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Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

Morning sunlight bled slowly into the apartment, soft and pale, catching dust motes in the air as the city stirred far below. A quiet hum of engines, distant traffic, and life rising for the day pressed faintly against the windows, but inside, everything stayed still.

Sophia Laforteza liked it that way. The world demanded enough noise from her already.

She sat at the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, head bowed and damp hair dripping from her shower. Her chest rose and fell in the kind of breath that wasn’t quite calm but wasn’t worried either—something in between, something that came from years of balancing pressure with discipline. Being the only woman in Formula 1 meant never truly having a quiet mind. Even in the silence of her apartment, there was always the faint, constant hum under her ribs: you can’t slip, you can’t falter, you can’t give them a reason to doubt you.

The clock on her nightstand blinked 6:12 a.m.

Race day.

 

She rubbed a towel through her hair, then tossed it aside and stood. A streak of sunlight cut across the floorboards as she walked to the kitchen, bare feet barely making a sound. She opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, then leaned against the counter and took a long drink. Her reflection in the stainless-steel oven showed sharp cheekbones, focused eyes, lips pressed together in a line that always seemed a little too serious for her age.

People called her cold.

People whispered that she didn’t talk much because she thought she was better than everyone else.

People said she was harsh with the other drivers.

And she was—all of those things, in some way. But not because she wanted to be. Because she had to be.
She had been five-time world champion before turning twenty-five. Mercedes’ golden weapon. Their prodigy. Their phenomenon. And now, with Lewis Hamilton officially retired, she had become the face of a legacy that millions scrutinized.

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the calm she forced into existence each morning.

Today mattered.

 

A lot.

 

Mercedes needed a win to close the gap in the standings. She needed a win to silence the “lucky season” critics, the pundits who claimed that she thrived only because she had inherited Hamilton’s seat. They didn’t know her. They didn’t know the years of training, the endless discipline, the bruised hands, the early mornings where she practiced maneuvers long before any other driver arrived to the track.

She wasn’t here because she was lucky.

She was here because she refused to be anything less than exceptional.

Sophia set the bottle down and exhaled slowly before heading to her bedroom to grab her gear bag. As she zipped her racing suit into the bag, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the notification.
Team Principal — Toto: Car checks done. Weather looks stable. We’re ready for you.
Sophia typed back quickly: On my way.

Then she slung the bag over her shoulder, grabbed her keys, and left the apartment.

The drive to the circuit took twenty minutes. Her Mercedes road car purred underneath her, a familiar comfort, though nothing close to the beast waiting for her at the track. As she pulled through the paddock gate, workers, journalists, and fans crowded nearby, phones already pointed toward her tinted windows.
She parked behind the garages and stepped out into the crisp morning air. The sun was already warming the pavement. The scents of rubber, gasoline, and adrenaline filled the air in a way she had grown to love.

Reporters swarmed instantly.

“Sophia! Quick question—do you think you can beat Red Bull today?”

“Laforteza! Your thoughts on Ferrari’s upgrades?”

“Sophia—any pressure filling Hamilton’s shoes this season?”

That last one always irritated her. As if she hadn’t been winning championships before sitting in Hamilton’s seat. As if she hadn’t already proven herself.

Her jaw tightened. “No interviews right now,” she said, voice clipped. Her PR manager intercepted, pushing the reporters back. “She’ll talk after qualifying,” he called out, though qualifying had been yesterday. Anything to keep the storm away.

Sophia kept walking until the garage swallowed her in its mechanical warmth—tools clanking, engines roaring in the distance, her mechanics glancing up and greeting her with nods. Her race engineer stood waiting with a tablet in hand.

“You’re early,” Jon remarked.

“I always am,” she replied.

He cracked a smile. “Good. Track temps are rising faster than predicted, so we may need to adjust tire strategy.”

She listened as he explained the expected race dynamics. Her attention was sharp, focused. This was where her mind felt the most alive—between data, strategy, instinct, resolve.

As she climbed into her pre-race routine—briefing, hydration, stretching—time blurred until her heart steadied into that familiar weight before the storm.

The race was drawing closer.

When Sophia finally walked toward her car on the starting grid, the world transformed.

The crowd roared. Flags waved. The sun glared intensely across the asphalt, turning the air wavy with heat shimmer. Camera drones buzzed overhead. Mechanics swarmed around her Mercedes like a perfectly synchronized machine.

This—this was the heartbeat of her world.

She tightened the straps of her gloves and inhaled deeply.

It was now only Sophia and her mind.

The noise faded into the background, replaced by focused silence. She touched the car as she circled it, fingertips grazing the sleek black and silver frame. She had trained her whole life for moments like this—moments where the world watched her and she watched only the track ahead.

Five-time world champion.

The only woman to ever compete in Formula 1.

A legend in the making.

Her helmet slid on with a soft click. The visor lowered. The lights above the grid glowed red.

She stepped into her car, lowered herself into the cockpit, felt the frame embrace her like a metal exoskeleton.

The Mercedes machine monster.

Built for her.

The engines of twenty cars screamed in unison as the final mechanics cleared the track. Heat pressed against her, sweat gathering at her temples.

 

One red light.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

Four.

 

Five.

 

Her heartbeat synced with the rising glow—
Lights out. And away they go.

She launched forward instantly. The first corner became a battle for dominance, and she held her ground with clinical precision, slipping into P3 and hunting the leaders. Her breathing steadied, controlled, synced in rhythm with every turn.

Lap after lap, she closed the gap. Ferrari led Red Bull, but she was faster through the straights, sharper through the apexes. Engineers buzzed in her ear, but she barely heard anything except her own instinct.

By lap 38, she overtook Red Bull with a bold move around the outside, barely inches between their tires. The crowd erupted. She didn’t need to see them to feel it.

P2.

