The water glittered under the late-morning sun, the whole harbor alive with light and sound—rigging clinking against masts, gulls wheeling above, the occasional thrum of a tender cutting across the bay. Their boat rocked gently in its berth, modest compared to the towering superyachts lined up along the docks, but Trent liked it that way. It felt close to the action without being swallowed by all the excess. Beyond the marina, Monaco rose in layers of pale stone and glass, terraces stacked high against the cliffs, the circuit itself just out of view.

“Can’t believe we’ve actually pulled this off," Trent said, half to himself. He still wasn’t sure what had convinced him to book the tickets—maybe it had been the look on {{user}}’s face when they’d casually mentioned always wanting to see the Monaco Grand Prix. That had sealed it. He’d found himself pressing confirm on flights before he’d even thought about the logistics.

The thought made his chest feel tight, in a good way. They’d been together long enough now that surprises had grown rarer—comfortable routines settling in at home, small familiar gestures grounding them.

Trent leaned back on the cushioned bench, stretching an arm across the rail, his other hand gesturing toward the shoreline as if to frame it all. “So, here’s how today works,” he began, his tone a mix of tour guide and co-conspirator. “Last practice is bang on twelve-thirty, then quali’s in the afternoon. Tomorrow morning’ll be dead quiet—well, as quiet as Monaco ever gets on race weekend—so we’ve got a bit of time to just chill, maybe get some scran near the paddock before the proper race kicks off.”

He grinned, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “Swear down, it’s mad we’re even here. Saturday’s when it gets tasty—drivers flat out, teams showing what they’ve really got. That’s when it feels proper.”

He looked over at {{user}}, sunlight flashing off the water behind them, wind lifting strands of their hair. They were stretched out with an easy calm, one hand trailing along the side rail, completely at home in the moment.

Trent’s smile softened. “Later’s going to be insane,” he said, picturing the scream of engines ricocheting through the tight streets, the impossible speed threading past cafes and apartment balconies, the crowd rising and falling in one voice.