Chapter Text
“And here we have Mercedes newest surprise on the grid! Nineteen year old Kiyomasa Yamainu from Makochi, Japan, who was called last second to be the second driver for the team. Kiyomasa, can I steal you for a moment?”
“Absolutely. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Wonderful to meet you too! What’s it like coming back to racing after all these years being gone? Has it been as exciting as you hoped?”
“It’s been overwhelming I will say, but it feels amazing to get back in the car - you know? It took a lot to get here and I’m just glad I have gotten a moment to achieve my childhood dream.”
“What drew you back to this life? I heard your engineer had a lot to do with bringing you back?”
In the two years since his mother’s arrest and trial, Kiyomasa would be lying to himself if he said that he had never considered going back to the racetrack.
Street racing was one thing. He came alive on the streets - the lights of Tokyo blurring behind him as he raced against countless others. This thrill was the only thing comparable to what it had felt like when he was racing in the Formula cars. He had tried to live a life where he didn’t inevitably end up back on the streets - flying by others at 145 kilometers per hour - but that slow life wasn’t for him. It would never be for him and maybe that’s what he had taken away from the Formula series. He longed for the days where he was still in those cars, where he could feel the wind whipping against his face and feel the engine hum below him.
There was no point in lingering on the fact that he never had a shot of going back to those days. The community had cast him out when they had heard what he had done. They had never cared to ask the full story. Why should they? The only person who had had his back was his race engineer at the time, Pietro.
Pietro had been a kind man. Kiyomasa had felt horrible when he realized that he had never responded to any of his texts checking in on him. The months after the trial had left him isolated and broken and if it hadn’t been for Shishitoren, he wasn’t sure if he would have ever found his way back to any form of racing.
That’s how he ended up here. Sitting on the trunk of his car. Staring at the text that Pietro had sent him.
Pietro (McLaren): Hey kid. It’s been a while and I’m not even sure this is your number anymore. But it’s worth a shot.
Pietro (McLaren): If this is your number - give me a call. I have something to talk with you about.
His hands shook as he processed the words of the text. Why would Pietro want to talk to him, of all people? It was nearly two in the morning in Tokyo. If Pietro was still in England, that would mean it was close to six in the evening if Kiyomasa’s math was right. But, despite his still shaking hands, he pressed his contact with a sigh and called Pietro for the first time in two years.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. For a moment, Kiyomasa wondered if Pietro had texted him by mistake, but he resisted the urge to hang up. There had to be a reason for this. Pietro wouldn’t just text him like this for no reason. In all the years they had worked together, he had learned how the other man acted. He was never a fan of texts, he always preferred a call. So why text now - why not call first?
“Kiyo?” Pietro’s voice brought him immediately back to the first day that he met the man. A rainy day in Surrey, when he was barely 15 and being brought properly into the McLaren Junior Program. He had been the only comforting person in that building. “Kiyomasa?”
“Hi Pietro.” His English was rusty at best. Nobody in his life spoke the language anymore. “Apologies. I know I sound rough and -”
“It’s so good to hear your voice again.” Pietro cut him off. He could hear a sniffle in his voice. Why was he crying? “How are you? I surely thought you had died when you just stopped responding. We were,” he stumbled over his words slightly, “I was so worried.”
“Sorry. Things got dark after the trial.” He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to tell Pietro everything. “I should have reached out when I finally could.” He lacked the words in English to say that he missed Pietro, but had given up on ever reaching out again. He had failed the team, lashing out like he did. They had let him go for a reason.
“That doesn’t matter anymore.” There was defeat in Pietro’s voice. The topic was still clearly sore for him. “By chance - do you still drive?”
“I drive cars in general, yes. But I no longer race.” That wasn’t the full truth, but he knew better than to give up a secret like his street racing. “I did do rally for a season and that was fun, but it nearly gave my girl a heart attack the first time I crashed, so I stopped.”
Pietro laughed and it was such a comforting sound. “You do seem like the type to do rally racing. Though the girlfriend is a surprise.”
“Eh - what can I say? Things got better.” It was starting to dawn on him how much he truly missed Pietro. He had always been there when things had gotten rough. He had always been the one by his side, the only adult really looking out for him.
