#oliverbearman

The flash of Alex’s camera was a familiar presence at every F1 race. He wasn’t just a fan with good lens; he was an official paddock photographer, and his work was known for its raw, unfiltered emotion. He captured the triumph in a drivers eyes, the quiet contemplation before a race, and the pure, unadulterated chaos of a pit stop.

His personal Instagram, @snapshotsbyalexofficial, was a testament to his passion. It was a curated collection of candid moments, behind-the-scenes glimpse, and the occasional artsy shot of a sunset over the track. It was there, admits the likes and comments, that he first started to notice the little red heart from a very specific account: @oliverbearmanofficial.

It began with a few likes on his most popular posts. Then, it became a regular occurrence. Alex would post a photo of a Ferrari driver celebrating, and within minutes, a notification would pop up: “@oliverbearmanofficial liked your post.”

The first DM came after a particularly grueling race in Silverstone. Alex had posted a photo he was proud of: a close-up of a lone tire, smudged with rubber.

@snapshotsbyalexofficial posted

Captions: Sometimes, the most beautiful moments are the ones you almost miss. Silverstone, you were brutal and beautiful all at once.

comments:

@user12: How did you get this shot. ↝@snapshotsbyalexofficial: @user12 A very quick hand and a bit of luck.

@f1fan: The story behind the finished line. Amazing shot!

@ferrarifan: Love this perspective. Great work.

@user32: This is proper art. Insane.

@f1fanatic22: Alex your photos are seriously on another level!!!

Alex’s heart did a little flutter-kick. The comments from drivers were becoming more frequent, but the first DM came from Oliver, a little while after the post went live.

@oliverbearmanofficial: mate, that shot of the tire is sick. How’d you get it?

Alex messaged back, a little star-struck but trying to play it cool. They chatted for a few days, the conversation flowing easily from photography techniques to what it’s like to be an F1 driver. Oliver was charming, funny, and surprisingly, Dow-to-earth.

Their first real-life meeting was in the Ferrari hospitality area. Alex was grabbing a coffee, and Oliver, spotting him from a distance, walked over with a wide, genuine smile.

“Alex, right?” he said, extending a hand. “Oliver. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The handshake lingered a moment longer than necessary. Their conversation was even better in person. They talked about everything from their shared love of old movies to the best places to get a decent cup of tea in different countries. The hours flew by, and Alex found himself feeling a warmth he hadn’t expected.

Soon, their Instagram activity changed. It wasn’t just about liking posts anymore. It was a playful game of comments.

@snapshotsbyalexofficial: posted

Caption: The quiet before the storm. A few minutes before the race.

Comments:

@oliverbearmanofficial: Tell me you got a good shot of my helmet too . I’m feeling photogenic today 😉

↝@snapshotsbyalexofficial: @oliverbearmanofficial Mate, every helmet is photogenic in my hands.

@charles_leclarcofficial: Not a bad shot, I suppose! Thanks, Alex.

↝@snapshotsbyalexofficial: Always a pleasure!

@formula1updstes: So handsome even in his helmet! Great photo as always Alex!

The “cute” peaked on a rare, quiet weekend. Oliver, on a break between races, messaged Alex.

@oliverbearmanofficial: Fancy a walk? I’ve seen this cool cafe i want to try, and i could use someone to tell me if my flat white is photogenic enough.

Alex, of course, said yes. The walk was filled with easy laughter, shared stories, and the quiet comfort of being with someone who just got him. As they sat at the cafe, Oliver, with a sly grin, handed Alex his phone.

“Here,” he said. “You’re the photographer. You take the picture.

Alex took a photo of Oliver, his face lit up with a brilliant, happy smile. He knew, with a certainty that settled in his chest, that this was his favorite photo he had ever taken. It wasn’t a racing car, or a Grand Prix moment , or a famous driver. It was just Oliver, smiling at him.

Later that evening, Oliver posted the photos on his Instagram story. He didn’t tag Alex, but he didn’t need to. The caption was simple, and it made Alex’s heart feel like it might burst.

@oliverbearmanofficial: posted

story Caption: best flat white, even better company.

Story Views and Comments:

@charles_leclerc: Who’s the lucky company, Ollie?😉

@pierregaslyofficial: Careful there, mate, don’t let the coffee go to your head!

@landonorrisofficial: Ooh , mysterious! Spill the tea! 🍵

@alexalbonnofficial: Looks like someone’s having a good off-week!

@f1fanpage_1: OMG is this a soft launch?! 👀

@oliverbearman_officialfanclub: He looks so happy!☺️

@user47382: Who took the pic? It’s really good!

@user85: Enjoy the break, Oliver!

And for Alex, seeing those comments, especially the teasing ones from Oliver’s fellow drivers, made the moment even sweeter. It felt like their connection, though still new, was subtly entering the world.

