Chapter Text
“friend, teammate, childhood buddy, rival, everything but a lover quite frankly”
- David Crofty
2026 - Barty
Barty blinks a few times at the cameras flashing. He should probably be used to it by now, it’s his tenth season in Formula 1 and he’s a three-time World Champion. But it’s not the camera per se that is pissing him off.
The problem is that Barty is fuming. The anger crawls up his throat and it makes every sensation around him twice as irritating. He's trying to take a breath, and not get thrown off by the seven or eight microphones right in front of his face.
One of the journalists starts. “Barty, can you tell us about the communication that you had with your teammate Evan since the race? Have the two of you talked directly to each other?”
Barty stills for a moment, tries to sound unbothered. “No.”
“Don’t you think communication is important when trying to clear up any bad feeling?”
“No,” Barty repeats, too quick. “I mean, we took care of the matter internally. We had a meeting with Monty and I said what I needed to say," a deep breath, "and he said what he needed to say."
“There were some discussions about team orders and radio messages during the race, can you give us any insights on that?” Barty bites his cheek at how close the reporter is shoving his microphone.
“Well, back in McLaren I had my own strategist. And of course his main focus was to get the overall best result for me,” Barty explains. “But at Mercedes we have one strategist. And he’s amazing, really. But, uhm, unfortunately his role in the team is to look out for number one. And whoever is second, comes second. But yeah, doesn't really matter, we’ll work it out with the team.”
“Well it does matter, doesn’t it?” the reporter asks. “Because in this race, you came second."
Barty stills again, because yeah, he did. No need to be reminded, he’s gonna be spraying champagne from that very position in a few minutes, looking up at Evan on top of the podium.
“I did,” Barty says slowly. “Ultimately, the team has its strategy. And we’re supposed to go by what they say.”
“So where’d you go from here with Evan? Going into Netherlands after the summer break, that’s a track that suits the brutal pace of the Mercedes quite well, so a great opportunity for you guys. But in terms of mending the relationship in the team, do you think there will be space to talk it out with your friend?"
Barty opens his mouth, then closes it again. The cameras are flashing, and he feels like the microphones have come even closer. Everyone is hanging on his lips for the gossip, the end of this great friendship, this thing that nobody but them understands. He can see some of the reporters glancing across his shoulder, where Evan is standing, still in his race suit, hand in his hip. Barty can’t beat the urge to take a quick look, just for a second.
Evan looks perfectly unbothered when he’s talking to his own set of reporters. He’s smiling, actually. And that pisses Barty off to no end.
He exhales through his nose before he answers.
“We’re not friends.”
2007 - Evan
Evan quickly realizes that he’s not the biggest fan of Italy. Or more specifically, the Lonato karting track. The air is humid and uncomfortable, especially in the race suit. He put it on an hour ago, not wanting to come unprepared. There’s lots of kids here, and the engines keep screaming constantly. Two boys standing within hearing distance of Evan are talking rapidly, but Evan doesn’t understand any of their Italian.
So he stays close to his father’s side, yellow helmet under his arm. Evan knows that he’s too old to be tugging at his dad’s sleeve, it’s a habit he took upon when he used to accompany him to race tracks and everything was still a bit intimidating there. He’s twelve now, it still gives him comfort.
Mathieu Rosier walks through the paddock and greets almost everyone by name, mechanics, Stuarts and other dads. Evan wishes less people would be glancing in their directions, but it’s business as usual with a former champion.
“I think you’re gonna like this track,” he smiles at Evan, then nods towards the garages. “But you’re gonna need some patience, no early exits.”
Evan just nods when his dad crouches down and helps him put on his gloves. There’s a small smile tugging at his lips at the helmet, a little too big for Evan to actually wrap his arm around it. He straightens back up and ruffles Evan’s hair. “Are you excited?"
Evan hesitates, shifting a bit. “I think so.”
“What’s that mean?”
Evan shrugs. “Like… excited but also-” He trails off.
His dad waits. Evan looks around for a moment, realizing how everyone else has seemingly gathered in groups. He’s been karting for a while and it’s always like this. Evan has never been the most outgoing child, he’s never enjoyed the fuzz that comes with having a dad that’s known in the world of racing.
