Summary: Toto Wolff’s daughter Y/N gets a playdate invite and suddenly the entire F1 grid turns into her overprotective brothers causing chaos, viral videos, and playground stakeouts. Racing has nothing on this family drama!
Pairing: Platonic F1 Grid x Toto Wolff’s Daughter!Reader
Contains: Chaotic driver dynamics, protective big brother energy, playground stakeouts, suspicious tree-hiding, wildly inaccurate Google searches, unsolicited life plans, suspicious looks at a 5-year-old, Toto Wolff’s unshakable patience, and Lewis Hamilton being the “best dressed bodyguard” on the scene.
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The Wolff household’s morning was a well-oiled Mercedes pit stop if pit stops involved cereal spills, mismatched socks, and Toto muttering in three different languages because Y/N couldn’t find her backpack.
Toto finally ushered her into the car, looking like a man who had already fought three battles before 8 a.m.
“You will behave today, right?” he asked, side-eyeing her as they drove toward school.
“Yes,” Y/N said, swinging her legs like she was on a catwalk instead of a car seat.
“You promise to listen and learn?” Toto pressed.
“Yes, Papa,” she replied sweetly, which was suspicious because sweetness from Y/N usually meant she was hiding something.
As they pulled up to the school, her teacher was waiting by the gate. Y/N reached out her tiny hand to her teacher, but Toto knelt down in front of her first, adjusting her little backpack straps like they were championship-winning car parts.
“Good luck, okay? Eat your food. I’ll have my assistant pick you up later so you can go to media day,” Toto reminded her. “Apparently, fans want a TikTok from you after that fashion show shenanigan.”
“Yeehey!” Y/N cheered, throwing her arms around him in a hug.
Her teacher smiled politely as she led Y/N toward the school building. But halfway to the door, Y/N turned around and yelled, “Bye, Papa! See you later! Prepare snacks!”
Toto waved, a rare soft smile tugging at his face.
———
Snack time at preschool was the highlight of the day. Y/N sat at a tiny table with her friends, munching on crackers and teaching them “important life skills,” like how to dramatically roll your eyes when someone says something boring.
“Like this,” she demonstrated, nearly falling off her chair from the force of her eye roll. The other kids giggled.
Then came playtime, three glorious hours of blocks, crayons, and pretending the carpet was lava. Y/N, being the natural leader she was, convinced half the class to “start a team” whose main goal was stealing extra biscuits from the snack cupboard.
When it was time to go home, the classroom filled with the shuffle of little feet, parents greeting their kids, and a few children waiting with the teacher for their rides. Y/N sat beside her teacher, proudly clutching a crayon masterpiece.
It was a drawing of her family, her, Mama, and Papa standing under a big tree. But poking their heads out from behind the tree were… every single Formula 1 driver on the grid.
George was holding a sandwich. Max had a cat on his shoulder for some reason. Lando was sticking out his tongue. Pierre was inexplicably holding a baguette. And somehow, even the drivers Y/N had never met in person were there, peeking from behind the branches like they were part of some secret forest cult.
“Is that… all your brothers?” her teacher asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yep. They live in the tree,” Y/N said seriously, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Y/N was still sitting beside her teacher, swinging her legs and guarding her family-and-“brother”tree drawing, when someone walked up.
It was her classmate Calix, or as Y/N called him, Lix, holding his mom’s hand. He always played with her during break, usually involving elaborate games of “who can run the loudest” and “how many crackers can we sneak before snack time ends.”
“Y/N,” he called softly.
She turned to look at him, and instantly noticed his red face, fidgety hands, and the fact that he was staring somewhere over her shoulder instead of at her. In his little hands was an envelope, slightly crumpled like he’d been holding it since breakfast.
“This is for you,” he mumbled, thrusting it toward her without making eye contact.
The teacher and his mom immediately exchanged warm smiles, the kind adults get when something is just painfully cute.
“What is it?” Y/N asked, tilting her head.
“...Open it,” he mumbled, barely audible.
She tore open the envelope. Inside was a card with two stick figures holding hands, standing in front of a wonky little house. Between them was what appeared to be a dog, or maybe a really fluffy potato with legs. In bright crayon letters, it said: Play Date.
To the average preschooler, it was just a cute drawing. To every adult watching, it looked suspiciously like a happy little family portrait.
Lix, now visibly regretting this public display of emotion, shuffled behind his mom and peeked around her leg.
“Y/N, Calix here wants to invite you to a playdate, sweetie,” his mom said, pointing toward her shy son.
“I will be there,” Y/N grinned instantly, no hesitation.
Her teacher raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have to ask your parents first?”
Y/N shook her head with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how the world worked. “No need. They know Lix. It’s okay for us to play.”
Hearing that, Lix immediately stopped hiding and ran forward to hug her. His mom, of course, took a picture to send to Y/N’s mom, because moments like this needed to be immortalized forever.
“See you tomorrow, Y/N,” he said shyly.
“Bye, Lix!” she called, waving until he and his mom disappeared down the path.
Just a few minutes later, she heard her name being called by her papa’s assistant. Y/N said goodbye to her teacher and bolted toward the car like it was the starting grid, climbing in with all the energy of someone who had just eaten three biscuits.
———
The Mercedes garage was busy as always, the hum of drills and chatter mixing with Toto’s deep voice as he stood with a group of engineers.
“So, no more changing the front wing last minute unless it is actually falling off, ja?” he was saying, pointing at a diagram. “And if it is falling off, maybe… try to notice before the driver tells you at 300 kilometers per hour.”
Before anyone could reply, a familiar small voice echoed from the entrance.
“PAPA!”
Every head turned just in time to see Y/N sprinting into the garage like a tiny missile, weaving between toolboxes and mechanics until she crashed into Toto’s legs.
“Ah, meine Kleine,” Toto beamed, scooping her up. “How was school?”
“It was really fun,” Y/N laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “And also… Lix invited me for a playdate!”
“Really? That will be fun, huh?” Toto smiled.
“Yes! I’m so excited.”
Toto nodded, unaware that the Lix he had imagined as a girl was actually a little boy. Y/N’s pronunciation sounded just like “Nics” which Toto assumed was short for Nichole. He had even pictured braids, not a boy at all.
He tapped her nose. “So… a lot of fans are requesting you appear on the TikTok page.”
“Really?” Y/N gasped.
“Yes,” Toto said, pretending to be serious. “But nothing extreme, okay? Today, how about you just tell them about your day?” He kissed her forehead.
“Okay!” she grinned.
Toto’s assistant led her to his office so they could record in peace, setting up a phone on a small tripod.
———
Y/N sat on the big chair, swinging her legs and smiling at the camera.
“Hi! Today at school was really fun. First we had snack time, and I had crackers. Then we played lava floor, but nobody fell in… except me, but I didn’t melt.” She giggled.
She grabbed her drawing and held it up proudly. “This is my mom, my papa, and me. And that’s a big tree. But see?” She pointed to the branches. “These are all my “brothers”. They’re always peeking. They can’t mind their own business.”
The camera zoomed a little, showing Max’s tiny drawn head poking from behind the tree, George with a sandwich, Pierre with a baguette, and Lando sticking his tongue out.
“Even when I’m at school,” Y/N said matter-of-factly, “they just… show up. I think they live in the tree now.”
She placed the drawing down, then her face lit up. “Oh! Also I was invited by my friend Lix on a playdate.” She dug into her bag, pulling out the card and holding it up. “He made this for me. Lix has been my close friend. He is really kind and cute,” she mumbled, looking at the card, but the microphone picked it up loud and clear.
“And that’s my day. Bye!”
She hopped down from the chair and skipped back to the garage.
“Done already?” Toto asked.
“Yeah! I did very good,” she said proudly.
They stood together watching some engineers work on the car, completely unaware that the video was already being uploaded.
Fifteen minutes later, it was everywhere. The comments were flooding in,
“THE TREE OF UNCLES 😭”
“She just casually admitted Lix is cute???”
“Mercedes TikTok admin, we need more of her immediately.”
By the time Toto glanced at his phone, it was already at half a million views.
———
The drivers’ room after media day looked like the aftermath of a hurricane that hit a kindergarten.
George and Lando were arguing about something utterly pointless.
“It’s obviously faster to put socks on before trousers,” George said.
“No, mate, that’s insane,” Lando fired back. “What if your trousers are tight? Then you can’t pull them over the socks!”
In the corner, Carlos, Oscar, and Zhou were playing charades, which had quickly devolved into shouting.
“That was clearly a penguin!” Oscar yelled.
“It looked like a very sick chicken,” Zhou argued.
“I WAS DIVING, NOT DYING,” Carlos snapped.
Most of the others were just sprawled on couches scrolling through their phones, recovering from the endless interviews. That was when one of the most chronically online drivers…Alex Albon suddenly sat up straight.
“Oh. My. God,” Alex said, eyes wide. “Y/N has a date.”
Every single driver’s head snapped toward him.
“Wait, WHAT?”
“Run that back.”
“Who’s the boy?”
In seconds, they had abandoned whatever they were doing and were crowding around Alex’s phone, standing in a protective semi-circle like a SWAT team made of older brothers. Alex hit replay, and they all leaned in, watching Y/N’s TikTok with increasing outrage.
By the time the video ended, chaos erupted.
“How dare that little boy.”
“No way Toto is okay with this.”
“She’s FIVE. She can’t date until she’s fifty.”
“I’ll volunteer as security.”
Within moments, they were marching toward the Mercedes garage, the ground practically shaking from the combined stomping of 20,000 euros worth of sneakers.
———
Toto was watching his crew work on the car while Y/N sat nearby on a little chair, coloring intently. It was peaceful. Then came the unmistakable sound of multiple voices calling his name in rapid-fire.
“TOTO.”
“Toto!”
“Wolff!”
“Oi, Toto, what is this I’m hearing about Y/N having a date?”
Before Toto could respond, Alex shoved his phone right into Toto’s face, literally smacking him on the nose.
“Ow-” Toto grabbed the phone, glaring. “Are you trying to break my nose?”
Silence fell as everyone waited for his reaction. Toto watched the video, completely straight-faced, then looked up to find the drivers staring at him like he’d just committed treason.
Max’s expression said You’re dead to me.
Charles looked like he was calculating how to adopt Y/N on the spot.
Pierre had his arms crossed like a disappointed French dad.
Fernando just… shook his head slowly, like this was the end of civilization.
Toto sighed. “What about it?”
That set them off again.
“How can you let her go on a date with a boy?”
“She’s too young!”
“If you want, I can lend her Roscoe for a day as her playdate,” Lewis offered.
“And Leo too,” Charles added quickly.
“We can arrange a whole animal playdate,” Pierre chimed in.
Toto pinched the bridge of his nose. “Guys. That playdate is with a little girl.”
Confused silence.
“…What?” Oscar asked.
“Yes. Nics is short for Nichole,” Toto explained.
“Uh… she said Lix,” George pointed out.
“That’s just how Y/N pronounces it,” Toto replied.
“But she used he pronouns,” Alex argued.
“She’s five,” Toto deadpanned. “She may have gotten confused.”
The tension immediately broke.
“Ohhh.”
“Right, that makes sense.”
“False alarm, everyone.”
Lewis nodded gravely. “Still. If any boy ever tries anything, we’ll know.”
Carlos added, “We have tree surveillance now. We can watch from there.”
Lando whispered, “Tree of brothers, activate.”
———
Toto wasn’t sure how it happened. One moment, he was finishing up paperwork in his office, and the next, he was somehow “inviting,” being bullied into agreeing to, every single driver on the grid to dinner at his house.
