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It started during the season break. Danny had been lying on the beach in Perth when he suddenly felt a strange pulling sensation in his chest. A cough overtook him out of nowhere, earning a few odd looks from people tanning nearby.
Weird. Maybe he’d overdone the AC in his car or something.
What was even weirder was that it didn’t go away. No matter what he did, the cold stuck. He even started drinking tea, in the middle of an Aussie summer like a crazy person. By the time he flew back to Europe for testing, he was armed with cough drops and a thermos bottle.
Other than that, though, life was good. He’d finally moved up to the Red Bull first team, even if the car was struggling this year. Even Vettel wasn’t happy with it. Still, who cared? He was in a top team, had great friends, and a pretty great life.
Finally Melbourne rolled around. And as he got into the car, he felt it, that electric rush, knowing this was going to be great.
ᯓ★
It was frustrating as hell.
Crossing the line just behind Nico, hearing the crowd louder than the engines, standing on the podium in front of his home crowd, it should’ve been perfect. It had been perfect.
And then it was gone.
Disqualified. For something he couldn’t control.
Usually, he was known for his positivity and cheerful mood. And he knew he’d be fine tomorrow. But right now? Right now, he just wanted to sulk.
So instead of going out and celebrating like he’d planned, he sat in his hotel room watching a rerun of MasterChef Australia, drinking decidedly uncelebratory champagne straight from the bottle.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
He considered ignoring it. Then came another, more certain this time, and he pushed himself up with a sigh.
Maybe it was someone from the team. Though he doubted it. Sebastian was probably busy dealing with his own DNF, and he couldn’t really imagine anyone else caring enough to check in.
He opened the door and found himself looking straight into Jules’ deep brown eyes.
“Hey.” Jules smiled, that familiar flash of his bunny teeth. “Can I come in?”
Daniel just stepped aside.
Jules walked in, his gaze flicking over the room, the scattered clothes, the half-empty bottle of champagne.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?” Danny asked.
“No,” Jules said simply, dropping onto the bed. “Sucks. C'est comme ça.”
He grabbed the bottle and took a long sip.
It was the first time since the disqualification that Danny smiled.
“Fuck yeah, it does.”
He took the bottle back and sat beside him, turning his attention to the TV again.
They watched in silence until the champagne was gone and exhaustion finally caught up with him. When Danny glanced over, Jules was already asleep. He huffed softly, but didn’t have the heart to wake him. After all, he’d had a shit race too. So instead, Danny pulled the blanket over both of them. The alcohol made sure he was out within a minute.
The next morning, he woke with a dull headache and only half a blanket. Jules had claimed the rest, curled in on himself like he always did.
It wasn’t unusual. They didn’t share beds often, but often enough that it wasn’t awkward anymore. After parties, when they were too drunk to find their own rooms. Back when they were younger after long days in the Italian summer heat, the scent of sun and warmth still lingering in the night air.
Or those two weeks when they were nineteen in Amsterdam, too broke to afford separate rooms. Two weeks of being high as fuck, young and not yet famous, with big aspirations and even bigger dreams. The little room they had shared felt like a separate plane of existence. It was a simpler time. Danny liked to remember it.
And, just like he’d known it would, the world didn’t feel quite as bleak this morning.
He let Jules sleep while he brushed his teeth and got ready. But as he pulled on his shirt, another coughing fit hit him.
Jules stirred, uncoiling slightly, squinting at him.
“You alright?”
“Bonjour,” Danny said with a grin.
Jules rolled his eyes.
“I’m fine. I just have this nasty cold.”
Jules hummed, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Well, get up. Pretty sure you’ve got a flight to catch,” Danny added.
“Yeah.”
Jules stretched, then swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“See you in Malaysia.”
He waved once before slipping out the door, leaving Danny alone with a scratchy throat and a tangle of blankets.
ᯓ★
They both DNFed in Malaysia and got drunk afterwards. This time not in bed watching MasterChef, but properly in a club. At least they had some fun that weekend.
