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Chapter Text

QATAR - 2021

Renjun opens his phone on the flight to Qatar to find out he’s been cordially invited to Jeno’s afterparty on Sunday, followed by a series of texts from Donghyuck asking if he’s going. He’s a little disappointed to find out Jaemin hadn’t left a text, not even an email. 

They haven’t spoken since that night in São Paulo which they had both silently agreed to brush off. When Renjun woke up the next day alone in his bed with a vague memory of the conversation they had the night before, he knew something had shifted between them, ever so slightly. That was almost two weeks ago now and all he’s received since then were kind smiles from Jaemin, most of which never quite reached his eyes. 

Renjun could dismiss it easily as him being busy or tired, but he knows Jaemin just as much as Jaemin knows him. And Renjun is highly aware of when he’s being avoided.

‘what makes u so sure i was invited?’ he types out a reply to Donghyuck, only to get a text back almost immediately. 

‘don’t be stupid, ure huang renjun. of course, ure invited. now what r u gnna wear?’

When Sunday night rolls around, Renjun finds himself decently dressed for a night out. The adrenaline and exhaustion from the race haven’t exactly hit him just yet, but the soreness in his muscles are apparent after every step he takes. And yet, it’s not enough to deter him from having a good night (preferably drunk), especially after the tough week he’s been having. Renjun thinks he at least deserves this much freedom for the night. He sends his manager a quick text and orders an Uber on the way down to the lobby.

Donghyuck sends him exactly 3 texts on his way to Nobu Doha, all of which consists of him asking the same set of questions. Renjun sends his final, ‘u look good’ and turns his phone off to enjoy the rest of the ride there. Qatar is beautiful, as always and glamorous each time he returns for another season. Sometimes he contemplates moving this far away from home, just to get a change in sights. Different culture, a different language, different people. A fresh start. But another voice appears in his head, asking him if a change is what he really wanted or if it was just to run away. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind.

Renjun can’t help but gawk at the view as he gets past security. He’s been to Nobu a few times before for private meetings and fine dining, but Jeno has gone way beyond his expectations. Tonight, the entire restaurant hanging off the shoreline is reserved just for invites. 

Renjun adjusts his coat (which he’s been sweating profusely in on the way here) and fixes his hair. Tonight is about relaxing and having fun, both of which he hasn’t allowed himself to have in a while now. 

The wind sweeps the cold breeze off the surface of the water and blows through the pores of his expensive shirt, working to provide him with some composure as Renjun recounts the things he needs to be prepared for tonight—Jaemin being his biggest worry of them all. There’s a big chance he would be here (most of the drivers are), hanging about (maybe even with Donghyuck by now, who despite his constant practice of self-praise for being so observant, fails to pick up on the growing tension between them).

“Yo,” a hand bumps into his shoulder. As if summoned by thought, Donghyuck’s face comes into view. “Watch where you’re going. You do know you’re on water right?” 

A drink is pushed into Renjun’s hand, his first one of the night. The champagne swirls like fairy dust littered in liquid gold under the moon and his muscles tug at his lips to eclipse his obscured mind. 

“Sorry, just tired,” Renjun mumbles. Half-truth.

In spite of himself, Donghyuck leaves it at that and doesn’t attempt more questions. Instead, he assigned himself the duty of handing Renjun more drinks throughout the night as they breeze through the guests. They end up at Jeno’s table after he catches them by surprise.

By then, Renjun is knee-deep into his 6th drink of the night as he tunes into the chat floating around him with the concentration of a goldfish. Donghyuck is a flushed mess beside him (from the heat, the drinks and his bashfulness), falling over his words in an attempt to hold a steady conversation with Jeno, who doesn't look any less shy than him. They look like two high schoolers flirting for the very first time.

The pink tint of embarrassment is a good look on Donghyuck, for a change. 

Somewhere along the night, among other things, the conversation shifts to Jaemin’s whereabouts and Renjun can’t help but get engrossed despite the tipsiness beginning to settle under his stomach.

Donghyuck swirls the wine in his glass and watches the red stain the tip of the glass before melting back down to the bottom. “It’s kind of a bummer that Jaemin isn’t here. He has a thing for these kinds of events.”

He doesn’t, Renjun’s brain supplies reflexively. He enjoys pretending he does. Jaemin hates nothing more than being crowded into a room full of strangers. But when you’re in the public eye, you don’t get to pick and choose the things you enjoy. You become your brand. The product in and of itself. And products need to be sold—so Na Jaemin enjoys socialising. Na Jaemin also enjoys his brand deals. He cares about the difference between eggshell white and off white when Architectural Digest drops by. 

But Jaemin is none of these things.

“Oh, he’s here.” Jeno casually comments, taking a sip out of his drink. Renjun’s ears perk up at the minute detail. “Or at least he was. I’m not sure where he went though. We had a quick chat earlier, but I didn’t see him again afterwards. He probably headed back to his hotel.” 

Renjun can feel Donghyuck’s eyes on him before he even has to turn and look—knows that there's a question Renjun can’t answer lingering on his lips. Renjun keeps his gaze steady on his empty glass. 

“I’m getting another drink.” He excuses himself quietly and slips out of the conversation before Jeno can holler at a waiter for him or before Donghyuck’s stare burns starts burning holes into his skin.

On his journey to the bar, Renjun’s mind clears as he gets further away from the crowd. He stops in his tracks. The tipsiness drained out of his body. The emptiness of the glass in his hand hangs over him like a loaded sentence. 

What was he doing here?

Was tonight really about having fun when he’s done nothing but let mindless chatter pass him by? A small creature burrowed in the depths of Renjun’s chest tells him he’s selfish. Tonight was about the one person he’d been dying to talk to, knowing full well that Jaemin can’t avoid him in public. Not with their reputation on the line. Na Jaemin and Huang Renjun could never fight. They’re Formula One’s favourite duo, it would be a PR mess.

Jaemin would be forced to face him with no excuses even if he doesn’t want to. Even if he’s been actively avoiding Renjun for two weeks in private.

The last bit of condensation drips down the glass and trickles down Renjun’s hand. This is pointless. He sets the glass by the bar and grabs his coat.

There’s no reason to stay, even if he knows he’ll find a hundred texts from Donghyuck by the end of the night. But those can wait. There’s still tomorrow, so he sets that as the least of his worries for the night. 

Renjun manages to get entangled into a quick conversation with men he’s too tipsy to remember the names of as he finally reaches for his coat. 

The glass panelled doors slide open and the gust of wind sweeps up the cuffs of his trousers, allowing the chill to creep higher up his legs. In a last-minute decision, Renjun takes the back way out through the pier—both to avoid Donghyuk talking him into staying and oncoming guests (people he definitely does not have the energy to entertain). 

What he finds instead at the end of the pier, is a familiar silhouette, swallowed by shadows. 

“Jaemin?” The name tastes like butter on his tongue. 

Electricity flows through the air and collects Jaemin as a victim. He flinches and the cigarette in his hand drops into the water. Jaemin is dressed in all-black tonight—sleek, classic.

“Jun,” he slurs and the word sounds familiar to Renjun’s ears. Jaemin is drunk. “What are you doing here?” 

“I had to leave early.” Renjun shifts his weight from one leg to the other, getting increasingly conscious of the way the cold air has caused his cheeks to grow pink. The alcohol doesn’t help, although the pier is relatively dark. “Why are you here alone?”

Jaemin rubs his finger together and slides them into his pockets. “I just needed to take a breather.” 

The packet of cigarettes in his pocket sticks out and he realises too late that Renjun is staring. “I thought you said you stopped smoking.”

Jaemin doesn’t say anything, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face, almost like relief.

This is what Renjun had waited for the entire night. For two weeks he had been getting by with short, subtle glances thrown his way—a misplaced gaze he had been too late to return. For two weeks he was starving for even a sliver of Jaemin’s attention, only to be met with avoidance. This is the closest they’ve been since São Paulo and yet, Renjun has never felt a bigger gap between them. This was pointless, he concludes. Jaemin is way past tipsy and the dull throb in Renjun’s muscles are starting to travel to all parts of his body. When the silence prolongs longer than he’s comfortable with, Renjun begins to walk past him.

“Wait-” Jaemin clumsily reaches for his shirt and almost sends them tipping into the water. “Shit, sorry,” he says, laughing. “Can you– Can you sit with me for a bit? I need to talk to you.”

His skin burns when it meets Jaemin’s touch. It makes Renjun dizzy—the way Jaemin’s entire hand could wrap around one of his arms. Reminds him of how much they’ve grown over the years. He slides his hand around Jaemin’s wrist, not trusting his ability to stay balanced enough through his intoxicated haze.

“Oh, so now you’re talking to me.”

Jaemin physically winces under his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says as they sit cross-legged on the pier.

“I didn’t mean to. I had to do a lot of thinking, by myself.”

Renjun goes to pick at a scab on his finger, a nervous habit he’s developed. He sees the lights from the distance reflect onto the water and create ripples of colours that bounce off their skin.

“What kind of thinking?”

“Everything. Just everything.”

Renjun wants to laugh because everything seems to be the only thing on his mind too.

The party guests are still going at it inside and the music has somehow begun to play louder, even though it’s muffled through the windows and walls. The vibrations cause little waves to swirl in the water.

“You didn’t say it back.”

Jaemin’s fingers begin to draw circles on the back of his hand. He did that more often when they were kids. More old habits. That seems to be the only constant between them nowadays. “That night in São Paulo. You didn’t say it back.” 

He could hear the pout on Jaemin’s face piercing through the darkness. There’s a question lingering somewhere in there, but he doesn’t demand answers. He never demands answers from Renjun. Which is a good thing. Renjun isn’t sure he knows how to explain to him that he pulled away because he was afraid of his own feelings.

Jaemin’s pants squeak under the pressure when he pulls his legs to his chest. Experimentally, he leans on Renjun's shoulder and then he sighs. “Things don’t feel the same between us anymore.” 

The words are loaded like a gun but they slide into his chest smooth as a polished knife. Renjun looks to his left only to find Jaemin’s eyes holding a soft gaze on him—all warmth and orange heat glowing behind glittering shadows of grey. Tendrils which pull him in each time he falls back. “I’m sorry for avoiding you. But I feel like I don’t see you anymore either. And then I got worried.”

That stings a little bit more. This whole time, he was so sure Jaemin wouldn’t catch onto the storm brewing in his own head.

“I’m sorry,” he says because he doesn’t know where to start.

A warm hand melts into his, and fingers slide like melting butter between the spaces of his hand. 

The touch makes flowers bloom in the soft tendons between muscle and bone. Renjun doesn’t remember the last time he was held this gently as if his skin would crack under the slightest bit of pressure.

“Jun,” Jaemin starts and the intense fondness to his voice terrifies Renjun. The grip in his hand tightens.

Jaemin’s adam’s apple bobs.

Renjun has seen this look in his dreams far too many times.

