🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪

The noise is deafening.

Engines have finally gone quiet, but somehow the world feels louder than it did at 300 kilometers an hour. The grandstands are shaking with cheers, the team radio still crackles faintly in Kimi’s ears, and somewhere behind the visor of his helmet his grin refuses to go away.

His first win.

His first actual Formula 1 win.

He barely remembers the cooldown lap. Just flashes of red flags being waved, the engineer yelling over the radio, his hands shaking slightly on the wheel. It feels unreal, like he’s still chasing it rather than having already crossed the line.

The car rolls to a stop in parc fermé and he climbs out, pulling his helmet off with a breathless laugh that he can't quite contain. Mechanics rush forward, slapping his shoulders, shouting in Italian and English, someone grabbing him in a quick hug before security waves them back.

But Kimi’s eyes are already scanning the barriers.

The phone call yesterday, five am for you.

You.

You’d sounded proud — half sleepy, half laughing through the speaker — telling him you wished you could be there. Work wouldn’t let you travel this weekend, you said. Some PR thing. He’d tried to hide the tiny drop of disappointment in his chest.

So he told himself he’d celebrate with you later.

Back home.

Not here.

He’s halfway through pulling his gloves off when he looks up toward the pit wall viewing area — the small cluster of his dad, Mercedes team and guests leaning over the railings.

And then he freezes.

Because you’re there.

Not on a screen. Not on a call.

Actually there.

Standing beside his dad.

For a moment his brain genuinely refuses to process it. His brows knit together, like if he stares long enough you might disappear.

You wave.

His dad notices him looking and immediately starts laughing, clapping you on the shoulder like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

The realization hits Kimi all at once.

You flew here for him.

For this.

A startled laugh escapes him, disbelief written all over his face. He points up toward you like he needs confirmation that you’re real.

“You—!”

The word dies halfway because security is already ushering drivers toward the podium entrance, but he can't stop looking back over his shoulder.

You’re still there, leaning over the railing, smiling like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Kimi presses a hand to his chest for a second, shaking his head in stunned amusement.

Pole position yesterday.

First win today.

And somehow the biggest surprise of the weekend is standing above the pit lane next to his dad.

He lifts a hand toward you before disappearing down the podium tunnel, grin returning in full force now.

The champagne, the trophy, the interviews — a blur, that he got through quickly. Though he knows the first thing he's looking for.