Burning Bridges
F1 driver!Lee Seokmin x fem!Reader (x ex!Choi Seungcheol)
Genre: big angst. fluff. reader overcomes a toxic relationship.
Word Count: 24.1k
Fic Content Warnings: food mentions. adult language. one suggestive scene but no explicit smut. toxic (and i cannot emphasise this enough) asshole ex!Choi Seungcheol. toxic journalists/media. something vaguely like a panic attack. confrontations that almost lead to physical fights. a tiny little car crash but no serious injuries. little cameos by my favourite drivers.
[Formula 1 AU] When your fiancé chooses his Formula 1 career over you and makes it everyone’s problem, his teammate Seokmin is not about to just sit back and watch.
♡ This fic is part of @camandemstudios Lights Out collab! Don't forget to check out the other writers' works and tell us what you think!! ♡ Big thank you to @haoboutyou for beta-reading and brainstorming with me. Couldn't have done it without you, bestie! ♡
[SPIELBERG 2024]
There he stood, right in front of the cameras, finally clad in the Red Bull Racing uniform he’d longed to wear all these years. Not only was he signed, he was their new golden child, sneaking onto the podium like it was all he knew how to do. And you couldn’t help but feel like you were being left behind.
You’d met Choi Seungcheol your first year on the paddock, back when he was just a fresh-faced rookie in a Haas uniform, not yet the absolute racing god he was now proving himself to be. Back when his eyes shone with a newfound spark every time they met yours in the crowd.
The AlphaTauri drivers laughed and winked at you every time they practically dragged him over, all too aware of his reddening face and the slight stutter he only seemed to develop around you.
“He’s good for content,” they’d joke while practically begging you to find games and challenges to do between the three of them, all while sharing conspiratorial grins and whispers you couldn’t hear.
Seungcheol seemed awkward the first few times, and you almost apologised to him for your drivers’ lack of consideration for his feelings. But he interrupted you with a shy, “I don’t mind. I kind of like it, actually, hanging out with you.”
You were smitten. How could you not be? He was handsome, he was sweet, he was humble and kind. He brought you chocolate-covered snacks whenever he snuck into the AlphaTauri hospitality. He paid no mind to the teasing comments your drivers made between filming and photo shoots, only smiling shyly when you scolded them.
When you shared your first kiss – an emotional congratulations for his first points as a Formula 1 driver –, the AlphaTauri drivers cheered as if it was their own personal accomplishment. They were certain you had found the one – a romance of the ages, a love story with a happy ending. You believed them, giggling and swatting at their arms when they teased you about the affectionate looks your boyfriend sent your way.
Two perfect years passed, an engagement ring found its way onto your finger, you moved into an apartment in Monaco together. You thought it couldn’t possibly get any better.
Then he walked in with a wide smile and said the words that would lead to your downfall: “I got signed by Red Bull Racing for next season!”
At first, it seemed good. Perhaps you should have known it was too good to be true when he got you a promotion to the main team just so you could spend more time together.
“Never should’ve introduced you to him,” Yuki half-joked when he found out, suddenly bemoaning the loss of his favourite social media manager. Now, only some months later, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had that exact same thought again with no humour at all as he watched it all burn down from the sidelines.
It was nothing grand – the end. Nothing that would catch anyone’s eyes if they weren’t looking. No snide comments, no big displays of disinterest. Only an ever-growing lack of affection.
He no longer brought you snacks, no longer saved a seat for you next to him, no longer ran over to you for a kiss after getting points. He wasn’t getting just points anymore anyway, only podiums now that he got to drive a car that could actually achieve them. No comments thanking his fiancée for support. No mention of a fiancée at all.
He dedicated his first winning champagne to his mother, his second to his father, his third to his first carting instructor. An interviewer joked that Seungcheol’s grandmother’s cat would get a dedication before his lady friend, and your fiancé looked genuinely surprised when he asked, “Have I not dedicated one to her yet?”
He dedicated the next one to his race engineer while you tried not to cry.
“That guy really can’t take a hint,” Seokmin, your fiancé’s teammate, commented and nudged your side. He was still clad in his dark blue racing suit, cheeks flushed and hair a mess from the long drive. You felt a little guilty that you hadn’t paid attention to his race, unable to even guess where he’d ended up on the leaderboard.
Not on the podium, you realised with a pang of compassion and offered him a smile you hoped wasn’t as sad as you felt. “He’s like that sometimes. Good drive, by the way.”
Seokmin scoffed out a laugh equal parts amused and disbelieving. He didn’t seem dismayed, not even a little bit unhappy. His eyes shone as he ruffled his hair and joked, “Did you even watch the race?”
You grimaced. “That obvious?”
“How do you work for Red Bull Racing and not watch the race?” he wondered as if it were truly a mystery. “We both might get reprimanded by the team principal at this rate.”
“Both?” Your eyes widened just a bit at the notion. You barely paid any mind to the way his hand found its way to your back and gently led you away from the podium, into the garage, away from the crowds. “Why would you get reprimanded?”
He shrugged. “Only one Red Bull on the podium tends to do that.”
Now curiosity was starting to get the best of you. “Where’d you finish?”
“P8,” he answered after some hesitation, just as the national anthem of South Korea started blasting through the track. You glanced back over your shoulder but shrugged it off.
“That’s not too bad.”
“I might have kind of gotten in your boyfriend’s way on the track,” he added quickly, his eyes widening as if it was only hitting him now. “When they told me to let him through.”
“You ignored team orders?” you gasped and slapped his arm. He only laughed. “Why would you do that? You’re going to be in so much trouble!”
He shrugged and looked towards the ceiling for answers. “Maybe I thought he needed to be taken down a notch. His head’s getting too big with all these podiums.”
You suspected that was only half of the truth. Not that you could prove it.
“Much good it did, he still won the race,” you half-joked. “But good effort though.”
His smile was as bright as the sun. “I’ll try harder next time.”
“Maybe you should–”
“Hey, (Y/n), you’re friends with Seungcheol, right?” a voice asked, speedy footsteps rushing up to you. A small cardboard box was placed in your hand, and your fiancé’s new press officer smiled at you, pleading, “Can you give him this? I’d do it myself, but I have to rush to catch my flight. Family emergency, you know how it goes.” You could barely nod before she smiled brighter and left. “Thank you!”
Your mouth was open, but no sound came out. You could only stare at the box in your hand as the reality set in, one tiny and painful word at a time.
“Did she just–?” Seokmin voiced your thoughts for you, equally baffled. “She’s worked here for years. How does she not know?”
Your chest felt tight. There was something in your throat, and it tasted a lot like tears you hadn’t yet had the courage to cry. Seokmin took the package from your shaking hands before you could find the words to ask him to.
“I need air,” is all you finally managed to say as you rushed away from him, away from everything. The friends you’d made on the paddock watched in concern, calling your name as you practically ran from the event.
Your car smelled like his body wash and cologne. His back-up bag sat on the back seat, still unzipped from when he’d searched for his paddock pass just some hours ago.
Back when everything was still okay, you thought to yourself before laughing without much humour at all. Your head came to rest on the steering wheel, the cold leather providing relief, keeping your tears at bay. The ring felt heavy on your finger.
His friend. A year ago, no one would have dared to even guess something like that. It used to be so obvious: his lovesick smiles, his soft glances, the way his attention never seemed to stay on task when you were around. Most people had assumed you were dating long before you made it public, but now you were engaged to marry and you had been described as just his "friend" more times than you could count this month alone.
No, you were hit with a heavy realisation some twenty minutes later and wiped your tears. It hasn’t been okay in a while.
You found him two hours later, sitting in the garage, smiling and laughing with the mechanics and engineers. As if everything was fine and dandy and perfect – for him, maybe that was the truth. Perhaps it was only you that had a problem.
You needed to know.
“Seungcheol, can we talk?” you interrupted one of the mechanics’ anecdotes.
They shared confused, curious looks, raising their brows at your fiancé. Some wiggled their eyebrows and laughed, patting him on the shoulder as they left one by one until there was no one between you and the man you had thought you would marry. You didn’t feel so certain of it now.
“I was starting to wonder where you were." He smiled at you and got up from his seat on the floor, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You turned your head before he could. His lips landed on your cheek instead. He didn’t seem to mind. “Didn’t see you when I was on the podium.”
A part of you wondered if he’d even looked at all. If he ever had.
He noticed your silence, all too familiar with your habits. His brows furrowed in something like worry as his hands wrapped around yours. You gently removed them and hid your hands in the pockets of your team jacket, squeezing them into fists so hard your nails pricked the skin.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and his voice sounded so soft, so gentle. For a moment, it felt like you had your Seungcheol back: the way his tone always softened when he spoke to you, the way he never dared to raise his voice in front of you, the way he never missed a chance to hold your hand. You hadn’t seen this version of him in months.
“Do I still matter to you?” you voiced your doubts so quietly you barely heard them yourself.
But he heard you just fine. You knew he did, even when he leaned forward with wide eyes and asked, “What? What are you talking about?”
“Do I still matter,” your wavering voice paused as you swallowed, “to you?”
His brows furrowed even more. Your fingers itched to reach up and smooth his frown like you used to do back when it was just the two of you. You resisted the urge and bit down on your lip to remind yourself you needed answers.
“Of course you do,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Do I?” you parroted, feeling like a broken record. He’d given his answer, you knew he had, but you couldn’t help but not believe him. This is what it felt like, you now realised: not trusting the person you love most.
“You do matter to me!” his voice suddenly rose and echoed in the garage. The few mechanics still left tried their hardest to look uninterested, but even a fool would’ve known they were all texting about it in a group chat.
For once, you were the centre of attention. But you couldn’t have cared less. Just like he had just moments ago, you felt yourself burst with emotions you didn’t recognise. Your voice matched his before you could think about it twice. “If I matter so much, then why do you keep hiding me?! Why do you keep avoiding me in front of the media?”
“I don’t– I’ve never–”
You scoffed so hard it hurt your throat. “Your press officer asked me if I’m your friend. Your friend, Choi Seungcheol!” The diamond on your finger flashed past his eyes – a reminder. “A year ago, you were ready to drop everything if I just said ‘yes’, and now I’m just your friend?”
“You’re not just a friend,” he tried to assure you, his voice hoarse from the emotions coursing through his body. “You know you’re not–”
“Do I?” An unwanted tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it as fast as it appeared. You wouldn’t cry in front of him, you wouldn’t let him see how much he had hurt you. You shouldn’t have to. “It’s like I don’t know you anymore. I used to know you like the back of my hand: all your habits, your mood, your fucking dreams. Then you got that seat and suddenly I don’t know the man who sleeps in our bed, who mumbles racing stats in his sleep, who lets the media call me just a friend.”
That word felt like bitter poison on your tongue. You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, glaring holes into his car instead. The damned dark blue Formula 1 car with the damned red number 8. Eight for his birthday, for infinite possibilities, for eternity. It was clear you were no longer part of his eternity, or even his present. Before you knew it, the ring was clenched in your right hand. You gave it a pitying glare before all but shoving it into his palm.
The hurt was clear in his eyes. Tears, unshed yet but certainly not for long. His jaw agape while he gasped for air as if you had just actually punched the air out of him. Just a broken man in a racing suit.
Good, you thought and turned to leave. Serves him right.
Just like that, you were done. Two and a half years gone in an instant, a romance burnt in mere seconds. You hoped the ache in your chest would disappear before the next race weekend.
[ZANDVOORT 2024]
The ache had other plans. It didn’t go away the next race weekend, nor the one after it. Silverstone, Budapest, Spa – three races passed and you still couldn’t look him in the eyes. You asked an intern to do the filming, the photos, the mini interviews for the fans, and focused your attention on the editing and the paperwork. The ache persisted.
“You’re going to get a hunched back sitting over your laptop like that,” Seokmin commented and sat down next to you, right there in the hospitality where most of the team had started to avoid you. He smiled and motioned to an ice cream cup in a previously empty spot next to your laptop. “The weather’s hot today. You should be careful.”
You almost dismissed his worries, assuming he was just making conversation. That’s what the team members who hadn’t taken Seungcheol’s side had started doing anyway.
Then he pinched the fabric on the sleeve of your Red Bull hoodie, two sizes too big for your stature. “Seriously, you’re going to get a heat stroke in this weather.”
“Oh,” was all you could say, feeling dumb all of a sudden. Had heartbreak broken you physically as well as emotionally? You hadn’t even realised how hot it was, the late August heat wave blasting through the paddock. Outside, the people wore sundresses and shorts. And yet here you sat, cowering in an oversized hoodie as if it was the middle of winter.
When you glanced up, Seokmin was looking at you. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, small and full of concern you had only started noticing after your break-up. You couldn’t help but worry you had broken the paddock’s resident sunshine along with your own heart.
“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked and he had never sounded so soft. You were used to loud, boisterous, jokingly arrogant Lee Seokmin, driver of the car 9, always distracting his teammate from the goal of whatever you were filming, always the loudest man on track. Usually, there was no corner of the paddock where you couldn’t hear his voice, but now you could barely hear him at all as he sat next to you.
You found yourself nodding. “I was hoping I would be back to normal by the time we get to Monza, but that seems far-fetched now.”
He looked at you for a while. There was something indecipherable in his eyes. Something unfamiliar and yet so warm. He cracked a smile. “Do you want me to drive him into the wall today?”
“You’re already on thin ice with the team,” you reminded him and shook your head.
“Fine,” he sighed before his eyebrows rose, a thought occurring under your very eyes. “I’m sure Yuki would jump at the chance though.”
“Don’t you dare give him ideas,” you warned him with a weak laugh. “He’s already crashed his car, like, twice this season.”
