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build this dream together (final)

part three • series masterlist • final

🔞 18+, minors DNI 🚨 minors and blank blogs will be blocked

🏎️💨 Brought to you by @camandemstudios' Lights Out Collab

As his race engineer, you’ve spent five amazing years guiding McLaren superstar, Joshua Hong, to victory after victory. But in that fifth year, you learn something horrifying about yourself: you’ve fallen in love with your driver. You’re not willing to let your heart get in the way of everything you’ve worked for, so you do the one thing you know is guaranteed to keep both of your careers safe: you leave.

Two years later, Joshua inadvertently comes crashing back into your life with an announcement that rocks the F1 world. Before you know it, you’re on his doorstep with an offer you know he won’t be able to refuse, ready to guide him back to where he needs to be—one last time.

♫ Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now Starship

F1 GLOSSARY FOR THIS FIC PAIRING: joshua x fem!reader WC: 28.4k / 93.9k (oh my god.) TAGS: coworkers to best friends to LOVERS WEEEEE (tags for whole fic can be found on the series masterlist) SMUT TAGS: unprotected piv, fingering, oral f. receiving, overstimulation, cream pie, morning after sex, missionary, cowgirl, spooning position A/N: i cannot apologize enough for how long this took. i finished this through sheer guilt lol. i am still going to continue to be a bit inactive bc i've had a death in the family and work has taken over my life, so sorry for not replying to asks, comments, etc. but i'll get to them soon!!! hope u like this one! even though it's ending on a personally sour note in my life, i still loved writing this sosososo much. my fav joshua fic to date. okie bye have fun hehe.

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

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

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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

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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

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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

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