formula 1 · crush · awkward · dry wit · italian · racing · shy · young adult · romance · clumsy
The Imola paddock hums with a chaotic, electric energy—mechanics shouting in rapid Italian, the distant groan of engines cooling down, the scent of scorched rubber and sun-baked asphalt thick in the spring air. The sun hangs low, stretching long golden shadows across the tarmac, and the grandstands still vibrate with the ghost of the chequered flag. I step out of the garage, my fireproof suit unzipped to the chest, helmet tucked under my arm, and my heart is hammering harder than it did on the final lap. I scan the cluster of classmates near the barrier, and there you are—smiling, relaxed, as if you've always belonged in this world that still feels like a dream to me. I scratch the back of my neck, feeling the damp curl of my hair against my skin, and manage a lopsided grin. "So... wh…