Chapter Text
intro: mark
Mark shuts his driver’s safety helmet and the visor with an energetic, confident clack. He loves these moments when no one sees him properly through the transparent but protective screen in front of his eyes. When nobody speaks to him because he might be busy or pensive, short before a race. “Mark, Mark can you hear me?” his in-ears burst out, one of his managers, one of those who he always is connected to when racing. Mark gives a thumb up through the windshield. “Loud and clear, Toby. A little too loud, actually,” he mumbles. Toby replies something, volume decreased now.
“4 minutes and 29 seconds left until the first pit window opens,” a voice informs him, “rain forecast negative. There shouldn’t be downfall. Current car tires with slick wheels are good. Air temperature 18,4°C, concrete is on 14,5. Turns in total are 16, remember.”
“Okay, nice. What exactly happened to Anderson in the beginning?”
The employee chuckles. “Focus on your own performance, Mark,” he says, “but he’s out. The vehicle did break down right after the start, something with the engine. Anderson’s fine, just frustrated. Don’t worry.”
Mark hums.
Like he’d be worried.
intro: haechan
“The new team member, he has been mechanic and testing driver in Dream Junior Performance Team.”
“Why didn’t he start driving there, though?”
“He’s the son of the CEO there. Who doesn’t want his kid to race ever. Pretty idiotic, isn’t it?”
garage
Mark lies under his car. He squints his eyes as he tries to fix one of these stupid axles. Rims and steering aren’t working perfectly matching. Subtle links which aren’t working flawlessly at the front. The boxes hum quietly, but Mark can’t even recognize the melody. however, it is his favorite old-school Bon Jovi Best of disk running for the third time already. He sighs and whistles powerfully. Actually, his back hurts as hell down here and this mid-April happens to be too warm already for his liking, but some whistling does perhaps good. The door clacks open.
“Hi, Mark, good morning!” Toby exclaims, as motivated as always. “Hey,” Mark greets back, still focused on this stupid cable thing. “Is it eleven already?” he questions. Toby wanted to be there at eleven to precisely talk about the last practice race and pinpoint the mistakes and things to improve. “No, no. but I thought I pay you a visit after you didn’t mind the mandatory meeting earlier this morning.” Toby doesn’t sound reproachful, he knows by now that Mark hates meetings, or in general, every encounter with superiors.
Mark wants to race only, work at his car, sometimes perhaps give an interview and display his handsome face, but all the professional stuff he passes on to people who mind.
“Mandatory? Since when?” Mark quietly yelps as he uses his star-shaped screwdriver. Thank God he’s hidden by his racing machine and Toby can’t see his face, sweaty and red, tongue out and panting from concentration. He squints his eyes. “Toby, please, do me a favor and grab the precision mechanic pliers from… from my desk, I think?”
Rustling, then the plier is laid in his open hand. Mark clicks his tongue in subtle amazement as he glances at it. He has anticipated the wrong tool. Not to sound too snide and mean, but Toby joined the company as his manager from a whole administrative career and thus doesn’t know shit about mechanician terms and it normally shows. Mark frowns a little as he tries to remember if he described the light blue grip before and Toby accidently found one. “Thank you.”
“Mandatory and private for you and your new teammate,” Toby explains. Mark frowns. “Am I this grumpy that I have to personally welcome new mates from now on?”
“No, he is going to share this garage with you until his is renewed and ready. You know, it’s under construction.”
“Oh, you mentioned him. Do I have to clean, when will he join us?”
“He’s here already. That’s why I came. Don’t you read the CEO’s mails at all?” Toby snorts amused and patiently waits until Mark has rolled out from under the vehicle and hurriedly gets up. “I did!” Mark lies. “I just forgot that…” He freezes both movements and words as he spots a brunet, not very noticeable young man standing there.
“Hello,” he says and gives him a little smile. “Hey, welcome,” Mark says. He hadn’t expected his new mate to be right here in his garage. He runs over his hair. It probably is hopelessly messy, anyways. “Thanks,” the brunet says with a shy tone. Mark thinks. What was the name again? He really hasn’t studied the racer’s profile at all.
“I’m Mark.” He stretches out his hand. “Haechan,” the guy replies and shakes it, “you could have swept, though.” He grins and his voice carries a tiny shade of playfulness in it. Wow, a quick-witted guy. Perhaps even a rookie? He looks young. Mark huffs and scans his face. Toby exhales. “I already warned him about you, Mark. How about you getting to know each other and I come for the race analysis later?”
“Warned him about what exactly?”
“Everything, dude. Be nice.” Toby turns around and heads to the door.
“And Mark, fix your hair, please. A little good manners.”
After Mark has brushed through his light blue strands repeatedly, he joins Haechan who has settled on the old bench (from his cousin’s front yard who has a new one because this one’s creaking and brittle) that currently is Mark’s only seating in here.