He looks away, even though he doesn’t know what to expect. But the air around them has turned brittle and fragile than it was minutes ago, and Jaemin, drunk, should not be in any position to break the fragility. 

“Can you please look at me?” 

Despite the heat of blood under his skin and the treacherous feeling burrowing deep within him, he looks. Renjun has never been good at denying Jaemin what he asks of him. It would be his heart on a silver platter within seconds. 

Jaemin’s brown eyes settle deep inside him and they travel miles within his soul. Renjun feels as if he’s just been laid bare for the world to see. A hand reaches experimentally in the night and tucks a lock of hair behind his ears. Renjun’s pulse quickens and he feels the blood inside him come alive. 

“You look really pretty tonight.” The clasp on his hand remains. Jaemin’s gaze, forlorn. His eyes don’t leave Renjun’s face and Renjun realises, quickly, what Jaemin’s words are alluding to. They carve a deep fear inside him. 

“You’re drunk, Jaemin.” He begs, quietly. Both for mercy and out of fear. That someone will find them, in a moment of vulnerability. 

Jaemin sighs like he’s done 50 laps in a nightmarish limbo. Like he has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for far too long. “Then why does my head feel clear for the first time in years.” 

Renjun doesn’t know when he gets closer, only knows that Jaemin’s thigh is pressing up against his and that his hand has settled by his face, stroking his cheek. Jaemin’s skin is cold from the night air. Renjun doesn’t remember the last time he’s been held like this—with so much unadulterated tenderness.

The gap between them thins after every passing moment that stretches on for aeons. Renjun feels like he could live a hundred lifetimes within it.

“I just want to know if you’re thinking the same thing too.”

Jaemin’s eyes are on his lips now and it’s his first time seeing him crave for something more than just victory on the track. Renjun’s free hand finds its way to the hand on his cheek, tugging at callused fingers. 

“Jaemin,” he says. He feels the heat in Jaemin’s eyes overflow and drizzle into him. Renjun can’t help but see a boy, the only one he has ever loved. “You’re going to do something you’ll end up regretting.”

“You know I could never regret you.” Jaemin’s smile is almost sad.

For a moment, Renjun feels nothing but anger. The sizzling kind of heat which overwhelms your senses and pushes the fire into your throat, burning you from the inside out. For over a decade, he wished nothing more than to hear these words. The reassurance that is meant to fill him with relief and a kind of yellowish glow that could not be mistaken for anything less than joy. Pure happiness.

Yet now, knowing, it only fills him with infinite dread. There’s a hole that carves an empty vessel inside him. And Renjun is so angry, burning with fire in his stomach for the world because the one thing he has yearned for all these years is now dangled right in front of him, just out of arm's reach. And he cannot have it.

He is angry because he has long accepted that he could never have Jaemin, but to be robbed of the joy and relief he’s meant to feel is another kind of cruelty.

Looking at him like this, in his eyes, reminds Renjun of an old memory. Where a similar kind of feeling washed over him as it has now. They kissed then too, but it was stupid. Fleeting, curious. Something that was forgotten the very next day and never spoken of again. They were children then, barely 17, driving down the empty streets of their little town. He remembers seeing the same kind of look in Jaemin’s eyes then too. Bathed in orange streetlights, his face glowed with the kind of happiness only youth could provide. He doesn’t look like that anymore. He hasn’t for a long time now.

“Jaemin.” He says, full stop. He knows his tone conveys more than enough.

But Jaemin has always learned to put up a fight. A true competitor on the tracks who's never been one to refrain from pushing Renjun to his limits.

“I just need to know,” Jaemin says. His lips are chapped from the cold and the cigarette and Renjun can already taste him on his tongue, even when they’re inches apart. “I won’t do it unless you want me to. Tell me you want me to.”

The words strike deep inside him and Renjun falls between his fingers, just as easily every time. He should feel shameful. But he isn’t. Not even guilty. How could he, when he’s dreamt of this moment for so long? It surfaces the ugly feelings he’s kept bottled up, leaking through the cracks of a weary dam that has lost its purpose long ago. 

Renjun feels his body move forward on its own accord, his mind shackled along with all its logical thinking thrown out the window. For once, he doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to make sense of the moment. For once, he just wants Jaemin. 

Jaemin’s warm lips slot between his and for a moment, everything in life fell perfectly into place. Dusty cogs that moved in tandem. Everything made sense. His mouth tasted like heaven and he unloaded cosmos into Renjun’s mouth, filling him with stars. 

Here, there was no confusion, no doubt, no pining. For a moment, they went back to just being Renjun and Jaemin. He feels his anger dissipating into thin air. 

It’s not fireworks or popped bottles of champagne that leave his ears ringing intensely. He’s had enough of those for a lifetime. This is something quieter that settles between them softly, like a dawning realisation that has always been lingering just underneath the surface of their skin. A pool of murky waters, uncharted territory he has only ever allowed himself to fantasize of. But now that he’s dipped his toes in and the force of his affection hits him all at once—he can’t stop. No, he wouldn’t even if he could. Jaemin smells and tastes like home and Renjun wants him all to himself.

And there was an air of playfulness to the kiss too. 

Clumsy and sweet. The kiss is exactly like the kind of affection he’s been receiving from Jaemin all these years. And even though the world has turned upside down, nothing has changed. This was still Jaemin to him. His feelings have always been the same.

His hands wander—finding their way to Jaemin’s skin, his jacket, his chest, anything to bring him closer, closer. Even if it scorched him alive. Even if they moulded into one, Renjun thinks it wouldn’t be enough. He could never get enough. 

Jaemin sighs into his mouth and it feels like a thousand tiny flames are licking at his insides, burning him red from the inside out and all he can do is sit and watch his body go ablaze. The nimble fingers pressing on his sticky skin, pulling him closer, do nothing but fuel the fire that’s been burning inside him for all these years. 

They inch closer together after every beat.

He wishes he could feel embarrassed by the little mewl that is forced out of him when teeth tug on his bottom lip, gnawing on it raw. There have been so many times when he fantasised about moments like this in his dreams. But now he knows for sure how sweet Jaemin tastes on his tongue. 

He feels hands under his shirt, and then on his thighs and then back on his face like Jaemin is trying to commit every piece of him to memory. He doesn’t want to think about how easily Jaemin manhandles him into his lap a second later, only to pull them closer. 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows there’s a logical part of him that realises this is a bad idea. This shouldn’t be anything remotely close to reality. Even the possibility of it is as deadly as a train-wreck. But kissing Jaemin in the dark, where it feels like the whole world isn’t watching their every move—to have Jaemin all to himself in this moment, it feels surreal—too good to pull away. 

And so he doesn’t. He lets Jaemin’s hand cup the slope of his jaw and forces wanton sounds out of his mouth. He lets him kiss him hard until they’re both intoxicated in different ways. He allows himself to remember the feeling of Jaemin’s lips—the way they curl around his own, the way they latch on his tongue, the way they gasp against his mouth—he needs to remember it all. Because the universe can rob him of a hundred things, but not this memory. He’ll keep it tucked away safely even if he might lose this tomorrow.

Jaemin’s warm hands find their way to his hands eventually—soft and careful—guiding them into his shirt and along his back where the tender spots of his past injury still remain. His cold skin now feels hot to the touch and something liquid pools in Renjun’s belly upon realising that it was because of him. He has Jaemin hot, heavy and flustered for him.

For the first time in a minute, Jaemin pulls back, cheeks flushed and lips pink with spit and Renjun’s lungs burn like the first time he ever stepped foot on the track. Jaemin doesn’t hover far away, a smile curling on his mouth as it grazes past Renjun’s cheek. 

“I want your hands here,” he whispers and it sends shivers down Renjun's spine so violently, that he feels them all the way to the edge of his nerves. “You know where.”

Renjun knows. 

The second his fingers are pressing against the sore knots in Jaemin’s back, he feels his warm mouth on his throat, trailing along with the structure of his neck. Jaemin seems to enjoy the way his throat bobs and kisses him on his adam’s apple. Renjun is shameless in his attempt (or lack thereof) to contain the whimper that escapes him. 

He’s slept with countless people before but nothing has ever felt this intimate before. Kissing Jaemin in the dark is unbearable because Renjun gets the rawest version of him. No cameras, no brand deals, no public image, no speed. This Jaemin, the one he’s always known, takes his time taking him apart, bit by bit. And it drives him insane. 

“Jaemin, please,” he says, a tone lower than his usual voice. He doesn’t know if he’s begging for more or less, but he’ll take whatever Jaemin gives him, as always.

Like a challenge, Jaemin hums against his skin, his mouth finding its way up to his jaw. Colours burgeoning under his lips. 

Meanwhile, Renjun’s hands have found a mind of their own, wandering along Jaemin’s perfect spine, just as teasingly, rubbing at the sore areas in his back in ways that have Jaemin groaning his name into his neck. They match each other’s eagerness even off the track, neither ready to lose their stand.

Renjun is so delirious on the love he’s tried so hard to confine, that for a short ripple in time, he wonders what was so terrible about it. What is so terrible about wanting Jaemin? For there to even be a possibility of him being his? How could a feeling this beautiful really be the end of the world, the end of their careers? Why should he be forced to choose one or the other when he’s done nothing wrong?

The words circle through his mind endlessly, even though he’s so drunk and dizzy on happiness as Jaemin licks the tender skin on his neck where colours start to bloom. At this moment, he can’t bring himself to care for the unanswered questions left hanging on his tongue. They might not be answered today, or tomorrow, or ever. Because Renjun doesn’t have answers to provide and the universe has never been generous with her secrets. But one thing he knows for certain is that even when the night ends and he comes crashing down from the high, he could never forget the words Jaemin muttered against his lips. Not even in a million years.

“I’m yours Renjun. I’ve always been yours.”

Renjun woke up the next day with a pounding headache and a searing realisation of what he had done last night. It all comes back piece by piece as he peels himself off his bed and across his room. Flashing images of hands haunt him with each step, then lips, and then whispers and then Jaemin.

The first thing he does is hop into the shower because the sweat from last night hadn’t gone away (gross) and neither does the guilt (also gross). He sends Donghyuck a quick sorry text for last night after he gets out of the shower and can’t help but feel disappointed when he doesn’t get even one text from Jaemin by the time he has breakfast.

The prolonged silence from Jaemin’s end has him jittery with a kind of anxiousness he’d rather not think about while chowing down on a sandwich. It makes his stomach twist in an uncomfortable way. 

Last night had ended anticlimactically, much to his disdain. It was one of the many things about the night that stuck out in his memory like a sore thumb. His brain infuriatingly reminds him of all the embarrassing things he blurted out between kisses and Jaemin’s wandering hands on his body. Until their make-out session was rudely interrupted by a group of people obnoxiously laughing in the distance, making their way across the pier.

