𝒉𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒍

Summary: At a funeral in the pouring rain, she faces Lando Norris—the man who left too soon. But now, he’s here. And love, when it comes too late, is just another kind of grief.

The rain fell in steady drops, soaking through the thin black fabric of her dress. She barely felt it. Not when the weight in her chest was heavier than any storm.

She stood near the casket, her fingers clenched together, nails pressing into her palm. The funeral had drawn a crowd, but she barely registered the hushed voices, the murmurs of condolences, the weight of their stares.

And then, she felt it.

A presence.

She turned her head slowly, already knowing who she would find.

Lando Norris stood a few feet away, his suit wrinkled from the way he had been clenching his fists. His hair was damp from the rain, curls sticking to his forehead, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something she couldn’t name.

He shouldn’t be here.

And yet, he was.

Their gazes locked, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, he swallowed hard and stepped closer.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, voice barely above the rain.

“No,” she said, her voice hollow. “You shouldn’t have.”

His jaw tensed. “I had to.”

She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “You had to?” Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for it. “Where was that urgency when I was still here?”

Lando flinched. He always did when she cut too close to the truth.

“I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know what?” she interrupted, turning fully to face him now. The grief, the anger, the love she had buried so deep it should’ve been gone—it all rose to the surface, raw and bleeding. “Didn’t know that I needed you? That I was falling apart while you were too busy pretending we never existed?”

His lips parted, but no words came.

She laughed, but it was empty. “I used to think you showing up meant something.” Her eyes searched his, desperate for an answer she would never get. “Does it?”

Lando exhaled shakily. “It does.”

“Then why does it feel like you only ever show up when it’s too late?”

The wind howled between them, the rain mixing with the tears she refused to shed.

Lando hesitated, then reached for her hand—but the second his fingers brushed hers, she pulled away.

He dropped his arm, defeat settling in his posture.

“I loved you,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes, the words slicing through her like a knife. “Then you should’ve stayed.”

Silence.

She took a step back, then another. If she stayed any longer, she might break apart completely.

Lando didn’t stop her.

Because love wasn’t enough—not when it came too late.

Summary : In Monaco’s warm night, you and Lando Norris share a moment of unspoken feelings. Longtime friends, your bond deepens as he acknowledges your presence in his life. With a whispered invitation, a kiss seals what was always meant to be.

The low hum of the paddock filled the warm Monaco night as you leaned against the balcony, the scent of salt and champagne lingering in the air. The harbor glittered below, but your mind was elsewhere, tangled in the intoxicating presence of the man beside you.

Lando Norris.

His tousled hair still carried the faint scent of burnt rubber and engine oil, remnants of a day spent wrestling his McLaren around the circuit. He held a champagne flute loosely in his fingers, but his gaze was fixed on you, his usual playful smirk replaced with something softer, something unreadable.

"You were watching today," he murmured, the husky edge to his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You smirked, keeping your eyes on the twinkling cityscape. "Of course, I always do."

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, but it's different with you. You know me better than anyone."

Your fingers tightened on the railing as your heart pounded. It was true—you had been there for every race, every qualifying session, every heartbreak and victory. You weren’t just another face in the paddock; you were his constant, his quiet anchor in the chaos of his life.

"I know when you're holding back," you said softly, turning to face him fully.

Lando’s blue eyes searched yours, something dangerously close to hope flickering in their depths. He took a step closer, the champagne in his hand long forgotten. "And I know when you're pretending you don’t care as much as you do."

Your breath caught as he reached up, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The night melted away, the roar of engines replaced by the sound of your heartbeat thrumming between you.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

You didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that tasted of adrenaline and possibility. He sighed against your mouth, pulling you closer, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The world blurred, but for once, you weren’t chasing the finish line.

The scent of vanilla and buttercream filled the air as you set the cake down on the table, your heart pounding in anticipation. The soft glow of the candles flickered against the dimly lit room, the only other source of light being the cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The cake had been a last-minute idea, something playful yet meaningful, and you couldn’t help but wonder how Carlos would react.

