Chapter Theme:

Fleetwood Mac - The Chain

Four milliseconds.

The difference is four milliseconds but it might as well be four minutes, or four years. Her hands are so sweaty they leave palm marks on the steeringwheel and her fingertips are cold as ice and she looks up at the enormous timing screen in front of her the moment she’s across the finish line and sees the four-millisecond difference and lets out the biggest defeated sigh of her life.

Joy and Yeri groan behind her. ‘Damn,’ Yeri says. ‘That was so close. Like, unbelievably close. Better luck next time.’

‘Are we going yet?’ Wendy asks, stood leaning against the back of Irene’s plastic racing setup. Seulgi looks at the screen again. She presses a couple buttons and the GRAN TURISMO ARCADE leaderboards for the Night City circuit pop up and show their times as they stand after her latest lap:

IRENE – 3:57:463 – 16 ATTEMPTS

SEUL – 3:57:467 – 335 ATTEMPTS

YERI – 3:59:508 – 3 ATTEMPTS

JOY – 4:00:022 – 3 ATTEMPTS

WENDY – 4:29:231 – 2 ATTEMPTS

‘Well,’ Irene says. She’s sat in the seat next to Seulgi at the back of the arcade and she’s trying not to smirk and failing, one arm leaning against the wheel in smug victory. Seulgi takes a moment to just absorb it all. Not the game or the fact she’s lost at it again. At her life. At what it’s become. Looking from Irene to Joy and Yeri to Wendy at the back and thinking, with a huge smile: This is good. I don’t want this to ever end.

‘Are we going?’ Wendy asks again. ‘I’m hungry. And we’ve got to be up early tomorrow. I don’t want to get on a plane without any sleep first or anything.’

‘Why not?’ Yeri says. ‘I mean, then you’d get more time to sleep on the plane. Just common sense, really.’

‘I can never sleep on long flights. I don’t know why. I just get really anxious or something. Seulgi knows this. It’s one of my weirdest habits. Like, what if the plane went down while I was asleep? I’m just sat there snoring one minute and then the next – boom. We’re five hundred metres under the sea. And I’m drowning.’

‘Pretty sure you’d wake up in the unlikely event the plane went down. Plane crashes are quite loud.’

‘Been in many plane crashes, have you?’

‘No. But like I said, it’s common sense.’

At this Wendy only shrugs. They look at Joy and she shrugs the same and then it’s all eyes on Seulgi, pensive and lost in thought, hands still on the steeringwheel, as silent as anyone has ever been. Cheesy retro music playing over the speakers. She glances at her watch to find it’s almost nine PM. Then she says, in a reserved and modestly embarrassed voice, as if afraid of what the replies might be, ‘Just one more go.’

‘Oh god,’ Yeri mutters.

‘I mean it! Just one more. I promise.’

‘Like the last ten times?’ Joy says.

‘I can feel it coming to me now. It’s in my bones. I could drive this in my sleep.’

‘You’ve said that before.’

‘Four milliseconds! I know it’s coming, it’s just a case of when.’

‘Right,’ Wendy says. ‘Whatever you say. Want me to get you some more tokens?’

‘Will they even have any more?’ Yeri says. ‘I feel like she’s probably bought more than, like, a legal amount. Or something. I dunno.’

‘You can have as many goes as you like,’ Irene says with a smile. ‘But you won’t beat me.’

Seulgi only looks at her, moderately annoyed at the smugness. ‘How did you get so good at it?’ she says.

‘Guess I’m a Gran Turismo prodigy.’

‘Seulgi,’ says Joy. ‘Please can we go and get something to eat now? I’m starving. And Wendy was right. We’ve got a flight to catch.’

‘At eight AM,’ Seulgi says. ‘That’s plenty of time.’

‘Please?’

She takes a moment to look at the leaderboards, her heart dropping. 335 attempts. Thinking: Imagine if we’d have bet on every single one. How many holidays would I have had to pay for? Then she says, ‘Fine. Whatever. I’ll come back to this later. And I’ll do it. I know I will. Even if it takes me ten years.’

‘Might have to wait a bit longer than that,’ Irene mumbles.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I said I love you.’

