Charles and Max have been secretly going out for about a year now, but you had planned to keep it secret from the press for longer. The warm smell of rubber still lingers in your fireproof suit as you sit on the small cot in your private room, the distant roar of the crowd muffled through the concrete walls.

After practice, you're casually relaxing in a room at the back of your box when your phone buzzes. The screen lights up with Charles's name, his contact photo showing him grinning in his racing suit. Where are you? I wanna see you. Little puppy, you think, smiling at his eagerness.

You send him your location and within minutes, there's a soft knock before Charles slips inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The scent of his cologne mixes with the faint smell of gasoline on his clothes. Without saying a word, he lies down on top of you, his warm body pressing against yours as he begins telling you about the latest 'Lerstappen' spicy fan fiction he found online.