“Look I know this is a very long shot and you can say no. But is there any chance you are still able to drive a Formula car?”
The question didn’t fully surprise Kiyomasa, but it felt like a dream had come true. All those nights wishing that he could be back in those cars, back on the racetrack, longing for a life that he couldn’t have anymore - that he didn’t deserve anymore. He doubted that without any training he’d really be able to race, but he would be a fool if he let this chance go.
“We had a situation with our secondary driver. He’s out ‘til the end of the season due to a surgery after a crash.” Pietro had continued, unaware of Kiyomasa’s current internal crisis. “I’m not sure if you even watch anymore, but, as you know, we would pull our F2 driver into the mix as he’s our current reserve, but -” He trailed off slightly.
“But what?”
“Our reserve is a junior driver with the team, but he got arrested in his home country and well - he is not racing.” Kiyomasa tried not to laugh. It was unfortunate enough, but it still was funny.
“Nice to know I’m not the only McLaren Junior driver getting arrested,” Kiyomasa joked only slightly, but still gaining a laugh from his former engineer.
“I mean - McLaren is falling apart, but I’m actually working with Mercedes now.” Now that was an actual shock to him. Pietro was always the most loyal person to his team, he always had been. He wondered what he would have had to happen for him to give up on a team and move. “There are other drivers that we could easily call in, but there are none with the training needed. I know it would be hard to jump right back into it, but you were the first person I thought of when they started freaking out ‘cause they couldn’t find someone.”
Pietro was rambling. He always did that when he was nervous about something. Kiyomasa had realized that over the years that they worked together. The fact that he still thought about him, still considered him a good enough driver to maybe, possibly do this seemingly impossible task; that said enough to Kiyomasa. He remembered how he had always said that he was one of the best drivers that he had ever worked with. That seemed like worthless praise, stuff he would say to anyone.
But could this actually turn out different this time around? He wasn’t the kid that he used to be. He wasn’t under the thumb of some controlling mother who claimed she wanted the best for him. This time, he could do it for himself..
“We’d have to fly you to the UK for a few days, but by Thursday - you’ll have to be on a flight to Vegas. The team will pay for everything. You’re gonna have to do as much sim work as you can physically fit into a few days' visit to headquarters. Knowing you, that won’t be that hard.” Pietro was rambling on about logistics in the very Pietro way that he always did. “You’ve gone oddly quiet. I know this is a lot to process - especially since you’re out of the sport, but if you’re willing to give us a chance, we are willing to back you, even if it's for one race.”
Kiyomasa sat, thinking for a moment longer. This was his shot. This was his shot for the life that had been ripped away from him.
He leaned back against his car properly, looking up at the sky. “So when do I leave for England?”
It was interesting, traveling back to Europe after being more or less stuck in Japan. It was honestly a surprise that his passport was still legal.
He didn’t know what strings Pietro pulled, but he would have to thank whoever was courteous enough to get him first class tickets. The fourteen and a half hour flight to London was always daunting. He remembered the years taking the flights stuck in the very back, while his mother and father enjoyed spending his money in first class. At least this time, he would be alone until Pietro picked him up.
It was odd knowing he would see Pietro again. Part of him has just expected his life to lead him away from racing permanently. Pietro said that he had assumed that he had died when he had gone no contact. Kiyomasa didn’t blame him for that thought. He had basically erased himself from the world as that trial had tried to make him into a monster.
If he hadn’t met Choji, he was sure he’d still be stuck in his own head, spiraling out of control.
Shishitoren had given him his life back. He wasn’t sure why his mind was lingering on them today. Maybe it was because he was leaving for the first time in ages. Or maybe it was because he would be alone since the first time he met everyone in Shishitoren. If it wasn’t Choji talking to him, it was Jo. And sometimes Inu-chan begged him for help on his English homework or whatever project he was working on. Or sometimes he would spar with Arima. But it was Kota who truly never left his side.
Dating Kota had come naturally to him. It was a surprise at first. She had kissed him on what was apparently their third date, when they had been studying for midterms together. All those nights spent studying together had apparently counted as dates and he had been clueless. But ever since then, they had been dating.