There was a stupid smile on his face. The one full of childish glee, as if you’d granted him his Christmas wish. “Third time’s the charm.”
“So is actually finishing the race!”
“If he does it during the last lap, I could give him a little push across the finish line.”
“Pretty sure that’s against regulations.”
He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “When did you become the FIA regulations’ expert?”
You couldn’t help but laugh some more. It felt good. Freeing. It had been a while since you’d last actually laughed. Maybe you wouldn’t feel normal until way after the season’s last Italian Grand Prix, but perhaps you were on your way to recovery still.
Something about the smile on his face told you Seokmin was thinking the same thing. But his smile faded moments later, yours following close after.
There he stood once again: Seungcheol with brown eyes stuck on you as if he was incapable of looking elsewhere. The dark blue team kit polo stretched across his torso as he crossed his arms over his chest, deadly daggers replacing the longing stares he'd once reserved for you. He turned on his heel and walked away to his room before you found your breath again.
“Well, that was rude,” Seokmin mumbled under his breath. His gaze had taken a similar hard edge, following your ex’s (it still felt weird to think of him as such) movements like a guard dog on patrol. “You’d think he’d be nicer when he’s the reason you broke up.”
“Well, I did break up with him,” you noted and hid your face in your hands, “and he holds a grudge like no other.”
A comforting, warm hand placed itself on your back, rubbing soothing circles.
“The offer still stands, you know.” He was only half-joking. “The wall looks mighty tempting today.”
You shook your head once more. “Don’t. He’s my problem, not yours. You’re supposed to be teammates.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my friend, and if he starts treating you badly, I won’t stay silent,” he said and it sounded like a sacred promise.
A promise he fulfilled by beating Seungcheol in the race later on Sunday. He snatched the 2nd place from right under Seungcheol's nose in the last lap, overtaking him just before the finish line. The crowd cheered, you alongside them.
You should've known he was adding fuel to the fire.
That night, you caught a glimpse of one of Seungcheol's post-race interviews. You hated that your heart still skipped a beat — at least it was a small one now, rather than the leaps it used to do back then — when you saw him on the screen. You despised the fact that you couldn't look away.
He wasn't smiling. His brows were pulled into a frown, his gaze focused on the journalist as he intently listened to the questions.
You didn't mean to turn up the volume. It was a reflex, something you were yet to unlearn. His voice soon filled the room but no one stopped you. He was the leading driver of the team, after all. Everybody wanted to hear what he had to say.
"I mean, it was tough today," his low voice somehow sounded even lower than usual through the mic. "It's been a tough few races for me personally this season. Not just adjusting to the car, but overcoming personal challenges."
You wondered if he even considered the chaos his next words would bring.
"Driving with a broken heart is harder than I thought it would be, but I won't let that stop me."
And suddenly you were the new centre of the entire world: every sports fan, every sponsor, every colleague.
"Seungcheol and you broke up?" someone from the strategy team asked, staring at you with wide, disbelieving eyes as if such a possibility hadn't even occurred to him. "Since when?"
"A few weeks ago," you managed to say before the realisation fully hit you. In a matter of hours, you'd be the talk of the town, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.
[MONZA 2024]
The news spread like wildfire. By the time you got back to your hotel, you were in the headlines of every gossip blog and magazine. You were being tagged in every TikTok over-analysing your past relationship, the fans demanding explanations and answers. You avoided your personal social media like the plague for a week. It didn't help a lot — you still had to manage the team's accounts, monitor them for activity.
But at least you could hide from the public eye. You weren't famous enough to be recognised in the streets, not without Seungcheol by your side. To the world, you were just a part of his story. They didn't stop to consider that you might be a person with feelings, too.
That much became evident on Thursday. Media day in Monza. The day when you and your interns were supposed to shine behind the scenes, organising interviews and filming silly short-form videos for fans to watch. You used to love Thursdays: the thrill of managing the schedules of your drivers, the chaotic joy of re-familiarising yourself with the paddock and the track, the buzzing of fans and social media interns and journalists all around you.
This time, you hated all of it. Every last thing you used to enjoy became your personal hell the moment you tapped your paddock pass at the gates.
Like predators on prey, all eyes turned to you. It was silent for a moment. They processed the situation. You almost breathed out in relief. Then someone called out, "Isn't that Seungcheol's girl?"
They descended like vultures, rushing over with their cameras and phones and microphones. Invasive questions flying left and right as you tried to push past them, they made you the main character you had no interest in being.
"How long ago did you break up?"
"Why did you break up?"
"Did you break his heart or did he break yours?"
"Is it true that you cheated on Seungcheol?"
The questions blended together. You refused to answer them. It was salt in the wound, the unwanted tearing off of a bandaid — your wounds had scarcely started to heal, and now they were getting torn open again.
You looked up to find your way, desperately seeking the hospitality unit. He caught your eye instead, leaning against the building, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you struggle. Seungcheol didn't smile but there was no remorse in his eyes either.
Gone were the days when he would have rushed to protect you.
An arm wrapped around you before you could tear your eyes away. You recognised him by his voice before even seeing him. Seokmin ushered the journalists away, threatening to call the security for breaching your privacy.
The flashing of the cameras got just a bit more tolerable but you could still hardly see where you were going. As if noticing your distress, Seokmin reached up to pull off his hat. The dark blue cap with a proud number 9 on it was gently placed upon your head, the cap pulled low to hide your eyes. His arm tightened around you, protective and sure.
"If she wants to tell you something, I'm sure she'll be happier to speak to you after she's had breakfast," he told the few who refused to listen to his warnings. His bodyguard made a path through the people, clearly more intimidating than Seokmin could ever be. Still, he continued. "Until then, please leave her be. She's not a driver — you should have no interest in her. It is not your business."
"But she dated Choi Seungcheol," one of the journalists told him like it was a piece of information that would change everything.
Seokmin laughed, but you heard no joy in it. "And I dated a member of Twice once. Make that your headline, if you must. Leave our staff out of it and go find a driver to bother. I'm sure Lando has something more interesting to say about his win last week."
"But the people want to know! Why did Choi Seungcheol and —"
The door slammed shut and you were welcomed by the blissful quiet of the Red Bull hospitality. Your knees gave out underneath you and you sank to the floor, Seokmin rushing to kneel beside you. Vaguely, you heard him tell someone to get you something to drink. His arm remained tight around you, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder.
"You're okay," he told you so softly you hardly heard it. Or maybe it's just that your heart was beating and your ears were ringing so loud that he sounded softer than usual. "You're safe here. You're okay."
"They all hate me," you found yourself whispering while you fought back tears. There was a glass of water in your hands; you had no memory of getting it. Your eyes burned and stung, but you refused to let them make you cry. You had cried enough already. "Why do they hate me?"
"They don't hate you," he insisted.
"They think I cheated on him."
"And we both know they're wrong. You don't owe them an explanation for their own inventions." He adjusted the hat on your head so he could see your eyes.
The smile he offered you was almost too sweet for the moment. It was the kind of smile a lover might give their loved one in a secret shared moment. You weren't sure you could smile at anyone like that ever again, betrayed to the highest degree.
You hugged him instead. His team kit polo smelled like fresh laundry and cologne you could never afford. You didn't bother to resist the urge to hide your face in it.
Let the others see, you thought. Let him see. You were too tired to fake it anymore.
"Oh my god," you heard a familiar voice tinged with a Japanese accent. Yuki — the man you might have blamed for your heartbreak if you felt any more vengeful. The man who had been your friend since your first day on the paddock. His voice lowered to a worried whisper, "What happened?"
"Seungcheol happened," Seokmin told him and handed you away. Suddenly, there was an undertone you had never heard in his voice. Something wild and dangerous. Something incredibly protective. Still, he offered you a kind smile and patted your shoulder as Yuki took his place next to you on the floor. "I'll be back in a sec, okay? I have to do something."
You didn't question it. You didn't dare to.
Instead, you enjoyed the comforting presence of an old friend. It wasn't the same, you realised. Yuki didn't deal in comforting whispers, warm smiles, and silent acts of service, not the way Seokmin did.
"Really shouldn't have introduced you two," he told you, not even bothering to hide his anger and annoyance as he hugged you close. You could practically hear him gritting his teeth in an effort to hold back. "This is all his fault."
"Please don't take your anger out on him on the track. I don't need you getting a penalty because of me."
He contemplated for a moment as if you had just presented an impossible ethical dilemma. A deep sigh. "Fine. I'll just beat him instead."
You hummed in approval. "I hope you will."
He didn't say anything else. Just sat there in silence, nothing more than a comforting presence, a wall between you and the harsh outside world.
Voices, angry and betrayed, rang from the hallway where the drivers' rooms stood. Someone passed by and whispered that Seokmin and Seungcheol were arguing. You forced yourself to ignore it even as their words became loud enough to be legible.
"If you cared for her half as much as you claimed you did when you got down on one knee, you'd put a stop to this and tell them to leave her alone! Haven't you hurt her enough?!" Seokmin.
Seungcheol didn't hesitate to reply, "She hurt me first!"
"So what?! You're getting even now?" Seokmin's laugh was boisterous, venomous. The type that made someone's blood freeze in their veins. "By spreading rumours and sending the press to hunt her down like your little bloodhounds?"
"How I get even is not your business!"
You got up and walked out; you couldn't stand to listen any longer. Yuki followed in silence, no doubt glaring at anyone daring to even look your way. It would explain the quiet that surrounded you now.
"It'll pass," he told you when you made it to the track.
Walking further and further from the paddock, you hoped he was right.
[SINGAPORE 2024]
"Alright," Seokmin's cheerful voice echoed between the paddock buildings, his eyes trained on the phone camera in your hand, "qualifying — done. It was fun. Starting from P5… I probably could've done better, but…"
As his gaze caught yours over the edge of the screen, he trailed off, his smile dropping. Head tilting on instinct, he rushed closer and asked, "You okay?"
Startled by the sudden interruption to your usual workflow, you blinked at him, wide-eyed like an owl. "Yeah? Why?"
You must not have been very convincing because his eyes narrowed. Without even acknowledging it, he took the phone from your hand and lowered it. There was no place to hide now.
"You seem down."
To be fair, you doubted anyone would have a good day after having to film TikToks with their spiteful ex after an intern called in sick. Or after having another group of said ex's fans follow them around, begging for answers. You were just unlucky enough to experience both in close succession in the span of this one short day. Frankly, you were exhausted and the humid heat of Singapore was doing you no favours.
You could've told him exactly that — he wouldn't have judged, you knew he wouldn't have. But still you kept your problems to yourself and faked a smile.
"It's fine," you told him and made a point to look down at the phone. Deleting a messed-up video clip was a good enough excuse to avoid looking in his eyes and getting stripped bare of your defences.
Then, as if you couldn't help yourself, as if a part of your subconscious was fighting back and needy for comfort, you added on in a mumble, "Not all days can be good days anyway."
Seokmin made a loud noise of disapproval. "I knew there was something off!"
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Seokmin—"
"It's okay," he interrupted, and there was a smile threatening to break out on his face. It looked more conspiratorial than sympathetic. "I'll just have to make your day better."
"Seokmin—" you tried again.
He was simply not listening. "You know, there's a nice restaurant I've been meaning to visit here. We should go—"
"Seokmin, my bad days are not your responsibility!" you cut him off, sharper and harsher than you had intended to. Your eyes squeezed shut at your error — you hadn't meant to snap at him. Counting to five, you prepared to meet his eyes again, certain they'd be full of hurt and fear.
With a deep, calming breath, you opened your eyes again. He was looking at you still, his smile a little less bright, but his eyes still overflowing with that familiar sweet warmth.
"You're right," he told you, voice low and soft as if he was sharing a secret he inexplicably was fond of, and leaned close. You could've sworn his nose touched yours, but before you could focus on that, he continued, "Your bad days are not my responsibility. But that doesn't mean I won't try to fix them. You want to know why?"
"Why?" you breathed out after a pause of thought.
There was a shiver up your spine that you hadn't felt in months — so familiar but so foreign at the same time. A feeling you had once cherished in the arms of Seungcheol.
He smiled wider. "Because I care about you."
Something about the stars in his eyes said it was about more than that.
With a sudden movement, almost a flinch, he leaned back. It was as if he hadn't realised how close you were until this moment, as if he'd pressed so close to you subconsciously. He cleared his throat and glanced away, smiling at Lando Norris passing by, congratulated him for getting pole.
You were left wondering, pondering the meaning of his words. Caring about someone suddenly felt like the most vague phrase anyone's ever uttered. Your mind swirled with meanings and definitions and hopes and fears.
He turned to you again. "You're staying at the same hotel as us, right?"
Too lost in your thoughts, you could only nod.
He mirrored your action, the corners of his lips quirking a bit as he did so. His hands busied themselves with adjusting his dark blue racing suit; his eyes wandered around the paddock, almost like they were avoiding your gaze. His voice didn't waver but it felt like it should have as he spoke, "I'll meet you in the lobby at eight. Wear something nice but comfy, okay?"
You wanted to ask questions. You had so many flooding your mind.
But he ran his fingers through his dark hair and nodded towards the phone in your hand. "We should probably do another take of that recap. I messed it up a bit, I think."
He treated it all with such nonchalance that for a while you wondered if it had been a joke. Maybe a vivid hallucination. With the year you were having, you wouldn't have put it past yourself to imagine something so seemingly impossible.
You battled these doubts when you walked into your hotel room and removed your work uniform. You continued doing so as you picked out an outfit for the evening, just in case it was real. They didn't escape your mind as you did your make-up and checked your phone for the fiftieth time.