Carlos had promised he wouldn’t be late, but you knew how unpredictable his schedule could be. The hours ticked by, and just as you were about to check your phone for the tenth time, the front door creaked open.

“Perdón, cariño,” his deep voice carried through the quiet apartment. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had.”

You turned, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “I’ll forgive you, but only if you make a wish.”

Carlos’s gaze landed on the cake, and his eyebrows shot up as he read the message in bold, frosting-covered letters: Tell Sainz I am legal.

A breath of laughter escaped him, warm and full of amusement. “Are you serious?” he asked, shaking his head. But his expression softened as his eyes met yours, filled with a quiet affection that sent warmth spreading through your chest.

“I thought I’d make your life easier,” you teased. “Now, no one has to ask.”

Carlos’s lips quirked up at the corner, and he let out another soft chuckle. “And why, exactly, don’t you have to explain?”

You shrugged, leaning against the counter with a playful glint in your eyes. “Because the cake says it all.”

Carlos shook his head again, but his hands found your waist, pulling you in. “Eres increíble,” he murmured before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

His warmth enveloped you, and suddenly, the cake didn’t matter as much. All that mattered was the way he held you, the way his lips ghosted over your skin, the way he whispered against your ear, “Happy birthday, mi amor.”

The moment stretched between you, unspoken words lingering in the air. He reached past you, plucking a bit of frosting from the cake with his finger and playfully tapping it against your nose. You gasped, laughing as you swatted his hand away.

“Oh, it’s war now, Sainz.”

His laughter rumbled through him as he dodged your playful attempt to smear frosting on his cheek. “I’d like to see you try, cariño.”

The night was young, and the city outside sparkled, but in that moment, all that existed was the two of you, caught between laughter, love, and a cake that neither of you could take seriously anymore.

It had been a long time coming.

You had met Carlos a year ago, an accidental encounter in the bustling streets of Madrid. You hadn’t recognized him at first, which was something he found endlessly amusing. “You really had no idea who I was?” he had asked, eyes twinkling with intrigue.

“None at all,” you had admitted, biting your lip as you remembered the way he had casually introduced himself as ‘Carlos’ without the slightest hint of expectation.

That had been the start of everything. What began as chance encounters turned into long conversations over coffee, stolen moments between his races, and eventually, something neither of you could ignore. Despite his chaotic schedule, despite the distance that sometimes stretched between you, Carlos had a way of making you feel like you were the center of his world.

And now, as he traced lazy circles on your back with his fingertips, his breath warm against your temple, you couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday any other way.

“Do you ever think about how different things could’ve been if we hadn’t met that day?” you murmured.

Carlos hummed thoughtfully. “I try not to.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like thinking about a life where I don’t have you in it.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your throat tighten. “You’re such a sap, Sainz.”

He laughed, pressing a lingering kiss to your hair. “Only for you, cariño.”

The roaring engines, the scent of burning rubber, and the flashing lights of the paddock were all part of your world. Being the daughter of one of the most influential team principals in Formula 1 meant you had grown up surrounded by the sport. But it also meant you had to follow the rules, and one rule had been made clear: never get involved with a driver—especially one from a rival team.

Yet, here you were, pressed against a dimly lit corridor behind the hospitality units, George Russell's piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. His fingers traced along your wrist, sending shivers up your spine.

"We can’t keep doing this," you whispered, even as you leaned into his touch.

George smirked, tilting his head slightly. "You say that every time, yet here we are."

You let out a shaky breath. He was right. No matter how much you tried to stay away, the magnetic pull between you two was impossible to ignore. It started as stolen glances across the pit lane, then brief touches when no one was looking, and now… now it was something far deeper, far more dangerous.

"If my father finds out…" You swallowed hard, your heart pounding louder than an F1 car at full throttle.

