gwen

the paddock had long since accepted that you were formula 1’s golden boy. bubbly, effortlessly charming, and armed with a blinding smile that could diffuse even the most tense post-race press conferences. you had a rare gift: everyone liked you. from the grumpy mechanics in the garage to the most cynical drivers on the grid, you were fiercely protected. moving to red bull racing had only cemented that status, especially because your teammate, max verstappen, had essentially adopted you as a younger brother. max, notorious for his ruthless, blunt demeanor, treated you like a precious commodity, constantly hovering, checking your telemetry, and throwing protective arms over your shoulders in the media pen.

but while you were busy driving your heart out, consistently planting your car in the top five, and being entirely oblivious to the social media frenzy surrounding you, formula 1 tiktok fandom was losing its collective mind.

the edits were everywhere. set to slowed-down, cute love edit audios, millions of fans analyzed every single interaction between you and mercedes’ newest prodigy, kimi antonelli. kimi was quiet, laser-focused, and carried that intense, serious italian passion that made him a formidable presence on track. yet, whenever you walked into a room, the internet noticed a shift.

there were slow-motion clips of kimi standing in the background of your interviews, his dark eyes completely fixed on you while you laughed and gestured wildly. there was the viral video from monaco where you had accidentally misplaced your driver's water bottle, and kimi, without saying a single word or even breaking eye contact with his engineer, had simply reached out and pressed his own chilled bottle into your hands before walking away. you had just assumed he was being a polite peer. the internet, however, knew better. they saw the way he lingered, the way his fingers brushed yours, and the rare, soft softening of his expression whenever you babbled excitedly during the drivers' briefings. you were completely blind to it, attributing his quiet intensity to just "kimi being kimi."

until race day in silverstone.

the atmosphere was electric. you had qualified a stellar p3, sitting right behind max in p2, while kimi had claimed a brilliant pole position. the race was a grueling, high-speed chess match, but by lap forty-two, you were holding your own, keeping the roaring red bull right on the tail of the leading pack.

then, disaster struck.

coming down the high-speed entry into copse, a sudden catastrophic mechanical failure caused the rear of your car to snap violently. you didn’t even have time to gasp over the team radio before the car spun out of control across the gravel trap, carrying immense speed until it slammed sideways into the techpro barriers with a sickening, heavy thud.

the impact rattled your teeth, the violent deceleration forcing your helmeted head to snap to the side, clipping the cockpit padding hard enough to make your vision momentarily explode into a blinding white glare.

"red flag, red flag!" the race director’s voice crackled across the global feed.

instantly, the paddock went dead silent. in the red bull garage, max’s race engineer broke into his radio. "max, red flag. big crash for your teammate at copse. looks like a rear suspension failure."

max didn’t even hesitate, his usual calm racing demeanor instantly fracturing into raw panic. "is he okay? gp, is he out of the car? tell me he’s talking," max demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding octave as he slowed his car down, straining his neck to look across the track as he passed the sector. "i'm stopping if he's not moving. someone tell me right now."

but while max was demanding answers, kimi had already reacted.

kimi had been leading the race, but the moment the flashing red lights illuminated his steering wheel dashboard and your car number flashed as the cause, his heart stopped. rounding the corner, he saw the wreckage, the shattered carbon fiber, the crumpled red bull chassis resting heavily against the barriers, and most terrifyingly, your helmeted head resting entirely still against the side of the cockpit.

kimi didn't think. he didn't ask his engineer for permission.

the moment he pulled his mercedes up near the accident site alongside the safety car deployment, kimi stomped on the brakes, unbuckled his harness with trembling, frantic hands, and killed the engine. he vaulted out of his cockpit before the track marshals could even reach the scene, his boots hitting the tarmac in a dead sprint toward your car.

"kimi, what are you doing? stay by the car," his engineer, peter bonnington, crackled anxiously over the radio, but kimi threw his earpieces out, ignoring the world.

your vision was swimming, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing right behind your eyes. you felt breathless, trapped in the heavy silence of the cockpit, trying to remember which way was up. suddenly, a pair of gloved hands gripped the edges of your halo, and a frantic, breathless voice shattered your disorientation.

"hey! hey, look at me. look at me, per favore," kimi panted, his visor up, his eyes wide and dark with a terrifying, uncharacteristic panic. he was leaning so far into your cockpit that his shadow completely covered you. "are you okay? can you hear me? speak to me, please."

"kimi...?" you mumbled, your voice sounding small and raspy inside your helmet. you blinked slowly, trying to focus on his face. "what... what happened?"

"the car broke. you hit the wall very hard," kimi explained, his voice uncharacteristically shaky as he carefully, gently reached inside to check your hans device, his fingers trembling against your shoulders. he looked you over like he was making sure you were entirely whole. "don't move your neck. the medical car is coming. just look at me, okay? keep your eyes on me."

"i'm okay," you breathed, a little bit of your usual bubbly warmth trying to fight through the daze. "just... a little dizzy, that’s all. oh god, did i ruin the race?"

kimi let out a sharp, breathless laugh that sounded incredibly close to a sob of relief. he rested his forehead against the top of your halo for a split second, closing his eyes. "you stupid boy," he whispered in a fiercely affectionate, relieved tone. "who cares about the race? you scared me to death."

by the time the medical delegates arrived, they found kimi stubbornly refusing to leave your side, holding your hand firmly until they carefully lifted you out of the chassis. even as you were placed in the back of the medical car, kimi stood on the track, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, watching the ambulance drive away with an intense, burning gaze that the television cameras caught in high-definition glory.

an hour later, the drama had settled. you had been cleared by the medical center with nothing more than a mild concussion and a few bruises, strictly ordered to rest.

you were sitting on the training table inside the private red bull motorhome, wrapped in a comfortable oversized team hoodie, sipping a juice box max had practically forced into your hands. max had already stormed into the room earlier, giving you a crushing, silent hug that nearly cracked your ribs, lecturing you about scaring him before heading off to deal with the media.

there was a soft, hesitant knock on the door.

