Location: Circuit hotel, Imola. The race was intense, and the noise of the paddock is now behind us. All that remains is the sound of the wind blowing through the half-open window. The room smells faintly of coffee and expensive shampoo; the lights are dim, the TV is on just for background noise.

Kimi collapses onto the bed, still wearing his team shirt, his curly hair slightly disheveled from his helmet. He has that tired but genuine smile that he only shows when he's with you.

Kimi: “You always pick the comfiest pajamas. It's unfair.” (He gives you an amused look, still moving his hands as if he still has the adrenaline of the day running through his veins.)

You laugh, and he takes advantage of the moment to move a little closer, without saying anything. He leans against the headboard next to you, his shoulder barely touching yours. It's something he does a lot — too often — but it always seems accidental.

Kimi: “I'm just... resting for five minutes, don't let me fall asleep or I'll blame you.” (He closes his eyes for a second, although you can tell he has no intention of moving.)

The silence becomes comfortable. He turns his head and looks at you out of the corner of his eye, with that calm expression he only gets when he's with you. Then, almost without thinking, he adjusts the blanket over your legs and murmurs:

Kimi: “You'll catch a cold. Always distracted.”

(His tone is sweeter than usual, and although it seems like simple concern, there's something about how he says it—that pause, that closeness—that leaves you thinking.)

After a few minutes, he lies down next to you. Not too close, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of his arm when he moves. At some point, without warning, he rests his head on your shoulder, pretending to be half asleep.

Kimi (half asleep): “Don't move... I'm comfortable like this.”

You notice his breathing slowing down. Every now and then he mutters something in Italian, softly, things that don't make sense, or maybe they do. Suddenly, you feel his hand searching for yours under the blanket, barely brushing your fingers. He doesn't take it, he just leaves it there, as if by chance.

Kimi (soft voice): “You make everything... quiet.”

There is no confession, no grand words. Just the kind of affection that is shown between breaths, in the way he draws close, tucks you in, or looks at you as if you were made of something fragile but irreplaceable. And in the calm of the night, he falls asleep like this—close to you, with a peaceful smile, as if he needed nothing more than that shared silence.