George cupped your face gently. "Then I’ll deal with it. I’m not afraid of him."

"You should be," you said with a nervous chuckle. "He's made it clear—drivers are off-limits. And you? You’re the worst possible choice."

His smile softened. "Because I drive for Mercedes? Because we’re competing against each other? Or because you actually feel something for me?"

Your silence was his answer.

The sound of footsteps echoing through the paddock snapped you both out of the moment. George quickly pulled away, adjusting the collar of his team polo. You took a deep breath, straightening your own posture as if nothing had happened. The last thing you needed was for someone to see you together.

"We’ll figure this out," George whispered, his voice barely audible before he turned and disappeared down the corridor.

You watched him leave, your heart tangled in a web of emotions. Forbidden or not, this wasn't just some fleeting romance—it was real. And you had no idea how long you could keep it hidden.

Charles Leclerc had always appreciated the electric hum of Monte Carlo’s nightlife. The city’s glittering skyline, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the rhythm of deep house music were a familiar backdrop. Yet, tonight, his mind was elsewhere as he wandered into a discreet, high-end club tucked away on a quiet corner of the principality.

He wasn’t a regular here, but the place had a reputation for its elegance and exclusivity, far from the clichés of a smoky dive. The club’s atmosphere was dimly lit, sleek, and intimate, with a stage in the center of the room that seemed almost magnetic in its pull.

The moment the spotlight lit up the stage, Charles froze. She was there again—the pole dancer.

She moved with a grace he’d never seen before, her body flowing like liquid gold under the spotlight. Her routine wasn’t just a performance; it was art. Strength, poise, and elegance combined into something breathtaking. He recognized her instantly. He’d seen her a few times before—once at a private event and again through a chance visit with friends. Each time, her presence left an indelible mark on his mind.

Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light as she twirled effortlessly, every movement precise yet ethereal. Her confidence wasn’t arrogance; it was quiet power. And the way she smiled at the audience—not coy, but genuine—made her seem untouchable yet entirely real.

Charles’s pulse quickened as she moved. There was something magnetic about her, something beyond her beauty. It was her focus, her artistry. She performed as though no one else in the room existed, completely immersed in her world. And, for a moment, Charles wished he could be a part of it.

When her performance ended, the audience erupted into applause, but Charles remained seated, rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes away.

For the next hour, he barely heard the conversations at his table. His friends nudged him, teased him, but he didn’t care. He was still replaying the performance in his head, the way she made him feel—like time had stopped.

When the crowd thinned out, he found himself wandering toward the bar. His thoughts raced. He wasn’t the type to interrupt someone’s evening, but tonight, he felt compelled. Then he saw her—standing by the bar, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she chatted with the bartender. She was out of her stage outfit, dressed casually in jeans and a black tank top, her hair tied back.

He hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest. He was Charles Leclerc—confident on the track but suddenly unsure here. Gathering his courage, he approached.

“Hi,” he started, his voice softer than usual.

She turned to him, her eyes meeting his. They were warm, curious.

“Hi,” she replied, her smile lighting up her face.

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, a rare sign of nervousness. “I’ve seen you perform a few times. You’re incredible.”

Her smile widened, and she tilted her head slightly. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

He introduced himself, though he didn’t need to. She chuckled softly. “I know who you are, Charles. Monte Carlo isn’t that big.”

He laughed, relieved by her easy demeanor. “Fair point. But I don’t know your name.”

“Lena,” she offered, extending her hand.

Her grip was firm, her touch sending a spark through him. They talked—first about her performances, then about their lives. He learned she had a background in ballet but fell in love with pole dancing for the freedom it gave her. She spoke with passion, her eyes lighting up with every word.

Time slipped away as they talked, and for the first time in a long while, Charles felt like he was truly connecting with someone beyond the surface. There was no pretense, no fame, just two people sharing a moment.

As the night wore on, he found himself smiling more than he had in weeks.