Unwanted memories of similar scenarios restricted your cautious excitement. They were memories of Seungcheol telling you to dress pretty, that he'd pick you up at seven, that he was excited to show you the world. They were memories of standing in hotel lobbies, dressed to impress no one because you waited for hours, all alone under the pitying stares of the receptionists. They were memories of half-hearted 'I'm so sorry I forgot; I'll make it up to you, I swear' texts at 2 am. You feared you'd be played for a fool again this time.
But Seokmin was waiting in the lobby when you finally found the courage to go down and see. A part of you wondered if he'd had the exact same doubts; his chest heaved with visible relief when you met his eyes, and it seemed to do the same every time he looked at you across the table at the restaurant. It was as if he couldn't believe you were really there with him.
His eyes kept wandering to you every few minutes even after you'd eaten dinner, even when you were walking in the Gardens by the Bay and the pretty lights and plants should've had all of his attention. You couldn't remember the last time someone had made you feel like you were their sole focus. It made you nervous but excited all the same.
"So," you started between bites of ice cream, desperate for a distraction from the nagging fluttery feeling in your tummy, "only seven races left. Excited for next season yet? I hear Red Bull's coming out with an even faster car."
"Honestly?" Thinking about it, he hummed around the spoon sticking out of his mouth. He lowered the spoon into his plastic cup. "I'm terrified for next season."
That wasn't the answer you'd been expecting.
"Why?" you wondered.
He shrugged and lowered his eyes, staring at his dessert as if it had all the answers of the universe and he wasn't ready to hear them yet. "I don't know if I'll race next year. Maybe my time in Formula 1 is over."
Your jaw dropped at its own accord. Your feet froze on the ground, unable to take another step. He stopped a few steps ahead of you, smiling sadly like he could read your mind and knew exactly the words you wanted to scream at him.
"Why would you say that?" you croaked. Your voice wavered and broke, shock evident in every syllable. "Seokmin, what are you saying?"
"Red Bull's terminating my contract early," he told you like it was no big deal. Maybe he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you. "Either I find another team to sign or I leave the sport."
It didn't make any sense in your head: Lee Seokmin was a racer. He'd been on the grid since he was barely twenty. He was fast and vicious on track, stood on the podium more often than not since his second year. If there was anyone that was built for this, it was him.
"Why would they terminate your contract?"
He laughed, head thrown back to stare into the sky, but there was no joy in his voice. "Who knows? Maybe I've lost my spark. Maybe Seungcheol said something to the team principal. Either way, I'm leaving." He sighed. "But honestly? I don't think I would've wanted to stay either way."
You found yourself humming in agreement.
"My contract's ending soon too," you told him. "I don't think I'd return to Red Bull even if they doubled my pay."
He tore his gaze from the sky and looked at you. He didn't even bother to fake a smile this time. "Because of Seungcheol?"
"I can't stand to be in the same room as him anymore," you confessed. "Especially when he's the one that got me this job."
Without another word, he walked closer. You felt his arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest as if to hide you from the world and give you the space you so clearly needed. If you cried at all, the tears soaked into his T-shirt before they could fall. You needed this — how he knew was beyond you.
"Where will you go?" he asked some minutes later, his voice muffled against your skin.
"Where will you?" you replied.
Seokmin laughed at that.
"Well, wherever you go, I hope it'll make you happy." He paused. Then his voice softened. "I was supposed to cheer you up tonight and instead I made both of us sad. Sorry."
"It's okay," you told him. "Thank you, for caring about me."
He squeezed you tighter like a playful threat. "Don't thank me for silly things. Just enjoy it instead."
[AUSTIN 2024]
Seungcheol's press officer called in sick. You tried hard not to feel bitter about it. It wasn't her fault — how was she supposed to know the sushi had gone bad? But a part of you still couldn't help but imagine texting her some choice words because she had inadvertently brought forth your newest, worst nightmare: filling in for her at the post-race interviews.
When the reality settled in, you'd tried to find someone else to do the job but it seemed there was no way out for you, short of bribing the team principal. You didn't have that kind of cash, so you gritted your teeth and squeezed the company-issued phone a little tighter than necessary while following him around.
He didn't even spare you a glance. The indifference he was displaying seemed almost believable. It was his words that gave him away.
"Yeah, the race was tough," Seungcheol told the press while adjusting his hat until it was backwards on his head. You could've sworn he did that on purpose — there had been a time when you'd thought he looked handsome when he wore his hat this way, you were sure you had told him so. Now he mocked you for it. "The grid is tight this year, hard to hold our own. But our car's incredible. Our team worked so hard. It's thanks to them that I won today."
Somewhere behind you, you heard a familiar scoff of laughter. You glanced back to find Seokmin standing there, his own press officer in tow, eyes narrowed as he listened to his team mate's interview. His eyes met yours and his smile dropped. He knew what was coming.
"You had an incident in turn 3 with your team mate. Do you think it was just a gamble to win, or did it have anything to do with the pictures from Singapore? Of your ex and Seokmin?" the journalist asked and it took everything to keep your jaw from dropping.
Suddenly, reality hit. You weren't just replacing the press officer. This wasn't just an interview. It was a humiliation ritual, whether these two men realised it or not.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Seokmin's jaw clench as the words hit him as well. His press officer pressed his hand against his chest to keep him from rushing over and starting a fight. You weren't sure how long he'd last with the way Seokmin's hands were clenching at his sides.
You watched Seungcheol, eyes begging him. This was the part where Seungcheol was supposed to laugh and shrug and say his team mate's doing the best he can. This was the part where he was supposed to tell the journalist to ask Seokmin and walk away. He did neither.
"I mean, it's Seokmin." His eyes glinted with something vicious as he spoke, "He's always behind me on the track, on the grid— Hell, even his racing number's right behind mine! Of course he'd want my leftovers."
"Are you insane?!" the driver behind you blurted.
His press officer could only mumble frantic apologies as Seokmin walked over and glared at both Seungcheol and the journalist. The latter's eyes widened, his face paled as he realised what he'd just unleashed. Seungcheol didn't even blink, the same bored, cruel look in his eyes.
"If you dislike me that much, just say it to my face! Don't drag her into this!" Seokmin demanded, face reddening as anger took him over.
You slipped away as tension grew and their voices grew louder. For sure, there were penalties waiting to be filed their way — fines for swearing on camera, grid drops for unsportsmanlike behaviour. You wanted nothing to do with any of it. You'd already had your share of suffering and insults.
[are you okay?]
[where did you go?]
Your phone vibrated with messages some half an hour later. You didn't bother to reply; finally hidden away in your own little sanctuary. It was a small corner of the paddock, somewhere behind the McLaren hospitality: peaceful, far removed from the noise of the crowd. The only person you'd seen in the past fifteen minutes was Oscar Piastri, deeply engrossed in a phone call but he'd only offered you a small smile as he passed by.
This was exactly the place you needed to be to calm down and hide. You needed to get your mind straight, to untangle the wires of hurt feelings and destroyed pride. You needed to get away from Seungcheol. It was only ironic that the place furthest from him was the very place he'd shown you just last year. Now you wondered how you could get further away from him still.
Your contract would come to an end in a few months anyway. What could stop you from just calling it quits right here, right now? Could your shaking fingers type out a letter of resignation and email it to the team principal before the day's end? You weren't sure you had any other options now that Seungcheol had really crossed the line.
The phone vibrated once again. Begrudgingly, you clicked on the power button. The screen lit up, four text messages and a new email on display. It was a reminder that the world did not care for your hurt — it simply moved on, business as usual.
[seungcheol was wrong to say what he did, you know, right?]
You couldn't type a reply with his words, Seungcheol's wicked glare still twisting around in your head. Swiping away the messages, you tapped on the email by accident. It unfolded before your eyes and your breath got caught when you read it.
As if answering your prayers, the email revealed a job offer — 'Williams Racing needs a new social media manager', it said. 'Considering your prior work experience and the quality of it … at first opportunity … drivers excited to work with you'.
This was it, you realised with a sharp intake of air. This was your chance to get away, handed to you on a gold platter. You didn't hesitate to tell them yes.
Your letter of resignation landed in your supervisor's inbox before the team got the tyres off the cars.
[MEXICO CITY 2024]
"You finished P15 today, your worst result yet this season. What happened?"
Seokmin grimaced visibly in front of the cameras, his nose scrunching up as he struggled to answer. "The pace just wasn't there today, I guess."
"You made a few errors on track, especially in turn six, where you kept going wide, and compared to your brilliant performance here last year, I just wonder if there is some kind of a psychological component to your result today?"
"Could be." He adjusted his hat, lips twisting into a sad smile. "I'm just human like everyone else."
"We did hear your team's former social media manager resigned from her position last week, effective immediately. We've heard you're quite close with her. Is she the reason—?"
"I think that's quite enough questions," Seokmin interrupted with a defiant nod. He walked off without another word, only his back visible to the camera.
[LAS VEGAS 2024]
It was almost funny how fast you became a nobody.
When you walked into the paddock for the first time in two weeks, you expected the journalists to go crazy. You could just about imagine the headlines: "Choi Seungcheol's ex switched teams after dramatic fall-out with fiancé!".
You took a deep, calming breath before swiping your paddock pass, preparing for a frenzy and no one to defend you. Your hands shaking, you swiped the pass, everything unsteady about the familiar flick of your wrist. The lights flashed green and you walked through, knees wobbly as you took three steps.
No one batted an eye. No one as much as glanced your way. Gone were the judgmental fangirls of your ex, the compassionate smiles of the few drivers that cared, the journalists asking a thousand questions you had no answer for. It was as if just by changing your Red Bull team kit for a Williams one, you had become someone new.
If you'd known it was this easy, you would have switched teams months ago.
You embraced the peace, the first of it you'd had since your break-up back in June. Fans and journalists walked past the Williams' hospitality like you weren't even a dot on their radar, like you didn't exist. Only a few of the drivers recognised you, doing double-takes as they rushed past, offering simple smiles when they made eye contact. A part of you wondered if you'd gone back in time to your first days of work all those years ago.
"Just out of curiosity," Alex — one of your team's drivers — spoke, leaning back against the door as he surveyed the paddock, "does your old team know you're with Williams now?"
Contemplating for a moment, you shrugged. "Maybe?"
His eyebrows rose, teasing. "Well, then they're about to find out. Ten bucks says Seokmin will do a double-take."
"Enough with the double-takes," you joked and adjusted your laptop screen, the glare of the sunlight reflecting off it and offending your eyes. "I swear Charles almost fell over when he recognised me."
"If he asks about you, I'll tell him I have no idea who he's talking about," he offered a little too readily before bursting into laughter. "Yeah, that'll fuck him up good."
"You're impossible."
He completely ignored your protests. Leaning forward, hands on his knees, eyes locked on something in the distance like his favourite game was about to start and he had placed the bet of a lifetime, Alex began commentating, "He's walking this way. He's got a Red Bull and he's frowning like he wanted whiskey instead. "
"Who is?"
"Lee Seokmin approaches—" That explained it. "He's walking fast; he might be late to the press conference. Oh! His eyes moved. Did he look this way? I think he might have."
"You think he'll recognise me?" you wondered. It was hard to decide if you wanted him to.
Alex scoffed. "If he doesn't, I'll make him." You weren't entirely sure you liked the sound of that threat. "Oh! He's coming this way. He's looking right at us. He's waving at me. He's looking at you—"
Your name sounded like a call from home. It was all affection and warmth and joy. Seokmin repeated it like it was holy, like it was a prayer he'd been keeping for better days.
His Red Bull scattered to the ground and broke his daze. With hurried movements, he stammered out an apology and picked up the now half-empty can before all but running over. For a moment, you worried he'd trip and fall over the cords, or maybe he'd be unable to slow down in time. He proved your worries futile and came to a perfect stop right in front of you, towering over your sitting form.
He smiled wide and you could've sworn it was brighter than the damned Las Vegas sun. Your name came out in one more elated breath.
"You're back!" he spoke as if it was a miracle. "You're really back!"
Without a second of hesitation, he placed his Red Bull down and pulled you up into a tight hug. His breath was warm against your neck, his hands even warmer around your back, squeezing you close as if you'd disappear if he gave you any space to do so.
"Well, I wasn't about to give up my whole career just because Seungcheol is an asshole," you told him, and a warm hum filled your chest at the reverent look on his face. A realisation hit you, it rattled your world — you liked being recognised if it was him. Hell, you thought, you would've been heartbroken if he hadn't.
"Good. He's not worth it anyway," he told you. His hands seemed unable to leave the fabric of your shirt, unwilling to let you go just yet. He glanced down at the fabric, at the bold white logo on your chest. He chuckled. "It'll take some getting used to. It's a different blue."
You shrugged. "Well, I like this blue."
"I think I like it too," he told you softly. Something in the tone of his voice said there was more to those words. You didn't pry. His eyes lit up once more, his smile brightened. "Have you eaten yet?"
"I—"
"All she's had today is a granola bar and way too much coffee," Alex interrupted, reminding you of his presence with a teasing smirk. "Here's an idea!"
"Don't even—" you started but were beaten once again.
"Seokmin, you should get her some lunch! You know, some proper food."
You sighed. "Seokmin, you don't have to—"
"We'll bring you something back too," Seokmin readily told the other driver and grabbed your arm. Too baffled to protest, you let him practically drag you away. "Is pizza okay? The one they sell here is heavenly."
You couldn't help but laugh. "It's perfectly fine."
"Good, because I've been craving it all week," he told you solemnly once you reached the Italian food stand. "You liked yours without olives, right?"
Had you told him that? You couldn't remember. He rattled off an order to the employee, always wearing that wide, friendly smile of his. No matter how many times you tried to tear your gaze away, it always returned to him. A hollow thump of your heart and you made a second realisation of the day, one you couldn't help but question.