He got his first podium in Spain. Not counting the farce that had been Australia, of course. And through all the crowd, one specific head of chocolate curls stood out to him. It didn’t even bother him that he’d started coughing at Nico in the cooldown room, who only pulled a slightly offended face before turning his attention back to setting his helmet perfectly straight.
In Monaco, he got another. In his ecstasy, he climbed onto a table at Jimmy’z, fueled by the cheers of the other partygoers. Jules rolled his eyes at him, but Danny knew he didn’t mean it. He reached out and pulled a reluctant Jules up with him, encouraging the people around them to cheer for him too.
“You’re an idiot,” the Frenchman yelled into his ear.
“And a podium finisher,” Danny shot back, grabbing a bottle of way too overpriced champagne out of a bucket and spraying it at Jules like they were on a podium.
The brunette shrieked, entirely unmanly, and covered his face with his arms. Danny, mercifully, emptied the rest onto the onlookers instead.
“That was fun,” Danny said as they walked through Monte Carlo in the early hours of the morning.
Jules hummed in agreement, wrapping his arms around himself.
“That was very sweet of you,” Jules said after a few beats of silence.
“What?” Danny asked.
“Celebrating with me.”
“Of course. Getting points in that tractor is the real accomplishment of the day.”
Jules laughed, running a hand through his hair.
“Seriously, as soon as they put you in a good car, you’ll be up there with me. You’re an amazing driver, Juju,” Daniel said softly, and he meant every word.
Canada felt unreal. The Mercedes cars had been so dominant all season that he had almost convinced himself it was impossible for anyone to snatch a win from them. But as he crossed the finish line, it became real. The roar of the crowd, the Australian anthem playing, it was all for him.
That night, he really celebrated. It was almost the best party he’d ever been to. Almost.
The next morning, he was woken by someone knocking at his hotel door.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.” Jules looked more tired than Daniel felt and he had stumbled into bed around four or five in the morning, so that was saying something.
“It’s alright.”
Jules walked into the room and let himself fall onto the couch with a sigh.
“The car is really a tractor.”
Daniel winced. “Yeah.”
“It’s whatever.”
“Hey, everyone can see how good you are. No one else could have gotten points in your situation. I promise you, Ferrari or some other team will snatch you up soon. They’d be stupid not to.”
Jules stayed quiet for a moment before giving him a small smile. “Thanks.”
Before Daniel could say anything else, something about how it was a wonder no one had done it yet, or maybe a creative jab at where the Marussia mechanics had studied, he dissolved into another coughing fit.
This one lasted nearly a full minute.
When he finally caught his breath again, Jules was watching him closely.
“It’s getting worse,” Jules worried.
Danny waved him off, “Don’t worry about it.”
Jules frowned. “You really need to get that checked out, Daniel.”
The Aussie always loved the way his name sounded in Jules’ voice. But he could tell he was trying to be serious.
“I’m fine. Race winner, after all,” he joked.
Of course, that earned him one of Jules’ signature eye rolls.
“Come on. If we hurry, we can still get breakfast before someone comes looking for us.”
ᯓ★
Hungary should have been even better.
Another win. Proof it wasn’t a one-time fluke, that he had what it took. But that joy barely lasted past the finish line. Because as soon as he took off his helmet, he saw it.
A single flower petal. Snow white, bleeding into deep red at the edges.
Fuck.
There was no doubt in his mind where it had come from. A nasty cough had hit him just before lights out. He’d spat something, what he’d thought was just mucus, into his helmet.
The realization swirled in his head. Someone from the team motioned for him to keep moving, and he quickly let the petal disappear into his sleeve before hurrying toward the cooldown room.
He had never thought it possible to want a podium celebration to end so quickly.
Back in the hotel room, where he could finally shower, it hit him all at once.
Hanahaki.
He could actually die from this.
