AUTHOR'S NOTE: im omitting lots of details from the races like pitstops for example just because like...no one is here for that, so if youre knowledgable about motorsport and these races are feeling lacklustre just forgive me for that lol

and to neveryone else, i hope you are finding the racing scenes interesting! I'm trying to make it so that race-centered chapters also have some other thing going on so that its not just a snooze fest for you guys who dont care for racing lol

Sometimes i get carried away when i write and forget that not everyone is an f1 fan, so if theres any terminology/race-related business that needs explaining then lmk!

March 26th, 1995.

Sunday came without its usual fireworks. A day that meant pure excitement for those who liked to gather around race tracks and watch the cars in their deadly game, was just another Sunday to Chandler. He wonders if clowns enjoy the circus as much as regular civilians do.

The end of March came with the first race of the 1995 season, taking place in the city of São Paulo, Brazil. The country was a lot warmer than Chandler was ever used to. One perk about being a Formula 1 driver was getting to travel the world, and he always looked forward to the week that came after race Sunday, when he'd beg Monica to let him stay a little longer before they moved to the next track to practise. She wanted to say no, but he always did good enough to warrant a reward.

He stood in his garage, gazing at the car in front of him— the Sauber C14. The team used to be affiliated with Mercedes, until the company decided they weren't happy with the progress being made and decided to pull out, leaving Sauber with Ford engines. The new engine came with a new livery, the car becoming a dark blue and a large logo spanning the side of the car, honouring Red Bull as their new big sponsor. Chandler never really drank Red Bull, he preferred his caffeine from coffee, but now he and Kip were required to drink Red Bull and act as if it were their favourite drink in the world anytime they were in front of cameras.

Joining him in his inspection of the car was the man that would be driving it next year.

"You excited?" Joey asked, sneaking up behind Chandler. Though unexpected, Chandler wasn't against his presence.

"As excited as ever." Chandler said in a monotone voice.

Joey nudged his elbow into the other guy's arm. "Come on, have some energy! What's wrong with you?"

Many things, Chandler wanted to say, but he decided to keep the conversation light. Monica's reminder rang in his head to not get too close. This guy would be his rival. What was he even doing here?

Chandler put on his mock-glee voice. "Gee, I'm so excited! I've never driven a car before!"

"Seriously, dude. This is a big race."

Chandler was sick of hearing everyone say that. This was a big race. A big season. A big opportunity. Chandler wanted a big gun against his big head.

"And why is that?"

"Because it's the first race where I get to watch you live, don't you wanna make a good impression for me?"

Though Joey was generally a very inviting person from what Chandler could gather, his tone was different this time. He was challenging him, and Chandler hated to admit that it did ignite a spark within him. A reason to put his all into this so-called big race.

"You're right," Chandler said. "Then watch closely, because I'm going to rip that track apart."

Less of a joke, more of a promise.

Joey grinned. "I'm looking forward to it."

The two shook hands before the surrounding mechanics ushered Chandler into the Sauber C14 and buckled him into place. The qualifying session from the day before was no spectacular work, meaning that Chandler would be starting the race in seventh place— but starting positions rarely mattered to him. He would find a way to close the gap. He had to, if his new teammate was watching.

He drove into the pit lane and then to his position at the beginning of the track. Kip would be starting far ahead of Chandler, second only to Williams' beloved driver, Timothy Burke. Chandler may have had a slight advantage compared to others with his wealthy background, but Timothy was just plain cheating. His father, Richard Burke, was the Williams team principal, so of course he'd be on the team. He'd be on that team forever. Chandler's only chance to make it on Williams would be if their second driver mysteriously retired in similar fashion to Kip, or if Timothy were to crash mid-race and become physically disabled for the rest of his life— but that was an evil thought, and unfortunate as it was, Timothy was an actually skilled driver. Somehow he was spared from the public scrutiny Chandler faced for even holding a steering wheel.

It was only a matter of seconds waiting for the five red lights to go out and for the race to begin. This was Chandler's seventeenth Formula 1 race, meaning he should have been used to this whole dance by now, but that didn't stop his heart from throttling around in his ribcage. His head was already burning. His hands were already shaking. He was already losing his nerve. If he messes up at the beginning of the race, there's no telling if he'd be able to gain any more positions. But he had to make sure the season started decently, because the honey eyes were watching him.

Sound scratched through the radio. "Hello? Testing— testing— can you hear me?" asked Chandler's race engineer. David was smart but a nervous man. You could test something a thousand times, and he still feels the need to 'just make sure'.

Chandler sighed loudly into his microphone. "Looks like the radio isn't working. Wow, lucky me. What am I to do?" A guilty smile tugged at his lips.

