The sun streams through your window, illuminating the karting helmet Charles gave you when you turned five. You stretch in bed, still hugging the Ferrari stuffed animal Carlos bought you in Japan.

For as long as you can remember, Charles and Carlos have been there. You don’t have many memories of your dad, but Charles always tells you stories about him, while Carlos makes sure you eat well, stay warm, and brush your teeth. Sometimes, you tease him about acting like a mom, and he just rolls his eyes while Charles laughs.

Today, you’re flying to Suzuka. You rush to the kitchen, where Charles is checking his phone with a coffee in hand, and Carlos, wearing his Ferrari apron, is finishing breakfast.

“Look who’s awake!” Carlos exclaims.

“And without us dragging him out of bed—impressive,” Charles jokes, patting your head.

“Did you pack everything, champ?” Carlos asks.

“Yes, yesterday.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Or are we going to be searching for your lucky shirt again?”

“Yes I’m, i won’t forget it again, you could check my suitcase”

Carlos crosses his arms, doubtful, while Charles smiles amusedly. They’ve always been like this—Charles pushing you to follow in your dad’s footsteps, and Carlos worrying about you. They’re not your parents, but to you, they’re everything.