#rosielask04

Toto’s towering frame, Susie’s sharp poise, the kind of presence that filled entire rooms. 

Compared to them, you felt like a whisper, soft colors in a world full of harsh edges.

Most of the drivers never made you feel small. 

Lando always cracked silly jokes to get you to smile, Charles sometimes teased you about your fashion, and George treated you like a younger sibling. But Max Verstappen? You avoided him. He was too intense, too sharp around the edges. 

His reputation on track matched the fire in his eyes, and you did not want to accidentally get burned.

That was why sitting alone in Baku’s paddock felt safe until a shadow fell across you.

“You’re by yourself?” a voice asked.

You looked up, and your heart nearly stopped. 

Max Verstappen stood there, hands in his pockets, blue eyes catching yours. 

He wasn’t scowling, not exactly, but his expression was serious enough to make you sit straighter.

“My parents are in a meeting,” you said quickly, wishing your voice didn’t sound so small.

Max tilted his head. “You look nervous. I’m not going to yell at you.”

That startled a tiny laugh out of you, more out of shock than amusement. “I just thought you were scary.”

Max blinked. 

Then, to your surprise, he laughed, short and real, not mocking. “Scary, huh? I guess I can be. But only when I’m racing. Off track, I’m just me.”

You hesitated, fingers smoothing the fabric of your pastel skirt. 

He noticed, and his mouth curved in a small, almost shy smile. “You don’t really look like your dad,” he said. “Mercedes and intimidation. You’re the complete opposite.”

Heat crept into your cheeks. No one ever said it so directly. “I like colors. Pastels feel calm.”

“Fits you,” Max said simply.

For a moment, silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. 

He asked what you liked to do outside of the races, and you told him about reading and sketching. 

He actually listened, nodding, making the occasional comment. 

The nervous knot in your stomach slowly untangled, and you realized something you hadn’t expected. 

Max Verstappen wasn’t scary at all.

When your parents finally came back, you stood, smoothing your skirt again. 

Max gave you a small nod. “See you around, Wolff.”

And for the first time, you believed it.

After Baku, something shifted. 

You no longer avoided Max in the paddock. 

It wasn’t as if you suddenly became best friends, but you found yourself drifting toward him more often, your steps almost unconsciously carrying you closer.

The other drivers noticed.

“Thought you were scared of him,” Lando whispered one afternoon, nudging you when you stood near Max during a media day break. “Now you’re practically glued to him.”

You blushed and shook your head. “I’m not glued.”

But when Max came back holding two water bottles and casually passed one to you, Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Charles was more teasing. “Of all people, you pick Max? I would have bet on you being friends with Oscar since both of you are introverts.”

You had no way to explain it to them. 

It wasn’t that Max was soft, not in the way Charles or Lando were. 

He didn’t go out of his way to make you laugh or treat you like a kid to fuss over. 

He was steady, solid, present without demanding anything from you. 

He reminded you of home.

He reminded you of your father.

Toto could look like a wall of stone to the rest of the world, but you knew how he would stoop down to fix the bow in your hair, or how his voice softened when he asked if you had eaten. 

Max carried that same duality, intimidating to the world but quietly attentive when it mattered.

Once, you admitted it in passing, your voice low as you walked beside him in the paddock. “You remind me of my dad.”

Max glanced at you, eyebrows raised, but didn’t laugh. 

He only asked, “Is that good or bad?”

You smiled faintly. “Good. My dad looks scary, but he’s really doting. You’re kind of like that too.”

For a long moment, Max didn’t say anything. 

Then he gave a small huff of a laugh and muttered, “Don’t let your dad hear that comparison. He might kill me.”

You giggled, and when Toto later came into view, Max only gave you a slight nudge forward, as if returning you to where you belonged.

People might not have understood why you gravitated to Max, but you did. 

He wasn’t scary anymore. 

He was safe.

mama y papa

“Where’s mine?” Ollie asked one afternoon, pointing at Isaak’s hat. “I want one too!”

You laughed, promising him something simple. 

Soon enough, crochet projects piled up. 

Cute frog in a basket for Gabriel, a small plush bear for Ollie, an pancake hat for Kimi, a keychain for Liam, and a long scarf for Jack before he left which has the numbers and colors of each rookie with YourFavoriteColor on both ends.

In the end, each rookie alongside your boyfriend Isack got a little penguin plush personalized to their favorite color and animal hats.

The boys adored it, and Isaak adored you even more.

“Don’t get too used to it,” he grumbled one day, watching Gabriel take a hundred selfies in his lil frog in a basket. “She’s mine first, you know.”

“Relax, Isaak,” Liam teased with a grin. “We all know she’s your childhood sweetheart. No one’s stealing her.”

Your cheeks burned, but Isaak just reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. He leaned closer and whispered, “You’ll always be my favorite project, you know.”

Flashback

It started with the beanie.

Isaak wore it to the paddock one chilly morning, smug as ever, and by the end of the day the other rookies had cornered you.

“Can I get a crochet too, a frog maybe?” Gabriel asked first.

“I’d love a bear.” Ollie added.

“Do you think you could make a bucket hat?” Kimi grinned.

Liam just shrugged. “Keychain’s fine. Don’t want to stress you out.”

Before you knew it, they were practically lining up like kids at a candy shop.

Flashback Ends

Isaak wasn’t thrilled.

During one race weekend, you sat in the hospitality crocheting a soft red scarf for Ollie when Isaak plopped into the seat beside you, scowling.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you teased.

“Yeah, with you,” he muttered. “They’re stealing all your time. I only get a few days with you during the season, and now you’re too busy making projects for them.”

You stifled a laugh. “Are you jealous of yarn now?”

“I’m jealous of them,” he said bluntly, tugging at your half-finished project. “You’re my childhood best friend, my girlfriend, my person. They don’t get priority over me.”

As if on cue, Ollie leaned over the table. “Is it done yet?”

Isaak shot him a look so sharp that Ollie held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll wait.”

You nudged Isaak’s shoulder, smiling softly. “You’ll always come first, Isa.”

That earned you the smallest, most satisfied smirk. He leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased, before muttering, “Good. Now, finish mine next. They can wait in line forever.”