Was it possible to have missed someone so much when it had only been a month?
"Why Williams?" was the first thing he asked once you found a place to sit. "Surely any team here would have been happy to take you."
You shrugged. "They were the first ones to reach out. I actually got the email back in Austin, after that… interview."
His face fell at the reminder. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, unwittingly pulling your attention to it. You spotted a fading bruise right in the crook of his neck. The sight and implications made your heart ache horribly.
"He shouldn't have said those things," Seokmin repeated the words he'd texted you back then. "I wished I'd driven him off the track just for thinking that."
"Did you get in a fight with him?" you asked the question itching in your throat.
"I did." It didn't surprise you. You'd suspected as much all month, ever since you saw the fire in his eyes when those words slipped off of Seungcheol's tongue. "And I'd do it again."
"He's your teammate, Seokmin," you reminded him with a sigh. "You're not supposed to fight him, not over a girl anyway."
"But you're not just a girl."
You weren't sure the world saw it that way. "If you'll keep acting this way, Red Bull will find a new driver for next season. Someone Seungcheol gets along with."
"Let them," he told you, and it infuriated you how carelessly he did so, how ready he was to burn that bridge of no return, uncaring of his future. "They want me out either way. I told you already: they want me gone."
Right. Your eyes squeezed shut at the memory. He'd told you back in Singapore, hadn't he? He'd poured his heart out to you in the gardens, and you hadn't even responded to his texts before resigning from your job a month later.
"Then where will you go?" you asked once again, but there was none of that sadness you'd felt the last time you spoke that thought.
There was only desperation now that you could finally see it all clearly again. Without Seungcheol on your side, you only had one person who kept you sane in the chaos — you would have done anything for him not to leave.
Seokmin didn't seem sad either. He didn't seem desperate, not even defeated. Something like hope glinted in his eyes, a new promise he was keen to keep to himself for now, as if he wouldn't be able to make it come true if he told you now.
"I've gotten a few offers from the teams," he told you and it felt like only half the truth. The glint in his eyes was full of life, of newfound joy as he added, "But I think I've made up my mind."
You only found out what he meant two weeks later from a news headline:
'SEOKMIN LEE SET TO JOIN ALEX ALBON IN WILLIAMS RACING FOR THE 2025 SEASON'
Not daring to even breathe while you processed the information, you scrolled through the article, afraid it would somehow become untrue if you checked elsewhere. You just sat there in your hotel bed and waited.
Your phone rang with a new text message five minutes later, Seokmin's contact name somehow bolder and brighter than usual.
[told you i liked that blue]
You breathed out in relief and finally dared to smile.
[MELBOURNE 2025]
Being with Seungcheol must have blinded you — it was a realisation you now made as the paddock came to life once again, officially opening the 2025 season. There was no other way you'd otherwise been oblivious of the absolute beauty that was Seokmin.
Ready to take on the new season, he pulled on his brand-new white and blue racing suit. It looked like it had been designed with him in mind, with each and every curve of his body, with the very undertones of his skin. The carefree smile he wore only served to make him look more radiant. Suddenly, you couldn't even remember what he'd looked like in the Red Bull suit.
You watched him from the back of the garage, leaning against a wall with your phone in hand, filming the very first race weekend day of your team's newest member. The camera didn't do him justice, you thought while glancing between him and the phone.
"You're staring," he pointed out with a nervous chuckle when he finally found the time to come over to you. "Does it look that bad?"
There was an overwhelming urge to fight whoever had planted that idea in his head. "You look like you belong here, with this team. It really suits you."
"Yeah?" He smiled a little brighter. With a glance back towards the car — the brand new blue Williams, his number 9 proud on display, polished by the mechanics to make it stand out even more —, he took a wavering breath. "Do you think I'll do well? I mean," he stammered and ran a hand through his hair, "I know it's only practice today, but—"
"You've been driving Formula 1 cars for seven years, Seokmin," you reminded him with a gentle smile and fought the need to fix the mess of hair on his head. "You've been on podiums more often than not." He already looked like he wanted to argue but you left no room for that. "You'll do perfectly fine today, and tomorrow, and especially on Sunday. You're going to get in that car, and you're going to feel right at home with your new race engineer. And on Sunday, you'll come back to me and we'll film a silly TikTok to celebrate your first podium with Williams."
His eyes narrowed but the smile remained. "You dream big."
"One of us has to," you joked and finally gave in to the itch you'd been fighting, lifting your hand to smooth down the dark strands he'd messed up. "Why are you so nervous?"
He hesitated to answer. Or perhaps he was too lost in the moment to remember to.
His race engineer called out — only three minutes until the session would start.
"I've only driven for Red Bull before," Seokmin told you softly. "I don't know what it's like to drive for another team."
You wanted to scoff. "That's a lie."
"It's true," he argued but his defensive tone told you it was anything but.
Your eyebrows rose, disbelieving, daring him to lie again.
The man in front of you rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's half-true."
"That's better."
"I've never had anyone actually cheering for me from the sidelines," he finally confessed after a moment of thought, his smile fading. He was baring his heart for you. "But this time you're here, on my side of the garage, looking at me like I've already won the race when I'm not even sure I can pull this car out of the garage without stalling."
Confusion muddled your thoughts but he didn't say anything more. "Why does it matter?"
"Because…" He hesitated once again, eyes drifting away, focusing on anything that wasn't you. "Because I don't want to let you down."
"You could never," you told him and you meant every syllable. You hoped he felt your sincerity in the way you fixed his hair once more or in how you adjusted the collar of his fireproofs. You met his eyes once more. "Are you planning on crashing into a wall today?"
"… No."
"Then you won't let me down," you repeated yourself and his smile found its way back, lighting up the room. "So don't worry about that and just drive, okay?"
"Can I…" he started, fingers reaching for the comforting weight of yours still on his shoulder. "Can I ask for a dumb favour?"
You lifted a single eyebrow and grinned. "Do you want me to sabotage the new Red Bull rookie's car?" He snorted out a laugh and you joined him. "Because I don't think I have the clearance for that."
"No, I—" He laughed harder as if he could imagine it clearer by the second. "Why would I ask you to do that?"
"To really show Red Bull what they're missing," you told him. "Even though everybody here knows you're better than the new kid."
"Right," he joked. The race engineer called out again — one minute to go. Seokmin straightened his shoulders as if the action alone would fill him with courage. His voice remained tender as he asked, "Do you think you could wear my number for the race? Just on a t-shirt or something." He swallowed and scratched the back of his neck. "It would make me less nervous, I think."
Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest. "You want me to?"
"I mean, you don't have to but I just thought—"
You chuckled to hide the noise your heart was making. It hadn't been so loud and insistent and excited in years. "I'm not sure if Alex would approve of me picking favourites," you glanced across the garage to where the other driver was already climbing into his car, "but I'll see what I can do."
Seokmin looked as if you'd told him you'd bring him the entire galaxy and some more. "I'd like that."
It was hard to remember the last time you'd felt so nervous watching a race. Maybe seeing Seungcheol fight for the podium nearly every weekend had made you numb to the fierce midfield competition, or perhaps you had turned a blind eye to it all at some point. But this time it was like you were watching a race for the first time ever.
Your heart was drumming in your chest; it was far from the steady rhythm of a metronome. It matched the revs of the engines and the rumble of gravel getting pushed off-track: unsteady, chaotic, loud. You could hardly breathe, hands clutched against your chest, eyes glued to the leaderboard.
Seokmin hadn't qualified very high. It was to be expected: a new car, a new team, a new type of pressure. He'd pushed the engine to P17 before it gave up on him last night. Now you watched the three letters of his last name steadily climb, closing the time gaps to other drivers despite the track conditions.
When they were preparing to go out on track, you heard his race engineer tell him the priority was not to get to points but to stay on the track. Wet races always had a risk factor and the team couldn't afford to make an error this early into the season. But Seokmin was proving himself to be the overachiever you always knew he was.
No less than a third of the grid had already retired their cars, due to technical failures, due to racing incidents that could've ended horribly. Seokmin remained on the track, P14, only five laps to go. You didn't bother to check who was in front of him — one of the Haas cars, slow and steady compared to the top runners on this day —, all you could focus on was the time gap.
Barely two seconds between the two cars. You heard his race engineer tell him to push harder, to overtake. You echoed the sentiment silently, barely conscious of the prayers you were whispering while the timing screen demanded your attention.
One second to the Haas car. Seokmin was steadily closing the gap. Your palms hurt from how hard you were squeezing them with your nails. It served to keep you alert and focused amid the loud, excited whispers around the garage.
Less than half a second of a gap. Two laps to go. It was now or never. He just had to find a place to overtake, a corner where the other driver was prone to mistakes. There had to be some place to pass that car.
The TV producers seemed to finally catch wind of the fierce battle. Finally, you saw Seokmin's blue car take the outside line, ready to do the very thing you and his race engineer had been begging him to for the past fifteen minutes. Breath caught in your throat, you watched as a Seokmin pushed the car past its limits just long enough to pass the Haas.
The timing screen swiftly switched around: '13 LEE' it read and you almost jumped with joy.
When the race ended a few minutes later, you were the first one to run to Seokmin. He'd just removed his helmet, hair a right sweaty mess under it all, his breath heavy from exertion. Exhaustion was evident in his every movement.
His eyes caught yours and the circuit lit up with his bright smile. It was still tired, full of evidence of his hard work, but it was warm and joyful and yours.
"P17 to P13 isn't too bad a drive," you told him, matching his grin. "And look at that! You didn't break the car!"
He let out a short laugh, not quite recovered yet for a full one. "I came close though. Turn 3, lap—" He paused and thought about it, brows furrowing as he stared up at the sky for answers. Finally, he shrugged, "—something in the 20s? Lap 23 maybe?"
His gaze lowered back to you. There was a sense of appreciation in the fondness of his eyes, something like gentle disbelief. Then his eyes widened just a bit, his brows quirked upwards in surprise. You made it a point to stay still while he approached you, his right hand lifting to tug on the lower hem of your new blue jacket.
"That's my number," he pointed out, nothing short of reverent. His smile grew wider. "I thought they didn't sell Williams' jackets with my number yet?"
"They don't," you told him and you couldn't help but feel incredibly proud of yourself. "But someone on the design team owed me a favour."
Seokmin's laughter filled the space, loud and demanding the attention of everyone passing by. He didn't seem to care for the eyes that glanced his way. He didn't seem to even notice the cameras flashing when he reached for you. You didn't have time to remind him with the way he pulled you into his arms, lifted you off the ground, and spun you around in three neat circles, nothing but cheers and laughter filling your ears.
When he lowered you back down, you were both out of breath and smiling like fools. In the midst of your sudden dizzy spell, you could've sworn his gaze flickered to your lips. It lasted less than a second before he was giggling and grinning all over again.
"Thank you," he finally told you, fingers just barely brushing over the proud yellow number 9 on your jacket. "This means everything."
Somehow, you had a feeling he meant every word.
[SHANGHAI 2025]
The garage burst into loud cheers, mechanics and analysts alike hugging each other like they'd just won the race. You knew that P7 and P8 were a long way off from podium positions, but that didn't put a damper on anyone's joy. It was the team's first double points of the season and it deserved nothing short of a celebration.
Just like the week before, you ran out to congratulate him, a wide smile on your face. You just about jumped into his arms on instinct. With a quiet huff of exertion and laughter, he caught you, arms wrapped tight around your waist.
"P7!" you practically screamed, unable to wipe the grin off your face. "You got points! In a Williams!"
Seokmin's arms reluctantly abandoned their place on your back to fix his hair. He pushed it off his forehead, only a few stray strands left behind. His smile was blinding. "Guess I've still got it."
"Did anyone even really think you lost it?" Alex wondered, having found a comfortable spot near the two of you. You half-remembered to give him a congratulatory hug as well, patting him on the back a little harder than necessary when he gave you a funny look for it.
"Good job, both of you," you told them like the team player you were. Even though the number 9 stood bright and proud on your jacket and on the brim of your hat, betraying your clear bias. "I'm proud of you."
"A little prouder of one than the other, I think." Alex punctuated his mumbled comment with a teasing scoff and a big sip of his water, eyes flitting about the paddock as he did so. You made a mental note to make his post-race social media duties more unbearable than usual, and you mentally double highlighted the note when his eyes caught yours again and a wicked grin appeared. "So, Williams' Lovebirds, huh? The two of you have something to share with the class?"
It took everything in you not to roll your eyes.
The new nickname had appeared from the depths of social media after the race last week, accompanying photos and videos of the hug you'd shared. Photos and videos that made the innocent action look far more intimate than you had dared to believe. Even this morning, your mentions had been full of ship names and edits of moments you'd shared in the background of so many TikToks without ever realising. It was almost enough to make you believe there was something there.
You glanced at Seokmin, watched the way his eyes lit up when you made eye contact. Perhaps you wanted to believe there was something there, after all.
"Yeah, you got something to share?" an all-too-familiar low voice interrupted the friendly atmosphere. You felt the vibrations of his voice before you heard his words; your entire body flinched like you'd been hit with a bucket of ice water.
Seungcheol stood right in front of you, dark blue racing suit half-zipped, hanging off his hips in a way that would've made you weak at the knees this time last year. Even now, you had to admit he looked deadly in Red Bull colours, especially with his arms crossed over his broad chest, muscles flexing under the skin-tight white fireproofs.
You frowned and reminded yourself that this was no longer the man you had once fallen in love with. As far as your heart was concerned, you didn't know this man any more than you knew any of the rookies on this grid.
"What are you doing here, Seungcheol?" you asked him, forcing your voice to stay as level as it could. A waver in the tone felt like it would have been an admission of guilt you had no part in.
