Internship GP

YN flipped another page of her notes. “By the way, I planned on deactivating my social.”

“Wow. You’re finally gonna start your mysterious era huh,” Yuki teased.

YN rolled her eyes even though Yuki couldn’t see her. “With all the work I have to do and an attention span of a kid, I really need to. Otherwise I’d be scrolling through TikTok every minute I ‘check my phone’.”

Yuki laughed again. “As long as we still get to talk from time to time. Don’t worry, I’ll be your updater from the outside world.”

“Actually,” YN sighed, “our daily talks won’t be daily anymore.”

Yuki frowned. “Wait what—”

“Don’t worry,” YN quickly said. “I’ll still try to call you. Also, no need to update me. I’d like to feel what people in a coma feel when they finally wake up.”

“Oh yeah?” Yuki snorted. “Can’t wait for you to wake up four years later like ‘who’s president now?’”

YN laughed. “Exactly.”

Then there was that pause. The one that always happens when two people realize things are changing.

“Can’t believe we’re both entering our adult lives,” Yuki said quietly. “Things are getting busy huh.”

“Yeah,” YN said. “Remember when we used to stay up till 3 am talking about running away and buying a van?”

“Now we can’t even run away from deadlines.”

Both laughed. It was that easy kind of laughter — the kind that fades but stays somewhere deep.

And just like that, the moment passed.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Let’s take a look at the years that followed for Y/N. The quiet mornings she spent alone, the late-night coffees that kept her awake, the kind of days that slowly blurred together until she stopped counting.

First Year: YN learned that being an engineering student wasn’t about being smart. It was about surviving. About making it through nights filled with equations that didn’t make sense and machines that refused to work.

Most nights, she’d be at her desk, surrounded by empty coffee cups and half-finished reports. Her laptop would hum quietly while Yuki’s old voice message played in the background.

“Take a break, YN. You’re not a robot,” his voice would say.

She’d roll her eyes and mumble, “That’s rich coming from someone who sleeps three hours a week.”

Once, while reviewing her project after another long night, her classmate leaned over and said, “Your circuit looks like it’s crying.”

YN groaned and dropped her head to the desk. “It reflects its creator,” she muttered.

They both laughed, tired and delirious, but for the first time that week, it felt a little easier to breathe.

Second Year: By her second year, YN was finally getting the hang of things. Work didn’t scare her as much anymore, and she could actually drink coffee without immediately regretting her life choices. Most nights ended with her and the other interns crowded around a sticky bar table, laughing too loudly about things they wouldn’t remember tomorrow.

"Here's to surviving another week of chaos," her friend Mia said, raising her glass.

YN clinked hers with a grin. "Barely surviving, but sure. I'll drink to that."

Laughter filled the air, music thumping faintly in the background. At some point, YN went quiet, staring at the bubbles in her drink.

"What's with the face?" another friend asked.

"Nothing," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just wondering what Yuki's doing right now."

They all groaned playfully. "You and your mysterious racer friend. Bet he's having more fun than we are."

YN laughed but didn’t answer. Later that night, while waiting for her ride, her thoughts drifted again, to Max of all people. The memory came out of nowhere, him laughing under the tree they carved together. She smiled without realizing it.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Mia teased.

YN blinked, startled. "What? No reason."

"Right. You're totally not thinking about someone," Mia said, wiggling her eyebrows.

YN made a face. "Ew, no. Illegal thought. Absolutely not."

Mia laughed. "Uh-huh. Sure."

YN shook her head, pretending to be offended, but as she stared out the window on the way home, she couldn’t help the small, traitorous smile that crept back.

Third Year: Calls with Yuki became shorter. “Hey, sorry, I need to go, the lab’s locking up.” “It’s okay, I get it, I need to finish practicing anyway.”

Their goodbyes were always quick, but never cold. There was still comfort in knowing he was just a call away, even if the calls didn’t last long. Sometimes, YN would stare at her phone after hanging up, thumb hovering over his name, wondering if she should say more. But instead, she’d sigh and toss her phone onto the bed.

“Next time,” she’d whisper to herself, even though both of them were running out of next times.

Fourth Year: YN became a ghost. Not by choice, but because there was no other way to keep up.

“YN, can you handle this project?” “Yes, sir.” “Deadline’s tomorrow.” “Of course it is.”

Her days bled into each other, a blur of coffee cups, late nights, and mechanical hums. The messages from friends slowed down until they stopped altogether. Her phone stayed silent most nights, the screen lighting up only to remind her of alarms or deadlines.

Sometimes, she’d scroll through her old messages with Yuki, rereading jokes that no longer made her laugh as hard as they used to. And before she knew it, four years had slipped by—quiet, relentless, and gone before she could even breathe.

And before she knew it, four years had passed.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

While YN was buried in blueprints, caffeine, and the occasional breakdown, Yuki’s life was chaos in another form.

Less homework, more horsepower.

Let’s take a look at his years.

First Year:

His rookie season. Yuki Tsunoda, the youngest driver on the grid, barely five foot something but full of fight. He had just moved countries, learned how to do laundry on his own, and tried to remember not to swear when the camera was on.

“Yuki, breathe. Focus on the corners,” his engineer said through the radio.

“I am breathing!” Yuki shouted while turning at 300 kilometers per hour.

After races, when the adrenaline wore off, he’d lie on his hotel bed, phone in hand, calling YN out of nowhere.

“Hey, you awake?”

“It’s three in the morning, Yuki.”

“Oh. Okay. Anyway, I almost crashed today but didn’t. Progress.”

She’d groan, half-asleep. “Can you not almost die before I finish here?”

He’d laugh softly. “No promises.”

Those calls became his reset button. Her voice grounded him when everything else spun too fast.

Second Year:

The “trying to be an adult” era. Yuki moved to Italy to train and live closer to the factory. He told everyone he was improving his discipline. In reality, he was just trying not to burn his kitchen down.

One night, he sent YN a photo of a tragic-looking pasta. The noodles were stuck together like they made a pact.

“Look. Homemade,” he said proudly.

YN replied an hour later, “That’s a crime against food.”

They still talked often, but not as much as before. Her schedule got tighter, and his did too. Sometimes they’d just send quick updates.

“Car’s fine.”

“Exam survived.”

“Still alive.”

“Barely.”

Then came race weekends where he’d call before qualifying.

“I think my car hates me.”

“It’s not personal, Yuki. It hates everyone.”

He laughed, called her a menace, and hung up with a grin.

Third Year:

Things started clicking. He was more confident now, calmer on the radio, still chaotic but in a more controlled way. He began to understand what people meant by growth, though he still hated the word “patience.”

After races, he’d scroll through his contacts, hover over YN’s name, and think, *I’ll message her later.*

Later sometimes became weeks.

He finally texted one night.

Did you see the race? I didn’t crash this time.

The message stayed unread.

He threw his phone on the bed and muttered, “Probably busy. She’s always busy.”

Then he turned off the light and told himself not to overthink.

Fourth Year:

By now, he had found a rhythm. Training, racing, traveling, repeat. His life looked glamorous online, but he still spent most nights too tired to celebrate.

There were times he’d mention her to people without realizing it.

“My friend YN, she’s studying engineering,” he’d say in passing, then stop mid-sentence, realizing how long it had been since they talked.

During a long flight from Japan, he stared at the window, city lights below blurring into streaks.

He thought about the nights they’d talk about random things, like how the moon looked different in every country.

He wondered if she ever thought about him too.

When he got back to his apartment, he picked up his phone, opened their old chat, and stared at her last message from months ago:

“Don’t die before I graduate.”

He laughed under his breath.

“Graduated yet?” he whispered to no one.

Then he typed, "Hope you’re doing okay, idiot" but never pressed send.

He just locked his phone and sat there quietly.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

While Yuki’s world moved in noise and laughter, somewhere else, silence grew heavier with every lap.

That silence belonged to Max.

It wasn’t the peaceful kind. It was the kind that echoed.

First Year:

Max’s life looked perfect from the outside. Fast cars, flashing lights, cheers from the crowd.

But under the helmet, it was a storm.

Every race felt like a test. Every mistake echoed in his father’s voice.

“You brake too early.”

“You don’t focus enough.”

“You’ll never be the best if you’re soft.”

He stopped answering after a while. He just listened, jaw clenched, pretending the words didn’t sting anymore.

When the team left the garage, he stayed.

Helmet still on, engine off, the radio silent.

The world outside was loud, but inside the car, it was just him and the sound of his own breathing.

He’d look down at his wrist, thumb brushing over the small woven bracelet. The one YN gave him years ago.

“Something we can fill with charms together,” she’d said with that bright grin that always made everything feel lighter.And now, years later, he was still looking. Always.

Sometimes during long flights, he’d twist the bracelet between his fingers, whispering quietly,

“Would you still want to be my engineer even if I’m not good enough?”

