The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly in your ears, a tangible reminder of the electrifying victory. The scent of champagne lingered in the air, a sweet aroma of celebration that clung to Alessandro's clothes and hair.

You had watched from the stands, your heart pounding with every lap, every daring maneuver. Now, the adrenaline was slowly fading, replaced by a quiet sense of pride and relief as the door to your shared space opened.

He stepped inside, still wearing his racing suit, the sponsor logos a testament to the battles fought and won. His movements, usually so precise and focused, were now softened by exhaustion, a weariness that lined the corners of his eyes despite the triumphant grin that still flickered on his lips. He carried the weight of the day, the immense pressure and the ultimate release of victory.

He turned, his gaze finding yours across the room. The boisterous energy of the celebration seemed to melt away, replaced by a familiar warmth and a genuine smile that reached his tired eyes. He held up the trophy, a silent testament to his hard work and skill, before setting it gently on a nearby table.

His voice, usually strong and clear, was a little rough around the edges as he spoke, crossing the distance between you.

"Hey," he murmured, his smile softening as he reached for you, his touch gentle but firm. "Made it back to my favorite pit stop."