But he’s thankful, it did make a lot of things easier. It’s not that people aren’t nice to Evan, he just wishes more compliments and respectful nods would be targeted towards the way he races, not his name. He knows why he’s having a hard time making friends here, because they don’t think he earned his place.
”What if I mess up?” Evan asks finally.
His dad doesn’t laugh, but also doesn’t rush to reassure him. He just mimics Evan’s shrug.
“Then you mess up,” he says gently. “That’s how you learn.”
Evan nods, not really sure what to do with that.
“Everyone starts with karting, you can’t be champion overnight,” his dad chuckles. “The point is that you keep trying, okay? Everyone is beatable.”
Evan nods again, trying to believe him.
“I’ll go talk to the Stuarts,” Evan’s dad says after a moment. “You’ll be okay?”
“Yeah,” Evan says quickly, giving his dad a quick smile.
His dad squeezes his shoulder and then disappears, leaving him alone at the edge of the track.
Evan feels stupid standing there like that, so he starts drifting towards the edge of the pitlane, pretending to adjust the strap of his helmet.
That’s when he notices the other boy.
He’s sitting on the low concrete wall, legs dangling. And next to him his helmet, also bright and yellow. Compared to Evan’s new one, it looks worn, with some stickers faded, the surface chipped and scratched. Maybe he crashes a lot, Evan thinks. His gaze drops to the boy’s hands.
His gloves don’t match. One is black like Evan’s, the other one is purple.
Evan looks a second too long and the boy glances up. His green eyes are curious, surrounded by freckles.
He sits up, shoulder pulling into a straighter position. “I lost one,” he calls. “Still works.”
“Oh-,” Evan takes a few awkward steps and blurts out, anxiety flaring. “No I thought, maybe you picked them on purpose.”
The boy blinks. “On purpose?”
“Yeah,” Evan says, words tumbling. “Maybe for, I don't know, Aerodynamics? Makes you faster or something.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then the boy snorts. “How’s that gonna make me faster?”
“I don’t know,” Evan smiles awkwardly, adjusting his helmet again. Then he glances over to the other kids. “But I’m sure we could convince some of the others that it works.”
The boy looks at him and then laughs, whole heartedly and with his head tipped back. Evan likes the sound of it, it helps ease the tension out of his own shoulders. Evan grins, waiting for the chuckle to fade.
“Aerodynamics,” the boy snorts again. “You have no idea about racing, do you?”
Evan presses his lips shut, then grins. “Actually, I do. I'd wanna be an engineer if racing doesn’t work out.”
“Nobody wants to be an engineer,” the boy tilts his head. “That’s boring. Formula 1 or nothing.”
“So you wanna be a driver, too?”
“Of course. I’ll start with winning the karting races.” he nods quickly. “and then I will win the Formula 1 championship.”
Evan grins. “Which team do you like?”
"Ferrari, of course. Everyone likes Ferrari.” he nods. “but I also heard that Mercedes wants to come back to F1.”
“That would be so cool.”
“Yeah,” the boy shrugs. “But they’ll probably want a German driver line up.” he says, nodding towards the french flag stitched onto Evan’s suit. “tough luck for us.”
Evan glances down, then back up. His eyes land on the British flag on the other’s suit. “Well, I'm half German. So I might race under that flag.”
The boy nods. “Which team do you like?”
“Hmm,” Evan considers the question for a moment. “Williams is not too bad.”
“Williams?” the boy scoffs, still fiddling with his gloves. “I’ve heard their new team principal is ruining the team.”
“I don’t know,” Evan shrugs. “My dad won in a Williams.”
“Oh,” the boy’s eyebrows twitch once and then he looks at Evan. “You’re the Rosier kid.”
“Yeah,” Evan nods awkwardly, wishing he could take that back. But the boy doesn’t seem to be appalled by that. Instead, his eyes widen.
“Cool!” he laughs. “Is it true that you live in Monaco?”
Evan nods. “I was born in Germany but grew up in Monaco."
“Is it as cool as everyone says?”
“Yeah,” Evan nods excitedly. “We watch all the races there because we’re not far away from the race track. My dad knows a lot of people and he takes me into the paddock with him when they’re racing in Monaco.”
“Wow,” the boy’s jaw drops. “This is so cool, I’ve never seen a Formula 1 race live.”
