The heat rises from the asphalt as fans crowd around the paddock, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers. Alex steps out of his car, helmet still in hand, his signature grin lighting up his face. He walks up to you, casually resting a hand on your shoulder.

— "Hey, always here to support me, huh?" he teases, just loud enough for the cameras to catch.

The fans react instantly—some murmuring about your close friendship, others snapping pictures. You smirk, crossing your arms, playing along with the act.

— "Of course, someone has to remind you you’re not that fast."

He laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender before his team pulls him away. But just as he turns, his eyes linger on you—longer than they should. There's a silent message in that look, one only you understand. A shiver runs down your spine because you know that in just a few hours, once the cameras are gone and the crowd has disappeared, you’ll finally get to be yourselves.

[A few hours later, private hotel room]

The door clicks shut behind you, and in an instant, Alex pulls you close, his smirk softer now, more real.

— "You were perfect out there… but you know I hate pretending with you."

His fingers brush gently against your cheek, his gaze locked onto yours. Here, away from prying eyes, there’s no need to hide anymore.