By the time he got home, the living room was full of them. Fernando was lounging like he owned the place, Charles was scrolling on Toto’s iPad like it was his iPad, and George was inspecting a vase like he was about to start an antiques show.
Toto stood in the doorway, rubbing his forehead. “You guys better thank Susie for booking a big table last minute. This was not the plan. We were supposed to have a quiet family dinner here”
The room went quiet when Susie appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed for dinner, holding Y/N’s tiny hand. Y/N, in her own little dress, looked like she had just stepped out of a children’s fashion magazine.
“Thank you, Susie,” Charles said, bowing dramatically.
“Merci, queen,” Pierre added with a grin.
“Bless you,” George said like she’d just cured the common cold.
“Big up, Susie,” Lewis said, tipping an imaginary hat.
Y/N spotted Lewis and lit up. “Lew Lew! Let’s go, I want to ride in your car!”
Immediately, the rest of the drivers erupted in protest.
“What about Uncle Georgie?” George tried, putting a hand to his chest.
“Or Uncle Lando? I’ll let you honk the horn,” Lando bribed.
“Y/N, you can sit in my seat and I’ll drive from the roof,” Max offered for some reason.
Y/N shook her head at each one with brutal efficiency. “No. No. Definitely no.”
She tugged Lewis’s hand. “Can you play Disney songs for me?”
“Anything for the princess,” Lewis said smoothly, letting her drag him toward the door.
Behind them, the rest of the grid followed, muttering about betrayal and favoritism. Pierre even tried to lure her back with promises of unlimited ice cream, but she didn’t look back.
Toto, trailing behind with Susie, sighed. “This is going to be a long night.”
At least, he thought, it was just dinner. No way it could get more chaotic than being ambushed in the Mercedes garage earlier.
Oh, how wrong he was.
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Dinner was exactly the circus Toto should have expected. Stories were being told over each other, food was being passed around like some kind of Formula 1 potluck, and half the drivers were trying to convince Y/N that their country’s dessert was the best.
Y/N was happily eating fries when she turned to Susie. “Mommy, can you please wake me up early tomorrow so you can braid my hair for my day with Lix?”
The table collectively melted. Even Max cracked a tiny smile. Toto’s heart did that fatherly squeeze thing, watching his wife and daughter together.
“Anything for my baby,” Susie said. “Are you excited for your date with Lix?”
Toto froze mid-bite. Lix?
Y/N nodded. “Yeahhh.”
“I can tell he’s also excited, just from the hug he gave you,” Susie said, already unlocking her phone.
“Wait,” Toto interrupted, frowning. “Lix? Isn’t it Nics? Short for Nichole? And also… he?”
The drivers all turned to Susie like an audience watching a plot twist. Susie’s brow furrowed as she scrolled, then held up her phone.
“Honey, it’s Lix. Short for Calix. Also, how did you not know?”
Before Toto could even respond, she shoved the phone toward him, but George snatched it mid-air, gasping at the photo of a very smiley Calix hugging Y/N.
Within seconds, every driver was crammed behind George like a rugby scrum.
“It’s a boy?!”
“He’s wearing a Paw Patrol shirt!”
“He’s already making moves!”
Susie was laughing now. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you thought Lix was short for Nichole.”
“I didn’t think that!” Toto said defensively. “I thought it was Nics, and it was just Y/N’s speech! No way she’s going on a date with a boy,” he declared.
“It’s a playdate,” Susie corrected, still grinning.
“That’s how it starts,” Toto argued, pointing an accusing finger at no one in particular. “First a playdate, then they become glued together, then they grow up and fall in love. That’s classic best-friend-to-lovers waiting to happen.”
The drivers immediately piled on.
“That’s what happened in every rom-com,” Charles nodded gravely.
“I give it three years before he’s drawing hearts on her homework,” Lando said.
“Should we… scare him a little?” Fernando suggested in the tone of someone who wasn’t joking.
The conversation dissolved into chaos, half the table plotting ways to “protect” Y/N, the other half debating whether they should introduce Calix to karting so they could “keep an eye on him.”
The Wolff dining table had turned into something between a family reunion and a heated UN conference.
Toto was still mid best-friends-to-lovers rant, waving his fork for emphasis. “And then they’ll be inseparable, and then-”
“Papa,” Y/N interrupted, looking at him like why are you like this, “we’re just going to eat snacks and play.”
“That’s exactly what couples in rom-coms do,” Charles muttered, earning an approving nod from Lando.
“Do you think he’ll bring flowers?” Lewis asked seriously.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Toto said seriously.
The chaos continued, completely unaware that a fan just a few tables away had been filming the entire scene.
Meanwhile, back at the table, things were escalating.
“I could drive her to the playdate,” George offered.
“No, I should,” Pierre countered. “I can glare better.”
Max crossed his arms. “I’ll follow in a second car to make sure no one follows them.”
“You guys are insane,” Oscar muttered… tho he volunteered to “accidentally” show up at the playground with snacks.
Y/N was happily eating her fries through all of this like none of it was unusual.
Susie was trying not to laugh as she cut Y/N’s chicken. “You know, maybe Calix will grow up to be an F1 driver too.”
“No,” Toto interrupted sharply. “We are not giving him access to the paddock. Ever.”
From the corner, Valtteri, who had been silently sipping his drink, finally spoke. “If he’s smart enough to send a handmade card, he’s smart enough to get through security.”
“Exactly!” Toto said, slamming his palm on the table for emphasis.
Every single moment was caught on video, even Toto slamming the table, which caused a brief pause before the chaos erupted all over again.
The video hit the internet within an hour, posted by the fan with the caption:
“So… I think we just witnessed every F1 driver + Toto Wolff arguing about a kindergarten love story???”
It was a video of pure chaos:
Toto gesturing wildly with a breadstick like it was a microphone.
Charles dramatically clutching his chest when someone said “flowers.”
Max muttering “I could take him in karting… see if he’s worthy.”
Y/N completely ignoring all of them, eating chicken nuggets.
Every moment being watched by everyone.
The comments section exploded:
“THE BREADSTICK POWERPOINT BY TOTO”
“Y/N casually unbothered while 20 something men plan her future”
“Valtteri with the quiet but deadly one-liners again”
And somewhere across town, Calix’s mom was texting Susie:
So… I guess I should tell Calix he’s famous now?
———
The sun was warmer now, the mood far lighter than the chaos in the restaurant yesterday. The shouting match between Toto and the entire grid had dissolved into a strange, uneasy truce…mostly because the drivers insisted they needed to supervise Y/N’s playdate “for her safety.”
Cue the playdate.
Yn and Lix were in the playground, giggling as they raced towards the swings.
“Who are those people?” Calix asked, pointing towards a suspicious-looking tree where several very bad spies were crouched. A rainbow of team caps and sunglasses poked out between the branches like an F1-themed wildlife documentary.
Without even looking up, Y/N answered, “My papa’s the one wearing the white polo. The rest are bodyguards. And the one dressed good is Lew Lew.”
Meanwhile, on the path to the nearby coffee shop, Calix’s mom glanced at the group of “hidden” men. “Is it okay to leave them there?”
Susie laughed. “Believe me, they are super guarded right now.”
Back at the playground, the drivers had officially abandoned stealth. They now openly trailed behind the kids like a menacing, overprotective parade. Every time Y/N and Calix so much as touched, chaos erupted.
When Calix gently pushed Y/N on the swings,
George barked, “Oi! Hands off, kid!”
“I can push Y/N! step aside!” Lando yelled, already half-jogging over before Charles dragged him back.
Carlos muttered dryly, “This is getting too serious. We need a plan.”
That “plan” quickly spiraled into a brainstorming session that sounded like a very unqualified board meeting.
“Maybe Y/N can just transfer schools,” Fernando suggested.
“No way,” Toto immediately shot back. “That’s the closest school to us.”
“Fine, then the boy can transfer,” Max said, crossing his arms like he’d solved world hunger.
“How do you even do that?” Oscar asked, already pulling out his phone.
Half the drivers started Googling “how to make a 5-year-old transfer schools,” “school relocation bribery,” and, for some reason, “can a child be banned from recess?”
Things reached a peak when Pierre loudly announced, “What if we sign him up for karting? Then he’ll be too busy to see her!”
Before Toto could shut that down, Y/N suddenly yelled from the monkey bars, “Lew Lew! Catch!” and tossed a small plushie straight at Lewis. He caught it, bewildered, as the rest of the drivers froze.
It was a thank-you gift from Calix for “letting him play” with Y/N.
The playground fell silent for a beat then erupted in groans and mutters of “great, now he’s trying to win over the family”.
Toto sighed, already sensing this “playdate protection squad” was going to last way longer than necessary.
———
By the next morning, a laminated “Playdate Patrol Roster” mysteriously appeared on Toto’s desk. Complete with driver headshots, time slots, and a section labeled Emergency Kid Separation Tactics.
PLAYDATE PATROL ROSTER – OFFICIAL
Schedule:
Monday - Max: Tree Surveillance Duty
Mission: Hide in trees pretending to be a bird.
Notes: Constantly startled by actual birds. Accidentally scares nearby squirrels, causing a small wildlife panic.
Mission: Inspect slides for hazards and control “accidental” water spills.
Notes: Somehow manages to drench himself instead of the slide. Almost slips and crashes into nearby parents and other playground visitors, causing a mini pile-up.
Consequence: Drivers debate if Lando’s “hazard zone” is a safety feature or a threat.
Wednesday — George: Swing Supervisor
Mission: Monitor swings, yell “unsafe push!” three times minimum.
Notes: Gets way too competitive pushing Y/N on swings. Almost breaks swing set trying to “win.”
Consequence: Toto orders an immediate inspection of playground equipment.
Thursday — Charles: Snack Time Infiltrator
Mission: Bring “healthy” snacks, sneak in “school transfer” pamphlets.
Notes: Snacks are so fancy Y/N refuses to eat them. Pamphlets mistaken for coloring books.
Consequence: Susie confiscates pamphlets, threatens Charles with a timeout.
Friday — Carlos: Sandpit Sabotage
Mission: Dig confusing trenches to divide play zones and slow down conspiratorial play.
Notes: Ends up buried knee-deep in sand. Kids build a sandcastle on his back.
Consequence: Carlos vows revenge by “taking over the sandbox” next week.
Saturday — Yuki: High Energy Agent
Mission: Run laps around playground to tire the kids out so the playdate will be cut short.
Notes: Exhausts himself first. Y/N and Calix easily outrun him.
Consequence: Drivers quietly plan to “reassign” Yuki next week.
Sunday — Oscar: Friendly Distraction
Mission: Bring a puppy as a bribe to keep everyone happy and distracted.
Notes: Puppy steals everyone’s heart including Toto’s. Instead of distracting the kids, Y/N and Calix team up to chase it all over the playground.
Consequence: Plan fails hard. Toto thinks maybe adopting the puppy is easier than keeping the kids apart.
EMERGENCY KID SEPARATION TACTICS:
1.) “Accidentally” enroll Calix in a gifted astronaut program overseas.
2.) Convince the playground is haunted.
3.) Build a “Bigger, Better Playground” two blocks away and lure Calix there.
4.) Replace Y/N’s backpack with a GPS-tracked decoy.
5.) Tell both kids that swings are taxi pick-up points and hope they wander off in opposite directions.
At the very bottom, in Susie’s handwriting:
6.) Or… hear me out… maybe just let them be friends?
Someone had crossed it out in thick red Sharpie and replaced it with:
“No.” – Everyone.