He’d smile after saying it, like it was a joke. But it wasn’t.

Second Year:

He was faster. Sharper. But the weight got heavier too.

“Good race, but not perfect,” his father said after every weekend.

He started dreading the debriefs. Not because of mistakes, but because of the look in his father’s eyes — like he was never enough.

After one race, Max didn’t take off his helmet right away.

The team was celebrating behind him, his engineer called his name, but he just sat there.

He didn’t want to hear anything.

He didn’t want to see anyone.

He just wanted to breathe.

He closed his eyes, pressed the back of his glove against his bracelet, and whispered,

“I did my best today. I really did.”

No one answered.

Later that night, when the paddock was empty, he walked along the track, still in his suit, still holding the bracelet.

He looked up at the dark sky and said softly, “You’d probably tell me to stop being sad over a race.”

Then he smiled. “You’d be right.”

Third Year:

Max started winning more. People called him unstoppable.

The commentators said he was focused, disciplined, matured.

They didn’t see the exhaustion that lived in his eyes when the cameras turned off.

After one win, champagne dripping from his suit, confetti in his hair, he looked out at the crowd. Thousands of faces, flags, and flashes.

He searched for one face that wasn’t there.

He touched his bracelet, the corners of his mouth trembling between a smile and something heavier.

“You’d laugh at me for crying over this, huh?” he whispered under his breath.

That night, he sat alone in his hotel room with the lights off, still wearing the team jacket.

The trophy sat on the table, shining under the lamp.

He stared at it for a long time before saying quietly,

“Why doesn’t this feel like enough?”

Fourth Year:

He was older now, calmer. On the outside, at least.

He didn’t argue with his father anymore. He just stopped trying to please him.

After every race, he’d take a deep breath before facing the world.

Smile for the cameras.

Answer the questions.

Say the right things.

Then, when everything was over, he’d go back to his room, sit by the window, and just look outside.

The world kept moving — cities, fans, flights, lights.

But he always looked at his wrist first.

One night, after a long race in Suzuka, he stayed inside the car long after everyone left.

The rain tapped against the halo, and he just sat there, helmet on, tears hidden.

“I wish you were here,” he whispered. “Even if you just yelled at me for missing turn eleven again.”

He laughed quietly at himself, but it broke halfway through.

When he finally got out, he didn’t speak. He just handed his helmet to the mechanic, nodded, and walked away.

Later, while boarding his flight, he caught himself looking around the airport again.

Scanning faces. Hoping.

Always hoping.

He played with his bracelet, twisting it gently between his fingers.

And under his breath, he said,

“If you ever come back… I’ll be right here.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Four years passed.

Three lives, three dreams, all chasing something bigger than themselves.

YN built, Yuki drove, Max endured.

They grew through long nights, small victories, and the kind of pain that no one claps for.

They kept going, not because it was easy, but because their younger selves would’ve been disappointed if they didn’t.

And none of them knew that somewhere between their separate worlds, everything they lost, every moment they thought had slipped away,

was slowly finding its way back.

Everything was about to start falling into place.

———

The world kept turning, races came and went, engines roared and quieted again. But somewhere between the airports and podiums, between Yuki’s laughter and Max’s silence, the years slipped by. Until one ordinary day that was about to stop being ordinary.

The airport buzzed with life, luggage wheels clattering across the floor, voices blending into a low hum. The air smelled of coffee and exhaustion, a mix of early flights and long goodbyes.

Y/N squinted at her phone, balancing it in one hand while dragging her suitcase with the other. “Yes, I’m already here. Where are you? I want to see my best friend now.”

On the other end of the line, Yuki’s voice came through, loud and a bit chaotic as usual. “Wait for meee! I’m almost done here, okay?”

Y/N smiled. “Okay, drive safely. Love ya, see you later!”

Yuki chuckled, “I will. Love you too.”

He hung up and instantly wished he hadn’t.

Because the second he turned around, every single driver in the room was staring at him like he’d just confessed his undying love on live television.

Pierre was the first to break the silence. “Love you, huh? Who’s the unlucky girl?”

Lando nearly choked on his water. “Wait wait wait, did Yuki just say *love you*? Someone call the press.”

George leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Plot twist of the year.”

“Shut up,” Yuki groaned, already going red as he shoved some stuff into his backpack. “It’s not like that. She’s my best friend—”

“*Ohhh,*” Alex interrupted, dragging out the word like he was narrating a telenovela. “*The* best friend. The Y/N?”

Yuki blinked. “Yeah, the Y/N—”

That was a mistake.

Because suddenly everyone was talking over each other.

“The one that’s your wallpaper?”

“The one you said makes better coffee than Starbucks?”

“The one you said understands your accent even when you mumble?”

Yuki groaned. “Guys, please.”

And just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, Max walked in.

“What’s going on? Why’s Yuki all red?”

Pierre grinned like the devil himself. “Our Yuki here is finally going to be reunited with his *best friend*.” He even did the air quotes, the menace.

Yuki just rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that, you guys are being annoying.”

Max tilted his head. “Does she know you’re with Red Bull now?”

Yuki shrugged. “Nah. She doesn’t know anything that happened the past few years. She said she wants to know it herself when we see each other. Very dramatic, if you ask me.”

He tried to sound casual, but the smile on his face betrayed him. His eyes softened, lighting up in that quiet way only people in love ever did.

No one noticed it except Max.

He knew that look. The quiet ache in it. The kind of hope that hurts when it’s been waiting too long.

He looked away, fingers brushing the bracelet on his wrist, the same one he’d been wearing all those years. The same one she’d given him.

For a moment he wondered if he would ever feel that again, that spark, that quiet warmth of being seen by someone who once knew every version of him. The last place he had seen YN was an airport too. Funny how the world could feel so impossibly big when the one person you wanted to find was no longer in it.

“Max? You okay, bro?” Carlos asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You kinda spaced out.”

Max blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.” He forced a small smile. “So, what’s the plan for this afternoon?”

“Well,” Isack started, grinning, “Yuki here’s picking up his *best friend*.” He did the air quotes, earning a glare from Yuki. “Then maybe we’ll all grab food—”

“Might grab food,” Yuki corrected quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Or just stop by for a few minutes. She probably doesn’t want to hang out with a bunch of annoying people after a long flight.”

That sparked instant chaos.

“Excuse me, we’re delightful!” George said, striking a dramatic pose like he was in a perfume ad.

“Annoying? Speak for yourself!” Lando shot back, tossing a chip at him.

“See if I ever buy you coffee again!” Pierre added, pretending to look offended but already reaching for another drink.

Yuki only laughed. “Yeah yeah, love you all too,” he said, waving as he headed for the door.

The second it closed behind him, the room fell silent for a beat.

Then Charles said flatly, “So he’s totally in love with her, right?”

“Obviously,” Oscar said.

“Duh,” Pierre added.

“Even blind people can tell,” Lando muttered.

Everyone turned to him.

“What?” he said, blinking.

Carlos groaned. “Dude, you can’t say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true!”

And just like that, the chaos picked up again. Laughter bounced off the walls, snacks flew across the room, and half-hearted insults turned into running jokes. In the corner, Max stayed quiet, his thumb absently tracing the bracelet on his wrist, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Because somewhere out there, His Y/N was walking through an airport, her own story quietly unfolding. And Max couldn’t help but wonder if, somehow, the universe was already setting the stage for their paths to cross again.

———

The laughter still echoed in Yuki’s ears as he left the room, but his heart was somewhere else entirely.

By the time he was behind the wheel, the world outside was a blur of city lights and airport signs. His phone was pressed to his ear, a grin already tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, I’m outside. Wait for me,” he said, rushing out of the car and slamming the door shut. “Sorry for making you wait, the guys were being annoying. Wait for me, okay?”

He hurried inside the terminal, weaving through the crowd. “Where are you anyway?”

On the other end, Y/N’s voice was teasing, light. “Wait, I think I see you. Can you turn around and raise your hand?”

Yuki blinked but did as told, turning around and lifting his hand high like an idiot. “Like this?”

Her laughter came through the speaker, bright and familiar. “I’m just kidding. I haven’t actually seen you. But imagining you doing that made me laugh.”

Yuki groaned. “You’re so annoying.” But he couldn’t stop smiling. “So where are you?”

“Why don’t you try and find out?”

“Please don’t start. Let’s not waste the rest of the day. Let’s eat and explore—”

“Nope. That’s your punishment for making me wait. Bye.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

The line went dead.

Yuki sighed, lowering his phone and looking around at the endless sea of people. “Where the hell are you…” he muttered, scanning the crowd like he was in a spy movie.

———

Y/N chuckled as she slipped her phone into her pocket. She wasn’t really ignoring him. She’d just gotten distracted, her attention caught by a small bookstore nestled between two busy airport cafés, its warm lights and quiet charm pulling her in like gravity.