Two years and two new partners added to their relationship later, Kiyomasa was happy. Beyond happy really. Things were going so well and he hoped they would understand why he left the way he did. Leaving a text right before he took off was a bad decision, but he still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say to them. They wouldn’t understand right now. He would just have to apologize when he returned.
Things would be fine, they would have to be.
He settled back into the seat, pulling Toma’s hoodie around him like a blanket. He hoped that this would work out for the better.
“So you and Pietro go back?”
“Oh yes - absolutely. He was one of my biggest supporters when I raced in Formula Two and I’m glad we had the chance to reconnect.”
“He has a reputation for trying to really bend the rules and trying new things that are usually unconventional. In your time knowing him, has that proven true?”
“That’s definitely true. I think for this race, I was his unconventional tactic.”
It was raining in London. Which shouldn’t have been a surprise.
He hadn’t had time to pack much. There wasn’t a lot to pack. Pietro had said they would be able to get him whatever he needed - it was just more important for him to be able to race. So standing here, with just his backpack and a worn duffle bag, he felt out of place.
It wasn’t his first time traveling internationally by himself, but it was his first without a goal or a team to help him through customs and the maze that was London Heathrow airport. Things seemed to be going smoothly so far. Customs was one thing, but finding his way to the parking garage Pietro said that he would pick him up was another.
On the plane, he had started second guessing himself. Why him? Why now after all these years? Surely Pietro was leading him along or someone had taken his phone. Part of him knew that he had mattered to the older man. He had become like a parent to him, more so than his parents had ever been. He had taken him under his wing, kept him as safe as he could during his time with McLaren. He wondered what he would think of him now?
The parking garage was disgustingly humid. He was glad that he had tied his hair up when they had landed. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Pietro had said that he would know and now Kiyomasa understood why he failed to give any other clarifying details. He highly doubted that he would ever drive something like the other cars he saw waiting to pick up other passengers. Nothing was flashy like Pietro was. Nothing screamed rich, powerful and happy like Pietro.
And then he saw it.
The black Ferrari 488 GTB, lingering right at the edge of the swarm of cars. He was right. He stood out in a very quintessential Pietro way.
As soon as Kiyomasa had noticed the car, Pietro must have distinguished him from the crowd of other people. Seeing him smile and walk his way over in his direction filled his heart with…something. Maybe it was joy. Maybe it was relief. He wasn’t able to really tell. He didn’t really care to identify the emotion. All that mattered now was the fact that he was reunited with Pietro.
“You have grown!” Pietro said as he got closer and Kiyomasa could have cried. Hearing his voice again, this time in person, brought him back to all those months racing together. It was kind. It was healing to an extent.
“Hi Pietro,” he tried to bite back the tears that were welling in his eyes. He was trying to resist the urge to run to him and hug him.
There was a tension in the air, almost like neither one of them wanted to make the first move. But he could almost see how Pietro was holding himself back, as if he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.
Kiyomasa couldn’t help himself–he ran the few steps to his former race engineer, wrapping him in a large hug. Pietro felt like home, warm and inviting. He hadn’t known how much he had longed for a hug like this, a hug from someone who was so familiar, someone he knew loved him. His partners were one thing, but this felt right. This felt like how things were supposed to be.
“God kid, you’ve changed so much. I barely recognized you.” Pietro’s voice broke as he started to cry. “I’m so glad that you’re here. I’m so glad that you made it safely.”
“I’m glad you remembered me still.” It hurt to admit that truth. At one point, he had assumed that he had forgotten him with time, as Pietro found another kid like him to mentor.
“Could never forget you. Not ever.” He finally wrapped his arms around him, holding him closer than Kiyomasa expected. “You deserve this - more than anyone else on that grid right now.”
“Not sure I believe that.” People like him didn’t get second chances. Not in a world that moved as quickly as Formula One did. He didn’t give himself a moment to linger on the thoughts of self doubt - that would do nothing good for him now. He was here. He was here in Pietro’s arms and that was all that mattered.
“You don’t have to believe it, but just know I do.” Pietro gave him a tight hug and placed a kiss on the top of his head, like Hiragi-san usually did. Like a father would. He pulled out slightly from the hug, holding him at an arm’s length “Come on, let’s get you home. Riley has a meal all ready for you. I’m assuming you got some sleep on the plane?”