I hope you guys enjoy it

Hey. It’s me. Uh, I hope this is still your number. I’m about to get ready for quali in Barcelona. Wish you were here to see it. Know you’ve always wanted to come here. Anyway. Bye. 

Hi. Sorry if these are getting redundant but I’m about to qualify in Vegas. I know you’re only four hours away. Ollie takes on America, I guess…  Miss you, Y/N. 

Hi. Abu Dhabi race! Last one of the season! ‘Bout to qualify. Look, I know it’s been almost a year and I’m not trying to convince you to get back together with me but I want to see if we can- What? But I- ugh. Shit, sorry, I gotta go, but… Come back to the paddock, love. 

That one caught your attention. 

Come back to the paddock, 

Love. 

It had been almost a year since you left Ollie. Though you mostly felt bad about how you left things, there was a part of you that had made peace with it. You both had your own lives to live and your goals that weren’t lining up with each other’s. So why try at something that’s wasting your time?

You missed him though. You missed the pre-race rituals where Ollie held you tight in his arms hearing the joyful shouts and clamor of the outside world, thinking of nothing but each other until Arthur practically ripped down Ollie’s door to get him into his car. When he raced, you knew he thought of you. He made it very clear that you were a priority to him all the time. Although radio chats clearly proved otherwise, you knew in the back of your mind that he was thinking of you. 

~

“Ollie, you need to box mate. Box.”

“But she said to not because-”

“What? Box, Ollie, box.”

“No! Please, I can’t-”

“Sorry Ollie, team orders. Box. Box.”

~

You checked in on him every once in a while, of course wishing him all the best in his career. You watched some of his interviews and still followed Ferrari. You were never going to completely abandon him; you still considered him a good friend. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said you never thought about him a lot. He looked and seemed happy through the screen that you viewed him through, his bubbly personality shining through his dazzling smile that you missed oh-so-much. Sometimes your mind had wondered what happened if you came back that night. Would you have figured it out? Would the outcome be the same? Was Ollie really going to desert F2 and possibly F1 just for you? 

You always forced those thoughts out of your head; they weren’t something that was a part of your life anymore. 

Similarly, Ollie felt the same. He could and would never cease thinking about you, even in the most serious of situations. He’d notice small mannerisms in other people that you had, like scratching your nose when you were anxious, and would be reminded of you through certain inflictions in peoples’ words. His pre-race ritual was never the same, knowing that the cuddles and silent comfortable moments you once had would never return. Arthur, being the good friend that he is, even offered Ollie cuddles and extra support when you’d left, but it never was the same for him. 

Now though, you were currently about to attend your graduation party for university. After you and Ollie’s incident, you moved as far as you could from him to focus on yourself and your career. You moved to the States after a month-long debate with yourself as well as your parents. You worked so hard to get yourself into and through school, buying yourself an apartment, and spent many of your days in your new environment with strangers who eventually turned into friends. You had turned over a new leaf, and you felt like a new person.

You could almost say that you had forgotten about Ollie. 

Almost. 

Your parents had thrown you a huge party to celebrate your accomplishments throughout the past few years. They had invited extended family as well as your old friends from elementary school. You flew in a couple of days before your party, getting used to the time difference, reverting back to your old ways of life before you left. 

It was nice to be home, the comfort of your childhood house and environment made you at ease, along with your family and friends you hadn’t seen in a while. Your parents did a good job of decorating the house, placing framed pictures of you in the front room, balloons covering every normally empty corner. You saw family members who you hadn’t seen in years, chatting with them until somebody else stole you away. A couple of hours went by, and a few speeches were made courtesy of your parents and a few close relatives. You felt normal for the first time in a while. 

That’s when you turned and made eye contact with him. Ollie. 

You felt your stomach drop. Why was he here? How could your parents invite him? How do you address what happened? Of course you knew the answers, you were smart enough to figure out your next move, but your mind spiraled as soon as you saw his warm, brown eyes. You excused yourself from the conversation you were having, speed walking to the bathroom. You locked the door and took a moment for yourself.

Okay, you thought. Just act normal and pretend like you didn’t walk out on him. Easy. 

You fixed yourself up and walked back out into the organized chaos. 

About an hour later people started to leave, wishing you luck in the next stage of your life, telling you how proud they are and all that. But all you could think about was him. 

After everyone cleared out, you walked back to your kitchen seeing Ollie having a conversation with your dad.

His eyes flicked over to yours, hesitantly looking back to your dad’s. “Oh, um. Sorry sir, do you mind if I…”

“Go ahead.” Your dad smiled and walked out of the kitchen as Ollie headed towards you. 

He anxiously took in a breath in as you studied his figure. He was standing slightly hunched over, wearing a white button down shirt with navy blue pants. You’d always told him that the blue pants looked better on him, a nice contrast to the black and red he wears. 

