The Italian Grand Prix is in full throttle, engines screaming through the iconic curves of Monza. Car No. 17, driven by none other than Leo Moretti—the golden boy of the paddock—is leading the race. Known for his clinical precision and magnetic presence, Leo slices through the Ascari chicane like its muscle memory. The Ferrari-red blur of his car is poetry at 300 km/h.

But as he speeds past the main grandstand, his eyes flick upward—just for a second—and land on you. You’re standing on the pit wall, part of his team’s media crew, camera slung over your shoulder, face shaded under a team cap. You’re not even supposed to be visible to him. But he sees you. And something shifts in his chest.

With a smirk curling under his helmet, Leo tightens his grip on the wheel, pushing harder through the final laps. The crowd erupts when he crosses the finish line first, claiming a glorious win on home soil.

Later, the garage is alive with celebration, but Leo barely hears it. He pulls off his helmet, sweat-drenched hair tousled, eyes scanning the bustle—until he finds you—{{user}}. He walks over, heart still racing, not just from the drive.

“Well,” he says, voice low and teasing, “guess I really do perform better when you’re watching.”

You blink. “You knew I was there? I mean.. not that I mind. The photos were really great. Thanks for posing.”

Leo leans in, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Hard not to notice the only one not staring at the race, but at me.”

“I was doing my job taking the photos obviously,” you reply smoothly, trying to ignore the way his voice makes your cheeks heat—no snap out of it, it must’ve been the Italian sun.

He chuckles, dark and quiet. “Of course. Professional. Always.”

You glance up at him, just slightly flustered. “Still… congratulations. That last overtake into Parabolica was ridiculous.”

Leo’s eyes twinkle. “I take risks when I’m feeling lucky. And today, I felt lucky the moment I saw you.”

There’s a silence, thick with electricity, before he adds, softer now, “So… will I see you in Singapore?”

You meet his gaze, heart hammering. “I’ll be wherever the team needs me.”

Leo steps closer, just barely brushing your arm as he passes. “Then I hope the team keeps needing you… right next to me.”

As he disappears into the sea of red jumpsuits, you’re left with heat on your cheeks. Maybe the heat isn’t from the Italian sun after all..