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Summary: I came to F1 with my little brother Kimi to photograph his rookie season, not to fall for his best friend and Haas's golden boy. Somehow, Ollie Bearman keeps ending up in my shots!
Warnings: Swearing, self doubt, smau, google translate Italian, fluff, George Russell, Val and Kimi fight like siblings.
Word Count: 2121
Notes: I am so sorry for the incredibly long break I went on without warning you guys. Take this as an apology. It's been such a long while, my writing style might've changed a little bit. About the story, there are bits and pieces of Italian that are not translated. This is because Ollie wouldn't understand what they're saying, and I wanted that to be reflected. Feel free to translate it yourself, it's a bit important to the storyline. Ciao!
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Emilia Romagna (Imola) Grand Prix
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It was Kimi’s home race, and thus, my home race.
Growing up close to the circuit was never weird for me with Kimi’s practices and Papà still racing. It was easy for transportation and attending races with Mamma.
I think it’s part of the reason I left.
Being surrounded by the same subject for fifteen, almost sixteen years and never being able to get the perfect picture I was always chasing was… harder than I prefer to admit. Logically, my worth didn’t depend on that ability, and I knew that.
I also knew that slowing down would be better for me.
When I talked with Val about it, she hugged me and told me that I better keep in touch and visit when I could. I promised her I would. When I talked with Papà, he looked at me with the eyes of someone that had to leave to find himself again too and told me he loved me no matter where I was or what I photographed. When I told Mamma, she looked at photography schools with me and told me “Non restare lì così a lungo da non tornare cieco. [Do not stay so long you become blind again.]”
I didn’t tell my brother. What I did tell him is that I couldn’t make it to his last race of the season because I was too sick, and I placed a letter on his pillow when he left.
Kimi wouldn’t be able to understand why I left. His whole life was dedicated to practices, coaching sessions, championships, constantly improving, and winning. Never completely perfect, just faster faster faster.
Kimi wouldn’t understand why his big sister is leaving him just as it’s getting so real for him.
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Val was my assistant for the weekend, according to her pass. In reality, she’s here to watch the races and sit with me as I photograph. Calling her my assistant was just so she could get the same access as me.
Currently we were in Mercedes with Kimi and George, talking about the media day frenzy with Toto Wolff on a video call.
“Kimi,” began Toto. “Don’t let the press get to you. It’s okay to be nervous, you know what you’re doing.”
George grinned, “What about my words of encouragement?”
I don’t think Toto could’ve looked more unimpressed.
“You are twenty-seven years old, and the senior driver on this team! This is his first home race!”
Kimi started laughing, and George put his hands up in a placating gesture as Toto went off. I glanced over at Val, both of us stifling a laugh.
Standing up, I ruffle Kimi’s hair and motion for Val to follow me. I pause at the door.
“Andrea,” I called. He looks at me, a smile on his face, but I can see the way his shoulders are tenser than usual and the light reflects the anxiety in his eyes. I wish I could put the love I have for him into words.
“You’ll be alright, kid.” His smile becomes a little more real.
“I know.”
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“Are you looking for Oliver?” Val asked as we walked the pitlane toward the Haas garage.
“Yeah, I want to see if he wants pictures now or later.”
“Won’t you just take them anyway?” She raised a knowing eyebrow.
“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes.
I spotted him just inside the Haas garage, water bottle in one hand, cap tilted back a little like he hadn’t fully adjusted it since his arrival. He was mid-conversation with a team mechanic, but when he saw me, his face did that soft light-up thing. It was subtle, but real.
I nudged Val gently with my elbow. “There he is.”
She followed my gaze, nodded once like a scientist confirming a hypothesis. “The boy.”
I groaned. “Don’t call him that.”
“I will until you admit you like him.”
“You’re on thin ice.”
Ollie’s conversation wrapped up, and he jogged a few steps toward us. “Hey,” he said, a little breathless, brushing a hand through his curls. “Didn’t know you were gonna be at this race. Who is this?”
I smirked. “Ollie, this is Valentina, or Val, my best friend, my childhood partner in chaos, the only person who knows I ate pineapple on pizza when I lived in the States.”
Val gave him a winning smile and stuck out her hand. “It was a dark time. She’s grown.”
“Barely, and this is our home race, so…” I muttered.
Ollie laughed as he shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he grinned, then turned slightly back to me. “So what’s up?”
I lifted my shoulder a little. “Wondering if you wanted pictures now or later? I didn’t have your schedule.”
“You can get the driver's schedules?” Val asked incredulously.
“Yeah, if they want you to have them.” I said, giving Ollie a look that said ‘Do you want me to have yours?’
He laughed easily. “I’ll get my handler to send it to you.”
“Thanks. Now, when do you want to take them?” I held up my camera slightly.
“Could we instead do a photoshoot in the race suits?” He asked hopefully, his coffee-colored eyes were trained on my face. I shifted under his gaze, my face heating slightly. Oh great, now I blush.
“Ollie, I usually reserve the blackboxes as soon as they open sign-ups because they get snatched up so fast by the bigger photographers. None of them will be open all weekend.” I felt bad about the situation, but I couldn’t do anything about it.
“Oh, I meant on the circuit.” He grinned.
“Sì, we can totally do that!” I let out a breath. I did not want to make Ollie sad. “I’ll see you later. Ready to go Val?”
“Yeah, but we definitely need to get Lando Norris’ schedule.” She poked me in the side.
“Ugh, in this heat? I’m gonna melt.”
“He’s doing an interview right now, but should be off soon. And I gotta go, I’m next.” Ollie supplied.
I gave him a mock salute. “You’re a hero.”
With a little nod and a backwards step, he headed off again, water bottle swinging loosely in one hand.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Val leaned into me with a quiet, pleased hum. “You didn’t tell me he was cuter in person!”