"What?!" David's voice peaked, already frantic before the race had even begun. Chandler could hear shuffling on the other end, and before any game-changing decision could be made, he came out of hiding.

"I'm joking— I'm joking— I can hear you, David."

"Do you think this is a good time to joke around?"

"David? David, you there?"

"Chandler!"

The mischievous boy chuckled an apology, and maybe his ears were being just as playful, but he could swear he heard another man's laughter behind David. A laughter he could never forget.

With no chance to dwell on it, the lights went out and the race was officially in motion. Chandler managed to already gain a position almost immediately, putting him behind McLaren's Gavin Mitchell. He could feel the speed surging through his arms like lightning. Chandler could tell the wonders of their new Ford engine through the practice sessions, but it became even more apparent during the actual race. This engine was going to carry him to the chequered flag before anyone else.

"You're doing great," David reassured through the radio. Chandler fed off of every little piece of applause. "Keep things steady. See if you can try to get ahead of Gavin."

A rare confidence coursed through his veins all of a sudden. "I wouldn't be here if I couldn't."

Chandler floored it down the straight. The gap shortened with every fraction of a second. The general rule of thumb when driving is to always look as far ahead as possible, but Chandler's gaze was locked on the single car in front of him. The rest of the world was a mere blur to him, he was only focusing on his next target.

Now just behind Gavin's rear, the two cars moved through the fourth round corner. Gavin stuck to the inner line of the track, conveniently leaving Chander enough space on the outer edge for him to rush past and make home in fifth position. The clean overtake was made, and even through the thick helmet and noise of the car, Chandler could hear the chants— and if he tuned in a little bit more, he could hear Joey's amazement.

And through it all, he kept a straight face. The drug of thrill wore off a long time ago. Chandler was numb to the excitement of racing. It was all just one giant hassle to him; the world's worst chore.

But with an angel watching from his garage, Chandler felt a new pressure. One that didn't suffocate him like his mother or manager, but one that made him quicker. Smarter. A teensy bit more reckless. One that made every corner feel no different than walking on the sidewalk. He was going to prove to Joey that they weren't as equal as everyone was claiming them to be. Chandler's number was going to be on every jersey, cap, and flag across New York. His name would become a reference point for future talents coming into the sport. His father would congratulate him in person for once.

The engine roared beneath him as he took the car to its limits, curious as to just how much it could do. Monica always said his strength was keeping things clean. Chandler knew when to stop, when to slow down, when to give up. He could listen to the whispers of the tarmac below his wheels and follow their instructions to a tee— but would it hurt to go a little harder? Really push himself to new heights? High enough to reach the heavens, where his new companion came from? Maybe he could lace fingers with God, feel His divine touch against his flesh and receive blessings for every race to come. Or maybe the divinity would boil him like a cross to a demon. There would only be one way to find out.

With only ten laps remaining, Chandler electrified the track with every swift turn and close overtake made. He listened closely to the song of the engine— the melody of a car going faster than it ever should. He brought magic to the car. The prayer from several nights ago slowly seeped from his fingertips into the steering wheel, guiding him through the final laps.

Black and white rose once Timothy sailed home from pole position, Kip coming in only a second behind. Chandler wouldn't be going home with a trophy tonight, but fourth place was nothing to complain about. He watched from the paddock the three podium winners celebrating with their champagne, and as Timothy's name soured loudly through the crowd.

Normally Chandler left these races void of any feeling, neither happy nor disappointed. But for once, part of him wished it was him on the podium, watching the sea of racegoers in their blue Williams shirts knowing they were cheering for him. The blue should have been Chandler's shade of blue, but it was not.

He returned to his garage, where Monica tossed her headset onto the table and clung to him immediately. "Fourth on your first race of the season! Chandler, that was amazing!" She eagerly praised, before the critical clouds filled her blue eyes. "Though you seemed to be struggling a lot in the third sector, what was going on there? We need to work on your steering control. Oh, and you were hitting the gravel too much. Didn't I say to avoid doing that?"

"You get in the car, then." He retorted, sliding his helmet off and shaking the sweat out of his damp hair. Monica could tell now wasn't the time for notes. She'd give the rest of her analysis later.

Her voice softened, sounding like that of his friend more than his manager. "It was a good race, Chandler. You did great."

All that he wanted to hear.

The other mechanics and strategists all took turns congratulating their young driver, but he searched through the small crowd for someone who's input he'd been dying to hear. Hopefully this was enough of a performance to cement his place as a driver to be looked up to.

And then, he spotted the bright toothy-smile that pushed him to go further.

