Carlos Sainz.

The one guy that couldn’t get the hell out of your head, no matter how hard you tried. On track, both of you would constantly fight to the death. Off track, you’d either avoid each other completely, or end up in intense, heated arguments.

Your rival. The one you were battling against for the world champion title.

You couldn’t stand Carlos. Yet there was that underlying tension, between both of you that sometimes had you questioning your hatred towards him.

It was late. Pouring rain.

A sudden knock on your door causes you to sit up. Who could be here, at this hour?

As you head over to the door and pull it open, you’re met with the sight of your rival, soaking wet, and panting.

He was looking over his shoulder, slightly impatient and antsy, as though he was expecting someone to pop right around the corner and jump him, considering he was currently being chased by aggressive paparazzis.

His brown eyes finally meet yours, gaze dark and almost distracted. “Sorry-“ he breathes. “I didn’t really know where else to go.”