She wandered inside, humming softly as she ran her fingers along the rows of books. The air smelled like paper and peace.

Minutes passed without her noticing. She picked up a new book and smiled, flipping it open. “I wonder what Yuki’s been up to these past few years,” she murmured under her breath.

Then suddenly, two arms wrapped around her from behind.

“I’ve been thinking about you…”

She froze.

“…and of course, missing you,” the voice finished, low and familiar.

Y/N’s eyes widened. She turned around and there he was, Yuki Tsunoda, grinning at her like the years hadn’t even passed.

“Oh my god,” she said, half-laughing, half-crying as she threw her arms around him. “I can’t believe it. I’ve missed you too!”

He laughed against her shoulder. “Told you I’d find you.”

Pulling back, Y/N squinted up at him. “Wait, how did you even find me that fast?”

Yuki shrugged, smug. “I knew you wouldn’t stay in a crowded place, so that already eliminated half the airport. Then I saw this hidden bookstore and I thought, bingo. Quiet place plus books equals Y/N.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “Whatever. I knew you’d pick me up but I’m still shocked you’re actually here.”

He smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. “Me too,” he said softly.

———

They ended up at the counter, Y/N holding a small pile of books while Yuki insisted on paying. She argued, of course, but it didn’t matter. He was already handing over his card, pretending not to hear her protests.

As they finally stepped out into the open air, Yuki looked at her and said, “No more leaving, please.”

Y/N smiled. “Don’t worry. The next time I’m at an airport is when I’ll be traveling for a race weekend.”

Yuki blinked. “Wait, what?”

But before he could say anything else, she only grinned and started walking ahead, leaving him standing there with a million questions and that same old feeling in his chest that never really went away.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The room was loud. Not the kind of loud you can tune out, but the kind that sounded like ten different conversations fighting to exist at the same time.

Someone was laughing. Someone was yelling. Someone was throwing food.

It was chaos, beautiful and ridiculous all at once.

“Kimi! You can’t just throw food at people because you don’t agree with them!” Lewis scolded, while Kimi kept tossing fries at Ollie like it was target practice.

Kimi looked completely unbothered. “Why not? George taught me it.”

Lewis followed where Kimi was pointing and spotted George on the other side of the room, also throwing fries at Alex like it was some sort of unofficial food war.

“No, you imbecile!” George shouted, running out of fries and resorting to throwing the empty basket at Alex instead. “Stop wasting fries, man! And you know I’m absolutely right! Pineapple belongs on pizza!” Alex yelled back, ducking just in time.

Across the table, Lando and Charles were in their own world, arguing.

“Mate, my accent is so much better. British accents are literally irresistible,” Lando said, dramatically flipping his hair.

Charles rolled his eyes. “Nu uh. Mine is. People literally fall in love with me when I talk.”

“No! Listen to me!”

“No! You listen to me!”

Both of them turned to Carlos, who was watching with a deadpan expression, clearly regretting life choices.

“I don’t know,” he said flatly. “And I really don’t care.”

He got up and walked away, leaving the two staring at each other in silence.

“…His accent’s hotter,” Lando admitted quietly.

Charles sighed. “Right? I think I just fell in love again.”

“Same.”

A long pause.

“Bro.”

“Bro.”

Meanwhile, on the far side of the room, Pierre was convincing Oscar to drink something questionable, Nico was trying to film it, and Nando was giving a fake motivational speech about friendship over a bag of chips. Someone turned up the music. Someone else yelled about it being too loud.

It was absolute madness.

Through all of it, Max sat quietly at the edge of the room. He’d laughed a few times, joined in a few stories, but mostly just listened. When the laughter got too loud, he mumbled something about the bathroom and slipped away, missing the moment that was about to change everything.

Yuki tugged Y/N by the hand, grinning ear to ear. “Come on! They’ve been wanting to meet you ever since.”

Y/N dragged her feet behind him, clutching her bag. “But look what I’m wearing. I’m tired from my flight, Yuki. I don’t feel like staying in a noisy room.”

“They’re not noisy, I promise,” he said just as a loud shout echoed from inside.

Y/N raised a brow.

Yuki sighed. “Fine. They’re a little noisy. But I swear we’ll leave right away. Just say hi, steal a few snacks for movie night, then we’re gone, okay?”

Y/N squinted. “You promise?”

He smiled, holding out his pinky. “Promise.”

They hooked pinkies like kids again.

Yuki turned the doorknob. “Ready?”

Y/N took a deep breath. “Ready.”

The door cracked open.

“Wait, no, I’m not ready! Close the damn door, Yuki!” she hissed, but it was already too late.

Every head inside turned toward them.

And then someone yelled, “THE BEST FRIEND!”

The entire room erupted.

Y/N froze in place, cheeks flushing. Yuki laughed, tugging her fully inside as a chorus of voices echoed around them.

———

Inside the room

“Yeah, the best friend,” Y/N said awkwardly, giving a small wave. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you guys.”

Yuki grinned. “Why don’t you guys introduce yourselves?”

“Wait,” Lando said. “I thought she likes F1. She probably knows us already.”

Y/N smiled. “Well, I really do love F1, but before I transferred to Japan, the drivers I knew were the older ones. Like Schumacher, Häkkinen, Button, Kimi—”

Everyone turned to Kimi.

“Räikkönen,” she corrected quickly. “Kimi Räikkönen. And of course Webber and Fernando. Oh, and Lewis.”

Lewis looked smug.

“When I transferred to Japan, Formula 1 wasn’t really watched there, so I didn’t have the chance to get to know the newer drivers.”

“How about Lewis? How’d you know him?” someone asked.

“Well, he has seven championships, so there were always articles about him in the sports section.”

“You didn’t watch F1 in Japan?”

“No. I got busy learning a new language, meeting new people. Formula 1 isn’t something people really talk about there.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope. It’s all baseball. And when I did my internship, I deactivated my socials, got buried in work, and told Yuki I wanted to find out about things I missed on my own.”

The room collectively went, “Oohhh.”

“So yeah guys, now introduce yourselves,” Yuki said.

Cue chaos.

“Hi I’m Lando, I’m the funny one—”

“No, you’re not,” Charles interrupted. “I’m Charles, I’m the romantic one.”

George raised a hand. “I’m George. I’m the responsible one.”

Lewis looked at him. “You threw food at Alex.”

“Okay, sometimes responsible,” George corrected.

Someone in the back yelled, “I’m Carlos and I regret everything already!”

Y/N laughed, trying to remember all their names when someone said, “Oh wait, there’s another driver. He’s in the bathroom, I think?”

“Oh yeah. Max,” someone added.

Y/N froze. “Max?”

Her brain immediately started spinning. Could it be him? No. There are a lot of Maxes in the world. But a Formula 1 driver named Max…?

“Hey, you okay? You kinda spaced out,” Yuki asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Anyway, Max huh. Max what?”

“Mad Max!” someone yelled.

The drivers laughed and started joking around, none of them giving a straight answer.

Yuki rolled his eyes. “Well, as much as we enjoy watching you guys be loud, trust me, we do, Y/N here is tired and wants to rest, so we’ll go.”

“Wait! Let’s take a picture first!”

Everyone agreed immediately.

“What about Max?”

“Just edit him in later. He’s taking too long.”

So what was the reason Max was taking too long?

Well, after finishing up in the toilet, he opened the faucet to wash his hands, and the thing exploded. Water sprayed everywhere like a mini tsunami. Within seconds, his polo was completely drenched.

“What the hell,” Max muttered, staring down at himself. “Perfect. Just great.”

Now he had to change. The problem? His dad borrowed his car earlier to grab some documents, and his extra clothes were in there.

Max grabbed his phone and called Jos. “Where are you right now? I need to change my shirt.”

Jos sounded unfazed. “So?”

“So my extra tops are in my car.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. So where are you now?”

“I just picked up a few documents. I’m almost back.”

“Okay. Text me once you’re here.” Max sighed and hung up, shaking his head as water dripped down his sleeve.

Back in the main room, the group had just finished taking their chaotic group photo. Lando insisted on using his camera because “phone cameras ruin the aesthetic,” even though everyone knew it was for his secret lando.jpg collection.

“Lando, send that to the group chat, okay?” Alex said.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Lando replied, setting the camera down on the table without even checking the picture.

Yuki clapped his hands once. “Well, we’ve gotta go now, guys. Y/N’s tired.”

A chorus of goodbyes followed as Y/N and Yuki slipped out the door.

Outside, the hallway was quiet again. Y/N exhaled, “They were… something.”

“Yeah. Something loud,” Yuki said, laughing as they walked toward the car park.