He moved toward the bed, ignoring the complimentary bottle of champagne. He needed a clear head right now.
Staring up at the ceiling, his eyes began tracing imaginary patterns across the smooth surface.
But it didn’t make sense.
Someone was in love with him. Enough to make him sick. Had been making him sick for months. He just hadn’t realized it until now.
He reached over to the nightstand and picked up the petal, letting his fingers trace its edges.
It could be anyone. He was pretty well known, after all. The thought made panic rise in his chest, but he forced it down. No. A stranger might have a crush on him, sure. But not like this. Not enough for something like this. It had to be someone who knew him. Really knew him.
It had started back in Perth. So maybe someone from there?
He thought about the girl he’d hooked up with a few times over the break, her soft hair, her smooth skin. But no. Then why wouldn’t she have said something? Surely she would have at least tried to stay in contact.
Maybe the surfer with the shark tooth necklace. They’d only hooked up once on New Year’s Eve, but every time he’d seen Daniel after coming back to shore, he’d smiled so warmly.
Ugh. Same problem. But maybe it was a start.
ᯓ★
No one had ever called him a quitter, and no one had ever called him shy either. So he just started asking people.
He started with the two acquaintances in Perth, but they both confirmed it had just been a fun time, no strings attached. He asked Sebastian if anyone came to mind, and the blonde just shook his head and said something in German that Danny didn’t understand, though he thought he caught the word idiot. Others in his team didn’t know anyone either.
But he didn’t let that bring him down. He had to be getting closer, right?
He had also finally taken Jules’ advice and gone to a doctor, who confirmed it for him. He had explained the effects, how the petals would multiply until they became full blooms. The cure, of course, being a kiss. He also said that in most cases, about a year passed from the first petal to more serious complications, like hospitalization or, well, death.
Danny didn’t want to dwell on that.
A year was more than enough time to spread the word about his condition. He would find his secret admirer, ask for a quick peck, then let them down gently, and everything would be fine.
Easy as that.
It just sucked that he was in pain more and more often now. No matter how much tea he drank, his throat wouldn’t calm down. More and more frequently, he spat up blood alongside the petals.
By the time summer break ended, he was getting desperate.
He couldn’t race like this.
ᯓ★
Jules lingered around his garage ahead of the first free practice.
“Bonjour, Juju,” Daniel greeted.
Normally, that would earn him at least an eye roll, maybe an annoyed remark.
Instead, Jules just asked, “Is it true?”
Up close, Daniel could see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his lower lip was red and chapped from being chewed on.
“Your… condition,” he clarified, looking up at him.
Daniel sighed. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, you know, I went to Australia, so I didn’t have time. And the only time I saw you after I found out was at your birthday party, and that wasn’t about me.”
Jules just looked at him.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Daniel admitted.
“You think I was less worried finding out through gossip? Imbécile.”
Danny scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry. Actually, I thought I’d have it sorted by now.”
That finally earned him an eye roll.
“Hey, it could’ve worked. But tell me when you have an idea who it could be.”
Suddenly, Jules’ eyes flicked around nervously.
“Actually, I’ve gotta go. My team is waiting for me.”
And with that, he hurried off toward Marussia.
“Good luck!” Danny called after him.
Apparently, he had been wrong in assuming his illness would hinder him from driving.
He won Spa, relishing the feeling of victory again. The celebration was even wilder than Canada, which might have been part of the reason he felt like he needed to vomit not long after they entered the club.
He stumbled outside, bending forward as he tried to throw up.
Nothing came.
He dropped to his knees, clutching his throat as he kept coughing, choking, until he felt something rising.
He spat. Instead of bile, an entire blooming flower hit the pavement.
Danny was still heaving, barely able to breathe, when he registered a hand running over his back, through his hair, a soft voice murmuring something in French.
Of course Jules had noticed he was gone. Of course he was here, comforting him, on the night of his third win, when he himself had DNFed again.
Eventually, Danny managed to breathe again and looked up at him.