After a week of playground stakeouts, sabotage, and more drama than a race day, the drivers still hadn’t figured out how to keep Y/N and Calix apart.
But did they give up? Nope. Not a chance.
Max was already planning a drone surveillance upgrade. George insisted on building a “swing-proof” fortress. And Lewis? Well, he was busy curating a playlist for the ultimate distraction.
Because when it comes to Y/N’s playdates, the F1 grid never backs down.
Summary: Theirs was the kind of love that thrived away from the spotlight, quiet, unshakable, and theirs alone. They built a world together where every glance felt like home. But how can a love so perfect end with them only co-parenting roscoe?
Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader
Contains: A private, unshakable love, a chaotic Formula 1 career, shared dreams and victories, a beloved dog who knows more than he should, quiet heartbreak, the strain of time and distance, unspoken emotions, co-parenting, and a love that survives in memories and small everyday moments.
Author’s Note 🏎️:
This story is a journey through love, laughter, heartbreak, and everything in between. Buckle up for a roller coaster of emotions and prepare for moments that may make your heart soar and others that may leave it aching.
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
Their love was the kind people quietly admired, though almost no one knew it existed. It was built on understanding, on honesty, and on the quiet certainty that no matter what happened, they would always find their way back to each other. Only a very few people, like their parents, knew the truth. Long before the world knew their names, before the cameras followed their every move, Lewis and Y/N had already written the first chapters of their story in private, away from the noise.
How exactly did their story begin? It was not with grand gestures or fate written in the stars, but with two teenagers chasing dreams that felt impossibly far away.
April of 2004.
The air carried the buzz of engines and the low murmur of voices, the kind of atmosphere that both excites and terrifies. Lewis was nineteen, a rookie in the Formula 3 Euro Series, stepping into a world that felt so much bigger than him. He walked through the paddock with his helmet in hand, his heart pounding against his ribs. Every step brought another voice.
"You can do it, Lewis."
"Bring home P1 for us."
"Show them what you’re made of."
He gave polite nods and small smiles, but each word weighed on him more than the last. The pressure curled in his chest. He wanted to make them proud, but the thought of failing them was worse than any physical pain.
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.
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‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
Note 🏎️:
This story is entirely fictional. While it features characters inspired by real-life figures, the events, relationships, and emotions portrayed are imagined and separate from reality. Any resemblance to actual people or occurrences is purely coincidental. This story was written to explore a private, heartfelt love and the journey of its characters, and is meant to be enjoyed as a work of fiction.
Summary: Long before the podiums, the titles, and the fame, he was just a boy in a treehouse. She was the girl who promised to stay. She didn't break that promise. Someone else did it for her.
Content: Childhood heartbreak, missing letters, mistaken goodbyes, unresolved feelings, and one very symbolic bracelet.
Author's Note 🏎️:
This story is purely fictional and not based on real events. Some timelines, career paths, and personal details have been adjusted or reimagined to fit the narrative. It's all for the sake of the story, so please don't take anything here as factual. Just vibes, emotions, and a lot of imagination. Thank you for reading. I hope it makes you feel something
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
Y/N was with Yuki’s family in the AlphaTauri hospitality, wishing him luck before he headed to the garage. She was halfway through laughing at something his mom said when her phone buzzed.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
“Hi, this is the development program office. We were told by Yuki that we’d be able to meet you today. We wanted to explain everything about the program and, if you’re free, ask if you could drop by our office.”
Her brows furrowed. “Right now?”
“If possible,” the voice said.
She glanced at the time. If she went, she’d probably miss Yuki’s race.
Yuki noticed her hesitation immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“They want me to go to the office to explain the program. But… if I go, I’ll miss your first race.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “You being here for my first race is already enough for me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You were there from the start, helping me. Now it’s your turn to chase your dreams. Go for it. Besides, we’ll celebrate after.”
Her chest tightened. She smiled, stepped forward, and hugged him. “Good luck, Yuki.”
“Good luck to you too.”
The office wasn’t far, but her mind was racing the whole walk there. She was welcomed inside and led to a meeting room where they laid everything out for her.
She was told she’d be trained and mentored by some of the top engineers in the field. One of the coordinators explained, “You’ll be learning directly from the best, people who expect real dedication but will guide you every step of the way.”
The program was based in Finland, far from the chaos of busy cities. “It’s quiet there,” they added. “Perfect for focusing on your work without distractions.”
It was a paid internship lasting about three to four years if she was willing to commit. When she asked about the length, the coordinator smiled and said, “It’s a big commitment, but it could really shape your future.”
She nodded, already imagining herself embracing the challenge ahead.
Four years. The number sat heavy in her mind. But then she remembered Yuki’s words and their promise. He’d be racing. She’d be beside him, always. Her thoughts drifted further back to another promise, one with Max. She’d be his engineer one day, and together they’d win everything.
She blinked, snapping herself out of it.
“I wonder if he still loves racing,” she murmured under her breath.
———
Oh, he still loved racing. He loved everything about it, the smell of fuel in the air, the blur of colours on the track, the way the world seemed to quiet down when the lights went out. It was the only thing that made him feel alive, especially after Y/N left.
Engines roared across the circuit as the Bahrain heat shimmered in the afternoon sun. The final lap came to an end.
"And Lewis Hamilton wins the season opener in Bahrain. P2 for Max Verstappen, P3 for Valtteri Bottas, and what a debut for Yuki Tsunoda in P9. First race in Formula One and already his first points."
The AlphaTauri garage erupted in cheers as Yuki rolled in. High fives, handshakes, claps on the back. He laughed, soaking it all in, but his eyes were already scanning the room.
"Where’s Y/N?"
"Still at the office," someone told him.
As Yuki ducked out for a quick change, he came back to his family with a big grin. “Alright. You guys head to the restaurant,” he said, already moving toward the exit. “I’m going to pick up Y/N, and we’ll meet you there.”
They were just about to leave when voices started calling his name from across the paddock. He turned and saw almost the whole grid heading his way. His fellow rookies, Mick Schumacher and Nikita Mazepin, were there, along with Pierre.
“Yuki! Let’s go celebrate!” Pierre called out. “It’s your first race! The rookies are all here too,” he added, pointing at Mick and Nikita.
Yuki rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between his family and the drivers waiting for an answer. “I’m gonna pass on this one.”
“What? Why? It’s your first race!” Daniel protested.
“Yeah, and I really want to celebrate with my family… especially my best friend, Y/N,” he said, smiling a little.
That got a round of teasing. “Right, ‘best friend’ over us,” George laughed, making air quotes.
In the middle of all the noise, Max froze. The second he heard her name, the paddock faded away.
The noise faded into the background for him. In its place, memories flooded in. Y/N laughing in the treehouse under the golden afternoon sun. Y/N handing him a water bottle after a race, eyes bright with pride. Y/N leaning over, grease streaking her cheek, telling him, "I’ll be your engineer."
“Max? Max?”
He blinked, the sound of engines and chatter snapping back into place.
“You okay, mate? You just kinda zoned out,” Lewis asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Max said quickly. “What’s the plan?”
“Well, Yuki just left while you were daydreaming. You’re coming, right? Not planning on ditching us too?”
“Yeah, yeah… I’m coming,” he replied, forcing a smile.
———
As Yuki turned onto the street, the sun was dipping low, the building spilling warm light into the fading evening. He spotted Y/N just in time, the front door swinging shut behind her as she tucked something under her arm and locked up.
She looked up and spotted him, her face breaking into a grin.
“Oh my god, you’re here already? It’s finished?” she said in a rush, stepping toward him. “I swear, I lost track of time. That program was so good…” She suddenly stopped mid-ramble, blinking. “Wait. How was the race?”
Yuki’s lips curled into the widest smile. “I got the team points.”
For a second, she just froze. Then she blurted, “No way!” and practically launched herself at him, arms around his neck. “Oh my god, Yuki! I’m so happy for you! You did it!”
Yuki hugged her back, chuckling at her excitement.
“I can’t believe I wasn’t there to see it,” she groaned into his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he laughed. “I mean… it was only P9.”
“Oh no, mister. That is huge. You scored your first points. In your first race.” She pulled back just to wag her finger at him. “Do you know what that means?”
“Movie night after eating?”
“You bet.”
She glanced around. “Where’s your family?”
“They went ahead to the restaurant,” Yuki said, as they statrted walking together. “We’re driving together.”
“Perfect,” she grinned, sliding in.
———
Some of the other drivers were still hanging around, making their way to their cars in loose, chatty clusters.
Carlos was mid-rant about how the dessert table at the hospitality suite ran out of churros. “It’s Bahrain, how do you run out of churros?!”
Lando snorted. “Mate, it’s not even a Spanish thing here.”
George interrupted, gesturing. “Wait. Isn’t that Yuki?”
They all turned. Two figures walked toward a car, arms linked and laughing like they were in their own little bubble.
“Oooh,” Pierre said, dragging out the syllable with a smirk. “That’s the best friend.” He made exaggerated air quotes.
The group hummed in fake understanding. “Best friend, right…” Lando muttered, grinning.
Max, however, wasn’t laughing. His gaze caught on the girl’s back and something in his chest twisted tight. He couldn’t explain it, just a gut-deep pull like a memory straining to break through.
Yuki opened the passenger door for her, still grinning. Just as he shut it, someone called out.
“Oi, Yuki!”
He jogged over. “Hey guys.”
“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Carlos teased. “Bring your best friend with you.”
“Nah,” Yuki said with a shrug. “Not really her thing. Besides, my family’s waiting at a restaurant.”
They exchanged goodbyes, and Yuki jogged back to his car.
Pierre’s eyes sparkled. “Let’s wait for them to pass. I wanna see this ‘best friend.’”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m in,” Lando said instantly.
Agreement rippled through the group, except Max, who just shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on Yuki’s car.
The engine started.
“They’re coming,” George whispered like they were birdwatching.
“Closer, closer,” Pierre grinned.
Then, VROOOOM, another car zoomed by in front of them, perfectly blocking their view.
“WHAT?!” Lando groaned.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Pierre whined.
Carlos threw his hands up. “I waited for this!”
Meanwhile, Max stayed silent, his eyes still on the disappearing car, an odd tightness in his chest he couldn’t shake.
———
Dinner had long been finished, the warm glow of Yuki’s apartment replaced by the soft shadows of a pillow fort in the living room. Fairy lights twinkled above the blankets, and the only other light came from the TV’s idle menu. Y/N sat cross-legged among the cushions, scrolling through the movie list while Yuki rummaged in the kitchen. There was the clatter of spoons, the soft thunk of ice cream tubs hitting the counter, and the rustle of chip bags.
When he finally emerged, his arms were full: two tubs of ice cream, a bowl of popcorn, and three kinds of chips balanced precariously on top. He stopped short when he saw the movie on screen.
“The Transporter?” His eyebrows shot up as he set everything down. “Wow. My favorite movie? Really? You don’t even like this one.”
Y/N grinned, passing him a spoon. “Yeah, but you scored points in your first F1 race today. If that doesn’t earn you Jason Statham, nothing will.”
Yuki let out a laugh, shaking his head as he ducked into the fort beside her. “You’re too nice to me.”
The movie started, the action and revving engines filling the room, but halfway through, Yuki glanced at her instead of the screen. “So,” he said casually, “what did you guys talk about today? With the program?”
Y/N was mid-bite of ice cream when her eyes suddenly lit up. She leaned in closer, as if sharing a secret. “You won’t believe this,” she said. “They explained everything. I’ll be a paid intern, Yuki-paid. Not just that, I’ll be working with their top engineers. I’ll get hands-on experience with real data and tech, maybe even travel with the team for testing.” Her excitement made her words spill out faster and faster.
