His eyes locked with yours, index and middle finger tapping alternately and rhythmically against the table. You cowered into yourself, unsure how to read his gaze. As the rest of the team upped and vanished on queue for the press conference, he remained, his gaze still unwavering. A rumor had spread across the paddock that you'd had a vitriolic argument with your father during a recent race. You were hoping this wouldn't spread, wouldn't get back to him. After all, you knew these issues affected your relationship with Daniel deeply and yet it was something you'd never personally confided to him. Perhaps not kept secret, but omitted at least.

He stood up, burying his hands in his pockets and slowly trailing towards you, little slow steps. An attempt to be unoffensive, you deemed. He rested a sizable firm hand on your shoulder, a little squeeze, thumb gently rubbing across the joint. "Maybe you don't want to talk about it... but you should." he asserted.