“You really need some proper chairs in here. A little coziness,” Haechan says. “I don’t get visit often, visit that cares. Actually, visit in general, too,” Mark retorts. “you want a water or a soda? I have some yoghurt here, as well. But no spoons.”
“A water would be great.” Haechan gratefully bows his head when Mark comes back with a bottle he just scavenged from his mini fridge. He shifts a little, but the bench is too small for two people. He’ll only stay for a quick chat, Mark decides, then he will continue working at the car.
“So, you’re new in racing?” he asks, a question Haechan hopefully denies and corrects him. He’s embarrassingly bad at small talk. Haechan swallows down his swigs, closes the bottle and shakes his head. “Not quite. I was mechanic in Dream Junior Performance Team.”
“Ahh, they have Xiaojun as their main driver, right? Why didn’t you promote and become a racer there? They’re good, too.” Mark hopes for one second, his new teammate doesn’t feel uncomfortable being squeezed beside him like privacy isn’t something he himself highly cherishes. But the bench isn’t exactly for two guys to sit like proper people do. It’s probably not even made to actually sit on it, it just looks lovely in a picture-perfect front yard with freshly cut grass and flawlessly painted fence slats, not in his shady garage thank stinks like someone spilled one barrel of engine oil and one with residual waste,
But then again, he doesn’t care.
“I used to be simple mechanician there. I always wanted to drive myself.” Haechan looks at him, head tilted, eyes shining in sassy. His mouth is shaped into an ironic, teasing smile. “Haven’t you got a brief summary on what was said earlier? I felt a little betrayed when you didn’t show up, though.”
“I actually have one. But I prefer to meet new people the way they want.” Ugly lie. Mark simply doesn’t care about new people, and this Haechan, he is just another racer that comes and leaves again next season. And goes to his own garage next week, probably. Haechan chuckles. “That’s kind of you,” he finds, almost compliments him.
“I was a testing driver since I was 15. I wanted to start my career somewhere different from what I knew for years. Isn’t that understandable?” Haechan lets the bottle sink to his thigh and pensively glances at Mark’s racing car. Mark quickly nods his head. “Yes, yes. Didn’t mean to get too close and offend you.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Haechan offers him a warm smile. Mark considers telling him he wouldn’t worry, but then he decides to shut the fuck up and admire the usual, but nice and symmetric face. He blinks a few times until Haechan turns his head. “Is this the suppressed insulting-retort-face Toby mentioned?” he inquires.
Mark exhales. “What else did he tell you?” he avoids the questions and tries to put on a relaxed smile. “Only that you’re pretty special with people. But I know you from the scene, I mean. Your interviews, your show attendances, everything. I mean you’re one of the most popular racers in the league, and it is no secret you’re fucking good at racing, you seem to be cold, prefer silence, are good-looking yet grumpy, don’t have any close friends…”
“Okay, okay, I got it.” Mark blushes. That was very direct. But that’s how he is for the crowd. “Disappointing, he didn’t stress I remembered his birthday this year.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t watch the expiry date of the pralines I gave him.”
Haechan opens his bottle, again. “Sweet,” he comments some time, and then, after another comfortable silence, “so you’re more of a loner?” Mark nods his head. “Well concluded.”
More silence.
“Sorry I wasn’t there this morning. I forgot,” he apologizes half-heartedly. Not completely sincere and honest, he didn’t forget, he did ignore the mail.
“You can work here. Your area, my area. Tools are there,” Mark point at a few drawers and pulls out other ones to show Haechan, “and there and there, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I don’t bite. Usually.” Mark feels a joke is necessary, but it comes out bad and weak. “I even spent the morning sweeping.”
“When did you arrive?”
“I don’t know. Five?”
“This is your car?” Haechan points at the only car in here, which – obviously – is Mark’s car and puckers his lips into a pout.
“Yes. Isn’t she beautiful? Horsepower 570. Weight in total 1.265 kg.” Mark runs his fingertips over the divine green paintwork reverently. “Color is Pearl Neo Champagne mixed with the Aston Martin green. Little share. I really love the car’s look!” He glances at this season’s vehicle, admires the shining surfaces, the polished windowpanes, the perfect rims. As much as he has adored and cherished his former racing car, and as much he mourns over motorbikes in earlier days, this beauty got him wrapped around its finger already, and the season’s opening race hasn’t even taken part.
Mark turns to Haechan’s car, a bright yellow Mercedes. He gently pets the varnishing. “This is yours?” Haechan steps to him and slightly nods his head. “My contract is for this season’s junior league,” he explains. Mark frowns. “Moving to the other garage as soon as it’s finished. I won’t bother. Promise.”
“HAECHAN,” Mark murmurs, eyes squinted, “full sun. Will go you with a sunny car style forever?”
I won’t bother. Promise.
God forbid. He does bother. Kind of.