Then she stopped. Her smile faltered.
Yuki’s own expression softened. “What? What’s wrong?”
“It’s… a long commitment,” she admitted quietly. “Two years for the internship, then another two working for them before I can even think about F1. That’s… three, maybe four years.”
For a moment, the TV’s flickering light danced over his face, showing the faintest drop in his expression. But he smiled again quickly, nudging her knee with his. “That’s alright. We’ll have our phones. Video calls, texts… time will fly, you’ll see.”
Her shoulders relaxed, but not all the way.
Yuki grinned wider, grabbing the popcorn and tossing a piece at her. “Now hush. Jason Statham is about to do the thing with the car doors. You’re gonna miss it.”
She laughed, ducking behind a pillow. And just like that, the heaviness eased, replaced by the simple comfort of junk food, bad jokes, and an action movie they both knew by heart.
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
The week before Y/N’s departure blurred into a string of moments they tried to stretch for as long as possible.
“Do you really think we need all these snacks?” Yuki asked, holding up a bag of chips in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other as they stood in the convenience store aisle.
Y/N laughed softly. “When have we ever been sensible about snacks? Come on, it’s a tradition now.”
They made late-night trips to the convenience store for snacks, their laughter echoing softly in the quiet aisles.
Later, they took long walks through quiet streets. Yuki glanced sideways. “Do you think it’ll feel different when you’re not here?”
Y/N kicked a pebble gently. “It already feels different. But maybe that’s okay. I just want to make sure we don’t forget any of this.”
On a park bench, Yuki handed her an ice cream cone. “Careful, it’s melting faster than you can eat.”
“Then I guess I better eat faster,” she said with a grin, licking the drips before they reached her fingers.
Sometimes they didn’t even talk much, just sat in comfortable silence.
Yuki finally broke the quiet, voice low. “You know, I’m going to miss this. Miss you.”
She looked at him, eyes soft. “Me too.”
Unbeknownst to her, Yuki snapped a quick photo when she wasn’t looking. “Hey! What was that?”
“Nothing,” he said, swearing with a smile, “Just… saving the memory.”
But deep down, he was already afraid of forgetting the way she smiled when she wasn’t aware of it.
By the time they were at the airport, the weight of it all pressed down hard. Y/N was the one who’d been bracing herself for Yuki’s tears, but when she caught the glassiness in his eyes, her own heart stumbled.
“Now look who’s crying,” she teased softly.
“I’m not crying. It’s just the weather,” he muttered, repeating the exact words she’d told him when he’d left.
She laughed. “Inside the airport?”
They both laughed at that, but the sound cracked at the edges. When they hugged, his arms were tighter than usual, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her in them.
“You won’t forget about me, right?” he asked, voice muffled against her shoulder.
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “How could I forget the future world champion?”
Something inside him faltered. He had believed they were finally at a place where they could simply be, where his best friend would be there to witness everything as it unfolded. Instead, it felt like fate was playing a cruel game, first pulling him away and now taking her too.
“This will be the last time we part,” she said firmly. “The next time we see each other, you’ll be driving for a big team, and I’ll officially be an engineer for my favorite sport.”
He held out his pinky. “Promise?”
“Promise,” she replied, linking hers with his.
Her flight was called, and they stood there for a second longer, suspended in the moment.
“No goodbye,” she said. “Only see you later.”
“See you later,” he echoed, his voice catching.
They hugged one last time before she turned away. He stayed where he was, watching as she disappeared into the crowd, a sad smile tugging at his lips.
Y/N was hurrying toward her gate when she accidentally bumped into someone. She barely turned around before blurting out an apology, breathless and flustered. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, I didn’t see you...sorry, sorry, I’m really late for my flight.” Without waiting for a response, she hurried off, too focused on making it on time to notice how the moment had already passed her by.
———
Ever since the race, Max couldn’t stop replaying flashes of her in his mind: Y/N’s smile, the way her voice softened when she explained something, and the fierce concentration she wore like armor.
Why now? he wondered silently. Why after all this time?
“Hey, you okay?” his sister's voice broke through his thoughts. Max shook his head slightly, forcing a smirk. “Yeah, just... thinking.”
He didn’t understand why those memories had come back after all this time. Maybe it was fate trying to tell him they were meant to cross paths again.
Then he scoffed under his breath. “Yeah, right. Like she’s just gonna walk back into my life.”
A passerby bumped into him. “Watch it, mate.”
Max muttered, “Sorry,” but kept his eyes on the phone.
Even if she did come back, would she even remember me? He bit his lip. She didn’t even remember her promise to be my engineer.
His phone buzzed. A message from his father appeared: Meet me by gate 14, near the big departure board.
He glanced up, scanning the crowd. “Where are you, Dad?” he muttered to himself.
People moved past in waves, their voices and footsteps blending into a steady hum. Max’s eyes flicked over faces, searching for that familiar presence.
That’s when someone bumped into him hard enough to knock the phone from his hand.
Max muttered under his breath, annoyed. “Unbelievable. Does no one watch where they’re going anymore?” He crouched to pick it up, brushing off the screen, but then...
“Sorry! I’m so, so sorry, my flight-”
The voice froze him in place.
His head snapped up, and for a moment, the noise of the airport faded away. At first he almost doubted what he was seeing, it had been years since they were kids. But then the familiar lines fell into place. It was her. Older now, of course, yet still carrying the same face, the same presence, the same quiet pull. The girl he had been trying and failing to forget since that cruel day.
She didn’t see him. Too focused on rushing through the crowd, she kept apologizing, words tumbling out between quick breaths. “I’m really late, sorry again!”
Max stood there, heart hammering, as she started running.
Not again.
The thought hit him like a punch. She was going to disappear just like before. She owed him time, owed him an explanation, and he wasn’t about to let her vanish twice.
“Y/N!” he shouted, but the noise of rolling suitcases and boarding calls swallowed his voice. He pushed forward, weaving through travelers, his pace quickening until he was just a few steps behind her. Years of being a high-performance athlete (Danny ric (╥‸╥)♡ ) kicked in with speed and precision, and for a moment he thought he had her. His hand was almost on her shoulder when—
“Son! I’m right here. Why are you running?”
A firm grip pulled him back. His father’s voice broke the spell, and Max spun around, caught between confusion and frustration.
By the time he looked past him, Y/N had reached the gate, the boarding door open just long enough for her to slip inside.
The sharp pang in his chest felt almost identical to the day he learned she’d left. But this time, it hurt more. Because this time, he could have stopped her.
His father’s voice cut in again, sharper now. “What’s wrong with you? You look like someone died. And don’t make a scene. How can a future World champion let their emotions show in public.”
Max clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to shout that it was his fault. That because of him, she was gone again. But the words stayed trapped behind his teeth as the crowd swallowed the last trace of her.
What Max didn’t know was that this wasn’t the first time his father had stepped in and shifted the course of his life. Years ago, long before Max could defend himself, Jos made decisions on his behalf, quiet, calculated choices that cost him far more than just opportunities on the track.
Y/N wasn’t someone he simply drifted away from. She was someone ripped out of his world before he could even understand why. One day she was there, laughing with him like nothing could pull them apart, and the next she was gone, no explanation, no goodbye. Somewhere in the cracks between those years,
Max stopped asking what happened, perhaps because a part of him already knew he wouldn’t like the answer.
END (C.2)
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿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.
Summary: They are the couple everyone admired, inseparable, unshakable and perfectly in sync. But beneath the surface of their picture-perfect world, cracks began to form. When loyalty is tested and trust is shattered, what happens to the people who once meant everything to each other? In a world where fame and pressure collide.
This is a story about the price of ambition, betrayal, and the fight to hold on when everything is falling apart.
Pairing: Lando Norris x Childhood Best Friend!Reader
Contains: Childhood best friends to lovers, stolen moments in the paddock, late-night calls, growing distance, quiet heartbreak, and the kind of tension the whole grid notices.
Author’s Note 🏎️:
This is a work of pure fiction. None of the events, actions, or character portrayals reflect reality. Please remember to separate fiction from real life and respect the real people mentioned. This is just a story for entertainment, not a reflection of anyone’s actual personality or choices. Also… maybe, just maybe, there’s going to be a certain someone’s POV coming up.
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
Lando and Y/N had always been that couple. The one people pointed at without even realizing, like they were living proof that young love could actually work. Childhood best friends turned into something more so naturally that no one could remember the exact moment it happened.
It wasn’t just the big gestures. It was the way Lando absentmindedly reached for her hand when they crossed the street. The way she tucked herself under his arm at the paddock like she’d been doing it her whole life. The way they’d share a water bottle in between interviews, not even thinking twice.
To everyone else, it was sickeningly sweet. To them, it was just… normal.
Oscar caught them one afternoon during lunch, Y/N leaning against Lando’s shoulder as she scrolled through her phone, his head tipped to watch with her. “Ah, young love,” Oscar said with a grin, even though he was younger by a year.
Carlos once saw Lando holding Y/N’s bag while she fixed her hair and just shook his head. “You two are ridiculous,” he said, but there was a smile behind it.
Even Max, who wasn’t exactly known for sentimental comments, once mumbled, “They’re disgustingly in love,” after catching them slow dancing in the back of the hospitality area to whatever song was playing on Y/N’s phone.
It had been like this even before all the spotlight. Lando walking Y/N home from school, even though it was out of his way. Y/N sitting in the karting stands with a thermos of hot chocolate for him in the winter. Him sitting courtside at her volleyball matches, voice hoarse from yelling encouragement like he was her personal coach.
At fourteen, they built a blanket fort in her living room and swore they’d keep it up for a week. They lasted three days before her mum made them take it down, but the memory stuck. At sixteen, they took a train to London without telling anyone, just to wander around and eat overpriced ice cream in the middle of winter.
Somehow, that same energy followed them into adulthood. The inside jokes. The way they could talk with their eyes from across a crowded room. The way neither of them seemed to notice the rest of the world when they were together.
To the grid, they weren’t just Lando and Y/N. They were Lando and Y/N.
———
The cracks started small.
Y/N’s research project meant months overseas. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, the kind of thing that made people look at her with admiration. Beauty and brains, they’d say. Even Lando had been the loudest supporter at first, telling everyone how proud he was.
But long distance was harder than either of them expected. Time zones never lined up. They’d set a time for a FaceTime call, and she’d sit in her tiny apartment kitchen, mug of tea going cold as she watched the minutes tick by.
9:00 PM – no call.
9:15 PM – Sorry, fell asleep.
9:00 AM the next day – Got dragged out by Carlos, said we had to celebrate the win.
The first few times, she understood. They were both busy. But then it became a pattern.
Some days she’d wake up to a single message from him, sent at 3 a.m. his time: Miss you. No follow-up. No call. Other days she’d send him photos of her in the lab, of some beautiful street in the city she was working in, and hours would pass before she got a thumbs-up emoji.
They told themselves it was fine. They’d been friends forever, they could handle this.
But then Lando found it, something he didn’t know could ruin everything. He wasn’t even sure how it ended up on his feed.
A page dedicated to tearing him apart. The posts weren’t just about him losing. They accused McLaren of sabotaging Oscar, claimed Lando’s wins were flukes, that Oscar was the true future champion. It burrowed into his head and stayed there.
He didn’t tell Y/N. Instead, he doubled his training schedule, filled every spare moment with sim runs, gym work, strategy meetings. Calls with her became a thing he squeezed in, if at all.
