─── ･ ｡ʚɞ ･
❛ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔. Warm and close,
as fresh laundry and here we are, Tuesday.
Of course you love me ━ you are wearing
one of my socks. ❜
To prevent marmalade from crystallizin...
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NOT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS LIFE, MAX FOUND HIMSELF QUESTIONING THE COMPETENCE OF FIA-APPROVED MEDIA OUTLETS AS THE FINAL CHILD OF THE DAY SAT BEFORE HIM, CLUTCHING A PACK OF CUE CARDS. The morning, buzzing with energy, gradually softened into a quiet hum as filming commenced, with the children intuitively grasping the shift from playtime to work time as the cameras started rolling. The initial video concept for F1 Kids was straightforward: a simple interview session between drivers and children, aimed at helping them become familiar with each other since they would be spending a lot of time together throughout the year. The children posed a variety of questions, ranging from playful ones like Monty's query about the taste of tire rubber to more serious discussions about fatalities and dangers in the sport with Arden. All of them, still, were more tolerable than any Sky Sports commentary—far more engaging than any question asked by the reporters permitted in the paddock, and, well, Max may be slightly biased, but he couldn't help it, though.
Everything about today had turned so lovesome, from the children's laughter to the woman who sat beside him throughout it all, her smile so bright that Max knew it could power all the engines on the grid for years to come.
Miss Honey had sat within view of her students for hours without a single complaint, strategically out of the camera's frame but close enough that Max could still catch the warm, sweet scent of her brown sugar hand lotion. She maintained a mindful silence but intervened when necessary, clarifying questions from the children and gently steering the conversation back on course if it veered off track. For instance, when Anwen became flustered with Max's first answer to her question about his favorite car color, Miss Honey subtly guided the conversation until they all realized that what Anwen really wanted to know was which car color Max thought was the speediest. It was an understanding that arose from sincere care and attention, qualities that Miss Honey exhibited in a manner similar to the sweetness her name suggests.
Not for the first time today, Max decided that he liked Miss Honey.
He truly, truly likes Miss Honey.
So, when the last student of the day—a six-year-old boy with smooth black hair and the iciest blue eyes Max had ever seen—called her over, requesting her to sit beside him in front of the camera, Max couldn't help but grin, adjusting his posture quickly as she smoothed out her dress and settled across from him.
Be it from experience or something beyond, Max sensed that something extraordinary was about to unfold when Miss Honey grinned at him with a twinkle in her eye and the boy removed the noise-cancelling headphones from his head, replacing them with a cap that had the name Schumacher embroidered on it.
"Hi, Max." Miss Honey greeted him again, her cheeks tinged with a rosy blush as she leaned in closer, her voice soft and inviting despite the cameras recording every moment. For someone so blatantly inexperienced in the spotlight, she was handling it remarkably well. Max felt a surge of admiration for her. She was doing perfectly, he thought; much better than he ever had as an anger-filled teenager, forced to navigate the media circus that surrounded his and his father's racing careers.