Evan talks before thinking. “You should come sometime.” He nods excitedly. “The karting track is great, too.”
The boy just nods, face softening a bit, like he’s not sure if this offer is serious or not.
“Cool helmet,” the boy ends up saying, nodding towards the yellow helmet under Evan’s arm.
“Yours too,” Evan nods back.
“My dad got it for me. He said I’m easier to spot on the track with a bright one.”
“Oh, true.” Evans glances over to the other boys, most have black helmets, elegant and intimidating. Some have colorful ones,with sponsor logos printed on. “I got mine because of my dad, too. He used to race with yellow.”
The boy nods. “Have you raced this track before?”
“No, have you?”
“Nope,” he shakes his head.
“Are you gonna be in Spain?"
The boy shrugs. “Don’t know yet.”
“Oh.” Evan frowns a little. “Why not?”
Another shrug, smaller this time. “Depends.”
“On what?”
The boy glances at him, like he’s deciding how honest to be. Then he says it plainly, no drama. “If my dad can pay for the flight.”
Evan’s mouth opens, then closes again. He nods, too fast. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
He doesn’t know what else to say to that. He stares back at the track, suddenly very aware of how often he’s heard adults talk about next weekend like it’s a given.
“Doesn’t matter,” The boy shrugs. “I’ll win anyway.”
“Ah, yeah?” Evan chuckles. “How are you gonna do that if you’re not even racing?”
“I’m really fast.” he says, self-confidence plastered across his face. “I don’t have to do every race, I just have to win enough of them.”
Evan is still grinning.
“Beating a Rosier is gonna be fun.” he grins, kicking his feet slightly against Evan’s leg from where he’s sitting
Evan sticks out his tongue.
“I’m Barty, by the way.” the kid says.
“I’m Evan.”
2009 - Barty
Barty has never seen a house like this.
There’s no gold or diamonds, nothing over the top. Just a lot of light and air, the clear, blue sea is visible from every window Barty comes across. Evan keeps walking through the house barefoot, a light feather in his steps, and calls something out in french that Barty doesn’t understand.
“Let’s bring this to my room,” Evan says, nodding towards Barty’s bag. “Where's my dad?” Evan asks, more to himself than to Barty.
The fact that it wasn’t Evan’s parents who picked Barty up at the airport, but a helicopter that flew him from Nizza to Monaco is still absurd to Barty.
A girl comes tumbling down the stairs and almost trips. “Hi!” she squeals and comes to a quick stop.
“Hey Pandora,” Barty smiles. He’s seen Evan’s twin before a few times, she claims to not care about racing, but she’s always wearing one of her dad’s old Rosier shirts when she comes to see her brother drive.
“Look,” she makes a quick jump. “I was almost as quick as you two.”
Evan just rolls his eyes. “Go away, Pandora. Where’s dad?”
Evan has been talking about some surprise on the phone for weeks, but it took some convincing for Barty’s dad to let his son spend the holiday here. The Rosiers phoned him multiple times, reassuring him that they’d pay for everything and yet, he kept refusing. Barty still has no idea how they had him agree after all. He’s not complaining, though.
Barty has never been to Monaco before. There’s karting tracks here, too, but accommodation would have been too expensive. The Rosiers offered him to stay with them during last year’s race, but Barty’s dad said no.
Monaco itself feels like a fever dream, like a backdrop for a movie. This is the place where the magic happens, Evan and him already agreed to go and see the race track later. The actual formula 1 race won’t take place for another week, but everything has already been prepared. And the way he knows the Rosiers, they managed to get the best seats. Maybe even a Paddock pass.
Barty can hear sound coming from the other room and the smell of herbs and garlic comes wavering through. Evan’s mum pokes her head through the door, her expression screams excitement. “You must be Barty!”
“Hi Miss Rosier,” Barty smiles awkwardly.
“God, you make me sound old.” She chuckles. “Come sit, dinner is almost ready.”
She hasn’t said much, but Barty thinks he can hear a slight accent, and remembers that Evan once told him that his mum is German.
Five minutes later they settle around the table, Evan, his parents, his sister, and Barty. He feels out of place, everyone on this table is perfectly golden blonde and neatly dressed. Barty’s ashy hair feels dull next to it, the color of his shirt is faded and it’s his last pair of pants that has less than five holes. He tries to sit up extra straight to make up for it.