The air was cooler outside, calm compared to the noise they had just escaped. Neither of them realized that only a few meters away, under the soft light of the parking lot, someone else was standing — Max, still waiting for his dad.

He leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. He didn’t notice two figures walking toward him from the other side, Yuki and Y/N, talking and laughing, completely focused on each other.

Yuki clicked his car key, unlocking the car a few feet from Max’s. The sound startled him. Max turned his head slightly, about to look over, when his phone suddenly started ringing again.

He looked down and answered, “Hello?”

“Hey Max, I’m already here. Come get your car.”

“Huh? Why can’t you bring it here?”

“Just come get it. I’m outside.”

The line went dead. Max sighed in annoyance and started walking quickly toward the exit, completely unaware that he was heading in the opposite direction of Yuki and Y/N.

He didn’t look back.

And just like that, their almost-meeting slipped away.

———

Max stood in front of the car, squinting like the sun itself offended him. “You borrowed my car but can’t even bring it back to the parking?” he asked, voice flat, already tired.

Jos didn’t even flinch. “You’re so dramatic. Here, you drive.” He got out like it was nothing, casually walking to the passenger seat.

Max muttered something under his breath, slid into the driver’s seat, and drove off toward the lot. He didn’t even notice the car passing him from the other side, the one with the girl sitting in the passenger seat, the same girl he’d been trying to meet again, the one he’d spent months thinking about. If only the bathroom faucet hadn’t exploded. If only his dad hadn’t borrowed his car. That could have been it.

When he got back to the room, it was chaos. The drivers were loud as usual.

“Bro, where have you been?” George asked.

“All my life,” Isack sang.

“Shut up, seriously, what took you so long?” Oscar said.

“Did you have a number two?” Charles asked, looking disturbed.

“Even if he did, that’s still too long for a number two,” Nico added.

“Unless it’s a number two times three,” Lando said, trying to hold back a laugh.

The room erupted with laughter and Max just stared blankly. “I didn’t have a number two. The faucet exploded, I had to change my shirt, my dad was using the car, so yeah, long story short, I had to wait for him.”

Silence.

Then Gabi spoke. “You can just tell us you had a number two times three, we won’t judge.”

More laughter followed. Max rolled his eyes. “For the last time, I didn’t have one. Anyway, did something happen while I was gone?”

“Well, while you were doing number tw—” Charles stopped immediately when Max gave him a death glare. “What I meant was, while you were gone, Yuki dropped by with his best friend.”

“Really? I didn’t even get to meet her and she already left?”

“Yeah. Yuki said she needed to rest after a long flight. Anyway, she’s cool and kind of humbles you, man. She mostly knows the retired drivers.”

Lewis and Fernando faked coughs, acting like they didn’t care, while the others groaned.

“Okay, Mr. We Have Championships Already,” George continued. “As I was saying, she mostly knows the older drivers and the ones with WDCs.” He looked at Lewis and Fernando. “Happy?”

“Very,” they both said, smug.

Max leaned back. “Really? I thought she loved F1 and was planning to become an engineer or something.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but she went to Japan, got busy, did internships somewhere quiet, so she’s not super updated.”

“Well, that’s good,” Max said.

“Why?”

“Because next time Yuki brings her, I’ll already have a WDC and can introduce myself properly.”

Groans and sarcastic comments exploded around the room.

Pierre suddenly grinned. “Do you want to see what the best friend looks like?” he said, air quoting “best friend.”

Max wasn’t really the type to care about that stuff, but something in him said yes. “Sure, why not.”

“Hey Lando, can I borrow your camera? Just gonna show Max something.”

Lando tossed it over. “Here.”

Pierre scrolled through the pictures, but then froze. “Bro, what the hell.”

Max barely caught a glimpse of color before Pierre yanked the camera away. “Dude, look at these pictures!”

Everyone crowded around. The screen was full of blurry, pixelated messes.

“Bro, you’re literally a millionaire,” Esteban said. “And that’s the quality of your camera?”

“Boo! Norris, boo!” Charles yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth like he was in a stadium.

More chaos. Lando threw his hands up. “I didn’t know it was broken, okay? It’s not like we can’t just take a new photo next time. Remember, Yuki’s best friend is gonna be an engineer now, and Max can join the picture too. Assuming he won’t have another number two.”

The room exploded again. Max just gave him a deadpan look.

“Boo! Throw yourself out with that camera!” Liam yelled.

“The issue is not the camera!” George protested. “It’s that I took like twenty pictures of myself, served face, and now I can’t even post them!”

More shouting, more laughter. But Max wasn’t really listening anymore. His eyes stayed glued to the blurred photo on the screen. Right in the middle, where you could faintly make out a figure — Yuki’s best friend.

Something tugged inside his chest. He didn’t know why, but there was a strange feeling in his gut. A quiet ache.

If he hadn’t waited for his shirt to dry. If the faucet hadn’t exploded. If his father hadn’t borrowed his car.

Maybe he would’ve met her. The best friend of his future teammate. The person Yuki seemed to hold so dearly. The one with the same name as the girl Max had been fighting destiny to see again.

———

Yuki’s place felt like the kind of cozy that just made sense after a long flight. Warm lights, faint smell of instant ramen, random car parts on a shelf that looked like they were there for “aesthetic.” Y/N had changed into one of Yuki’s oversized shirts, hair tied up, blanket around her shoulders. Yuki was in sweats, holding a bag of chips in one hand and a remote in the other, while both of them argued about what movie to watch like it was a life-or-death decision.

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Y/N said, slumped on the couch. “Just pick something before I pass away.”

“You said no to action, no to romance, no to horror, no to anime. What’s even left?” Yuki asked, looking genuinely stressed. “Comedy.” “You literally just watched a comedy in the car.” “Then another one. Now I’ll have someone to laugh with too.”

They ended up watching a random movie neither of them really liked but agreed to out of exhaustion. Yuki turned off the lights, tossed the remote to the side, and dropped onto the couch beside Y/N, who was already under the blanket.

“So,” he said after a few seconds, “what do you think of the guys?”

Y/N gave him a look. “Why does it matter? I’ll be working with your team anyway. Unless…” she teased, pretending to think, “you’re okay with me working with another te—”

“NO WAY,” Yuki cut her off so fast she laughed. “Literally no way in hell. I waited for years for you to become my engineer, so there’s no way I’m letting you go to another team.”

“Okay, chill,” Y/N said, giggling. “Jeez, possessive much?”

He rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. “I just want to know what you think of them. You’ll see them a lot once you start working in F1.”

Y/N thought for a second. “Carlos seems cool. But I don’t know, there were moments where it looked like he wasn’t… with us? Like physically there, but mentally somewhere else.”

Yuki snorted. “That’s Carlos for you. Probably thinking about golf or bread or something.”

“Pierre seems like he’d gossip with me if I asked.”

“He would, and he’d add stuff that didn’t even happen.”

“Lando’s funny, but I feel like I’d lose brain cells talking to him too long.”

Yuki laughed, nearly choking on his chips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Lewis and Fernando gave off… teacher vibes,” Y/N continued. “Like they’d either mentor you or roast you until you cried.”

“Depends on the day,” Yuki said. “Or if they had coffee.”

Y/N shrugged. “Well, despite all that, they all seemed pretty chill. A bit loud, but fun.”

Yuki smiled, the kind that softened his face. “I’m glad. At least I know you’re surrounded by people who won’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Okay, Mr. Bodyguard,” Y/N teased, nudging him with her elbow.

They both laughed quietly, the movie forgotten, the room glowing softly from the TV’s light.

Outside, wind hummed faintly through the window, but inside, it was just them — two best friends catching up after years apart. Talking about everything and nothing, laughing until their faces hurt, falling into that easy rhythm only people who grew up together could have.

Some days don’t need anything big to feel perfect. Just comfort, shared memories, and the kind of silence that isn’t really silence at all.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Meanwhile, Max was back in the very last place he wanted to be. The airport. The place where he lost her.

He stood near the edge of the terminal, away from the crowd, the weight of familiarity pressing down on him. The soft hum of engines, the distant chatter of travelers, even the smell of coffee in the air — everything reminded him of that day. The day he tried to chase her. The day he arrived a second too late.

He looked around and sighed. Time passed, but the memory refused to fade. He could still hear her voice in his head, still see the fleeting image of her turning away, still remember the ache in his chest that followed. Funny how he had only seen her for a few seconds, yet he remembered every detail like it was etched into him. The shape of her smile. The sound of her laugh. The look in her eyes right before she disappeared into the crowd.

Now, years later, he was standing in the same spot, waiting.

“Where is he?” Max muttered under his breath, checking his watch again.

Finally, Jos appeared from the other side, looking far too casual for someone who had made his son wait for almost an hour.

“Ready to go?” Jos asked like he hadn’t just committed a crime.