His brown eyes glinted with something dangerous. "I came to congratulate my old team mate on his first points in a new team." He turned to Seokmin, forced a smile that looked more like a snarl to anyone who knew him. "Congrats, friend."
Seokmin, bless his heart, wore a much more comfortable expression, even if his eyes burned with barely restrained annoyance. "And congratulations on P2. Glad to see you're still on your podium streak."
"I'm sure you wish yours had continued."
"I'll work my way back, don't worry."
"Coming for what's mine again?" Seungcheol maintained his smile. His knuckles were turning white from how hard he was gripping the fabric of his shirt. "I won't make it easy this time."
Seokmin's brows rose. His fingers fidgeted, curled and uncurled like they were contemplating their next action. "When have you ever made it easy?"
You thought he might hit him when Seungcheol's lips quirked into a smirk, venomous and all-knowing, eyes flitting to yours just long enough to mean something. "This one was pretty easy, was it not?"
Your hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him away with a strength you hadn't thought you possessed. Glaring daggers at him, you said, "Get over yourself, Seungcheol. What happened between us had nothing to do with him."
"Yeah?" Seungcheol challenged, glancing back to see Seokmin looking like he might follow, barely held back by Alex and a mechanic. "That's odd because he sure seems involved for someone who has nothing to do with this."
"He's my friend!" you argued. The urge to tug your — and maybe his as well — hair out was growing by the minute. "Why can't you just grow up and accept that we're over? Why are you so goddamn spiteful? Just leave us be!"
He laughed, low in his throat, no humour in it. "That's rich coming from you. You broke up with me in front of my team, humiliated me, broke my heart. And then you ran into his waiting arms before my tears could even dry!"
"Then take it out on me instead of targeting him," you demanded with a frown, your ears ringing with anger at the sheer audacity of his words.
"He's not some innocent goody-two-shoes either, you know?" He laughed once more. "That— That weasel has been looking at you like you're the trophy since the first day he stepped into the hospitality. I saw it, watched it with my own two eyes — how he followed you around, volunteered for all those dumb videos just to spend more time with you, laughed at all of your jokes, practically begged for recognition every time he made it into points.
"You both might have gotten what you wanted," he spoke lowly, leaning closer so only you could hear his words, "but I sure as hell won't make it easy for you."
"You're an asshole," was all you could find the strength to say. Frankly, spitting on him would not have been enough to show your rage. You spun on your heels and marched away from him, back to where you belonged, right by Seokmin's side.
His hand reached for you immediately, landing on the side of your arm. "Are you okay? What did he say?"
"It's nothing," you lied and forced a smile. "It'll be fine. We should be celebrating, not fighting Seungcheol tonight."
Alex glanced back at the Red Bull driver, a single brow rising in disbelief. "Doesn't seem like nothing. He looks like he wants to burn our hospitality down."
"He could use the jail time for arson," you joked under your breath. "But whatever."
Seokmin nodded along, the corners of his lips lifting. "It was just some good old trash talk between rivals. You know how it goes."
"Maybe you two should just date for real," the other driver started again. "Give him something to actually be upset about."
The comment took you off guard. You blinked at Seokmin, expecting him to react with similar confusion and shock, maybe even a boisterous laugh. He was glaring backwards at Seungcheol's retreating figure, a dangerous spark threatening to turn into real flames in his usually warm eyes.
That should have been the first sign that he wouldn't just leave it be.
[SUZUKA 2025]
Rumours of the newly dubbed Williams' Lovebirds only got bigger with every passing day. The week-long break between Shanghai and Suzuka only seemed to intensify them; fans fuelled by boredom made edit after edit of moments you hadn't dared to give a second thought to.
They proudly showcased all the times Seokmin had looked at you, on the other side of the camera lens, with something unfamiliar in his eyes, a gentle smile on his face, an airy glow to his expression. It was something you hadn't been able to put a name to — 'adoration' all of the fans agreed.
They pointed out the number 9 you wore on your jacket, the bright smile you hadn't realised the broadcast cameras had caught when Seokmin crossed the finish line. And you could hardly count the edits of your two hugs this season, set to romantic songs you had never heard before.
They flooded your social media channels, all of your mentions, all of your emotional space with videos comparing your ex-fiancé and a man you hadn't realised you saw as more than a friend.
'I'm glad she's with Seokmin now; she deserves better," a comment read, liked by a thousand users. You were starting to realise you agreed.
When you stepped onto the paddock on Thursday, you knew you weren't the only one unable to escape them. You were acutely aware of the accusatory glare Seungcheol sent your way when you passed him in front of the Red Bull hospitality.
That should have been the second red sign that a clash was inevitable. Without realising it, the fans had opened the floodgates of tension all over again, and there was no stopping it now. All you could do was pray they wouldn't take it out on each other on the track.
“Fighting for 3rd place, Lee is closing in on Choi. The two former teammates are in a battle for the podium with only fifteen laps to go.”
You couldn’t help but lean towards the screen, breath caught in your throat. This is the closest they’d been all season.
“Lee takes the outside. No use. Choi shows his mastery of defending and keeps his place.”
“Come on, Seokmin,” you found yourself whispering into your fist. Your fingers were starting to hurt from how hard you were clenching them together, but you couldn’t have cared less.
“But Lee isn’t about to give up, is he? He’s pushing again, pedal to the metal. If he plays his cards right, he could overtake at the next turn and we could see the first Williams podium since 2021 right here in Suzuka.”
A cursory glance around the room told you the other team members were watching with similar bated breaths, fingers crossed, palms pressed over their mouths as if a single loud breath could blow away Seokmin’s chances of getting on the podium.
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Your head snapped to face the screen again. Mouth falling agape, you stared as the graphics declared safety car conditions.
The room filled with shocked chatter, loud enough to drown out the race audio. You couldn’t figure out what had happened but somehow you knew the exact answer. You begged your gut to be wrong.
One by one, the cars fell in line behind the green vehicle. You quietly counted them, the camera clearly more focused on the parade of racing cars than on the aftermath of whatever had happened. Two orange McLarens, a black Mercedes, two red Ferraris… No Red Bull, no Williams in the top 10. Your heart dropped.
The chatter fell away and you could hear the commentary again, confirming your suspicions.
“Both drivers are out safely, but that was one hell of a crash. I don’t suppose either team is particularly happy about this result. So close to P3 and now neither Lee nor Choi will get to see the podium today.”
You felt your eyes fill with tears — of fear? worry? anger? you weren’t sure yet – while they replayed the crash from three different angles. In slow motion, Seokmin’s Williams got wheel-to-wheel with Seungcheol’s Red Bull, pushing and pushing. For a moment, you thought Seokmin was going to pass him and take P3.
Then he turned his wheel to the right. Just the smallest amount, just for half a second. The cars met, tyres crashing together, debris flying across the track as they spun across the grass, far off the asphalt. Two third-place contenders stood in the green background, suspensions snapped, tyres flat on the ground, dust still floating in the distance. It’s a miracle neither of them flipped.
“Lee is a seasoned driver. He doesn’t mistake his left and right. I fear the reality is that he wanted to push Choi off the track. Whether he expected to go off-track with him or not is an entirely other question.”
“But that’s the thing: Lee is not a particularly aggressive driver. He’s never been in a racing incident like this before. Could it have been a mistake? An overcorrection leading to a crash?”
“Either way, that is no doubt going to be a hefty penalty for Lee.”
You didn’t bother to listen any longer. Gathering up your things, you stomped out and right to his driver’s room.
He appeared some fifteen minutes later, hair a mess like it always was, racing suit half-unzipped and hanging off his hips, revealing the white fireproofs underneath. His mouth opened, no doubt ready to spew excuses, the moment he noticed you sitting on his chair.
You silenced him with a glare and demanded, “What the hell was that?”
“An incident,” he told you as if it were normal. As if he hadn’t just practically rammed your ex, his own old teammate, off the track without a single regard for safety. “It happens.”
“It happens?” You almost laughed at his audacity. “So what? You just happened to turn your steering wheel to the right on a straight? You just happened to push him off? That was no accident. Anyone could see you meant to do that.”
“So what if I did?” he argued, brows furrowing, his mouth downturned in anger. Somehow, you knew he didn’t mean to direct it at you. “He deserved it.”
Your brows rose, your arms crossed over your chest. “He deserved it?”
“He’s been calling you names to the press since last year. The things he's been saying about you during drivers' parades— Even Oscar looked like he wanted to hit him today!" He took a breath through gritted teeth, glaring up at the ceiling lights. "I told you I wouldn’t just sit by and do nothing. I meant it.”
“You still can’t just force people off the track, Seokmin.”
“Apparently, I can,” he replied with a shrug and reached for a change of clothes.
“You could’ve been on the podium today! Podium, Seokmin! This team hasn't been this close to a podium finish in four years! And you just threw all that away to what? Defend my honour?” You weren't just pissed. You were livid on behalf of both yourself and the team.
He smiled and it looked like a sad replica of the real masterpiece. “If I got that close this time, who’s to say I can’t do it again next time?”
It was damn hard to argue with a man who's already decided he's right. It was even harder to argue with Seokmin, who made decisions based on loyalty instead of logic.
“You’re going to get a penalty." The rage had already almost disappeared from your voice. Maybe you weren't the most rational being either. "A big one.”
He pulled off his fireproof shirt, sweaty skin glistening golden under the lights. You averted your eyes, glaring increasingly duller daggers at a framed photo of the team.
“I’ll take it proudly. I’ve had a clean record until now.”
Your eyes stung with tears waiting to be shed. You gritted your teeth and tried to sound more angry than scared when you told him, “You could’ve been hurt.”
He paused, his team kit polo halfway on. After a moment of thought, he slipped the rest of it on and sighed while straightening it out.
You didn’t look. You didn’t dare to lower your face, afraid the tears would really come if you did. But you felt his presence as he stepped closer.
Heat radiated off of him as he stood right in front of you, close enough that you could taste his words when he whispered, “Were you worried?”
The words were on the tip of your tongue. Still avoiding his eyes, you resisted the urge to scream them.
“Were you?” he repeated, his fingers caressing the apple of your cheek.
You wanted to slap him for throwing away the podium. You wanted to shove him for making you worry. You wanted to grab him by the collar and pull him close for shielding you even when you didn't ask him to, even when it got him in trouble. You wanted to kiss him dumb for caring so much.
“Of course I was worried,” you told him, your voice hushed and raw. “How could I not be?”
A smile appeared on his face, soft and gentle and small. “Look at you, getting all soft on me.”
“You could’ve been really hurt,” you reminded him, your eyes finally finding his. The feeling of vulnerability was no stranger, but it had never felt quite so demanding. Without your consent, or any thought at all, your hands rose to take his face between them. Your fingers ran across his skin, wordlessly checking for injuries and scrapes the doctor might have missed. You breathed out in relief and rested your hands on his collarbones. “Never do that again, okay?”
He chuckled. “You’re asking a lot of me.”
“Never. Again.” You forced your voice to be firm even as the first tear slipped down your cheek and right onto his fingers. “Promise me. Promise you’ll race clean. Promise you won’t try to push him off again. Promise you’ll come back to me, uninjured.”
His thumb brushed across your cheek, wiped away the salty bead. Face solemn, sincere, he whispered, "I promise you."
You kissed him before you could hesitate. Pressed your lips to his with such force it almost made you wince. Fingers threading into the hair on the back of his head, breath mixing with his, you didn't want to let him go.
If he was startled, he didn't show it. You'd grown familiar with the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist, but this time it felt like more. His fingers found the hem of your jacket, slid underneath as if the feel of your skin alone could heal the ache in his bones.
"Say it again," you asked against his lips before kissing him again and once more for good measure. "Promise me again."
One arm wandering higher to push against your upper back, to pull you even closer, he let out a soft, strangled sound. Eyes squeezed shut like he was afraid it was a dream he'd have to wake up from, he repeated, "I promise you. I promise."
"Never again," you begged. "Never make me worry like that again. Come back to me."
"Always back to you," he spoke fervently while his lips found a path — one he cherished with a slow passion — from your mouth to your collarbone. The first of many love bites would bloom right there in a mere minute.
Music played softly in the background, slow and strangely nostalgic, just like the feeling of his breath against your neck, just like the gentle touches of his fingers against your palm.
His lips left another warm mark on your skin. You couldn't help but smile at the feeling, free hand reaching up to play with his hair. He let out a soft hum, content and fulfilled.
"You were made to be loved like this," he suddenly mumbled, his words muffled and yet to clear.
You snorted out a little laugh, tried to decipher the meaning of his words. "In a hotel bed after a grand prix?"
He let out a noise of protest but stopped mid-way, lashes fluttering as his eyes opened and he leaned up on his elbow. Lips pursed in a defiant pout, he glared down at you as if you'd offended his very being. His fierce expression only served to amuse you, and seeing your smile, he melted.
"No, I meant— Okay, yes, a little bit in a bed after a grand prix," he conceded with a roll of his eyes before slumping back down and burrowing back into his new favourite hiding place in your embrace. You couldn't help but feel like he belonged right there.
"Was it worth the penalty? Five grid places dropped?" you wondered jokingly.
"So worth it," he replied with a smile. It melted into something softer, sweeter when your eyes met. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. "I actually meant… Never mind, it's too silly."
"Nothing you say is too silly," you told him, fingers brushing through his hair.
He pressed another kiss to your skin at the words.
"Come on," you urged, nudging him just a little. He giggled and it was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard. "What were you going to say?"
"I was trying to say," he started, hesitant all of a sudden as if he feared the moment had passed, "that you should be loved gently. Reverently — I think that's the word." He leaned up once more, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. His gaze spoke a thousand words but he settled for fewer. "You deserve so much more than he ever gave you. I need you to know that."