“So,” Evan’s mum says with a smile and shovels an enormous amount of Spaghetti onto Barty’s plate. “I’m so glad you finally made it to Monaco, Evan talks about you constantly.”
“Mum!” Evan complains and shoots her a glance across the table.
But she just waves him off. “Ah, come on! Barty’s so fast. Do you think he’s coming to the race? Can he come over during the holiday?”
“Oh my god,” Evan groans, hiding behind his hands. The slight blush even shows from the spaces in between his fingers and helps Barty relax. “You’re so embarrassing,” he mumbles against his hands. Evan blushes easily, when people compliment him, when he climbs out of the race car all sweaty under his helmet, even when he gets angry. Barty likes the soft shade of pink on his cheeks every time he sees it.
Evan’s family just chuckles and Pandora winks at Barty.
“No, but we’re really happy to have you here, Barty.” She continues, exchanging a glance with her husband. “Mathieu says you wanna be in Formula 1, just like Evan.”
“Yes,” Barty nods, still not daring to start eating. “I mean, of course I do. Doesn't everyone? I think I’m ambitious enough to make it. I mean, I know it’s really hard and I probably won’t make it, but-” he starts babbling, mouth quicker than his mind, but stops when he realizes that everyone at the table is actually paying attention to what he’s saying. Barty feels a soft kick against his shin and Evan nods, reassuring.
“Well, I need to get another sponsor if I make it to Formula 3, I hope I’ll be good enough this year and maybe get a podium in the karting championship so somebody will take pity on me.” Barty says, words flowing easier with Evan pressing the flat of his foot against his leg.
“Well, I think you’re doing just fine.” Mr. Rosier nods. “I can help you find some sponsors if you need me to. But I think you won’t have any trouble finding them on your own.”
"Thank you.” Barty nods.
“That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Evan’s dad starts, taking a sip of his wine. “Evan is already on board with the idea, he was barely able to keep it to himself.” Mathieu chuckles.
Barty tilts his head, looking at Evan. Wherever this conversation is going, Evan looks like he has to physically restrain himself from saying what it is. Even with his lips firmly pressed together, the corner of his mouth is curled upwards, his eyes shining.
Mathieu puts his fork down. “You know that I bought the MCM karting team last year, and the other driver moved to Formula 3, so we have an open seat.”
Barty’s eyes widen, not daring to let the idea of what this could mean fully form before Mathieu finishes explaining. “Sorry?”
“If the two of you would like to, you could be racing on the same team. On mine.”
Barty can’t help the warm feeling in his chest, having a proper team, with Evan. “Really?” Barty looks back at Mathieu, uncertainty in his voice.
“We’d be teammates!” Evan leans towards him, excitedly fidgeting in his seat. “So you say yes?”
“Of course!” Barty looks at Mr. Rosier.
“Boys, think about it, okay? You don’t have to decide right now.”
“There’s nothing to decide, dad!” Evan claims.
Mathieu just nods. “You have to promise me that you’re friends first, and teammates second, okay?”
“Yeah, okay, promise.” Evan shrugs.
“I mean it, you’re gonna be racing with the same car. You have to be fair to each other and remember that this is supposed to be fun.”
But they’re barely listening anymore. The two are far too enthusiastic about the idea of racing together to even allow a negative thought to enter their minds.
Evan suddenly looks mischievous, his bright grin turning to a smirk. “Why are you not eating, huh?” he asks, nodding to Barty’s untouched plate and taking his fork.
Barty and him exchange a glance. And then, the second Barty takes his own fork, without a word said, they both start inhaling their food like they’ve been starving.
“Boys, slow down. You’ll choke on the spaghetti if you keep gobbling it down like that.”
“They’re just racing, love.” Evan’s dad snorts, but Barty is barely listening. Just watching Evan tear his still half full mouth open and swallowing another fork full of pasta. A fat blotch of sauce hits his nose and Barty has to concentrate to not laugh and end up spitting his pasta back onto the plate.
Evan’s parents are watching them, amused.
Pandora scoffs. “They’re always racing, huh?”
2011 - Evan
“I wish they had a grand prix here in Greece," Barty sighs, adjusting the sunglasses on his face.