Renjun’s brain had promptly chosen his flight response in the heat of the moment and without even noticing, he had peeled himself off Jaemin’s lips and started running without another word. Thankfully, they weren’t caught (or at least he doesn’t think so. He’s been monitoring his Twitter feed and the tabloids ever since he woke up and so far, there aren’t any articles with ‘kissing’ and ‘Huang Renjun’ to be found in the same headline).

He fixes his robe and falls onto his feathery hotel bed. And then he feels the feelings come back to him, without the excess guilt. He kissed Jaemin. He really kissed him. Jaemin kissed him. That similar pinkish pleasure he saw on Jaemin’s face blooms in his chest. It spreads so deep, it tugs a subconscious smile out of him. He feels like a teenager again, for the first time in years. He feels… happy. 

And once he puts a name on it, he can’t stop thinking of how much happiness he feels. They kissed and the world hasn’t ended. Renjun is still himself, in his bed, living the same life he’s been living for the past 28 years. Nothing has changed, except everything.

He giggles (giggles! Donghyuck would’ve had a field day with that), unable to contain the joy that’s practically seeping out of his pores. His own laugh is contagious.

He jumps when his phone pings on the other side of the bed. Scrambling on his stomach, he hurriedly reaches for his phone with sweaty palms. Renjun doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this nervous. Even races in the evening don’t make his stomach flip this much.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) it’s Donghyuck’s contact number on his screen. He deflates. No texts from Jaemin and it’s almost noon. He couldn’t have slept in. Jaemin never sleeps in, even if he’s had a long night. Their bodies have built-in alarm clocks ready to go off at 7 in the morning every day. 

Renjun gets around to replying to Donghyuck’s texts in the end and tries his best not to spill about last night’s events, even if he’s dying to tell someone, just to make it feel a little more real. Although the kisses and reds dotting the skin of his neck told him it was most definitely not a dream (he spent 5 extra minutes in the shower just gawking at them, prodding them and feeling how numb it felt just to convince himself it was all real). He takes it upon himself to wear a scarf.

Then the rest of the day goes by painstakingly slowly. He powers through a couple of interviews with his manager and then with his marketing team surrounding his new brand endorsements and Renjun tries his hardest to pretend he’s paying attention. 

He can’t help but sneak glances at his phone here and there but stops by the time dinner rolls around. His nerves have been on fire the entire day and he wonders if Jaemin is feeling the same. Is he waiting for Renjun to text him first too?

Renjun has had a lot of time to think today between meetings and his meals, mostly consisting of him zoning out until someone snaps him back into reality (rather embarrassingly). If Jaemin and he do end up talking sometime this evening, what would he say? Would he confess? Would Jaemin? There was no way they could put this all behind them, not when what happened yesterday is still so fresh in his mind. 

The weight of his phone is heavy in his pocket.

“Hey, can you get me the name of the hotel Jaemin is staying in?”

His manager is wrapping up her lunch, hunched over the table as she reaches for the TV remote. Her perfectly trimmed brows arch teasingly. “Did you guys have a fight?”

Renjun squints his eyes. She can always tell when something is going on with him, which often doesn’t work in his favour, even if it means she’s terrifyingly good at her job. 

“No, we didn’t.”

She pops a dumpling into her mouth and unplugs her phone. “Mhm, suureee. I saw you looking at your phone the whole day.”

Renjun can only grumble, sinking deeper into his covers. It’s filled with crumbs from his earlier meals spent in bed. “Stop psychoanalysing me.” 

His cheeks burn when she cackles from across the room. “I sent you the location.”

There’s a little pause in her voice that makes Renjun pop his head out of the blanket. She seems to hesitate for a moment before turning her attention back to her dumplings. 

“What?” He says, unable to stop his curiosity. 

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

She ends up complying with his tone and meets his eyes from across the room. Renjun gets a look he isn’t used to seeing—a sliver of guilt on her face.

“Just be careful. You know… the media are sharks. They see everything. They’ll flock at even the tiniest drop of blood.”

She leaves it at that and Renjun doesn’t say anything either, afraid his own voice would betray him. 

Renjun does more thinking on the way up to Jaemin’s room—about where they’d go from this point on, how they’d be able to balance their private lives and careers.

But we’ve always done that, nothing has to change, a voice in his head tells him. The prospect of their future relationship feels scary and unknown, like threading on murky waters but the underlying excitement underneath it all is too rich for him to ignore. 

His feet reach Jaemin’s suite faster than he’d like and his lungs feel out of breath, even though he’s not the slightest bit tired. It’s just Jaemin, he tells himself. Just Jaemin.

He rings the doorbell before he could talk himself out of it.

A few moments go by and then he rings it again, this time with a sense of urgency. He didn’t consider the possibility of Jaemin not being in his hotel for the night. The day is ending and Qatar has always been known for its nightlife. He could be out with his friends or his team or even his manager and– okay, Jaemin is a busy man. Renjun admits it might have been a little stupid of him not to at least give Jaemin a heads up and now, he’s psyched himself out way too early for no rea—

“Renjun?” Jaemin’s bare face is on full display in front of him, hair tousled as if he’d just gotten out of bed after a full day of rest. He’s dressed in nothing but a white t-shirt and some sweatpants, yet he still looks stunning, like he’s ready to walk on the runway at any time. 

Renjun can see the purple bruises on his neck that mirror his own, except Jaemin doesn’t attempt to hide his—probably because he doesn’t need to when he’s all alone in his suite. But just looking at them ignites that fiery feeling in Renjun’s stomach all over again. 

‘Those are mine’, he thinks. 

“I was just about to text you,” Jaemin says but this time, he says it with a small smile. If Renjun was being bold, he’d almost say he looks shy. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you all day.”

“Me too.” Renjun forces himself out of his trance. He tries not to notice Jaemin’s warm cheeks. 

“Um, do you want to come in for coffee?”

Jaemin’s suite opens up to a wide space with a cosy little living area and a nice kitchen, definitely more than big enough for 2-3 people, but Jaemin has this place all to himself. In the past, he would complain about having to live in open spaces like this, even if it was just for the weekend. Growing up in a small house with his mother and grandmother, it was rare for him to be left alone with little to no company. And being in open spaces by himself always made him feel lonely. So instead of staying in his suite, he’d pester Renjun in his own hotel room, lounging about until Renjun was inevitably forced to kick him out for some rest. 

But loneliness is something you get used to in the industry. Everything is always a competition, always a story and you’re merely an extension of your brand. So Jaemin lives alone now, in a big house of his own.

Jaemin punches a few buttons on his coffee machine and the thing whirrs almost immediately, pumping coffee into the small cup. The smell of coffee grinds fills the air, alongside Jaemin’s cologne (the same cologne Renjun smelled on his clothes from last night).

He makes himself comfortable on one of the living room chairs, feigning composure even though he feels like he’s practically melting on the inside. Well, maybe hot coffee wasn’t such a good idea. But he has run too many loops around his head to get out of this. It’s now or never. “I’m guessing we both want to talk about the same thing?”

The ear-wrenching sound of a metal spoon hitting against porcelain stops for a quick breath but then resumes shortly after.

“Yeah,” says Jaemin, simply. His tone is indistinguishable. He makes his way from across the room and sets the cup on the table, a little further than Renjun would like, but he’s not in the mood to be nitpicky right now, especially not when his nerves are on fire.

Especially not when Jaemin is looking everywhere but him. Change doesn’t come easy, especially not when a relationship is this deeply rooted in your life, but it has taken Renjun a long time to realise that change isn’t always bad. Not when Jaemin is his end prize. 

“About yesterday…” Jaemin fiddles with the hem of his shirt. In the time it takes for his eyes to meet Renjun’s gaze, his skin has turned sickeningly pale. The kisses on his neck look like open wounds now. “I’m really sorry, Jun.”

Renjun’s world stops. He realises his heart had followed suit a moment later when his lungs are burning for air.

“Why are you apologizing?” the words came tumbling out of his mouth. What he really wanted to know was what Jaemin was apologizing for.

“I..” Jaemin swallowed the lump in his throat. His fingers have busied themselves with picking at a scab, a nervous tic he developed after Renjun.

“I was stupid,” he finally says, like he’s been thinking of it the entire time. Renjun’s world turns slightly on its axis. That burning feeling in his chest dampens and the anxiety remains, but for a whole different reason. The excitement is completely absent in its place. Jaemin sighs. “I put you in a tough spot. I was drunk and I knew you were drunk too, and–”

All Renjun hears are words—meaningless sentences strung together that fills his right ear and falls out of the other. “What are you saying?”

Jaemin has the decency to look apologetic at the sound of his tone. Renjun wants nothing but to shrink in his seat—watch the world swallow him alive.

“Yesterday was a mistake. A big one and I’m sorry I pulled you into this mess just because I was confused.” Jaemin’s big brown eyes stared into him and slowly, it reclaimed the stars he poured into him—stars Renjun had been so sure were his to keep.

“That wasn’t fair of me. I don’t want you to think our relationship isn’t important to me because it is… you’re my best friend.” His lips form a thin line when he says it, almost like the words stung him from the inside of his mouth. 

And Renjun can’t make sense of it at all—the maelstrom of confusion and panic refuses to seep in—there is no way he had misread what happened last night. They kissed and this wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

“And I would never do anything to hurt you or jeopardise our friendship, Renjun. You’ve had to put up with me enough.” 

And this time, when Renjun meets his eyes, he finds that same look on Jaemin’s face that he’d on his own face hours ago. Guilt. And this time, it comes in more than just a sliver. It conquers his face entirely. 

For the first time ever, Renjun feels unwanted in his presence. And the feeling is so terrible and foreign, he feels the ache in his bones, where it carves a home in his marrow. 

He doesn’t recognise the helplessness in his own voice, when he asks, “Jaemin, what are you doing?”

It comes out sounding like a beg. Maybe for mercy, maybe for hope, maybe for anything more than having to endure the look of guilt on Jaemin’s face.

“I’m being honest with you. And I know this is the first time we’ve been this honest with each other in a while.” Jaemin sounds strained and tired like he’s had too much sleep and none at the same time. Renjun doesn’t recognise him anymore. It doesn’t feel like he’s sitting across from the same person he grew up with. 

Renjun isn’t sure he really knew him at all. 

He swallows his tongue and bites the bullet. He watches the tendrils of his insecurities linger their way around his wrist. “So what you said yesterday…”

“I’m yours Renjun. I’ve always been yours."

“You know I could never regret you."

Are those just things people happen to say? Jaemin had let those words slip so carelessly with so much conviction, it fooled Renjun well enough. They’ve wound their way around his heart tight enough that it’s become a cage of its own.

And then he thinks again. I did this. He willingly traded security for a shred of hope. 

“I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry I kissed you, but I was upset and I missed you. And I know that isn’t an excuse. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

And there it is.

Everything falls back into its old ways and the world carries on as it did before—erasing last night's events into oblivion and writing it off as another mistake. But the future Renjun had built in his head comes crashing down and he finds out the hard way how something that could have been so beautiful ended the world. Only it was his, and no one else’s. 