Max gave him a look that could cut glass. “I’ve been ready since fifteen minutes ago. What took you so long?”

“Stop being dramatic,” Jos said, waving it off. “I had to use the washroom, then someone called me.”

Max let out a frustrated sigh. “Whatever. Let’s just go.”

They walked toward the gates, luggage rolling quietly beside them.

“I still don’t know why I need to go home,” Max muttered.

Jos looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Because you haven’t been home for almost a year. Maybe because your family misses you. Maybe because—”

Jos kept talking, but Max wasn’t really listening anymore. His eyes had drifted to that same corner again, the spot where he’d last seen her. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought. The lights, the echo of footsteps, the way his chest tightened like it always did whenever he thought of her.

“Maybe that was my closure,” he whispered under his breath, almost bitter. “Maybe that was the sign we won’t meet again.”

Jos’s voice cut through his thoughts. “By the way, just because you’re going home doesn’t mean you get to skip practice.”

Max exhaled, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah, whatever.”

———

Back in Yuki’s place, the movie credits were rolling. The blue light from the TV flickered across the living room. Empty chip bags were scattered on the table, and Y/N was half-asleep, hugging a pillow.

Yuki suddenly stood up, blocking the screen. “Okay, uh… you know how you didn’t get any updates because you wanted to be dramatic—”

“Hey!” Y/N sat up, pointing at him. “I wanted to feel what people who woke up from a coma felt, you know? It’s kind of mysterious, right?”

“Yeah, dramatic,” Yuki muttered, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I used that opportunity to not tell you my news, assuming you haven’t seen it yet.”

“I haven’t. I didn’t activate any of my social media accounts,” Y/N said.

“Good! Because I have a really big announcement,” Yuki said, suddenly serious.

Something shifted in the air. The TV hummed softly in the background as Yuki took a deep breath. His expression softened, eyes gleaming with pride and nerves.

“I’m going to drive for Red Bull,” he said quietly.

Y/N blinked. “Huh? What? I didn’t hear you.”

Yuki raised his voice. “I said I’m going to drive for Red Bull!”

Y/N froze for half a second before the realization hit. “Wait… RED BULL?!” She jumped up, wrapping her arms around him, bouncing up and down. “Yuki! Oh my god! I’m so proud of you! You finally did it! You’re driving for a big team! Also, that means unlimited energy drinks for me.”

Yuki laughed, hugging her tightly. “Yeah, yeah. But you know, I’m not the only one who made it.”

Y/N pulled back, confused. “What do you mean?”

Yuki grinned, eyes glimmering with mischief. “Well, we always promised to do this together, right? Me as the driver, you as the engineer. So…”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “No. You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” Yuki said proudly. “I told them I wanted you on my team, and they approved!”

For a second, Y/N just stood there in disbelief before squealing, “Yuki, I can’t believe you! I’m so happy!”

“I’m happy too!” Yuki shouted, laughing as she hugged him again. “We finally get to work together!”

Their laughter filled the room, mixing with the sound of the movie credits still rolling in the background. It was pure, joyful chaos — the kind that came from years of dreams, promises, and friendship.

Neither of them knew it yet, but while they were celebrating the beginning of something new, fate was already moving quietly behind the scenes — preparing the moment when paths long separated would finally meet again.

The living room was alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and the sound of celebration. It felt like the walls themselves were smiling. Yuki and Y/N were sprawled on the couch, the soft glow from the TV lighting their faces, surrounded by the mess of half-eaten snacks and empty soda cans. Their laughter filled the room, spilling into the late hours of the night.

But like all things, the noise eventually faded. The world went quiet.

Now, only the soft hum of the TV remained as another movie reached its credits. Yuki was fast asleep on the couch, his head tilted back, mouth slightly open, a tiny trail of drool at the corner of his lips.

Y/N, who had been watching the last few minutes of the movie, stood up and silently laughed to herself. “Of course,” she whispered fondly, shaking her head.

The room looked like the aftermath of a sleepover — pillows scattered, chips everywhere, and two mugs of half-finished hot chocolate on the table. Jet lag refused to let Y/N rest, so instead of forcing herself to sleep, she began to quietly clean up. She turned off the TV, picked up wrappers, wiped down the table, and tucked a blanket gently over Yuki.

“Okay,” she muttered softly, looking at her sleeping best friend. “Time to be bombarded with news and notifications.”

With that, she left the living room and went to the dining area, placing her laptop on the table. The soft click of the keyboard echoed in the stillness of the night.

One by one, she reactivated her social accounts. Notifications poured in, a flood of messages and mentions from friends and family who hadn’t heard from her in months. She replied to a few, laughed at others, then opened her email to check her inbox.

That was when she saw it.

An email bearing the name of the team she would soon be working for. Red Bull Racing.

Curious, Y/N clicked it open. The message detailed her upcoming interview, the documents she needed to send, and the responsibilities tied to her new role. Her lips curved into a proud smile. It felt real now. Everything she worked for was finally coming together.

As she typed her reply, another thought crossed her mind.

Who’s Yuki’s new teammate?

It was a simple, innocent question, really. Just curiosity. She wanted to know the people she would soon be working with.

Without thinking much of it, she opened Oracle Red Bull’s official page. The site took a moment to load, the spinning icon at the center of the screen feeling longer than it should have.

And then, it appeared.

Two faces filled the screen. One was her best friend — smiling brightly in his new team colors. The other…

Y/N froze.

Her hand slowly rose to her mouth, her breath catching in her throat. The other face wasn’t just any driver. It was him. The boy she once knew. The boy who had been running through her memories for years without warning.

“Max…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “My Max.”

For a moment, everything around her disappeared. The sound of the air conditioner, the ticking of the clock, the faint traffic outside — all gone. Only his face remained, staring back at her from the screen.

Her fingers trembled as she typed his name into the search bar. Article after article appeared. She clicked one, then another, then another. Races. Interviews. Headlines. Victories. Failures. And behind every achievement, every story, she saw the same boy she once sat beside under the treehouse. The boy who promised he’d win one day. The boy who had once asked her not to leave.

Hours passed without her noticing.

When she finally paused a race replay, her reflection stared back at her from the darkened screen. Her eyes were wet. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

Her heart ached for him. For everything he had been through. The pressure, the scrutiny, the stories of his father’s control. The loneliness she could almost feel just by watching him.

And she remembered.

That night — the one where he was sick and scared to sleep, afraid she wouldn’t be there when he woke up.

She had sat by his bed, their hands linked, their pinkies intertwined. “Forever,” she had whispered when he asked if she’d ever leave.

Now, sitting alone in the quiet dining room, Y/N covered her face with her hands and wept softly.

She didn’t notice the quiet footsteps behind her.

Yuki stood at the doorway, watching. His sleepy eyes widened as he took in the sight — the laptop screen showing Red Bull’s homepage, the tears running down Y/N’s face, and the faint sound of Max’s voice from an old interview playing on the screen.

In that moment, it all clicked for him.

The Max that Y/N loved… was the Max Verstappen who would soon be his teammate.

Yuki didn’t say anything. He simply stood there, heart soft with understanding, and decided to give her time. Quietly, he turned and went back to the living room, leaving her to her thoughts.

Y/N stayed there for a long time. Watching, reading, remembering.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

And somewhere else, across the world, Max was arriving home. The same home he had grown up in. The one filled with memories he could never quite let go of.

Max stood by the front door, scanning the house. It smelled the same. Clean, quiet, but heavy in the air. He went upstairs, suitcase dragging behind him, and opened the door to his old room. Everything was where he’d left it, except dust had claimed most of it.

As he looked around, his eyes landed on something pinned by the window. A small drawing, edges yellowed from time. He walked closer and picked it up. It was a childish sketch of a little boy holding a girl’s hand under a big tree. His throat tightened.

That tree.

Before he knew it, he was walking down the old path again, his hands in his pockets, following the familiar trail that led to the place he used to escape to when everything felt too loud.

When he reached it, he stopped.

The tree was still there. The bark was cracked, but it stood tall, leaves rustling softly in the wind.

Max frowned, whispering, “How is it still standing?”

“I took care of it,” a voice said behind him. “I knew it holds a special place in your heart.”

He turned and saw his mom, smiling softly.

“Hi, Mom,” Max said, hugging her tight. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she said gently.

They both stared at the tree for a moment.

“It’s not special to me,” Max muttered.

Sophie gave him a knowing look. “Oh, come on. You can’t lie to me. That tree was your safe place. And I know it’s not just because you liked to hide there.”

Max exhaled slowly. “That ‘her’ you’re talking about is also the reason this tree became nothing to me.”

Sophie sighed. “You can keep pretending to be mad, Max. But I know a part of you still wants to see her again.”

He said nothing. Sophie smiled sadly. “I’ll leave you alone. Come back in when you’re ready.”