“I didn’t want to give you leverage.”
“I already have it,” she said sweetly. “That was adorable. And you call him ‘Ollie”. I’m obsessed.”
“Everyone calls him that.” I tried not to smile. Failed.
She noticed. Naturally.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be normal.”
“Right. You and your Lando Norris obsession.”
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FP1 didn’t go well for Kimi.
I watched him talk with the engineers and run a hand down his face from the garage entrance. He was stressed, but still had hope. Apparently, something was wrong with the car. I’m just glad something wasn’t wrong with Kimi.
I got a sorta sick feeling in my stomach. I touched the strap of the camera around my neck. Val was shadowing the McLaren admin somewhere, and I was basically alone. Or so I thought.
“Figlia, what are you doing?” asked a familiar voice behind me.
“Papà!” I turned and wrapped my arms around Marco Antonelli, my dad. “C'è qualcosa che non va nella macchina. [There is something wrong with the car.]”
He smiled. “Sì, lo so, ma ho chiesto di te. [Yes, I know, but I asked about you.]”
I laughed then. My father, sixty years of racing, raising kids, and everything in between. Sometimes it feels like he’s still as invincible as I thought he was as a kid. Not even shaken by a broken car.
“Sto bene. Mi piace di nuovo fotografare. Ho anche incontrato un ragazzo. [I'm doing good. I love photographing again. Met a boy too.]” My eyes unconsciously drifted towards the Haas garage.
“L'amico di Kimi? È puro. Non italiano, ma coraggioso. [Kimi's friend? He is pure. Not Italian, but brave.]”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Papà. Now go talk to Kimi.”
“Sì, aiuterò il mio ragazzo. [Yes, I will help my boy.]”
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FP2 went even worse for Kimi. It did go better for Ollie though, which felt like a first. By FP3, the car was somewhat better. Kimi finished P4, and Ollie finished P12.
I got a good amount of pictures for someone who’d been giving Val a tour, stressing about a car I wasn’t even driving (call it a sibling psychic bond or something), and chatting with Papà.
I’d been chasing the light all afternoon. That syrupy kind of golden hour that makes every edge softer, like the sun’s got a crush on the whole world and doesn’t know how to say it. The track had started to quiet. No engines, no frantic pit comms, just the rustle of wind and a few lazy footsteps echoing down the paddock corridors.
I found them waiting for Val and I by the circuit gate. Kimi and Ollie leaning against the wall, half-shielded by a stack of tires and the very faint smell of fuel and sunburnt asphalt. Kimi was sipping something neon from a Gatorade bottle. Ollie was talking with his hands. I couldn’t hear the words, but the laughter told me everything.
“Boys,” I called, camera already raised. “Don’t move. This light is stupid good.”
They looked over. Ollie flashed a grin and ducked his head, suddenly a little shy. Kimi didn’t move.
“You’re gonna regret that reaction when you see how good you look,” I said, adjusting the lens.
“Oh, I already regret this entire outfit,” Kimi muttered. “Why are race suits always a little bit… haunted?”
“They’re not haunted,” Val chimed in behind me, leaning heavily on my small frame to see around me. “They’re just tight in weird places. Like, you’re not even allowed to have knees.”
She flopped dramatically onto a tire stack like it was a fainting couch.
“Okay,” she said, squinting at the boys. “You! Yes, you. Antonelli. Less brooding. More ‘boy band caught in the rain’ energy. Tilt your head.”
“I’m not tilting my head for you,” Kimi said flatly.
“But you will for her,” she said, pointing at me.
Kimi sighed and looked at me, deadpan. “Tell Val to stop directing. Please. I don’t need another older sister.”
“She’s part of the scene,” I said, smiling as I snapped another shot. “Val, keep doing whatever.”
Val gasped like I’d just knighted her. “Finally, someone appreciates my art.”
Ollie turned to Kimi. “Should we be worried?”
“We should’ve been worried the moment they met,” Kimi said. “This is what happens when you let two anormale share a brain cell.”
“You wish you had our brain cell,” Val said, now fully sprawled across the tires like a lizard in the sun. “Now! Ollie! Smile like you’re being handed a puppy and a lifetime supply of ice cream. Go.”
He laughed, full and bright and easy, and I caught it. Caught the crinkle in his eyes and the curve of his mouth and the way the light loved him.
Click.
“This one’s going on the wall,” I said.
“What wall?” Ollie asked.
Kimi raised a brow. “The one she keeps in her apartment. Kinda like toddler drawings on the fridge, it's a place of honor.”
Val sat up suddenly. “Okay, but for real. One more. Just stand closer. No, closer. Like ‘we shared a hotel room and got matching jet lag’ close.”
“You could be touching him more,” Val said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Non oltrepassare il limite, Valentina!” I fired to her.
“Ohhh, you’re fired,” Kimi called at her.
“Stai zitto, cazzo!” She flipped him off. Ollie just looked confused.
“Sorry Ollie, don’t mind it.” I said.
“It’s alright, I’ll just learn Italian!”
I took the photo. I took three more. Ollie looking over his shoulder at me smiling, not posing, not ready, just caught in the middle of a laugh.
Click. Click click click.
The moment passed. Val bounded off to chase a cat someone swore they saw earlier. Kimi muttered something about twenty-something olds and bad influences. Ollie lingered, rubbing the back of his neck like he was working up to something, then didn’t say anything at all.
And me? I just sat back and soaked in the sunset. Then I snapped a lazy picture of it.
Sometimes the good stuff isn’t what you set up. Sometimes it’s in the between. Before the next pose, after the last joke. Like golden hour. Like breath.
Like maybe falling a little bit in love with someone who doesn’t know it yet.
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