the key falls, landing on the debris of micah's broken heart. as light notes of metal striking the ground fades, an even quieter sob leaves micah. he tries stifling it against the back of his hand, but it's too late. the heartwrenching sound rings clearly.
micah isn't a stranger to pain, especially from people he loves. but he never expects this from james. each word is a knife stab, digging deeper by the second. micah can't steel his expression at all. heartbreak is raw on his stricken face, and fear wavers in eyes brimming with tears. from the way james talks . . . maybe micah shouldn't be here. not just formula one. but in life. micah doubts james would care, but at least, maybe, it would make things a little easier for james? he wouldn't have to deal with micah ever again.
micah sinks down, so he can take the key back into his hands. this may just be useless metal to james, but to micah, it's precious. hanging his head, micah's shoulders shake as tears spill over. he tries his hardest to be silent, so he doesn't annoy james by crying.
"i'm sorry, jamie- i mean-" shaking his head, micah chokes on another wave of tears. "james— i was scared. i- i should've reached out to you sooner, but i was so fucking scared that you hated me-" it's like qatar years ago, but far more severe. they found their way back to each other after that. but this time, james is walking away, and micah can't reach him— no. that isn't right.
"james, i'm so sorry that i left you. i'm sorry for breaking my promise." when micah left formula one, he left james. no calls, texts, nothing. vanished like a ghost— until reappearing in GT, rally, so on. even then, micah didn't reach out. countless drafted texts don't mean shit when he didn't send them. "i'm sorry for hurting you. i should've been there for you." another sob breaks free. micah holds the key closer to his chest. "i love you, schat." he probably shouldn't call james that either, but it escapes along with more tears.
the panic attack's moments away from exploding. staggering, micah pushes onto his feet, and leaves in the opposite direction. somehow, he makes it into an empty bathroom, locks himself in the last stall, and bites into his fist as he slides down the wall. the panic attack is brutal. not because his mind replays that disastrous conversation with james in the hall.
but because he sees their eyes meeting across the paddock, the sight of that brilliant smile, even feels the warmth of james in his arms. there's the scent of vanilla and cinnamon in the kitchen, micah pulls james closer to slowdance, a gentle acoustic song surrounding them in the golden afternoon light. micah surprising james by wearing something 'sexy' for the bedroom, which happens to be a mercedes shirt. it's worth it for the laughter, the brush of james' smile against his own.
after more panic attacks later that night, micah calls claude. from the first moment claude hears micah's broken voice, the ferrari driver knows something is wrong. micah doesn't explain what happened, since he refuses to put james in a bad light. all he says is 'i tried talking with james, i still love him so much, but i fucked up so bad-' and claude sighs, muttering under his breath in exasperated french. micah doesn't blame him. micah's arguably the worst best friend in existence, because he's spiraling for years over a breakup.
'remember what you used to do as a kid?' claude brings up. 'your father knew too, but he didn't stop you. maybe try that again.'
blinking through tears, micah stares at his left forearm. he thanks claude quietly, then ends the call. micah chokes as more panic starts rising. tugging his t-shirt collar up, micah bites into the fabric, lifts his hand, then brings it down harshly on his forearm. sharpness rings in the air. lightning flash of pain. reset button. micah can breathe. he isn't crying anymore. this must be why his father hurt him so often. he was just trying to fix micah.
it's not just micah returning to the track. it's who he was way back in his career— vicious, relentless, close calls with other cars. he stays within the rules, because he doesn't want to deal with anyone complaining about whatever micah supposedly did or didn't do. every race is a bloodbath. but his eyes get soft whenever he's near james off track. more than once, claude will pass by, and lightly squeeze micah's arm. seems friendly to the cameras. but pain flares under the bandage under the sleeve. soft eyes go cold. micah can finally look away from james.
at first, micah wants to decline the pr shoot. but after micah fucking up in that last media panel with james, he doesn't want make things harder for james' team. he imagines walking in there utterly devoid of emotion. but the moment micah sees james, a whirlwind of hurt storms inside of his eyes. worry surfaces once learning noah won't be there. the universe must have it out for micah and james, because micah's teammate can't make it today either. "sorry," micah murmurs quietly, only for james to hear. micah's likely the last person james wants to do a shoot with.
at first, the shoot's simple and ordinary. it'd be fine if it stays that way. but the drivers are told to stand closer. micah moves maybe half a centimeter closer to james. anxiety burns micah, starting from his fingertips and crawling up his arms. desperate to stop it, micah moves his hand behind james as if it's resting on his back in a polite, friendly way.
but micah lets his hand hover, clenches it into a fist, and digs nails hard enough to break skin. he exhales, relaxes. lashes flutter as peace floods into his body. the shoot continues as micah does whatever he's told. it feels good to get something right for once.
during a break, the drivers are left on their own. micah scrolls through his inbox, checks on texts, tries being nonexistent. but worry still gnaws at his mind. "is noah okay?"
