Season of Love | Toto Wolff x reader | F1

Chapter 7: Red flagsss

The Color of Truth is Blue Arc 
Chapter 7: Red flagsss

Italy

You stay off the grid that entire weekend to everyone's concerns.

Your phone remains turned off and forgotten on the sofa at Seb's place, kilometers away from you now, as he takes you on a sudden road trip through the Italian Riviera in his 1995 classic blue Citroën DS19.

Knowing the beautiful scenery and brief stops at the Mediterranean towns' gorgeous tourist sites would keep your mind from hurtful thoughts.

And, boy, he was right.

Your mood gets less somber as you two enjoy your gelatos while peacefully walking the Giardini Botanici Hanbury, feeling the fresh breeze from the trees on your skin and hearing the birds chirping around you.

It turns out Seb is full of great love and life advice. He sounds so mature and open about it that it seems new and shocking to you.

How can someone love so freely and so fearlessly?

-

Seb watches you sigh as you finish packing the clothes you bought and wore during the weekend in your also new suitcase since touring Italy in his clothes seemed like something other than a fit for your aesthetics and ego.

Still, you chose to wear his vintage Monty Python t-shirt with mom jeans for the flight back, as you loved the graphic, its colors, and the fact that it fits you a bit oversized and comfy. It made you feel safe.

—Everything will be fine —he expresses.

—I know —you look at Seb and give him a shy smile, only if he knew.

—Ready, then? —he holds open the door for you.

—More than ever —you answer, and you are.

-

Hungary

Much to your poor nerves, the Hungary Grand Prix week is finally here.

And you need to meet Pascal on the outskirts of town so he can deliver you the device.

That nervous sensation in your stomach grows as the chauffeur/gunman drives you closer to the meeting point, which is inside the third floor of a decadent and abandoned old building from the socialist era.

It's been more than a decade since last you saw him in person, as he was getting violently pinned down to the floor and dragged away by a SWAT team as you screamed.

His piercing blue eyes and his handsome face were covered in blood coming from a deep wound over his eyebrow from the contact of a fist punch as he whispered a soft and reassuring "I will be fine; you will be fine."

That memory was forever tattooed in your brain, sometimes making you wake up with a cold sweat at night.

As you finish climbing the narrow swirl stairs that once may have been stunning, you open the enormous, washed-down, and scratched-wood double doors. They creak so loud, making the place echo, as the tall, muscular figure of a man looking out of an open, broken window turns your way, following the sound.

Your heart skips at the sight of him; you guess those feelings never truly disappeared.

He watches you approach him with the same expression as your heels clack loudly on the dirty, now opaque, tiled floor.

You rush your pace in the last couple of remaining steps. Reaching closer to Pascal's figure, a smile forms on his lips, expecting you to throw yourself into his arms.