"God! I knew you were good, but seriously man, that was— that—" Joey tripped over his own tongue trying to put the words in place through all his excitement. Chandler imagined his puppy tail wagging around. "—spectacular, dude. Like, seriously next level."

Joey gripped Chandler's shoulders in his hands, holding and loving him like a trophy. Again, Chandler was mesmerised. Since when did they let such good looking people into sports? Surely Calvin Klein was looking for models.

Warmth enveloped Chandler's heart, a genuine smile forcing its way to his face. "Thanks so much, man. It's nothing, really—"

"Are you kidding me? You were like the Flash up there! I swear, I could barely even see ya for half the race."

Such compliments overwhelmed him. He wasn't used to so much affection and praise all at once. Every word that flew from Joey's pure lips made Chandler want to get back in the car more and more.

"Yeah, well, you haven't seen nothing yet." Chandler boasted, allowing himself a dollop of arrogance. Just to show off to the new guy.

"Can't believe they're makin' me race with you." Joey said, "I mean, no one's even gonna wanna look at me."

But Chandler found that hard to believe. "Hey, just take your helmet off, and all the ladies will forget there's even a race going on."

Regret hit him like a tsunami immediately after he finished talking. Was that a weird thing to say to another guy? To one you just met, no less? He braced himself for the disgust on Joey's face, but he was still looking at the beautifully happy man he met days before.

"You're right, that always works. You're a smart one, Chandler." He said instead.

"Well, smart people get degrees and I'm driving cars, so I don't really know about that."

The literal sentence must have been funny enough to come across as a joke. Joey erupted into laughter, making the beautiful sound Chandler imagined you'd hear at heaven's gate. "You're funny, too!"

"That's my middle name." It would have been far better than his actual middle name.

Joey lifted his hands, the ones that Chandler nearly forgot were even gracing him. "Hey, I was thinking sometime this week, we check out what Brazil's got to offer." He said, "Get to know each other a bit, see if we'll make good teammates."

Chandler ultimately knew they would, but he was curious. "And what if we don't?"

"Then we make even better enemies. We'll be the next Hunt and Lauda." Joey answered, and Chandler seeked for wood to knock on. "But that won't happen— I'm already liking ya!"

Chandler thanked the intensive race, acting as an excuse for the red on his face. "I'll talk to Monica about it, see when I'm free."

"Great. Let me know, then. Monica's got the number to my hotel-phone." Joey said, then he held his fist out in front of him. "See ya around."

The two bumped fists, and Chandler watched Joey's back as he walked off to wherever was more important. The weight of Joey's hands on his shoulders was dearly missed, and the heat of his knuckles lingered on Chandler's. He was unforgettable. Chandler was left in the dark without his angelic glow, and all he could do was savour the memory of just a moment ago, when he was right in front of him. Finally, Chandler felt the fireworks. The joy of making a new friend. The thrill of the race. The emotion he missed during his years of racing made its first appearance, and now Chandler had things to look forward to. The next race, and his next heavenly encounter.

As the celebrations began to wind down, the two Sauber drivers found themselves loitering alone in the senior's garage, reflecting on the race and ignoring the elephant in the room that had been following Chandler around for weeks.

"Your tire management was great." Chandler commented dryly, his book of small talk failing him in the moment. He leaned against the wall, keeping his eyes focused on the whirling water in his bottle. "You managed to get second with only one pit-stop, that's really good."

Kip took a sip from his own water bottle, and only uttered a single thanks.

It's moments like these where Chandler wonders if he had overstated their friendship. When seconds go by in awkward tension and all they can talk about is their job and nothing more— perhaps the relationship was one-sided. But the laughter echoes in his ears still, when they carved names into their native trees, a promise that Formula 1 would be ruled by its New York drivers. Kip was backing out of this promise.

"So…why do you wanna retire?" asked Chandler, a question with an answer he didn't want to hear. But with nothing else that Kip would want to talk about, Chandler learned to compromise. They just had to fill this silence.

Kip pondered as if he hadn't answered this question a hundred times before. "I think I joined Formula 1 in search of something, maybe some sort of purpose or meaning or whatever."

"Purpose, meaning…fancy words for salary."

Kip ignored his comment, leaning back comfortably in his chair. These Sunday races were nothing new to him anymore, they didn't phase him like they did Chandler. "Whatever it was, I've found it in Melissa." He was always sure to put the proper care into his words when talking about his beloved wife. Her name always came with a smile. "And I realised that when we got married. She's given me everything I've ever wanted, I don't need Formula 1 anymore."

Hopefully he didn't see Chandler's eyes roll out of his head and scatter around the floor.

"Besides, we've been thinking about having kids, and that's not something I wanna do while I'm driving."

