falling for your enemy II Lando Norris

1. first day

Ashton's POV

Ashton Sidwell. I see my name everywhere I go, in everything I do. Twitter, TikTok, Instagram-you name it. I even spot it while grocery shopping, in newspapers and magazines. The strange thing? People recognize ME. Why?

After a lifetime of working toward this moment, I have finally achieved my biggest dream: Formula 1. The pinnacle of motorsport racing, and this season, I'll be joining the grid. I won the F2 championship last year, and Red Bull Racing saw my potential. They decided it was time for new blood. So here I am, packing my bags because I'm traveling to Bahrain tomorrow.

Another bonus? I'll be racing alongside my best friend and now teammate, Max Verstappen.

I'd be lying if I said I'm not scared. I'm actually shitting my pants right now, and I think that's quite reasonable. While I'm grateful to have Max by my side, I'm also the only rookie this year-the only one without any experience. Not to mention, I'm racing for Red Bull! They won the Constructors' Championship last year, so the pressure is incredibly high. So yeah, I'm scared shitless.

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I'm sitting in a cab. Can you even call this a cab? Let's rephrase: I have a fucking chauffeur. My bags are packed, and I've said my goodbyes. Well, no, I haven't, but there's really no one to say goodbye to anyway, so it doesn't matter.

I'm flying on a goddamn jet-perks of having a rich friend and all that. I don't even have to go through passport control because this nice-ass car is driving me straight to the private jet.

Next thing I know, I'm entering the plane and spotting Max in the back. The rest of the space is filled with other Red Bull team members whose names I don't yet know. I walk up to my friend and pull out his earplugs.

"Jesus, why have you never gotten me on this thing before? This is insane!" I'm still eyeing the interior until... "There's a bedroom?!"

"Hello to you too, rookie. Stop gawking; it's just a jet," he rolls his eyes and focuses back on his phone. My jaw drops slightly as I plop down on the empty seat next to him.

"Someone needs to pull you back down to earth real quick because you own a fucking private jet, and you act like it's a spare bathroom."

He looks up from his phone, eyes narrowing at my attire, and raises an eyebrow. Sweatpants and a hoodie. "You do know we're going straight to the paddock when we land, right? No changing in your hotel room," he lets out a little laugh. "God, Ash, you're gonna be papped on your first day in pajamas. You've got a lot to learn."

I look down at myself. Yeah, I do look like I just crawled out of bed.

"They're not pajamas..."

"Right, I forgot you sleep naked. Still don't understand why you'd do that."

"It's more comfortable. And you don't really need pajamas," I say, settling into the seat that, honestly, shouldn't feel this comfortable. "How do you not immediately fall asleep in this thing?"

Max looks at me slowly, then sighs. "Sidwell, if you don't shut your mouth for this entire flight, I'm throwing you out the window."

"Oh, come on, cut me some slack, mate. This is my first time with... all of this." I pause, rubbing my temples. "Did you know I didn't sleep at all last night? What if people hate me? Oh god, what if the other drivers hate me and purposely crash into me, and I die?!"

"That's illegal."

"Hasn't stopped serial killers before."

"Ashton, shut up." With that, he puts his earbuds back in, drowning me out with music. And now I'm left alone with my thoughts of people trying to murder me. Okay, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic.

A couple of hours later, a team member approaches me as Max snoozes peacefully beside me.

"Hi, Ashton. I'm Becky, and I'll be your media manager. I'll be by your side during interviews." She extends her hand, and I shake it.

"Hi, Becky, nice to meet you."

She sits down in the seat across from me. "Alright, you'll get full media training in a few weeks, but let's go over the basics to start. Most of it's pretty self-explanatory: respect the reporters, only answer questions you're comfortable with, try to dial down your swearing a bit, and please avoid anything inappropriate or overly personal," she says with a short pause. "And, you're openly bi, right?"

"Uh, yes, I am."

"People are going to address that, especially since you're the first Formula 1 driver who's been open about not being entirely straight. You'll get questions about relationships, your sexuality, and more. Over time, you'll find your own approach for handling and responding to those questions."

She gives me a few moments to process everything.

"Alright... it's no big deal, though."

"I agree. The media doesn't. They'll make a big deal out of anything, and this is definitely your 'big thing.'" She studies me a moment longer, and when I don't respond, she adds, "And maybe think about your attire? I don't care much about style, but for interviews, try to wear jeans, at least. I'll give you a team shirt later."

Okay, wow. Why does everyone keep calling me out on this? "I didn't know we were basically landing in the paddock."

"I'll see you later," she says, standing up and heading to the front of the plane. She's nice. I think? I look down at my clothes, realizing my mistake, and shake Max's shoulder.

"Mate, do you have spare boxers?"

He groans, pulling out his earbuds. "What?"

"Spare boxers?" I sound desperate at this point.

"Why, did you piss yourself?" He glances down at my crotch.

"No. I'm just... not wearing any."

Max stares blankly at me, then buries his face in his hands. "You have so, so much to learn, kid."

"Don't call me kid. I'm only two years younger than you. So, do you have boxers or not?" He keeps his face buried in his hands.

"I always have spares." He nudges his backpack toward my feet, and I laugh.

"Why? In case you piss yourself?" He flips me off as I rummage through his bag, finally finding a pair of bright red boxers. Red? Really? Well, I guess I'm not one to judge, given that I'm the one in need of them. I blow him a kiss and head to the bathroom.

"Thanks, love."