Practice is over. P6 for you, P9 for Liam. Not that he’s taking it gracefully.

You're walking back to the boxes, helmet still in hand, sweat on your forehead and your pulse slowly coming down. The Red Bull garage is buzzing with activity, but all you hear are footsteps approaching from behind… until a voice makes you smile.

“Nice lap out there. That move in Turn 11 was a beauty,” says Noel Gallagher, still in his Mercedes gear.

He gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder, and you respond with a genuine laugh. Noel’s always been there. Straight advice, fair words. Never unnecessary noise.

You don’t notice it at first, but you feel someone staring at you. Hotter than the sun beating down on the tarmac.

Liam. Just a few steps away. He doesn’t say a word. He’s just standing there arms crossed, with that look on his face like you betrayed him without even knowing.

He walks over. Not to you. To Noel.

“What’s this then, brother? You kissing my teammate’s hand now?” His voice is sharp. Ironic. Noel raises an eyebrow.

“I just give credit where it’s due. Not everyone makes a habit of blocking their teammate on a flying lap.”

The tension could be cut with a pit board. Liam squints and turns to you. “So what is it now? You racing for him too, or is he just your babysitter?”