When she left, the silence wrapped around him again. Max stared at the tree, debating. Then he muttered, “What the hell,” and started climbing.

The wood creaked beneath his hands, but he made it to the top like he used to as a kid. The carvings were still there— initials, stick figures, little promises written in uneven lines.

His fingers traced the marks. Every touch brought back flashes of laughter, whispered secrets, and soft goodbyes. The ache in his chest grew heavier until it broke him.

Tears fell quietly. Years of exhaustion, pressure, and buried pain finally found a way out.

“Maybe if you were still with me,” he whispered, staring at the little stickman figure that was supposed to be her, “I wouldn’t be such a mess.”

And somewhere else, across the world, Y/N cried too. Not knowing he was doing the same. She cried because of what he went through, of all the pain she wasn’t there to stop. And he cried because he believed that if she had stayed, maybe he never would have felt this alone.

Two hearts aching for the same reason, miles apart.

When the sun began to set, Max climbed down and returned home. Dinner was waiting. The table was quiet, the kind of silence that holds everything people don’t say out loud.

Jos’ phone buzzed. He sighed and said, “Max, can you grab a few documents from my office?”

Max wanted to roll his eyes, but he just stood. “Where exactly?”

Jos blinked, surprised his son wasn’t arguing. “On my desk drawer. The last one.”

Max walked to the office. It was filled with framed photos of Jos as a driver, trophies, medals. Not a single one of Max.

He muttered, “Wow. Not even one picture of your son who’s achieved more than you.”

Back in the dining room, Jos frowned. “What’s wrong with him? He’s not even talking back.”

Sophie gave him a sharp look. “Our son, you mean. And he’s probably tired. He spent hours up in that treehouse.”

Jos scoffed. “That damn treehouse? After all these years, don’t tell me he’s still sulking about her.”

Sophie’s glare could’ve burned a hole through him. “Let him be! That ‘damn’ treehouse was his escape from you!”

Jos froze.

“And let me remind you,” Sophie added, voice trembling with anger, “that girl made him happy. Happier than you ever managed to. It’s just a shame she left without saying goodbye.”

Jos’ fork clattered onto his plate. He went pale. He remembered. She *had* said goodbye. She even left her contact.

Without a word, he stood and hurried to his office. Sophie stared after him, suspicious.

Upstairs, Max opened the drawer and pulled out the file Jos asked for. Just as he turned, Jos rushed in.

“Max, wrong drawer!”

Max blinked. “Huh? I’m literally holding the file.”

Jos forced a laugh. “No, that’s not it. Put it down. Turns out I needed something else.”

Max gave him a flat look. “Whatever. Get it yourself.” He walked out, leaving the drawer open.

Jos exhaled in relief. He reached inside, pushing aside papers until his hand touched a small box. Her box.

“Thank God he didn’t see this,” he whispered. “He doesn’t need that distraction back in his life.” He grabbed another file to cover it. “I’ll throw this out once everyone’s asleep.”

At dinner, Sophie asked, “What happened?”

Max shrugged. “I don’t know. He yelled at me to drop the papers, said it was the wrong one.”

Sophie frowned, connecting the dots, but Jos returned to the table before she could ask more. “Let’s eat,” he said, acting like nothing happened.

Dinner passed in awkward quiet. When everyone went to bed, Jos lay awake, eyes darting to the clock. At five in the morning, he finally got up.

He walked to his office, picked up the box, and whispered, “No more distractions.”

Outside, the air was cold. He tossed the box into the bin just as the garbage truck turned the corner. A few minutes later, it was gone.

Jos watched the truck drive off. “Well,” he said quietly, “that went smoothly.”

That morning, everything changed.

She rediscovered the boy she thought she’d lost.

He lost her again without even knowing it.

And neither realized they were only one heartbeat away from crossing paths once more.

END of C3.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Note: This is a work of fiction. While inspired by real people and events in the world of Formula 1, certain details, timelines, and outcomes have been adjusted to fit the story. For example, championships, race results, and career milestones may differ from reality. Any resemblance to real-life events beyond general inspiration is purely coincidental.

Somewhere else in the bustling paddock, Y/N lingered in the corner, clutching her notepad like a lifeline. She had just started her internship, the first step toward her dream of becoming a sports reporter. Not Formula 1, not yet, but close enough to taste the fuel in the air and feel the ground pulse beneath her feet. She thrived on the chaos of motorsport, the roar of engines, the unpredictability, the way every second counted. She wanted to be the voice that made races come alive, the one who uncovered the stories behind the speed.

But right now, she was just a nervous teenager in a borrowed team jacket, unsure of who she could talk to. Crew members and drivers rushed past her, deep in their own conversations. She hesitated to approach anyone, afraid she might interrupt something important or get told off for being in the way.

Two people. Two different kinds of nerves. Neither knowing that this day was the start of everything.

Y/N was still rooted in her corner when her mentor finally noticed her.

"Y/N, what are you still doing standing there?" he asked, brows knitting together.

She bit her lip. "I’m… nervous. What if they get annoyed at me?"

He sighed, half amused and half exasperated. "Just do it. Look at CJ." He pointed across the paddock where another intern was confidently speaking to a driver, microphone in hand. "See? He’s interviewing drivers and no one’s yelling at him."

Y/N followed his finger and swallowed hard. "Right. Okay… I’ve got this."

She stepped out from her hidden corner and scanned the bustling paddock. Her fingers brushed over the small notebook she carried, flipping to the page where she’d written the names of the drivers competing that day. April 2004. Formula 3 Euro Series. Hockenheim. She murmured a name under her breath, then looked around for them.

"Busy with his engineer… nope." She tried another. "Already swarmed by journalists." One after another, each possibility fell through. By the time she reached the last name on her list, her energy was thinning.

"Lewis Hamilton," she read, eyes catching on the note she’d scribbled beside it. “Debut race.” She lifted her gaze, scanning the crowd until…there. Standing near the edge of the pit lane, helmet in hand, a young man shifted on his feet, looking like he was carrying the weight of a thousand expectations.

"Bingo," she murmured to herself.

She approached slowly, rehearsing her words in her head. Lewis didn’t notice her until she began to speak.

"Hey, Lewis, may I interview you for your first race-"

"I’m gonna pass," he cut in without looking up. "I’ve already heard enough about my first race. I don’t need more ‘you’re gonna do great’ or ‘secure a podium’ comments."

Y/N blinked. "Actually… I do think you’re going to do good. Just… not today."

His head snapped up. For a second, he forgot to breathe. There was something about her that stole the air from his lungs. Her eyes were bright, her expression open, sunlight catching in her hair as if it had been painted there. She was unlike anyone he had spoken to all day.

"Uh… well, that’s a first," he said, shaking off the spell and trying to focus on her words.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she realised what she’d just said. "Oh my god, that came out wrong. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that-"

A quiet laugh slipped from Lewis, not the full kind that came with victory but the small, genuine one that escaped before you could stop it. "No, it’s fine. Actually, I needed that. Ever since I got here, all I’ve heard is how I’m going to do well or get a podium. As much as I want that… I’ve had this feeling that it won’t be today. So hearing you say the same thing…" He let the thought trail off.

Y/N smiled a little, relief loosening her shoulders. "I thought you were going to be mad. Anyway, I’m Y/N. And I know exactly what you’re going through."

He raised a curious brow. "Do you now?"

She nodded. "This is my first day as an intern. My dream is to become one of the best sports reporter and eventually make it to Formula 1. It’s still far away, but ever since I got this internship all I’ve heard from my family and friends is ‘our future F1 reporter.’ And while I appreciate the positivity… it’s terrifying. What if I fail? Everyone’s already decided my future before I’ve even taken the first step."

Lewis listened quietly, his gaze steady in a way that made her nerves fade.

"Sorry for the life story no one asked for," she said with a sheepish laugh.

"No worries," he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting. "It’s refreshing, hearing I’m not the only one who feels that way. So… since you think I won’t do well today, when do you think I will be good?"

Y/N laughed. "Sorry, I’m not a witch. I just… feel like today isn’t it."

"Fair enough," he said, and for the first time all day, some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

Before Y/N could reply to his last question, someone from the team called out. "Lewis! Time to get ready!"

He gave her a quick smile. "Well, I better go."

"Good luck," she said, stepping back as he turned toward the garage.

It turned out, she was right.

When the race ended, Lewis crossed the line in P11. Not the debut anyone had hyped him for. As he climbed out of the car, pats on the back and voices met him from every direction.

"You did good for a debut, kid." "You’ll get them next time." "Still a solid start."

He nodded, offering polite thanks. By all accounts, he should have felt crushed, like he’d let them down. But he didn’t. Instead, there was a strange calm inside him. Y/N’s voice echoed in his head, that single sentence making him feel less like a disappointment and more… understood.

