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The clock was just about to strike midnight, and the paddock had by that time settled into a breath taking stillness. The former buzz of generators, the incessant whine of various power tools, and the ecstatic reverberations of laughter that came from the raucous post-race celebrations had all gradually faded into a complete stillness.
However, there was still a light on in Kimi Antonelli's driver room, illuminating the room amid the unfolding darkness.
Kimi sat alone on the small sofa, scrolling absent-mindedly through telemetry he didn't need to see. The race had gone well. P5. Points. Praise. But he had not heard from Ollie.
Not really, anyway.
There had been an earlier moment of thumbs up, which had been brief. In the paddock, there had been a subdued "see you later" that had felt almost casual, with no sense of eye contact between them. He could sense the storm brewing underneath the surface of the air even before Ollie had walked in the door.
Kimi hardly even lifted his eyes as the door slowly inched open. He did not have to look up to determine who had come in. The soft click of Ollie's footsteps was one he had become all too familiar with; it was the distinctive scrape of his trainers on the floor that told him. Kimi knew full well when Ollie was struggling for control and holding himself together.
"You're still here," Ollie muttered under his breath, his voice rough and tense.
Kimi only nodded, smoothing the empty seat beside him.
But Ollie did not sit down. He remained in the centre of the room, his fists tightly closed in his hands, and his eyes glassy and unfocused.
"I can't do this," he blurted out. "I'm—God, I'm such a fucking disaster in that car. Each weekend there's something. A lock-up, a spin, a strategy screw-up, a media feeding frenzy—"
He started pacing.
"You're racking up points like it's your birth right. Mercedes loves you and what you can do. And me, I'm barely keeping my head above water in a Haas that fights me relentlessly around every corner of the track."
His voice broke at the end, and Kimi shifted. Not hurried, not shocked. Just peaceful. Like gravity pulling him towards the Brit.
He stepped with a purpose and stood right in front of Ollie, then lifted his hand high enough to reach up, curving the back of his neck tenderly with his fingers.
"You're not a disaster," Kimi said gently, his tone firm but kind. "What you're experiencing right now is just frustration and exhaustion. Those feelings don't add up to you being a failure by any means."
Ollie breathed out abruptly, letting a burst of air leave his lungs as he shut his eyes tight. He leaned into the touch, like it was giving him the strength he so desperately needed, practically cradling him in its grasp.
Kimi wrapped his arms around him in a soft warm embrace.
"I just hate how easy it seems for you sometimes," Ollie confessed, his voice a little obscured against his shoulder. "And I hate that I'm feeling that way about it. I want you to know that I'm very proud of you. I'm proud of everything that you're doing. But I still hate it."
"I know," said Kimi. No judgment. Just understanding. "I'd hate it too."
They stood there together in complete silence, a silence that engulfed them entirely. It was a silence that was not uncomfortable or stifling in any way, it was just… accepted and understood.
When Ollie finally stepped back, his eyes were puffy but clearer. And then his eyes fell upon a small photograph lying on the corner shelf.
He released a low, barely audible whisper that seemed to contain the vigour of a light hearted laugh.
"You kept that?"
Kimi swivelled his head in the direction that he had been staring and allowed a slight smile to creep over his lips. The photograph was quite old by now, it showed two young teenagers, champagne-soaked, beaming from ear to ear like fools as they toasted their first-ever joint podium finish in Formula 3.
"Yes, I did," Kimi answered positively.
"That night," Ollie whispered barely audibly. "I kissed you afterwards, didn't I?"
"You did indeed," Kimi replied, moving closer again, emphasising his words. "It happened outside of the paddock whilst we were waiting for our dads to finish talking to our teams. You were shivering, abit like you are now. You really thought that I was going to push you away huh?"
"Yeah," Ollie replied, his face reddening with embarrassment. "But you kissed me back."
"Of course," Kimi said, a cunning expression dancing at the corners of his mouth.
There was a brief moment of silence, a pause of unspoken emotion. Then Kimi slowly reached out, gently brushing a thumb across Ollie's cheek, which still held a touch of wetness from the tears that had spilled before.
Without saying a word, he came closer and tenderly placed a gentle kiss on Ollie's lips.
It was not the kiss of heat or passion. It was not rushed or hurried in any way. Instead, it was simply warm and gentle, the sort of kiss that says everything: I am here. I have always been here with you.
Ollie exhaled into it, his body sinking with it, melting just a little.
When they eventually chose to separate, he softly placed his forehead on Kimi's in a loving gesture of unity.
"Thank you, you always pull me back when I'm on the edge," he whispered gently.
"Always will," Kimi answered quietly.
Later, just when they were preparing to head out, Kimi had a change of heart about wearing his too-large Mercedes hoodie, which was gigantic on him.
He then playfully pulled it over Ollie's head, paying no attention to the taller boy's gentle protests that he muttered underneath his breath.
"It smells like you," Ollie confessed beneath his breath, drumming fingers against their shirt cuffs as they strolled aimlessly, shoulder-to-shoulder, across the broad paddock.
"I know you love it," Kimi said, tapping their pinkies together in a gentle gesture.
They did not need to walk hand in hand.
The weight of being seen, of being in-love boys in F1, would never go away.
But here, now, they were firm.
Steady.
Familiar.