Her eyes locked onto the Ferrari ahead.

Ten laps left.

“Laforteza, pace looks strong. You can go for it if the opportunity comes,” her engineer said.

She didn’t answer. She never answered. She simply pushed.

Five laps left—she was within half a second.

 

Three laps—she tried for a move at turn nine, but the Ferrari defended hard. Their wheels nearly touched. Sophia backed off a fraction.

Final lap.

She made one last attempt, cutting the gap to mere tenths, but the Ferrari held the inside line. She crossed the finish line P2, only 0.341 seconds behind.
Agonizingly close.

The roar of the crowd echoed like thunder.

Her chest heaved inside her suit as she slowed the car, adrenaline burning hot, shoulder starting to tire. She wasn’t angry—not exactly. Just hungry. Hungry for the win she almost claimed.

Almost.

As she stepped out of the car, the heat from the engine hit her face. Cameras flashed instantly. Reporters shouted her name. Her team rushed her, clapping her on the back, congratulating her.

P2 felt like victory to some people.

To her? It felt like a promise that she wasn’t done yet.

Her rival from Red Bull approached, offering a stiff handshake. “Almost had him,” he muttered.

Sophia’s reply was dry. “Next time.”

She removed her helmet as she climbed onto the cooldown room platform for interviews. Sweat clung to her hairline. Her breathing still hadn’t fully steadied.

“Fantastic drive from Sophia Laforteza—just three tenths off the win!”

“How does it feel to be closing in on the championship leader?”

“You were incredible in Sector 2 today—”
She answered what she needed to, voice calm but distant, mind still replaying every corner.

When the media finally released her, she escaped toward the back of the paddock, needing air.
And that’s when she noticed the VIP balcony above.

More specifically—someone in the VIP balcony.

A girl with caramel-brown hair, soft waves brushing her shoulders. Someone smiling brightly, laughing with the small group of girls around her, her eyes flicking down toward the paddock with genuine excitement.

Sophia didn’t know her name.

But she knew she had seen that face somewhere.

Her gaze snagged for a moment longer than she meant it to.

The girl looked away—then looked back.

And smiled again.

Sophia blinked, almost thrown off. People didn’t usually smile at her like that.

She turned to leave, trying to brush the moment off—But fate didn’t let her.

As Sophia rounded the corner behind the garage, wiping sweat from her forehead, a soft voice called out:

“Um—excuse me?”

She turned.

The girl from the balcony stood there, alone now, hesitating with a shy kind of confidence. Up close, she was even more striking. Warm brown eyes, glossy lips, a soft blush from the heat, a delicate gold necklace catching the sunlight.

“Hi,” she said, a little breathless. “Sorry—are you Sophia Laforteza?”

Sophia nodded, though her guard was instinctively up. “Yeah. That’s me.”

The girl’s smile widened. “I just wanted to say… that race was incredible. Really. You were amazing out there.”

Sophia blinked slowly. Compliments weren’t unusual—but something about this one hit differently. Something soft. Genuine. Not from a reporter, or a rival, or a fan trying to get a selfie. It felt… pure.
“Thank you,” Sophia said quietly.

“I’m Daniela,” the girl added. “Daniela Avanzini.”

Recognition snapped into place. Katseye. The globally famous pop group. Of course. That’s why she looked familiar.

Sophia’s voice softened despite herself. “Oh. You’re… the singer.”

Daniela laughed. “One of them. We’re all singers, technically.”

Sophia found herself staring—just for a second too long. She looked away, clearing her throat.

“Are you here for the race?” she asked.

Daniela nodded. “Our band has a concert nearby next week. They gave us VIP access. I didn’t expect to actually meet you, though.”

There was a tiny spark behind her words, something like excitement… or admiration.

Sophia wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“Well… nice to meet you,” she murmured.

“You too.” Daniela hesitated, then added softly, “And really, you were incredible today.”

This time, Sophia couldn’t hide the faintest smile.

“Thanks,” she said again, quieter.

Daniela backed away slowly. “I’ll… see you around maybe?”

“Maybe,” Sophia echoed.

And then Daniela was gone, disappearing into the hallway, leaving Sophia strangely… weightless.

The apartment was dark when Sophia returned, night settled fully across the city. She kicked off her shoes, dropped her gear bag near the door, and collapsed onto the couch.

She should’ve been replaying the race. She should’ve been analyzing her performance. She should’ve been obsessing over those three tenths.

But instead—She kept seeing Daniela’s face.

Her smile.

Her voice.

The way she looked at her, not like she was intimidating or unapproachable, but like she was… human.

Sophia groaned into her hands. “Get it together,” she muttered.

After a few minutes of silence, she sat up, grabbed her laptop, and opened it on her knees.

Just one search.

Just to understand who Daniela Avanzini was.

That wasn’t weird. It wasn’t creepy. She was a public figure; everyone googled celebrities.

She typed: Daniela Avanzini Katseye

Instantly, hundreds of images appeared.

Daniela performing on stage.

Daniela laughing in interviews.

Daniela dancing with her bandmates.

Daniela in glamorous outfits.

Daniela smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at.

Sophia clicked on a concert clip. Daniela’s voice filled the room—warm, confident, smooth. She moved across the stage with a kind of glowing ease Sophia didn’t understand.

Sophia felt something soft press against her chest.

Admiration?

Curiosity?

Something else?

She quickly closed the tab, heat rising in her face.

“Nope,” she whispered. “Not doing this.”

But her heart didn’t listen.

Neither did her mind.

Because for the first time in a long time—someone had gotten past her armor without even trying.

And Sophia didn’t know what to do with that.

Chapter Text

Dani’s pov

The bass thumped hard enough to vibrate the floor, lights washing the club in flashes of neon blue and pink.
Daniela lifted her head from the drink she was absentmindedly stirring, scanning the crowd again.
Maybe she’ll be here.