Jules wasn’t looking back. He was staring at the flower in absolute terror, pale as a sheet, his hand frozen against Daniel’s back.
“Are you alright?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, Jules reached for the flower, not seeming to care that it was covered in saliva.
“It’s a Nice carnation,” he whispered.
“Uh… I guess it’s nice?”
“Imbécile,” Jules muttered. “Not nice. From Nice. The city.”
He turned the flower slightly in his hand.
It wasn’t often that Danny didn’t know what to say, but right now, he didn’t. Why was Jules suddenly talking about botany when he’d just coughed up a flower in front of him?
“That’s good to know,” he settled on, even though he had no idea why it would be.
Jules suddenly dropped the flower like it had burned him and scrambled to his feet.
“I’ve gotta go. Early flight.”
And with that, he was gone, before Danny could think of anything better to say.
Well. That had been weird.
Back in Monaco, he looked it up, and Jules had been right. It was a Nice carnation.
According to Google, it had many meanings. But this one, the multicolored petals, had a specific one: Regret that a love cannot be shared.
Not for the first time, Danny felt bad for his mystery admirer.
ᯓ★
In Monza, he tried talking to Jules again, but the Frenchman was nowhere to be found.
And to make matters worse, his search was going nowhere.
He felt like he had asked the entire paddock, past hookups, friends, acquaintances, but no one confessed to being in love with him.
He didn’t despair, but it sucked. He had hoped this would be easier.
In Japan, he was done with not talking to Jules, and with having his messages ignored.
First of all, Jules was a key member of the “don’t let Danny die way too young because of flowers in his lungs” club.
But also, and probably the only reason that really mattered, Danny missed him.
He missed talking to him, missed annoying him with jokes that Danny knew he secretly found funny, missed the eye rolls, and the way his voice curled around French in a way that made Danny understand why people called it the most beautiful language in the world.
So he waited in the Marussia garage after qualifying.
If anyone on the team was surprised to see him, they were polite enough not to say anything.
Jules froze when he saw him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, sharper than Danny had ever heard him.
Danny raised his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “Just wanted to talk to you.”
Jules set his helmet down a little too hard.
“I don’t know why you’re ignoring me. Just—please stop.”
Jules still wouldn’t look at him, so Danny stepped closer and dug his fingers into Jules's sides.
Jules immediately burst into laughter, twisting away and swatting at Danny's hands.
"Okay—stop, Daniel, please—stop—" he gasped between laughs.
Danny grinned and let go.
“Done ignoring me, Juju?”
“Yes, you imbécile,” Jules said, still catching his breath. “I just thought you were mad at me. Because I left you in Belgium.”
“No. I could never,” Danny smiled.
“Still, it wasn’t nice. I was overwhelmed and scared for you. But I’m sorry for how I reacted,” Jules apologised.
“Stop apologizing,” Danny replied. “I wasn’t even mad in the first place.”
That evening, Jules came to his room again.
They didn’t drink, because tomorrow they’d be flying around corners at 300 kilometres an hour, but they did watch some silly reality TV show together. When Jules yawned, Danny didn’t tell him to leave, even though he knew he’d wake up without a blanket tomorrow.
ᯓ★
The race was a shitshow from the beginning. Way too much water on the track, stopping, restarting, safety car after safety car. It was a miracle only Alonso had retired so far.
But Danny kept pushing, trying to make up for their poor qualifying yesterday. The rain picked up again, and he had to squint just to see anything. Finally, he managed to get past Button.
His race engineer came on the radio. Good job. Just hold position. Sutil had lost control of his car.
Soon, Danny spotted it, marshals scurrying around. But he kept his focus. He couldn’t risk ending up there himself.
Simon spoke again. Another crash. One of the Marussias.
Daniel felt his chest tighten, and for once, it had nothing to do with his illness.
“Which one?”
“Bianchi.”