‘Uh huh. I love you too.’

It’s almost two in the afternoon when she finally checks into the hotel in Bahrain and sets her bags down and takes a moment to recollect herself and take a deep breath. The quiet warmth of it all. It’s become a habit of hers in the past three months to smile at nothing and imagine that same nothing is Seulgi, talking to her or kissing her or her cheek or just existing. Just being in her life.

Opening the sliding door and standing out on the balcony Irene takes a minute to soak it all in. The start of everything again, how fresh and new it feels despite being so similar to everything she’s done before. Bahrain International Circuit is down there, not even two miles away, faint and looming in the dust of the afternoon. A great red sun hangs. She puts her hands on the balcony railing and closes her eyes and smells the fresh air and thinks, as she has become accustomed to thinking: This is going to be a good year. This is going to be the best one yet.

It’s almost an hour later – when she’s finished arranging her memorabilia on the shelves and the table in her room – that she hears the knock at the door. She knows it isn’t Seulgi because Seulgi’s plane is still an hour from landing. When she answers it’s to Jennie, stood there looking slightly nervous in a white-and-blue Samsung hoodie, smiling her pleasant and polite smile with her hands stuffed into her pockets. ‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hi. I didn’t see you on the plane earlier.’

‘I was right at the back. Wanted my beauty sleep.’

Irene only nods. As if there is nothing else to say. Small talk has never come easy to her, nor has social interaction. Even now, far removed from the friendless nightmare of her past, she’s only truly comfortable with Seulgi and Yeri and Wheein. ‘Did you want to come in?’ she asks, and Jennie only nods. Irene pours her a cup of coffee and she takes it and sips with a wince while sitting at the table, polite as always. She takes a moment to study Irene’s little trinkets and collectibles with a sort of curious and friendly awe.

‘Just some things I’ve picked up over the years,’ Irene says, answering the question before it’s asked. Across the table from Jennie are her four world championship trophies lined all next to each other and her Vettel coffee mug and a signed autograph from Alain Prost. Scattered idly next to them are several other items of different value, ranging from a number of nuts and bolts from her 2017 car worth almost nothing to a priceless framed picture of herself and Seulgi, with Seulgi in her lap kissing her on the cheek. They’re both smiling in it. When Jennie sees it she breaks into a smile as well. ‘That’s really cute,’ she says in a small voice.

‘Thanks. I bring it everywhere with me. We had it taken in Monte Carlo a couple months ago.’

‘Is that a cup with Sebastian Vettel’s face on it?’

‘Yeah, but please don’t remind me.’

‘Why not?’ Jennie asks, amused and curious.

‘Because he was my teammate for a year, and now I’m drinking out of a mug with his face on it. And the more I think about it, the more it sounds…really weird. But whatever. I bought it because I buy loads of things. Basically anything F1 related. I think I picked this up in a gift shop at the airport in Germany a few years ago, after he won the German Grand Prix and I came second. I can’t remember.’

Jennie only giggles over the rim of her own coffeecup.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Jennie says. ‘It’s just…you’re more talkative than I thought you would be. Not that we haven’t talked to each other before or anything, and I don’t mean any offence by it or anything either, but from all your interviews and your reputation around the paddock and stuff, I just thought…you know.’

‘I used to be like that,’ Irene says. She takes a seat at the table and smiles wistfully at the memory of nothing again. The glimmer in her eyes tells Jennie everything. ‘I’ve changed a lot over the past two years. More than I ever have in my life before. And I owe it all to Seulgi. So, yeah. That’s about the extent of it.’

‘It’s cool. To be honest, I’m kinda glad.’

‘Yeah?’

Jennie nods, mouth full of coffee. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she says, ‘I enjoyed my time at Renault. Really enjoyed it. I wouldn’t have ever won a Grand Prix without them and for that I’ll always be grateful, but we never really got along well. Me or my engineer or my teammates or anything. And I was kinda scared the same thing would happen here. But…well, I guess I was wrong.’

‘It’s okay,’ Irene says. ‘I’d have thought the same thing, too. It feels weird seeing you in white and blue.’

