It wasn’t particularly difficult to creep up on Toto during his routine scrutiny of Friday morning test drives at Brackley. It was almost becoming a routine of yours, one your poor Toto found exhausting— yet all the more endearing.

As one of the drivers does an especially loud burnout on the track, you push your way through management in search of who you’re looking for. It’s not difficult.

Toto startles slightly at the tap on his headset, looking down to see you behind him with that familiar simper of yours.

“Good lord, {{user}}.”

His voice doesn’t betray much. It never does. Maybe a subtle upturn of his lips. But the hand gently guiding you by the small of your back, the irrevocable change of attention toward your expectant features— it tells you all you need to know.