A race to your heart (Zarry AU)

1.- Beginnings 🏁

Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, England

In the small village of Holmes Chapel, nestled in the heart of Cheshire, two boys met on a dusty go-kart track, forever changing their lives. The sun shone brightly that day, casting long shadows over the track as the engines roared, and the smell of gasoline filled the air.

Nine-year-old Zayn Malik spotted a new kid, his curly hair catching the sunlight. Zayn had a keen eye for newcomers, and this boy's infectious laughter drew him in. Zayn, a seasoned racer, felt a pang of curiosity and excitement. He decided to introduce himself.

"Hey, I'm Zayn. This is your first race, yeah?" Zayn asked, his voice filled with a mix of confidence and nervousness as he approached the curly-haired boy adjusting his suit with the help of his mother.

"Yeah. I'm Harry," the boy replied, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he stretched out his hand. Zayn shook it, feeling an immediate connection.

"Good luck," Zayn said, his hands trembling slightly.

"Good luck to you too, Zayn," Harry responded, making Zayn smile at the sound of his name.

After the race, neither of them having won, Zayn approached Harry again, determined to befriend him.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to the podium," Zayn said, trying to console him.

"It's alright. It was fun," Harry shrugged, smiling widely, his optimism shining through.

"Do you want to get a whippy? I'm going with my mother," Zayn asked, hoping to extend their newfound friendship beyond the track.

"Sure, I'll ask mine. Wait here," Harry said, dashing towards his mother.

That was the beginning. From that day on, they became inseparable. They spent every spare moment together, both on and off the track, pushing each other to improve with every competition. Their friendship blossomed amidst the thrill of racing, laughter, and countless whippy ice creams.

10 Years Later

"Hey, mate! Good race!" Harry said, wrapping his arms around Zayn after another exhilarating race.

Harry was now renowned for his natural talent behind the wheel, his ability to navigate corners with precision, and his fearless determination to win. Zayn, on the other hand, was recognized for his strategic mind, analyzing tracks and opponents to make calculated moves that left competitors in awe.

Their rivalry and friendship had become legendary in Holmes Chapel, drawing crowds to the local track every weekend to witness their epic battles. The boys, now young men, had grown in skill and fame, their bond only strengthening over the years.

As they reached their late teenage years, both Harry, 18, and Zayn, 19, caught the eye of talent scouts from prestigious racing teams. Offers started pouring in, and soon they were both signed and enrolled in junior development programs, beginning their journey towards professional racing.

They traveled the world, honing their skills on various circuits, climbing the ranks of motorsport. Their paths remained intertwined, each race bringing new challenges and victories for the young drivers. They pushed each other to new heights, their fierce but respectful rivalry becoming a defining feature of their careers.

Eventually, their hard work paid off, and they found themselves on the cusp of the pinnacle of motorsport: Formula One.

Their debut in Formula 2 was nothing short of spectacular. Harry secured a podium finish in his very first race, while Zayn impressed with his fearless overtaking maneuvers. As the season progressed, both drivers established themselves as top contenders, their competitive spirit driving them to excel.

Despite the intense competition on the track, Harry and Zayn remained the best of friends, always sharing a laugh and reminiscing about their humble beginnings on that dusty go-kart track.

Present Day - Harry's POV

As I hear the engines roar on the racetrack, I can't shake the feeling of emptiness that has lingered within me lately. I write it down in my journal but close it, unable to continue. I know the reason.

Once inseparable, Zayn and I have become rivals. The adrenaline that used to bind us now fuels a competitive fire that seems to have destroyed our friendship.

Now I'm in the pit lane, working with my team's mechanics and engineers. I watch him from afar as he prepares for the weekend's race, feeling that our friendship isn't the same anymore. Something happened.

I know what happened.

After a party a few weeks ago, Zayn's attitude towards me changed. Watching him from afar like a creep, I notice his team hurriedly adjusting his car in the garage. I decide to approach him while he adjusts his suit and grabs his helmet.

I can smell his cologne, so familiar, so him.

"Hey, mate. How've you been?" I ask, my voice barely masking my anxiety.

"Good. Busy," he says without looking at me, his voice cold.

"I see. Well, good luck in the race," I say, feeling awkward and inadequate.

"Same, Styles," he replies, putting on his helmet with a finality that stings.

With that, I leave, my heart heavy. Not just from the anticipation of the competition, but from the realization that maybe we've lost the connection we once shared.

"Maybe he knows," I think, trying to shake the thought before the race. Since our teenage years, I've developed a special affection for him, beyond our friendship. And now... we are stranded.

After that cold interaction, I fail to deliver good results on the circuit. He beats me and wins P1 this time. I'm different from Zayn. My emotions complicate things before, during, and after a race. Sometimes I can't control them, and they affect my performance. This is a huge liability for my career and personal life. I'm aware.

Zayn has always been able to compartmentalize his emotions and focus on what's important. I admire that about him. I approach Zayn again after the race, drawn to him like a magnet.

"Hey, Zee. Congrats on the victory," I say quietly, smiling.

"Thanks," Zayn says coldly again.

"Hey, erm... do you want to hang out? It's been a while since we did something together," I venture.

"I can't, I have plans today. Sorry. See you later, Harry," Zayn says, turning away, leaving me hanging.

"Silly me, thinking he'd accept," I think, regretting my invitation immediately.

"I see," I say mostly to myself, feeling utterly disappointed.

I understood the message and decided to bury this friendship.

In the next races, as the green flags drop, our cars surge forward, tearing down the tracks. I grip the steering wheel, the thrill of racing mixed with the ache of unspoken emotions. Part of the adrenaline rush comes from the hope that maybe, just maybe, winning on the track will bring us back together.

In the post-race events, Zayn stands on the podium, bathed in victory and champagne. I'm proud of his success, but the pain of our growing distance overshadows any joy I feel.

"Great race," I manage to say, my voice betraying a hint of sorrow.

Zayn half-smiles, but it lacks the warmth it once had. "You too, Haz. We're both chasing our dreams, right?" he says, nodding to a team principal congratulating him.

I smile and nod.

"Haz," he calls me, using the nickname he gave me when we were younger. I flash back to our lives together and shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. I interact with my team and other racers, masking the turmoil inside. The racing world has given us success but has also taken away the simplicity of our friendship.

I can't escape the haunting realization that what I have left is this unique devotion to him and the burning passion for racing.