The tendrils wrap around his skin and pull him under. Renjun feels like he’s caught between the rapids as the water fills his lungs and all that’s left of the flame from before are its ashes.

Of course, it would turn out this way. 

He doesn’t know what he was thinking. He was right the first time. This could never work and he had always known that. But hearing it come from Jaemin makes everything sting a thousand times worse because now Renjun isn’t even allowed to wonder about the what if’s. He has his answer clear cut and ready; Jaemin doesn’t feel the same way. In fact, Jaemin thinks what happened yesterday made him uncomfortable. It was just in the spur of the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

But maybe it’s best this way. Maybe it’s best to go back to locked doors and shut windows and safe distances. He said it himself—they aren’t kids anymore and Jaemin has always been unattainable from the start. Renjun didn’t know what made him think anything changed just because they both had one too many drinks and kissed a little in the dark. 

He can’t help but look once more to try to gauge Jaemin’s expression, only to get nothing in return but a frown painted across his face like a kid caught red-handed for taking something that isn’t theirs.

The acidic taste of blatant rejection swirls unpleasantly in his mouth. 

“Okay.” He says like he’s trying to convince himself. And then he says it again in his head once he feels the tears prickling at his eyes.

Jaemin looks at him inquisitively, his eyebrows furrow to the middle, creating deep divots in his skin. “O… kay?”

The way his face contorts into confusion makes something itch in Renjun’s chest. He wants to yell 'Isn’t this what you wanted?’ but this isn’t entirely Jaemin’s fault either. He can’t help how he feels. Or how he doesn’t feel. And the best thing Renjun could do right now is lie, for the both of them.

“Yeah, okay. I don’t know what else you want me to say.” He swallows the needles in his throat. “You said it was a mistake.”

But it wasn’t for me, goes unheard.

He discreetly pulls his head down, so Jaemin doesn’t have to see the tears threatening to form in his eyes. They burn with embarrassment. 

“So we’re okay, right?” Jaemin asks again and there’s an indistinguishable tone to his voice that makes the question sound like it’s being balanced on rocky land.

Renjun wants to scoff. Jaemin is still so adamant about making sure he’s comfortable, even in their uncomfortable situation. But he’s crossed the line and this time, ignoring the problem isn’t going to fix them. His embarrassment quickly morphs back into rage.

“Actually, no.” Renjun puts his foot down, quite literally as he pushes himself off the chair. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think we’re okay.”

Jaemin’s frown deepens. “Renjun, please.”

Heavy footsteps follow behind him when he makes a beeline towards the front door. Right now, the only thing on his mind is getting the hell out of here.

“No. I don't think I want us to be okay, Jaemin, because I’m tired of thinking I still know you. You said you wanted honesty?” The anger in his own throat feels foreign and watching Jaemin shrink under his gaze is unfamiliar. “Fine. I’ll be honest.” He huffs out. “I think we could use some distance.”

Jaemin’s body curls further into itself and his shoulders drop by a mile. The guilt and pity have been entirely replaced with hurt as if the words are slicing him in half. He barely manages to croak out a small, “What?”

“I don’t think I can be around you right now. Or be your friend.” And as much as it hurts to say it, a weight feels like it’s been lifted off Renjun’s shoulders. It may not be 100% the truth, but it’s still a good chunk of it.

“So that’s it. We’re just not friends anymore?” Jaemin stops him from leaving with a tug on his shoulder. His eyes are too wide and desperate and Renjun hates that he finds Jaemin breathtaking even when he’s crying. He hates that it makes him want to give in—to forgive Jaemin even when he feels just as angry and upset on the inside. “We can talk this out, we always do.” A sob catches on his throat. A hand encircles Renjun’s wrist. “Please don’t leave. Don’t leave, Renjun.” 

Renjun doesn’t know if they were friends yesterday, today or if they’ll be friends weeks from now. All he knows is that going on like this, this constant push and pull is getting exhausting. And he is done running in circles. 

“I’m sorry,” He ignores the sting in his chest and he pulls the front door open. He hesitates, but only for a second. “For the record, I’ve never had to put up with you. It was always my choice.”

You were always my choice. 

Renjun leaves without another word and he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need to. He knows Jaemin isn’t going to come running after him like those romance novels he has stacked on his bedside table. They are the furthest thing away from lovers.

The days go by quickly after that. Days that turn into weeks and weeks that turn into months and Renjun is surprised the tabloids don’t pick up on the stiffness between them whenever they’re crowded into the same room together. 

Sometimes he wonders if he was too brash in his decision. When he’s sitting alone in his house reading a book or washing the dishes, he’s unable to look at the pictures he has scattered in frames around his house, full of memories haunting him. What they had was almost 2 decades of friendship and it went down the drain just like that. But he also thinks he wouldn’t be able to carry on with the charades anymore. 

Their teams don’t ask questions but Renjun realises Jaemin’s name comes up less and less between fleeting conversations until it finally reaches an overall stop a month into their sudden parting. Over time, Jaemin’s name is treated like a ticking time-bomb around him, only said in hushed whispers and quick glances shared. 

But what happens from the inside stays on the inside, so Renjun still wills himself to answer interview questions about Jaemin and him, throwing in an occasional ‘We’ve both been busy lately,’ to avoid suspicion and mostly to stop anyone from giving him real updates on Jaemin. He doesn’t want to hear about his latest projects, his newest scandals, how he’s doing perfectly fine without Renjun—like nothing had changed. He didn’t like questioning how big of a role he really had in Jaemin's life. 

Respecting his wishes, Jaemin kept his distance, avoiding falling into his usual habit of sending him a smile after every race. And Renjun unlearns parts of his life where Jaemin used to fit in perfectly. Suddenly, he doesn’t find himself waiting for sudden visits anymore, or unexpected meals or for someone to pester him into breaking his diet. He doesn’t leave his front door unlocked because no one comes knocking in the middle of the night.

No one asks him questions, but Donghyuck was the first one to notice.

They’re lounging in his living room, watching the newest Netflix shows Donghyuck blindly put on just to make fun of, when he asks the question.

“What’s going on with you and Jaemin?”

Subtle, Renjun rolls his eyes.

“What do you mean what’s going on?”

This time Donghyuck rolls his eyes and then snatches the bowl of popcorn right out of Renjun’s hands. “Oh, please. It’s been months since the last time all three of us went out for lunch and whenever one of you is free, the other coincidentally happens to be busy.”

Renjun slides deeper into his blanket. He does not want to have this conversation right now. 

“No way,” Donghyuck breathes out and from the tone of his voice, it’s safe to assume his eyes are as wide as saucers. He’s having a eureka moment, which Renjun knows can’t be good for anyone. “You two fucked didn’t you?” 

The blood physically rushes to his brain, causing him to see stars for a quick second before he jumps out of the blanket. “What?!”, he says, defensively, which probably makes him look even guiltier if Donghyuck’s smug smile was anything to go by. 

“You two slept together and didn’t tell me and now it’s awkward. Oh my god, it all makes sense now. But isn’t this good news? He’s into you! So, who made the first move? Wait, no don’t tell me. That ruins the whole romantic aspect–”

“God, can you keep your voice down?” They’re the only ones in his house, but hearing it so shamelessly from Donghyuck’s mouth has him red as a beet. “We didn’t have sex, what are you talking about?”

He wants to wipe that scrutinising look right off Donghyuck’s face. Of course, he would jump to conclusions. Renjun shouldn’t have allowed his mind to wander for so long.

“Look, we didn’t sleep together,” he says, more calmly this time. Donghyuck strays closer towards the edge of the couch. 

“But we kissed.”

He can physically see the interest draining out of Donghyuck’s face. He leans back into the soft cushions and blows out a big breath that makes his honey-coloured hair float into the air. “That’s it?”

Renjun promptly decides to leave out the part where they fondled each other for 15 minutes and he went home with an embarrassing hard-on. 

“What do you mean ‘That’s it?’ ? I just told you I kissed Jaemin. How often do you go around kissing your friends?”

He regrets asking when he sees the glint of mischief in Donghyuck’s eyes. “A lot more often than you think.” 

Renjun snatches the popcorn bowl back and goes to put it in the sink as Donghyuck trails behind him like a small puppy, demanding more answers now that he’s gotten some truth out of Renjun. 

“So was it like a,” he purses his lips in a small pout and imitates the sound of a kiss, “or was it more like a,” he pushes his tongue out and pretends to make out with the air. 

He clicks his tongue when Renjun spatters his face with tap water. 

“You look stupid and I’m not answering that.” 

“Oh, come on. You kissed the guy you’ve been pining on for years. You’re really not going to spare me some details?” 

It’s been a little over 2 months since the incident, but hearing about it still feels like salt being rubbed on an open wound. Especially when he remembers it’s the sole reason Jaemin and him aren’t friends anymore. He wonders if Jaemin’s friends ask about them too. He wonders if Jaemin’s mother calls and mentions his name in passing like nothing has changed, which as far as the whole world is concerned, nothing did.

In those moments, he wonders if Jaemin has a Renjun-shaped hole in his life too. 

“Yeah, fine. We made out. Tongue and all. Are you happy?” 

Of course, Donghyuck isn’t. He’s harder to please than most luxury brands and when he has his mind set on something, he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants. In an alternate universe, he would’ve made an excellent driver.

“Nope,” he pops the ‘P’ at the end of the word. Renjun can hear him slide into one of the seats by the kitchen set and the screech of the chair unpleasantly against the wooden floors. “I’m not happy because you’re not happy.” 

Renjun turns to Donghyuck and wipes the water off his hands with a rag. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, usually when people kiss someone they really like, they don’t shut up about it. And they definitely don’t act cold and indifferent towards them. And cancel lunch when they know said person is going to be there.” Donghyuck’s brows lift in scrutiny. Renjun feels like he’s being picked apart under his gaze. “So, what… You just refused to talk to Jaemin for 3 months in hopes that he’ll just forget he made out with his best friend?”

He wishes it could be that easy. And he wishes he could regret kissing Jaemin that night, but deep down he knows he doesn’t. Kissing Jaemin made him feel a rush he hadn’t felt in so long, if ever. It may have come at the cost of their friendship but if their 18 years of friendship was fragile enough to be broken down by a drunken kiss, then maybe it was for the best.

“We did talk about it.”

This seems to pique Donghyuck’s interest and he tilts his head, waiting for Renjun to continue.

“He doesn’t feel the same way.” 

Somehow, this squeezes a chortle out of Donghyuck, until he realises Renjun is being dead-serious. Then he scoffs. 

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

The words make a cloud of blush dust on the apples of Renjun’s cheeks.

“I’m serious. He looks at you like you hung the stars and vomited the sun out. It’s disgusting.” 