When it was time to leave, he hesitated. “Would it be okay if I saw you again?”

She looked at him for a moment, her gaze searching his face. Then she smiled. “I think I’d like that, Charles.”

Fernando Alonso had always carried himself with the confidence of a man who knew his place in the world—a two-time World Champion, a legend in motorsport. Yet, as he sat across from her at a quiet café in Monaco, his hands carefully wrapping her chilled ones around a warm cup of coffee, he couldn’t ignore the thoughts swirling in his head.

She was younger, bright-eyed, and full of energy. Her laughter rang out like wind chimes in the summer breeze, and her optimism was infectious. It reminded him of when he was just starting in Formula 1, wide-eyed and hungry for life. But those years felt like a distant memory now.

He had always been aware of the gap between them—not just in age, but in the way they experienced the world. She was the kind of person who didn’t think twice before dancing in the rain, while he was the one to hold out an umbrella and warn her not to catch a cold. It wasn’t that he minded; he loved taking care of her, even if it made him feel old in the process.

“Fernando,” she teased, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “You do realize I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own, right?”

He had instinctively placed a steadying hand on the small of her back as they left the café, as though the short walk to the car might present some unseen danger. He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I know,” he replied, his accent coloring his words, “but I like knowing you’re safe.”

She reached for his hand as they continued walking, squeezing it gently. “You know, you always say you feel old when you do things like that, but I love it. No one’s ever cared about me like you do.”

Fernando glanced at her, his hazel eyes softening. She always had a way of cutting through his insecurities without even realizing it. “You deserve someone who cares,” he said simply.

“But you care in the way only you can,” she said, stopping to face him. “You think opening doors for me or reminding me to bring a jacket makes you old, but it’s thoughtful. It makes me feel... safe, loved.”

His heart swelled at her words. She had an uncanny ability to remind him that love wasn’t about matching each other step for step, year for year. It was about meeting each other exactly where they were—his steady hand to her free spirit.

“I just don’t want to hold you back,” he admitted quietly. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for him.

“You’re not holding me back, Fernando,” she said, her tone firm yet gentle. “You’re grounding me. You remind me to slow down, to take care of myself. And I remind you that it’s okay to dance in the rain sometimes.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made her grin. “Fine,” he conceded, pulling her close. “But if you catch a cold, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Deal,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

The rhythmic hum of Lewis Hamilton's car engine echoed through the underground parking lot as he pulled into a discreet corner. It was well past midnight, and the shadows concealed more than just the sleek lines of his custom Mercedes-AMG. Despite the hour, the Formula 1 legend stepped out, wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses. His movements were cautious but confident as he sent a quick text:

"I'm here."

A minute later, the side door of the parking lot creaked open. She stepped through, clutching her bag nervously. A psychology student in her final year, she had never imagined that a chance meeting at an exclusive event six months ago would lead to a clandestine rendezvous with one of the most recognizable faces on the planet.

"You're late," Lewis teased, his voice low but warm.

"You’re impossible to sneak around for," she shot back, rolling her eyes. But the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her irritation.

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Worth it, though."

"Debatable," she said, though her tone was playful.

"Oh, come on," Lewis said, smirking. "You’re not saying this isn’t the highlight of your day."

"My day? Sure. My week? The jury’s still out." she quipped, leaning into him. "What if someone recognizes us?"

"That’s why we’re here," he said. "Relax. Nobody’s lurking in the shadows with a camera."

"Famous last words," muttered under her breath, though she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

The two climbed into the car, where Lewis started recounting his latest race while she listened intently, occasionally throwing in sarcastic comments that made him laugh. Their ease with each other was evident—until a sudden flash lit up the interior of the car.

"What the hell?" she gasped, ducking instinctively.

Lewis turned sharply, spotting a man outside the driver’s side window with a camera pressed to his face. Another flash went off, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lens clicking.