“Yes sir. I slept the majority of the way here.” He smiled up at the taller man. “Wasn’t the best sleep, but who cares.”
“Good - that means after we eat, we can talk about all the training you have to do in preparation for the race.” Pietro started leading him towards the car. It felt right to be back here. He only wished he had his partners by his side. He hoped the longing would go away as the week carried on and the more intense training started, but he feared it wouldn’t.
The Ferrari was surprisingly comfortable. The silence between them this time wasn’t tense and awkward. Things had gone back to where they were before everything that had happened. His mind was stuck in Makochi, with his girlfriend, who was probably getting ready for bed, with one boyfriend who was staying up to listen to music, and the other boyfriend asleep after a long day of work. He was going to have to work on the pining if he was going to continue this life.
“What’s on your mind?” Kiyomasa had barely noticed that they had started driving. “You went quiet and that’s usually not a good sign.”
“I am just thinking. I probably need to call my girlfriend.” He tried to act like leaving Kota, Ren and Toma wasn’t tearing him up inside. “I kind of forgot to tell her.”
Running laps at Silverstone was like talking to an old friend after years. He had only competitively raced here three times, but he had loved it.
The W14 was similar to the W15 he would be racing that weekend. A similar set up, meant for training and to get him familiar with what to expect. Kiyomasa was surprised with how much of this driving he remembered. He wouldn’t be setting any records, but he would do decent. That was all that really mattered.
“Your lap time is 1 minute 29 seconds,” Pietro said over the radio as he made his way around Stowe corner. “Box this lap and you’re done.”
In response, all Kiyomasa did was press the button to box.
Pulling into pit lane as Pietro instructed, he let his mind relax a bit. With an extremely early morning start, today had been the hardest day of training. There were things that he needed to do to prove he was ready to race again by this afternoon, and if the data showed he was ready, he would be done with all the training.
Switching to P0, he waited for the thumbs up from one of the mechanics before pulling himself out of the car. The soreness in his legs and back had settled into a dull ache. Maybe he could nap before he ran another few rounds on the simulator.
“You did fantastic, Kiyo!” Pietro gave him a warm smile, patting his helmet instead of pulling him into a hug. “You’re going to give them a real run for their money in Vegas.”
“You think I'm ready,” Kiyomasa asked, pulling off his helmet and his balaclava in his other hand. The sweat made his hair stick to his forehead. He had forgotten how intense driving like this was.
“More than ready. You can keep the car on the track and that’s what matters.” Pietro’s confidence was contagious. He knew that, regardless of how this race went, Pietro would have his back. “You’re done here for the day.”
“No simulator practice?” Kiyomasa cocked his head slightly.
“No. Your data says everything. Take the night to rest and make sure you’re packed.” That was a very welcome surprise.
With a small wave, he left Pietro and the Silverstone pit lane behind for the evening.
formularacers: Mercedes succeeds in getting a last minute super license exception right before the Las Vegas Grand Prix. Instead of their usual reserve driver, Kiyomasa Yamainu will be running in the team’s second seat.
moose_talks_motorsports: who is this kid??? He’s not on any f2 or f3 records for this year,,, don’t tell me merc just pulled someone LITERALLY off the street 💀
moosemotorsports: damn are they THAT desperate to try to beat Verstappen - good luck to that kid i guess, hope he gets treated better than the RB second seat
It was ten hours to Las Vegas from London. At least it was ten hours in first class.
Pietro had encouraged him to rest, so he wouldn’t be as exhausted tomorrow when he had to race. He had mentioned how Kiyomasa would be the last driver to arrive, missing media day by a few hours, which he was glad for. Judging by how awkward his PR pictures had turned out, he would similarly be too awkward to even add to the conversation anyway. If they asked him why he was here, why he was back racing after so many years, he wasn’t even sure if he would have an answer.
Pietro was asleep in the seat beside him, clearly taking his own advice. That left Kiyomasa alone with his thoughts in the mostly quiet airplane. His phone still lacked service, and he hadn’t had the thought to download any playlists, so he was left with the quiet hum and the sound of a pen scratching against the paper in his sketchbook.
