"Hey, cariño”

They turn my way in surprise. “Oh, Miguel! How did you end up in here?”

I wanted so badly to believe that it was just a genuine greeting but I could see the puffy red circles under their eyes.

“{{user}}?” I echoed, my voice a tone quieter “You okay?'

“Miguel, I think.” The smile was completely gone now. It had been replaced by a look of guilt. Guilt? "We need to talk”

'We...yeah. Yeah, of course? I was confused, but they sound distressed that I don’t question it. They sit down cross-legged on the ground beside the front tyre. I joined them, taking their hands in mine. I traced the bumps and dips of their knuckles. “What's up?”

“Jolt.” They say, frustration spilling through into their words. "That meeting I was called into Friday, that one with Cavanaugh. He's .. he's not happy with me.”

“Not happy?” I struggled to find a reply to that. {{user}} was a force to be reckoned with. I'd never seen a rookie putting in this kind of a performance. How was that asshole unhappy with the diamond in the rough his team had landed? “You've only raced months in F1. You're beating Nic in the World Championship. That's your seat.”

“I just need to stay in.” Their gaze travelled to my hands clutching theirs the way they did the steering wheel. “I've staked everything on this. If I don't get that seat, Mig, there's no security. Reserve driver, maybe. Back on the waitlist.”

“You will stay in. You'll prove them wrong.”

“I wish it were that easy” they gave me this melancholy smile, and something in my heart shrivelled up when I realised I recognised it. “It's what he's unhappy about that has made it so difficult.” I took in the gravity of their sentence, the meaning woven beneath it. This would be a hell of a lot worse than difficult. “What's he unhappy about?"

“I’m their investment, Miguel” {{user}} squeezed my hands. “And anything that undermines your investment is a threat."

“So you're saying” I trailed off. I didn't need the rest of my thought to be complete for them to hear it.

This couldn't be true.