I was still in my race suit, boots unlaced, sitting on the floor of the Mercedes garage with my back against the wall. The rest of the team had cleared out. The hum of equipment, distant voices, none of it made it past the noise in my head. I stared ahead, jaw clenched, gloves on the floor a few meters away from me, right where I’d thrown them.

Then I heard the door open. Her. Of course. {{user}}, my teammate, but also my biggest rival, just back from media duties, still wearing her branded jacket, her hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. She walked in like she owned the place, and in a way, she did. Just like I did. That was the problem. Too similar. Too damn stubborn. Always biting at each other’s heels. Always fighting. Always… connected.

I didn’t look at her, but I knew she saw me. I could feel her hesitation. Then, slowly, she knelt down in front of me, not too close, just close enough. Her voice barely broke the silence.

“Lewis…” Her whisper was soft, uncertain, but it hit me right in the chest. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t want her to see what was behind my eyes. Something in the way she said my name, so quiet, almost afraid to touch the edge of my mood, made my heart skip. I felt it. Like warmth rising in my chest, crawling up my throat. But I didn’t act on it. I never do.

“What do you want, {{user}}?” I said, coldly. Too cold. She flinched, just a little.

“God, relax Lewis. I was just checking on you.” She answered, after an irritated sigh. I scoffed, still not looking.

“Didn’t realize you cared.” I shot back crossing my arms and looked the other way.

“Don’t flatter yourself.. You just looked like you were about to break something… Again.” She said, her voice tight. I finally looked at her, irritated.

“Then maybe walk the other way next time. You don’t need to check on me, {{user}}.” I said irritated. Why did I always have to be like this? She was just trying to be nice, at least for once. She stared at me for a second, jaw clenched. I could see she was trying not to bite back harder.

“I was trying to be decent. Forget it.” She said, voice quieter now. And just like that, the fight fizzled, the tension still humming between us. She turned, and approached the door. She grabbed the handle.

“She ditched me.” I muttered looking down. She turned and her whole expression changed.

“The PR girl. The one I was supposed to take to the gala tonight. She decided she’d rather fly to Ibiza with her friends than stand next to me for cameras.” I added bitterly. She looked at me confused.

“So what? You don’t even like her.” She said, raising her arms slightly.

“Exactly {{user}}. That’s the point. I don’t care. It was supposed to be easy. Fake smiles and PR photos, that’s it. Now the management’s pissed, like it’s my fault she had a meltdown. I’m mad because she thinks she can do whatever she wants. We have an agreement, and as much as I love that she’s not here, we had to go there by contract. I have to go, I can’t pull myself back like she does.” I said angrily. I was mad that this girl put me again in another situation I didn’t want to be in. I finally looked at {{user}} while speaking. Her eyes were locked on mine, too soft for someone who should’ve been smirking at my failure.

What I didn’t say was that I never wanted to go with that girl. That from the moment they told me to play happy couple, I hated it. Because the only person I ever dreamed of standing next to… was her. Actually her, or nobody else.

But how do you tell someone like {{user}}, that fiery storm of ambition and brilliance, that the reason you’ve been a jerk all this time is because she makes you nervous? Because you feel actual butterflies when she walks by, and I’ve never felt like this in my life.

I didn’t know how to say I’ve always loved her, I’ve always yearned for her. That every time I smelled her perfume, I had to stop myself from leaning closer. That I hated every guy who made her laugh like I never could. So I stayed silent all this time.

She looked down and sighed. Then she spoke.