He didn’t know when he started this habit. Maybe it was when he had talked to that first therapist he had met with all those years ago, the one that had told him to find a hobby that helped distract him from the events he hated to mention, something that let him dream of a world where he could just exist as himself.
This sketchbook had started like all others - a drawing of his car. But it had slowly turned into sketches of his friends in Shishitoren; of Togame sleeping on the stage of the Ori, of Wanijimi and Arima sparring, of Kota laid out on top of his car looking at the stars. There were drawings of Toma leaned over a car as he worked - a memory from the day they had to rebuild an engine together. There were sketches of modifications to his car with sloppy notes on the sides of what needed to be done and what parts had to be ordered. There were drawings of Ren showing off the little creatures that were in one of the video games that he was playing. There was more life contained in this sketchbook than any of his others. Before this sketchbook specifically, all of his drawings had been analyses of cars he had seen or concept designs for the dream car that he had always wanted.
He had opened up a blank page, debating on what he wanted to draw - what he could draw. He treated his sketchbook the same way Toma treated his journal - it was his way of processing emotions, keeping track of his life. Maybe that’s why he had started drawing the car he would be driving this weekend. He had seen the sketches and early designs when he had toured Mercedes headquarters. It was a sleek design. Pietro had said there was no way that they were able to defeat the rocket ship that Redbull and McLaren had built for this year, but that was also not something that he would have to worry about. His goal was to keep the car on the track.
But in his drawing, he drew the car that would get him to pole position. He drew himself getting pole position, celebrating a victory and a first race. It wasn’t something that he could make happen, not with this car and not with who he was. The drawing lacked the life that seemed to teem in his other drawings. Maybe it was the lack of color. He didn’t have his normal markers - if he remembered correctly, they were sitting in the trunk of his car - but this pen was doing a fine job.
He sat back in the slightly cramped seat, staring at the drawing. It was a good ideal. The car he drew had his number - 45 - proudly displayed on the front and some idealistic form of himself stood up and cheered at a won race. But it still lacked something - lacked someone.
This was a future that he had always hoped for. Racing in Formula One, driving a top team, having a chance to win a race, fight for a championship. But this was also the dream of a young boy - who knew nothing else but winning races and the consequences of his actions if he didn’t win. That young boy was long dead though, with the man Kiyomasa had become left standing in his wake.
While he thought, he started to draw again. A race win celebration, this time with him surrounded by his friends and the people he loved the most. This was what the current Kiyomasa dreamed of - a life where he could make them happy. Even if this didn’t turn into something long term, or even if it was just for this race, he could at least earn a little money to help. Maybe he could give a little extra towards Kota’s tuition, or to Toma’s hospital bills. He just wanted to help where he could.
Maybe that’s why he raced nowadays.
“We’re about to land. Sit up.” Pietro pulled him by his shoulder slightly, making him sit up.
“Take a nice nap?” Pietro laughed slightly at what he could only assume was his very tired and very confused look on his face. “I woke up and you were dead to the world.”
“I don’t even remember falling asleep. One moment I was drawing, the next some weird old man is waking me up.” He grabbed his sketchbook from the tray, closing it from the prying eyes of the engineer. Lights outside caught his attention. Despite it almost being the dead of night as they arrived, the city lit up the sky. It was overwhelming as it was beautiful. He had seen Tokyo lit up like this, but this had something Tokyo didn’t.
“They call it the city that never sleeps for a reason,” Pietro said, catching onto how Kiyomasa was seemingly enraptured by the lights. “It’s bright, busy and in three days, you’ll be racing the streets at this time.”
Kiyomasa didn’t really know what to think of that.
Despite all the traveling he did in Formula Two, he had never traveled to America. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected when they landed. The airport was nice; it looked like every single other major airport that Kiyomasa had been to, but no other airport had slot machines in the middle of the hallways. He followed Pietro like a lost dog. He could easily be lost in the sea of people heading towards customs, but Pietro couldn’t. He was like Toma, tall and broad and easy to find in a rapidly moving crowd.
