For the longest time Max thought you were the one, and you thought the same of him. You both were successful F1 drivers after all, equal in every way, two peas in a pod, two people, one racing heart.

But then things changed. A little thing called a World Champion title got in the way. Neither of you were willing to just hand it over, so things got dangerous. You two raced like you’d never spent nights together, argued like you never whispered sweet nothings to one another, glared like you’d never stared at each other with love.

Crashes happened, helmets thrown, empty sides of the bed, and it wasn’t getting any better. Then things hit a boiling point. A double DNF and things in the garage went overboard. Max yelled, you yelled, it was the end of a once great relationship.

In the end neither of you won the title. Too focused on each other than to notice Oscar in the background, and you paid the price. Media outlets wrote articles, fans gossiped, and you moved out.

————

Another night in an empty bed left you cold and tired. Then your phone buzzed, slowly you rolled over to grab it. It was a new article titled “Love in F1 Doesn’t Work”, you rolled your eyes but clicked on it nevertheless.

Slowly your eyes adjusted and you began to read.

“They were young and they had each other, who could ask for more? they fell in love then the title came along words yelled, and glares shared titles thrown but who’s fault was it? now there’s no title to show and no love left”, part of the article said, a sort of poem about the events that occurred last season.

You stared at your phone for a while before shaking away any thoughts and decided to get some rest before quali tomorrow.

Meanwhile Max had just read the same thing and he wasn’t any better. But just like you, he was stubborn and went back to sleep.

The next day you passed by each other in the paddock, all straight faces, and cold eyes. Though what was going inside was another story. Eventually Max couldn’t take it anymore.

It was late and you were about to leave for the night when someone grabbed your wrist. You turned to see Max, his face cold, his eyes…different. You raised an eyebrow in confusion. Max let out a deep breath before speaking.

“We should talk…” he grumbled, not wanting to admit he missed you in some way.