‘It feels weird wearing it. But I’m sure I’ll get used to it.’

‘You were fast in testing. Really fast.’

Jennie shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Testing is just testing,’ she says. ‘Nobody knows whether it means anything or not.’

‘I bet Ferrari are hoping it does.’

‘Probably. They seem very fast.’ And then, changing the subject, she says, ‘Do you fancy a drink downstairs after the race this weekend? I know it’s probably really early to be asking and you’ll be with Seul—’

‘Yeah,’ Irene says with a smile. ‘That’d be good.’

Jennie only smiles at her. They’re interrupted again by another knock at the door, a delicate rapping of knuckles three times in a row. Irene knows who it is already. She opens the door and looks at Wheein and has to do a double take, because Wheein isn’t there at all. She’s hidden almost entirely behind a huge wedding spongecake on a mobile trolley, only instead of an edible model of a married couple on the top layer it’s Irene’s 2020 Samsung made out of white and blue icing sugar. And one layer down it reads, in blue buttercream, FOR MY FAVOURITE PERSON. GOOD LUCK THIS WEEKEND.

‘What the is this?’ Irene says.

Wheein shifts the trolley a slight and smiles at her and says, ‘Nice to see you too. Where were you earlier?’

‘What?’

‘On the plane.’

‘Near the front. Why?’

‘I was near the back. Guess that’s why I didn’t see you.’

‘Wheein, what’s this?’

‘What? Oh, this?’ Wheein nods at the cake with a little laugh. ‘This is a present,’ she says.

‘From you?’

‘What? No. You think I’d get you something like this? No offence, of course. Hi, by the way. Nice to meet you.’

Irene turns to Jennie smiling at them and waving and says, ‘Right. Of course. Jennie, this is Wheein, my race engineer. Wheein, Jennie.’

‘Hi,’ Jennie says, stifling a laugh.

‘Wheein. What is this?’

‘It’s nice,’ Wheein says, dipping a finger into the icing.

‘Seriously.’

‘Use your head. Who do you think would get you something like this?’

‘Seulgi?’

‘Bingo.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘She texted me yesterday and told me about her plan to surprise you with this and asked if I could help arrange it all once I’d booked into the hotel. Guess she knew our flight was landing a couple hours before theirs and she wouldn’t have time to do it herself. Said something about making it up to you for before. I dunno what she meant. She said you’d understand.’

Irene just looks at it. It takes a lot of effort to not burst out laughing at the sight of it. ‘Well,’ she mutters, trying not to blush, ‘I’m flattered.’

‘Can I put it in there? I can’t be bothered wheeling it down to reception again. And I’m hungry, and this is really good cake.’

‘Sure. Whatever.’

‘Can I have some as well?’ Jennie asks shyly.

‘Help yourself.’

‘Yay,’ Wheein says. ‘Tea party for three.’

She’s at the bar on Thursday night with Wendy and Joy when she starts thinking about Irene again. The blatancy is such that it takes Wendy only a minute to look at her over the table and say, ‘What are you smiling at now? Irene?’

‘Kind of.’

‘Did she get it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Seulgi admits. ‘I haven’t text her since yesterday and she hasn’t text me, either.’

‘Why?’

‘A mutual thing. We both agreed to let us concentrate this weekend. Or at least until the race is finished. Give us time to get back into the groove, you know?’

‘Makes sense, I suppose. Well?’

‘I haven’t spoken to Wheein either.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Joy says. She breaks out into a teasing grin, one Seulgi has become very much accustomed to over the past two years or so. ‘I think it’s sweet. Very sweet. I wish someone would do something like that for me. I wish there was someone I knew who was good at baking and really enjoyed it and cared about me enough to bake me a cake. Someone I'd just recently confessed something to. Someone who had recently discovered something. If only.’

‘She didn’t bake it,’ Wendy says, setting her coffee down absently.

‘Who cares? It’s the thought that counts. Will you buy me one anyway? Maybe get a special one ordered like Seulgi here did?’

‘Maybe if you win a couple more races, I’ll think about it.’

‘You’re no fun.’