"Stay down," Lewis commanded, his voice low and steady as he rolled down the window slightly. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

"Just getting a scoop, mate," the paparazzo said smugly, still snapping pictures. "Who’s your friend? She doesn’t look like she’s part of the racing world."

"Get the hell out of here," Lewis snapped, his usual calm veneer slipping. "Now."

The man laughed. "Relax, Hamilton. The world’s gonna love this. A little late-night rendezvous? Very on-brand."

Her heart was pounding as she sat frozen in her seat. "Lewis, let’s just go," she whispered.

But before Lewis could move, the photographer darted in front of the car, blocking their exit. More flashes erupted, blinding in the darkness.

"Are you serious?" Lewis muttered, throwing the car into reverse and backing up quickly. He tried to swerve around the man, but the photographer sidestepped, keeping his lens trained on them.

"Lewis, stop! You’ll hit him!" she cried, grabbing his arm.

"He’s not going to move unless I make him," Lewis growled, but he reluctantly braked.

"Call security or something," she said, fumbling for her phone. Her hands were shaking as she pulled it out and began dialing.

"Oh, don’t bother," the paparazzo said, smirking as he lowered the camera. "I’ve got what I need."

And with that, he turned and jogged off, disappearing into the darkness of the parking lot. They sat in stunned silence for a moment, the tension in the air almost tangible.

"You okay?" Lewis finally asked, glancing at her.

"No," she admitted, her voice trembling. "What just happened?"

"We got caught," he said bluntly, running a hand over his face. "I’m sorry. I should have been more careful."

"It’s not your fault," she said, though her voice was shaky. "But... what do we do now?"

Lewis sighed, starting the car again. "We deal with it. Together. Whatever happens next, we’ll handle it."

summary: Lila Ricciardo’s quiet night in Monaco takes a turn when she bumps into Lando Norris. After an evening that feels full of unspoken chemistry, Lila’s heart sinks when she sees Lando with another girl. As jealousy bubbles up and her brother Daniel gets involved, Lila wonders if what she feels for Lando is just a fleeting moment—or something more.

Lila Ricciardo had always known Monaco was magical—under the bright lights, the bustling streets, and the fast cars that roared through the narrow alleys. But tonight? Tonight was something else entirely.

It was the night after the Grand Prix, and the usual post-race chaos had settled into a more subtle hum. People had begun to scatter, retreating to their hotels or diving into the after-parties. Lila, however, had no intention of joining any of that. She just wanted to breathe in the cool night air and escape the noise.

That was when she spotted him.

Lando Norris, the golden boy of McLaren, stood across the street with a small group of friends. He was leaning against a lamppost, his trademark grin lighting up his face, the slight tousle of his hair adding to the perfect picture of “I didn’t even try, but here I am, effortlessly cool.”

Lila’s heart skipped. She had known Lando for a while now—thanks to her brother, Daniel—but it was never like this. She never imagined the electric tension that hung between them when they were alone. The playful banter. The subtle glances that lingered a little too long. Tonight, though, there was something different in the air.

Before she could talk herself out of it, her legs carried her over to him.

"Lando," she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out a little breathier than she intended.

Lando looked up, his eyes instantly softening when they landed on her. “Lila! Didn’t think I’d see you out here alone. Thought you’d be with Danny or—” He cut himself off, his smile widening as if a mischievous thought just crossed his mind. “Or maybe you’ve finally had enough of him?”

She laughed, the sound light and unguarded. “Could say the same about you.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” he teased, pushing off from the lamppost and stepping toward her. “So, what’s up? Wanna grab a drink?”

Before she could answer, someone else walked up, slipping into the conversation with the ease of a regular. A tall, platinum blonde girl with a radiant smile and a way of carrying herself that immediately screamed high society. Lila could already feel the blood drain from her face.

“Lando! There you are,” the girl said, looping her arm through his. She looked at Lila like she was the most inconsequential thing in the world.