Evan snorts, climbing down the stairs to the harbour behind him. “Why? So you’d have a reason to come here once a year?”
“Yeah, I mean if we make it to F1 that would be quite the destination.”
“When we make it to F1.” Evan insists.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Barty sticks out his tongue. “Hurry up, I wanna see that boat you’ve been talking about.”
“We rent it every year, dad will probably want to take it out tomorrow.” Evan explains. He strolls leisurely down the last steps to the harbor, already spotting the yacht at one of the docks. “This one.”
“Woah,” Barty says, taking his sunglasses off.
“Catch up!” Evan says, taking advantage of Barty coming to a stop to stare, and starts running full speed towards the dock.
“Hey!” Barty shouts back and comes after him quickly. Evan’s grown a lot this last year, and Barty has no chance against his longer legs.
“Unfair,” Barty pants as Evan reaches the yacht first. “You’re cheating.”
Evan grins, breathless but pleased. “It’s called genetics.”
Barty grabs the railing, glaring. “You weren’t this tall last season.”
Evan shrugs. “You should’ve kept up.”
“Shut up, I’m winning every other race against you.”
Evan climbs up the yacht first, Barty looks like he doesn’t even know how to get up there for a second. They drop their bags on the deck and kick off their shoes. The sun is starting to set, and Barty lets his sunglasses drop onto the floor of the yacht instead of putting them back on.
“You’ve only won the last one.” Evan shrugs. “I’ll win the next one.”
“Yeah, sure,” Barty snorts, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. Evan looks away. Not because he’s never seen Barty shirtless before, they’ve shared hotel rooms for a while now. The whole season last year, actually. No, Evan looks away because he wants to look. And it embarrasses him.
Evan settles on the edge of the yacht, letting his legs dangle. “You know you can’t go swimming in the harbour, right?” he glances at Barty when he drops down next to him.
“Yeah, obviously.” he says, straightening up and looking back to the harbour. Evan follows his gaze, sees a group of girls and turns back to look at the water.
Barty catches his gaze. “You can take your shirt off, too.”
“Why would I?”
“You look good, come on.” Barty kicks his elbow into Evan’s side. “They look at you, anyway.”
Evan just snorts, he appreciates what Barty is trying to do. But he couldn’t be further off. Evan is not ugly, he’s aware. His skin catches a tan easily in the sun, he has nice blue eyes and people always compliment him on his hair. Yeah, maybe they’d look at him if he takes his shirt off. Maybe he wouldn't even have to do that to catch their attention.
The point is that Evan simply doesn't care. He doesn't care about being watched, he just wants Barty to see him. To see him win, more specifically. So he rolls his eyes, and turns his gaze away from Barty.
The harbor empties slowly.
Lights flick off one by one, footsteps fade, voices disappear until it’s just the water and the quiet creak of the yacht beneath them. The sun has fully gone now, leaving the sky dark. It's almost impossible to see stars back home in Monaco, there’s too much light pollution. But here in Greece, they’re bright against the black sky.
“I can’t believe Mercedes is really back.” Barty says when he’s sprawling out on the deck of the yacht, the full length of his body spreads across the floor.
Evan snorts. “I thought you'd wanna drive a Ferrari?"
“I mean, yeah.” Barty shrugs. “I’d drive for all of them to be honest. As long as it’s F1.”
“Mercedes is killer, though.” Evan sighs, laying down next to Barty, looking up at the sky. “What a comeback.”
“Right?” Barty nods. “And it’s just their first season. Imagine what they can do in a few years.”
“Imagine what we could do sitting in a car like this.”
“You ever think about how long it’ll actually take?” Barty asks.
“All the time,” Evan says.
“If we keep doing well,” Barty continues, “maybe F3 in a couple years. Then F2. And if we win that-”
“-maybe we actually get a seat,” Evan finishes.
Barty hums. “You definitely will.”
Evan turns his head slightly. “You don’t know that.”
Barty does too, squinting at him in the dark. “Come on. The whole racing world’s already in love with you.”
“Maybe,” Evan sighs. “But you have great sponsors already. They’ll do everything to get you in.”
Barty goes still for a moment.
The yacht rocks gently. Somewhere, water slaps against stone.