Stupid.

Of course she wouldn’t.

Sophia Laforteza had probably gone home to sleep, shower, or stare at telemetry data until her eyes fell out.

F1 drivers didn’t randomly show up to clubs just because someone hoped they would.

Still, Daniela couldn’t help it. She kept looking.

Megan leaned into her shoulder with a teasing smirk.

“Looking for someone?”

“No,” Daniela lied instantly.

“Liar,” Lara said from the other side, brushing her hair back.

“You’ve been craning your neck like a curious giraffe for the last ten minutes.”

Daniela rolled her eyes.

“I was checking if the line to the bar got shorter.”

“That’s so cute,” Megan said louder, clearly not believing a word.

“Stop,” Daniela whined, but her cheeks were already warming.

Before they could start again, someone tapped her shoulder. Daniela turned—and froze for a whole second.

It was him.

 

The boy she’d been casually flirting with for the past month. Tall, charming, absolutely aware of his effect on people. His smile widened when he saw her reaction.

“There you are,” he said. “Thought I’d lost you in the crowd.”

Her brain stuttered back to life.

“Oh—hey. Yeah, I’m here.”

“You wanna dance?” he asked, offering a hand.

Daniela hesitated for a fraction of a second. Not because she didn’t want to… but because she’d been expecting someone else’s face to show up behind her.

She pushed that thought away quickly and grabbed his hand.

“Sure.”

The band followed them onto the dance floor because Katseye did everything together, even nightlife.

Manon threw an arm around Yoonchae and started vibing to the beat instantly, Megan and Lara joining in with chaotic enthusiasm.

Daniela let the guy guide her movements, their hands interlaced, bodies moving with the music. She tried to focus on this moment—on him, on the warmth around her, on the fun of the night.

But a strange little thought kept slipping back like a loose thread:

Sophia wouldn’t be here.

Sophia probably doesn’t even like clubs.

But… what if she was?

She squeezed her eyes shut once, chasing the thought away, and danced harder.

After a few songs, they all stumbled back toward a reserved table.

Everyone dropped into seats, laughing, breathless, glowing in the colorful lights.

Lara downed half a glass of water before leaning toward Daniela with a raised eyebrow.

“So…” she began, dragging out the word.

“Where were you earlier? At the race?”

Daniela’s throat tightened.

Oh no.

Here we go.

“I—uh—went to congratulate someone,” she tried casually.

Megan’s head snapped up.

“Wait. Who?”

Yoonchae gasped dramatically.

“Don’t tell me—”

Daniela sighed, cheeks heating fast.

“Sophia. I met Sophia. On the VIP terrace.”
Five jaws hit the floor in unison.

“You WHAT?” Manon practically shouted.

“I just said hi! She was right there!” Daniela protested, suddenly laughing from embarrassment. “It wasn’t some big thing.”

“Oh my god, she’s literally the most famous athlete in the world right now!”

Megan said, clutching her heart. “And you met her alone?”

“Not alone,” Daniela corrected. “Well—okay, technically yes, but we didn’t talk for long.”

“So she talked to YOU?” Lara pressed.

“Yes,” Daniela muttered.

“She looked at you?” Yoonchae demanded.

“Yes.”

“She smiled at you?” Megan added, eyes widening.

Daniela hesitated one second too long.

All four girls screamed.

“Oh my GOD,” Manon cackled. “Daniela is BLUSHING.”

“I’m not!” Daniela insisted, covering her face.

“You like her?” Megan teased.

“No! Absolutely not! She’s just—she’s Sophia Laforteza! Anyone would blush!”

The girls exchanged knowing looks.

But none of them pushed too far, because despite the teasing, they understood her. If Daniela had truly liked someone, they would have known. This was just… excitement. Admiration. Maybe a friendship forming.

Still, her heartbeat felt embarrassingly loud in her ears.

After another round of drinks and a failed attempt at karaoke—the club stopped them after Manon tried to climb onto a speaker—they finally called it a night.

Back at the hotel, the hallway was quiet except for the click of heels and muffled laughter. Daniela unlocked her door, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed face-first onto her bed.

Her phone buzzed twice in her hand.

She lazily flipped it over.

Notification: “Sophia Laforteza followed you.”

For a moment, Daniela’s brain emptied of every language she knew.

Then, slowly, a smile curved her lips.

She didn’t know what it meant.

She didn’t want to overthink it.

But it made her stomach flutter in a way she didn’t quite understand.

She pressed her face into her pillow to hide her grin from absolutely no one, then clicked on the notification.

Her smile grew even wider.

 

Sophia’s pov

“Shit—fuck—no, no, NO—”

Sophia slapped her phone face-down on her bed so fast it bounced.

Of all the stupid things she could’ve done… why did her thumb decide to betray her like that?

She hadn’t meant to follow Daniela. She was just… quietly checking her profile.

Research.

Normal research.

The type you do when someone interesting smiles at you for three seconds and it replays in your head like a cursed gif.

She groaned loudly into the empty apartment.

“Why did I do that?”

She paced toward the bathroom, tugging her hair tie out with unnecessary aggression.

“It looks weird,” she muttered.

“It looks intentional.”

“It looks like I care.”

Fuck.

She turned the shower on and steam began to fill the small space. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the foggy mirror—still in her Mercedes compression gear, hair sticking to her forehead, eyes exhausted but burning—she exhaled.

She wasn’t used to this.

Not the racing.

Not the pressure.

Not the crowds.

Those she could handle.

But this?

This unexpected spark of something she didn’t want to examine too closely?

No. She didn’t do… feelings. Especially not for someone she’d spoken to for less than two minutes.
She raked both hands through her hair.

“I’ll just pretend it was an accident,” she mumbled.

“It was an accident.”