As he made his way toward the changing area, a cold drink suddenly appeared in front of him. He followed the hand holding it, and there she was.

"I know you need one," Y/N said, her lips curving into a grin.

Lewis laughed, taking it from her. "Did you buy this right after I left, already knowing the result?"

"Obviously," she teased. "Though, I’m still not a witch."

They both laughed, slipping easily into conversation.

If this were a film, the camera would have slowly pulled back at that moment, leaving the two of them framed in the busy paddock while their laughter faded into the hum of the track. That day a new friendship was formed, one that would quietly take root and grow deeper with every race that followed.

After that, it became a tradition. Before every race, Lewis would seek her out. "Is it today?" "Is today my lucky day?"

Sometimes he would only get a smile before she shook her head. "Not today, Hamilton."

Then came May 2004.

Before he even had the chance to ask, Y/N was already there, holding something in her hand.

"A good luck bracelet," she said. "I have a feeling it’s going to work."

Lewis raised a brow. "Wow, am I that hopeless that you’ve resorted to voodoo?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "No. I made this back when we first met, but I don’t know… it just felt like I needed to give it to you now. It’s for our journey. Look-" She lifted her wrist to show a matching bracelet. "Yours has your initials. Mine has mine."

Before he could answer, someone called his name again, telling him to get ready. He glanced down at the bracelet once more and smiled. "Guess I better go earn this then."

She wished him good luck, and this time, her feeling was right again.

The race was tense, and when it ended, Lewis sat in his car for a moment, stunned. "Did I… did I… oh my god. P3," he muttered to himself, almost in disbelief. His eyes fell to the bracelet on his wrist, and a soft smile spread across his face.

He was swept up in congratulations, photographers, and handshakes, but once the noise settled, he began looking for her. Spotting her in the distance, he grabbed a drink and walked over.

She was busy writing something down, completely unaware until a hand appeared in front of her offering the bottle.

Following it up, she saw him. Sweaty, still slightly breathless, but smiling.

"You deserve this," he said. "You know, for using voodoo."

She took the drink with a laugh. "I need you to stop using that joke. People might hear you and actually believe it. Especially since calling a woman a witch was something people really believed in back then."

He grinned, unbothered. "Fine. No more voodoo jokes. But I’m keeping the bracelet."

Over the months and years, their conversations became a constant thread through the noise of the paddock. Between races, on long travel days, in moments stolen between interviews and debriefs, they talked. About racing, about dreams, about fears they shared with no one else. It didn’t matter how chaotic the weekend was. If Lewis had something to celebrate or something to shake off, Y/N was always the first person he sought out.

•••

Fast forward to 2006. GP2 Series. Nürburgring weekend.

The track glistened under the pale afternoon sun. When the checkered flag waved, Lewis crossed the line first. P1. The crowd roared, his team erupted, and he was swept up in a tide of hands lifting him high. Laughter spilled from him, pure and unfiltered, as the celebration carried on around him.

Yet even in the middle of all that noise, his eyes searched.

He found her not in the crowd, but in a quiet corner of the paddock, sitting on the low wall with her legs crossed, head tilted slightly as she watched the sunset stain the sky gold.

Lewis slipped away from the chaos and lowered himself beside her.

"Shouldn’t you be over there?" Y/N asked, nodding toward the distant crowd still chanting his name. "You’re the main event after all."

He smiled, his voice low. "They can survive without me. I can’t survive without you."

Something in her chest tightened at the way he said it, so simply and without hesitation. She let out a soft laugh, looking down at her hands.

Lewis watched her for a moment, then exhaled. "You know… ever since I met you, everything has been better. Not just in racing. Life feels… lighter."

"You’ve just matured," she teased gently. "You worked hard and got better at things."

He shook his head. "No, it’s not just that. You’ve been my anchor when I didn’t even realise I was drifting. You’ve been the one person who saw me without the pressure, without the noise. And I-" He stopped, running a hand over the back of his neck. "I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now. Actually… no. I know I have."

Y/N’s lips parted, her breath catching. She didn’t answer right away, and he rushed on, words tumbling out.

"I’m not saying this to complicate things, I just-"

She cut him off with a kiss. Soft. Certain.

When they pulled back, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cool air. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I love you too."

They looked at each other, the quiet between them warm and full. Then, as if drawn by something they couldn’t name, they leaned in again. The second kiss was slower, deeper, as if sealing something unspoken between them.

That night, they became official. Not with grand announcements, but in the way they looked at each other and knew.

They also agreed on one thing. They would keep it private. Their careers were only just beginning, and Lewis, more than anyone, wanted to protect her. He had seen how women in motorsport were often dismissed, underestimated, or whispered about as if their achievements were owed to someone else. Y/N had no space in her life for anyone to belittle her or suggest she had taken shortcuts.

So they kept their love tucked safely between them. No one else needed to see it for it to be real. And in that privacy, they found a peace the rest of the world could not touch.

•••

Through the years, they built a rhythm without ever needing to say it out loud.

Before races, there would be the smallest glance between them, just long enough to steady each other and just short enough for no one else to notice. After races, in the rush of mechanics and cameras, Y/N would catch his eye from across the pit wall and mouth, Good job. Lewis always found himself smiling, no matter the result.

They went through every high and every low together. Nights spent celebrating, nights spent comforting. Airports at dawn, hotel rooms at midnight. Their love did not just survive the chaos, it thrived in it.

And with that love steady beneath their feet, they began to climb higher.

One night, they were sprawled on the couch watching a film when Lewis’s phone rang. He answered, pacing to the kitchen. The call was brief, but when he came back, his face was unreadable.

Y/N sat up. "What’s wrong, Lu?"

His heart gave a sharp kick at the nickname. He looked at her for a moment before his lips curved into something between disbelief and joy. "I… I’m in Formula 1."

"What was that, my love?" she asked, leaning forward.

This time he said it louder, unable to hold it in. "I got it, Y/N. I’m in Formula 1!"

It took her two seconds before she leapt up, throwing her arms around him. “Lewis Hamilton, you are going to be unstoppable! Oh my god, my boyfriend is going to be on the F1 grid!”

A few months later, it was her turn. Lewis walked into their flat holding an envelope, his grin wide. “Guess who officially starts interviewing in Formula 1?”

Her eyes widened. "No way."

He handed her the letter and she scanned it, laughing in disbelief. "I get to interview you now."

He smirked. "I’ll try to be professional when it’s you asking the questions."

"Please do," she teased.

His debut with McLaren came in 2007. Against all odds, he finished P3. The media swarmed him, and among the crowd was Y/N, microphone in hand.

"Your debut race in Formula 1 and you’re already on the podium," she said, voice steady despite the rush of excitement in her chest. "How did you do it?"

Lewis glanced at her, the chaos of the paddock blurring into the background. "I’m still not sure," he said slowly. "But I know I got here because of the people who believed in me and never stopped supporting me."

The look he gave her made the meaning clear. Y/N’s lips curved just slightly before she continued. "Well, that’s all for today. Thank you for your time, Lewis."

"Anytime, love," he said quietly, low enough for only her to hear.

That night, curled up in his hotel room, she laughed against his shoulder. "You need to learn to be subtle, Lu."

"Hard to be subtle when you’re staring at me with those eyes," he murmured.

Later that year, Lewis won his first championship. Champagne sprayed into the air, his team surrounded him, and interviews came one after another. At one point, as a reporter asked him a question, his gaze drifted to the other side of the paddock. Y/N was there, speaking to his team principal, her expression proud and soft. The noise faded for a heartbeat, and all he could think about was her.

Their days together never felt repetitive. Every morning was new, every evening felt like a fresh beginning. It was as if they were always falling in love for the first time.

As another chapter began, with Lewis moving to Mercedes and Y/N thriving in her career, they decided their little world needed one more member.

One night, they were curled on the sofa scrolling through an online bulldog rescue page.

"How about this little guy?" Y/N asked, turning the laptop to show him.

Lewis studied the photo and shook his head. "I don’t feel a connection."

She smirked. "Are you looking for a partner to replace me with?"

He chuckled. "Not a chance."

Then she stopped scrolling. "This. He’s the one."

Lewis leaned in, his smile growing. "Yeah… he is. Meet Roscoe."

Y/N grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "He’s perfect."

Lewis didn’t take his eyes off the screen. "Yeah, he is."

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Roscoe’s first day in their shared apartment was nothing like the videos they’d seen of rescued dogs instantly warming up to their new homes.

He stayed in the corner, watching them as if deciding whether he had just been adopted… or kidnapped. Lewis crouched on the floor, coaxing him with treats and soft words. Y/N sat cross-legged nearby, pretending not to notice that Roscoe’s eyes followed her every move.

By the end of the night, it was Y/N who finally got him to leave his corner, bribing him with leftover roast chicken. Lewis stood there, mock-offended.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he asked, hands on his hips.

