Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Netherlands, Post-Race

PADDOCK RUMOUR: FIA pushing ahead with reviewing a series of bids to become the 12th Formula 1 team - @PaddockRumourMill

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THE NETHERLANDS
AFTER THE RACE
AUGUST

I crawl onto the bed with my aching limbs, joining Max. We're in my hotel room, taking the little time we can to be together after an exhausting weekend. It won't last long, since we're both flying out to Italy soon; and we'll both be busy again. I've already racked up a ridiculous number of hours in the simulator since the summer break ended. I dread to imagine how many hours Red Bull have made him clock in.

"You know..." I start, getting his attention. He looks at me like a deer in headlights. "It'd be nice if you could stop setting new records that none of us mere mortals can reach."

We both laugh; I can't stop myself. His warmth is infectious. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me so that I'm lying on top of him. We're both shattered, but we want to be together for now. I settle my head on his shoulder, breathing gently into his neck. He holds me close, and I feel safe. Settled. At peace. The usual buzz of conflicting thoughts and doubt in my mind are washed away into a quiet hum. His arms feel not like a cage, but a weighted blanket, keeping me from being lost in the world.

"Would you move to Monaco?"

His question takes me by surprise. I lift my head slightly, looking at him, still puzzled by it. Why is he asking? Why does it matter where I live?

"I—I mean..." He stammers, looking like he now regrets asking the question. "If we are... you know, we're going to do this, and we're adults—"

My sigh cuts him off. I've been unsure about having this talk for a while. Every time I think about how we need to have it, our dynamic has shifted. And now, we can't put it off any longer. Things have dramatically changed between us.

"I might. I mean, it makes sense for staying in the sport. I need to be near most of the races, so I'm not spending most of my time travelling. But us is another thing to talk about. And... I don't know what to say about it. Are we good?"

"Yeah!" He says, all too quickly, as he stumbles over a few different starts of sentences, a hand coming up to my cheek. "I'm happy. Are you?"

"If I wasn't, you'd know." I'm rewarded with a ghost of a kiss and his warm smile.

"I'm not good at talking." He admits with a tone of shyness, eyes darting up to the ceiling briefly to avoid the concern settling on my face.

"Nor am I... how about we go with: we're still seeing how we go." He nods as I talk. "And things are different now, but we stick to the separation of track and personal lives. And we talk. Like, for the life of me, I'm shit at talking things out, but if one of us has a problem, we should say something. Sooner rather than later."

"That's a good plan." His smile changes to a grin, which doesn't last; his lips are on mine again briefly.

"And we are going to have to deal with the media eventually. I think..." The idea of having our relationship in the public eye makes me want to huff. It'll cause all sorts of shit, even if there aren't any regulations against this in the sport. "We just..."

"Tell them we're here to race." He finishes the sentence for me. "Keep it all separate."

"Yeah." I rest my head on his shoulder again. I feel the hand not still resting on my face moving up my back slightly as he holds me closer still. "Besides, they'll get their proof sooner or later, and we can just keep ignoring any questions. Neither of our teams want to engage in this shit, so we can hide behind them too."

We lay like that for a while, until both our phones buzz intermittently. I yank mine out of my jeans, sighing at the text I've been sent.

Danny Boy;
FIA are going ahead with it.
What a joke.

"Well, I bet we're having a meeting before Monza about this." I say, showing him my phone. Max rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically.

"It's fucking stupid. There are already too many cars and too many races. Everyone's taking it in turns to be sick from all the extra work we have to do. Stupid. Just, stupid."

I take a quick look at the drivers-only group chat: nobody's happy with the news. It looks like there might well be a joint statement we'll be expected to repeat. After firing a quick We need to pressure them now, or they'll get everything decided and signed before Abu Dhabi, I pocket my phone so that I can go back to enjoying this moment of calm with Max. We lay together in silence again; I move a hand to trace invisible patterns on his shoulder.

"We really are bad at talking." He says after a while, huffing out a laugh.

"Well, I have an excuse: This is probably my first proper, serious relationship. Ryan doesn't count. He was a cunt."

"Ryan?"

"He took his love of motorbikes so far, he legitimately said to my face that Formula One isn't a real sport." I look up at Max, and he's thoroughly unimpressed. "I dumped him right there and then. He doesn't count as my first proper relationship in my mind."

And I don't think I ever looked back. It's certainly up there as my worst relationship, if only for the fact I wasted a year with someone who seemed to not actually respect what I wanted to do with my life. I still don't know why I was with him in the first place. It doesn't matter now, though. It's the past. I'm not going to linger on it.

"What a dick."

I chuckle into his neck, unable to conceal it. He presses his lips to my head, and my eyes shut as I accept the silent gesture of the word neither of us has said. I don't know why he hasn't said it but for my part...? I think it's too soon. I think right now, what we are could still just be infatuation. That's not the same thing as the other feeling I won't even let flitter across my mind.