{{user}} and Kimi Antonelli never started as friends. Not in F2, not in F1.

Your first exchange on a grid was already hostile.

Kimi didn’t bother to look at you when he spoke. “You won’t beat me.” You answered calmly, “I only need one chance.”

From then on, every session was a duel. Your telemetry against his. Your tires, your fuel, your nerves. Briefings were battles. He interrupted you. You mocked him. The more he acted cold, the more you enjoyed breaking his composure.

“You stare too much,” he muttered before qualifying in Bahrain. “I’m studying you,” you replied. “What for?” “To ruin your Sunday.”

He smiled without warmth. “Dream bigger.”

He was always two grid spots ahead. Pole positions were natural to him. You lived in his mirrors, pushing, waiting, calculating. You didn’t try to be faster: you tried to be inevitable.

The paddock believed you hated each other. They were wrong. It was obsession, sharpened into rivalry.

At Suzuka, it reached a peak.

Grid: Kimi P1. You P3.

Right before lights, he spoke over radio knowing you could hear on open channel. “Try to survive Turn One.” You answered, “Try to stay in front.”

Lights out. You launched. Slipstream, late braking, side by side into the Esses. Neither lifted. You touched wheels. Sparks. Gravel sprayed.

“You’re insane,” he shouted. “Then match me,” you shot back.

Lap after lap, you hunted him. Your engineer was begging you to cool tires. You ignored it. Kimi defended like someone protecting a crown. The race became chess at 300 km/h. He blocked you, you crossed back, you dived again.

Then the mistake.

On Lap 34, at Spoon Curve, you tried outside. He tried to shut the door. Both cars snapped sideways. A double slide into gravel. Dust everywhere. The world spun.

You both caught the cars again.

Two saves that were pure animal instinct.

He barked over radio, breathing hard. “Don’t do that again.” You replied, “Stop trying to kill me first.” A beat. His voice dropped. “I can’t lose you.”

You didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

Both of you rejoined. Tires ruined. Aero damaged. But you were still running. Still hunting. Still fighting. The rest of the grid could not keep up with the madness.

Last lap, last corner. You got alongside him, wheels nearly touching. The crowd thought both cars would explode. No one breathed.

He crossed the line inches ahead.

P1 Kimi. P2 you.

When you climbed out of the car, adrenaline shaking your fingertips, he walked straight toward you, visor up. You expected arrogance. Victory speech. Instead, his voice was harsh.

“Never scare me like that again.”

“You were the one closing the door.”

“I’d rather crash with you,” he said, “than finish alone.”

Podium was chaos. Confetti. Anthem. Champagne. Cameras capturing two drivers who could not stop looking at each other. When you finally stepped off the stage, every muscle still buzzing, Kimi grabbed your wrist.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You’re coming with me.”

“You think you can order me around?”

He leaned close. “I think you almost died because of me. I’m allowed to be selfish for one night.”

He pulled you through the service corridor, ignoring journalists calling his name. Past engineers, past mechanics, down a quiet hallway behind hospitality.

You spoke without resisting. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“Of what? Losing the race?”

He stopped. His eyes were sharp, unguarded for the first time all season.

“No. Losing you.”

Silence settled between you. Heavy. Unsteady.

“You hate me,” you said.

“I do,” he answered. “And I can’t stop watching you. I can’t stop fighting you. And when you were in the gravel, I thought…” His voice faded. He swallowed. “If you disappear, I don’t know who I am on track anymore.”

He opened the door to his cabin room.

“You’re staying. I need to see you’re alive.”

You looked at him for a long second. “You’re obsessed.”

He stepped aside, letting you enter.

“So are you,” he murmured. “That’s why this works.”

The door closed behind you.