, you also endured misogynistic slights from the more old-school members of your team, comments that it doesn’t take much to do your job when Joshua Hong is the driver, and teasing that you were only in this to snag a rich husband off the grid.

You persevered. You clawed your way up the ranks. You earned the respect you wanted so badly, and as much as you want to say fuck it and just stay, you can’t. Because being around Joshua when you’re knowingly in love with him feels impossible. And if you can’t hide it, then you’ll have to say it. And if you say it, your career will be over, and you can’t let it be tarnished now—not when it’s at its peak. Not when Joshua is at his either.

Loving him will ruin everything you worked for. Loving him will not only cut you at the knees, but every woman after you who vies for this position. And it’s not going to happen.

Joshua doesn’t see you out there. You leave long before he even gets off the track and long before his time is freed up post photo ops and interviews. You can’t stay and confront the betrayal that’s been dancing in his eyes for weeks, even though he swore up and down that he was happy you found something new and exciting. You can’t let him wrap his arms around you one last time while he whispers heartfelt thank yous for an amazing season—an amazing five seasons—into your ear, confetti raining down and champagne soaking the both of you through to your bones. You can’t do any of it because if you do, you’ll lose your nerve and you’ll stay.

And you can’t. You have a flight to catch and the best F1 driver in the world to forget about. 

Abu Dhabi two years ago was the last time you saw or heard from Joshua. A small part of you hoped he would reach out, but you knew that was a selfish thing to want; after all, you were the one that ran off without a proper goodbye after a five-year career together. Still, there were a lot of days you looked at your phone and wished he would send one of his silly memes or just ask how the job was going. 

Conversely, though, you never texted either. Not when he bombed his very next season, and not when he lost this season’s title by a hair. 

But now… now feels like as good a time as any to text.

The computer lab is in an uproar as your current class of female drivers stop what they’re doing to leap out of their seats and crowd around the massive flat screen television mounted on the back wall, gaping at it. You gape from your desk at the front of the classroom.

“Whoa, didn’t you work with him, Mickie?” For McLaren—a nickname that kind of irritated you at first but have grown accustomed to.

“She was his race engineer!”

“He’s crazy!”

Saki, who had been at your desk to ask a question when you noticed Joshua on the TV and immediately unmuted it, speaks softly—surely not meant to be heard amongst the other girls’ shouting.

“He did seem tired.”

You tear your eyes off Joshua to frown at the student. You’re unsure if she was talking to you or to herself, but the observation shakes you to your core anyway. You would never admit it, but you watched every single race of his since you left. Before this, you don’t know that you would describe him as tired, but now, you’re not sure if you managed to miss something your student saw. You choose not to respond, finding your way back to your ex-driver’s face.

“There’s no way he’s serious! Is he serious?” 

“Why wouldn’t he be serious? His career has been tanking.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s because his race engineers haven’t been as good as Mick.”

“Maybe it’s time to get ahead of it and just retire while people still like him.”

“Shut up, Sophia!”

“Don’t talk to each other like that,” you mumble half-heartedly, too distracted by the TV to really reinforce the reprimand.

“He’s a legend! He had one bad season—” 

“Two,” someone says.

“Well, that’s not fair, he did pretty well this season.”

“—and now no one will give him a break.”

“Girl. He’s giving himself a break,” another voice chimes in.

“Anything other than first place is for losers.”

“This isn’t a break, this is career suici—”

“Okay!” a voice cuts sharply into the noise. You don’t flinch the way the girls do, eyes glued to the screen as Joshua patiently answers questions. The unmistakable clacking of the CEO’s heels striking the floor have all the girls straightening their posture. “Crazy news, I know.”

The TV turns off and you fight the urge to whine alongside the girls. You turn to look at Park Jihyo, who puts the remote back down on the edge of your desk where she found it.

“I know you’re all excited to be here together, but the season starts in just four months, and we’re hitting the ground running,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and looking every driver in the eye. “And you aren’t going to let news about the millionth man in F1 derail your chances at getting into a major team, now are you, ladies?”

There’s a chorus of nos as Jihyo nods once and claps her hands before making a shooing motion. 

“Good. Because there’s no room for distractions when you’re a woman,” she reminds them. It’s something you’ve heard nonstop since coming to F1 Academy as a technical executive and instructor. Most of the time, you felt like it was being drilled into your head, not the girls’. “Now get back to working on… whatever engineering thing Y/N has you working on.” You snort. “You’re due at the gym for cardiovascular training in two hours and I don’t want to hear that a single one of you was late, understood?”

“Understood!” a bunch of girls chirp as they hurriedly turn back to their respective computers. You sigh, ready to get back to guiding and teaching them, when Jihyo steps into your path. 