“Do you think we can actually make it?” Barty asks. Evan thinks that it’s out of the question for Barty. He's brilliant, and that’s something everyone agrees on. He doesn't need a famous dad, he already has expectations tied to his own name. “Same team again, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Evan smiles in the darkness, then turns his head to Barty. “But we’re friends first, teammates second. Remember?”
“I don’t know why everyone thinks we can’t be racing each other and still be best friends?” Barty frowns, turning onto his side fully. He kicks his leg against Evan’s and then leaves it there.
Evan shrugs and Barty sighs. “That’s stupid. We’re in the same karting team and nothing’s changed. You celebrate if I win, and I celebrate if you win.”
“It’s as easy as that.” Evan agrees, the certainty in Barty’s voice makes his chest lighter.
“Not that you’re ever winning against me.” Barty grins.
Evan turns, shoving him. “Shut up.”
Barty grabs his wrist and chuckles. “Admit it.”
“Admit what?” Evan scoffs, trying to pull his hand back.
“That I’m a better driver then you.”
“Never,” Evan sticks his tongue out.
“I’m better than you.” Battery repeats, grimacing.
“At what?” Evan scoffs, wriggling his other hand free and grabbing Barty's waist pushing him. He’s still not wearing his shirt, and his skin is warm under Evan’s hands. “Being a fucking idiot?”
Barty snorts and then Evan starts tickling him, sudden and merciless. Barty yelps, twisting away, laughter tearing out of him before he can stop it. He tries to shrug away, but Evan’s always been stronger than him, so he just folds over and kicks his legs.
“Stop- Evan,” Barty complains, but he’s still laughing. His legs tangle with Evan’s, knees bumping. Barty’s half on top of Evan, their hands everywhere and both boys are breathless and laughing.
And in the middle of it, when Barty shifts, his lips brush Evan’s cheek.
Evan freezes, just for a second, then pulls back and shrugs Barty off.
Barty seems oblivious, he’s breathless but still grinning, and flicks his hand against Evan’s head. “Asshole, you know I’m ticklish.”
Evan laughs too, forcing it, rolling away before the moment can become something else. He tells himself it was nothing. An accident. Just how close they always are.
He stares back up at the sky, breath uneven, cheeks warm. And decides to file this away as nothing.
2012 - Barty
“I swear,” Evan sighs when he pushes the door to the hotel room open. “These portions were a joke.”
Barty laughs, kicking off his shoes. “Right? I feel like I didn't eat at all.”
“I don’t know why my mum always wants to go to places like this.” Evan rolls his eyes, throwing himself on top of the bed.
“To celebrate all your successes.”
Evan snorts. “Do you think the next time I win something this big she’ll let me choose?”
“No,” Barty plops down next to him. “You could be F1 champion five times and she’d still make you eat that abstract shit.”
“True,” Evan says, propping himself up on his elbows. “So what do we do? I’m still starving.”
Barty straightens a little, mock-serious. “Well. I was thinking… I should probably take the Formula BMW champion out to eat.”
Evan’s eyes light up. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Barty says. “Big celebration. My treat.”
“Okay,” Evan says easily. “Can I request pizza?”
Barty snorts. “Absolutely not. I’m broke.”
Evan laughs. “Then why are you inviting me?”
Barty shrugs. “You won. We’ll go to the kiosk.”
Twenty minutes later they're both sitting cross-legged on the bed, eating dry fruit loops and drinking diet coke. The sun has long set but the city is bright enough outside.
“This is so much better,” Evan muses, mouth still half full.
“Dinner of champions,” Barty grins, catches a green one with his mouth and kicks Evan’s knee. He half tumbles over and drops a handful of cereal onto the bed.
“Hey,” he complains. “You’ll be sleeping on this side tonight.”
Their legs stay tangled after that during the whole hour they take to debrief every single thing Evan has done on the track today to win. He was amazing to watch. Evan’s family and Barty have been spending the whole day at the race track to watch Evan win. Barty misses racing him, he won the karting championship first, then Evan followed.
He moved to Formula BMW while Barty’s doing his season in Formula Renault. But if everything goes according to plan, maybe in one or two years they’ll be back together in Formula 3.
Evan is animatedly reproducing his last overtake, a really good one, admittedly, and Barty thinks that winning really suits him.