When Y/N finally managed to surprise him at a race weekend, the paddock buzzed. Pierre grinned when he saw her, Carlos pulled her into a hug, even Oscar seemed relieved. “You’re gonna make his week,” Oscar said, walking her toward McLaren’s motorhome.
Lando was in the gym corner, sweat dripping down his temples. She smiled, heart pounding as she called his name.
He looked up. “Oh. Hey.”
No hug. No grin. Just a nod before he went back to his reps. The silence in the room was heavy. Y/N’s smile faltered, but she tried to brush it off, asking about his training. He gave clipped answers, never looking up.
Later, Carlos found him in the driver’s room. “Lando, what the heck is going on? She flew halfway across the world to see you.”
Lando snapped before he could stop himself. “I don’t have time for this right now, Carlos. I need to focus.”
Carlos stared at him for a long moment. “You’re not just focusing. You’re shutting her out. And for what? To prove something to a bunch of people online?”
Lando didn’t answer.
———
After that weekend, things didn’t snap all at once. They just… loosened.
Y/N stayed for a couple more days, telling herself Lando was just stressed. She went to his sessions, watched from the garage, laughed with the engineers. But when she glanced at him, he was always looking somewhere else.
When she finally flew back for work, their calls became even rarer. Some weeks they’d manage two short conversations, other weeks they’d go days without talking. She learned to stop waiting by the phone.
When her friends asked, she smiled and said, “We’re just busy.” It was easier than explaining the truth, that the boy who used to know every part of her day now barely knew what city she was in.
The other drivers noticed before Lando did.
Oscar saw her at a race a month later and frowned when she waved from a distance instead of running straight to Lando like she used to. Pierre asked if she and Lando were okay, and she gave the kind of answer that sounded practiced. George, usually oblivious to anything romantic, even muttered to Alex, “They don’t seem like them lately.”
Carlos noticed most of all. He’d spot her in the hospitality area, scrolling on her phone while Lando trained, or laughing politely with the McLaren staff while he talked to engineers. The easy, unshakable rhythm they used to have was gone.
One afternoon, after a particularly tense race, Carlos tried again. “Mate, you realise she’s… she’s pulling away, right?”
Lando rubbed his face with his hands. “She’s fine. She understands.”
But she wasn’t fine. She just didn’t say it.
And maybe that was the worst part, not the arguments, not the distance, but the quiet way the perfect couple stopped feeling perfect.
———
It started with a win.
Not just any win, one that shut the hate page up completely. The same page that had been calling him overrated, a fraud, McLaren’s favourite over Oscar. That night, for the first time, they called him deserving.
It felt good. Too good.
But it didn’t last. The next race, when he didn’t make the podium, they were back to tearing him apart. He told himself it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t stop checking. Couldn’t stop thinking about how it had felt when they’d praised him instead.
So he chased it. Harder. Faster. Every race, every session, every lap became about winning, not just for himself, not even for the team, but to prove them wrong.
The grid noticed before Y/N even realised how deep it had gotten. Lando stopped joking on the drivers’ parade. Stopped joining dinners. Even Oscar felt him pulling away, their easy banter replaced with curt nods and technical talk.
And with Y/N… there was almost nothing left.
Calls were rare. When they did talk, it was about his training, his races, his wins and losses. She’d try to tell him about her research, the cities she was working in, and he’d nod distractedly or cut the call short. The boy who used to notice if she changed her nail polish now couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked how she was.
Then came the PR hire.
A blonde woman, polished and charming, brought in to fix his image. People had started to notice how cold he seemed, the clipped answers, the lack of interaction with fans, the way Y/N had all but vanished from the picture. At first, Lando barely tolerated her. She was just another meeting, another email, another thing pulling him away from the sim.
But she was clever. She saw what no one else had bothered to, that he was alone. Not because no one cared, but because he’d pushed everyone away.
She made herself seem like the exception. Always telling him she understood. That the others didn’t get the pressure he was under. That he deserved people in his corner, people who wouldn’t criticise or expect too much.
He didn’t realise it was calculated.
After a brutal race weekend, one where he’d gone from pole to P6, he went out drinking. He didn’t tell anyone. Not Y/N. Not Oscar. Not even the PR team.
But she found him.
She kept the drinks coming, listened to him vent, leaned in close like they were sharing secrets. By the time the night blurred at the edges, she was steering him toward the hotel.
The next morning, a photo hit social media.
Lando, asleep on a bed, shirt rumpled, her next to him with a smug little smile and her phone in her hand.
No caption. Just the image.
———
Lando didn’t even see it coming.
He walked into the paddock that morning, coffee in hand, half-distracted by his schedule for the day. He barely made it three steps into the McLaren hospitality before Carlos was in his face.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Carlos hissed.
Lando blinked. “What?”
Charles was right behind him, eyes cold. “You’re unbelievable, mate.”
Pierre shook his head. “We all thought you were different. Turns out we were wrong.”
Before Lando could answer, Max stepped in, voice like ice. “You have any idea what you did to her?”
George muttered, “Not worth the space you take up in the garage,” before brushing past him.
Lando tried again. “Okay, seriously, what is-”
That’s when Carlos shoved him hard in the chest. Lando stumbled back, almost spilling his coffee.
“You don’t treat Y/N like that,” Carlos snapped. “Not after everything she’s done for you.”
Lando raised his hands. “I don’t even know what you’re-”
But he didn’t get to finish. Carlos swung at him, fist connecting with his shoulder. Gasps erupted around them. A McLaren staff member stepped in, grabbing Carlos and yanking him back before it could escalate.
And just as Lando steadied himself from the hit, he saw Oscar.
Oscar wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t his usual calm, level-headed self. He was walking straight toward Lando with that look in his eyes, the one that said he’d already made up his mind.
Oscar didn’t say a word at first. Just punched him.
It wasn’t hard enough to knock him down, but enough to send Lando stumbling into a table. Cameras flashed. Voices shouted.
“What the hell, guys?! What’s with the punches” Lando snapped, holding his jaw.
“How could you do that to her?” Oscar’s voice was shaking, but not from uncertainty, from rage. “You’ve been together since you were kids. She’s stood by you through everything. And you throw it away for… for that?”
Oscar shoved his phone into Lando’s hand. The photo.
Lando’s stomach dropped. He remembered the drinks. How she kept topping up his glass before he even noticed it was empty. How the night had blurred. But the bed? The picture? No. He had no memory of that.
“I didn’t-”
“Don’t you dare,” Carlos cut him off. “Don’t you dare try to lie your way out of this. She’s family to us. And you-” His jaw tightened. “You don’t deserve her.”
———
By then, it was too late.
The shouting had drawn a crowd, and with the cameras rolling, whatever doubt fans had was gone. The photo was real. Lando was the guy in the picture. And Y/N? Well, if she hadn’t confirmed a breakup before, she didn’t need to now.
Headlines blew up within the hour.
“Norris Cheating Scandal Rocks F1”
“From Golden Boy to Disgrace”
“Y/N Deserves Better Trends Worldwide”
Sponsors started dropping him within days. McLaren’s big backers pivoted to Oscar, who suddenly became the face of the team’s “positive image” campaign. The drivers stopped inviting him out. Charles stopped replying to his texts. Carlos blocked him entirely.
Because Y/N wasn’t just Lando’s girlfriend to them, she was family. Especially to Carlos, who had been Lando’s teammate before and knew her just as well. She was the one who brought snacks to late-night sim runs, who sat in the garage during rain delays, who cheered for everyone, not just Lando. She was the kind of person you didn’t hurt.
And he had.
Now, he was alone.
He called her. Over and over. Straight to voicemail.
“Y/N, please… you know I wouldn’t. I know I was being a jerk, the way I treated you and the way I ignored everything just for the races, but I’d never cheat on you. I don’t remember any of it. I swear. Please call me back. Just… please.”
He stared at the screen, heart pounding. The line rang out. No answer.
He tried again. And again.
Minutes passed. His hope started to fade. Maybe she was done with him. Maybe she never wanted to hear from him again.
Just as he was about to give up, the phone finally buzzed.
Y/N.
His chest tightened.
She answered.
The line was shaky, hesitant, like both of them were holding their breath, waiting for what came next.
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
They sat in the corner of a small café, far enough from the noise of the paddock but not far enough from the cameras that he didn’t notice the occasional flash from outside.
“I just need to hear it from you,” she said, her voice low but shaking. “How could you do this? How could you throw us away like that?”
“Y/N, I don’t-”
“No. Don’t you dare say you don’t remember. That doesn’t make it better. I waited for you. I defended you when people told me you’d changed, when they said you cared more about winning than about us. And maybe they were right, because I barely recognise you anymore.”
He sat there, words caught in his throat, because everything she was saying was true, except the part about cheating. But after everything, did it even matter whether she believed him?
When she finally stood, her chair scraping against the floor, it felt like the sound split him in two.
She walked straight to the beach. Not to clear her head, just to get away, away from him, away from the whispers. She sat in the sand, burying her face in her hands, trying to breathe through the tightness in her chest.
A soft voice broke through the sound of the waves. “He’s an idiot for hurting you.”
She looked up and found a hand holding out a neatly folded handkerchief.
She almost laughed through her tears. “What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you’re okay.” He sat beside her, shoes off, letting the water lap at his toes. “I’m not gonna defend what he did. But I know him. He’s… he’s not himself right now. Doesn’t mean you have to forgive him. Just means… I don’t think he’s gone completely.”
They talked. About Lando. About racing. About how exhausting it was to live under constant public judgment. Didn’t try to convince her to go back, but he also didn’t make her feel stupid for still caring.
By the time the sun started to dip, the air between them felt lighter.
He walked her home. At her door, he gave a small smile. “If you ever need to talk about any problems, especially about your boyfriend, I’m here.”
She hesitated. “Ex-boyfriend.”
His smile softened. “Okay. Ex-boyfriend.” He let out a small laugh, gave a quick wave, and left.
———
The next morning, Lando was called By McLaren. No explanation, just an urgent meeting request.
He walked into the glass-walled conference room to find Zak Brown and several senior staff waiting. The air was thick, too serious for a simple strategy meeting.
“Lando,” Zak began, “we’ve been speaking with our sponsors. Some of our biggest backers have made it clear they won’t continue their support if you remain with the team.”
Lando’s pulse spiked. “You’re dropping me?”
Zak didn’t meet his eyes. “We don’t have a choice. You’ll need to finish the season because the contract requires it, but after that we’re parting ways.”
It hit harder than any crash he’d ever experienced. First Y/N, the love of his life. Now this, his passion. Everything he’d built his life around was slipping through his fingers, and he couldn’t stop it.
For the first time in years, Lando didn’t know who he was without it all.
———
Somewhere far from the paddock, in a private room dimly lit by a single overhead lamp, footsteps echoed against the marble floor. Slow. Deliberate.
The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside.
A woman was already there, lounging in a chair, a self-satisfied smile curling at her lips.
“Were you able to do it properly?” His voice was low, controlled.
She crossed her legs. “Of course. I showed them enough proof to make them panic. Told them if they kept supporting McLaren with him there, they’d be backing a team with the worst image in the sport.”
His eyes narrowed. “How bad did it get?”
She smirked. “Let’s just say the picture I posted will look cute compared to the ones I showed. Especially the videos.”
His head tilted. “There are videos?”
She rolled her eyes like it was obvious. “Yeah. I had to take a lot of it. He kept saying her name.”
There was a pause. “And? How was it?”
She barked a laugh. “Please. I wouldn’t touch him even if I was drunk. He’s icky to look at.”
