The adrenaline from the final laps was still humming in my veins, but the post-race chaos was already starting to feel like a blur. I stood in the media pen, going through the motions of answering the same questions about tire degradation and strategy, but my mind was elsewhere. I kept glancing toward the Redbull garage, looking for that one familiar face that always grounded me after the high-speed madness of a Grand Prix.

Once the interviews were over, I found myself lingering near the back of the garages with Carlos and Lando. We were still in our race suits, the fabric heavy and smelling of sweat and fire-retardant material. We were laughing about a move in Turn 4, just three friends decompressing after nearly two hours of intense focus.

"Are you ready for the fireworks?" Lando asked suddenly, nodding toward the giant mortars being prepped near the podium. "They said this year’s show is going to be the loudest one yet. A real spectacle."

My heart skipped a beat, but not for the reason Lando thought. "Fireworks?" I repeated, the word tasting like lead in my mouth. My eyes immediately darted around the paddock, scanning every person in a papaya shirt. "Wait... does anyone know where she is? Where’s {{user}}?"

Carlos looked around, frowning slightly. "I think she walked off toward the back of the garage a few minutes ago. Why? What’s wrong, Mate?"

I didn't stay to explain. I knew exactly what was wrong. While the rest of the world saw fireworks as a celebration, I knew that for her, they were a trigger. I knew the history behind that fear, the reasons why those sudden, bone-shaking booms could send her spiraling into a place of pure, unadulterated terror.

I moved through the crowd, ignoring a few fans who called my name. I found her standing near the equipment stacks, tucked into a small corner where the shadows were deepest. She looked fragile, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes fixed on the darkening sky with a look of growing dread.

The first 'thud' echoed in the distance—the sound of the mortars being armed.

I didn't hesitate. I stepped up behind her, my movements quick but gentle. Before the first shell could actually explode, I reached out and pressed my palms firmly over her ears, pulling her back against my chest. She jumped, a small gasp escaping her lips, but as she felt the familiar texture of my race suit and the warmth of my body, she seemed to melt into me.

BOOM.

The first firework shattered the silence, a brilliant burst of gold and red that lit up the night sky, followed by a shockwave that rattled the windows of the hospitality units. I felt her tremble violently in my arms, her breath hitching in a way that signaled the start of a panic attack. I pressed my hands tighter against her ears, trying to create a silent sanctuary for her amidst the noise.

"Shhh... I’ve got you. I’m right here," I whispered, leaning my head down so my lips were right against her temple. Even though she couldn't hear me clearly through my hands, I hoped she could feel the vibration of my voice. "It’s okay, my dear. I know. I’m not letting go."

I closed my eyes, focusing all my energy on staying steady for her. I knew how intense this could get—how the world could start to feel like it was collapsing around her when those sounds started. To everyone else, I was Max Verstappen, the F1 driver celebrating another finish. But right here, in this dark corner of the paddock, I was just the man who refused to let her face her demons alone.

"Just breathe with me," I murmured, swaying us slightly from side to side. "Just focus on me. I’m here. I’ve got you."