There’s a picture of Jaemin and him placed on the windowsill near the kitchen sink. It overlooks the garden and tomatoes Renjun has grown over by the pool. It’s the only picture of them he doesn’t have the heart to wince at whenever he looks at it in passing. It’s a memory of them together, at their very first-ever championships together. Renjun was still stubborn enough to really open up and call Jaemin a friend back then, but Jaemin had no problem looping his arm around his shoulder and pulling him in for a picture. The end result made Renjun look like a grumpy old man next to someone as bright as Jaemin.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he meekly replies, already knowing he won’t win in an argument against his friend. 

He has always known Jaemin looked at him differently. Renjun can be naive, but he isn't blind. Donghyuck’s description may be a little excessive but he’s not wrong. Renjun just always brushed it off as another one of Jaemin’s mysterious traits. He’s affectionate by default and the heart only grows fonder over the years. So, of course, Jaemin was going to look at him differently than everyone else. That doesn’t mean he’s in love with him.

“It means he has feelings for you.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. 

Renjun puts his hand on his shoulder, “Hyuck,” he says, final. “We talked about it. He told me himself. He doesn’t have feelings for me.”

Now it just sounds pathetic coming out from his own mouth. He hopes Donghyuck doesn’t think so. “Plus, we’re not really… friends right now.”

“What?” This is the first time Donghyuck looks actually concerned. That easy-going, teasing smirk has fallen right off his lips, replaced with a small frown. Worry is not a good look on him. 

“We… well I just decided some distance could be good for us. Jaemin and I are just on a break from being friends right now. That’s why we haven’t been meeting up for lunch. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t be serious,” Donghyuck deadpans, “I thought you guys just had a little fight. I didn’t know you two were…” 

Not friends anymore. The words silently fill the empty space. This is the first time Renjun has spoken about it to anyone else and hearing it out loud, even in hushed voices, makes his eyes sting. It brings back all the ugly memories from that one night when he got back after their fight and cried his eyes out in his suite. Then he went home and cried even more because of the jet lag and sadness. Renjun spends a lot of nights at home after that, entertaining the walls of his house with his sad display of tears.

In the past, whenever he needed a good cry, Jaemin would show up with a lopsided smile and his warm comfort, whispering sweet reassurances in his ear until they fell asleep on the couch. But Renjun can’t seek refuge from him this time, and quickly finds that crying alone feels unbelievably worse. Especially when it’s about Jaemin. He has no one to talk to. It’s times like this that make him feel the intensity of the loneliness that comes with being in a cut-throat industry like this. 

And although they fought at times too, they would get over it just as quickly. But this isn’t like every other time. This isn’t some petty fight over broken promises or shallow opinions. This feels bigger, heavier. It feels final. 

The end of a friendship is a lot like grief. Except Renjun has to see the ghost of their relationship linger all around him, constantly. And no one else knows. No one except Jaemin, whose smiles never look the same after their fight. 

Well, at least now Donghyuck knows. 

“I’m sorry,” says Donghyuck, his forehead pinched in a manner that makes him look like he aged 10 years in the last 5 minutes, “I was so sure that…” he shakes his head. “I should’ve been there for you guys. I’m sorry.” 

Renjun inches closer, his heart warm. “You didn’t know. It was hard for me to even come to terms with it too.”

“Are you guys not going to try to patch things up?”

Renjun pretends to think about it as if reconciling hasn’t been the only thing on his mind since the day they fought. 

“I don’t know.” He answers truthfully. “But I think I should just be by myself for now. I’m tired of being an extension of Jaemin. I just want to be my own person.” — also the truth.

“You’re not an extension of him. You’re Huang Renjun.” Donghyuck reminds him, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “And fuck Jaemin. I know a ton of hot guys and girls who would kill to go on a date with you.”

Renjun laughs, genuinely, for the first time in months. He’s aware of his fanbase and how loyal they can be—knows that there are some serious die-hard Formula One fans out there who would kill to get a chance to be with him. The comments under his posts don’t go unnoticed, even if they do still make him blush profusely (‘are people allowed to say that on the internet?’ he once asked Donghyuck).

But he doesn’t want any of them. Renjun doesn’t even think he wants the richest person alive even if they kneeled before him with a 24-carat ring and asked him to ride into the sunset with them. No, he wants Jaemin. He wants his warm, kind Jaemin who gets upset when it rains for too long and cries in quiet rooms when the pain in his back kicks in at random times of the day. Jaemin, who complains that there isn’t enough yellow coloured food in the world because the brightness of the colour makes him happy and reminds him of the very first car he bought for his family at 17. The one parked in his family garage to this day.

But Jaemin doesn’t want him. So, Renjun needs to learn to want himself more. 

“Maybe soon,” he says and leaves it at that.

He’s woken up from a call in the middle of the night and his instincts kick in, a hand wandering blindly over to his bedside table to grab his phone and hopefully slip back into sleep shortly after.

“Hello?” He pushes the phone up to his ear, not bothering to look at the contact number or the time. His cheek is still pressed against his warm pillow.

Static greets him on the other line and he almost falls back asleep until he catches himself in the act and stops. “Hello, this is Huang Renjun.”

If he focuses close enough, he can almost hear faint breathing on the other end—the rise and fall of a chest mirroring his own. He has the courtesy of pulling the phone away to look at the caller ID, squinting to adjust to the brightness of his screen.

His stomach drops when he sees the name on his phone.

Jaeminie.

Uh-oh.

He can still faintly make out the breathing on the other line. 

“Jaemin?” he asks experimentally into the dark. This is the first time they’ve spoken in months. 

He doesn’t get anything in return, but more static on the other line. And then a deep sigh crackles its way through his phone. Jaemin sounds exhausted. Or drunk. Or both. He can’t tell. But it isn’t his place to care anymore. It’s not his job to take care of Jaemin.

He hangs up and falls back asleep with a heavy heart. And then in the morning, he tries to convince himself that it wasn’t real, even if the call log sits there on his phone mocking him.

(He sends a quick text to Donghyuck the next day, asking him if Jaemin is okay. He grows restless throughout the day until he gets a reply back).

BAHRAIN - 2022

“So, Renjun, what are you looking forward to most this season?” 

The question flies by his head in a daze. They ask this question every year and Renjun’s replies have always been variations of the same answer. His mind replies for him without much work, especially after years of practice. 

“I’m really looking forward to showing the newest adjustments they recently made to the cars. I think all the drivers are excited to bring a newer, more exciting experience for everyone.”

The interviewer nods and offers him an encouraging smile but Renjun can tell she’s tired of hearing the same answers from every driver. He feels a bit bad knowing she’s only interviewed half of them and has another half to go before she finally gets to unscrew the smile that’s constantly fixed onto her mouth. 

From the corner of his eye, he watches Donghyuck lounging in the background, chattering with the rest of his engineer buddies and then he watches his not-so-subtle glance at Jeno from across the room. Renjun has to hold his laugh. There are other drivers finishing up their own interviews on the side and others waiting their turn with the interviewer he’s currently entertaining. His teammate, Jung Sungchan, wraps up his last interview for the day and gives him a thumbs-up before leaving.

“Renjun, now we know being a global superstar in Formula One is hard,” 

Renjun laughs before she even asks the question, simply out of shyness as a built-in response. One thing he’ll never get used to is getting his ego stroked, so he really can’t help the small blush that colours his cheeks. 

“But the whole world wants to know, do you have anyone special?” The interviewer holds the mic closer to him and her smile stretches across her face in desperation. Right, no one really cares. But a juicy story is still a juicy story.

It just happened to be a coincidence that he sees Jaemin walking in right after and bumps into Donghyuck, the two of them falling into an easy conversation—excluding Donghyuck’s theatrical movements and Jaemin’s boisterous laugh. 

Renjun is glad they started talking again, even though Donghyuck admitted he felt bad for still being friends with Jaemin after what happened between the two of them. But Renjun assured him it had nothing to do with him and that he shouldn’t have to feel like he needed to choose between the two of them. Plus, Renjun doesn’t really mind when Donghyuck accidentally slips mindless information about Jaemin into their everyday conversations. It’s the only way he’s able to keep up with Jaemin without feeling pathetic that he’s actively seeking out updates on him. 

From a distance, he can see Jaemin’s defined features as clear as day. Travelling during the season always has his skin looking warmer and healthier like the sun had personally kissed spots on his skin. Freckles always bloom between his neck and chest and he always gets a little sunburnt on his nose sometime around March. Renjun misses looking at his spots up close.

After that night and the ‘accidental’ (at least that’s what he chooses to think) phone call, Jaemin has been avoiding him more than he already was.

Out of embarrassment or annoyance, he’ll never know.

They accidentally meet eyes when Jaemin’s manager waves him over to get ready for the interview, and Renjun realises too late that Jaemin is up next right after him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?”

The interviewer looks back at the card in her hand and reads it out loud. 

Dating. Renjun’s brain supplies, that’s a new one. They usually don’t care about who you’re dating unless you’re one of the top 5’s, but then again with his performance last year and Red Bull’s popularity skyrocketing, it isn’t that big of a surprise. 

But dating? Honestly, it’s the last thing on his mind. After what happened with Jaemin, after being so crushed with rejection and heartbreak—he doesn’t exactly feel ecstatic about jumping back into the dating pool. But is it really jumping back in if he was never in it in the first place? What he and Jaemin had was barely a dip—a little ripple that caused a mammoth of a wave that shattered their friendship. Jaemin completely rejected the idea of them even kissing so a relationship was never a consideration. 

And now that he’s been lonely for a few months, the idea of dating doesn’t seem so bad now than it did 4 months ago. It wouldn’t be with Jaemin, but that was the point. He isn’t supposed to be with Jaemin.

Jaemin fixes a spot on a chair just a few feet away from him and Renjun can smell his heavy cologne permeate the air almost instantly. It makes him sick to his stomach in a way that it recognises too easily the familiarity of the scent—attaches it to a face and body as if they haven’t spent any time apart at all. But they haven't been in close proximity for some time now, excluding the track. 

He sees Jaemin’s ears perk up at the question, an old habit he has, even though he pretends to be on his phone.

Right. The interview. 

“Well, constant travelling definitely doesn’t make it easy. And being in the public eye can be… intimidating, to say the least.” He can feel Jaemin’s gaze on him when he says this. Renjun feels hot in his own skin and he wishes he has the courage to turn and look Jaemin in the eye again. To see those brown eyes he’s missed so much and took for granted.

But those opportunities have slipped past him far too many times. 

“To answer the question, no. No, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Jaemin’s forehead loses its creases but his eyes still bore holes into Renjun’s face as if he’s searching for an answer. A real one, somewhere in there. But Renjun doesn’t know what he wants from him, but now that he has his attention, he thinks he might as well make it count. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in pursuing someone at the moment.”

When Jaemin looks at him a second time, he wonders if it was possible to be burned alive under the intensity of his eyes. Some sick, carnal part of him preens under the attention he was deprived of for months and the other part of him hates the way his knees still buckle when Jaemin so much as looks at him. 