She wasn’t convincing even herself.

With a final irritated huff, she stepped under the water, letting it wash the day off her skin. The victory she almost had. The heat of the track. The adrenaline. The unexpected softness in Daniela’s eyes.

Too much.

Too soon.

Sophia closed her eyes.

Maybe Daniela wouldn’t notice.

Maybe she wouldn’t care.

Maybe she wouldn’t think it meant anything.

Or maybe Sophia was completely, utterly fucked.

 

Dani’s pov

The night ended quietly. Daniela lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at her phone.

Sophia’s follow was still there—a small digital connection that made her heart beat faster.
Meanwhile, across the city, Sophia lay under the shower spray, steeling herself. She couldn’t let herself care. Not yet. And yet…

Somewhere deep down, both girls knew this was only the beginning.

Friendship first, maybe. But something else, quiet and subtle, was already starting to grow.

 

Sophia’s pov

Sophia sat at her usual corner table, a cup of black coffee warming her hands and her phone glowing softly in front of her. Her off day had finally arrived, and she intended to savor it—quiet, no interruptions, just herself and the faint hum of the café.

She tapped absently on her phone, scrolling through messages and notifications, only half-paying attention to the people moving around her. The place was moderately busy, the clatter of cups and low chatter blending into a pleasant background hum.

A chair scraped against the floor. Sophia looked up, automatically defensive, ready to dismiss whoever had the audacity to interrupt her sanctuary.

“Hey… is this seat taken?”

Sophia’s eyes met a familiar caramel-brown gaze.

Her body stiffened for a fraction of a second.

Daniela smiled, balancing a tray stacked with coffee cups and pastries.
“I just stopped by to pick up an order for the band. Thought I’d grab a couple things for myself too… if it’s okay, I could stay for a few minutes?”

Sophia blinked, her lips twitching almost involuntarily. “Uh… no. Go ahead. You can stay,” she said, gesturing to the empty chair.

Her voice was clipped, as always, but there was a quiet softness underneath she couldn’t hide.

Daniela set the tray down carefully and slid into the chair, eyes flicking briefly to Sophia’s untouched laptop.

“You’re always here, huh? Favorite spot?”

Sophia shrugged lightly, a faint half-smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah. Quiet. Good coffee. Not a lot of people notice it.”

“I get that,” Daniela said, leaning back slightly.
“It’s nice to have a place to just… breathe. Especially for me, running around with the band all the time. I get to pick up the orders, sneak in a little caffeine, maybe escape the chaos for a few minutes.”

Sophia tilted her head slightly, studying her.

There was an ease about her, a lightness that seemed completely at odds with the chaos of her life on stage.

“Sounds… exhausting,” Sophia said softly, almost without thinking.

Daniela laughed, the sound small but genuine. “It’s not too bad. Beats being crammed in a tour van for hours.”

A moment of silence settled between them, neither rushing to fill it.

Sophia sipped her coffee, letting the warmth ground her. Daniela’s eyes flicked around the café, then back to her, curious and open.

“So… you’re really a Formula 1 driver, huh?” Daniela asked casually, though her tone carried genuine interest.

“I mean… you really do all those races?”

Sophia nodded.

“Yeah. Every week, somewhere new. It’s… a lot. But I like it. It’s what I do.”

Her gaze drifted to the window for a moment, then back to Daniela. “You… sing, right?”

Daniela’s smile widened. “One of the band members. Yeah. Music’s kind of my life, but… sometimes you just need coffee. Or quiet. Or both.”

Sophia’s lips twitched again. Something about the way Daniela spoke—soft, confident, yet casually funny—made Sophia want to listen longer, even if she didn’t quite know why.

“You don’t talk much,” Daniela observed after a beat, her tone light, teasing but not cruel. “Most people would’ve tried to strike up a conversation by now. Or scrolled through their phone without a second thought.”

Sophia shrugged, looking down at her coffee. “Not usually interested in small talk.”

“Ah,” Daniela said, nodding, “but… I don’t mind small talk with you.” She said it so naturally, almost like she was stating a fact.

Sophia looked up, eyes meeting hers, and something unfamiliar flickered across her chest—a warmth, a small spark of curiosity she didn’t quite know what to do with.

Daniela reached into her bag and pulled out a small order receipt. “So… I have to run soon. But maybe I could get your number? Just in case… I want to hear more about your races sometime. And maybe… coffee recommendations.”

Sophia paused. Her chest hitched just slightly. She wasn’t used to giving her number to strangers—or to anyone, really. But Daniela wasn’t a stranger, not exactly.

She reached into her bag, wrote her number quickly on a napkin, and slid it across the table. “Here. Just… for coffee or race stuff,” she said carefully.

Daniela picked it up, grinning, tucking the napkin into her wallet. “Deal. No pressure. And I promise not to spam you… much.”

Sophia allowed herself a small laugh, the sound quiet but sincere. “Good. I don’t do memes.”
“Noted,” Daniela said, her grin widening. “I’ll text you later. Maybe before our next gig—or… your next race.”

They shared a brief look, a quiet understanding passing between them, neither needing to explain further. It wasn’t romance.

Not yet. But it was something fragile and tentative. Something that felt like the beginning of a connection worth keeping.

After a few more minutes of light, comfortable conversation—mostly about coffee, pastry preferences, and the chaos of their respective lives—Daniela stood.

She balanced the tray in one hand and offered a casual wave.

“Thanks for letting me crash your table for a few minutes. See you… soon?”

Sophia nodded. “Yeah. Soon.”

As Daniela left, Sophia stared after her, a strange warmth in her chest that didn’t dissipate as quickly as she wanted. She picked up her phone, absentmindedly scrolling, but the napkin with her number felt heavier in her bag than it had any right to.