Pietro had handled all of the required paperwork, making customs a breeze. He had heard the horror stories of drivers being detained by customs because one part of the paperwork wasn’t necessarily correct. It all went surprisingly smoothly. He was surprised by the lack of press as he caught up to the engineer. Maybe there were more important things happening in the Formula One world, but from the way Pietro had talked, he had expected some people to be interested in getting a look at the stranger Mercedes pulled into this race.
“No press?” Kiyomasa asked as they waited at the luggage carriage. He still carried his backpack, but Pietro had insisted on getting him a proper suitcase for this trip.
“They’re probably lurking around the track and the paddock. Free Practice One just finished. You’ll worry about them more tomorrow.” Pietro was texting someone, barely looking up from his phone. “I’m trying to get us access to said paddock tonight so you aren’t as overwhelmed, but apparently we can’t break that rule.”
“That’s a rule?” Kiyomasa raised an eyebrow. He guessed that made sense, but it was an inconvenience at a moment like this. He wanted to see the track, he wanted to see the car, but he guessed it would have to wait.
“It’s a dumb rule.” Pietro mumbled, frustrated and shoving his phone in his pocket. “So it’s straight to the hotel for the both of us.”
“Can we get food?” Kiyomasa looked up at him expectantly.
“Whatever you want. But first, hotel and a shower.” Pietro left his side to go grab the suitcases.
@kymillman: FIRST GLANCE AT A NEW FACE ON THE GRID
Mercedes's newest driver is here. A young Kiyomasa Yamainu is pictured here discussing tactics with his engineer, Pietro Accetta, as they walk to the garage this morning. Nobody knows what to expect from the newest driver, but rumor has it Mercedes is quite happy with the pick.
The track was chaotic.
Kiyomasa was in his locker room, taking a moment before he had to get ready for his first Free Practice. The Mercedes team kit he had worn this morning didn’t feel right, but his normal clothes would make him stand out more. So, black team kit, some new jeans that Pietro had bought for him and the same worn out Converse that he always wore. He thought it looked fashionable. Kota would say he looked dorky, but she always did like him looking somewhat dorky.
His race suit and helmet were sitting in one of the lockers. The black race suit looked sleek and comfortable and the helmet was perfectly blank. Pietro had asked if he wanted any custom designs or anything fun for his first race, but he hadn’t had the chance to think of anything. It was a simple black helmet that matched the race suit and that seemed oddly fitting for a first race.
He still couldn’t believe that he was given the chance to do this.
It was getting to be that time to get changed. Thirty minutes to go, ten minutes until his first official team meeting with Pietro and the whole Mercedes team. Kiyomasa had taken the time to meet some of his mechanics the previous night at the hotel, but this would be the first time he met the whole team.
The race suit was tailored to fit him, like Pietro claimed it would be, and it was surprisingly comfortable. He had a process for this, carried over from his days in Formula Two. First and foremost, the suit. Secondly, the shoes. And then finally, his hair.
Back in Formula Two, his hair was a lot easier to manage. His mother used to brush it back and sometimes, if he behaved or had done really well in qualifying, she would even braid it. He hadn’t braided his own hair in years. It had brought him back to that time, a time he tried not to remember. His hair had been braided that day. And since then, he hadn’t bothered with it.
But now seemed like the best time to restart that. His hair was now shoulder length. Pietro had mentioned that he would have to tie it back in some way, so it wouldn’t be an issue when he put his helmet on. In Silverstone, he had kept it in a low ponytail and that turned out to be a very uncomfortable solution. He had tried a headband, like Sebastian Vettel had done, but all that had done was give him a headache for a day and a half.
His hair would have to wait, he was going to be late.
He slipped his shoes on, tying the laces tighter than he usually would. He was more anxious than he would admit, but all he had to do was make his way to the car and survive the day.
“Kiyomasa?” Someone asked after a knock at the door. “You ready?”
He stood up with a small sigh, grabbing his gloves and helmet. “Yeah.”
The staff member gave him a smile as he exited the locker room and he gave her a small smile back. He hadn’t met her yet, but judging by the badge she wore, she was one of the many PR people that worked for the team. Pietro had promised he wouldn’t be forced into any PR shenanigans just yet. And with how busy the garage felt, he wasn’t sure how anyone had any time to do any videos.
