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When Donghyuck wakes up, he is achingly, painstakingly alone.
He doesn’t remember much of what happened, and the doctors say he probably never will. Something about the brain forcefully repressing the memories, Donghyuck doesn’t bother to listen; he doesn’t care.
He can’t walk, and he can’t feel his leg. It bothers him, but he’s more bothered when he can feel his leg. When the terrifying numbness goes away and all he’s left with is overwhelming, earth-shattering pain. He can’t even think when it happens; all he knows is pain, and when the episodes last longer, it starts to feel like all he’s ever known is pain.
The team and most of the grid come to visit him. The Austrian GP held off for a few days while everyone gets their bearings after what happened. The younger guys don’t hang around for very long, and neither do the elders. The last one to leave the room ends up being Donghyuck’s personal trainer, who will very likely be getting fired, considering Donghyuck thinks he’s getting fired.
Mark’s absence is felt by everyone in the room, most of all Donghyuck.
They’re calling them the next Brocedes, him and Mark. Which Donghyuck finds hilarious, considering he’s had to dodge Lewis and Nico’s awkward presence on the grid many a time. They’re not like that at all. Sure, tensions have grown, and discussions over who Red Bull’s number one driver really should be have occurred, but Donghyuck and Mark are friends. They laugh, they’re not awkward. Nothing like Lewis and Nico. Nothing like them. And if Mark were here, he’d say the same thing.
Late that night, after everyone’s left, Donghyuck stares up at the ceiling. He can’t move much because of his leg, so he’s stuck sleeping on his back. He can’t ever sleep on his back, but it looks like that’s just how it is for him now. He tries not to think of what’s going to happen to him moving forward, because if he thinks about that right now, he might just throw himself out the window.
It isn’t until tomorrow that the card arrives. Get well soon, sprawled in Mark’s messy hangul. He’s more Canadian than he is Korean, so Donghyuck doesn’t know why he even bothers. Maybe it’s to be considerate, thinking Donghyuck wouldn’t be able to understand the language he’s been surrounded by ever since he was a child, just because he’s unwell. Or maybe Mark’s being sentimental, giving Donghyuck a token of home, as if he won’t be surrounded by it now.
Because he can’t even walk, let alone drive. So he has nowhere else to go but home, back to his mother in Seoul, where he left her over a decade ago. The GP was simply “postponed” in hopes that Donghyuck’s condition isn’t as bad as it looked, but Donghyuck knows he won’t be participating. He knows Red Bull’s reserve driver is over the moon, even though the boy looked as solemn as everyone else when he visited Donghyuck.
It made him sick, to look at that boy’s face and know he’d be sitting in the same seat Donghyuck was, not even a week ago, that his life would be beginning where Donghyuck’s ended. He wanted to lean forward and tell him not to, to just get out while he still has the chance, before this sport takes everything from him. But he didn’t, of course. And he won’t. If snot-nosed kids with too-big dreams want to ruin their lives, let them.
Donghyuck doesn’t roll over, because he can’t.
When they finally see each other again, a mere 3 months after Donghyuck’s crash, Mark looks at him like he doesn’t recognise him.
He’s healed, mostly. Mark should consider himself lucky; he didn’t have to see Donghyuck at his worst, with open wounds on his face and broken bones so painful that Donghyuck screamed himself hoarse into his pillow. He didn’t have to be sedated to sleep most nights, all alone in his too-big hospital room, paid for by the team in hopes he won’t sue. A funny prospect, because Donghyuck doubts he’d be able to sue even if he wanted to. It was a part of the contract he signed; injuries are your own fault.
They converse, barely. Donghyuck’s at his apartment in Monaco, watching over a team of men he hired to pack up his belongings, not trusting them to handle his trophies with enough care they warrant. Mark had knocked on his door instead of ringing the doorbell like a normal person, so Donghyuck knew it was him instantly. He has the spare key, so Donghyuck messages him to come in instead of getting up from his spot on the couch.
