LDR Ch 13

In Formula One, there’s no such thing as a team that’s happy throughout the entire season. Even the most dominant teams struggle to win every race, and for those less successful, it’s even tougher. On the flip side, a team that’s perpetually miserable might exist. Fortunately, ABW was at least a team with both good days and bad days.

At Monza, where Harrison retired due to an engine issue, Nate finished 5th, earning the team valuable points. Two weeks later, at the next Grand Prix, Harrison, facing an engine penalty that placed him 20th, skipped qualifying and focused solely on the race, relentlessly overtaking to finish 6th. Nate, meanwhile, claimed his first-ever podium.

The following week’s Singapore Grand Prix, with its twisty street circuit, made overtaking difficult but saw plenty of crashes. Harrison held his qualifying position to finish 2nd, while Nate retired after his engine literally caught fire.

Now, at Japan’s Suzuka circuit, Leo noticed a pattern in Harrison’s data. Over the six Grands Prix since Harrison announced he’d change his driving style—including the most recent one where he finished 3rd in Japan—Harrison had been experimenting with a different approach, but only during the first practice session.

The reason wasn’t hard to deduce. After the second practice session, teams must submit their car setup in writing, and no changes are allowed afterward. So, Harrison was testing new techniques in the first session but reverting to his usual style for the second to lock in the setup. Naturally, this carried over to the race.

Leo could defend Harrison endlessly. Braking later in corners doesn’t make you safer—it just slows you down.

The biggest factor making Harrison’s driving dangerous was his refusal to give opponents any room during defense and his insistence on forcing his way through closed gaps when overtaking. So, Leo could argue on Harrison’s behalf that whether he braked early in practice or stuck to his usual style didn’t matter—the choice was irrelevant.

But watching Harrison’s driving, it increasingly seemed like these experiments weren’t genuinely about changing his style. They felt more like one-off attempts, perhaps even performative.

Leo looked up at Harrison on the podium. As long as the team didn’t botch the remaining races, they could hold their current 3rd place in the standings. From a driver’s perspective, with two drivers per team, Harrison’s car performance should place him 5th, but he was actually 3rd. The points gap wasn’t large, so he was fighting tooth and nail to maintain that position.

His face, spraying champagne, still carried that familiar smile, but compared to Spa after the summer break, there was a hint of fatigue. Crossing continents and countries weekly was bound to take a physical and mental toll.

Leo gazed at his longtime friend, whom he naturally introduced as family when strangers asked, and who was also his partner. Up on that high podium, it felt like summer couldn’t reach him.

Two weeks before the next Grand Prix in the U.S., they stopped in England. Sitting in the private jet, Leo was soon joined by Harrison, who had finished other commitments. Before taking the seat across from him, Harrison leaned down and briefly kissed Leo’s hair.

“Tired?”

The question came from Harrison, who was undoubtedly more exhausted, and Leo forced a smile in response.

“A little.”

It didn’t feel like a real smile. Noticing Leo’s subdued mood, Harrison spoke gently, as if soothing him.

“Two weeks in a row is tough, but three weeks makes it even harder.”

Leo nodded vaguely.

“Here. You’re the one who’s more tired.”

Harrison nodded back, and Leo found himself staring out the window at the runway and the rising landscape. Turning back, he looked at Harrison, whose calm face was also gazing outside.

“Harry, you made a promise to me.”

At those words, Harrison naturally shifted his gaze to Leo. He couldn’t possibly not know what Leo meant.

“Remember?”

Harrison couldn’t forget a promise he’d made himself, unprompted by Leo.

“I remember. I do.”

But nothing had changed.

“You promised first.”

Sometimes Harrison gets overtaken or fails to overtake. He races while giving opponents enough space. But when it matters, he defends ruthlessly and overtakes at all costs. That blurs the line of danger.

“Leo, I’m trying…”

“You made that promise first.”

Cutting him off, Harrison let out a small sigh.

“You know it’s been tough. Even though we’re ahead now, before the break, my retirement nearly cost us 3rd place. That wasn’t the time to experiment.”

“And now?”

“I’m trying.”

A faint weariness crept into his voice.

“I know we haven’t given you a good enough car. But that doesn’t excuse everything.”

