Until my last breath

25

August 5th 2024
Barcelona, Spain

I exhale deeply, my hands relaxing on the steering wheel as the streets of Barcelona blur past me. Catching up with Lando had done the trick—like opening a valve to release all the pressure I hadn't even realized I was carrying. Laughing with him again, reminiscing about the past, felt strangely healing.
It's quiet tonight, the usual hum of the city softened under the dim streetlights. But as I turn onto a busier road, my peace is abruptly interrupted.

A large crowd has gathered on the sidewalk ahead, spilling into the street. Paparazzi flashes flicker like lightning in the distance, and the buzz of voices grows louder as I approach. I slow the car instinctively, squinting to see what's going on. My eyes catch a familiar flash of blonde hair cutting through the chaos, moving with purpose toward a sleek black car parked nearby.

Amélie?

I blink, my heart sinking into my stomach. What is she doing here? Before I can even process the thought, someone else catches my attention. A figure—broad-shouldered, head of dark hair slightly disheveled—follows a few steps behind her.

Gavi.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I take in the scene. The crowd is relentless, fans and paparazzi swarming him with cameras and calls, their energy almost predatory. He looks overwhelmed, his jaw tight as he pushes through the mass of people. Amélie has already slipped into the car, and a moment later, it's gone, tires screeching against the pavement.

Gavi is left stranded, standing there alone amidst the chaos, his head turning as if searching for an escape. My chest tightens at the sight. Without thinking, I veer toward the curb and stop the car right in front of him.

Rolling down the window, I yell, "Gavi! Get in the car!"

For a second, he doesn't respond, his face registering only shock. Then, recognition flickers in his eyes, followed by what looks like pure relief. He wastes no time. Pushing past the nearest fans, he dives into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Drive," he says, breathless, his voice low and urgent.

I don't hesitate, my foot pressing down on the accelerator. The car surges forward, leaving the shouting crowd and blinding flashes behind us. My hands are steady on the wheel, but my heart pounds in my chest as I navigate through the streets, making turns to lose any lingering attention.

After a few minutes, the noise fades, replaced by the quiet hum of the engine. "Jesus, thank you"Gavi exhales deeply, sinking back into the seat as if the weight of the world has just been lifted off his shoulders.

"You have a very nice car, by the way," he says suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

I glance at him briefly, surprised. "Thank you. I love it too." I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "It's always been my dream car. It was my uncle's, and got gifted to me when I won my second championship last year."

He raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed. "I thought you were 17, though."

"I am." I chuckle at his confusion, my smile widening. "Why?"

"How do you have a license, then?" he asks, frowning slightly.

I laugh softly, the memory of getting this car flashing through my mind. "Well, I've been driving cars that go up to 300 kilometers per hour since I was 15, so I'd say driving is in my nature. My second win earned me an early exception."

He nods, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fair enough."

I glance over at him quickly, taking in his relaxed posture, though his hair is still messy from the crowd, and his shirt is slightly wrinkled. "Have you taken any driving lessons yet?" I ask, teasing.