Barty wants to be the best just as much as everyone else. The goal is clear, make it to Formula 1.
He wants to win too. Desperately. But standing this close to Evan’s success, this is the actual goal. Not just F1. Or any other championship.
Doing it with him.
“Why are you staring?” Evan asks suddenly.
Barty blinks. “What? I’m not.”
“You totally are,” Evan says, smiling. “What’s going on in that head, huh?”
Barty’s brain stalls. He reaches for the easiest thing. “We should drink.”
Evan raises an eyebrow. “We’re athletes.”
“Come on,” Barty says. “You just won. We’re seventeen. That’s old enough to toast with champagne.”
“Barty;” Evan chuckles. “that’s a stupid idea.”
“No, it's a great idea.” Barty kicks Evan’s leg again before letting them rest against each other. “We’re gonna be spraying champagne every time we’re on the podium. We might as well know what the fuzz is about.”
Not that this is actually a good or convincing argument, but it still seems to work. “Fine,” Evan looks amused. “Just one.”
Barty quickly gets dressed again and tells Evan to wait for him. He rushes down to the hotel bar and brags about how the current Formula BMW champion is wanting to celebrate, the son of F1 legend Mathieu Rosier. They don’t even ask for an ID or anything, just delighted about having a high profile guest like this, and Batrty walks back with a free bottle of champagne and two empty glasses.
Evan is still leaning against the headboard in his boxers and the fancy button up he put on for dinner, glancing up from his phone when Barty shuts the door behind him.
“Look what I got.”
“No way.”
“Way.” Barty drops back down on the bed.
So Evan lets the bottle pop and they each have a glass. Then a second when the box of fruit loops is abandoned. And a third one, which effectively empties the bottle, when Evan beats him in Mario Kart for the tenth time.
“How are you so bad at Mario kart but so good at actual racing?” Evan snorts.
“I’m just unlucky with items tonight.” he groans.
Evan yawns softly and lets the controller drop. A glance to the window tells Barty that the sun is about to come back up. They don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, Mathieu always gives them a day off after a race and they can sleep in for as long as they wish. But Evan looks knackered, he’s never sleeping well before important races and Barty knows that winning can be just as exhausting as losing.
All the tension of the day, all of the adrenaline leaving your body at once. Surrounded by people the whole time, then the podium, people wanting to celebrate, a quick shower and dinner.
“You’re exhausted,” Barty says.
“You kept insisting on one more race,” Evan mumbles. “That’s on you. As if you’d make me lose if you change player. Who the fuck drives with Bowser.”
“Uh sorry, fucking Princess Peach.” Barty answers and puts his controller on the bedside table.
“I’ve still won.”
“Champion privilege,” Barty replies, stretching. “I had to let you win a few.”
Evan scoffs, eyes half closed. “Yeah sure.”
Barty turns off the tv and sinks down deeper into the pillows. The hotel bed is fucking comfortable, and with the tv off it’s also dark enough to just fall asleep right away. The sunrise is just rising and the cool light is weak through the semi-transparent curtains. A soft ping makes Barty groan and reach for his phone on the bedside table.
“Who’s texting you at this ungodly hour?”
Barty chuckles. “That girl from the restaurant, I think they’re at a party.” He doesn't text back, just puts the phone back down.
Evan doesn't answer, just lays there with his eyes closed, no expression on his face.
Barty rolls to his side, looking at him. “Did you not like her friend?”
“No,” Evan answers plainly.
“Why not? You don’t have to be shy.”
“I’m not shy,” Evan says, reopening his eyes just to roll them. Barty’s tried talking to him about girls before, but Evan never really engages in these conversations, just shrugs them off.
Barty smirks. “You’re always like that. So shy. You know you’d do well with girls, right?”
Evan hesitates. “I don’t know.”
“I mean, come on,” Barty snorts. “You’re tall, good looking, you win everything. That’s like… boyfriend material.”
Evan stalls and finally turns his head, just looks at Barty. Barty can watch him think in real time, his expression shifts just enough that his uncertainty shows. “I don’t think I like girls.”
“Huh?” Barty grins, propping himself up on his elbows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Evan says slowly, sitting up too. His features are soft in the lowlight, but his expression stays blank. He’s barely looking at Barty. “I’ve never liked a girl. And I don’t think I ever will.”