The interviewer's lip twitched in excitement, happy to receive some kind of interesting answer for her to milk. “Do tell, don’t leave us hanging,” she encourages. The mic is pushed further into his space and Jaemin leans forward on his own chair. No one seems to care how invested he is in this. Apparently, no one except Renjun.

He smiles politely and hopes the sheen of sweat coating his brow won’t show on camera, “There’s not really much to tell, but ask me again in a month and I’ll get you a better answer.” 

He wraps up with a few formal exchanges before he slips out of the chair and Jaemin is ushered into it. The sudden and hurried movements cause their fingers to brush past each other for a quick second and Renjun swears he can taste the electricity running through his veins and scorch his mouth in flames. He feels charred from the inside out and his skin is hot to the touch. 

“Renjun?”

His mind short-circuits. Jaemin is calling his name. 

He’s actually doing this here. And Renjun can’t ignore him. Not with all these lights, not with all these people and cameras. To everyone else, they’re still just a pair of good friends. 

“Yep?” He turns quickly to avoid looking suspicious for hesitating too long.

And then he meets Jaemin’s brown eyes, up close this time. He can see all the tanned spots on his skin, the cute sunburn on his nose and the way his hair has turned a shade lighter and- oh, Renjun thinks he’s going to faint with how light-headed he’s getting. Jaemin is so beautiful up close that even time apart has only made his heart grow fonder.

“Good luck on the race later.” The words that come out of Jaemin’s mouth contradicts the look he has in his eyes. It’s indistinguishable, but he looks almost sad. Or desperate. Or even both. That glazed look in his eyes has Renjun suppressing a shudder.

“You too,” the word catches on his tongue, “Jaemin-ah.”

(Jaemin ranks last during the race that afternoon and continues to underperform in the next few races. Renjun has to convince himself that it’s none of his fault, even if he feels all the guilt).

“You know when I said I could hook you up with some people, I said it on a spur of the moment. That was before I realised how weird it is to talk to Jaemin and not mention your name even once.” Donghyuck wrinkles his brow in judgement.

Renjun ignores him and continues to scroll through his Twitter, hoping some funny tweets or celebrity scandal catches his eye. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Yes,” he says, exasperated. Donghyuck has been grilling him for the better part of half an hour after Renjun asked, sheepishly, if he could get him a date. Sure, it might sound a little lame asking your friend to set you up on a blind date but Renjun hasn’t done a lot of mingling with anyone outside of his field of work and a different perspective would be nice for a change. 

And who better to ask than Donghyuck? He knows people, he networks, he’s normal (somewhat). He has a life outside of his work. And the idea of being with someone who doesn’t constantly remind him of the pressure of being held under a microscopic view doesn’t sound unpleasant. 

“It’s just that,” Donghyuck pauses, “are you sure you’re ready to jump into a relationship?”

Renjun laughs. “I haven’t been in an actual relationship ever since Yangyang broke up with me. That was 6 years ago, Hyuck. He’s married now.” His eye catches on an article that surfaces onto his feed. Jaemin’s name in bold letters and then ‘dating’ right next to it. His finger clicks on impulse.

There are pictures of him in that stupid mint hoodie he hoards around everywhere and a pretty actor that’s been hot in the media for some time now, wearing an identical hoodie. Jaemin looks more exhausted than usual, or maybe Renjun is just starting to forget certain features of his face. He doesn’t know which one is worse.

“Look, if you can’t get me a date, it’s okay. I’ll just ask someone else.” He can’t. He doesn’t have anyone else. 

Donghyuck sighs this time, genuinely concerned. “No, of course, I can find you a date. You’re you. I just… I don’t know. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Jaemin?”

“What does that have to do with me wanting to date?” 

Renjun eventually puts his phone down, facing Donghyuck only to see him hesitating. “It’s just that Jaemin…” he trails off and then at the last minute decides against saying anything. It only piques Renjun’s interest even more. “Ok, I’ll get you a date. If that’s what you really want.”

“I’m not getting married. I’m just going on a date.” Renjun swats his hand dismissively.

To say that he was nervous would be the understatement of the century.

That talk with Donghyuck took place about a week ago and somehow he managed to get Renjun about 7 possible dates, which they went through one by one—picking out the pros and cons. 

("Pretty sure this actor was rumoured to be in the next season of Riverdale” Donghyuck flashes Renjun a picture.

“...”

“Right, next.")

They eventually narrowed it down to one person that seemed to look like the perfect match. He was tall with dark hair, olive skin and Donghyuck had actually met him before. Says that he’s funny and sweet and that they met at his cousin’s wedding.

“He’s one of those gentleman guys, I think you’d like him.” Donghyuck scrolled through his Instagram, showing Renjun pictures every now and then. ‘Mark Lee’, his bio read. Independently running his company at the age of 30. Single dad. Hot. 

“Dilf,” Donghyuck whispered and received a pinch from Renjun.

This could be good, Renjun thinks. Mark was nice. 

After Donghyuck had passed the message off to Mark and introduced them, Renjun managed to get his phone number and they started talking shortly after. Mark was funny, not the kind that makes your stomach tense after a hard laugh, but a cute kind of funny. And things between them were easy. After years of harbouring intense feelings for Jaemin, Renjun had forgotten what it felt like to have a mild crush—an infatuation that had his cheeks dusting in pink out of shyness rather than the golden, all-consuming love he had for Jaemin. 

Sometimes after a race, Renjun would turn his phone on to see a message from Mark wishing him good luck or asking him if the race went well. Other times he would send mildly flirty texts that have Renjun bashfully pocketing his phone and leaving it unanswered until the end of the night. They bonded over their love for gardening, among other things and he even sends pictures of his kid sometimes. Hara is cute and she has eyes just like Mark. It was nice to have someone (other than Donghyuck) caring for him like that. 

And after a couple of weeks of back and forth texting and mild flirting (mostly on Mark’s part), they settled for their first date. 

Renjun was flying into Paris the week after for another race weekend and Mark had business in Europe to attend to. Somehow, their schedules met halfway in a perfect time slot where they would both have time to grab dinner by the end of the weekend.

This is how he ends up in his hotel room that weekend choosing outfits as Donghyuck ransacks his minibar for snacks. 

“How about this one?”

“Looks good,” Donghyuck replies, not even bothering to look up as he digs into his Twix bar. He has Jeno on FaceTime even if Jeno’s hotel room is just down the hall (along with the same row as Jaemin’s, but Renjun pretends not to think about that). 

“Can you take this seriously? You’re the one who introduced me to him. Do you think he’d like this?”

Donghyuck lazily moves his gaze to Renjun’s figure across the room—he has a creamy white dress shirt tucked into his black slacks. He smiles. “Unbutton the first few buttons and you’re basically irresistible.” 

Renjun self-consciously fixes his hair and then realises it’s so densely packed with hairspray that it’s unmovable. He sighs and then looks at himself in the mirror again. 

Mark has complimented him multiple times before, a lot of ‘pretty’ and ‘cute’ and ‘nice’ thrown in the mix between his text messages. But Mark has also never seen him up-close, in person, so it’s only fair he feels a little bit jittery. That and it’s been years since he’s been on a proper date. 

It’s funny if he thinks about how he’s able to stand in front of 250,000 people with his face being broadcasted on global television but a date has him nervous. Although it’s not like being on national TV because doesn’t care if anyone isn’t impressed by him, he’s just doing his job. But here, he wants Mark to actually like him.

He glances at the clock. He has another 3 hours to go before the date.

“Well, since you’re done, I’m going to leave.” Donghyuck pushes himself off the sofa, carrying the snacks in a make-shift bowl made of tissues. He drops a Mars bar on his way to the door and Renjun watches as he falls to his knees painstakingly slowly. 

“When are you going to stop stealing things from my minibar?”

Donghyuck gives him a cheeky smile. “When you stop being able to afford everything in it.” Then he hesitates in the doorway before giving Renjun a genuine smile. “And you look great. Seriously. I hope you have fun on the date.”

“Thanks,” he says, even though the uneasiness still tugs in his chest. Maybe he’ll change his shirt again. Maybe Mark is one of those guys who get super specific and judge people based on their clothing style. Maybe he prefers white over cream (and yes, there is a difference—Renjun learned that yesterday). Mark doesn’t look like the kind, but who knows. Though, Renjun has never been much of the fashionable type. That was always Jaemin. 

His mind can't help but wander. It’s been a while since they last spoke. Somewhere between 6 to 7 months now. And Renjun can’t lie and say he hasn’t been actively keeping up with Jaemin through the news, although there’s not much to keep up with. Aside from the very few articles speculating the end of their friendship, the public doesn’t seem to catch onto the fact that they’ve stopped talking. That or they simply don’t care, which would be comical considering it was one of the main reasons he couldn’t be with Jaemin in the first place. But it’s not like that matters anymore. It’s been months. Jaemin must’ve moved on from it and he doesn’t feel the same way anyway.

He pops into Renjun’s mind every now and then though. 

Because as it turns out, forgetting details about someone you’ve known for almost all your life can be hard. He thinks about him when he wears that cologne Jaemin bought for him a year ago on his birthday that hasn’t run out since. He thinks about him when he watches baking tutorials on his phone and strawberries pop up as the main ingredient—and then he remembers how he always avoided making things with strawberries in them simply because he knows Jaemin wouldn’t want anything to do with it.

He can’t stop his mind from wondering about Jaemin at times but never when they’re on the circuit, face to face because then it just becomes too hard. He learns to separate Na Jaemin on the track and the Jaemin he knows (or at least used to) so that it becomes easier. So it doesn’t remind him that the one person he’s been longing to talk to is somewhere in the paddock with him. 

Coincidentally, Renjun’s phone rings a minute later and derails his train of thought as he fishes somewhere in his bag, narrowly missing a few pointy pins to find Jaemin’s mother’s contact flashing on his screen. He accepts the FaceTime call and can’t help the reflexive smile that creeps its way onto his face as a pixelated image of her shows up on his screen. 

“Renjun, hello!” She smiles. The wrinkles around her eyes crease to mirror her eye-smile. She looks just like Jaemin when she does that.

“Mrs Na, hi. How are you?” he asks, genuinely happy to see her. The last time they spoke was when Renjun was visiting their hometown and stayed for dinner.

“I’m really good, I was just going through some old photo albums. There were some photos with you in it and I just realised how long it’s been since we spoke,” she laughed—warm and sweet. Even his own mother hasn’t called him in months. Although Renjun sends a quick text every now and then. “I just wanted to check on you. Jaemin doesn’t really say much anymore when we talk over the phone.”

So they still talk about me, Renjun thinks. And then tries not to think of how uncomfortable that must be for Jaemin. His mother doesn’t seem to know they’ve stopped talking either and honestly, Renjun gets it. Even speaking to her now feels like a piece of Jaemin he’s still able to hold onto. Some pure cloud of memory that is untouched by their silent indifference.

