Tangled in Competition || versainz ||

" PR... "

~CARLOS IS ON POLE BABY!!!

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Carlos groaned, pulling the covers over his head as sunlight peeked through the blinds. He knew what was on his agenda today: PR videos with Max, all for fan engagement. The mere thought made him wince. After the drama from last weekend's race, Carlos would have preferred to stay in bed, avoiding the media and their relentless questions.

The Canada race still hung heavy in his mind. Both he and Max had tangled during the final laps, a clash that ended with both cars in the gravel and the media buzzing about potential tensions within Red Bull. Carlos’s jaw clenched just thinking about it. To him, it was clear – he’d been ahead, holding his line, and Max had pushed too hard. Yet here he was, expected to play nice for the cameras.

He turned over, burying his face deeper into the pillow, hoping maybe he could just melt into the mattress and skip the day entirely. But that wasn’t an option. Red Bull's PR team had been insistent, reminding him of the importance of connecting with the fans and showing unity. Carlos sighed. The media circus had made the crash into more than it was, fueling rumors of an all-out rivalry, and he didn’t want to add any more fuel to that fire.

Finally, Carlos resigned himself to the inevitable, tossing off the covers and swinging his feet to the floor. The chill hit him as he sat up, bringing a reluctant clarity to his sleep-muddled thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out another sigh. The day loomed ahead, filled with PR duties he’d rather avoid, but he knew what was expected of him.

Minutes passed as he got dressed, each motion deliberate, almost meditative. He chose the standard Red Bull shirt and a pair of black jeans. Familiar, comfortable, maybe even a shield against the day’s demands. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he reached up to fix his hair, though it hardly needed it. His hair was always in place, a small comfort when other things felt chaotic.

After a final glance, he steeled himself, mentally rehearsing the phrases he’d need to say to diffuse the questions he knew were coming. Teamwork. Respect. Mutual understanding. Words he’d have to wear like armor. It was funny, he thought, how much of racing happened off the track, in the places where reputations were made and maintained.

He made his way to the door, grabbing his phone and keys. Maybe, he reasoned, the day wouldn’t be so bad. He knew how to navigate the media. This wasn’t his first rodeo, and he’d learned to manage the relentless questions. Still, there was a part of him that wished he could rewind to a time before the Canada race, before all the talk of rivalry and blame.

Carlos took a deep breath as he stepped into the hallway. Today, he’d play the part, do the PR, and say what needed to be said. But inside, the crash and its fallout still simmered. One day, he told himself, maybe it would be easier. But today, he’d just have to make it through.

Carlos strode through the parking lot of the Red Bull facility, greeted by a crowd of fans and flashing cameras. He kept his head down, waving here and there, but it was overwhelming.

Every step felt like navigating a maze of reporters and fans calling his name. As he entered the building, he could finally breathe a little easier, but he knew he wasn’t in the clear yet. He’d be facing Max soon, and the tension from Canada still lingered, making the upcoming PR obligations feel like a test of patience.

He climbed the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. Reaching the top, he was met with Max’s piercing stare. Max’s voice broke the silence, cold and sharp.

- “You’re ten minutes late, Carlos.”

Carlos huffed, rolling his eyes.

- "You think it’s easy walking through the paddock without being swarmed by reporters?"