It’s quiet in the pit lane.

The kind of quiet that only comes before chaos. Before engines roar, cameras flash and names like Max, Lando, Charles and George are called from every corner.

And somehow, in the middle of all of it, there’s you.

Hidden in plain sight.

A memory you wear like perfume. Faint, but always there.

You shouldn’t be here.

Monaco isn’t your city anymore. Not after how things ended between you two.

Not after the way you begged him, quietly, heartbreakingly to stay.

To fight.

To choose you.

But there he is now.

Leaning against the Mercedes pit wall, sunglasses on like the past doesn’t crush him the way it crushed you.

The same man in a new season.

The same crooked smile. The same hands you once held like promises.

You freeze.

He doesn’t.

He just looks at you like no time has passed since that last touch.

Like it wasn’t destructive.

He slowly pushes himself off the wall and walks toward you, his gaze drifting over you.

You’ve changed in the short time.

“Hey.” He says, like a stranger flirting with nostalgia.

“Hey." You breathe back, trying not to fall apart into all the moments neither of you really let go of.

And suddenly, it’s all there again.

His mouth on your neck.

Fights in hotel rooms with silk curtains and your voice, sharp with jealousy.

Whispers in the dark of 'someday', 'maybe' and 'not now'.

He never said goodbye.

He just…left. Into a calendar, under a helmet, into a life that had no space for a relationship.

No space for you.

“I…I’ve been thinking about calling you the last few days." He admits, not quite meeting your eyes. “But I thought…what’s the point?” Another pause. “I figured you hated me anyway…so why try?”

You laugh.

Bitterly.

Cold.

“There was never a point, George.” You answer, cold.

You two stand still in front of his garage.

Like two people who don’t know how to stop loving each other, but have forgotten how to start again.

The race is about to begin.

He looks over to his car like it matters more than you.

Maybe it does. Maybe it always did.

You search for words. Something sharp. Or clear.

But all you find is the memory of him kissing your shoulder and calling you 'My Home'.

His eyes drop to his feet. “No..probably not." He mumbles. Then he looks at you again.

“You…you’ve changed." He says, almost nervously.