His voice was low. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” You slightly smiled. When Ollie would come to your house unannounced when you were little, it would bring you so much joy. 

“Dunno,” He said, sighing. “Was your big day, and I had to be all dramatic and show up I guess.” A chuckle rumbled from his chest; a sound you haven’t heard in a long time. 

“Oh, um, those are for you,” He said, gesturing towards a box of candy surrounded by envelopes and stuffed animals on a table. “I know you probably haven’t had those in a while. You know, moving to the States and all.” 

It shocked you that he still remembered the smallest things, showing that he still really cared about you. There was a comfortable silence between the both of you, you were surprised it wasn’t an awkward one. 

“I just want us to be normal again. I can’t stand not having you in my life, Y/N. There’s this hole that you left and I’ve been trying to fix it with racing, my family. Fuck, I’ve even starting up knitting. And I get that you’ve moved on and have healed and everything, so I get it if you don’t want to do this, but I need you back in my life. This time it’ll be different, Y/N. I promise.”

You gauged the situation. Did you really believe that things could be the same after what happened? He was the sweetest most genuine person you’ve ever encountered, but would he still want more after you established you were just friends? You fought yourself back and forth,  surprising yourself of what came out of your mouth:

“Okay.” 

“I promise I won’t- wait what?” He expression changed, 

“Okay. We can try to be friends again. That’s it though. No reminiscing of our romantic relationship, no calling me late at night because you can’t sleep. None of that. I can’t do that again, Ol.”

“Okay. Deal.” 

All of what you felt that night started coming back, the guilt returning to your chest. This boy was  utterly in love with you, and you completely fucked him over. 

“Ollie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just up and left. You deserved better than that.” You looked down at the floor, internally cringing at your past mistake. You were embarrassed. 

“It’s okay. I forgive you, Y/N.”

“Thanks.”

“So, friends again?”

“Yeah.”

You were never one to back down and stop what you were doing because someone was hating on you. You weren’t raised that way. If you were passionate about something, you did it all the way, not letting anything stop you. This time though, it was getting harder to ignore the bad stuff. People were constantly finding things to nitpick you for, saying how you “loved” Ollie and how you were just in it for the exposure and benefits, which was absolutely not the case. Though you expected interviewers asking about your private life, you never thought it would be this intrusive. Ollie had noticed the more hateful comments were getting to you and even put out a statement, but nothing worked. He’d been too busy racing and traveling to alleviate some of the anxiety you were feeling, so you thought this to be the best option:

Ending your relationship. 

“Um, sure.” He said, hesitantly. The outcome of this conversation was not one he’d like. He couldn’t risk losing you. You were the one person that truly understood everything he did. He truly fell harder for you than you could ever possibly fathom, and even he himself couldn’t explain into words how special you were to him. 

“I think we need to take a break.” The words came out slow and shaky, fear crawling its way through your words. 

“W- what?”

“I just, I- I don’t have feelings for you anymore.” You cringed to yourself. You were completely lying to his face. And he could see it. 

“Bullshit. Is this about what that article said the other day? I swear to God, I’ll find whoever wrote it and-”

“Ollie, stop.” Your voice was stern, scaring him a little bit. 

It was about the article, but you didn’t want to cause any drama or bad press around him, having the media calling him a hothead and other terrible names they could come up with. So you opted to tell him that you didn’t love him anymore. That you “lost feelings” when you felt the complete opposite. You wanted nothing less than waking up next to him and his unruly hair, softly waking him up as you combed through his curls.

Which was exactly how Ollie was feeling, too. He never understood how much your daily checkups and silent support really meant to him, you asking him if he was alright when he was at his darkest, and being there for him during the height of his career. You were always there, a constant in his ever changing life. 

“Don’t make this harder than it already is. Please. I just don’t love you anymore.” You fidgeted with your hands as you went to find your phone. You wanted this conversation to be cut and dry, but it wouldn’t turn out that way. He rushed in front of you and lifted your chin with his finger. You kept your gaze anywhere else but him. 

“Look me in the eyes and say that again.”

The room was quiet, so tense that you could hear both of your shallow breaths. His eyes never left yours as you contemplated your answer. 

“Ollie, your fans hate me. So does your team. It seems like you’re the only one that doesn’t.” You remembered one conversation where some woman came up to you and told it to your face.

“Hi. You’re Y/N, Ollie’s girlfriend, right?” Some lady asked when you were watching a few drivers qualify on the TV screens in Ollie’s garage. “I am, yeah.” “Let’s hope you leave before he starts qualifying.” She laughed lightly.  “Excuse me?” “You’ve seen his quali position versus his starting one when you’re here, right? Oliver’s place always goes down a few positions.” “Oh, well I don’t-”  “I think then I’m the problem, ma’am. My girlfriend’s not the one driving the car.” Ollie came up from behind you, putting his arm around you.  “Oh well. My apologies, then. Have a good one, Ollie.” The woman turned around and walked away. “The hell was that about?” “Dunno. She just came up to me and started talking.” “If someone else says something like that to you, tell me and I’ll-” “Ollie. Just focus on racing right now, okay?”