The Mercedes garage was full of people moving here and there. Everywhere he looked, there was another group of people doing something that Kiyomasa could barely understand. Mechanics were moving machines and tools to the main garage. Some staff members were on the phone or looking at charts that didn’t make much sense at a quick glance.
Before he knew it, they walked into the main garage area.
Seeing the W15 up close like this took Kiyomasa’s breath away. The car was gorgeous - as expected for Mercedes - but actually seeing it, and not just seeing the virtual version, made something click in his head. There was no way he was expected to drive this.
“There you are!” Pietro’s voice grabbed his attention, making him smile. The engineer made his way over to him, matching his smile. “I thought I told you to fix your hair.”
“I tried,” Kiyomasa laughed slightly. “I’m shit at braiding it.”
“Ah.” He waved his hand to a seat by a computer. “Sit. I do your hair and we go over strategy.”
The computer in front of the seat showed all the data that had been gathered. Car height, weight, average lap times, air temperature, everything that was needed to run a race specifically.
“This practice is more about you getting settled with the car and the track.” Pietro’s hands were gentle in his hair. “Don’t worry about race strategy just yet. Just get used to the car.”
“Is it different from the simulator?” Kiyomasa tried not to tense up at the tug on his head as Pietro tried to gently braid his hair.
“The main difference is the dirty air, but I do not want you battling. Your goal is just keep the car on the track.” He didn’t know someone could be so gentle when they braided hair. It felt so nice. “The Red Bull is running a junior driver this practice, so no Perez to watch out for.”
“Am I in trouble for missing FP1?” He hadn’t heard anything regarding his status.
“Nope,” Pietro said, slightly popping the ‘p’. “You made it for qualifying. That’s what matters. Just don’t wreck the car.”
“What about points on race day?’ He couldn’t help thinking of the race ahead.
“I am begging you not to even consider points just yet. Just get in the car and run your laps and then we’ll talk points.” Pietro gently tapped the top of his head and Kiyomasa was surprised that he was already done. “Also we need to work on your radio skills, I need you to communicate better than you were in Silverstone.”
“I thought that I did fine.” Kiyomasa stood up, looking at one of the dark monitors. Pietro had never been good at braiding hair, but his hair was done impeccably now. When had he learned?
“I need more dialogue to be able to help when we make adjustments. I have you driving the same set up as Hamilton, but that can be adjusted slightly as the day goes on.” Pietro grabbed his shoulder tenderly. “You’re gonna do great. Now - go get that helmet on and get in that car and let's show them what you got.”
The practice went well–at least in Kiyomasa’s book. With a fastest lap time of a minute and 35 seconds, he knew it wasn’t the best for the team, but it was only one practice.
The car was perfect, he just had to step up. His speed needed to be up before qualifying if he wanted to stand a chance. The graphs that lined Pietro’s monitor said the same thing. There were places that he could improve, but those would come with time and patience.
“You!” A loud voice sounded across the garage, interrupting Pietro’s lecture on air temperature. Kiyomasa snapped his head around, looking for the source of the voice. Every instinct of his told him to prepare for a fight. Someone yelling like that always meant harm. He locked eyes with the voice, a driver from Red Bull that he didn’t recognize, who was still wearing his helmet.
“You can’t be here.” A mechanic tried to stop the raging bull, but the driver gave him a glare and shoved right by him and made his way straight to Kiyomasa.
Shishitoren had helped Kiyomasa with many things in his life, but they had also made sure he knew how to fight someone a lot bigger than him. This driver towered over him–admittedly that wasn’t that hard to do– but he was bigger than Kiyomasa had originally thought. Clearly, this wasn’t one of Red Bull’s normal drivers. He had stayed far away from Verstappen and Perez didn’t even know he existed yet. So who was this?
“Does Red Bull not teach their drivers manners? The fuck did I do to you?” Kiyomasa never punched first, but despite Pietro’s pleading look to stay calm, he couldn’t help but try to get the other man to react more.