You smiled. It was a sad smile, the regretful kind. It said you wished he was right.
As if he could read your mind, he sighed and matched your smile. "I wish I'd met you before he did. I wish it was me who earned your love and made you smile and laugh. I wish you never had to face the things he threw your way — the media frenzy, the accusations, the humiliation. You deserve so much more."
"It's a good thing you got me now then, right?" you whispered back.
He looked at you, really looked. His gaze caressed every inch of your visible skin, every mole, every birthmark, every scar. "I still can't believe this is real. You and I. On the same team. In the same bed." He laughed. "Maybe I'm still dreaming."
"You're not dreaming."
You weren't sure he believed you yet. You weren't sure you believed it yourself.
[JEDDAH 2025]
The circuit was buzzing. Ten minutes until the race, twenty cars lined up on the grid, a crowd of journalists and fans and mechanics alike walking about the track for final preparations.
All too aware of all the eyes, you fixed your lipstick and made your way over to Seokmin, his blue Williams neatly parked in the 6th grid box. He wasn't in the car yet, his racing suit still half unzipped, a wide, relaxed smile on his face while he gave an interview.
His eyes lit up some more when he caught your eyes. As soon as the journalist had wished him luck and started the hunt for the next willing victim, Seokmin waved you closer.
You glanced about the track dramatically before smiling at him. "Haven't seen you this far up the grid in months."
"Yeah?" He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead in a way that was so devastatingly attractive. "Yeah, I guess it's been a while."
"Planning on getting some points today?" you teased, nudging his side.
"For you?" he replied, eyes glinting with promises you couldn't wait to hear. "As many as you want. Just say the word."
Your entire being softened at his words. Memories of his crash two weeks ago were still fresh on your mind, replaying even now when you looked at his car. You looked further up the grid — Seungcheol was starting from pole today, having barely found enough the tenths of a second to out-qualify the McLarens.
First and sixth, you thought and felt bad for the sigh of relief you almost breathed out.
"Even just one point is fine," you told him, hand reaching up to adjust his collar. Your thumbs brushed his jawline and you couldn't help but laugh at how easy and right it felt. It was as if a switch had flipped back in Suzuka. Gone were the days when you'd been too hesitant to even nudge his side; now it seemed you couldn't keep your hands off of him at all. It was natural, you supposed. Blinking the thought away, you smiled at him. "Just don't crash. Remember, you promised."
"I'll try my best," he replied. His gaze lowered and he grinned wide. "You're wearing my number again."
You raised a brow. "And that's enough to make you smile like a schoolboy?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" he wondered and it sounded like a genuine question from his heart. As if he couldn't wrap his head around the possibility of not being excited about something as simple and cliché as someone wearing a jacket with his racing number on it.
The realisation made you giddy inside. You didn't fight the urge to kiss his cheek, lingering longer than was probably polite. A mechanic whistled and smirked at the sight, only laughing when you pulled away to glare at him. He laughed harder when he looked up at Seokmin.
You soon gasped and followed suit. Reaching up to wipe Seokmin's cheek, you apologised, "I forgot I just re-applied my lipstick. I'm so sorry."
"Did you get a mark on me?" he asked and giggled when you confirmed his suspicions. Before you could clean it off, he practically jumped out of your reach, his hand covering the mark like a shield while he grinned. "Don't you dare!"
"You can't go racing with lipstick on your face!" you protested through laughter of your own and tried to wipe it off again. He dodged your efforts until you eventually gave up with a defeated sigh. "You're impossible."
He shrugged. "Maybe. But I'll take all the luck you give me, the lipstick included."
"It's bright red."
"Matches my helmet."
"You'll get your padding all dirty. It'll smudge."
"Even luckier," he sang before reaching over to get his balaclava. He smiled even as he pulled it on over his head. The lipstick mark peeked out from under the white fabric, just a corner of the red still visible on his cheek.
It looked like a secret you couldn't wait to share. Your fingers twitched around your phone, itching to take a photo to upload on the team page, to let the world know it was your lipstick he wore with such pride.
"You really think it'll bring you luck?" you wondered, some disbelief still obvious in your voice.
He nodded like it was one of the fundamental truths of the universe. "It's from you."
And maybe he was right. Or maybe he was simply that good of a driver. You liked to think it was a combination.
The rouge on your lips wore off by the halfway point of the race, smudging and flaking under your anxious biting. It was only fair to assume the stain on his cheek had also disappeared, a victim to sweat and cloth. You had no time to care — Seokmin had long abandoned his 6th spot in the line-up, climbing higher and higher up the leaderboard.
The entire team seemed to be holding their breath. You heard someone whisper a prayer under his breath, begging the higher powers to keep recent history from repeating. The air was tense with anticipation.
"And what is this? A Williams challenging Charles Leclerc's Ferrari for 3rd place?"
Even the commentators sounded baffled.
"There's still 13 laps to go but it looks like Lee has somehow found enough pace to close the gap. Less than two tenths of a second between them."
The two cars raced across the screen in a blur of reds and blues, side by side, before Seokmin fell back again in a corner. You felt your nails digging into your palms.
"And he started from 6th, did he not?"
"An impressive race for him, regardless of whether or not he makes it onto the podium today."
"He did almost make it to 3rd place back in Japan just two weeks ago. Could this finally be his lucky break?"
"Come on, Seokmin," you whispered and willed your heart rate to slow down. "You can do this."
The cars were side by side again, evenly matched, perfect equals for those five seconds down the straight. Then one of them seemed to find the little extra something — Seokmin passed the Ferrari in the next corner to the sound of loud cheers from the garage and the crowd alike.
"In a simply amazing move, Lee has made it into the top three, joining Seungcheol Choi in second and Oscar Piastri who's currently leading the race."
Your eyebrows rose at their own accord; focused on Seokmin's race, you hadn't even noticed when Seungcheol had lost the lead. Whenever that had happened — you realised while looking at the track position graphic — Seungcheol had lost more than three seconds to the McLaren.
Seeing their names so close together on the screen again made it hard to breathe.
"He promised," you mumbled to yourself. A reminder. "He told me he promised."
But Seungcheol hadn't, and he wasn't the type to give in easily. Isn't that what he told you just two weeks ago? That he wouldn't give up this time? You could only hope he cared more for his team's position than for this stupid grudge.
Ten laps to go. The gap was still big enough to avoid another crash, two seconds between the drivers. But Seokmin was gaining on him fast.
'Fastest lap: Seokmin Lee' read the purple graphic on the top part of the screen. The commentators predicted the fight for P2 could happen in just a few laps at the current pace. You were torn between hoping they were right and praying they were wrong.
You wanted to get on the radio and tell him that just getting on the podium was enough. You wanted to tell him to just focus on defending his position. A third place was more than the team had dared to hope for this season; he didn't need to keep pushing for the second place, you were already proud of him.
But you were just a woman on the social media team. You weren't privy to the radio messages and strategy calls. All you could do was stare at the TV screen and hope for a lucky ending to this race.
Five laps to go. The gap was practically non-existent now. Two blue cars next to each other on the track, battling for P2 like it was the championship title.
"What a marvellous move by Choi, defending his position! Lee's going to have to find a different place to overtake."
Every camera angle seemed to be focused on the man of your past and the man of your present. You thought your heart might stop working at this rate. Someone from the team stepped closer and patted your shoulder; it did nothing to ease your worries.
"Lee tries again, but Choi is a master of defensive driving and blocks his attempt. This is absolutely cinematic to watch. A proper clean battle on the track."
You couldn't have cared less for the cinema of it all. All you wanted was for Seokmin to finish the race safe and sound and without a single scratch on the beautiful face you intended to kiss silly. When you dared to glance away from the screen, you found yourself clutching the number on the jacket, nails locked under the edges of the sewn-on patch.
"That was an unlucky lock-up for Choi but an incredibly lucky one for Lee, who has now taken P2 from right underneath his former team mate's nose! Absolutely fantastic! And he's already creating a gap between them!"
There was a squeal of excitement. It didn't hit you until moments later that it had been you who had made the sound. Your lips spread into a wide grin, hands coming up to cover it as if showing your elation could be bad luck. Only three laps to go, less than 5 minutes of the race left, and Seokmin — your Seokmin — was so close to the podium that he could taste it.
"Was our car always this good?" someone on the team whispered between the restrained chatter of excitement in the garage.
"Yeah," you replied softly, hands falling down to clutch the number on your chest again, smile still lighting up your face. "But now it has the drivers to prove it."
The better part of the team practically ran out of the garage the moment the finish line was crossed. You were pulled into a group hug to the sound of hollering and cheers and laughter.
"Albon P9, Lee P2," someone called out to inform everyone. The celebrations at the barricade got louder.
One by one, the cars rolled into their spots. The winning McLaren took its spot in the centre of it all, but you weren't paying it much attention. It was hard to when Seokmin's Williams rolled into the spot right next to it, dusty and gravel-scraped from battle, its driver jumping out of the cockpit and smiling the moment he got his helmet off.
The red mark still stood proud on his cheek when he hugged the winner to congratulate him. It seemed to shimmer under the lights when he looked out to the crowd to find you. He pointed at the stain, eyes questioning.
"Is it still there?" he asked wordlessly and you nodded. He smiled wider like that little fact was worth more than the trophy he was about to receive.
Behind him, you saw Seungcheol, freshly rolled into the spot designated for P3. His Red Bull still looked pristine — you supposed it had barely even been a battle for him —, but the driver looked like he'd been through hell and back. Eyes red-rimmed with tears and anger, mouth down-turned, tugging on his hair in frustration when his eyes met yours. He glared. His foot hit the front left tyre in anger. Off he went to get weighed.
You looked at him for a short while, wondered what you had seen in him. He wasn't always like this, you thought as if to reassure yourself. But you couldn't pinpoint when the change had happened, nor did you want to. He wasn't your problem anymore, hadn't been for a long time.
"Not to discount the car, but you had a phenomenal drive today," the journalist spoke. "Your best of the season. How did that happen?"
"How did I drive so well today?" Seokmin laughed at the clumsy question, glancing up at the ceiling in thought before shrugging. "The team's been amazing, the car was great today—"
"But anything about your life specifically?" the journalist pressed, and you could practically hear the mischievous smile in his tone. "Something to do with the red on your cheek, perhaps?"
Seokmin's eyes lit up with the realisation. Instinctively, his free hand rose to touch the mark. It barely even looked like a lipstick stain anymore, just a vaguely shaped blob of Ruby Woo on his skin. "Oh, that's from my muse. I told her it would be a lucky kiss but she didn't believe me." They laughed in unison. "Guess I was right."
[MIAMI 2025]
The city was buzzing with excitement, and so were you, for a different reason altogether.
The nights before races have always been equal parts stressful and amazing. There's work to do, cars to maintain, pre-race rituals to partake in. You could hear the fans out in the streets, making memories and predictions between singing their favourite drivers' fight songs. They've bought their favourite teams' jackets, papaya orange and Ferrari red and Red Bull blues. From the corner of your eye, you spotted a couple in Williams' jackets, proud numbers 23 and 9 on his and her backs respectively.
But while they donned team kits and colours, you were abandoning yours for the night. Your staff shirt was long forgotten on the bed while you did your make-up. Seokmin's text message practically burned into your brain:
[i'll meet you in the lobby at 8 :)]
You had giggled, kicked your feet against the hotel mattress like you were the lead in a 2000s rom-com, and quickly replied with a 'can't wait' and a heart-eyes emoji. You hadn't checked your phone even once since then, too busy picking out your outfit and bringing forward the inner beauty you hoped would make up for the tired bags under your eyes.
Perhaps, you now thought and glanced back at your phone, the emoji had been a little bit too much. It wasn't like you were anything serious. Not yet anyway.
Sure, you'd kissed his cheek. Sure, you'd earned a gentle noise complaint back in Japan. Sure, you were giddy and giggly and getting ready for a date.
Oh.
Maybe it was serious.
For some reason, that thought made you smile wider.
You checked your reflection one last time and practically danced out of your hotel room, phone in hand. It was only in the elevator that you checked your phone again — just a brief glance at the lock screen for any stray notifications.
It hit you how different things were now. You used to check your phone every few minutes back then, anxious to see if your fiancé had decided to cancel another date. Even with Seokmin, you'd spent the first few times going out memorising the messages and overanalysing every interaction like there was a hidden rejection written into his warm gaze.
A little bit of trust and comfort goes a long way, you supposed.
There was an email from work, something about the next day's itinerary. There was a message from home, some notifications from your social media apps. And there was a message from Seokmin. You tapped on the last one without hesitation.
[are you more of a tulips or a roses type of girl?]
[pls answer quick. the flower store employee's starting to look at me weird]
[…]
[i'm so sorry if you don't like roses 😭]
You were laughing when you walked out into the hotel lobby. One of the drivers walked past you and offered a silly smile, curious but too tired to ask. His attention was promptly stolen by his girlfriend showing him something on her hand, just as yours was by the sight of a familiar wide smile.
Seokmin stood near a window, leaning against a pillar. He looked so different out of his racing suit, out of his team kit polos. You almost wished the FIA made it mandatory for drivers — or at least this driver — to wear dress shirts and slacks more often. At least once a week would do, you supposed as you walked over to him.
His arms reached out, inviting you into his warm embrace. The stems of the flowers pressed gently into your lower back, the petals brushed over your exposed skin. You held him closer.
"You look mighty handsome," you told him with a chuckle, trying so hard not to let your knees buckle and your heart stop. A fan walking past the hotel window with her friends visibly gasped and feigned falling over at the sight — she had no idea how much you were fighting not to do the same.
