Maybe all of the damage is under the surface. The car could be putting on a brave face so it can get back out there and race again.
That’s what Thomas is doing, after all.
Several of the men look up and offer Julien pitying glances, but he’s not in the mood to be perceived right now. He only has two and a half hours before he qualifies for a race he hasn’t run a practice lap for.
He should get changed.
Julien dodges cameras and concerned looks, keeping his head down and letting his feet carry him to his driver’s room. Once he’s inside, he slinks against the door.
He drove this track on the sim last night. He didn’t sleep much, but at least it’s still there—every twist and turn is burned into his retinas. He can do this.
Julien inhales, exhales, and opens his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Rafael lounges on the massage table, still in his race suit from this morning’s session.
Despite how many times they’ve shared the driver’s room, it feels different when he’s suited up instead of dressed down in the team kit. The fireproof shirt hugs his arms, tracing over the topography of his muscles.
He’s so beautiful. That sucks to notice now, of all times.
“I’m racing today.”
Instead of stewing over how good Rafael looks and how unfair that is, Julien pretends he’s totally comfortable with changing in front of his ex-situationship and shucks off his shirt in a single, confident motion.
“How’s Thomas?”
“He’ll be fine.” Hopefully. Julien dumps everything from his pockets onto the desk, next to Rafael’s shit, before stepping out of his shoes.
“Not in time for Qualifying?”
“Obviously not.” Once Julien is down to his boxer briefs and socks, he looks up at the wardrobe. “Where’s my race suit?”
“My best guess? Probably in Thomas’s driver’s room.”
Julien stops searching the room and stands stock still. Of course it’s in Thomas’s room. Thomas is the driver he’s replacing, not Rafael.
He should’ve noticed when Rafael was wearing a race suit, but he had gotten too comfortable sharing a space with the Brazilian man.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Thought you had your reasons.” There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when Rafael says, “Not gonna say no to a free show.”
“Great.” That’s what Julien needs—to be taken advantage of when he’s all turned around and backwards. “Glad I could debase myself for you.”
He bends to retrieve the clothes he discarded. If he bundles it all up, he can drag it over to the other room in one go.
“Nah, let me grab your shit for you.” Rafael stands and dusts himself off. Instead of handing Julien the stuff from the desk, he leaves the driver’s room.
Julien feels like too much of an idiot to care that he’s still nearly naked in the wrong place, so he waits in silence as the door of the next room opens and closes.
When Rafael returns, he has the race suit draped over an arm and clutches a pair of race shoes in his other hand. “Here.”
Julien solemnly accepts the bundle and drops the shoes near his feet.
Rafael passes by him in the tight space and perches on his massage table again. Despite his comment about the show, he takes out his phone and scrolls for a bit, giving Julien the illusion of privacy.
“Thank you,” Julien mumbles as he tucks his boxer briefs down into his long underwear.
“No problem,” Rafael says without looking up. “You’ve had a hard enough day without changing alone surrounded by your brother’s belongings.”