"Easy solution— don't have kids!" Chandler enthused, only half-joking. Only one quarter joking.

Kip laughed it off. Chandler noticed his blonde hair no longer went past his neck like it did before, in a poorly managed mullet. The ends were sleek, clean-cut, shaped like Melissa's love. He hated how well-kept Kip had become.

"I'm just done with Formula 1. It's as simple as that."

Chandler sighed, drinking his water as if it were liquor, like it would drown out his uncertainties. "Giving up your amazing career just for love, I'll never get it." He pulled a nearby chair and sat next to Kip. "You're still young, you're not much older than me. You've got so many years of racing ahead of you."

It was a reused speech from Monica that she gave anytime he got drunk and went on and on about how "I'm quitting this sport, and I'm serious this time."

"That may be true." He said, but there was not a single shred of regret in his voice. "But isn't racing such a loving sport? The tracks are filled with love, the cars are filled with love, everything is filled with love…"

Chandler grew concerned. He looked around to ensure the garage was empty before leaning in and whispering, "Dude, are you on something right now?"

"What? No!" Kip shoved him back. "I'm just saying…I think racing has always been about love to me."

"Love?" Chandler repeated. It didn't sound like a real word in this context. Love and Racing had always been antonyms to him. "How is it about love?"

He asked questions like a child still new to the world. Kip was his unofficial mentor, the man he aspired to be like. Chandler wanted his same skill, and his same motivation to keep going— but was it as strong as he believed if Kip was talking about retirement? Could it have been stronger than he ever imagined?

"It's not something I can put into words. You just gotta feel it."

Chandler scoffed. "Wow, real helpful."

"Oh, were you asking me for advice?" Kip had a knowing smirk on his face. Knowing of what? Chandler wasn't sure, but he shook his head bashfully. He didn't need to follow the same idiotic philosophy.

But Kip continued. "Racing is cool— it's amazing, actually. And I love it. But it's not everything, I've got other priorities now. I can find joy elsewhere."

"Bullshit." Chandler spat out. "You only say that because you've gotten close to a championship before. Of course you can say winning doesn't matter if you've gotten so used to it."

Kip still had that annoying smile, one that showed his years of experience; proved he was wiser. "Maybe. Or maybe I just learned there's more to life than chasing something out of my reach." His tone wasn't sad. It was barely melancholic. He sounded peaceful— like it was something he accepted a long time ago. "Maybe you'll understand too one day."

"Right, when I'm old and greying and still driving with Sauber."

"Or maybe tomorrow." Kip said, and Chandler blinked in incredulity. "Or maybe next week, next year, later tonight. All I'm saying is that you don't know how things will turn out, everything changes all the time. I thought I'd be racing 'till the day I die."

"You still could."

"That's not the point." Kip got up, readying himself to leave.

"Then what is?"

Chandler was grateful that Kip never seemed to tire of the questions. Kip patted him on the shoulder, briefly reminding him of a time when he was young, being treated the same way by his school and racing coaches. Sometimes it was infantilizing, and sometimes it was all Chandler ever wanted.

"Don't tucker yourself out, man. Just have fun. Just drive. None of this matters if you don't put that kind of importance on yourself."

"Easier said than done." Chandler muttered.

"Enjoy the journey. Sure, winning is fun, but that's not all life is. Hell, that's not all Formula 1 is. There's other things to be happy with."

He wasn't making any sense. Clearly, Kip had been brainwashed by the evil woman who stole him from Chandler. Melissa must have fed him all this nonsense about love, because it was impossible for anyone to genuinely like racing. Now he just spoke like a cheap fortune teller, pretending not to feel the boulder on his back until he won first place. It was all just one big ruse that Chandler was smart enough to see through.

He didn't need this shitty advice. "I'm alright, I like my trophies."

"Excuse you, trophy singular."

"Whatever."

Kip laughed his goodbye and left Chandler alone with his lingering message, one that he tried to ignore but was stuck to his mind like glue. There was a peace that followed the blonde driver, one Chandler wouldn't reach for a long time. One he didn't think he ever could reach, but he got a taste of it today— the prideful tune of his accelerated heart beat when he passed the finish line. He had a motive today. He had a motive for the next couple months. It waited for him in his garage.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was initially planning for this fic to kind of take place in real life and have chanoey drive alongside real drivers of that time but that felt...weird to do (especially since this takes [lace during the schumacher era and that would have overshadowed like everything happeneing here), so i'll just be using existing characters (and conveniently ignore the fact that half the grid would be from NYC). The only real racers that exist in this universe are James Hunt and Niki Lauda for reasons. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I promise we'll be getting a lot more chanoey soon (the next chapter is dedicated to that!)