Wendy only shrugs and laughs.

‘Is that why you re-signed your contract?’ Seulgi asks, trying to mask the grin on her face, wondering how far she can push the teasing without either of them biting back.

‘What?’ says Joy.

‘Well, you told me it's because you're happy with your position in the team and stuff. But is that really it? Or is it something else?’

‘Well yeah. Duh. They offered me a fat pay rise to stay on. That kinda helped.’

‘But is that all?’

‘Dunno what you mean.’

‘Well, if you had signed with, say, Renault, or Racing Line, you'd be spending a lot less time around each other.’ She nods at Wendy and Wendy can only stare down at her coffee and try to hide the blush of her cheeks with her hair. It's a hilarious and uncharacteristic visual that almost has Seulgi properly laughing.

‘No,’ Joy says. ‘That's not the reason.’

‘Sure.’

‘We'd still see each other in different teams. Just like you and Irene do.’

‘Yeah.’

‘That's definitely not the reason.’

‘Definitely not,’ Seulgi repeats.

Joy shakes her head. As if trying to convince herself. It's a side to her Seulgi hasn't ever seen before and it's as adorable as it is amusing. ‘I'm not complaining, though,’ she mutters.

‘Neither am I,’ says Wendy, and says no more. It’s a warm evening outside. A coinlike sun pools red and bleeding over the rim of the world and the track sits squat somewhere in the distance and they’re almost alone in the hotel’s bar. Seulgi takes the time to sit and enjoy it. The silence of it, how comfortable it feels. It’s in these moments that she treasures her life the most. Quiet grains of time, usually with Irene, watching the sunset or cuddling in bed or talking over dinner, thankful for everything that has happened and everything they have become, as lovers, as competitors, as people.

Wendy shifts in her seat and sits forward a slight, as if someone else might be privy to the three of them there. She says quietly, ‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’

‘Are we back to this again?’

‘You know it.’

‘I’m ready,’ Seulgi says, and it’s the truth. ‘Completely ready.’

‘Defending world champion.’

‘I know I’ve said this before, but I feel like this is going to be the best season yet. The best year.’

‘I feel the same,’ Joy says, watching the steam rising off her coffee. ‘This is decent coffee, by the way.’

‘Are you still pretending you’re some sort of coffee expert?’

‘I am. It’s you philistines that don’t appreciate proper coffee when you see it. The good people of Bahrain clearly do.’

They both decide it best to ignore her. Wendy takes a moment to glance around. None of the other drivers or engineers are anywhere to be seen. Only the café workers and the bartender and a handful of other hotel occupants. ‘Are you seeing Irene at all before tomorrow?’ she asks.

‘No. Like I said, time to concentrate. Game faces on.’

‘I’m really happy for you, you know.’

‘I know. You’ve said as much.’

‘I mean it. I’m glad you’ve sorted it all out. Both of you. I think time away did you good.’

‘From each other? Or from F1?’

‘Both,’ Wendy says. ‘And I’m glad it’s worked out so well for you.’

At this Seulgi can only nod in content. They’re quiet again for a long while. Savouring the silence. Even Joy – talkative as she can often be – seems to be caught in the reverie of it all. It’s a long time before anyone speaks, and it’s Wendy to say, ‘Are you gonna name your car this year?’

‘Maybe,’ Seulgi says. ‘Maybe I’ll just call it Reve again. Or, like…I don’t know. Reve’s Sister?’

‘Awful name. No creativity.’

‘See? I feel like I lucked out with Reve.’

‘Maybe we should see how it goes tomorrow first. See if she’s worthy of a good name.’

‘Oh, I think she will be,’ Seulgi says. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this.’

The atmosphere is incredible.

Three months away has dulled the memory enough that standing in the back of the garage and squinting into the bright and chalky morning light on Friday for practice Seulgi can’t help but feel her skin gooseflesh at the sight and sound of it. The grandstands are packed and humming with energy already. This year there are more Apex banners. The crowds are a sea of Apex and Samsung and Ferrari and Renault. Seulgi takes a few minutes to just look at the car. It isn’t quite identical to last year but it’s close enough that to a casual observer they might as well be. The front wing is different, the outwash effect altered, the bargeboards more complex, but otherwise very similar. Even the liveries are almost the same.

‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ Wendy asks, almost a repeat of last year.

‘Yeah, she is.’

‘You ready to go out yet?’

Seulgi glances at the digital clock. ‘No,’ she says. ‘We’ve still got eighty-five minutes left. I think I might take it easy for a bit.’

Before Wendy can reply, they turn to Joy behind them, strapping on her gloves and sorting out her helmet. ‘You ready, champ?’ she says.

‘Ready. You?’

‘Oh, I’m ready. I’m as ready as ready has ever been.’

‘Good.’

‘I’ll see you out there on track.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says with a smile.

Joy looks at Wendy. For a moment they just stand there, a sort of awkward and palpable tension between them, as if neither of them knows how to proceed, strange enough that Seulgi almost has to laugh. ‘Well,’ Joy mumbles, in a voice that suggests the only time she's ever been this nervous before is when she took the time to confess everything to Seulgi in Gapyeong.

‘Well.’

‘Yeah. Well.’

Wendy is silent for a while. Seulgi watches them with moderate amusement - the way they shrug at each other, at how Joy itches the back of her neck and pretends to be unaffected and Wendy stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jeans and purses her lips and acts as if her cheeks aren't a pale shade of pink, interacting like two androids in a simulation, painfully uncharacteristic. Then Wendy mutters, ‘Good luck out there. I hope you do well.’

‘Better than her?’

Wendy glances apologetically at Seulgi and all Seulgi can do is laugh.

‘See you after practice?’ Joy asks.

‘Yeah. I'll be at the hotel.’

‘Right,’ Joy says, as awkward as before. She tries to put her hands idly in her pockets like Wendy and realises rather embarrasingly that her racing suit doesn't have any pockets. So after another minute of tense silence - debating with herself whether it would acceptable to say what she wants to say to Wendy or not, or whether to act, or whether to be like Irene and Seulgi at all - she climbs into the car and adjusts the visor of her helmet. The mechanics set to work performing their final checks and the engine howls into life. Wendy leans over the halo and utters something Seulgi can't hear, but it's awkward enough that when she stands up straight again and runs a hand through her hair she's blushing, a sight Seulgi has rarely ever seen before. No more than two minutes later is Joy gone in a cloud of tiresmoke and used rubber. It smells of motor oil and the smell is amazing. To Seulgi it smells like home. She takes another long look at her own car. The REVE inscribed on the inside of the halo is gone, as if awaiting a new name. She looks at Wendy, still blushing, and grins again in amusement. ‘Well,’ she says, goading Wendy into a reply.

Wendy remains quiet. It's a small and adorable act of defiance, refusing to give Seulgi the satisfaction of teasing her, knowing how uncommon this is in their dynamic. Occasionally it's the opposite - Wendy poking fun at her for clinging to Irene. Usually it's nothing at all. But this is a shift in their friendship that Wendy doesn't quite know how to comprehend. Then, eventually, and with great reluctance, she mumbles, ‘Look, I'm no good at this sort of thing, alright? You know that. All I've got is my baking and my TV dramas. I'm as sad and as lonely as, well...as you used to be.’

‘Wow.’

‘I can't remember the last time I had a genuine romantic connection with someone like this. Or a genuine ual—’

‘I don't need to know.’

‘Sorry. But I was just saying—’

‘Yeah. Again, I don't need to know.’

‘It's still kinda awkward, too. We know each other. We were, like, co-workers. I mean, I guess we still technically are. But we used to be like me and you. God, that sounds weird when I put it like that. I didn't mean that. But we're still...you know.’

‘Still in the early days?’

‘Whatever. We're still trying to figure things out.’

‘What did you say to her?’

Wendy looks away shyly. ‘Just that I was rooting for her,’ she admits.

‘More than me?’

‘I never said—’

‘I won't be offended. It makes sense.’

Wendy thinks about this for a second. About the correct response. And after a moment's more thought she says, ‘Then yes. Sorry.’

‘Like I said, no offence. I'm happy for you.’