He had been annoyed, angry, frustrated during races before, but never like this. Never with such a strong urge to just park the car and run.
Fuck the seat. Fuck the race. Fuck the podiums.
He needed to know if Jules was alright.
As he drove past the accident site, his blood ran cold. He couldn’t tell what was happening, couldn't see Jules, but something felt horribly wrong.
For once, he was relieved when the race was stopped early. He didn’t care about losing the chance at fighting for a podium. This meant he could leave immediately.
The moment he stopped the car, he jumped out, yanked off his helmet, and stormed across the paddock. He wasn’t thinking, his body just moved, carrying him straight to the medical center. Someone tried to stop him, saying he wasn’t allowed in, but he pushed past them.
Inside, only a woman was there, putting away supplies.
“Where is he?” he demanded, voice almost breaking.
“They took him to the hospital.”
Fuck.
No.
This couldn’t be real.
It had to be really bad.
What if he was too late?
He wanted to scream and cry and break something. Instead, he just nodded numbly.
He made his way back to the Red Bull garage. He showered on autopilot, pulled on fresh clothes, and skipped the team meeting, ignoring everyone who tried to talk to him.
He got into the first cab he could find, and everything came rushing back all at once.
Jules that morning, tangled in the blankets. His car, half wrecked in the gravel. Him smiling and waving across the paddock. Simon’s voice in his ear.
“Bianchi.”
ᯓ★
All that rushing, and it was for nothing.
They sat him in a waiting room with no information. A Marussia team member sat next to him, checking her phone every few minutes.
Hours passed until finally, a nurse approached them.
“You’re here for Mr. Bianchi?”
They both stood up, but the nurse held up a hand. “One at a time.”
Danny felt like he might punch someone, even though he knew it wasn’t their fault. He dropped back into the hard plastic chair.
“I’ll be quick,” the Marussia woman promised, following the nurse.
The minutes seemed like hours, dragging on forever. It was torture.
At least she kept her word, returning after only a few minutes to give him directions to the room.
Danny followed her directions to the room, his stomach twisting with every step. He had no idea what to expect. Maybe Jules was unconscious. Maybe he was hooked up to a maze of machines. He took a deep breath before pushing the door open.
The bed was propped up. Jules lay completely still against the crisp white sheets, his chocolate brown hair mostly hidden under a thick bandage.
His eyes cracked open as Danny approached the bed.
Too many emotions hit him at once, relief, fear, something overwhelming he couldn’t name.
“Tu ne vas pas me dire bonjour?” Jules murmured.
Danny didn’t think. He did the only thing that felt right.
He leaned down and, careful, so careful not to hurt the brunette, gently pressed his lips to Jules'. The kiss was soft, barely there. He let it linger for a moment, not deepening it, just unwilling to break the contact.
When he pulled back, it hit him that maybe that had been a bit much.
But Jules was smiling slightly at him, despite the exhaustion in his eyes.
And Danny felt…Better. Lighter somehow.
“Sorry, that was—I don’t know.” He looked away, then back again, suddenly serious. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”
“They gave me painkillers. So… no.”
Silence settled between them.
“When did you realize?” Jules asked into the quiet.
“What?” Daniel had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe the painkillers were making him say nonsense.
Jules bit his lip and looked down. “That I’m the one making you sick.”
“You’re not,” Daniel said quickly. “You—what are you talking about?”
“That’s why you kissed me. To get rid of your illness.”
“No, Jules,” Danny shook his head. “I kissed you because I wanted to. You aren’t the person who—”
He stopped abruptly.
Only now did he realize how easy breathing was. He took a deep breath, just to make sure. Yeah. Definitely easier.
“What the fuck,” he muttered.
“You seriously didn’t know?” Jules asked.
Danny shook his head slowly.
“No. Jules—fuck. I thought I lost you. I’ve never been that scared in my life.” He took a shaky breath before continuing. “You really think I would let you come here, after I crashed, and just kiss you for my own benefit?”