“You know how long I’ve been looking for you?” The man’s voice was thick with an accent that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His voice was almost familiar to an extent, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where he had heard him before. The driver took off his helmet finally, and Kiyomasa was greeted with a face he hadn’t seen in years. “I was driving so well and then my engineer says ‘gap to Yamainu is .5’. I spent the rest of the lap wondering why that sounded so familiar and then I see you and-”
“Jacenty?” He was surprised he even remembered the name, but he would never forget his face. “Take off that stupid balaclava, let me look at you.”
Jacenty had barely changed from their time in Formula Two together. He still stood taller than Kiyomasa would ever be and his smile hadn’t changed one bit.
“I was so surprised that you were here! Seriously my engineer was wondering why I stalked off over here and I wasn’t trying to burst in here or anything, but you are so hard to find! Maybe it’s because you are so short? Do you not grow? Are you destined to always be out of my eyesight?” Jacenty was speaking faster than Kiyomasa could process. He had always been like this - in many ways, he reminded Kiyomasa of Umemiya back at home.
“Do you know him?” Pietro asked, making Kiyomasa turn to look at him.
“Oh yeah. He was a friend back from F2,” Jacenty said, interrupting anything Kiyomasa was trying to say, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and giving Pietro a wide smile. “Hi, Jacenty Pajak.” The hand that wasn’t wrapped around Kiyomasa’s shoulders was stretched out to give the engineer a hand shake.
“We used to be rivals.” Kiyomasa added in, finally wrapping his arm around Jacenty’s waist.
“We used to be best friends ,” Jacenty corrected.
The last time he had seen Jacenty, he had promised him that they would stay in contact. There was no way that they would have known what would happen. Here was another person that Kiyomasa had let down and never bothered to apologize to.
But that was something that he could worry about later. For now, he could enjoy being by his side once again.
“How about this,” Jacenty said with a smile, “We go to dinner tonight, yes? Instead of catching up here in this ugly garage.” Kiyomasa didn’t miss Pietro’s eye roll at that comment.
“Dinner sounds wonderful.” Kiyomasa returned his smile.
“Wonderful! Tonight at five - will that do?”
Kiyomasa looked at Pietro with expectation.
“Just be back at the garage by eight and you can do whatever you want,” Pietro conceded. “And don’t go drinking.”
With a smile, he nodded and followed Jacenty out of the garage.
@jacentypajak: LAS VEGAS NEVER CHANGE! Never did I think that I would be able to see this wonderful handsome man again. My rybko finally has come back to me! Back in the F2 days - he never left me alone, always giving me someone to chase after in races and when he left F2 got so so boring. I missed him so much, my dear rybko, my gwiazdeczko, my słodyczko. While I may not be racing this weekend beyond FP2, you - my darling, my dear - will be a star. Missed you to the moon and back Kiyomasa!
This tweet contains three photos: one of a man with purple hair pulled back into two French braids sitting at a dinner table with a candle in front of him. His smile shows his crooked teeth as he laughs at something that the person behind the camera is saying. The second photo is a selfie of a man with brown curly hair and a wide smile and the same man with purple hair leaning against his shoulder in a half hug. The third photo is taken in low light on a road of two pairs of shoes - one pair of Converse that is falling apart and clearly well used and loved and the other pair of brown loafer style shoes.
Somehow, someway, Kiyomasa made it to the third round of Qualifying. He had barely beaten Estaban Ocon in Q2, which Pietro had explained was a minor miracle. The twelve minutes he had spent fighting for his life against the Alpine, somehow beating him by .05 of a second, a margin that was impressive to only him considering the way Pietro complained over the radio. He couldn’t remember a time in Formula Two that he had fought so hard against someone in Qualifying.
As he pulled himself out of the car, he accepted his water bottle from one of the nice assistants that was passing through the garage.
Kiyomasa was glad for the moment to breathe. Sweat made every fiber of his racing suit cling to his skin, suffocating him. The heat was sucking any ounce of energy that he had, and there was still more racing to do. It was starting to become clear that despite the week of training he had before the race was nothing in comparison to the strength he actually needed. Even Bearman, the rookie that would be taking Carlos Sainz’s place in the race, was more prepared than him.
It was going to be a long night.
When he would lay down later that night, exhaustion pulling at every single muscle in his body, it would finally dawn on him that he would start the race in tenth position. It was only laying in bed, staring at the ceiling of his hotel room, that he realized Pietro was right.