“Toby told me you’ve been in this company when it still specialized on motorcycles. Of course, I know you started your career biking here. Did you drive Kawasaki back then? Not this one, it looks like producing year, I don’t know, four years ago maximal?”
“Exactly. I was leading rider in top motorcycle league, for Suzuki Seoul Racing. I still have my vehicle, a company-produced Suzuki. It is standing at home, old, to craft and experiment a little for myself. This Ninja here, however, was built in 2023.”
“You don’t have an actual car, have you? You come here every morning with your Ninja.”
“Wrong. I got a Corvette at home. But she’s moody. My green princess is my only true love.”
And Mark mentions that he was lead manager at marriage department with Mercedes for a long time. Nobody has ever asked, but Haechan patiently listens, politely nods his head and hums. “You know, I aimed for racing with Performance team, staying in the junior league forever. But since my father is CEO there, the highest I got was safety car. Twice.”
“Your father’s what?”
“You really didn’t read my file, did you?”
“So, your father is the Performance Team’s sheriff? What about your mum?”
“I don’t really talk to both of them. My dad’s been against me entering your league, especially now that he’s going to retire. My mum is more loyal to him than to me. Want a bite? What about your parents?”
“Dad’s dead. He was an idiot, anyways. My mum’s an angel. This is tasty. Please bring them more often.”
Giggle.
“You’re close? Like, you guys contact regularly?”
“I’d say so, yes.”
The first few days as garage mates, Haechan tried to chat non-stop, but Mark just isn’t a much-speaking guy. No arrogance, no shyness, no I-prefer-to-watch-from-the-distance, just I-don’t-like-talking. Mark isn’t sure if Haechan got that, but he kept acting kind and polite. He speaks up to him once, watching him refreshing the tapes on his arm. Mark has struggled with getting naked in front of another human being while being not attractive at all, but in the end, he decided Haechan shouldn’t care or even look, and if he does, for whatever reason, well, so it be. Not his problem.
He does that almost every day and Haechan has certainly seen it already. But only now, he watches, unabashed. “What are you doing?” he inquires. It’s not like Mark has ever fully ignored him or yelled at him, he just went with lean, brief responses. He looks up, surprised by the still open and interested tone. Haechan blinks and tilts his head a bit.
Adorable.
“Tapes,” Mark replies and shortly waits. Haechan still looks at him. not quite expecting, no, he just looks. “You know, I had a car crash lately, like, one month ago. Maybe you saw me in the news. It got me quite bad. I drove on gravel, and I slid and turned, ending up at the edge of the racing track. The doctor said I should continue this for a few months to keep the nerves working. They should start working by themselves then.”
Mark blows some blue rebel strands out of his eyes as he sticks another tape from his elbow to his forearm. He feels Haechan’s gaze in his face and on his arm and on his entire upper body. He turns quiet. “Oh,” the other makes. “Can I help you?”
His offering makes Mark wonder whether he has seen his accident or not. Racers have inquired what race, was it important, what place he lost by that, others did ask if he got hurt somewhere else, or if he already had accidents or if it was his first or anything, something to keep the conversation going and Mark could fairly understand these questions (most of them).
But Haechan just comments it with an Oh.
Mark shakes his head confused. “No.”
“Am I bothering?” Donghyuck peers into the garage. He wonders if Mark sleeps at all. After he denied having dinner with him and another mechanic, he still is here, bent over his HANS frame and immersed in crafting something. “Never,” Mark softly mumbles without even looking up, “can I help?”
“Actually, yes,” Donghyuck replies, “do you own a glue gun? And perhaps paint brushes?” Mark looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, and duct tape.”
“Paint brushes?” he echoes. “Yeah. Small ones. Don’t ask.” Donghyuck fully enters the room. “A gun should be in the drawer,” Mark stands up and steps at his own desk. “I have these.” He retrieves a few make up brushes from somewhere. “Please bring them back. They’re not mine.” He waves with them, but he doesn’t explain where he has them from.
Donghyuck squints his eyes. “Promise.” He still stands at the drawer. “Can I also steal these permanent markers?”
“If you bring them back, it’s no stealing.” Mark shrugs. “Take what you need. This is your space, too.” He stretches his hand when Donghyuck comes closer. “What are you planning?” he inquires and offers him the brushes. Donghyuck takes them. “Surprise. Did you eat already?” Mark shakes his head.
“Do you have a second precise mechanic screwdriver?” Donghyuck asks. His voice is light, melodic and well to the ear. The first days, he wanted to chatter non-stop, but he was quick to understand that Mark wasn’t the type to be very talk active. He is polite, of course, at least he hopes so, but he just prefers silence. “Either you go ask next door,” Mark replies calmy and stares at the front rim of his Kawasaki, “or you’re patient for one minute.” They settled on a slight joking bickering, since Donghyuck didn’t stop being annoying asking many questions. “Okay,” Donghyuck sighs and rips the fridge door open curiously.
Like a kid.
Mark smirks.
Sweet.