“Well, it’s really good to see you. I’ve just been busy and I haven’t had a lot of time to catch up with Jaemin.” Not a lie, but he hates how it feels like one. 

“Oh,” the smile on her face dims. “That’s too bad. I’m sure you both can make some time soon, but I can tell the work is getting to him a little bit. Nowadays, he’s been sounding more restless on the phone whenever we talk. I got a bit worried too.”

Renjun has forgotten what he sounds like through the phone. “He doesn’t have anyone to nag at him nowadays.” 

Mrs Na lets out a breathy laugh. “He’s a grown man that forgets to take care of himself, I honestly don’t know what he’d do without you.”

The words unintentionally slice open a fresh wound. Jaemin doesn’t have him anymore and Renjun doesn’t know what he does. He doesn’t know how Jaemin fills that hollow, life-sized hole of him in his life. Or if he even feels Renjun’s absence at all. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She says and the phone tilts up to the ceiling almost as if she was reaching for something on the table. Renjun hears rustling on the other end. “I found this specific photo and wanted to show you. You two looked like babies here.”

A pixelated version of the picture comes into view, slightly flipped and Renjun has to squint before he’s able to make out what it really is. A foggy memory resurfaces. “Is that a picture of us at my graduation?” He laughs, hearty and genuine this time because the old punk haircut he used to have makes him cringe internally. 

“Yes!” She smiles, looking back at the picture herself. “I remembered this day so clearly and thought you two looked adorable. This has to be at least 11 years ago.” 

“Yeah, we both got signed the next year.” 

She hums. “Jaemin made the right choice turning down that offer for Formula 2, or else McLaren would’ve never happened.”

Renjun freezes. Formula Two? Jaemin never told him he was offered a contract for a Formula Two team.

“He turned down a contract?”

“Hmm,” she hums, unaware of the storm brewing in Renjun’s head. “He was really conflicted about it and they were supposed to sign him on the day of your graduation, but he decided against it at the very last minute. He made a good choice though.” She pauses. “Do you really not remember?”

Renjun doesn’t remember because Jaemin has never told him this. They were both in Formula Three teams at the time and making a jump onto a higher international racing class meant huge exposure. More fans, more sponsors. It could have been a big break for 17 year-old Na Jaemin. Renjun can’t think of a single reason why he didn't accept.

“He never told me…” He trails off. His bottom lip becomes a victim of his rampant thoughts. “Did he ever mention why he turned it down?”

“Not exactly,” she says. “But I remember it keeping him up for days. I told him not to worry too much about making the right choice and instead, choose what he thinks will make him happy. So, he chose to stay. With you.”

Renjun’s brows wrinkled in confusion. “With me?” 

“In Formula Three.” Mrs Na’s eyes turn soft—in a warm, maternal kind of way. “You know, you’re a lot more than just his best friend, Renjun. You’re his muse too. Jaemin looks up to you.”

Now, he’s even more confused than he was a minute ago. Somehow, it causes Jaemin’s old words to ring in his head—bumping against the fleshy part of his brain that feels like it’s throbbing. You’re my strongest competitor, Jaemin had said. Renjun underestimated how much he meant it. 

“I think he just realised the journey wouldn’t mean much if he didn’t have you by his side. He might have a passion for racing, but you made him love everything that comes with it.” Smiling like this, she looks like a mirror image of Jaemin. “There’s no one else that completes him the way you do, Renjun.”

They finish the call an hour later when Mrs Na realises her soup had been burning on the stove for far too long. They exchange a few more goodbyes and promise to keep in touch, then her face disappears off his screen and he’s acutely aware of how silent his hotel room is. 

He gets his wallet off the nearby table and pulls out a picture. It’s the same one he folded into his pocket all those months ago when Jaemin’s mother first dug them out of the garage. The memory pierces something deep in his chest, in hidden parts between his bones he’s kept protected for too long. 

Sometimes affection turns hard and cold. But it doesn’t leave.

Under the lure of nostalgia, he finds himself fishing his phone out again and pressing in numbers his thumb remembers purely out of muscle memory.

The line rings for a few seconds. And then a minute. And then it goes to voicemail.

Jaemin’s gentle and deep voice reiterates the same ‘Leave a message’ line he’s heard throughout the years. Renjun tries again to no avail, so he settles for a voicemail.

“Hi, Jaemin. I know you’re probably not expecting this. I wasn’t either if I’m honest. But I know I’ll chicken out if I don’t do it now, so I might as well get it over with.” He takes a deep, shaky breath and hopes it doesn’t travel over the phone. 

“This is probably a bad time to do this because I’m going on a date in an hour or so and this is going to psych me out for a bit. But I just wanted to call and say that, I hope you’re doing okay. I miss you, Jaem,” his breath hitches. It’s the first time he’s admitted that even to himself. Renjun misses him terribly. “And if you want to and you’re ready, I think we should talk.”

The line beeps and he folds the picture into his back pocket for safe-keeping.

Renjun wakes up half an hour later with drool tracks running down the side of his cheek and his hair sticking up in all kinds of directions. He quickly swipes a hand over his face and checks his phone. Mark has sent him 2 texts 15 minutes ago, one expressing how excited he is to take Renjun to his favourite restaurant in Paris and then the other is him correcting a typo he made in the last text. Cute, Renjun thinks. He has half an hour to get dressed and ready for the date. A first date in the most romantic city in the world, it probably doesn’t get any more rom-com-ish than this.

He sends a quick text back and jumps into the bathroom to fix his appearance. He buttons his shirt back up and slides his freshly ironed pants back on when he hears his phone ring from across the room. He looks at the digital clock beside his bed. Mark isn’t supposed to be here for another 15 minutes. Why would he be calling this early? Renjun is only halfway through putting on makeup under his eyes.

But then he sees the contact name.

Jaemin. 

He’d almost forgotten about that message he sent an hour ago. His brain short-circuits for a moment. And then he answers the phone cautiously. 

“Hello?”

The line is silent. Except for the breathing on the other side. His stomach twists into knots and a warm drop of peachy haze spreads underneath his skin in the form of unadulterated giddiness. 

This reminds Renjun a little too much of that one night a few months ago.

“Jaemin, are you there?”

More lines circled his gut. He entertains the thought of Jaemin butt-dialing him by accident again. Renjun shrinks a little into himself, unnerved by the awkwardness and the wave of disappointment that seems to wash over him as if he was a rickety shore. 

But then, Jaemin’s voice cuts through the silence—clear and heavy, like someone had mixed molasses and honey into a sticky matter.

“Don’t go, Renjun.”

The words were so sudden that he almost thought he’d dreamt it.

“What?” he asks, eager to stop them from beating around the bush.

There’s another prolonged moment of silence that follows and it felt like the walls of his spacious hotel room had somehow shrunk into a box that could fit into the palm of his hand. His breath grew shallow by the second.

“Don’t go on the date, Renjun,” Jaemin says, this time hushed and hurried as if all the air had been pressed out of his lungs completely. He isn’t demanding. He’s pleading.

So, the first thing that comes out of Renjun’s mouth is a scoff. He doesn’t expect it himself but swears he hears Jaemin wince on the other side of the phone.

“Are you kidding me?” The anger quickly boils over him like a pot popping loudly on a stove. The fire has grown too hot, too sudden. It overflows in shades of red. “When I said we could talk, I didn’t mean this.”

He’s angry because even after all this time, Jaemin still has this hold over him. This power that enchants and haunts him all at the same time.

“I know,” Jaemin says. “I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t sound sorry for calling. Maybe he’s sorry for everything else.

By now, the peachy giddiness is gone from his skin and Renjun only tastes bitterness in mouth spreading like venom, ready to spill out with his tongue.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want me, but then get upset when I pursue someone else. I don’t know what you want from me.” The wrinkle lining his forehead deepens. It creates divots in his skin. “You’re going in circles, Jaemin. And you’re being selfish.” 

He doesn’t realise this is the first real conversation they’ve had in months. They’ve given curt nods to each other in public, but that was all those were for. The public. This conversation is for their ears only.

Jaemin scoffs and that deep tremble in his voice is now laced with burning irritation. “Oh, I’m selfish?” he asks. It’s a non-question with no answers. “You walked out on our friendship months ago and I let you because I knew that was what you needed. But you have no problem pretending we’re still friends to the rest of the world. You talk to me in public and shut me out everywhere else. The only time I get to see you is if there’s someone else in the room. Do you know how shitty that makes me feel?”

His sudden outburst catches Renjun entirely off-guard. They’ve never fought like this before.

“I did that for you!” Renjun raises his voice and hears his words bouncing off the walls, echoing back at him. The poison drips off his tongue. “I did that because I didn’t want things to be harder than it already was.”

A sigh comes back to him—sharp and jagged around the edges with the intent to slash through his flesh.  “Well, I don’t need you to choose for me.” Jaemin bites back. “I’ve always let you set the boundaries, but I don’t need you to choose what’s good or bad for me.”

Honest to God, Renjun almost laughs at the hypocrisy. Here Jaemin is calling him minutes before his date to make a choice for him. Something ugly begins to unfurl inside him, uncoiling the knot in his stomach into a slithering beast. “God, you’re such a fucking hypocrite.” He barks back, all bite. “And I don’t need you to make my choices for me either. Don’t call me again.”

The conversation ends with a beep from Renjun’s hands. He sets the boundaries.

The date goes fine. Or at least, Renjun thinks it does. Truth be told, he wasn’t paying much attention. But he does know Mark was amazing throughout. He complimented Renjun the moment he saw him—he was nice, respectful, the kind of person who asks you if it was okay to hold your hand. He brought Renjun to places in Paris he didn’t even know existed despite visiting the city annually. 

“Hey, you okay?” Mark asks. His thumb circles around the edge of his hand. His pitch-black hair falls perfectly into his eyes and it’s long enough for him to tuck it behind his ears.

Renjun would be lying if he said Mark doesn’t make his heart flutter at times with his little actions. He’s the perfect date and he would make the perfect boyfriend. Renjun could see himself falling in love with him so easily, in little moments. Mark would travel the world for him and they’d sit in quiet gardens, holding each other. Renjun would get used to domestic life, the way he’s always wanted to. He could learn to love the idea of it and by extension, Mark. Things would fall into place and everything would be so… easy.

“Mhm.”

So, why doesn’t any of it sound right?

When Renjun thinks of gardens he thinks of that time Jaemin got stung by a fat bee in his backyard and forced Renjun to nurse him back to health, even when he knew he was perfectly fine. When Renjun thinks of travelling the world, he has a different face in mind—someone who has seen the world with him a million times over. Someone who stayed even when they had another world opened to them, just in arms reach.

Renjun blames himself for being like this. For this attachment that he has allowed himself to grow into. So brittle by the affection Jaemin has given him time and time again. 14-year-old Renjun would have no problem disconnecting himself from someone.

