“I’m not nervous.”
When the car parks, Rafael gives Julien’s leg a final pat before his door opens. He exits with a grace Julien can’t exude, and the awaiting crowd cheers when they see him.
Rafael turns back to the car and offers Julien his hand. For a moment, the Frenchman considers batting it away. Maybe if he ducks, he can stay in the car and no one will notice.
Still, Julien can’t say no to his boyfriend. He takes the proffered hand. When he finally stumbles out of the vehicle, the crowd cheers impossibly louder for both of them together.
So far so good. They’re directed to stand in front of multiple walls, each branded with the award ceremony logo, the Formation 1 logo, and some charity they’re supposed to be supporting.
At the end, they’re corralled together with Sam, Fritz, and Thomas, who looks up with a dopey grin and snickers when he leans into his secret boyfriend.
Did he…pregamethe award ceremony?
Fuck, that’s such a good idea. Maybe Sam has a flask on him.
All of the Formation 1 drivers inch closer and closer to the doors of the building until they can finally drop the fake smiles and find the champagne.
As the top three of the Drivers’ Championship, Thomas, Fritz, and Sam are put on display at a long white-draped table, while Julien and Rafael get to hide at the round Ferraro table with other important figures for the company.
A camera stays trained to the winners’ table as they pick at their food. Why would people want to watch them eat?!
Thank fuck that’ll never be Julien.
The awards span a bunch of different series, so it’s a long evening, but the racing highlights are interesting enough to keep Julien’s attention. He claps along at all of the appropriate places and picks at the food left in the center of the table.
Just as Julien sticks a chunk of bread in his mouth, he hears his name over the speakers. The rest of the table doesn’t stand, so there must be a different Julien in some other series.
“Julien Dubois? The camera found him, but I don’t think he heard me.”
That’s definitely his name. Julien looks up in horror as his bread-eating face plays over the giant screens next to the stage.
Rafael stops clapping to usher him up and push him toward the stage. “Go!”
Julien moves purely on instinct, swallowing as he slowly navigates through the round tables full of people. Below the video feed of his racing highlights is a title that reads “Rookie of the Year.”
Wait, Julien won an award? A personal one?
Oh fuck, they’re going to ask him to speak.
Julien jogs up the stairs and accepts the award and a handshake from the woman presenting it. She gestures to the microphone, and Julien goes where he’s directed.
Looking out over the sea of well-dressed people in the dark room, Julien doesn’t know what to do next.
“I don’t know if any of you noticed,” Julien says, nodding to the screen where his face was. “But I had no idea I was even considered for an award. I wouldn’t have eaten that bread if I knew.”
The audience laughs, which seems like a good thing? Well, there’s no stopping the train now—they’re expecting a speech.
“Um, it’s difficult to think of myself as a rookie, since I’ve been a reserve driver for several years now.” Julien looks down at the trophy, at his name engraved in the metal placard. “I thought I’d never get the chance to race—to prove I was anything more than Thomas’s little brother.”
Julien squints out into the dark, but he can’t see far enough to make out any familiar faces. “Um, so thank you Lorenzo, for taking me in, to Thomas, for vouching for me, for Rafael for—well, breaking your collarbone. Also everything after that.”
Is that insensitive to mention?
Too late.
“Um, yeah. I’m grateful I had the opportunity to race, but I’m even more excited to get back to the factory and work on next year’s car. Thank you for this, I’ll treasure it.”
Julien shows the trophy to the room and runs away, back to his seat, as people applaud.
