Chapter Text
The paddock always sounded like movement.
Even when nothing was happening, it hummed. Radios crackled somewhere out of sight, mechanics shouted over the whine of power tools, camera shutters snapped in rapid bursts like tiny explosions. The air carried the scent of fuel, hot rubber, coffee, and something metallic that clung to the back of the throat.
George liked it because it left no room for stillness.
Stillness made thinking dangerous.
He adjusted the strap of his watch and kept his smile steady as another photographer angled for a better shot. The flashes didn’t bother him anymore. Cameras were easy. Cameras had rules.
Look confident. Look relaxed. Don’t look too long at anything that mattered.
Across the lane, Max leaned against the side of his garage, laughing with one of the engineers. He looked effortless in a way George envied. Loose shoulders, easy grin, completely at home in the chaos.
George felt the pull instantly, a quiet shift inside his chest that always happened before he could stop it.
Max glanced up.
Their eyes met for barely a second.
Nothing changed on Max’s face, but George felt the moment land between them anyway, familiar and dangerous.
He looked away first.
Always first.
“George, media in five,” someone called.
He nodded, slipping back into the role expected of him. Calm. Professional. Controlled.
The world loved that version of him.
The world didn’t know the rest.
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Practice had gone well. The car felt balanced, predictable. The championship was still early, but already the conversations had started. Analysts talking about points, momentum, rivalries.
George tried not to think about how often his name and Max’s appeared in the same sentence now.
He heard footsteps approach before the voice came.
“Good lap.”
Max stopped beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.
George kept his eyes forward. “Could’ve found a little more time in sector two.”
“You always say that.”
There was a smile in Max’s voice. George felt it without looking.
They stood together like strangers who just happened to share space, the careful choreography they’d perfected over months.
Anyone watching would see nothing.
That was the point.
“You okay?” Max asked quietly.
George hesitated. The question felt too soft for the noise around them.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just tired.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Tired of pretending felt close enough to truth.
Max didn’t push. He rarely did when they were surrounded by people.
That was another rule.
Someone passed behind them and George instinctively shifted half a step away, creating space that didn’t need to exist.
Max noticed. He always noticed.
The moment slipped away.
“I’ll see you later,” Max said, voice neutral again.
George nodded. “Yeah.”
Later.
Later was safer.
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The interview room was colder than the paddock, lights bright enough to make his eyes ache. George sat under them anyway, posture perfect, smile polite.
Questions blurred together.
Car setup. Tire strategy. Expectations for the weekend.
Then the inevitable one.
“You and Max seem to be the ones to beat this season. Thoughts?”
George smiled easily.
“He’s driving really well. It’ll be a strong fight.”
Professional. Respectful. Nothing personal.
Exactly what people wanted to hear.
Inside, his heart beat too fast.
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Evening settled slowly over the paddock. The energy softened, teams winding down, laughter replacing tension. The sky turned a deep blue, lights flickering on one by one.
George walked alone toward the motorhomes, enjoying the quiet for once.
He almost didn’t notice Max waiting until he stepped into the shadow beside him.
“You disappeared,” Max said.
“I had media.”
Max hummed like he didn’t quite believe that was the only reason.
They stood close, hidden by the angle of the building. The world felt smaller here, quieter.
Max reached out, fingers brushing lightly against George’s wrist.
The touch was brief but grounding, a small reminder that this was real.
George exhaled slowly.
“You were good today,” Max said.
“So were you.”
For a moment it felt easy. Just them, no cameras, no expectations.
George wanted to lean closer. Wanted to close the tiny distance between them.
Footsteps echoed somewhere nearby.
Instantly he stepped back.
The movement was automatic, almost violent in how quickly it happened.
No one appeared. The footsteps faded away.
But Max’s expression changed anyway.
“You don’t have to do that every time,” he said quietly.
George looked down at the ground. “You know why.”
Max sighed softly. Not angry. Just tired.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I know.”
Silence settled between them, heavier than before.
The championship had only just begun, but George felt the pressure already. Not from racing. From everything else. From the balancing act that never stopped.
He didn’t know how to explain that sometimes it felt like one wrong step would ruin everything.
So he said nothing.
Max watched him for a long moment, like he wanted to say more, then finally stepped back.
“Get some rest,” he said.
“You too.”
Max walked away first.
George stayed where he was, staring at the empty space he’d left behind.
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The hotel room felt too quiet.
George tossed his keys onto the desk and sat on the edge of the bed, exhaustion finally settling into his bones.
His phone buzzed.
Max: You okay?
The simplicity of it made his chest ache.
He typed a reply.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
George: Yeah. Just tired.
Three dots appeared instantly.
He waited.
And waited.
The dots disappeared.
No new message came.
George stared at the screen longer than he meant to before setting the phone down.
Outside the window, city lights blurred against the dark sky, distant and unreachable.
He told himself everything was fine.
They were fine.
The season was long. There would be time later.
But something felt fragile tonight, like a thread pulled just a little too tight.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the air conditioning.
Tomorrow would be another race day.
Another chance to keep everything under control.
Another chance to pretend that hiding didn’t hurt.