“You do stupid things.”
Danny let out a weak laugh. “Yeah, maybe. But not that.”
Jules’ expression faltered.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I know. You were in pain, and I was too scared to stop it—and I wanted to, I swear. I wouldn’t have let you die, but I didn’t know how to tell you and—”
“Hey.” Danny squeezed his hand gently. “It’s okay. We’ll talk about it later. When you don’t have a hole in your head.”
He was pretty sure Jules was high on whatever they’d given him, but Jules nodded anyway, sinking back into the pillows.
“Try to sleep, alright?”
Danny kept holding his hand.
Jules looked so small like this. Smaller and more fragile than Danny could ever remember him being.
ᯓ★
Jules had to stay in the hospital for a while. There was talk about possible brain damage, Danny didn’t really understand the details.
It was also clear that the season was over for him. Jules was devastated about that. But Danny was just glad he was alive.
He was only allowed to leave and return to Europe in late November, the week of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. So, sadly, Danny had to wait to see him again.
Just a few more days. And it still pissed him off.
He narrowly missed a podium but still finished third overall in the Drivers’ Championship, which he was more than proud of.
But now he was finally free to visit Jules.
He didn’t drive straight to Monaco when the plane touched down like he usually did. Instead, he stayed in Nice, only taking a small detour to pick something up before heading to Jules’ family home, where he was staying.
Danny rang the doorbell and a few seconds later Jules opened the door. A smile spread across his face the moment he saw Danny, his expression softening as he noticed the carnations in Danny’s hands.
“Hello,” Danny said. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
Jules stepped aside, and Danny followed him into the living room. He awkwardly held out the bouquet.
“For you.”
Jules accepted the bouquet carefully, almost as if it were fragile.
"Thank you," he said, blushing lightly.
"I still don't understand how you didn't realise they were from me," he added.
Danny gave a small shrug. "Yeah. In retrospect."
Jules huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but he didn't look away from the flowers just yet, absentmindedly tracing the red-tipped petals with his fingertips.
"So," he said after a moment, setting the bouquet down with care, "what brings you here?"
Daniel tilted his head. “Just wanted to see you again.”
Jules’ gaze dropped, just briefly. “I really am sorry about not telling you earlier. Je te jure. I wanted to, I tried to—I just didn’t know how.”
“It’s alright, Jules. It’s all good now. I’m better, and you’re better too. That’s what matters.”
He reached out, resting a hand on Jules’ arm.
“Yeah, I guess,” the brunette hummed.
“The doctors said I can drive again,” Jules added, his eyes lighting up. “And it’s all cleared with Marussia as well.”
“That’s amazing,” Danny said, beaming.
“Right? I mean, it kind of sucks, because I’d hoped to be in a better team by now. But after the crash… I was scared I’d never drive again. Or that I would lose my seat. So, it’s alright.”
Danny couldn’t fully imagine what he had been going trough. He didn’t know if he could get back in a car after something like that, but he understood the longing.
“You’re an incredible person, Jules,” he said quietly.
Jules just laughed softly.
Danny hesitated for a second, then remembered the other reason he was here.
“I’m also kind of here to ask you out. Like, properly. On a date. You know, no more regret and all of that.” He grinned, gesturing down at the flowers.
Jules rolled his eyes at him, but a smile spread across his face.
“I’d like that,” he muttered.
“Good.”
Danny leaned in.
This time, the kiss wasn’t hesitant. Not just lips brushing, he didn’t have to be careful in the same way anymore. His hand slid into Jules’ hair, no longer hidden under bandages, as he deepened the kiss slightly, slow and certain.
When they pulled apart, Danny thought Jules looked more beautiful than ever.
Jules’ tongue flicked over his lower lip, his gaze dropping briefly back to Danny’s mouth.
“I’m free right now,” he murmured.
Daniel laughed, lacing their fingers together.
“Well then,” he said, smiling, “let’s go find the perfect date spot.”