Barty opens his mouth but has zero idea how to answer that. The concept of Evan having no interest in girls comes weirdly surprising to him. Should he have caught onto it? Does that mean Evan likes-
“So, dudes then?”
Evan presses his lips together. He straightens up against the headboard, like he’s trying to disappear into it. “I’m not sure, maybe I just don’t like anyone.”
“You like me.”
“That’s not the same,” Evan snorts.
“Have you kissed a guy?”
“No,” Evan admits.
“I mean,” Barty shrugs. “We could. Just to see if that’s something you like.”
He’s not sure where exactly this is coming from, but Barty tends to run his mouth before he thinks. So he can’t really take the offer back now, can he?
Evan just raises his eyebrows, looking unimpressed and pauses before he speaks again. “You want me to kiss you?”
“Just to see if that works for you!”
“I know you’d make this weird,” Evan grimaces. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Hey, no,” Barty says, grabbing Evan’s arm. “It’s not weird, okay? It’s fine. And it’s okay if you’re still trying to figure things out.”
Barty looks at him expectantly and waits for Evan to answer.
“Sure?”
“Yeah, of course,” Barty nods. “Just don’t fall in love with me, okay?” He winks.
Evan groans. “Fuck you.”
“So?” Barty asks.
“Fine.” Evan rumbles, but Barty thinks he catches him glancing at his lips for a second. He’s not sure, though, the room is too dark to really tell.
Barty grins and leans in. He’s done this a hundred times before, kissing girls. One hand to Evan’s waist, one to his neck, slightly tilting his jaw. Evan is tense under Barty’s hands, but he stays just where he’s being held.
And then Barty kisses Evan.
He tastes like the champagne and fruit loops, just as expected. What Barty didn’t expect is that it feels normal. Sure, Evan is bigger than the girl he’s kissed before, broader, and he’s familiar in every sense of the word. The skin of his neck is soft, and Barty notices the faint smell of Evan’s aftershave.
It’s different than the kisses he’s had before, but it feels right. There’s nothing off about it. Their legs knock together and Barty can feel Evan’s hand awkwardly against his side, like he’s unsure where to put it. It brings a warm feeling to Barty’s stomach he knows from his past kisses.
Evan’s lips are soft, maybe too soft, and for a moment Barty wonders what it would feel like if he slipped his tongue past them. Instead, he pulls back. They look at each other for a moment, Barty should drop his hands and crack a joke. See if Evan is okay what just happened, that was the point of it, right? Barty curls his fingers into the fabric of Evan’s shirt instead.
“Is that what you call a kiss?” Barty scoffs, grinning to cover up whatever feeling just arose in his chest.
Evan just frowns. “What?”
“I’ll show you.” It sounds a little like a question when Barty’s voice goes up at the last syllabus. Evan wets his lip with the tip of his tongue and nods.
Barty leans in again, softly brushing Evan’s lip with the tip of his tongue. He hesitates, then parts his lips. Evan makes a small, surprised sound, his body going rigid under Barty’s hands. He tilts his head enough for Barty to go deeper, noses brushing as Evan’s hands gently curl into Barty’s sides.
Evan kisses back and Barty exhales sharply through his nose. The taste is stronger now, the bitter note of the champagne, the sweet sugary taste of the cereal, and something else that’s undeniably just Evan.
This time it’s Evan who pulls back, eyes wide when he looks at Barty. “I-,” he starts.
Barty lets his hands drop. “See?” his voice pitches up, trying to cover up his heart beating a bit faster than he would want it to.
Evan just nods, swallowing. “Uhm. Thanks.”
“So?” Barty raises his eyebrows and sits back a bit, trying to make a joke out of it.
Evan’s lips slowly curl upwards. “Disgusting, didn't help at all.”
Barty laughs, relief sharp and shaky. He lifts his hand and flips Evan off. “Wow. Rude.”
“Don’t fall in love with me.” Evan mocks Barty’s words and rolls his eyes.
Barty grabs his pillow and hits Evan straight in the face, who’s so unprepared he comes crashing back against the headboard.
“Hey,” he chuckles, “Is that how you treat a champion?”
Barty is relieved, as a pillow fight is a much better reason for his pulse to be racing - at least a better one than kissing his best friend.