Lila forced a smile, but her stomach twisted in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

“Oh, um... hey,” Lila said, trying to sound casual even though the knot in her chest was growing tighter.

Lando glanced between the two of them, clearly noticing the shift in the air. “This is Isabella,” he said with a shrug, a little too easily. “She’s... here for the race, too.”

Isabella’s smile never wavered, and as Lando’s hand rested on her waist, Lila felt an uncomfortable heat rise in her cheeks. She was that girl now—the one left on the sidelines.

Before Lila could think too much about it, a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Oi, Lila, what’s going on here?"

Lila turned to see her brother Daniel strolling over with a knowing smirk on his face. He was already well aware of the situation, probably having seen everything unfold from a distance.

“Danny, please,” Lila said, her voice a little too sharp. “Don’t.”

But it was too late. Daniel had already slipped into big brother mode.

“I don’t know, Lando,” Daniel said with a chuckle, slinging an arm around Lila’s shoulder. “Do you need help getting away from this... uh, very interesting situation?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his grin still playing on the edge of his lips. “What are you implying, Ricciardo? You think she’s in trouble or something?”

“Oh, not at all,” Daniel said, the mischief clear in his voice. “But I have a feeling Lila might want to escape before you end up in trouble.”

Lando’s eyes flickered from Daniel to Lila, an amused glint in them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daniel leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “Don’t pretend like you don’t see it, mate. I’m not blind.”

Lando’s expression faltered for a second. That tiny moment, that slight shift in his usual confident stance, made Lila’s heart race. Was it possible? Was he actually aware of how much she was feeling?

Isabella, sensing the rising tension, took the opportunity to speak up. “Lando, are you coming?” she asked, her tone sharp, possessive.

Lando didn’t even look at her as he responded, his gaze locked on Lila for a second too long. “Yeah, in a minute,” he muttered, his voice almost too quiet.

Isabella blinked, clearly irritated, but with a graceful roll of her eyes, she turned on her heel and left.

Once she was gone, the atmosphere shifted again—this time, Lila felt like she could finally breathe.

Daniel shot Lila a teasing look. “I didn’t know you were into the McLaren boys, sis. Since when?”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Danny. This is your fault.”

But Daniel, sensing the tension between his sister and Lando, dropped the teasing act. He turned to Lando with a slightly more serious look. “Lando, don’t make me get the dad talk with you.”

Lando grinned sheepishly. “I’m not making any promises, Ricciardo.”

Lila couldn’t hold it in anymore. She sighed dramatically, throwing her head back. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m getting upset. It’s not like he owes me anything. I’m not the one with a possessive streak—”

Daniel raised an eyebrow at her. “Lila, you’re literally standing here talking about him. Don’t play it cool with me.”

She shook her head, trying not to laugh despite the emotional chaos inside her. “Fine. Maybe I did want to spend more time with him. But now... now it’s just awkward.”

Lando seemed to have heard enough. “Okay, look.” He stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. The teasing in his smile faded for a brief moment, and in that instant, Lila saw something real. “I didn’t mean for you to feel like this. I just... didn’t know what you wanted.”

Lila’s heart raced, her thoughts swirling as she fought against the wave of feelings that suddenly rushed over her. But she couldn’t deny it. “And what do you want?”

Lando’s smile softened, and for a moment, there was no one else in the world but the two of them. “Maybe I want to figure that out with you.”

Daniel, sensing the tension was reaching a breaking point, let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, okay. As much as I’d love to play matchmaker, I’m gonna leave you two to it.” He winked at Lila, adding with a grin, “But Lando, if you hurt her, I’ll be the one with a very fast car.”

Lila turned to look at her brother, rolling her eyes as he walked away. But as she looked back at Lando, something in her shifted. This wasn’t just the sibling teasing. This wasn’t just some random flirtation. There was something here. Something neither of them had said yet.