Outside, Daniela walked down the street toward the band’s van, smiling to herself. A little spark had ignited—unexpected, unplanned, and entirely… thrilling.

 

Dani’s pov

The hotel suite buzzed with the usual chaos. Megan was juggling her phone and a pastry, Lara was reorganizing her setlist for the rehearsal, and Manon and Yoonchae were debating something loudly about their breakfast order.

Daniela stepped in, holding a tray carefully—coffee cups balanced like a tightrope—and tried not to grin too wildly.

“Okay,” she announced, setting the tray down.

“Storytime. I met her again.”

All four heads snapped toward her.

“Wait—again?!” Lara said, practically leaping onto the sofa. “You met Sophia? After the race? What are you doing, stalking her?”

Daniela laughed, shaking her head. “No! Not stalking. Accidental meeting. Totally normal. Kind of.”

Megan leaned forward, eyes wide. “Accidental? That sounds suspiciously planned. Tell us everything.”

“Alright,” Daniela said, pouring coffee for everyone, her hands steady despite the excitement fluttering in her chest. “So, I stopped by my favorite café this morning. Just… grabbing a coffee before band rehearsal, you know? Quiet, normal morning.”

“And?” Manon prompted, smirking knowingly.

“I see her.” Daniela’s voice lowered a notch, dramatic. “Sitting at a corner table. Alone. Calm. With a coffee. Looking… like she belongs to no one else in the world.”

“OH MY GOD,” Yoonchae squealed. “You didn’t just sit there and stare!”

Daniela rolled her eyes. “I didn’t stare. I… approached politely.”
She grinned. “I asked if the seat was taken and told her why I was there—picking up the order for the band. I asked if I could stay a few minutes, and she… said yes.”

Lara’s jaw practically hit the floor. “You mean she let you sit with her? By choice?”

Daniela nodded, still smiling. “Yes. She was quiet, reserved, but… nice. Polite. Funny in a subtle way. And we talked… a little.”

“About what?!” Megan asked, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Coffee,” Daniela said with a grin, raising a finger for emphasis. “Pastries. The band. And… races.” She let that last word hang in the air, seeing the group lean in even more.

Manon nudged Yoonchae. “Sounds like someone’s smitten,” she whispered, loud enough for Daniela to hear.

Daniela groaned, rolling her eyes but laughing. “Not smitten. Just… intrigued. Interested in getting to know her. That’s all. Totally normal. Nothing weird.”

“Uh-huh,” Lara said, arching an eyebrow. “Totally normal. And you asked for her number, didn’t you?”

Daniela hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Yes. Just… for coffee and race updates. Casual.”

The girls burst into laughter, teasing and teasing, but Daniela didn’t mind. She felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee, something quiet and exciting.

“And?” Megan pressed. “Did she give it to you?”

“She did,” Daniela said, smiling. “And she didn’t roll her eyes or act like it was weird. She just… wrote it down, handed it over, and said it was fine. That’s it.”

Yoonchae clapped her hands together. “You are so lucky. She’s… incredible.”

“I know,” Daniela admitted softly, sipping her coffee. “I don’t know why, but I feel… lighter after seeing her. It’s ridiculous. I didn’t expect it.”

Manon leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Oh no, Dani. Not ridiculous. This is the start of something. Even if you don’t admit it yet.”

Daniela laughed, shaking her head. “It’s not… like that. Just… curious. Friendship first. That’s all.”

But as she looked around at her friends, the tray of coffee now half-empty, and the quiet energy lingering in the room, she couldn’t help thinking of the girl at the corner table, her calm demeanor, the quiet spark that had made this second meeting feel like more than coincidence.

And she knew, even if only in the smallest corner of her mind, that this wasn’t the last time they would meet.

Chapter Text

Daniela’s pov

Daniela’s fingers hovered over her phone for a moment as the band rehearsal wound down. The familiar chaos of their music and vocal warm-ups faded into quiet chatter as the girls packed up their things.

She leaned back against the wall, phone in hand, glancing at the napkin Sophia had given her earlier.

A little thrill ran through her chest.

Okay… just text.

Keep it casual.

Her thumbs moved quickly, typing a message, deleting, retyping, deleting again. Finally, she settled on something simple.

Daniela: Hey, just wanted to say hi! Also… curious—when’s your next race?

She stared at the screen, half-expecting the message to vanish if she blinked too hard. Then… a reply.

Sophia: Hey. Next race is in two weeks, Monaco. Why?

Daniela grinned, typing back quickly.

Daniela: No reason… just figured I could… maybe follow along? You know, from afar. Cheer silently.

Sophia’s reply came faster than she expected.

Sophia: Haha. Sure. Silent cheering is appreciated.

Daniela: Good. I’ll behave. Promise. Maybe I can even… watch the highlights after? I like to see the “close calls.”

Sophia’s answer made her grin even wider.
Sophia: You mean the ones where I almost win?

Daniela laughed quietly, leaning against the wall as Megan threw a jacket over her shoulder and called her a dork.

Daniela: Exactly those. You’re competitive, huh?

Sophia: Naturally.

There was a pause before Sophia’s next text appeared.
Sophia: Anyway… thanks for stopping by this morning. It was… nice.

Daniela felt her chest tighten in a way that made her cheeks warm. She quickly typed back, keeping the tone light but genuine.

Daniela: I liked it too. Coffee, quiet, not being chased by cameras… and talking to you.

A tiny notification popped up immediately.

Sophia: Huh. I suppose you’re not so bad at small talk either.

Daniela laughed softly, shaking her head. Smooth, Dani. Real smooth.
Daniela: I’ll take that as a compliment.

The texts kept flowing naturally for the next few minutes—small talk, casual jokes, little exchanges about coffee preferences and racing strategies. Nothing heavy. Nothing rushed. But every line carried a quiet weight, a budding connection neither of them fully acknowledged yet.

