Yuki Moto GP 👁
Tiny boy on bike
MY YUKIERRE MAGNUM OPUS. for all three anons who asked for this one (disclaimer, i know this is not how motorsports works lol, but it's my fic and i can bend reality how i want hehe. also proof of how long ago i started this is that charles' gf is still charlotte AND nyck is still yuki's teammate 😭😭):
The news breaks in August. When Pierre sees it, he blinks, says, What. The tweet is still there in all it's glory even after he refreshes the page twice.
He shoves his phone under Esteban’s nose. “Did you see this?”
Esteban gives him a pained look. They’re friends, sort of, because now that they’re both twenty-nine, when Esteban is a dickhead it’s funny instead of enraging. He’s fair on the track, and not terrible when marketing makes them play dumb games, which is what’s important. Mostly, they bitch about the car together.
“Yes,” Esteban says. “I saw it. Why are you so surprised?”
“How are you not surprised? Wait— did you know? How did you know?”
Esteban’s face goes from pained to unimpressed. “Because you told me.”
“What?”
“In June. You told me Yuki told you he was thinking of going to MotoGP when we were in Canada.”
“As a joke! Not for real!” Yuki had mentioned it when they were lining up for the national anthem. Pierre had laughed and said, “You’d look good on a motorbike, Yukino,” and Yuki had grinned at him, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Pierre remembers it leaving his mouth plump and shiny.
“I’m gonna be faster than you,” Yuki had said.
“Not if you keep eating so much. Where the fuck does it all go?” and then the conversation had moved on. It’s been years since they were teammates, but Yuki’s smile is still the same, as is the small, compact line of his body when he pulls Pierre into a hug. AlphaTauri have been having an okay season; Alpine a better one. None of which can explain why Sky Sports is telling him Yuki Tsunoda is racing for Yamaha in MotoGP in 2026. MotoGP. Not Formula 1. Not even single seaters, not even cars.
“Can he even do that?” Pierre asks. “Motorcycles are different to cars.”
“I’m sure he’s noticed,” but Esteban’s sarcasm is lost on Pierre, who has already opened his text thread with Yuki. Yuki doesn’t reply until the next morning, and even then it’s only a bunch of smiley emojis. Pierre stares down at them. He feels off-kilter, weird in a way he can’t name.
“It makes sense, no?” Ilies says when they get lunch.
Pierre stares blankly. There’s nothing about this that makes sense. Ilies rolls his eyes.
“Yuki’s a good driver,” he says as he stirs the dressing into his salad. “But AlphaTauri are never going to give him the car he needs. You know that.”
Of course Pierre knows that. If anything, Pierre knows that better than almost anybody else.
“Although I thought he would try Formula E or WEC before going to MotoGP.”
“But,” Pierre says. He blinks. What he wants to say is, he can’t leave Formula 1, which is completely insane, because Yuki can do whatever he wants. “I don’t want him to be unhappy,” he says instead, which he realises afterwards is much more incriminating.
Ilies looks at him strangely. “Yes, of course. But he’s unhappy now. His contract has another year, yes? He would not be leaving if he was happy.”
Pierre stares down at his lunch. Was Yuki unhappy? He hadn’t seemed like it, whenever Pierre’s seen him these last few months, which admittedly has not been that often. “But he’s a Formula 1 driver.”
“Not next year,” Ilies says. He frowns. “Are you okay?”
Pierre shakes himself. “Yeah mate,” he says. “Just thinking. Paddock gossip, you know?”
Ilies rolls his eyes, instantaneously looking less worried. “Yes, yes, we know you love your gossip.”
“Hey!” Pierre laughs, and forcibly squashes down the unease still sitting in his stomach. Yuki’s an adult who can make his own decisions, and anyway Pierre can just fucking talk to him the next time they see each other. It’s not that big a deal.
+++++
They’re at Zandvoort the next weekend, where the forecast says there will be a little bit of rain, just enough to make it exciting. Even from a distance, Pierre can see how Yuki is flushed, happy. He looks excited. Pierre remembers feeling that way, the weekend his own move had been announced. They’d been in Japan. He remembers Yuki smiling at him.
“There he is,” Pierre says when they get close, and Yuki grins, skips his way over and bumps their shoulders together. Pierre resists the urge to pull him into a hug, says instead, “Is this how you greet all drivers to your garage? Or just me?”
Yuki laughs. “No, you’re special.”
“Careful mate, people might get ideas.”
Yuki laughs again, and Pierre tries to think of a way to say why are you leaving that isn’t just is this a gigantic joke? Before he can do so, there’s a shout from across the garage.
“Yuki!” It’s Nyck, rounding the corner. “I was looking for you.”
Yuki does a kind of full body flourish, and Nyck laughs. It makes Pierre prickle in irritation, and he forces it down. He nods at Nyck. “Hey mate.”
Nyck holds his hand out for a fist-bump; they’re friendly, but not close. “Hey Pierre, you alright?”
Pierre returns the fist-bump. “Yuki was just telling me about his news.”
This of course is a fucking lie. Pierre doesn’t even know why he says it, and Yuki shoots him an odd look before he gets distracted by Nyck exaggeratedly turning the corners of his mouth down. “Gonna miss him so much,” Nyck says, and slings an arm around Yuki’s shoulders, drawing him into a sideways hug. Yuki goes easily, fitting himself into Nyck’s side.
