𝐄𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡. ||𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳 𝐣𝐫.

10| Cyclops

"Strip."

"What?"

"Your clothes, take them off."

Carlos blinked in confusion when he opened the door, letting Ophelia barge into his hotel room the morning after the race.

She looked like she'd been running, judging from how hard she was breathing and how red her face became. Her hair was a mess and her white coat a wrinkled drape that gracelessly dropped on her shoulders.

She leaned on a wall near her and grabbed her side while trying to adjust her breath to its regular rhythm.

"Would you like a glass of water?" Carlos proposed, almost concerned.

"Yeah I'd… I'd like that." She uncomfortably wheezed.

He led her into his room and handed her a glass of water, the liquid was cold and refreshing as it slid down her throat.
She chugged it down in one go and wiped the corner of her mouth.

"Rough morning?" He asked as if it was a regular morning, ignoring the fact she had walked into his room and requested an absurdity.

"The alarm clock didn't ring." She sighed heavily.

Well, the alarm did ring, but she was beyond exhausted.
She managed to force herself out of her bed and wash her face, but her eyelids were just as heavy and she ended up dozing off on her toilet seat.

Ophelia wouldn't consider herself a heavy sleeper, and in general she didn't sleep much but she had stayed up late last night.
How could she not? When just thinking about that mechanic was enough to give her chills. She'd started to dig deep into her memory, unraveling souvenirs she never thought she'd look back to.

But it was all pointless.

She knew very little about that man, she could assume his ethnicity but even that was only an assumption.

So, she brought out her laptop and tried looking him up. She searched for the team and any potential information about him but there was nothing to be found; as though he was an invisible vagabond, or a lost spirit she'd made up.

On the other hand, no article wasted a chance to bring up Max Verstappen's great achievements. He seemed like the media's obsession where they called him all sorts of names.

Supermax.

Brilliant Verstappen.

A prodigy.

And yet, as far as greatness went; a shadow hovered behind each of us.

Mad Max.

And so on she'd kept on reading until her vision became a blur and the letters smudged one into another, until her eyes closed and flew open woken up by the alarm clock.

Carlos leaned on the opposite wall with his arms crossed, his eyes remained on Ophelia who sat on his bed, an empty glass of water between her hands.

"So…" he started. "What's all this about?"

Ophelia put the glass back on the small table on his bedside.

"Right, the entrance," she said while reaching down to her bag. "Remember when doc asked for a private talk?"

Carlos nodded and behind his curious eyes, Ophelia could see that he'd been meaning to ask about it.

"He said that I'll be your personal medic -intern medic-. So I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"My personal medic," Carlos repeated, then arched a brow. "All by yourself?"

"Well I'm not supposed to be. But the person I have to work with left yesterday, right after the race. Why would someone be in such a hurry to leave their responsibility ?" Ophelia sighed.