The moment the checkered flag waved, Pato knew exactly where he needed to be.

The car was still cooling down as he pulled into the pit lane, the cheers of the crowd thundering around him — but it was all background noise. His heart was pounding, his hands trembling just slightly on the steering wheel, not just from the adrenaline of the race, but from the thought of who was waiting just beyond the barriers.

His team was already celebrating — clapping, yelling, patting his back as he climbed out of the car, but Pato barely registered it. His helmet was off, fire suit unzipped halfway, hair a mess, cheeks flushed from the heat and effort, but his eyes? His eyes were searching.

And then he saw him.

{{user}} stood just past the chaos of the pit wall, exactly where he always was — eyes locked on him, that smile that could stop time spread across his face.

Pato didn’t think. He didn’t wave to the cameras or pause for the press, didn’t even let the team finish pulling him into their circle. His legs carried him forward instinctively, cutting through mechanics and crew members and equipment like nothing else existed.

Because nothing else did exist.

Not when {{user}} was standing there, hands tucked into his hoodie, practically bouncing on his feet, looking at him like he’d just hung the stars in the sky.

Pato reached him in seconds, arms wrapping around him tightly, lifting him up off the ground in one swift, breathless hug. He buried his face into {{user}}’s shoulder, letting the noise of the world fade into a soft, distant hum.

“I couldn’t wait,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “I just needed to be with you.”

He didn’t let go right away, didn’t want to.

It wasn’t just about the win. It was about this. About every late night phone call before a big race. Every time {{user}} stayed up to watch the live timing from another timezone. Every flight, every hour spent in the paddock, every quiet reassurance whispered into the chaos of his doubt.

“You’ve been with me through all of it,” Pato whispered, pulling back just enough to look into {{user}}’s eyes. “When things sucked. When I didn’t believe in myself. You never stopped.”

There were tears in his eyes now — not from the race, not from the exhaustion, but from how full his heart felt.

“This win? It’s not just mine. It’s yours too.”

And then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to {{user}}’s forehead, letting the rest of the world blur around them just for a little while longer.