“Just because you don’t want to be the shortest on the grid now.” Yuki smiles slyly under Nyck’s arm.
“Oi!” Nyck says, pulling Yuki into a headlock and starting to scrub at his hair with his knuckles. Yuki squawks, starts jabbing Nyck in the ribs, and the two of them stagger around like some kind of two-headed monster. The mechanics are rolling their eyes and laughing at them, nimbly weaving around them like it’s a common occurrence and they’re used to it. Pierre hears himself laugh too. It feels like it’s coming from someone else.
+++++
“You’re being shit,” Charlotte tells him when Pierre recounts the whole irritating situation. Charles wisely keeps his mouth shut. He’s looking a lot like he’s regretting suggesting the three of them get dinner together.
Pierre scowls down at his food. “I’m not being shit.”
“Yuki was happy for you when you moved,” Charlotte continues, undeterred.
“This is different! He’s—” Pierre cuts himself off.
“Did you even say congratulations?”
“Why would I congratulate him.”
Charlotte rolls his eyes. “It’s not like he’s suddenly going to stop being your friend just because he’s not in F1 anymore."
Pierre bristles, because he knows that. When he’d made the move to Alpine, Pierre had told a hundred interviewers and fans that they would still be friends. Yuki had even laughed, said, of course! Of course Yuki would still be his friend. But that was when they wouldn’t be sharing factories and cars anymore. Now wouldn’t be even sharing the paddock. No more amused sideways glances at one another in the drivers’ briefings. No more making each other laugh in press conferences.
“Charles. Mate.” Back me up, he tries to get across.
Charles finally looks up, guiltily. Pierre stares at him. No way.
“Charles.”
“She’s right,” Charles says, pained, before clamping his mouth shut again.
Pierre looks at Charlotte. She’s too composed to do anything like look obviously smug, but there’s definitely a satisfied air in the way she’s eating her pasta.
It’s— ridiculous, is what it is, the way they’re both acting like he’s the unreasonable one. Yuki has spent his whole life wanting to drive in F1, and now he’s leaving? Maybe he hasn’t become world champion yet, but good things take time, even if Yuki is impatient. Yuki is his friend, and Pierre wants him to do well. Pierre is right to feel indignant about it all.
“Whatever,” he says.
He’s getting ready for bed that night when a notification pops up: Yuki has posted on his Instagram story.
The first story is a repost, Yamaha welcoming him to the team. Yuki has added a string of purple hearts. The second story is a simple thanks, for all the well wishes and support. I’m excited for 2026!
Pierre stares at it. There's something ugly under his sternum, wild, roiling.
Fuck.
+++++
Pierre decides that maybe Charles and Charlotte are right, so he shows up in Faenza unannounced.
“Congrats,” he tells Yuki when he opens the door. “Let’s go to dinner. I’ll pay.”
Yuki looks surprised, but pleased. “Hello, Pierre. What are you doing in Faenza?”
Pierre blinks. “Seeing you?”
“Okay.” Yuki stands back, lets Pierre into his apartment. “I already have dinner plans, but you can come if you like.”
Which is how Pierre spends dinner being stared down by Kazuto and listening to Yuki enthuse about the string of races in Asia that are coming up. His last string of F1 races in Asia. Pierre tries to smile at him, but Kazuto doesn’t look very impressed, so Pierre is relieved when they say goodbye outside the restaurant, and Kazuto heads in the opposite direction to where they're parked.
Yuki drove them, and they sit in the car for a while as he types rapid-fire replies on his phone. After a couple of minutes, Pierre can’t help but ask. “Who are you texting?”
“Fabio got my number, see.” Yuki tilts his phone screen. “We’ve been talking a bit, about next year.”
Pierre grits his teeth. “Nice.”
“He has lots of advice. He’s very kind.”
“Wonderful.”
They end up going back to Yuki’s and playing video games, yelling at the screen, and pushing each other into the couch cushions and generally being giggling nuisances. Pierre crashes in Yuki’s spare room. In the morning, Yuki makes them pancakes, and Pierre goes back to Milan feeling like he's solved nothing.
+++++
Abu Dhabi is miserable.
“Last F1 race,” he says to Yuki as they’re waiting for the driver’s briefing to start. “How do you feel?”
“Happy,” Yuki says. “Sad. Weird.”
“Will you miss me?”
“I’ll miss everyone,”
“But will you miss me?”
Yuki pauses. He’d been fiddling with his water bottle before, but now he turns his whole body to cast a weird look at Pierre. Pierre shifts. He feels caught out, but he doesn’t know for what.
“Yes Pierre,” Yuki says indulgently. “I will miss you.”
It doesn’t really settle Pierre, but they’ve got a race to get on with, so he does that. Charles has already won the championship, and he wins this race too. After Pierre has given him his congratulations, thanked his own team for the year, he goes to find Yuki afterwards at the AlphaTauri garage.
“Congrats,” Yuki says. Pierre had come P8, not a bad end to not a bad season.
“Yuki—” but he’s not sure what to say next. He wishes he’d thought to bring a gift of some kind, or at least prepared something properly to say.
Yuki smiles up at him. His eyes are crinkled, like they always are when he smiles at Pierre. “Sorry Pierre, I have to go. Team celebrations.”
“But let’s get dinner. Text me?”
“Of course.” Pierre makes himself grin back, and draws Yuki into a hug. It'll be the last time he sees him in his racesuit, he thinks distantly, and tightens his arm across Yuki's shoulders.
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