He threw his hands in the air. “Love, what are you-”

“Think about it. Ever since we got together, you’ve had bad race results. Your car’s been breaking down more often. For fuck’s sake, you almost died, Ollie! When we were just friends that never happened! And now,” You took a breath. “I’m just a distraction, okay? I-”

“How dare you fucking say that. You are not the cause of my bad performances, Y/N! I am!” 

Tears started to form in his eyes. How could you say that about yourself? How could you ever think that? Not for a second did he think you were a distraction. All you ever did for him was make sure he was at his best. Sure, he was getting bad results recently, but you certainly weren’t the cause of it. Hell, you were keeping him focused on not crashing if anything.

“You need to focus on your championship and I need to focus on school.” You shoved past him, grabbing your keys from the counter. 

“That’s what you’re worried about? A fucking championship, Y/N?!” 

“Ollie, that’s your dream! You’ve wanted that since you were a kid! Why are you letting me get in the way of it?” 

“I need you more than I want that stupid championship.”

Shaky breaths erupted from both of you. You knew he was right. He had told you that his priorities had changed. Then it hit you. Was that the reason he was performing so badly at races? Was he racing badly so he’d lose his contract and he’d finally be able to spend time with you? 

After a few minutes you decided to leave. There was no way in hell that you were going to be the reason he lost his contract. Walking towards the door, you mentally checked if you had everything to stay the night elsewhere. 

Ollie caught onto you, following after you. “No. No. Don’t leave. Please.” He grabbed onto your wrist, his eyes pleading you to stay. You’d never left after a fight, always wanting to work it out before you guys went to do something else. This time though, you felt like you had to.

“Just trust me, okay? I’ll be back.” Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were going to. You turned around, reaching for the doorknob, but Ollie was quick enough to slide in front of it.

“I will… I will call Rene right now and tell him that I quit, okay?” He pulled out his phone, hands shaking, and started to search for Rene’s number. “Just don’t…please stay.” Desperation was clear in his voice. As he found it, you scooted past him and slipped out the front door, speed-walking to your car. 

“Baby, no. Please. Where are you going?” You heard him shout as you got into your car. You had left and he was unsure, for the first time, that you might not come back.

~

4 missed calls from ollie 🐻 💗

2 voicemails from ollie🐻 💗

Hi Y/N. Look, I need to… Just, just please call me back please. I want to work this out, okay? I love you. 

Babe, please call me back. I’m getting worried. Just let me know you’re okay. Please. I love you. 

You shut off your phone and sighed, laying back down on the bed, groaning. 

“Still haven’t told him where you are?” Arthur’s voice made you jump, reminding you that you weren’t alone. 

You shook your head. “No.” Arthur laid down next to you on your -his- bed. You had crashed at his house for the night, telling him what happened through broken sobs and tears.

“I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but I think you should tell Ollie where you are. Or just text him. The guy’s been worried sick, Y/N. He can’t sleep, eat. Even Jak can’t get him out of bed,” Arthur said.

Fuck, you thought. 

~

You unlocked you and Ollie’s door for the first time in what felt like months. As you shut the door close, your eyes met Ollie’s brown ones. He was standing a few feet away from the door, his eyes wide open as he tried to figure out if you were actually standing in front of him. Tension in the room was off the charts. 

Arthur was right, he looked terrible. Nothing in the apartment had changed since you left, with the exception of a few blankets strewn around the floor. Ollie rushed towards you, dropping whatever he was holding, it clattering to the floor as his arms snaked around your waist tightly. He was afraid if he let go of you a second time, you wouldn’t come back for certain. You felt his entire body relax against yours, as yours did the same. He burrowed his head into your neck, softly placing kisses on your skin. 

“You came back.” His voice was deep and relieved. 

“Momentarily.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna move out, Ollie.”

“What? No, you- you can’t.”

You got out of his grasp and hurried towards your room, and started to pack your things through your blurred vision. 

“What’re you doing? Just stop.” He started to unpack the things you started to.

“This isn’t your decision to make, Ollie. Okay?!” 

The room went quiet, the silence so deafening you swore you were alone. You pinched the bridge of your nose; you knew he didn’t deserve this. He was the one you always saw yourself with in the end. What happened? 

Ollie walked over to you; he towered over you like he always did. “You’re really going then?” 

You nodded. “I’ll have Arthur pick up the rest of my stuff.” You scratched the back of your neck. You didn’t know what else to say. You saw a tear drip to the floor as he nodded. 

You picked up your stuff and led yourself out, Ollie following closely behind. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.”