She smiles mischievously. 

“What…?” you ask slowly, subconsciously slinking away from her as she leans forward.

“Got a minute?”

You want to say no, but as close as you personally are to Jihyo, she’s still your boss and you refuse to show her any sort of disrespect in front of the students, whether or not it’s a joke.

“Sure,” you say, nodding for her to enter your office ahead of you before turning back to the girls. “Listen up. You feel something off in your steering—slight pull to the right, but there’s no warning on the dash. You’re in the points with 10 laps to go. Give me a few minutes with CEO Park and when I’m back, I want to hear what you’re telling your engineer and what your game plan is.”

The girls don’t bother responding, immediately turning back to their notebooks or computers and parsing out their thoughts. You follow Jihyo into the office attached to your classroom, closing the door behind you. She takes the seat at your desk across from your own, obviously expecting you to sit there. Instead, you plop onto the couch face down, making your boss roll her eyes at you.

“So,” she starts slowly and awkwardly, “how are you feeling…?”

You stare at her blankly, cheek pressed into the fabric of the sofa. “Fine?”

“Pfft.” She kicks her heels off before she sinks lower in her seat, making herself just as comfortable as you. “Joshua Hong just announced a sabbatical and you’re ‘fine’?”

The words are surreal. You just watched a news broadcast of his announcement and the subsequent press conference, and still, your brain wants to convince you Jihyo is lying. The sabbatical is one thing—that was becoming a more normalized event in the sport as drivers started to focus on their families and their mental health. But Joshua’s own words during the interview was another.

Joshua, what does this sabbatical mean for your career? Do you plan on returning to to the track?

I’m not sure at the moment what it means. Maybe it’s time for me to rest and get my head back in the game for next season. Maybe it’s the beginning of an early retirement. I don’t know. I just know it’s needed and I’m grateful McLaren is working with me to make it happen.

No hesitation. The words “early retirement” really came out of Joshua “I’m Going to Be Buried in an MCL60” Hong’s stupid, pretty mouth. You never thought you’d see the day.

“Why would Joshua Hong’s career decisions affect me?” you ask stubbornly, knowing you’re being purposefully daft. “We don’t work together anymore.” You throw a hand up to gesture lazily at your office. “Obviously. You poached me.”

Jihyo lets out a single bark of laughter. “HA! Poached! That’s funny considering you had your foot halfway out of McLaren when I reached out to you. Why was that again?” she asks with fake forgetfulness. “Oh, right! You fell in love with your driver.”

“Every day I regret telling you anything about myself.”

“You didn’t tell me. Drunk you did.”

You wave your hand at her in a silent “whatever.”

“Well, if you’re so ‘fine,’ I have a favor to ask of you.” 

“Okay?” you sigh, feeling very much like the teenage girls outside of your office right now. It’s crazy what a man can do to your mood even two years after completely abandoning him. “You need me to look over more designs for this season?”

Jihyo scoffs like she’s about to say no before stopping herself. “Actually, yes, I do, but that’s not what my favor is. Especially because that’s not a favor, that’s your job.”

You try not to laugh. 

“I need you to poach someone for me.”

You immediately tense. She doesn’t continue, letting the words really sink in. You scramble up onto your knees from where you were sprawled across the couch.

“What the hell are you saying right now?”

“I’m saying that the best driver on the grid is on sabbatical a measly 2-hour flight from here, for who knows how long, and these girls could benefit from learning from the best of the absolute fucking best.”

“Joshua wants to rest,” you immediately argue. “And frankly, he needs it! The man has been behind some kind of wheel for an ungodly amount of years!”

“And you don’t think going from his schedule at McLaren to a schedule teaching girls here won’t be a significant change of pace for him?” she asks incredulously. “Please! Tell me that the transition didn’t feel like a full-on retirement, even for you.”

Jihyo isn’t wrong. 

Being a race engineer was deceptively tiring. A lot of people reduced it to sitting at a monitor for two hours, but your days were long and grueling and a lot more demanding than just race days. You were involved in what felt like countless hours of engineering debriefs, research and development, spreadsheets (god, the spreadsheets), and not to mention, Joshua made you somewhat of his personal therapist, begging you to follow him around the facility when he was in for practice sessions or training. If you stood your ground and refused, you’d find him following you around. 

Not to mention the traveling. Or the actual race days.

Coming to F1 Academy was a breath of fresh air. Sure, you came feeling like the wind had been knocked out of you, but that had more to do with leaving Joshua than anything else. F1 Academy slowed life down for you. 

