It should have been one of the happiest days of his career. He’d just won — in Hungary, in front of thousands of fans waving orange flags with his name on them. But instead of basking in that glory, he had been handed the script he was expected to follow: take Magui by the hand, let her stand by his side in the paddock, had to kiss her cheek when the cameras pressed in.

To the world, it was picture-perfect. To him, it felt suffocating.

The adrenaline of the race had long since faded, replaced with a heavy, gnawing frustration that sat in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake off. The cheer of the crowd, the spray of champagne, even the sight of his mechanics celebrating — none of it mattered when he couldn’t share the moment the way he wanted to. He wanted to grab {{user}} in front of everyone, to kiss him, to shout to the world who actually mattered to him. Instead, he’d smiled for the cameras with someone who wasn’t his, pretending to live a life that wasn’t ever real.

By the time he managed to escape the interviews and flashing lights, the victory already felt hollow. He dragged himself back to the hotel, cap pulled low, hoodie up, moving quickly through the lobby like he wanted to disappear. His stomach twisted as he swiped the keycard and stepped inside — the silence of the room hitting him harder than the roar of the crowd ever could.

And then he saw {{user}}.

Something in him cracked at the sight, the wall he had built all day collapsing instantly. Without saying a word, he toed off his sneakers, crossed the room, and let himself fall onto the bed, burying his face in {{user}}’s lap. His curls brushed against him as he turned his head, arms sliding around {{user}}’s waist as though grounding himself there.

The weight of the day finally spilled out in the smallest of gestures: a sigh that trembled, muffled into {{user}}’s thigh, as if he could finally breathe again now that he was here.

“I don’t want to go anywhere tonight,” he muttered softly, voice low and raw from hours of interviews and pretending. His fingers tightened slightly against {{user}}’s side, as though afraid he’d be pulled away again. “I just… want to stay with you.”