‘Yeah, me too. It's not a conflict of interest, is it? Like, I want you both to do amazingly well. I want you to win the championship. But also...yeah. Maybe everyone has a valid point when they say don't date your co-workers. Or whatever the expression is. Anyway.’

‘Uh huh. Back to the point at hand.’ She spends a long time studying the car. The empty space on the halo, begging for a name. Perhaps Thunderbird was a good idea after all. ‘Wendy,’ she says. ‘I think I’m going to go for it.’

‘Yeah? Thought you said you were going to take it easy and go out later?’

‘Yeah, well.’ Suddenly she’s beaming. ‘Guess I can’t wait any longer.’

She’s at the table at the very back of the garage, sorting out her helmet and gloves and sipping from a bottle of water, when Wendy whistles. It’s a whistle she’s heard before many a time, a way to get her attention without saying anything. She turns and Irene is there at the front of the garage, clad in her white Samsung racing overalls, Jennie beside her, Yeri at the back in all red. For a minute Seulgi just stands there gawping. As if unsure of how to proceed. ‘What?’ she says. ‘What—’

‘Are we doing here?’ Irene says, amused.

‘You should be in your own garages.’

‘It’s only practice. Nobody’s even taking it seriously yet. We’re not going out onto track for another half an hour.’

‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘I’ll cover stuff up,’ Wendy says, smiling.

Seulgi just looks at them. They step inside the garage and away from the prying eyes of the public and the media and the cameras and Irene’s giggling and she looks so unbelievably beautiful that Seulgi has to blink twice to ensure she’s not in some sort of dream. ‘Thought I’d come and see how you were doing before practice begins properly,’ Irene says nonchalantly.

‘What if people see?’

‘See what? There are no cameras. They’re all busy filming everyone out on the track. And besides, it’s not like we’re doing anything illegal. Or wrong.’

‘She’s right,’ Yeri says. ‘Hi again, by the way.’

‘Hi,’ says Seulgi. ‘Nice outfit.’

‘Thanks. I told you I’d look pretty good in red.’

‘How much are they paying you?’

‘That’s a secret. But it’s quite a bit.’

‘How are you feeling?’

Yeri shrugs. ‘Never better,’ she says with a smile. ‘Actually, that’s a lie. I could be better. I had a terrible dream the other day and it’s been on my mind ever since.’

‘What?’

‘Well, it was a nightmare, really. I dreamt I was racing around Monaco, right? Nothing strange there, at least not at first. So, I start my lap. And I go down through Casino and around Mirabeau and I get to the hairpin. And, like, normal, I slow right down and go around the hairpin and down towards Portier. Simple. Just like any other lap. Except, in this dream, I don’t. Because there is no Portier. There’s just another hairpin. And so I go around this hairpin and down towards Portier once more, except Portier – again – is just another hairpin. It’s all hairpins, all the way down. Just infinite hairpins. None of it makes any sense at all. Hairpins have taken over everything. I’m not even “Korean Formula 1 Driver Kim Yerim” anymore, because Korea doesn’t exist in this dream. Korea has never existed. Nothing exists except for the Monaco hairpin. It’s just a world of Monaco hairpins. Horrible. Anyway.’

‘Right,’ Seulgi says, unable to say much else. ‘How’s Charles?’

‘Charles is cool. A bit quiet, but hey, we can’t all be me, right? Very pretty, too. Distractingly so. But whatever. I still think I’m gonna beat him.’

‘How’s your Italian?’

‘Never worse. I know, like, four words total. But hey, I’ve got time before I win at Monza, right? Like, seven months. I’m pretty sure I can learn enough before then. They're already calling me the darling of Italy.’

‘I don't think they are.’

‘Well, they will be doing in about forty-eight hours.’

Seulgi only laughs. She looks at Jennie in her new Samsung racing overalls and Jennie waves at her and smiles. ‘Hey,’ she says.

‘You look good in white and blue. Suits you.’

‘Thanks. I like to think so too. Excited for this weekend.’

‘Me too,’ Seulgi says. ‘Did you two want anything? Or just to come and talk to me? Not to sound rude or anything.’