He gave a short nod. “Lucky for you, then. Since you did such a good job, you won’t have to see him again.”
He slid a heavy silver case across the table. She popped it open, fanning through the neat stacks of cash before snapping it shut again.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “you’ll be forgotten in all this. Norris will be the only one under the spotlight.”
She shrugged, unfazed. “I couldn’t care less if people call me a homewrecker. Worth every second.” She traced her fingers over the case like it was a trophy.
They both stood and walked toward the door.
“So,” she said lightly, “see you never?”
They shook hands.
“Thanks for your service,” he said with a faint smirk, pulling the door open. “Ladies first.”
She stepped out, laughing under her breath. “Always a gentleman, huh?”
She was halfway down the hall when she paused and glanced back, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips.
“Oh, almost forgot to compliment you on your acting. Could’ve fooled me, the way you always looked so supportive of them. Seeing her as family. And that fight? Damn impressive. I never knew you had it in you.”
She stepped closer to the door, eyes sharp and cold.
“How about making a career out of it, huh…”
“Piastri.”
The man in the doorway laughed, low and unhurried.
Without looking back, he started walking in the opposite direction. “Maybe after I get everything I want.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
That’s where this chapter ends, but maybe not the story. Next time, we might step into Oscar’s world, where every move was calculated and everything was never an accident 👀
Summary: Long before the podiums, the titles, and the fame, he was just a boy in a treehouse. She was the girl who promised to stay. She didn't break that promise. Someone else did it for her.
Content: Childhood heartbreak, missing letters, mistaken goodbyes, unresolved feelings, and one very symbolic bracelet.
Author's Note 🏎️:
Hi! I’m finally back after almost four months 😭 Life has been chaotic but I finally have some free time now, which means I can actually continue posting the rest of my fics. I’m also doing this to take my mind off the F1 championship because I seriously need the distraction. Thank you for being patient and I hope you enjoy this chapter! 💙🏁
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
When YN arrived at her new place, she stood by the doorway, staring at the empty apartment like it was the final boss of adulthood.
“This is it,” she muttered. “The start of my dreams.”
Weeks passed, and the once bare space turned into a full-blown chaos zone of papers, sticky notes, and half-drunk coffee cups.
Right now, YN was hunched over her desk, a mechanical pencil behind one ear, calculator in hand, and her phone barely balanced on her shoulder. She was muttering equations while half-listening to Yuki on the line.
“Omg. Just a week passed and it already feels like I’ve been here for a year,” YN groaned, tapping her pen like it personally wronged her.
Yuki laughed. “Well you can’t give up. I need my engineer, you know?”
“Of course not. I’m not gonna waste this opportunity.”
“Eyyy, that’s my girl.”
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.”
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.
Too Many Opinions, Zero Flights Booked - Chapter 1
Masterlist
Summary: The season is falling apart. The paddock is burnt out. The chaos doesn’t stop when the engines do. But somewhere off the map, past broken phones, blackened toast, and arguments about where to go next, there is a house waiting. It is not listed online. There is no location pin. But for the drivers who find it, nothing stays the same. Not their stress. Not their silence. And definitely not their hearts. Somewhere quiet, something is beginning.
And the wind already knows your name.
Contains: Lost drivers, found peace, secret soup recipes, soft chaos, and a vacation no one remembers booking.
Author’s Note 🏎️:
This work is purely fictional. While it may reference real people, places, and events, certain details, timelines, and situations have been altered for storytelling purposes. Please do not mix or confuse these fictional portrayals with real-life events or personalities.
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
There was a town you couldn’t find unless you needed it.
Alderidge didn’t show up on maps or road signs. It didn’t advertise its quiet streets or glowing lanterns or gardens that seemed to hum in the afternoon sun. It wasn’t hidden, exactly. Just... waiting.
People arrived by accident, or so they thought. Lost, tired, looking for something they couldn’t name. And then, there it was. A turn that didn’t exist before. A path between trees that hadn’t been there yesterday. A road that curved toward peace.
They didn’t know how they found it, but once their feet touched the cobblestone, they knew they were meant to.
Alderidge wasn’t loud about its beauty. It didn’t need to be. The air smelled like fresh rain and lavender. Windows spilled soft golden light onto brick sidewalks. The breeze carried music even when no one was playing.
People came when their lives were unraveling. They left a little more whole. No one could explain it, and no one tried to. That was just Alderidge.
And in the heart of it stood the L/N family.
Their house sat on a gentle hill overlooking the square. It was all vines and old wood, soft curtains, and wide porches. The garden outside it bloomed too long, and the roses never wilted on their own.
Everyone in town knew them. Especially Y/N
She didn’t hold an official title, but people treated her like she did. They brought her jars of honey, fresh-baked bread, flowers from their own windowsills. They came to her when things felt off, or when someone was sick, or when they couldn’t sleep because their heart wouldn’t settle.
She always had the right tea. The right word. The right silence.
No one could remember the last time they had seen her angry. Or confused. Or late. She just knew when to show up and what to bring. If a storm was coming, she’d mention it while picking out candles at the market, long before the clouds gathered. If someone was about to make a mistake, she’d look at them a certain way, gentle but firm, and they’d stop without knowing why.
It wasn’t magic. Or maybe it was. No one cared much either way.
The L/Ns had always been part of Alderidge. The way the trees had. The way the fog settled just right in the valley come morning.
And Y/N? She had that kind of presence that made people feel steadier just standing near her.
Everyone agreed: there was something about her. Something good.
Something... otherworldly.
———
The screen flickered, struggling to keep up with the flood of news.
Clips played in rapid succession. Another DNF. A public argument in the paddock. Engineers ducking under tents as rain poured down with no warning. A car caught fire during practice. The wrong tires were delivered to the wrong team, twice. A sponsorship scandal. Then another. One driver walked out of an interview mid-question. Another hadn’t smiled in weeks.
The reporter’s voice tried to sound cheerful, but it cracked near the end.
“It’s been a turbulent stretch for Formula One. With back-to-back races, unpredictable weather, and rising pressure from both media and fans, drivers and teams alike are visibly worn down. Some are calling this the most stressful season in recent memory.”
The TV sat quietly in the corner of a cozy living room. The floor glowed with late afternoon light, and steam rose from the mug in Y/N’s hands. She sat curled in an armchair, a soft blanket pulled across her lap, a book left forgotten on the table beside her.
She took a sip of her tea, something homemade, with lemon balm, chamomile, and whatever else her garden had offered that morning.
Outside the window, the breeze carried the scent of blooming jasmine. The leaves rustled like they were listening.
Y/N watched the broadcast for a moment longer, head tilted slightly, then let out the softest laugh. Not mocking. Just… knowing.
“I have a feeling,” she murmured, more to the air than the room, “I need to start preparing for my guests.”
She smiled, slow and warm, like she already knew what was coming next. Her eyes twinkled the way stars do when the sky is still blue.
Somewhere far away, the world was tangled in noise and deadlines.
Here in Alderidge, the kettle hummed quietly in the kitchen.
And in that exact moment, the wind changed.
A shift so small no one else would have noticed.
But the town did.
———
And somewhere far from that quiet smile and steaming mug of herbal tea, chaos was alive and well.
Max Verstappen had woken up early that morning with one goal.
“Let’s not get mad today,” he mumbled to himself, dragging a hand over his face as he sat up. “Just… stay calm. No stress.”
He repeated it like a mantra while standing under the hot water, trying to feel human again. That lasted about five seconds before the pressure dropped and a blast of freezing water hit him straight in the spine.
He swore loudly.
“Patience,” he muttered. “Patience, Max.”
He stepped out dripping, grabbed a towel, and stubbed his toe on the cabinet corner.
“Seriously?”
In the kitchen, things didn’t get better.
He opened the fridge. It looked like a desert. One egg. Two slices of bread. A shriveled tomato he didn’t remember buying.
He sighed, grabbing the egg with a small spark of hope. At least breakfast was still an option.
It wasn’t.
The egg cracked open and oozed out in a thick, gray mess that smelled like betrayal. Max gagged, dropped it straight into the trash, and turned to the toaster like it was his final lifeline. He popped in the bread, waited, and tried to breathe through the quiet.
Too quiet.
The toast jumped out…blackened, almost smoking.
Max blinked at it. His eye twitched.
“Toast,” he said flatly. “I can’t even make toast.”
He sat on the couch, hungry, annoyed, wrapped in a blanket of silent rage. He reached for his phone and opened a food delivery app. It immediately froze. He tapped the screen once, twice. Nothing. Then it shut itself off entirely.
Max dropped the phone onto the couch beside him and groaned into his hands.
“Even outside the paddock it’s chaos,” he muttered.
He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, letting his stomach grumble. Then, out of instinct, he opened his phone again, scrolling through social media, trying to forget. He wasn’t really looking for anything.
Until something found him.
It was a photo of a house. Fancy, but not flashy. Just beautiful. Warm. The kind of place that felt like a dream someone forgot to wake up from.
The caption caught his eye.
“A magical stay tucked away in a town you won’t find unless you need it. Recommend this place 1000/10. It’s like the house knew what you needed before you did.”
Max narrowed his eyes and read it aloud.
“Magic house. Makes your problems disappear.”
He scoffed. “Right.”
Still, he kept scrolling.
There were more pictures. Trees wrapped around porches. Stone paths glowing in sunset light. Books stacked beside mugs of tea. People laughing, faces relaxed. No filters. No forced smiles.
Just peace.
And then, the last photo.
A woman stood in front of the house, her back to the camera. She was looking up at it like it had whispered her name. You couldn’t see her face, but Max’s chest tightened. Something about her. The way her hands were folded gently in front of her, the calm in her stance made him forget to breathe.
The caption beneath it read:
“Thank you for the warm, better house… and an even better host.”
Max stared. He didn’t blink. For the first time in weeks, something in him let go.
He reached for the comment button to ask where the place was, just as his screen went black again.
“No,” he snapped, fumbling for the charger. “No no no.”
The phone took forever to charge. When it finally lit back up, Max opened the app… and the post was gone. Refreshed. Buried. Erased like it had never been there.
He sat frozen, one hand still on the cord, the other balled into a fist.
He was starving. His phone was useless. The world hated him.
“Patience, Max,” he said again, eyes twitching. “This is fine.”
He threw on a hoodie and went to the nearest grocery store.
It was supposed to be a quick trip. Just food. Simple. But the universe had other plans.
First, a shopping cart with one wobbly wheel. Then, a child flinging a juice box at his leg. Then, the entire dairy section was somehow being restocked right when he needed it. He stood frozen in front of empty shelves, clutching a basket like it might save him.
“Patience,” he said under his breath. “It’s just yogurt.”
Aisle by aisle, he gathered enough food to scrape together a meal. But when he got to the canned soups, he hesitated. Something was missing. He didn’t even know what he was craving, which annoyed him more.
Then, without warning, a hand appeared in front of him, offering a small pack of bright tomatoes.
“You look like you need these.”
Max turned.
There she was.
The woman from the picture. Or maybe not. This one was older. But the feeling was the same. His heart jumped. For the first time since the toast incident, he felt calm. Her eyes were soft, her expression easy. She didn’t look at him like he was famous. She looked at him like he was just a person.
He stared, not saying anything.
She tilted her head slightly, smile curling at the edges. “You were thinking of soup, weren’t you?”
Max blinked. “Yeah. I… actually, yeah.”
She nodded like it made perfect sense. “Tomato soup always works. Warm, simple, grounding.”
He looked away, unsure why everything suddenly felt so quiet.
She adjusted her bag over her shoulder. “I actually need to go.”