The schedule wasn’t completely less forgiving; you were still on a race schedule, but instead of traveling to 21 different countries and having 24 different races over the course of nine months, you only had to attend 7 races in 6 different countries in roughly the same amount of time. On top of that, you weren’t a superstar driver’s race engineer. You weren’t anybody’s engineer; all you had to do was supervise and step in if someone was struggling with a student driver. Compared to F1, it practically felt like vacation.

And even more than that, it felt meaningful, cultivating the careers of aspiring female drivers and giving them a path into a male-dominated sport. You know better than anyone else that Joshua would absolutely love it.

“I think this would be good for Hong, and I think this would be good for you,” she tells you. 

You try not to balk at her. “Do you hear yourself? You think it would be good for your technical executive and head engineering instructor to work with the man she left her last position for? You said it yourself! I was in love with him!”

You ignore the way Jihyo very obviously tries to keep from rolling her eyes at your use of the word “was.”

“You can deny it all you want but I know there is something very… unresolved there,” she says, lip curling in mock disgust at the sheer thought of emotions. “And even if it’s not romantic—”

“What do you mean?!” you laugh incredulously. “It should not be romantic if we’re going to be working here together! You should actually be discouraging that as my boss.”

“Pfft,” she waves a hand. “I’m not in HR. That is not my job. If I want to ship two of my employees—”

“He’s not even an employee yet.”

“—then I will ship two of my employees.”

“You are so ridiculous.”

“Besides, you didn’t even let me finish,” she pouts at you. You nod in defeat and let her continue. “Like I was saying, even if it’s not romantic—and I’ll proudly be the first to admit I hope it’s romantic!” she says the disclaimer quickly and in one breath, “I’d still love to see you fix your friendship with him. I know it mattered a lot to both of you.”

Your relationship to Jihyo changed overnight. One day, she was your funny, albeit intimidating boss, and then with the help of several bottles of soju and an Academy staff karaoke night, she was suddenly visiting your office at least twice a day, you were constantly hanging out outside of work, and you knew everything about each other. Including how much you cherished Joshua, not as someone you were in love with, but as a human being you loved, period.

“But I won’t pretend this is selfless,” she sighs. “We’re three seasons into the Academy, going on four, and we have yet to see any of our graduates enter F1.”

You fidget uncomfortably. It’s a stress point for the entire organization and something you’re reminded of in what feels like every meeting. 

“I don’t need to remind you what little time we have to prove this program a success.”

Three more seasons after this next one. 

When the program was conceived, F1 agreed to see what the Academy could achieve in seven seasons. They wanted at least two female drivers in F1 by then, but the stretch goal was to have the winning graduate from every season on a team, even as reserve drivers. That didn’t happen, but they could still get two girls in there; it would just mean having to do it very, very soon.

“No…” you shake your head. “You don’t need to remind me.”

You sit on your couch properly and stare at Jihyo, who refuses to continue speaking. She’s letting you stew in your thoughts, well aware your overactive brain will be better at convincing you than she ever will.

Finally, you groan.

She doesn’t even have the decency to wait for you to agree that Joshua is the best answer before she’s clapping excitedly. She’s infuriating but she’s right. It would be mutually beneficial; the girls would inherit a wealth of knowledge from a driver like him, and he would see what you get to every day: how easy it is to make a difference when your life isn’t solely on the track.

And you don’t know why he’s taken this break, but you have a nagging feeling that’s exactly what he needs.

“Okay, okay, relax,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “How do we even do this? McLaren would’ve had him sign an ironclad agreement that guarantees his return to the team from sabbatical… unless he decides to retire.” You feel your stomach lurch at the idea.

Jihyo waves a hand like the legalities of Joshua’s employment don’t matter to her. “You don’t worry your beautiful, little head about that. While you were all busy screaming at the TV like banshees, I was already on the phone convincing the big guy to let us at him.”

“You asked the CEO of McLaren? And he agreed to you stealing Joshua during his sabbatical…?” 

It doesn’t sound anything like the staunch businessman you came to know over the decade you spent at his organization. He was nice enough, but he was also incredibly greedy—in all the ways that rich men always are. But there was nothing he was greedier about than talent. When he liked a driver—and more importantly, when a driver delivered wins, and therefore money—he kept him forever. Even if that meant convoluted contracts with tricky fine prints. You doubt that has changed.

“No,” she says, smirking and looking incredibly pleased with herself, “I did not ask. I bartered. I already had a leg up since that neon orange eyesore of a company of yours is our biggest proponent.”

If McLaren’s CEO’s greed was good for one thing, it was that he wanted the best of the best, and that absolutely included women. As such, he’s been the only CEO very enthusiastically circling the Academy looking for his next star. 