By the time the band was leaving the rehearsal room, Daniela’s fingers tingled from holding her phone, her smile lingering. She had texted a professional racer—someone larger than life—and yet it didn’t feel intimidating. Not with Sophia. Not at all.

Somewhere deep down, Daniela knew this was the start of something delicate, tentative, and entirely thrilling.

And she couldn’t wait to see where it would go.

 

Sophia’s pov

The gym smelled like rubber and metal—clean, sterile, sharp. It grounded Sophia in a way almost nothing else could.

After texting Daniela and staring at her phone longer than she would ever admit, she’d thrown it on her bed, grabbed her training bag, and headed straight to the Mercedes facility.

Distraction, she told herself.

Focus.

Two weeks until Monaco.

No room for softness, no room for wandering thoughts.

Still, while she wrapped her hands for grip strength training, her mind betrayed her.

Daniela.

Her smile at the café.

The way she’d slid into the seat across from her with no hesitation.

The warm tone in her texts after rehearsal.

Sophia clicked her tongue quietly, annoyed at herself.

Stop.

Focus.

She shoved the chalked rope into her palms and began the pull sequence—fast, aggressive, rhythmic. Ten reps. Twenty. Thirty. Sweat rolled down her back, her muscles burning, the ache biting just enough to drown out every thought.

But even then… Daniela’s voice seemed to float back in.

“Maybe I can silently cheer.”

Sophia almost scoffed. Who cheers silently? But she’d typed “haha” so she didn’t sound stiff. She didn’t want to seem cold with her. Not like she was with everyone else.

The rope hit the ground. Her arms trembled. She grabbed the pull-up bar next, launching into her reps with precision. Her shoulders screamed halfway through, but she didn’t stop.

Not until she hit twenty.

Not until she nearly slipped.

She dropped down, chest heaving. The trainer on the far side of the room lifted a brow but didn’t approach—everyone knew better than to interrupt Sophia Laforteza when she was in full beast mode.

She continued—rowing machine, weighted core holds, lat pulls—pushing herself harder than usual. The race replayed in her head: the corner she could’ve taken a fraction earlier, the braking point she hesitated on, the line she lost by inches.

Monaco was coming.

She needed perfection.

And yet, Daniela kept drifting right back in. Not distracting her—no. More like… softening the edges she normally weaponized against herself.

She hated that.

She liked that.

She didn’t know what to do with that.

Hours later, Sophia finally dropped onto the padded mat, her muscles twitching and her heart thudding. She stared up at the ceiling, the air faintly vibrating with gym music, and closed her eyes for just a second.

Just a second.

 

By the time she got home, it was well past midnight. She barely remembered walking through the door, kicking off her shoes, or tossing her bag somewhere near the kitchen counter.

Her body hummed with exhaustion—the kind of deep, satisfying fatigue that settled into her bones. She grabbed a bottle of water, chugged half, and let gravity pull her toward the couch.

She didn’t even bother turning on the lights.

Didn’t bother to shower yet.

Didn’t bother to check if Daniela had texted again.
She collapsed face-first into the cushions, the scent of clean fabric filling her nose.

A tiny part of her brain whispered, You should move.
You’ll cramp up.

She didn’t.

Sleep swallowed her whole.

Sophia woke with a stiff neck, her cheek mashed awkwardly against a throw pillow. Her phone buzzed relentlessly on the coffee table. She blinked groggily, rubbing her eyes, her body protesting every movement.

Interview day.

Mercedes PR had emailed her last night—a packed morning of press calls, sponsorship interviews, and a live segment about the upcoming Monaco race. She hated mornings. And cameras. And questions she wasn’t allowed to answer honestly.

She sat up slowly, bones cracking, hair a mess.
Her phone buzzed again. She squinted at the screen.

7:03 AM
PR CALL – 9:00 AM
Media Zoom – 10:30 AM
Press Q&A – 12:00 PM

Sophia sighed. Great.

Her notifications were stacked with team messages, a reminder about her physio appointment tomorrow… and one unread text from an unfamiliar number.

Except it wasn’t unfamiliar.

Her pulse flickered—just slightly.

Daniela: Good luck with training tomorrow :) don’t push yourself too hard.

Sophia stared at it.

A tiny warmth rose up, faint but stubborn.

She typed back before she could overthink it:

Sophia: Thanks. And I’ll try.

She added a second message, thumb hovering before hitting send:

Sophia: No promises though.

A breath she didn’t realize she was holding released.
Sophia dropped her phone onto the couch, stood up, and rolled her stiff shoulders.

Interviews waited.

Monaco waited.

Her season waited.

And—for some reason—Daniela Avanzini was now sitting quietly in the back of her mind, warming a part of her she’d kept frozen for years.

The studio lights were blinding. Cameras, microphones, producers shuffling around—it all felt too loud for someone running on two hours of sleep.
The interviewer greeted her with an eager smile.

“Good morning, Sophia. Ready to go?”

“As ready as I can be,” she replied, shaking his hand.
They sat. Cameras rolled.

“How do you feel heading into the next races?”

“Tired,” she said honestly. “But motivated.”

The interviewer laughed. “Fair enough. People have noticed you’ve been training harder than usual. What’s driving this push?”

Sophia hesitated. Images flickered—mistakes from last season, the pressure of proving herself… and Daniela’s voice, soft but confident, telling her she believed in her.

“I want to be better than I was yesterday,” she answered.

A few questions later, the interviewer leaned in slightly, eyes sharp.

“Your fans say you seem lighter this year. Happier. What changed? Anyone special contributing to that?”
Sophia’s pulse hitched.

Her expression remained neutral.
“I think I’ve finally learned how to balance life and racing a bit better.”

“Mhm,” the interviewer said with a knowing smile, but didn’t push further.

