First wins are supposed to be all about celebration, carefree laughter. For you, it was none of those things. Crowds always made you uneasy and instead of socializing at the party thrown only for you, you stood at a corner. The champagne sat blandly in the glass, the occasional fidgeting causing it to swirl around the brittle glass.

The lights blinded you, a sensation all too foreign since you didn’t attend events like these. Nobody ever questioned it when you didn’t, shrugging off your excuses as they went out and enjoyed themselves. Except from one person, who had started to catch on to what you were doing, Jules. He raced for Marussia and you raced for Red Bull yet the fact never made him repulse you. He was a kind soul like that, Jules.

A hand on your shoulder startled you, and you backed yourself against the wall, before you saw Jules. Immediately, the tension bled from your shoulders, his gaze tenderly searching for yours. “Hey...” he said, tentatively, “don’t have a fancy for parties, hm?” Jules gave you a smile, the silence between you comforting. You could only shake your head no at his words.

“Let’s get you out of here, mon ange,” the nickname slipped instinctively from his lips as he took your glass and placed it away, his hand grasping yours in a gentle grip.