“I told him if he gave me Hong during his sabbatical, he could have first pick from our litter of talented ladies during any one season he’s interested in,” Jihyo informs you.

You stare blankly at her. “Like the NBA draft…?”

“Girl, I only know cars. I don’t know what that means.”

“Right,” you nod, opting to move on instead of explain. “What if that girl doesn’t want to sign with McLaren?”

Jihyo scoffs. “Then she doesn’t sign with McLaren! I’m not the devil, Y/N; I’m not selling souls here. I’m just giving him the first chance to meet and talk to a driver of his choice before any of the other neanderthals. Convincing her he’s good enough to sign with him is all on him.”

You hum in understanding. “Okay, so why can’t he just tell Joshua himself?”

“So that’s my hiccup,” she groans. “He said he’s all ours if he says yes, but he seems convinced that this is the last thing Hong would want to do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay… well then, he doesn’t know him at all. This is the exact kind of thing he’d want to do.”

You know because he invited you to enough non-profit events he supported in the off season to volunteer with him, join him on a panel about F1, or just show face. This is exactly up his alley.

Jihyo shrugs. “He says, ‘The boy has lost his spark,’” she imitates him in an exaggeratedly deep and hoarse voice. “Even if that’s true, I have the perfect person to give him that spark right back!”

She grins widely, blinking her eyes rapidly at you.

“Your faith in me is astronomical.”

“No, your doubt in yourself is astronomical,” she corrects, rolling her eyes. “I’m willing to bet $100,000 that even two years after quitting each other cold turkey, Joshua Hong is still willing to bend over backwards for you.”

You wince at the wording. You don’t like the idea that you quit him because it wasn’t like that. You quit the chance to stay in love with him.

“He has never bent over backwards for me.”

In fact, you’d argue the roles were reversed. It was kind of in your job description as his race engineer: bend over backwards to make sure your driver becomes a renowned champion.

“Oh, Y/N,” she sighs, smiling softly. “My naive child.”

You glare. 

“No bet?” she asks innocently before shrugging. “Okay, smart move for you, honestly. You would’ve been out a pretty penny.” 

She starts slipping her feet back into her heels, obviously ready to go off to whatever her next endeavor is. Probably plotting what other ways she can complicate your life.

“Look,” she sighs, slapping her hands against her lap when she finished putting her shoes on, “if he doesn’t want to do it, then he doesn’t want to do it and I’ll just have to take no for an answer. It would suck because I’d still have to hold up my end of the bargain with McLaren either way, but we obviously can’t force the guy to do anything. It would just be a nice plus for not only the girls, but for you. I know it.”

You don’t bother trying to deny it, not because you agree; you actually vehemently disagree, and you have the evidence to prove it would not be good for you. 

Exhibit A: in the months following your realization you were in love with Joshua Hong, you were a nauseating mix of absolutely miserable and absolutely thrilled any time you were with him (almost all the time). It was exhausting and it sucked the life out of you. 

Exhibit B: you were always distracted. Maybe never during a race because your only focus was making sure your driver won and that he won safely. But every other moment of the day, you were thinking about Joshua, talking to Joshua, listening to Joshua, trying not to scream while Joshua followed you around everywhere, watching Joshua, averting your eyes when Joshua looked up, talking to Wonwoo about Joshua, studying Joshua’s stats, debriefing Joshua’s last race, wondering if you’d see Joshua, daydreaming about Joshua, getting hopelessly lovesick over Joshua—Joshua, Joshua, Joshua!!!

None of that can be good for you.

You don’t deny that it would be good for you because you agree with her; you just don’t have the energy to confront the questions that would require denying it. The main question being: would any of that even be a problem if you’re not in love with him anymore? Because wasn’t that the point of leaving McLaren? To stop being in love? And if you’re not in love with him anymore, then why are you so worried about having to be in his proximity?

You take a deep breath as Jihyo stands.

“When do I go?” you look up at her as she walks to the door of your office. She looks back at you and smiles.

“I have the company plane ready for you at Heathrow. Wheels up in an hour.” Your mouth drops in shock. She turns to leave before seeming to remember something. “Oh, and your sub is standing in the hall ready to take over for the girls.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Wrong. I’m efficient.”

a/n: eeeep!!! this one’s gonna be a long one, y’all. i’m at a little over 30k rn and i expect to land nearer to 50 🫣 all fics from the collab will post by the end of the month! to join the official c&e studios tag list, click here! please note that this is the collab tag list and not mine. you can choose to be notified of any or all of the authors’ fics! hope you’ll support all 26 of us! ❤️🏎️