The rest of the interview was routine—goals, upcoming races, team synergy. When it finally wrapped, Sophia felt her shoulders drop in relief.

As soon as she stepped outside, her phone buzzed again.

Daniela: Good morning superstar. Survived the interview?

Sophia exhaled a tired laugh, unable to stop the smile forming.

She typed back: Barely. Text me about rehearsal later?

Daniela’s typing bubbles appeared almost immediately.

And suddenly, the exhaustion didn’t feel quite so heavy.

 

Daniela’s pov

Rehearsal had been absolute chaos.

Daniela wiped sweat from her forehead as she stepped out of the practice room, her muscles humming from hours of choreography drills. Tour rehearsals always got intense, but with less than a month before launch, everyone was pushing harder. The studio floor was practically vibrating from the last bass-heavy run-through, and the air smelled like warm lights, effort, and too many bodies dancing at once.

Megan stumbled out behind her, groaning dramatically.

“I swear to God, if they make us repeat that last chorus one more time, I’m quitting and becoming a mail carrier.”

Daniela snorted. “You’d get lost on your first day.”

“At least my legs wouldn’t be falling off.”

The two girls laughed as they gathered their things. Daniela’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen.

Sophia: Barely. Text me about rehearsal later?

The message made her pause—just a beat—her stomach doing that soft little flip she told absolutely no one about. She bit back a smile before locking her phone and shoving it in her pocket.

Not now.

After food.

After oxygen.

Megan grabbed her by the arm. “Food court? I’m dying.”

“Yeah,” Daniela breathed. “Please.”

They headed toward the exit, slipping into the misty late-afternoon air. Their usual spot was a cozy Korean street-food place tucked beside the rehearsal studio—cheap, quick, and comforting. They ordered tteokbokki and fried dumplings, taking a booth by the window.

Megan collapsed into her chair dramatically.

“My soul has left my body. It’s hovering somewhere above the speakers.”

Daniela laughed, pulling her phone back out. She opened Sophia’s message, the smile blooming instantly.

She typed slowly, thoughtfully:

Daniela: Rehearsal was brutal…Tour is way closer than it feels. I don’t think I’ve ever danced this hard in my life lol.

She hesitated… then added:
How was the interview? You alive?

She hit send before she could overthink it.

Megan raised an eyebrow. “Who’s that?”

“Just… someone,” Daniela said, stirring her drink to avoid eye contact.

Megan smirked like she already knew.
“Ohhhh. The racer girl.”

Daniela’s cheeks warmed. “It’s not— We’re not— She’s just nice, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Megan said, leaning back with a knowing grin. “You only smile at your phone like that when you’re texting someone you like.”

Daniela kicked her under the table.
“Shut up.”

Megan yelped dramatically, and both girls dissolved into laughter.

Still, Daniela couldn’t help replaying it—the accidental Instagram follow, the coffee shop moment, the way Sophia had looked at her yesterday… like she saw her. Like she actually listened.

When the food arrived, they dug in, the heat and spice easing the soreness in their tired bodies. But Daniela kept checking her phone, waiting for Sophia’s typing bubbles to appear.

And when they finally did, her heart skipped.

Just a little.

Just enough to make Megan raise an eyebrow again.

 

Sophia’s pov

Sophia’s apartment was quiet in the way she liked it—dim lights, clean surfaces, the faint hum of the city seeping in through her cracked window. It was nearly dinner when she finally arrived home, exhausted from the day’s interviews.

Her shoulders ached, her mind still buzzing with reporters’ repetitive questions, the usual “first female champion” talk, the pressure of the next race.

She didn’t have the energy to cook.

So she ordered her comfort meal—exactly what she always chose when the world felt too loud: spicy pad thai, spring rolls, and a cold lemon soda. The delivery guy didn’t recognize her this time, which was honestly a blessing.

She sat on the couch with her food spread across the coffee table, dimmed the lights even more, and turned on the TV.

Instead of a movie, instead of something relaxing, she opened F1TV.

Old races.

Her races.

She didn’t know why she did this on nights like this—maybe to reassure herself she was still that good, that hungry, that sharp. Maybe to remind herself why she went through the pressure in the first place.
She was halfway through rewatching the final ten laps of last year’s Monaco Grand Prix when her phone buzzed beside her.

Daniela.

Sophia paused the TV. The apartment felt suddenly warmer.

She opened the notification.

Daniela: Rehearsal was brutal…Tour is way closer than it feels. I don’t think I’ve ever danced this hard in my life lol.
How was the interview? You alive?

Sophia exhaled a small laugh.
It was… strange, how light she felt reading those texts.
People didn’t usually text her casually. Not without a reason, an angle, a request.

But Daniela’s messages didn’t feel like that.
They felt… normal.

Soft around the edges.

Human.

She wiped her fingers on a napkin, typed back:

Sophia: Barely alive. I swear they asked the same question twelve different ways. Why are journalists like that? lol

She hesitated, then added:
You okay though? You sounded dead earlier.
She hit send and leaned back into the couch, picking up a spring roll.

A few seconds later, her phone lit up again.

Daniela: Dead is generous. My legs feel like noodles.
Sophia smiled, involuntary and gentle.

She texted back quickly:

Sophia: Noodles are a valid post-rehearsal state. I approve.

Another buzz.

Daniela: What are you doing right now?

Sophia looked at her half-eaten pad thai, her paused race, her dim living room.

She told the truth.

Sophia: Eating pad thai and rewatching my own races like a narcissist.

Immediately, the typing bubbles appeared.

Daniela: No way. Do you do that often??

Sophia took a sip of her soda, relaxed for the first time all day.

Sophia:Only on days when I need to remind myself I don’t suck.

A pause.

Then a softer message came through:

Daniela: Sophia… you literally finished second last weekend. You definitely don’t suck.