But maybe—just maybe—that was the fun of it.

summary: When a young, determined intern crosses paths with Formula 1 champion Max Verstappen, their connection defies expectations.

Your heart raced as you walked through the paddock. As an intern in the Red Bull communications team, being part of the Formula 1 world was a dream come true. At just 21 years old, you were the youngest on the team, always trying to prove you deserved to be there.

Max Verstappen, on the other hand, was your opposite. At 27, he was already a four-time world champion who seemed to have lived a thousand lives at Formula 1’s relentless pace. Your paths often crossed, but only in fleeting smiles or quick “thank yous” in passing. Until that night.

After another long workday, you were sitting in one of the common areas, reviewing some notes. The paddock was nearly deserted, save for the sound of approaching footsteps. When you looked up, Max stood there, watching you curiously.

“Do you always work this late?” he asked, his voice calm, marked by his distinct Dutch accent.

“Not always,” you replied, trying to maintain a professional demeanor. “Just making sure everything’s ready for tomorrow.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Always so dedicated. Shouldn’t you be out enjoying the night? You’re young; you’ve got the energy for it.”

You laughed softly, trying to hide your nervousness. “Maybe. But it looks like you’re still here too, so I could say the same about you.”

Max smiled, a genuine one. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat down—a move you didn’t expect. “Fair enough. I guess I’ve spent so much time here I’ve forgotten what a normal night feels like.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, a rarity amidst the chaos of paddock life. You could feel his gaze on you—not invasive, but thoughtful, like he was trying to piece you together.

“So,” he began, breaking the silence, “what brought you to Formula 1?”

“It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember,” you admitted, resting your chin on your hand. “I love the sport, the competition… and I wanted to prove to myself I could get here, even being younger than most.”

Max nodded, as though he understood more than he let on. “I get it. When I joined, I was 17. Everyone said I was too young, that I wasn’t ready. But I think that just made me want to work harder.”

Your eyes met his, and you realized that despite the differences in your age and experience, there was something you shared—a determination to prove yourselves.

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.

“How so?”

“You’re… calm. Most people who are confident talk a lot, try to prove they know everything. But you’re quiet. It’s… refreshing.”

Your throat went dry. You hadn’t expected him to say that, but something about his sincerity made you feel at ease.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m still learning,” you said with a small smile. “And maybe because I think there’s more to gain from listening than talking.”

He let out a soft chuckle, low and genuine. “You know, I think you’re right.”

A Few Days Later

Your encounters with Max became more frequent. He always found a reason to talk to you—a quick “good luck” before a press conference or a casual “How’s it going?” during a break.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, painting the paddock in warm tones, Max called you over for a conversation. You stood together by the track, away from the buzz of activity.

“You know,” he began, leaning against a safety barrier, “I should probably tell you to stay away from me.”

You frowned, confused. “Why?”

“Because this world is messy. My life is messy. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who can offer you stability.”

You crossed your arms, trying to mask the sting of his words. “And what makes you think I want stability?”

He blinked, caught off guard by your response. “Most people do.”

“I’m not most people,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re different. You’re... honest, and grounded. And being around you makes me forget the chaos. But that’s dangerous—for you and for me.”

You stepped closer, your voice softer but unwavering. “Maybe I don’t mind a little danger. Maybe you shouldn’t decide what’s best for me.”

His eyes searched yours, conflicted but vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Then let me find out,” you said, offering a small, reassuring smile.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Max hesitated, then reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, his expression tender yet uncertain.

“You’re stubborn,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” you replied. “But so are you.”

He laughed softly, the tension easing slightly. “You’re going to make my life even more complicated, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” you teased. “But isn’t that what makes it worth it?”

Max shook his head, a mix of exasperation and admiration. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you pointed out with a smirk.

He didn’t reply right away, but the look in his eyes said everything. Slowly, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Just promise me one thing,” he whispered.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t regret it.”

You smiled, your heart pounding but your voice steady. “I won’t. Will you?”