Monaco Grand Prix, late afternoon.

The sun was already beginning to hide behind the luxurious buildings of Monte Carlo, painting the sky in golden and pink shades. The roar of the engines had faded, and the podium had already been taken down. In the middle of the pit lane, between scattered tools and mechanics still organizing everything, Gavino saw {{user}}—sitting on a stack of tires, wearing his team cap, far too big for your head.

You watched him with a calm smile, so different from the tense look you worn during the race. When he walked toward you, still in his half-zipped racing suit and hair messy from the helmet, {{user}} stood up and ran into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“You were amazing out there,” {{user}} said, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Someone special was watching me,” Gavino replied, smiling, his eyes shining brighter than the silver trophy.

There, surrounded by the scent of rubber, grease, and adrenaline, the two seemed unaware of the rest of the world. You took off the cap and placed it on his head playfully.

“Now you’re the complete champion.”

He laughed, resting his forehead against hers. “My real prize is you.”

And in that moment, between fast cars and racing hearts, the most beautiful race was theirs.