He blinked. “Wait, sorry, can I just ask you something? Do you know anything about a house… a place that feels magical?”
But she was already gone.
Max rushed to the end of the aisle, looking left, then right. Nothing. He checked near the registers. The bakery. Outside.
Nowhere.
It was like she had vanished.
He returned to his cart, still half in a daze. Something about the whole moment tugged at him like a thread.
And then he saw it.
Lying quietly on the floor beside the cart was a small, folded pamphlet. It wasn’t glossy. It didn’t have pictures or coupons. Just thick paper and soft ink.
“A place where your worries don’t follow. The kind of home that finds you when nothing else can.”
Below that, a name. A town. Directions written like a whisper.
Max held it in his hand. The feeling from earlier, the calm and the quiet, returned.
He tucked it into the pocket of his hoodie.
The rest of the trip was easy. The line was short. The register worked. His car started without a sound. The sun even peeked out from the clouds.
When he got home, he cooked.
The food turned out perfect.
And for the first time in a long time, Max Verstappen ate in silence without clenching his jaw. He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the paper still tucked in his pocket.
Maybe it really was magic.
———
Somewhere nearby, on the very same chaotic day, Lewis Hamilton already wanted his day to end. And it had barely even started.
It was barely noon and he’d had enough.
The race weekend was cancelled thanks to the storm, which should’ve meant rest, but instead meant back-to-back meetings with the team. The kind where no one really listened to him or Charles, where the room felt like it was full of static. Then came the media, louder than usual and absolutely insistent.
The questions kept circling.
Do you regret the switch?
Was Mercedes really the problem?
Do you think your time has passed?
He didn’t answer any of them. Just kept walking.
But they followed. Cameras clicking. Voices chasing him. Even when he picked up the pace, they didn’t stop. His feet slapped against the pavement as he weaved through narrow streets, ignoring every call of his name. He wasn’t sure if they were still behind him or not, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
It wasn’t panic. Not exactly. It was something else. Like the air itself was pushing him forward.
Then, out of nowhere, he stopped.
There was a bookstore in front of him. Old, quiet, a little crooked in the way charming places always were. The windows fogged just slightly from the inside. The door was open like it had been waiting.
He stepped in. Silence wrapped around him.
The faint scent of old pages and something herbal hung in the air. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
Finally. No cameras. No voices. No one asking for anything.
He wandered the aisles without much thought, letting his fingers brush the spines until one caught his attention. The cover was faded, the title written in looping gold. He didn’t even check the genre. Just opened it.
Somewhere behind the counter, a voice called out.
“Dude, I just had the best vacation of my life.”
Lewis paused.
“I’m serious. I went in completely wrecked. Thought I was gonna lose the shop, the house, everything. And I came back like… totally good. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Lewis raised an eyebrow. The book hovered in his hands, forgotten.
“I told her she was a witch. Not like broomstick and spells, but you know… something about her felt different. Peaceful. Like being around her made you feel like everything was going to be okay.”
Lewis blinked. Was this guy for real?
Sure, vacations helped. But what kind of vacation fixed your finances, your emotions, and your entire existential crisis?
He tilted his head slightly, just enough to peek behind the shelf.
The man on the phone looked like the kind who burned incense on purpose. Flowy cardigan. Mismatched socks. And a smile that hadn’t been worn down by the world yet.
“Alright. I’ll call you back later,” he said. “Need to shelve these new arrivals.”
He hung up and grabbed a small stack of books, humming as he rounded the corner into the aisle where Lewis stood.
Lewis cleared his throat. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
The guy grinned. “You heard all that?”
“Just the part about you having your life changed in a week.”
“Oh. That.” He chuckled. “Yeah. Best decision I ever made.”
“Really?” Lewis asked, skeptical.
“Felt like walking into a dream. Everything about the place was quiet, like the kind of quiet that sinks into your bones. Everyone was kind. The house I stayed in felt like it knew exactly what I needed.”
Lewis tilted his head. “The house?”
“Yeah. The owner too. She’s… something else. You’ll see.”
There was a pause.
Lewis shifted the book in his hand. “What’s the name of the place?”
The man didn’t hesitate. He scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to him like it was a secret.
“You won’t regret it.”
Later, back at his place, Lewis sat cross-legged on the floor, his laptop in front of him. He typed in the name.
No official website. No official photos. No location pin.
But there were posts. Scattered mentions on quiet forums and personal blogs. Pieces of conversations. Words like life-changing, safe, strangely healing.
He clicked through a few.
“I don’t know how to explain it. I got there exhausted and left feeling like I remembered who I was.”
“It’s the kind of place that doesn’t ask questions. It just knows.”
“There was a woman there. She didn’t say much, but when she looked at me, I just… knew I was going to be okay.”
Lewis stared at the screen, then scratched the back of his head. “Hopefully we don’t suck the peacefulness out of it,” he muttered. “Hopefully it sucks the stress out of us instead.”
He paused.
“Wait. That sounded kinda dirty.”
He shut the laptop with a soft snort and let his head fall back against the couch.
Maybe it really was something special. Or maybe he was just tired.
Still, he saved the name in his notes. Just in case.
For the first time in days, his shoulders didn’t feel so heavy.
———
As soon as the race weekend was cancelled, Lance Stroll booked the first flight home.
No second thoughts, no drawn-out packing. He just wanted out.
He barely spoke during the flight and didn’t bother unpacking once he landed in Canada. The only thing he wanted was to feel like himself again, even if he couldn’t remember the last time that version of him existed. Every time he looked in the mirror lately, he didn’t see an athlete or a driver. Just a worn-down twenty-something, caught in the same conversation over and over again.
He didn’t tell anyone much. Just that he needed a break.
And at first, no one pushed. But his step mom noticed it during dinner. His sister caught it when he didn’t laugh at one of her jokes. Even the family dog seemed to keep glancing at him more than usual.
Lawrence had noticed, too. The way Lance stared blankly at the television, how he barely touched his food, how even walking through his childhood home didn’t bring the same comfort.
One afternoon, Lawrence called him into the old library. The room was warm from the afternoon sun, dust motes floating in the light like glitter in slow motion.
“Sit,” Lawrence said, handing Lance a drink.
Lance took it and raised a brow. “You gonna tell me I need to start meditating again?”
Lawrence chuckled. “No. Although, it wouldn’t hurt.”
They sat across from each other, the silence heavier than the oak shelves around them.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been… off,” Lawrence said finally. “And I think I know why.”
Lance looked down at the glass in his hands. “It’s nothing new. Just people talking.”
“About what?”
“The usual.” His voice was flat. “That I don’t deserve my seat. That it’s only mine because of you. That it doesn’t matter what I do…I could win a championship and people would still say it wasn’t earned. That if I had a harder life, maybe they’d like me more.”
Lawrence didn’t interrupt. He just let his son speak.
“I’ve been placing better, improving, but it doesn’t matter. It never changes. It’s like I’m always racing against something I can’t beat.” Lance’s voice cracked a little at the end, but he didn’t wipe his eyes. “And I know it’s stupid to care. I know I have a good life. I just… I can’t stop hearing it.”
Lawrence leaned back in his chair. “You know what you could use?”
“A new PR team?” Lance offered weakly.
“A vacation.”
Lance snorted. “A vacation’s not gonna fix anything. It’ll just pause the stress. I’ll feel better for a few days, and then what? I come back and it hits again, harder.”
“I know that feeling,” Lawrence said. “But I’m not talking about any vacation. I mean a different kind. A special one.”
Lance raised an eyebrow. “What, like a silent retreat?”
Lawrence smiled. “Have I ever told you how I met your mother?”
“Maybe. I was probably a kid. Or not listening.”
He laughed at that. “Figures. But it wasn’t at some fancy dinner or through business. I met her at a place you wouldn’t believe.”
Lance shifted in his seat. “Try me.”
Lawrence swirled the liquid in his glass. “I was supposed to go on a trip with my friends. I was your age, maybe a little older. Burned out, frustrated, trying to prove myself, feeling like nothing was enough. Sound familiar?”
Lance nodded silently.
“I was driving through this small town. Can’t even remember the name. My car broke down, completely out of nowhere. But when I looked up, I saw this huge, old house just across the road. It looked like something out of a storybook. Elegant, warm, like it had been waiting for me.”
“You walked in?” Lance asked.
“Well, I had nowhere else to go. And as soon as I opened the door, a woman was already walking toward me with tea in her hands. No questions. No awkward hello. Just, ‘You look like you need rest. You can stay as long as you want. My father can fix your car when he’s back.’”
Lance blinked. “You stayed because she gave you tea?”
“I stayed because somehow, she already knew I needed to. That house… it felt safe. Not just physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Like it could see through me and say, ‘Don’t worry, you’re allowed to just be here.’”
Lance took a sip, now more curious than skeptical.
“You know,” Lawrence began slowly, “even if I was only there a few hours at first, I felt… calm. Like something in me had already exhaled.”
Lance raised a brow. “From a house?”
“Yeah,” Lawrence said, unfazed. “Once the car was fixed, I thanked them and was ready to head out. But just as I was about to leave, the woman who answered the door..her name was M/N. Looked at me and said, ‘Your room is ready.’”
He let out a short laugh, like the memory still surprised him. “I told her, ‘Oh, I’m actually heading to meet some friends,’ and she just smiled. A kind of knowing smile. Then she said, ‘I have a feeling you’ll meet her here.’”
Lance leaned in. “Her? Who’s her?”
“I didn’t know,” Lawrence admitted. “I thought maybe she meant a guest or someone on her staff. I didn’t get a chance to ask. Her father walked in before I could say anything he said, ‘Looks like you won’t be able to leave anyway.’ Turns out, it had started pouring outside. No visibility. Roads were flooded.”
“So you stayed despite the spookiness?”
“I didn’t have a choice. When I turned around, M/N was already holding out a key to me and said, ‘Your things are already there.’ That’s when I started getting confused. I hadn’t even brought my bags in yet.”
Lance blinked. “She’s kind of creepy.”
“She was… different,” Lawrence said, his voice softer now. “That night, I was invited to dinner. M/N, her father, and a place already set for me. She pointed to the chair beside her and told me to sit there, so I did. But while we were eating, I noticed she and her father kept glancing at the empty seat next to mine.”
Lawrence paused and glanced at his son. “I asked if we were expecting someone else. Maybe another guest or a family member of theirs. But M/N just smiled again and said, ‘We’re waiting for yours.’”
Lance frowned. “What does that even mean?”
“I didn’t know either,” Lawrence said. “I was about to ask if she’d contacted my parents or something, but before I could say anything, the front door opened.”
“M/N looked over and said, ‘Ah. She’s right on time.’ Then she stood up, and her father followed her out to the hallway. I just sat there for a minute, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Then I gave up trying to understand it, stood up, and followed them.”
He paused.
“And that’s when I saw her.”
“Mom?”
Lawrence’s voice softened. He nodded. “Yeah. She was just standing there in the entryway, dripping a little from the rain. The look on her face same as mine. Total confusion. M/N explained her car had stopped just outside, and she’d come in asking for help. That’s when I said, ‘No way. That’s exactly what happened to me.’ We were both stunned.”
Lawrence smiled, a little more knowingly this time. “M/N looked right at her and said, ‘We’ve been waiting for you. You’re going to love the food.’ Then she and her father turned and headed back inside like nothing about that situation was strange.”
He shook his head, still in disbelief.
“We followed them back to the dining room. Your mom leaned over and whispered, ‘Did she just imply they knew I was coming?’ And I just laughed and said, ‘She was also like that when I got here. Honestly, it feels like she knows everything before it happens.’”