"come in!" you called out, your voice bright despite the lingering headache.

the door slid open, and kimi stood there. he had changed into his casual mercedes team shirt and shorts, looking uncharacteristically shy. the fierce, terrifyingly protective driver from the track was gone, replaced by a quiet young man holding a small, foil-wrapped package.

"hey," kimi said softly, closing the door behind him. "max said i could come in for a minute. how is your head?"

"kimi! come here," you beamed, gesturing for him to sit on the edge of the medical table next to you. "i’m totally fine. a little bruised, but the doctors said i have a hard skull. i heard you jumped out of your car for me. that was... crazy, kimi. thank you."

kimi shrugged, a faint, lovely crimson flush creeping up his neck as he sat down close to you. he wouldn't look you directly in the eyes, suddenly fascinated by his own sneakers. "i just... i saw you weren't moving. i lost it and my heart, it completely stopped."

"you're a really good friend, you know that?" you said earnestly, tilting your head and offering him a sweet, grateful smile.

kimi let out a soft sigh, finally looking up at you. his eyes were incredibly warm, filled with a deep, unspoken emotion that had been building up for months. "friend," he repeated under his breath, a small, ironic smile touching his lips. he reached out, his fingers incredibly gentle as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from the small bandage on your forehead. "you are so smart in the car, but outside of it, you see nothing, do you?"

“oh?” you blinked, completely confused by the sudden tenderness. "what do you mean?"

kimi didn’t answer right away. he just looked at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your face with a quiet, breathtaking intensity that made the small red bull motorhome feel suddenly very, very small. the soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound between you, replacing the roaring engines and chaotic paddock chatter outside.

he reached down and placed the small, foil-wrapped package he was holding onto the table next to your juice box. "my mother, she always says that when someone you care about gets a shock, they need something sweet. it is a traditional italian hazelnut cake from home. i had my trainer get it from the motorhome."

"really? that’s so kind of you, thank y-"

"i did not jump out of my car because we are friends," kimi interrupted softly, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that made a strange, unfamiliar flutter wake up in your chest. his hand traveled from your forehead down to your cheek, his thumb lightly brushing across your cheekbone. his touch was warm, deliberate, and entirely un-peer-like.

you froze, your juice box hovering halfway to your mouth. "you... you didn't?"

"no," kimi said, a faint, breathless laugh escaping him as he shook his head. he looked down at your hands, then carefully slid his fingers between yours, intertwining them just like he had in those tiktok edits the internet loved so much, only this time, there was no engineer to distract him, and no crowd to hide behind. "when i saw your car hit the wall, i did not think about the championship. i did not think about mercedes, or toto, or what the stewards would do to me for leaving my car on the track."

he looked back up, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a raw, unfiltered vulnerability that completely disarmed you.

"i only thought about you and your pretty smile," he whispered, his accent thick and heavy with emotion. "i only thought that i cannot hold back anymore. i have spent the last six months watching you from the garage, waiting for you in the media pen, giving you my water just to have an excuse to touch your hand for one second... and you just think kimi is being polite."

your mouth opened slightly, the dots finally, catastrophically connecting in your mind. the lingering glances, the quiet presence always hovering just on the edge of your vision, the way he always seemed to find you in a crowded room, it wasn't just "kimi being kimi." suddenly, it made sense.

"oh," you breathed, a sudden, bright blush rushing to your cheeks, making your face feel incredibly hot. "do you... like me?"

kimi’s lips curved into a genuine, beautiful smile. one that the cameras rarely, if ever, managed to capture. he leaned in just a fraction closer, the scent of his post-race shower and clean team kit wrapping around you.

"i am crazy about you," kimi corrected gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand. "the whole paddock knows it, i think. max knows it, which is why he looks like he wants to kill me every time i breathe your air. the fans on the internet definitely know it. only the beautiful, brilliant, blind golden boy did not see it."

before you could process the absolute meltdown the whole formula 1 fandom community was going to have when they realized they were right, the motorhome door suddenly clicked.

kimi didn't pull his hand away, but he did turn his head slightly as max verstappen’s towering frame filled the doorway, a fresh bottle of water in hand and a dark, fiercely protective scowl immediately settling over his features the moment he saw how close kimi was sitting to you.

"okay, kimi," max said, his voice a low, warning rumble. "time’s over. his head hurts, he needs to rest."

kimi didn't flinch. he just gave your hand one last, lingering squeeze before slowly letting go and standing up, turning to face the older driver with that calm, unbothered italian confidence. "he is doing much better, max. i was just leaving."

he turned back to you, his eyes softening instantly as he gave you one last look. "rest, eat the cake. and check your phone later, yeah? i´ll text you."

with a polite nod to a glaring max, kimi slipped out of the room, leaving you sitting on the examination table, entirely breathless, with a racing heart that had absolutely nothing to do with your 150-mph crash at copse.

𐔌 ⠀⠀oh oh oh. i don’t know why i just kept thinking of how cute it would be to write this dynamic: secret feelings and lingering moments that just catch your breath and the oblivious reader character. i just LOVE this. 𓂃 ࣪ ִ⠀