The amalgamation of his harsh and sudden words surfaced guilt into his stomach that had begun eating him alive the moment he ended that call. Renjun knew he was too brash. He acted purely based on the fire in his belly that had grown, which then simmered into a kind of sadness he hadn’t felt in a while. Not since the day he and Jaemin fought.

And now, here he sits, in front of a perfect man, who could give him the perfect world if he wanted to. And Renjun feels guiltier than ever because he’s not perfect himself. He’s as broken as they go.

And maybe he can’t love Mark because Mark is more than just an extension of an idea. He’s a person. But he’s not Renjun’s person.

Renjun’s person is in a folded picture in his back pocket. He feels the memory weigh heavily on his body and it haunts him all throughout the night.

The walk back to his hotel room was excruciating.

The soles of his feet were burning from all the walking and he was slightly warmer than usual in his coat. Mark bids him goodbye with a kiss on the cheek and it makes Renjun feel worse for breaking it off with him on the first date. But Mark deserves to have someone whole-heartedly, with honesty. Not just bits and pieces. And Renjun can’t give him either of those things. Not when he has lingering feelings for someone else. 

He takes the elevator up to his room and the silence in his head rings in his ears. In all his life, he’s never felt this alone before. He remembers reading somewhere in a book that the loneliest animal on earth is a whale that could only sing at a frequency no other whales could understand. On some days, Renjun had felt a lot like that. He felt more alien than most people for coming into this industry at such a young age. But back then, he had someone else to hold his hand through it. Now, he doesn’t feel like he has anyone at all. 

By the time he gets to his room, a person is curled up at the front of his door in the shape of a ball—with their knees to their chest. And Renjun can recognise that brown hair anywhere. Jaemin’s black roots had begun growing out from the middle of his head, creating an unnatural gradient in his dyed hair. He’s dressed in nothing but a thin t-shirt and sweatpants.

11:40 pm, Renjun checks his watch. Jaemin had fallen asleep by his door.

He can be such an idiot sometimes, Renjun thinks. And if he didn’t know him so well, he would’ve found this surprising. Jaemin is going to freeze to death. Or get mugged. Or both. (Idiot). He’ll be cursing his back all day tomorrow.

So he crouches and drapes his coat over Jaemin’s shoulders, then slides down the wall beside him, taking on a similar position with his knees to his chest. Thankfully, the carpeted hallways retain some heat in his pants. The rest rushes to his brain.

Here he sits, broken, with the same man who has always been there by his side. It feels like nothing and everything has changed at the same time. 

“You’re back.”

Jaemin’s voice to his right is raspy, laced with sleep and the rawness of his emotions. He sounds like he had cried a while ago. He has never minded vulnerability when it comes to Renjun.

“Yeah,” Renjun says, but then says nothing after that. He doesn’t look at Jaemin. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get through this if he did.

“How was the date?” Jaemin asks, a question of courtesy. It tells Renjun the weight of the conversation they’re about to have.

“Good. Fun.”

From his peripheral view, Jaemin nods dumbly like a fish out of water. There is so much to be said that nothing comes out at all, but the air is polluted in grief and Renjun feels like swallowing daggers.

Somehow, he gets even warmer when he notices Jaemin had shifted closer to him—their elbows a hair’s breadth away from each other and he can feel the body heat radiating off of Jaemin. It’s welcoming. Familiar. Like a home.

Jaemin pulls the coat closer to his body as if it would melt into his skin. Like he’s savouring a piece of Renjun just for himself.

And then he speaks in a hushed tone. “I’m sorry,” 

Two words. He doesn’t say what he’s sorry for, but Renjun hears all of it in the silence between them. Jaemin is sorry for a lot of things, but he isn’t sorry for the kiss.

Renjun doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. But he feels the guilt brewing inside him again. It’s always the guilt. He knows he should say something, but there’s a fragile quality about the way they’re sitting like this, cross-legged and alone, like children.

“You’re right, you know,” says Jaemin. His voice is heavy with a kind of emotion Renjun can’t displace just yet. It’s nothing good. “I am selfish. And a hypocrite.”

He doesn’t say it with the intention to hurt Renjun’s feelings, but it does anyway.

The guilt becomes a little too unbearable. “I’m sorry for saying that,” Renjun says, staring at his fingers and then at his knuckles. They’ve grown white from the grip he had on his knees. “I was angry. And I didn’t mean it.” 

But he did. For a moment, he did.

“No, you’re right. I am.” Jaemin doesn’t sound hurt, but he is disappointed—whether it’s in himself or in the world—Renjun doesn’t know. 

Jaemin has his head hung low between his arms and if they weren’t sitting so close, Renjun wouldn’t have heard him at all. 

“I’m selfish…” he starts, “when it comes to you, I know that. I kissed you and then I said I didn’t mean it, but I did.” He whispers that last part, still overtaken by fear. It’s hard to see Jaemin like this—uncalculated, raw, despondent. Renjun has seen him like this before but behind closed doors, in dark rooms, under the guise of security. But it doesn't get any easier. His heart can only take so much, and it recognises the ache in Jaemin’s chest as if it’s his own. “And then I got angry at you for moving on because I was scared that it meant you were leaving me behind.” 

Renjun had come to realise something he hadn’t before. Two things, actually. Just like him, Jaemin is also brittle—the unavoidable result of affection. His affection. And he had held onto it so strongly that it shattered in his hands. The second thing he realises lies between the words. Jaemin kissed him, but it wasn’t because he was confused. He had done it because he wanted to. Because he wanted Renjun to kiss him back.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Because I was scared. What if it doesn’t work out? Having the entire world watching our every move doesn’t exactly make things easy.” Jaemin’s hands find their way to his and he pushes their palms together—traces the scar on Renjun’s hand like he always does—like he hasn’t done in a while. Renjun’s body recognises his touch. He thinks he would recognise it even in death. “I’ve just lost so much of myself in this industry and I hear stories about me that don't even sound like me. But you…” Jaemin looks at him. And this time Renjun willed himself to look back.

“You have always been the one constant in my life. And I couldn’t lose that too. I couldn’t lose you for good. You have always been the only part of me worth keeping.” A little laugh escapes past his lips, his throat dry. “I guess I was so scared to lose you that I ended up pushing you away in the end.”

The words sound unnatural to his ears because Jaemin hasn’t lost him and that’s the thing. They may fight and disagree and bend, but they’ll never truly break and they’ll never lose each other. Somehow, they always find their way back, like stars aligned in their path. And it’s no different this time around. 

“That’s not true. You’re more than what they write about you. And you haven’t lost me either. I’m here now, aren’t I?” Renjun clasps his hand over Jaemin’s to make sure he knows he means it and to leave no space for lingering thoughts. 

“I was selfish too, you know. You were right. I walked out of our friendship like it didn’t mean anything, but it did. I should’ve told you the truth too. The whole truth.” Jaemin had always been a distant dream to him, glossed over like a painting—always too pretty and never close enough to touch, even with his scars and faults. But it was time Renjun stopped looking at him like a dream and more like a person. “But to be fair, you made me think you didn’t like me back.” 

Jaemin looks at him funny after that, his eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “You’re crazy,” he whispers, but he smiles. How could I not? went unspoken. 

His head knocks into Renjun’s temple and he laughs, a little wet with emotion. “Of course, I liked you back, idiot. But I knew whatever comes after this isn’t going to be easy.”

Renjun knew that from the start and yet here he is—his arm draped over someone he loves, his lips warm on their temple. His reply comes so naturally, it’s almost worrying. “I never wanted easy, Jaemin. I just wanted you.”

Jaemin looks at him, his face effulgent with the kind of love that requires years of patience. “And I wanted you.”

And it’s enough for now, for them to sit there—uncertain, a little broken but together. With nothing and everything having changed.

AUSTRIA - 2022

The Austrian Grand Prix went a little differently.

By then it had been 2 weeks since that night in Paris. Two whole weeks filled with talking, lots of talking. A few kisses in between. Some late nights in hotel rooms that were spent laying in bed—together. They find their way back to each other just as naturally. Filling in the spaces that had hollowed since their time apart. This time Jaemin learns to push and Renjun learns to pull. Jaemin learns to demand a little bit more and Renjun lets him set the boundaries whenever he wants. But they make the choices together, slowly. And they go through the motions truthfully.

The Austrian Grand Prix ends with Jaemin ranking first and Renjun falling behind him by a millisecond, landing him in second place. But he’s happy because when they finish, Jaemin flashes him that smile again, this time genuine with no hidden intent. He is so transparent in his affection that it almost scares Renjun for a moment. But then he thinks of all those nights they spent, of all those hours they gave to build this transparency between them and he smiles back. Not for the public, not for the press but for Jaemin. For the both of them.

Champagnes are popped and they listen to the roar of the crowd from the stage, their names floating into the air like prayers and Renjun realises that in this moment, he has everything he could ever want. He doesn’t have the perfect world, but he has this. 

And then he feels a tug on his shoulder from the right. 

The sun shines warm yellow into his eyes when he looks up and he squints to adjust to its light, regretting it a moment later because it only allows him to see a fraction of Jaemin’s bright smile. He isn’t sure which is more blinding. Jaemin has always looked beautiful, but he looks most beautiful like this—basked in the screams of his name, pink and giddy with excitement. Full of love.

Renjun feels him tugging on his shoulder again. Again. 

‘What?’ falls silent on his lips when he realises Jaemin is tugging him up onto his own podium. The highest of them all.

“What are you doing?” he asks. His nerves take over when he remembers they’re being watched. The 20 something photographers are sitting by the front, watching them through the lens of their cameras and Renjun feels like he could melt into a puddle all at once. From Jaemin’s arm that lingers around his waist. From his comforting smile. From the hundreds of thousands of eyes on them.

“I’m telling you you look pretty,” Jaemin says, his mouth full of sweetness. It’s addicting. And his reply is all the warning Renjun gets before he feels a mouth, familiar and warm curl around his own. 

He can barely hear the camera shutters and uproar in the crowd with how loud his ears are ringing. Renjun swears he could hear church bells going off in his head, which gets overruled by the jack-rabbit of his heart. The leftover adrenaline from the race has him heated. This kiss is much different from the ones they’ve shared in dark spaces and behind closed doors where mouths are stitched simply out of comfort and a fear of the unknown.

But this kiss is devoid of fear. Jaemin kisses him like he’s reciting an oath and saying a vow. Like he’s setting a boundary for the rest of the world to accept them as they are or not at all.

And it isn’t until they pull apart that Renjun realises there’s one more thing that leaves him breathless—in ways that could have him dizzy and weak to his knees.

It’s the knowledge that Jaemin had never been unreachable from the start. He had always been the one tugging, looking, reaching. It was Renjun who had never tried reaching back.

So now, he slides his hand into Jaemin’s—warm, callused and scarred in some ways—and he doesn’t let go.