From that day on, Roscoe’s favorite human was very clear. If Y/N was in the room, Lewis became invisible. During movie nights, Roscoe always wedged himself between them, pressing so close to Y/N that Lewis ended up half-hanging off the couch.

“You do realize he’s my dog?” Lewis would grumble.

“Funny,” Y/N replied, scratching behind Roscoe’s ears. “He seems to think otherwise.”

The favoritism became a running joke… until one race weekend when Lewis couldn’t find him.

It was post-race chaos, with mechanics packing up and reporters swarming, and Lewis paced the paddock like a man who had just misplaced a championship trophy. “Where is he?” he demanded, scanning every corner.

A team member finally appeared, grinning. “Found him, Lewis.”

Lewis followed, heart pounding, only to discover Roscoe sprawled on Y/N’s feet while she interviewed Nico Rosberg. The dog was completely relaxed, head resting on her shoe as if the two were in the middle of a lazy Sunday, not a bustling Formula 1 paddock.

Lewis, trying to avoid the cameras, crouched low beside Roscoe. “Come on, buddy, let’s go,” he whispered.

Roscoe lifted his head, gave Lewis a long, bored look… and then put it right back down on Y/N’s foot.

Y/N felt the shift of weight and glanced down, spotting both Roscoe and Lewis crouched beside her. “What are you two doing?” she asked, her voice halfway between amused and baffled.

“Uh… sorry for bothering. Just… trying to get this big baby out of here,” Lewis muttered.

Nico raised an eyebrow. “You’re not bothering. But now I feel like Y/N should interview Roscoe too.”

The three of them laughed, but the camera kept rolling. Even as Y/N and Nico resumed talking, Lewis stayed put, sitting beside Roscoe like the dog’s official chaperone. Both of them stared up at Y/N and Nico, looking uncannily alike, one with soulful brown eyes and the other with equally soulful brown eyes and a baseball cap.

The clip went viral within hours. Fans flooded social media with side-by-side comparisons, claiming Lewis and Roscoe had the same expressions. Others started wondering why the bulldog seemed so comfortable with Y/N, like they shared some secret history.

When Lewis was asked about it in an interview, he chuckled. “I don’t know. Roscoe’s good at reading people. Maybe he just… felt something about her.”

Nico, sitting beside him, smirked. “Surely that is because I was there.”

And so life went on, full of quiet glances, inside jokes, and the steady rhythm of a love that had only grown stronger over the years. Their relationship was more than just passion. It was trust. It was comfort. It was the knowledge that no matter how loud the world became, they could always find silence in each other.

So you’re probably wondering… how does something so perfect, so filled with love and trust, start to fall apart?

•••

By the 2016 season, the first cracks began to show,

Subtle at first, almost invisible to anyone who was even aware of their relationship. There was no betrayal, no sudden blowout. Just time. Time that had once been their greatest ally became the quiet enemy working against them.

Lewis was locked in a relentless championship fight with Nico. Every race felt like a battlefield, every point a weapon, and the pressure began to weigh on him. Their friendship strained under the standings, and Lewis threw himself into training with an intensity that left little room for anything else.

Y/N’s own world was spinning just as fast. She had been given a massive project that demanded long hours and constant travel. The kind of opportunity she couldn’t turn down, but one that kept her tied to her laptop, even at home.

Soon, their shared apartment stopped feeling like home. It became a place where two strangers happened to live, passing each other in the hallway like guests who had overstayed their welcome. Even Roscoe seemed to notice the change.

One night, Y/N was sitting at the dining table, papers spread out in front of her, eyes fixed on her work. The sound of keys jingling made Roscoe’s ears perk up. He trotted to the door, tail wagging furiously. When Lewis stepped inside, still smelling faintly of sweat and the gym, Roscoe’s whole body wiggled with excitement. But Lewis barely glanced down as he passed, heading straight to the bedroom without a word.

Roscoe’s tail slowed, then drooped. He padded back into the living room, sitting at Y/N’s feet and tilting his head up at her, letting out a soft whine. Without looking away from her screen, she reached for his favorite stuffed toy and placed it beside him.

He took it, but didn’t play. Instead, he carried it into his bed and curled up, the toy pressed under his chin.

The silence in the room was so thick it felt heavy.

Once, that apartment had been filled with laughter and music and the sound of Roscoe’s paws skidding across the floor. Now, it was just quiet. Quiet, and the slow drift of two people who still loved each other, but couldn’t seem to find the time to show it.

•••

May 2016.

The day everything broke.

The Spanish Grand Prix was supposed to be just another battle, another chance for Lewis to prove himself. Instead, it became the moment when two drivers who had once been like brothers collided on the very first lap. Carbon fiber flew everywhere, both cars skidding into the gravel. Two DNFs. A complete disaster for Mercedes.

The yelling started before either of them had even left the paddock. Team bosses, engineers, and press all seemed to have something to say. Lewis barely heard any of it. His chest felt tight, his pulse still sharp with adrenaline and frustration.

When he finally broke away, he went looking for the one person who could settle him. He spotted Y/N a few garages down, her back turned to him. She was talking to Nico.

“It’s not your fault,” she was saying, her voice low but steady. “You’ll get it next time. Don’t let this eat at you.”

Lewis froze, just out of sight. He had been hoping for her voice to be soft for him, not for Nico.

“I know how hard you’ve been working,” she continued. “And I know today sucked, but you’ve come back from worse.”

That was enough. Lewis turned away, walking before he could hear anything else.

Later that evening, in their shared apartment, the smell of rain clung to the open windows. Y/N was on the floor with Roscoe, tossing his toy back and forth. The dog’s tail thumped happily against the rug. Finally, some joy in the house again.

When Lewis walked in, keys jingling, Y/N’s head lifted.

“I’m sorry about the race,” she said gently. “You did your best-”

“Sorry for making your boyfriend DNF,” Lewis cut in, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air.

She blinked. “What?”

“Well, since it’s not Nico’s fault, it’s obviously mine. So, I’m sorry.”

Roscoe, sensing the shift, paused mid-play and looked up at them.

Y/N stood. “Lewis, you cannot be serious right now. I only said that because he was already feeling down. I was going to interview him, I wanted to cheer him up. Did you expect me to tell him the opposite?”

“Maybe I expected you not to take his side.”

“This isn’t about sides,” she snapped. “It was a bad race, and I was trying to be professional. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” he echoed, his voice tightening. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear you say that to him and not to me?”

Roscoe’s gaze bounced between them. He let out a small whine, but neither of them looked his way.

Y/N’s shoulders dropped. “Is the race really the reason we’re fighting?”

Lewis hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know.”

Silence settled in, thick and heavy.

“Is this the end?” she asked quietly.

His head snapped up, startled. “No. Why would you even think that? This is just… a fight. We’ll get past it.”

She shook her head. “It’s not just a fight, Lewis. This is the first proper conversation we’ve had in weeks. And it’s about a race. Not us. Not how we’ve been. Just… the race.”

Her voice trembled, but she forced it steady. “I think I’m going to stay at F/N’s tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow and start getting my things.”

Lewis’ head snapped up at that. “Your things?”

Y/N swallowed hard. “Yeah… I think… we both know what this is, Lewis.”

He took a step toward her, panic flickering in his eyes. “No, no, we’re just… we’re tired. We’ve been fighting more. That doesn’t mean-”

“It’s not just fighting,” she whispered. “It’s the fact that this, us, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I come back here and it’s just walls. You’re somewhere else, I’m somewhere else. Even when we’re in the same room, we’re not really here.”

Lewis’ mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

She tried to smile, but it was the kind that hurt to look at. “You know I love you. That hasn’t changed. But maybe loving each other isn’t enough right now.”

Roscoe had gone quiet, head resting on his paws as if he knew what was happening.

Lewis’ voice cracked. “So… that’s it?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I think it is.”

They stood there for a few long seconds, neither moving, just staring at each other like if they looked hard enough they might find the version of them from years ago. But it was gone.

She picked up her bag, gave Roscoe one last scratch behind the ears, and walked to the door. She didn’t look back.

The sound of the latch clicking shut was deafening.

Lewis stayed where he was, staring at the empty space she’d left behind, until his knees finally gave out and he sank to the floor beside Roscoe. He stroked the dog’s head gently, his voice low. “It’s just us now, huh, buddy?”

Roscoe nudged his hand, and Lewis gave a broken little laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t just lose the love of my life… I lost your favorite human too.” He let out a soft laugh that caught in his throat.

“Well… our favorite human.”

Roscoe rested his head on Lewis’s knee, and for the first time that day, Lewis let himself break.

Ten years of love, laughter, and shared dreams slipped away, leaving only the silence that confirmed it was truly over.

End of C1.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

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