He practically beamed at the compliment, free hand rising to rub the back of his reddening neck. "Nowhere as gorgeous as you."
Pretending his words didn't affect you as much as they did, you looked for a distraction. You gave the bouquet in his hand a pointed glance. His breath caught in his throat as if he'd been caught in a crime.
"Oh!" He held the flowers out for you to take. "You didn't tell me if you liked roses or tulips more, so I got roses. I hope that's okay." He barely gave you any time to reply. "I mean, if you don't like them, we can just pretend this didn't happen and I can get you some tulips instead. Or lilies. Or daisies. Are daisies romantic? I've never done this bef—"
"The roses are perfect," you told him with a gentle laugh and took them from his hand, holding them close to your chest in appreciation. "Thank you."
As if you'd said the magic words, he visibly relaxed in front of you. "Okay. That's good. That's— Yeah. I'm glad you like them."
"You weren't this awkward back in Singapore," you joked and grabbed a hold of his arm. The muscles flexed under your hand, firm and steady and safe. "Or even Suzuka."
"Well, to be fair, I wasn't trying to date you back in Singapore," he told you as he led you to the hotel restaurant. "And I'm still not entirely convinced what happened in Japan wasn't a fever dream."
You supposed you couldn't blame him for that.
The harsh lights of the lobby disappeared and gave way to a warmer atmospheric light from candles and fairy lights. A waitress led you to a table, handing out drink menus with practised grace. She made a joke about running out of vases with all the romantic dates happening on this evening but rushed to find you one anyway. She ended up setting it on the table for you to rest your roses in.
It was like straight out of a movie — a perfect date filled with affectionate glances, warm smiles, sharing your dishes because "yours looks so much better!". His fingers found yours from across the table before dessert. He drew shapes onto your skin with his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours as he listened to every word you said like it was gospel.
A flash and a panicked movement caught your attention. Playfully, you sighed. "I guess we've been found out."
Seokmin chuckled and his eyes briefly snapped to see the culprit. "Does it bother you?"
"The fans?" you wondered.
"The attention." His head tilted in thought, his smile a little more mellow than before. "It must be strange, going from just someone on the paddock to having people recognise you just because you were seen with a Formula 1 driver. You were just (Y/n) back when you joined AlphaTauri, but now people see you and think…"
He hesitated to continue but you weren't as reluctant. Pitching your voice just a little bit higher, you imitated the countless girls you'd met on the paddock: "'Oh my god, aren't you Seungcheol's ex?' Yeah, it's a little bit weird." You took a sip of your wine, stared at the candle flame. "Apparently, there are fan pages for me? I guess maybe I should've capitalised on the fame a little more when I had the chance."
It was a pattern seen a thousand times before, one you had somehow avoided this far. You'd seen it in the way other drivers' girlfriends reacted to new-found fame: all too-aware of the cameras, switching from team hoodies to designer dresses to fit in the box the fans expected them to be in. You'd been protected from some of that pressure by the virtue of being a staff member — no point in doing your hair and picking out outfits when you were mandated to wear your team polo everywhere you went.
He made a noise in the back of his throat. "Well, I think 'Isn't that Seokmin's girl?' has a nice ring to it."
Your cheeks were starting to hurt from how much you'd been smiling all night.
'Seokmin's girl' — it sounded unreal, like something from a distant dream you hadn't dared to hope would become reality. At first, it had been jarring, being associated with Seokmin instead of your ex. Then it became some sweet but unfamiliar. You couldn't wait until it would become second nature.
His train of thought seemed to have taken a similar route, his eyes bright with excitement and adoration as he mumbled, "My (Y/n)."
"I think a certain Red Bull driver might start causing collisions on purpose if you start calling me that to the media," you reminded him with a bashful grin.
"So what?" He leaned closer. "I'll walk out of a thousand crashes if it means I get to come back to you."
"Or," you reasoned, "we could keep it quiet and avoid all of that." He looked like he wanted to protest. You rushed to add, "Just for a little while. Just until this… feels real."
"It is real."
"You just said what happened in Suzuka felt like a fever dream."
"Can you blame me?" He laughed. "I got out of a crash to you yelling at me. And then you kissed me and then suddenly we were in my hotel room, naked. For all I know, I might have been hallucinating from a secret concussion."
"I can assure you," you squeezed his hand and chuckled, "it was very real."
"Then this is real too. But I suppose," he sighed with theatrical despair, "I can survive keeping this our little secret for a little longer."
You were about to argue it wasn't much of a secret if he wore your lipstick stain on race days and ran to hug you after every racing event, but he leaned over the table, careful of the candle, and pressed his lips to yours.
You blinked and giggled when he leaned back into his seat with a victorious grin. "We're going to have to discuss your definition of a secret."
He scrunched up his face, still smiling, and leaned closer again. He whispered, "I'm very bad at keeping secrets."
A stray thought passed by. You latched onto it. It wasn't your fault you were curious by nature, even if it was to your own peril.
"Yeah?" you teased, leaning closer as well. You could practically smell the tiramisu in his breath. "I heard there's one you kept a little too well."
His lashes fluttered in confusion. "What?"
"I heard you've had a little crush on me since I first joined AlphaTauri."
You watched his ears turn red, his eyes squeeze shut with embarrassment. "Who told you?"
A gasp of delight. You leaned back to laugh out loud. "So it's true!" He slumped in his chair, hiding his face in his hands. "You've liked me that long?"
"Can you blame me?" you faintly heard Seokmin mumble over the bossa nova mix playing in the background. Seokmin grimaced but slowly relaxed again, a rueful smile on his face when he looked at you again. "I think half the grid had a crush on you back then."
"Now you're just being dramatic."
"No, I swear," he argued. "I distinctly remember at least seven of us lining up near the AlphaTauri hospitality to see you."
You should've guessed it was the truth — Seungcheol might have been an asshole, but he'd never been a liar. He'd long found a weapon in twisting the truth instead. There was a certain taste of victorious revenge to the way you now turned one of his hurtful half-truths into a moment of joy and love for your heart. The next step would be to forget him entirely.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?" you asked him, voice soft and fingers reaching for his again.
He shrugged. "I'm telling you now."
[MONTREAL 2025]
Starting 4th was not the most ideal way to go, no matter the strategy. Especially when the car lined up next to his on the grid bore the number 8.
"Just avoid the walls," you reminded Seokmin, smiling at him like you often found yourself doing. He laughed as if it was easier said than done, eyes full of longing as he looked at your red lips. Catching onto his intentions, you took back one step and laughed.
Faux innocence and adoration were written all over his blinking eyes. "What?"
"You look like you want to kiss me," — he let out a hum of agreement at your words —, "and I promised the team I wouldn't let you do that in public."
"What?!" Seokmin's brows furrowed in near-vicious protest. "What next? Are they going to ban you from wearing my number too?"
You glanced down at your jacket. It was a newer version, still the familiar Williams' blue but now with yellow accents, his number 9 designed rather than haphazardly sewn onto it. Your hat matched it to a T, though you'd scribbled a clumsy bold 23 on the side of it as a slight concession to the team's reminders.
"Well," you started and burst into laughter again when he practically glowered at you, all dramatics but no bite. Instead of entertaining his jealousy further (and possibly accidentally earning his wrath), you pulled out your phone and tapped on the camera app. You might have been a woman in love — in like? you weren't entirely sure yet — but you were also a woman with a job.
You almost pressed record before hesitating. Something was odd about the sight on your screen. It was Seokmin, sure, but there was something missing. You tilted your head to the side and frowned.
Seokmin's scowl had melted into a gentle smile, his head tilting to match yours as if he could see you better this way. He glanced at the camera and raised a brow. "Something wrong?"
"Well, no, but," you trailed off. A glance away from the screen to look at him off of it. Back to the screen. Everything was right, but …
"Did you forget something?" He leaned closer, teasing you. Eyes sparkling with mischief, he pointed at his cheek — plain tan skin, only a mole and a faded scar from a past racing incident. You stared at it. He snorted out a laugh. "Is this it? You're breaking up with me? Sending me off to the race, luckless?"
Luck. Of course. You should've known he wouldn't let you forget.
With a dramatic defeated sigh, you leaned forward and kissed his skin. Free hand reaching up to hold his head still by his chin while his body began to shake with gleeful giggles, you made sure to press your lips against him a little harder than necessary. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close (you couldn't see the half-hearted glares he sent the mechanics and drivers who dared to offer questioning looks or teasing smiles).
You stepped back — he let out something like a soft whine — and admired your work. Bright and red and perfectly shaped. If that one wasn't lucky enough to get him on the podium, you weren't sure what would. With a satisfied nod, you lifted the phone again and pressed record before he could fully recover.
"Any promises for this race?" you asked in your most professional voice, and he stared at you for a moment, completely dazed by the turn of events as if this didn't happen on most weekends.
"Did you ask Alex that as well?" he wondered after a moment of thought, a gleeful spark in his eyes. He was buying time. "What did he say?"
"Alex promised to cause havoc in the middle of the grid," you informed him, glancing back at the driver of the car 23, already half-inside the cockpit back in P9.
Many heads turned to the sound of Seokmin's laughter. Uncaring of their attention, he ran a hand through his hair. "That sounds about right."
"Right. So, your promise?"
He winked. "To get on the podium."
The race started seven minutes later to the sound of roaring fans and engines. Seokmin's promise seemed more like a wishful hope now that he got pushed to fifth place by a Mercedes at the first turn of the very first lap. The broadcast producers made sure the replay the overtake what felt like twenty times. It didn't stop the team from pushing forward — there were still 69 laps to go and make up positions.
It was five laps later that the cameras focused on him again. The blue Williams in hot pursuit of the very Mercedes that had overtaken him. Only two tenths of a second behind. Even the commentators were buzzing with excitement — if you hadn't known better, you would've thought they had taken a liking to Seokmin.
"They're approaching the last chicane. Will Lee take this opportunity, or will he bail? He's overtaken in far less convenient places on this circuit in the past."
"I can't imagine he'd be very happy to finish the race in a lower place than he started—"
Seokmin's car pulled out of the Mercedes's slipstream, going wheel to wheel with him for a chance. It was a risk, but so was every part of this sport. You held your breath.
"He's going for it! Lee's taken the inside line through the chicane and it's paid off! He's back in fourth position, right where he started."
Someone in the garage jumped out of his chair and let out a victorious cheer.
"But it looks like he is not satisfied with just fourth. He's already closing the gap to Choi in P3. We could get another interesting battle between these two. They were team mates last season, but it seems that this year they're rivals, and they're both out for blood."
"I don't imagine their teamwork ended on a high note, considering some of the comments we've heard them make about each other. Rumour has it Lee stole Choi's girlfriend."
"And he's about to steal more than that right in this moment. Lee's got the inside line again—"
"It's like clockwork. He's found a trick that works, and he's sticking with it.
A woman — some celebrity invited to watch the Grand Prix — glanced your way. You supposed your reputation was more widely known than you would've liked. But there was nothing to do about it now.
There was a cameraman in the garage, the lens ominously pointed at you. There was no doubt about it — the producers were about to point you out for the whole world to see. You let out a soft breath of annoyance before the realisation hit you: you didn't care.
You didn't care that the world villainised you for falling out of love with one and in love with another man. You didn't care that they were still milking this stupid drama for views and content and chaos.
It wasn't your fault, any of it, no matter what the social media pages and forums claimed. You had no reason to cower and hide, panic spreading in your chest, breath caught behind words of apology you'd never utter. Your past had nothing to do with your future, for all you cared.
All you cared about was that Seokmin was out there, on the track, fighting for a spot on the podium just as he'd promised the fans — as he'd promised you. You ignored the camera and smiled at the TV screen when the leaderboard updated again, Seokmin's name now above Seungcheol's. Williams above the Red Bulls.
"George Russell's still in the lead, Oscar Piastri right behind him with only a two-second gap, and behind them is Seokmin Lee, still on his podium streak in the Williams, also only two seconds behind! Behind him, Seungcheol Choi, who started in third and is now in fourth. What an exciting race!"
The blue Williams followed close after the orange McLaren in front of it, closing the gap a hundredth of a second by a hundredth of a second. Silent electric anticipation filled the garage around you, mechanics and engineers and guests alike watching the screens with bated breath.
Lap 14. Pit stop to change the tyres. The car stopped in front of the garage for 2.4 seconds before practically flying back onto the track. The McLaren pulled into the pit lane two laps later — the commentators mumbled something about a poor strategy call that could cost him a position. They weren't wrong.
All cameras seemed to be focused on their battle for P2, the other 18 drivers on the circuit long forgotten. Seokmin might have only gained his position through the grace of a pit stop advantage, but he was not about to lose it for poor race craft. He was defending hard while you fought the urge to start biting your nails and picking at the red colour on your lips.
The McLaren never fell far behind, even while defending against Seungcheol's aggressive advances. It provided you a reason to be an anxious mess for the next fifty laps, obsessively staring at the leaderboard, at the gaps, at any glimpse of the two cars.
Soon, the cameras seemed to get tired of following only the top of the grid. They switched to show the battle for P8 instead, the commentators overanalysing every twitch of the wheels, every lost second through the chicane, every missed overtake opportunity.
And then it happened, in the shadow of the broadcast, unnoticed by almost everyone.
Your jaw dropped. Your eyes went wide and suspiciously blurry all of a sudden, your breath sharp and hollow. Seokmin's name moved to the very top of the leaderboard with only five laps to go.
It took the commentators a whole minute to catch onto the situation, their voices rising with disbelief, demanding to see a replay of the historical moment immediately. Even the broadcast graphics delayed in surprise, finally declaring Seokmin the new race leader now that it had been brought to their attention.
