Y/N had been running around with a small bag of cookies from the hospitality kitchen when she stopped and tilted her head.

“Hi. You look like you’re gonna cry,” she said plainly, blinking up at him.

Kimi startled, then let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not… I’m just thinking.”

“My teacher says when people make this face—” she scrunched her eyebrows and puffed her cheeks, mimicking his stress perfectly, “—they need cookies. Wanna cookie?”

Kimi blinked at the chocolate chip offering. He took it carefully, like it was the first genuine human moment he’d had all day.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome. My dad says everybody gets nervous their first time. Even him. But I think you’re gonna go super fast. And if you don’t, that’s okay. I can cheer louder.”

That simple statement cracked a smile out of him. A real one. And when Toto walked out a moment later to call Kimi into the garage, he paused.

“Y/N, making friends already?” Toto said, smiling knowingly.

“Yep! He’s my new cookie friend.”

From that day on, Kimi always greeted her with a little wave, and whenever the cameras caught them together in the paddock, he looked a little less like a nervous rookie and a little more like someone who belonged.

Comforting the Older Drivers – Monaco

By mid-season, Y/N had seen the emotional rollercoaster of Formula 1 up close. She’d seen her dad juggle team decisions, watched drivers celebrate wins, and noticed the quiet moments of heartbreak behind closed doors.

One weekend stood out: Monaco.

The whole Mercedes garage had been buzzing with energy, but it was Charles Leclerc’s home race weekend that felt heavier. He’d been on pole, the whole crowd chanting his name, and yet—somehow—the race had slipped away from him again.

As the podium celebrations went on for other drivers, Charles slipped into the Ferrari hospitality quietly, helmet in hand, jaw tense.

Y/N noticed. She always noticed.

Without hesitation, she tiptoed into the Ferrari motorhome with the confidence only a paddock child could have. Carlos Sainz blinked at her in surprise, but didn’t stop her.

She walked straight up to Charles, who was slumped in a chair, and tapped his knee.

“You look like you need a hug.”

Charles blinked, startled. Then, slowly, a small, sad smile pulled at his lips.

“Do I?” he asked softly.

She nodded very seriously. “Yup. My grandma says hugs are medicine.”

Charles chuckled under his breath and leaned down to let her wrap her little arms around him. For a moment, the tension in his shoulders melted.

“Merci, petite,” he said softly in French. “You might be the best medicine in Monaco.”

After that, every driver in the paddock knew: if Y/N walked into your garage with that determined look, you were about to get therapy, kindergarten style.

Silverstone and the Unspoken Promise

When Lando Norris lost at Silverstone, Y/N noticed him standing by the garage, helmet in hand, looking at the celebrating crowd that wasn’t celebrating him.

She padded up quietly, holding a paper flag she’d gotten from a McLaren fan booth.

“You can have my flag if you’re sad,” she said, holding it out.

Lando knelt down to her level, his eyes glistening.

“I think I need that flag, actually,” he said, taking it gently. “Thanks, kiddo.”

She grinned. “Next year, you’ll win, and I’ll make a bigger one. With glitter!”

He laughed for real that time, and when she skipped back toward the Mercedes garage, Lando thought, Maybe next year will be different.

Her Unspoken Role

Throughout 2025, Y/N became a legend in the paddock, not for her last name, but for her heart.

She high-fived Franco Colapinto after his first points finish.

She shared a juice box with Liam Lawson on a stressful sprint weekend.

She cheered for Oscar Piastri after his near-miss at his home GP, telling him, “It’s okay. Australia will wait for you.”

It wasn’t strategic. It wasn’t planned. She was just… Y/N. A kid who saw feelings more clearly than lap times.

By Abu Dhabi, drivers were joking that she was their “team psychologist”, and even the broadcasters picked up on it. Cameras often caught her bouncing through the paddock in her tiny Mercedes cap, unaware she’d become the heartbeat of the sport.

And every time a driver ruffled her hair or accepted a cookie, Toto watched quietly from a distance, heart swelling. His little girl didn’t just belong in the paddock—she made it better.

Extra:

Abu Dhabi – Comforting a Legend

The 2025 season had been a blur. New rookies, shocking podiums, and dramatic championship battles had all unfolded under the desert sun and rain-soaked skies of the year.

By the time the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix rolled around, the paddock buzzed with the energy of a finale. Cameras followed every driver, reporters jostled for last-minute interviews, and the glittering lights of Yas Marina reflected on the glossy carbon-fiber cars.

Mercedes had fought hard this season. Toto Wolff wore his usual composed expression, but Y/N had learned to read the small things: the way her dad’s jaw tensed, the way his eyes lingered on timing screens.

She had also learned to read Lewis Hamilton.

Lewis was smiling as he walked back to the garage post-race, waving at fans, but his steps were slower than usual. His car had come so close to a win—second place again—but the championship slipped away to Red Bull one more time.

Y/N slipped out of the hospitality suite, sneakers tapping against the floor, and intercepted him just as he reached the back of the garage.

“Hi, Uncle Lewis.”

He looked down, warmth flickering in his eyes despite the heaviness in his chest. “Hey, little one. You’re supposed to be with your dad.”

She shrugged. “He’s talking to people with suits. You look sad.”

Lewis chuckled under his breath. “You’re too smart, you know that?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Do you need a hug?”

Lewis hesitated for only a second before crouching down. She wrapped her arms around his neck, small and certain, and he let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The weight of an entire season seemed to ease in that simple, innocent gesture.

“Thanks, champ,” he said softly. “You always know how to make a bad day better.”

She pulled back with a grin. “That’s my job! And next year you’ll win, and I’ll bring cookies for the podium.”

He laughed for real this time, the sound soft but full of gratitude. “Deal. Don’t forget the cookies.”

From a few steps away, George Russell watched with a smile, shaking his head. “You know, I think we need to make her part of the official strategy team. She’s got better morale management than half the engineers.”

Toto, finally free from interviews, caught the scene from the garage doorway. Pride swelled in his chest as he watched Lewis and Y/N laugh. His daughter, the little sunshine of the paddock, had once again done what the sport sometimes forgot to do—made a human moment in a world of speed and pressure.

As the lights of Yas Marina twinkled and the team packed up for the winter break, Y/N skipped along beside Lewis, her small hand in his.

She didn’t know about constructors’ championships or tire degradation. But she knew that people needed someone to believe in them.

And in 2025, that someone was her.

End.