If Harrison had a car capable of dominating everyone, he wouldn’t need to feel threatened by overtakes or defenses. He could just lead from the front. But ABW’s car wasn’t that capable, so Harrison had to fight to hold and climb positions—perhaps dangerously so.

But not every driver races like Harrison just because they’re not in 1st.

“I’m trying different approaches. I’m working on it.”

“Harry, in this sport, you think a driver can hide how they handle the car?”

Telemetry is everywhere. It’s on the steering wheel, the brakes, the fingertips—every place data can be collected. There are no secrets. Everyone analyzing the data knows exactly what a driver is doing.

Harrison hasn’t changed. He’s still doing everything for points, just like before the promise.

“The people you tried to overtake, the ones you blocked—if they all raced like you, how many races would you have finished?”

It’s not that he doesn’t know how. But he chooses not to because holding his position is more advantageous. Even if it risks a penalty, the gain can outweigh it. It’s not always possible, but it’s not impossible either. And Harrison calculates that gap. A good driver has to push boundaries.

“Leo, I’m trying.”

At the word “trying” again, Leo looked at Harrison.

“When have you ever used the word ‘trying’?”

Before Leo and Harrison even grasped the cliché that doing your best matters most, they learned how hollow that sentiment is. On the track, beside it, behind it, outside it—no one isn’t trying.

By F3, everyone aims for F1. Leo and Harrison stepped into that world at 16, the minimum age. To claim one of the roughly 20 seats worldwide, everyone gives their all. But talent alone isn’t enough. Without sponsors, you can’t even reach F2.

Even with all that, “trying your best” falls short. Whether clinging to the ragged edge or confidently taking pole, no one isn’t trying.

Engineers analyze data day and night, factories test parts 24/7, marketing teams hunt for bigger sponsors, and mechanics sometimes work 30 hours straight on the car. Even the 11th-place team finishing the season with zero points.

No one travels 20-plus countries, battles jet lag, and misses family just to “try.” Everyone’s in it to win, not just to effort.

“When have you ever said after a race, ‘Well, at least I tried’?”

What even is “trying”? Leo and Harrison don’t know. They grew up in a world that demands proof, not effort. You can’t convey meaning with a word you don’t understand.

“Okay, I used the wrong word. Sorry.”

The calm voice instantly defused the rising tension, like a signal to stop. As Leo furrowed his brow, Harrison briefly bowed his head, rubbing his bare eyebrow.

“I get that you’re upset with me. But Leo, flying non-stop for three weeks, barely resting, dealing with jet lag—everyone feels it. Right now, you and I are both tired…”

“So you’re saying I’m only saying this because I’m on edge.”

Leo continued just as calmly.

“I can’t even count how many times you’ve been in danger.”

No conscious effort to stay calm was needed. He just was.

“Leo, aside from the engine failure, I haven’t retired once since the break.”

“Sure. But you’ve come close plenty of times.”

“If you think I broke my promise, I’m sorry. But you, right now…”

Harrison trailed off without finishing. Leo looked at his face, tinged with faint frustration, but wasn’t angry.

“Say it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Say it.”

At the firm repetition, Harrison sighed.

“You’ve always known.”

He was right. Leo had never not known. What Harrison does, the risks he takes—Leo has never been unaware, nor could he be. Until 17, he was part of that world, and even after stepping away briefly, he returned to bring Harrison to his team. Leo has never not known what F1 is. So, acting surprised now might seem strange.

But knowing doesn’t erase the need for change. Knowing doesn’t mean you have to accept everything.

“Sorry. That was unfair.”

At Harrison’s apology, who knew the same things Leo did, Leo closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, Harrison would be there. A face, slightly tired but always making Leo love him.

He might laugh and say he was being a jerk. Leo might snap back, asking if he gets it, but ultimately, he’d be too exasperated to stay mad.

Long years create a shared language. Having spent 20 years together, Leo and Harrison built countless unspoken ways to communicate. Even without eye contact, they know what the other is looking at. They’ve been family for so long.

“Harry, in motorsport, people get hurt.”

Leo continued calmly, not looking at Harrison.

“If not this circuit, then the next. If not this year, then next year, or the year after. If not F1, then F2, IndyCar, Le Mans—anytime, anywhere. No matter how safe it gets, Harry, people get hurt.”