"Are my eyes deceiving me? A Williams? Leading the Canadian Grand Prix?" one of the commentators practically screeched before laughing with nearly maniacal doubt. "Lee is really leading the race!"
The garage burst into cheers as if the team had already won the Grand Prix. A little early, you supposed and joined in — it's never bad to savour the moment. Especially one as special as this.
"Okay, finally a replay!" the second man spoke, a smile evident in his voice. "It looks like Lee closed the gap in the DRS zone — I didn't even know a Williams could go this fast! And he tried to overtake in turn 1, but the Mercedes defended. But Lee's not one to give up, so he tried again in turn 2, and this time it worked! And that is how he got the lead! Absolutely beautifully done."
You couldn't wait to repeat those exact last three words to Seokmin when he'd finish the race and inevitably run to hug you at the barricade.
Three laps to go. He kept the lead.
Two laps to go. Somehow, he'd managed to put an entire three seconds ahead of the Mercedes, leading at a comfortable distance. The team's first win in over a decade seemed all but inevitable now.
The final lap. You were starting to feel dizzy from how much you'd been holding your breath and squeezing your hands close to your chest. The commentators had no doubts anymore — why would they? The gap to second place was well over three seconds, still with only a kilometre to go.
"It has been a beautiful day, a beautiful race, and it's about to become a thousand times more beautiful for the Williams team. When Seokmin Lee crosses the finish line, it will be — there is no doubt about it now — not only Seokmin's first win with the team, but also his first win in two years and, more importantly, the team's first Grand Prix win since 2012. Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing a historic moment, hopefully with many more to come."
He crossed the finish line, the checkered flag, held by some celebrity you've never heard of before, waving in above the track. The garage burst into cheers and sobbing, overwhelmed by emotions that couldn't be described. Elation, surprise, excitement for the future.
"And there he comes! Seokmin Lee, a racer with heart and passion and determination like no other, crosses the finish line and wins the 2025 Canadian Grand Prix!"
Your lung capacity seemed to expand all of a sudden, and finally you could take full breaths. There was something wet on your cheeks — tears of joy, you realised. The little make-up you wore was surely smudging under the weight of it all.
You smiled brightly through the crying when your face appeared on the screen. The cameraman had found you again. Your name appeared on the screen under the tear-stained face and it took your breath away once again.
(Y/n), Williams' social media manager, partner of Seokmin Lee.
It felt real. Finally, it felt real.
A member of the team pulled you into a hug before practically dragging you out of the garage to meet the drivers, her voice full of joyous laughter like the team had won the Constructors' Championship instead of a single race. You couldn't blame her, practically squeezing her waist in similar excitement as the two of you walked.
The barricade was full of people, team and family members alike, but they made room for you. The team shared almost conspiratorial smiles and winks as they let you through until you were at the very front.
You had half a mind to reach for your phone to record the celebration — surely the fans would love to see this angle, to feel like they're part of the team's celebrations. The team member you'd walked with stole the device from your hands just as Seokmin, freshly out of the car, practically ripping the helmet and balaclava off his head, broke out running towards the barricade.
The cheers got louder, you among them when he reached the team. He jumped up into their arms, hugging his race engineer and the team principal tightly in celebration. In the distance, someone started a crowd chant of his name. You were about to join in when he reached you.
His arms wrapped around you, tight and secure, almost pulling you over the barricade as he kissed you. Right there, in front of hundreds of people, millions watching on the TV, he kissed you like you were the reason he'd won the race.
Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. The cheers only got louder at the sight.
In the back of your mind — the last part that wasn't completely conquered and owned by the man in front of you yet —, you realised there would be a thousand edits of this very moment tomorrow morning. A thousand angles showcasing a relationship you hadn't dared to put a label on yet. And for once, the thought didn't cause you fear, or anxiety, or indifference. It brought excitement for the future to come.
You pulled back when you ran out of air and laughed, rubbing the slight tint of red from his lips. "What was that for?"
He grinned wide. "For everything." For a moment, he seemed sheepish, as if he'd just realised what he'd done. A nervous laugh. "Sorry, I probably should've asked first— If you're not comfortable—"
"We'll talk about this later," you told him, the smile never fading. Your heart was tender and so full. You would've kissed him a thousand more times, once for every butterfly he'd unleashed inside of you. "You have interviews to give and a trophy to collect."
Your words seemed to comfort him. He offered one more smile, hesitated for a moment and then sneaked a peck on your cheek before rushing off again, over to the increasingly impatient journalist waiting in front of the cameras.
The team member who had stolen your phone grinned as well and held out the device for you to take. A silent replay of a video you hadn't seen before played on the screen. A video she had taken, you and Seokmin in each other's embrace like lovers in a romance movie. You felt a heat of embarrassment climb up your neck and cheeks at the sight and quickly locked the phone, eyeing her suspiciously while you did so.
"Credit me when you upload it," she told you with a wink. "The fans will love it."
How the team's event coordinator managed to throw this celebration together so last minute was beyond your understanding. Perhaps she'd gotten some help from the other teams who were more prepared for such situations. Or maybe she was simply a magical being.
Whatever the case, the party was in full swing in the paddock. Music blasting with Alex at the DJ station, drinks of various colours and alcohol strength flowing, a snack table made up of skittles and crisps and convenience store snacks — it was a celebration for the ages. And it was all for him.
Seokmin stood in the middle of it all, bright-eyed, smiling wide, laughing so loud it almost drowned out the music. Someone had popped open a champagne — a gift from the Mercedes team, from what you'd heard. He got the first taste of it, toasting with the team principal before downing the drink like it was a shot of tequila. The team hollered and you made sure to get it all on camera.
You stepped back from the crowd when a mechanic started a conga line. The team could celebrate, but you still had a to-do list to fulfil, posts to make, videos to edit. You found a less crowded spot near a corner, occupied an armchair and made yourself comfortable.
An intern had shared a video draft with you; it was a compilation of clips from this glorious day. Seokmin's promise of getting on the podium before he got in his car, his cheek stained with your lucky lipstick. His car pulling up in parc fermé after the race, right at the big number 1 position board. Seokmin standing on top of his car, still wearing his helmet, hands lifted high in celebration. Him running to celebrate with the team. Him standing on the podium, the trophy in hand.
You wiped away a tear of pride and messaged the intern to tell her she did a good job. She'd have two reasons to celebrate on this night.
Then you opened the camera folder on your phone. You'd been taking videos all weekend long, so many clips to edit and post. You scrolled through them all, contemplating your options.
Your thumb stopped on the one with the kiss. Glancing around as if you feared someone would catch you doing something forbidden— God, this man had you feeling like a mischievous teenager all of a sudden! You played the video, muted but so vibrant.
His eyes lit up at the sight of you. He was practically glowing when he reached for you. Arms wrapped around your waist, lifted you so you were half-hanging off the metal barricade, his lips firmly on yours. Increasingly loud cheers and chants in the background while the two of you got lost in your own little world. A moment so intimate, so special, and yet so public.
You couldn't help but smile as the video played again and again.
Realising you'd been watching the same 30-second clip for five minutes straight, you laughed at yourself and switched away from the app. It took all of your professionalism to put the clip away from your mind and focus on the social media app in front of you instead. You decided to upload the intern's compilation. It had fifty likes before you could switch back to the main page.
You scrolled through the videos on the page, clips of the race, fan reactions, about five edits of your kiss, set to the cheesiest love songs you had ever heard.
Overcome with mild embarrassment, you were just about to close the app and return to the party when a clip of Seokmin signing the champagne bottle came up. His smile so wide it was obvious even from the awkward side-view angle, he held the white marker.
His handwriting was clumsy — whose wouldn't be while writing onto a bottle of all things? — but perfectly legible: 'To my (Y/n), thank you for being here'.
Your heart clenched. Eyes started stinging with unshed tears. You held the phone close to your chest as if to cherish the moment and blinked up at the ceiling to will the tears away.
He found you just then, two drinks in hand as he approached you. You didn't notice him until you heard his soft laughter, his head tilting curiously as he watched you.
"You good?" he wondered and leaned down to kiss your cheek.
You didn't dare to answer; your lips were starting to wobble. There weren't enough words in the world to tell him how you felt anyway. A thousand dictionaries, a hundred languages could never be enough to tell him how proud you were, how much your heart craved his presence and gentle words, how you thought you might fly away just from the power of love.
Love.
Love.
You loved him. Whole-heartedly. In ways your broken heart had wanted to swear off just last year, and even more.
The ceiling was your safe space for this little while. You were certain that if you looked at him, you'd burst out crying and confess your adoration in the most embarrassing manner, probably through snotty sobs and on your knees. The team would get a kick out of it.
But poor Seokmin couldn't read your mind. He soundlessly set the cups on a table nearby. You heard no smile in his voice when he asked, "Is this about the kiss? I'm sorry. Are you upset with me? I'm so sorr—"
You straightened up and grabbed him by the collar of his stupidly attractive dumb white t-shirt. And you kissed him. Poured every adoring word, every overpowering feeling, every dumb doubt, every exhilarating revelation into it. You wanted him to feel what you felt, wanted him to know that this was real, wanted to erase every doubt so completely they wouldn't even leave a single crease on the paper.
His hand on your waist, the other resting against your cheek, he kissed you back with the same intensity. Like he'd waited his entire life for this very moment, like he could read your thoughts and wanted to memorise every line.
"Oh my god, get a room!" someone from the crowd shouted. It sounded an awful lot like Yuki.
You pulled away with a laugh, ignored the stray tear that ran down your cheek as your feelings reached a high point. Seokmin whined in protest and chased your lips, pressed against them once more, gently now. He was practically straddling you on the chair now. The team would definitely never let you live this down.
"That was…" You breathed out, hands lowering to rest against his chest. You giggled when he tried to lean forward to kiss you a third time. "People are watching."
He scowled. "Oh, but when you do it, it's fine?"
You conceded and let him kiss you once more, laughing into it. Finally, he pulled away and smiled brightly at you.
"I thought you were mad at me," he told you.
Your head was shaking before you could find the words to say. "I was mad at myself."
His brows furrowed but the smile — oh, that beautiful smile — remained. "Why?"
"Because I didn't realise how much I loved you until now," you confessed, and it felt easy. There was no anxiety, no red-hot flash of realisation you'd said the unthinkable running up your spine. You simply said it. And it felt right. "I love you."
He seemed to melt into goo right in front of you. He was red-eared, eyes sparkling and pupils wide like those videos of cats looking at Christmas ornaments. His entire body seemed to vibrate with shy giggles. He swallowed hard and looked all around the room like he couldn't be trusted to look at you. You wanted to pull him back into your arms and hug him close, to squeeze him until he'd beg for you to stop through overwhelmed laughter.
He cleared his throat. And it was like a switch flipped — the shy Seokmin hid away, a more confident and love-struck one taking his place. His eyes found yours again. He grinned and leaned forward to kiss you again, short and sweet, before whispering, "It's a good thing I love you too, then."
"Definitely a good thing," you agreed, positively kissed dumb by now.
"I guess there's no point in pretending we're just friends who kiss sometimes anymore," he joked. Well, half-joked, you supposed. It's not like you'd put a label on it so far. You could only imagine what the rest of the world thought the two of you were when even the two of you couldn't decide.
You shook your head no. "But I do think this is the part where you ask me to be your girlfriend."
He gasped, always so endearingly theatrical and over the top. "So you can reject me?"
"Maybe."
"You can't reject me today," he concluded after a moment of thought. "I won the race, so you have to say yes."
"Maybe."
"So will you? Be my girlfriend? Be mine?" He seemed to practically glow at the idea. And he only seemed to get happier when you nodded yes and leaned forward to kiss him once more for good measure.
"My girlfriend," he mumbled, forehead leaning against yours. He was looking at you like you were the only people in the room, like Lando Norris wasn't screaming playful threats of reporting the two of you to the FIA for public indecency. Seokmin's grin widened, and suddenly he was standing up, hands holding yours in a tight grip. "You know what that means?"
Your lashes fluttered a thousand times a minute, confusion evident in the hesitant way you let him pull you up as well. "What?"
"You're legally obligated to dance with me," he declared and gave you a twirl. Your confusion melted into laughter as you took to the dance floor, the crowd cheering you on.
While he twirled you around like it was the only dance move he knew, from the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar figure. Seungcheol stood by a wall, still dressed in the Red Bull team kit. You felt a little guilty that you couldn't even guess where he’d ended up on the leaderboard.
Not on the podium, you realised and the thought didn't bring any feelings at all. The blank space he'd left in your heart had long since been filled by another man, a better one.
You offered Seungcheol a tight-lipped smile, a peace-offering after the year of rivalries and scandals — you were taking the higher ground. There was no point in fighting when the bridge between you had long burnt down. He seemed almost startled to see it. His lips curved into a small, hesitant smile. Then he walked away like a man who'd lost more than the podium. And you felt nothing at all, for him at least.
You were done with that chapter, looking at a whole new book.
Seokmin kissed your cheek. "I love you."
"I love you too," you told him, tearing the last of your attention away from the man of your past. "Even if you twirl me around a thousand times a minute."
He laughed and twirled you once more. You supposed this near-perfect man was allowed to have this one flaw.
"I love you," he whispered once more as he pulled you closer until you were chest to chest. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
It was impossible not to laugh and melt. "How many times are you going to say that?"
He pressed his lips to yours once more. "A thousand times." You supposed you could live with that. "Today." Laughter bubbled from your throat. "Then about a million tomorrow. And another million the day after, and the day after—"
"You're crazy."
"Only for you, my love," he replied with a smile, and you melted all over again.
