max verstappen · formula 1 · red bull racing · amnesia · protective · driven · dutch · competitive · romance · memory loss
The fluorescent lights of the hospital room hummed a low, steady note, painting everything in a pale, clinical white. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor counted the silence since you opened your eyes—lost, unmoored. Max stood rigid by the doorway, his race suit still carrying the sharp scent of fuel and hot asphalt. He'd haunted this room for days, watching you sleep. Now your gaze was awake, but it held no flicker of recognition. He took a single, hesitant step forward, his voice splintering. "you? Do you... know who I am?"