He softened the words, unable to say it outright, but people die. Or they carry lifelong scars. Life itself can vanish, or the normalcy of it can be lost. As years pass, regulations tighten, and safety improves, but every new rule means a driver was hurt or killed due to that loophole before.

“Even if you don’t get hurt now, no one knows what long-term effects might come.”

No matter the safety gear, the harnesses, the reinforced muscles, a car chasing the fastest speeds possible can crash into walls, roll over, collide, and shake repeatedly. Neck sprains and concussions are common driver injuries, and even if you’re fine now, no one knows when or how accumulated damage might manifest.

“So, at the very least, you should try to crash one time less. That’s what’s normal, Harry.”

“Leo, crashing isn’t the goal, and neither is crashing less. The goal is to win.”

Leo finally looked at Harrison again. It felt less like seeing a person and more like staring at a still photograph, capturing a frozen moment.

“That’s what motorsport is.”

As you said. The unspoken words didn’t need sound to carry weight. No sane person who fears impact and speed would enter motorsport. It’s obvious.

Visiting his family home in England after a long time, Leo followed his mom, who was about to have tea, to the garden. There, he spotted his boyfriend. Frowning instantly, Leo noticed the leash in Harrison’s hand and naturally looked down.

At his feet, three scruffy dogs, their fur frayed like an overused duster, were scrambling to climb Harrison’s legs. Normally, they’d rush to the door when Leo arrived, but they’d been playing in the garden.

“Why are you here?”

Harrison was surely supposed to be at headquarters since they were in England, so why was he here?

“Stopped by on the way.”

Leo’s family home was near Silverstone, where the British Grand Prix is held, for easy access to the circuit and the company. It sat roughly between Harrison’s house and headquarters.

Since they were six, they’d known each other’s families, and Harrison had been there when Leo’s siblings were born, so they didn’t bother announcing visits anymore.

Still, they were in a cold war, and here he was, casually walking the dogs?

Harrison, fully aware of Leo’s mood, picked up one of the dogs at his feet. Seeing the other two clamor to be held, he scooped all three into his arms, then grabbed one’s paw to wave at Leo.

“Leo, wanna go on a date with me tomorrow?”

His voice, comically mimicking a dog, was so absurd that Leo snatched his dogs back. Not tonight, but tomorrow? That meant Harrison was probably riding the simulator until late tonight.

“Go ride your simulator.”

Glaring at Harrison while holding the warm, freshly walked dogs, Leo watched as Harrison sheepishly handed over the leashes.

“Okay.”

As Harrison leaned in to kiss Leo’s cheek, Leo turned away. Harrison looked at him awkwardly.

“You’d probably say if I got into a car accident, ‘Well, it’s a car, what can you do?’”

“Why would you say—”

“You wouldn’t even show up if I were dying and it clashed with racing.”

Cutting Harrison off, Leo saw those perfectly shaped eyebrows soften, as if Harrison were the one more hurt.

“Why say that? You’re obviously the most important to me.”

His voice brimming with hurt, Harrison tucked one of the dogs climbing Leo’s shoulder back into his arms.

“No matter what happens, you come first. You know that, right?”

Leo did know. It wasn’t just words. At the villa with Leo’s grandfather, Harrison always dropped everything to return to the villa right after races, often neglecting his own family.

“I know, but I’m still mad.”

Knowing and being angry were different, so Leo replied, and Harrison, scratching the chin of a dog licking his hand, responded.

“Okay.”

Glancing cautiously, Harrison leaned in again and kissed Leo’s cheek. Leo didn’t pull away this time but didn’t hide his sulky expression, so Harrison kissed his cheek lightly again.

“Let me know when you’re done.”

“You want me to tell you?”

Shouldn’t he be the one to fix it?

“Are you two still fighting in front of your mom?”

At the sudden sound of Leo’s mom, Victoria, both Harrison and Leo startled and turned. Thankfully, Victoria was just now stepping out from the house into the garden. She approached, took one of the dogs from Leo’s arms, and asked Harrison.

“Harry, you’ll have tea, right?”

“I’d love to, but I have to go now.”

As Harrison petted the two dogs still in Leo’s arms, Victoria raised her phone. Almost everyone knew Harrison rarely drove himself.

“You can take a taxi.”

“You walked the dogs, and we’re sending you off in a taxi?”

With that, Victoria gestured to one side, and a driver who’d appeared gave Harrison a light greeting.