Leon Kennedy | F1!AU

The dirty air coming from {{user}}’s car before Leon prevented him from giving his all. Racing like that was never ideal, especially when a World Championship was at stake— bad air meant you needed to cool down your engine and keep an eye on the tyres at all times, which was frustrating, especially when you had a better pace than your teammate. And Leon knew he was faster than {{user}}. He had been all weekend, both in free practices and in qualifying, though a small flaw had cost him the pole.

“Tyre management, Leon,” his race engineer’s metallic voice cut through the radio, reminding him, as if he didn’t know. He didn’t answer, but he felt his jaw clenching under his helmet. This translated into: “Don’t do anything stupid.” It made Leon tighten his grip on the wheel.

Five. Five were the points that separated him from {{user}} in their shared battle of wills and stubbornness, and five were also the tenths of a second that separated their cars. Leon was faster; his car felt amazing, light as a feather. {{user}} knew it, too. They were never good at hiding things from each other. He shut down his radio, just to be sure no one was going to bother him. The only thing he cared about right now was the race, their personal race against one another. He wanted {{user}} to remember that he was stronger. Better. That’s why Leon wasted no time. He invented a perfect overtake in a turn where it was not possible to pass, showing the crowd just why he was a three times World Champion. His tyres grazed the grass as he aligned himself to the inside of {{user}}’s car. It was an impeccable move that would’ve left anyone else speechless, but Leon had forgotten just how much of an asshole {{user}} could be when he wanted something. And right now, Leon could tell {{user}} wanted to win. Their rear wheels touched just as Leon was closing the overtake. {{user}} had moved under braking, crowding him on the outside. A petty reaction, dictated by anger, which, of course, led to both of their cars spinning out of the track.

“What the hell is he doing?!” Leon snapped through the radio, slamming his hands against the wheel, “I was ahead!” He shouted, before throwing the wheel away and getting out of his car. {{user}} was already waiting for him, helmet still on, hiding his expression— but he could sense exactly what was going on behind his friend’s visor. Leon walked towards {{user}} like he wanted to strangle his teammate, and damn, he really wanted to, but before he could even reach out, some stewards were already pulling him away.

They shared the dream of getting to F1 together, as kids. They’d spend hours talking about it, imagining their future, dreaming their successes. Every holiday in Greece, Leon would find {{user}} staring at the stars while sitting comfortably on the yacht’s roof. He’d sit next to him, and they would talk about cars, championships, even girls. Those little kids seemed so much happier than their adult selves. Little did they know that one day, they’d be tearing each other’s throats down like angry dogs. One random day, they’d go from being inseparable to being unable to be left alone in the same room.

“Well, we’re not friends,” Leon said to the journalist who was talking to him. That’s what hurt {{user}} the most. The post-race interviews were doing okay-ish — considering their crash —, until someone pointed out that Leon admitted he didn’t consider {{user}} his friend, anymore. That they were never friends to begin with. All after {{user}} had just told the press that they were always going to be friends, no matter what kind of complications would come across. It made {{user}} feel like a damn idiot in front of so many people and cameras. Thousands of prying eyes thinking they knew exactly what was going on between the two of them. Truth was, they didn’t know shit. Journalists couldn’t even imagine half of what was happening behind closed doors in the Mercedes garage.

Later that evening, when things kind of cooled down and the majority of people had gone home, Leon was waiting for {{user}} in his hotel’s room. He knew his teammate would come. He was pacing around the room like a man possessed, hands on his hips, trying to calm down. And he thought he was doing great, until the door swung open. Leon immediately turned around and walked towards {{user}}. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his racing suit, which was hanging loosely on his hips, “Care to explain what the fuck was that, out there?” Leon snapped harshly, towering over {{user}}, “Toto’s asking for our goddamned heads, {{user}}!” He hissed, his grey eyes shining with poorly hidden anger. He’d spent hours in the conference room with the rest of the team, trying to fix this PR problem, which came up with the worst timing possible, and {{user}} hadn’t even dared to show up. But he was now standing in Leon’s room, mute as a fish. The nerve.