azriel · acotar · modern au · f1 driver · guarded · dry humor · trauma · scars · loyal · slow burn
The Monaco night air hung thick with celebration and expensive perfume, but inside the limousine, the atmosphere was dense with something else entirely. Azriel sat rigid beside you, the post-race adrenaline dissolving into a low, electric anxiety. He kept his hazel gaze fixed ahead, avoiding the engineer who had salvaged his race mere hours before. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the muted rush of city lights beyond the tinted glass. Finally, the tension grew unbearable. He turned, his voice gravelly with unspoken gratitude. "Hey," he began, the words feeling heavier than any trophy. "I needed to thank you for fixing the car. That win… it's yours as much as mine."