‘I’m only here as a tag-along,’ Yeri says.

‘Yeah,’ says Jennie, ‘me too.’

Seulgi glances at Irene for an answer, so close they’re almost touching. ‘I picked them up on the way down the pitlane,’ Irene says. ‘Figured I’d bring them along with me, since they’re not doing anything yet.’

‘I don’t think you should be here,’ Seulgi says.

‘Why? Sick of me already?’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.’

‘I just wanted to come and say thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For the cake,’ Irene says.

At that Seulgi has to try and hide the blush of her cheeks. ‘Oh,’ she mutters. ‘So you got it then?’

‘Thanks to Wheein, yeah. I didn’t even know you had her number.’

‘I had to ask around. She’s quite illustrious, is your engineer. Very much like you used to be.’

‘Yeah, but she prefers it that way. I didn’t.’

‘Makes sense, I suppose.’

‘It was good cake. And not ruined this time. So, thanks.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Seulgi says in a soft voice. Irene turns and looks about. They’re not alone – a handful of Apex mechanics and Joy’s race engineer on the pitwall and Wendy and a couple others from the pit crew outside – but the cameras are somewhere else entirely, the crowd preoccupied. The look on her face is like a child about to do something they probably should not do. Without another word she leans forward and cups Seulgi’s face and kisses her gently and with such love it has Seulgi reeling. When she pulls back she’s smiling again. ‘Thanks,’ she says, voice barely a whisper. ‘Was just what I needed. The cake, I mean. And I guess the kiss wasn't bad either.’

‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Why not?’

‘What if someone saw?’

‘Like who? The cameras are miles away.’

‘Still, though.’

‘Relax. We’re safe for now.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well,’ Seulgi says, blushing harder.

‘What?’

Instead of bothering with a response she leans in and pulls Irene close and kisses her for a long time. Maybe they are being watched – unlikely as it is, it’s not impossible, but she doesn’t much care. What is life without a little risk? What is their shared existence if not built partially on risk and reward, the ecstasy of victory? And what is this if not a victory in and of itself?

‘Get a room,’ Yeri says, and it’s enough to break them from their momentary trance. They look at each other shyly and Seulgi hugs her and whispers, so that only Irene can hear it, ‘Good luck. I’m cheering for you.’

‘You too. I love you.’

‘You should go.’

‘I’ll see you out there.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says with a grin. ‘You two as well.’

Jennie nods and Yeri gives a little okay sign with her hand and says, ‘I’ll catch you in my rearview mirror. Just try not to fall too far behind on pure pace, yeah? I want this to at least look a little competitive for a while. I'd rather give the viewers a bit of a show.’

‘You seem even more confident with your new team.’

‘Confident? You kidding? I'm, like, beyond confident. Is there a word for that?’

‘I don't think so.’

‘The spirit of Schumacher lives in me. Seriously, I'm gonna ace this weekend.’

‘I've never seen you so...amped up before.’

‘Nor me,’ says Irene.

Yeri grabs a handful of material on her racing suit and kisses the little yellow and black prancing horse and says, ‘Forza Ferrari, baby.’

Before Seulgi can stop laughing long enough to reply the three of them are gone and she’s alone with Wendy again. Wendy just looks at her, hands clasped in front of her, oddly anxious, very much unlike the Wendy that Seulgi has known for most of her life. ‘What's up?’ Seulgi asks.

‘What? Oh, nothing.’

‘Wendy. What's up?’

‘Nothing. It can wait until after the race on Sunday. It's not important. You should be focusing.’

‘It's just practice.’

‘Still. You should focus.’

‘Wendy,’ she says. The look Wendy gives her almost has her laughing - it's a curiously comical blend of awkward shyness and determination and it's new and unique to her. She glances at Seulgi for a moment. Then she reaches down beneath one of the moveable dollies beside her and grabs her backpack and s it and takes out a small black box inside and shows it - with great hesitation - to Seulgi. Nestled inside on a soft bed of foam is a black and auburn bracelet of stunning lava beads. ‘What's this?’ Seulgi says.

‘A present.’

‘What? For— oh. Oh, right. That's cute.’