Donghyuck hears the door squeak open, but doesn’t see Mark for a few minutes.
He only lived here for a year, so he isn’t as attached to the place as one might imagine. Most of the season was spent in hotel rooms halfway across the world, and during the summer break he always dragged Mark to some remote country in Europe, threatening to throw his phone off their boat if he took another goddamn photo for his Instagram.
There are some Polaroids stuck to his walls, and of course, his prized cabinet of trophies stands tall in his living room, but besides that, there’s not much else. He procrastinated buying a coffee table for over 4 months, until Mark got fed up with having to put his mugs on the floor and just bought one for Donghyuck himself. It’s still here, Donghyuck’s crutches leaned up haphazardly against it.
Mark eventually stumbles through the doorway to the living room, dodging around a worker carrying a cardboard box like a pro. Donghyuck snorts, sitting up enough so Mark can spot him over the back of the couch.
Donghyuck wants to say a lot of things. Why weren’t you there? Where have you been? Are you okay? He hasn’t seen Mark in over 3 months, by far the longest time they’ve spent apart, ever since they became attached to the hip as kids. He has so much to say, but he bites his knee-jerk reaction back, allowing Mark the space to make the first move.
So he waits, and waits, and waits.
Mark just stands there, getting shoulder-checked every so often by the workers carrying Donghyuck’s things, a look on his face that Donghyuck can’t place. He’s never looked at Donghyuck like this, like he doesn’t recognise him. Sure, his hair’s grown longer than he’d usually let it, considering he doesn’t have to worry about overheating in a helmet anymore. And sure, maybe he’s lost some weight, eating to heal instead of to sustain an athlete's physique. But he’s still Donghyuck. Still Mark’s Donghyuck.
Eventually, Mark moves. Just a few steps, just enough to take in Donghyuck’s prone form, leg stretched out on his couch cushions to support his cast. If Mark had waited just a few more weeks, he would’ve seen Donghyuck without it.
Something curious passes over his face, something that looks like regret. But Donghyuck sincerely doubts it; regret isn’t in Mark’s nature. Sure, he can regret eating a whole tub of ice cream when he feels like shit the next day, and sure, he can regret starting an argument with Donghyuck, because he never wins. But he doesn’t regret things like this, things like leaving Donghyuck alone for months. He chose to do it for a reason, and he still seems to be steadfast in whatever he’s convinced himself of, even now, standing right in front of Donghyuck.
And the worst thing is, Donghyuck can’t do anything about it. Mark could leave right now, and what would Donghyuck be able to do? Hobble after him with his crutches? Risk further injuring himself, for what? So Mark can look him in the eye and lie to him, saying Hi Donghyuck-ah, sorry I didn’t come visit you, I was busy.
Busy with what? The Red Bull is a piece of shit, and everyone knows it. Now the new kid who stands next to Mark knows it as well, the happiness in his eyes long gone.
“What?” Donghyuck asks, the first words he’s spoken to Mark in over 3 months.
“Sorry, I didn’t visit,” Mark replies, not making any move to come closer or get further away. He just stands there with that look on his face that Donghyuck can’t make any sense of.
Donghyuck muffles a snort, turning his head and looking at the TV he’s been pretending to watch for the past 4 hours. It’s a flat-screen mounted on the wall, because when Donghyuck finally got enough money, he promised himself to live in luxury.
He thinks maybe a substantial amount of time passes, the show that’s on cuts to an ad break enough times that Donghyuck has the lines memorised for a brand he’s never heard of.
Mark leaves without a goodbye, the door squeaking behind him as he shuts it.
Donghyuck sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, digging into a scar that’s finally healed enough he doesn’t need a bandage.
As Donghyuck finds himself in an interview with one Nico Rosberg 5 months later, he has to forcefully refrain from rolling his eyes.
Somewhere across the paddock, Mark puts his helmet on.