Lawrence smiled to himself as the memory deepened.
“During dinner, we got to talking. Your mother and I… we were the same. Both stressed, worn out, trying to hold it together. It felt like life had been shouting at us and we finally went somewhere quiet enough to hear each other.”
He chuckled softly.
“I joked that maybe we were destined to meet there. Same day, same kind of car trouble, same mysterious house in the middle of nowhere. We laughed about it, but part of me was starting to believe it.”
Lance was quiet, fully listening now.
“The next morning, the sun was out. Roads were clear. No more storm, no more problems. It was like… the weather cleared up just for us. Like the rain only happened to get us in that house at the same time.”
Lawrence looked at his son, eyes twinkling.
“You should’ve seen her, Lance. She was glowing. We were getting ready to go, just casually exchanging numbers so we could keep in touch. Then we went to settle our bill, and you know what M/N said?”
Lance tilted his head. “What?”
“She said, ‘It’s on me. No need to pay.’ Just like that.”
Lawrence grinned. “Of course, we both protested. We had such a good time, it didn’t feel right to leave without paying.”
“And she just smiled and said, ‘No worries. Just think of it as a wedding gift.’”
Lance raised his eyebrows. “Wait. Wedding gift?”
Lawrence laughed. “Exactly. Your mom and I looked at each other, confused. We both laughed and thanked her.
He paused, remembering.
“And then, just as we were about to walk out, M/N called out, ‘See you in two years.’”
Lance frowned. “Two years? What does that mean?”
Lawrence smiled slowly. “Because two years later, your mom and I got married. And she was right. We came back there for our honeymoon. We stayed the whole week.”
“It was… magical, son. I don’t even know how to explain it. That week felt like something out of a dream. Everything was peaceful. Everything made sense. We laughed every day, and we stopped worrying. It was like the world hit pause just for us.”
He leaned back slightly. “And when it was finally time to leave, we passed by M/N at the front door congratulating us again. Your mom was like, ‘You already congratulated us on the wedding on our first day,’ laughing. And M/N smiled and said, ‘That was for the wedding. This one is for the little girl.’”
Lawrence chuckled. “We looked around, genuinely confused. I thought maybe there was an actual little girl in the house we hadn’t met. We even checked behind us.”
Lance squinted. “There wasn’t?”
“Nope. M/N just laughed it off.”
He lowered his voice a bit, like sharing a secret.
“But then, just as we were walking away, she called out again.”
Lawrence looked at Lance. “She said, ‘You’ll not only be great for the little girl… I know you’ll also be the best for that boy.’”
Lance blinked. “What boy?”
“I asked the same thing,” Lawrence said, smiling softly. “We both did. And M/N just stood there in the doorway, smiling like she always knew. Then she said, ‘Keep supporting him in his driving career.’ And closed the door.”
Lance’s eyes widened. “No way. She knew you’d have a son? Me? And knew about… about racing?”
Lawrence nodded. “Believe me, we were just as shocked. We even joked about it the whole way home. But then… a few days later, your mom found out she was pregnant. With your sister.”
Lance went quiet.
“And suddenly that ‘little girl’ comment made sense. It wasn’t random. It was real.”
Lawrence’s voice softened even more.
“Then, when you were born. Your mom remembered M/N’s words. She looked at me and said, ‘She’s right. You will be a good father.’”
He smiled deeply.
“And from that day on, we both agreed… M/N was something else entirely.”
He gave a small smile.
Lance narrowed his eyes. “Okay. No. Are you clowning me right now? This sounds like a script.”
“Do I look like I’m in the mood to clown anyone right now?” he said, gesturing vaguely around the quiet room. “I’m not trying to impress you, Lance. I’m just telling you what happened.”
“It sounds so magical,” he said. “Like… straight out of a movie. So why did it end? Your marriage, I mean. Especially if it involved magic.” He did air quotes with his fingers at the word magic, still not fully believing any of it was real.
Lawrence let out a long breath. “Son, just because something ended doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”
He paused, searching for the right words. His voice was calm but honest.
“We grew apart. Simple as that. We disagreed on a lot of things, too many things eventually. And it got to the point where staying together started doing more harm than good.”
Lance nodded slowly, not sure what to say.
“But,” Lawrence continued, “you know what we both agreed on?”
Lance looked at him. “What?”
“That if we could go back in time… we wouldn’t change anything. Not one second of it. We’d still go through the storm. Still walk into that house. Still meet exactly the way we did. We’d live all of it again.”
Lance stared at him, trying to process it. It didn’t make sense, not fully. How could someone talk about something that sounded so unbelievable like it was the most normal thing in the world?
It felt like his dad had just told him a fairy tale. A peaceful old house. A woman who saw the future. A storm that felt planned. It didn’t add up. His mind wanted to call it nonsense, but the way his dad spoke, the softness in his eyes, the smile when he talked about the past… it didn’t feel fake.
Still, Lance sat there, quiet. Wondering if maybe his dad just told the whole story to help him forget about racing, even just for a few minutes. Something light to distract from the pressure. Something comforting.
Like a bedtime story.
His thoughts were cut off when Lawrence reached beside the couch and pulled something from a worn folder.
A photograph.
He handed it to Lance.
It was a picture of his father and mother. They looked younger, relaxed, laughing about something. The kind of laugh that came from pure joy. Behind them, partly blurred in the background, was a house. It was large and elegant, the kind of place that looked expensive but not showy. Quietly grand.
Lance flipped the photo over.
There, written in faded pen, was an address.
Lawrence gave a small smile. “In case you ever need it. That town… you won’t find it on a map. But if you really need it, you will. Just like we did. I know you will too.”
Lance didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.
Later that night, he sat alone in his room. The lights were off except for the small lamp on his desk. He stared at the photo again. His fingers traced the edge.
He still didn’t know what to believe.
But something about the picture made it hard to look away.
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
Later that week, in a completely different part of the world, the silence was replaced with noise. One room, way too many drivers, and absolutely no shared idea of what a relaxing vacation should look like.
“Guys, please,” George said, trying to hold the whiteboard steady while Esteban and Pierre fought over a marker. “We need a real answer. Not Atlantis. Not the Moon.”
“I said Taiwan!” Oscar argued.
“No one heard you!” Arthur snapped.
“Because Charles was yelling ‘Copenhagen’ like it’s a war cry!”
“I stand by it!” Charles shouted.
“Wait, did someone actually say Arizona?” Alex asked, brows furrowed.
“I did,” Mick said seriously. “Vortexes.”
“Like… evil ones?” Yuki asked.
“No. The energy kind.”
“That doesn’t make sense!”
“I’m just saying,” Charles cut in, “Japan during cherry blossom season would be incredible.”
Pierre leaned back in his chair. “You just want aesthetic Instagram stories.”
“That’s literally what you said about Greece,” Charles replied.
“Yeah, but Greece has beaches. And baklava.”
“I second Japan,” Yuki said, mouth full. “But not with you guys. You’ll ruin it.”
Lando pointed at him. “That’s hurtful.”
“Honest,” Yuki corrected.
Daniel raised a hand. “Australia. Barbecues. Surf. Kangaroos.”
“You just want to bring us to your backyard,” Nico Hülkenberg said.
“Backyard’s massive,” Daniel grinned.
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Iceland. Hot springs. Massages. Food.”
“Spain!” Fernando said proudly. “Sun. Wine. Me. You’re welcome.”
Carlos shook his head. “Last time, you made us climb a mountain before breakfast.”
“You survived.”
“New Zealand!” Lando suggested. “Camper vans. Full road trip.”
“Didn’t you nearly drive off a cliff?” Oscar asked.
“Allegedly,” Lando replied.
“Cruise?” Nico offered. “Luxury. Buffet.”
“You want us trapped on a boat?” Esteban looked horrified.
“You’d get seasick before we leave the dock,” Charles added.
“What about Dubai?” Daniel asked.
Everyone paused.
“…Do you even want to relax?” Zhou asked.
“I want five-star relaxation.”
“You want five-star prices,” Seb said.
Kimi R. looked up. “Sauna. Finland. Quiet. No one talks.”
Daniel blinked. “You just described a silent retreat.”
“Exactly,” Kimi replied.
“Absolutely not,” Pierre said. “I didn’t survive 24 races to go somewhere quiet on purpose.”
“London staycation?” Alex suggested. “Nando’s. Pub nights. No jet lag.”
“You live there,” Carlos said flatly.
“Exactly.”
“I say New Zealand,” Lando insisted.
“You already said that,” Mick pointed out.
“I’m saying it louder.”
Carlos raised his hand. “If we go to Spain, I can get us a yacht.”
“Is it yours?” Yuki asked.
“…No.”
“Then no,” Seb replied.
"Respectfully," Kimi R added, "if I wanted to spend a vacation surrounded by yachts and influencers, I'd scroll Instagram."
“Vegas?” Bottas tried.
The room groaned.
“You guys are no fun,” Bottas pouted.
“You spent the entire trip looking for your passport and trying to bribe hotel security with old F1 merch,” George said.
“I had limited options!”
Seb leaned back. “What about somewhere where we can give back? Like a nature reserve. Plant trees. Do something good.”
“Yeah that’s cute,” Charles said slowly, “but will there be a pool?”
Gabriel threw a cushion at him.
Oscar raised his hand. “Can we not go anywhere where I’m forced to do things?”
“That’s called staying in your house,” Lando said.
“I’m okay with that.”
“Let’s just rent a castle,” Pierre blurted.
Everyone turned.
“A castle. Big halls. Maybe ghosts.”
“Why would you want ghosts?” Alex asked.
“For the vibe.”
“Scotland?” Zhou suggested.
“Scotland in a castle,” Pierre said again.
“No ghosts,” Yuki said quickly.
“I second that,” George nodded.
Carlos raised both hands. “Top six: Spain, Iceland, Japan, Greece, Australia, Scotland.”
“How did castle even get on the list?” Isack asked.
“Because no one here can agree on anything else,” Seb sighed.
Cue complaints about the top 6:
“Cold,” someone said about Iceland.
“Too hot,” about Spain.
“Too Pierre,” about Greece.
“Too many spiders,” Kimi A. muttered about Australia.
“Kimi’s silent retreat?”
“No.”
“Okay,” Oscar groaned. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Except to the group chat to fight some more,” Alex muttered.
Daniel gasped. “What if we spin a globe and go where our finger lands?”
“That’s how horror stories start,” Yuki said.
Fernando rolled his eyes. “This is never going to work.”
Zhou yelled “Bali!”
“Finally, someone with taste,” Pierre said dramatically, pointing at zhou.
“Bali’s great,” Oscar agreed.
“Bali’s humid,” George said.
“You’re humid,” Lando muttered.
“Guys!” Zhou shouted. “Can we just vote?”
“We tried voting,” Alex said, lying face-down on the couch. “It failed after someone wrote ‘space’ on the list.”
“That was me,” Mick admitted, not looking up.
“Mick, be serious,” George groaned. “We don’t have SpaceX money.”
“Speak for yourself,” Fernando mumbled.
Everyone stared.
“Moving on,” Charles said quickly.
“Korea?” Franco suggested.
“We’ll get mobbed,” Zhou warned.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Franco said.
“What if we rent a mansion somewhere quiet?” Isack offered.
“That sounds like the start of a murder mystery,” George said.
“Sounds like a win to me,” Pierre said, unbothered.
“Florida?” Logan tried.
Silence.
Then
“Are you serious?”
“You can go alone.”
“My mom lives there!”
“Exactly,” Esteban said.