Wendy shrugs in embarrasment. Quietly she mutters, ‘I remember back when I used to be her race engineer she told me she really liked bracelets with lava beads on them. Said they looked really stylish and pretty. And then I saw the one that Irene got you last year and so I thought...you know.’

‘Thought you'd get one for Joy.’

‘Look, are you gonna tease me about it forever?’

‘I'm not teasing,’ Seulgi says with a smile. ‘I think it's cute of you. Is this what's got you so nervous?’

Wendy offers a shrug again. She closes the little box and puts it back in her bag and says, ‘I don't know how to give it to her.’

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘Will it come across as too clingy? As a bit weird? Or like I'm, I dunno, being too forward about us? Should I wait a couple months? I mean, she only asked me out on a date, like, two weeks ago. On your phone, too. Why did she use your phone?’

‘Honestly, I have no idea.’

‘But it is, isn't it? It's too forward. She's gonna think I'm weird. I mean, I am weird, but now she's gonna know for sure. Is it creepy? Like, am I moving things on too fast? Not that it's, you know, a marriage proposal or anything. I'm not thinking about marriage. But is it creepy?’

‘God, you overthink things so much,’ Seulgi says. ‘It's just a bracelet. It's cute. Just give it to her and tell her you love her and—’

‘Tell her I love her.’

‘Yeah. Do you love her?’

‘Well,’ Wendy says, blushing a slight. Then she mumbles, ‘Look, it's been years, alright? I know I'm coming across as a big kid here, but it's been, like, four years or something. Literally since before I started in F1. That's the biggest downside of this job - no time at home. Always on the move. You're lucky you've got someone who moves with you.’

‘So do you now.’

Wendy only shrugs. She looks at her backpack and shrugs a second time and says, ‘Whatever. Thanks. Maybe I am overthinking things. I should just give it to her.’

‘See? It's not that hard.’

As if on cue the anxiety disappears from her face, replaced with the Wendy that Seulgi knows and cherishes so very much, proud and smiling and as happy as Seulgi is. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘you ready yet?’

Seulgi climbs into the car and fastens in her steeringwheel. She takes a moment to adjust to the sensation of it again. The way the pedals feel under the weight of her feet, the narrowness of the cockpit, how low down it all is. Out there across the main straight the crowds are waiting for her, DYNAMITE banners in hand. This year they’ve got new ones that say CHAMPION as well. The feeling it brings to her has her smiling under her helmet. It’s her world away from the world. Nobody else will ever understand it unless they’ve been through it. The engines murmur and somewhere out on track the cars soar on by and her hands are trembling and Wendy gives her a thumbs up and she gives one back.

‘Okay,’ she hears, the static all too familiar. ‘Radio check. One two, one two.’

‘Copy.’

‘Good. You ready, partner?’

‘Oh, I’m ready.’

‘Well,’ Wendy says. ‘Clear when you are to leave the garage. Good luck out there.’

2019 was good. 2020 was better. As she grips the wheel and feels out the accelerator pedal and adjusts herself afresh Seulgi knows like she’s never known anything else before that 2021 is going to be the best year yet. It’s her and Irene and everything else and everything feels just right. She closes her eyes and drowns out the world. The crowd dim to silence. Even Irene is gone. All that remains are the lights in her head. One light and her hands are sweating. The second light has her heart racing and her head pounding and the third light brings with it a trembling in her legs and the metal feeling of the accelerator pedal heavy under her right foot and a thousand incredible memories of twenty-one countries around the world.

Thinking: This is it. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.

The crowd are on their feet.

Four lights.

Five lights.

Then it’s lights out, and away she goes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Okay so that's the end (for now lol)! I really enjoyed writing this, just as much as Apex, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as well. I might come back to it later because I'm a er for F1 (obviously) but I don't wanna unless I have a good reason to because I like having character development and there's not too many places it can go from here without it dragging on haha, but we'll see :)   I'll be back with another story probably soon (probably Wenrene too for a change lol). Hope y'all enjoyed! Thank you for all the comments and kind words as always <3   Please consider upvoting if ya haven't already :)