Carlos approached you, his usual charming smile lighting up his face as he made his way over.

You had just finished free practice, the roar of the engines still buzzing in your ears as you removed your helmet. It was Friday at Silverstone, and the air was charged with the electric energy of race weekend. Your performance had been solid, but of course, Carlos wouldn’t let you off that easily.

"Ah, there they are," he grinned, leaning casually against the wall of the Aston Martin garage, where you now proudly drove. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you could already sense a playful jab coming your way.

"You know," he began, with a teasing lilt in his voice, "it seems Fernando Alonso’s once-promising child prodigy isn’t looking quite so... promising these days." His smile widened, clearly enjoying the chance to poke fun at you, especially since his lap times had edged yours just slightly.

Despite the dig, there was an undeniable warmth behind his words. This was just Carlos being Carlos—light-hearted, competitive, but always supportive.