Sophia stared at the screen for a moment, a warmth settling into her chest. Compliments usually bounced off her; she’d heard them too often, from people who didn’t mean them.

But Daniela sounded sincere.

And sincerity was rare enough to make her heart catch.

She texted back:
Sophia: Thanks.
You’re nice.
Too nice, probably.

Daniela replied instantly.

Daniela: Someone has to balance out your scary racer energy.

Sophia choked on her soda, laughing out loud.
She wiped her mouth.

Sophia: I’m not scary.

Daniela: You literally glare at people when you walk past them.

Sophia: I’m thinking. That’s just my face.

Daniela: Well it’s a terrifying face.

Sophia leaned her head back against the couch cushion, smiling wider than she meant to.

Her food was getting cold, but she didn’t care.
Her replay was still paused at turn eight, but she didn’t care.

The apartment felt less empty now, less heavy.

She kept texting, letting the conversation drift from racing to music to nothing at all.

For once, she didn’t feel like the Mercedes “machine.”

She didn’t feel like a headline or a symbol or a walking record book.

She felt like a person.

Talking to someone who saw her that way.

By the time she finished eating, her stomach was full and her heart was doing something strange—tight and warm and cautious.

She ignored it.

For now

Chapter Text

Daniela’s pov

Daniela pushed the door shut behind her with her hip, dropping her keys into the small ceramic bowl by the entrance.

Her apartment was dark except for the faint city glow slipping through the blinds. She didn’t bother turning on the big lights—just flicked on a warm floor lamp near the couch.

It had been a long day.

A really long day.

Her body felt heavy from rehearsal, her hair still damp from the quick shower at the studio, and her stomach pleasantly full from dinner with Megan. But the moment she stepped inside her own space, she felt the tiredness settle differently—softer, quieter.
She tossed her jacket onto the back of a chair and kicked off her shoes before collapsing onto the couch with a long exhale. The cushions embraced her, warm and familiar.

Her phone buzzed once in her hand.

A message from Sophia.

Daniela smiled before she even read it.

Sophia: Your scary racer comment was rude. Unprovoked. I’ll remember this.

Daniela laughed to herself, the sound echoing in her otherwise silent apartment.
She typed back:

Daniela: You’ll live. Maybe. Probably. I’m like 80% sure.

She sent it and placed the phone on her chest, staring at the ceiling.

For a moment, she let herself just… exist.

Just breathe.

But Sophia’s messages replayed in her mind like little sparks—each one bright, unexpected, strangely comforting.

She never thought she’d talk to someone like Sophia Laforteza so casually. Someone so… big. Someone who lived life at 300 kilometers an hour, someone with millions of fans, someone whose entire world seemed made of steel, speed, and expectation.
Yet none of that came through in their texts.

Sophia wasn’t intimidating when she texted.

She wasn’t cold.

She wasn’t the intense, untouchable competitor Daniela had seen in clips or interviews.

She was… funny.

Dry. Honest.

Soft in a way that peeked through the cracks of her words.

And Daniela couldn’t stop thinking about it.

She hugged a pillow to her chest and rolled onto her side, replaying their earlier interactions—the coffee shop moment, the way Sophia had looked surprised when she sat down, how her posture had softened by the minute. How her voice had lowered when she asked about the band.

Daniela bit her lip.

She really is different in person.

Not intimidating. Not scary. Just… quiet.

Reserved.

Maybe lonely, in a way Daniela couldn’t quite name but recognized instantly.

She reached for her phone again, opened Instagram, and clicked on her notifications.

Sophia Laforteza followed you.

Even now, hours later, it made her stomach flutter.
She clicked Sophia’s profile.

Black-and-white header photo.

A handful of public posts—mostly racing shots, podium moments, training images. Almost no selfies. Zero personal life.

Private.

That was the word.

Yet somehow, Sophia had let her in—even just a little.

Daniela hesitated, then typed another message:

Daniela: Hey—before you sleep or whatever… good luck with training tomorrow. And don’t rewatch your races too many times, you’ll start judging your past self lol.

She hit send.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Sophia:Thanks. And I already judge my past self. But I appreciate it.

Daniela’s heart warmed.

She texted:

Daniela: Goodnight, Sophia.

A few seconds.
Then:

Sophia: Night, Daniela.

Daniela placed her phone face-down on the couch cushion and pulled the blanket over her. She felt lighter than she had all day—even though nothing dramatic had happened.

No big moment.

No romantic realization.

Just texting.

Talking.

Connecting.

Friendship, she told herself.

Just friendship.

But as sleep tugged at her eyes, she couldn’t deny how her chest felt—warm, curious, quietly excited.
Sophia Laforteza was slipping into her thoughts far too easily.

And she didn’t mind.

 

Sophia’s pov

Sophia woke before her alarm.

She always did.

It was barely 6:15 a.m., the faint blue of early morning seeping through her curtains. Her body felt stiff from falling asleep on the couch, her neck aching from the awkward angle. She pushed herself upright slowly, blinking away the grogginess.
Her phone was still beside her, facedown.

She didn’t check it yet.

If she checked it, she knew she’d look for Daniela’s name first.

Instead, she stood, stretched her arms above her head, and headed straight for the kitchen. Coffee first. She brewed her usual—strong, unsweetened, something to shock the rest of her senses awake.
Training days were sacred.

A ritual.

A return to structure after the noise of interviews and cameras.

By 7:00 a.m., she was dressed in her compression training gear, hair pulled into a tight braid. She grabbed her keys and headed downstairs to the private gym her team leased for her when she was in the city—quiet, secure, and empty this early.
The moment she stepped inside, the smell of rubber mats, disinfectant, and cold air hit her.

Familiar.

Grounding.

She dropped her water bottle onto the bench, slipped on her gloves, and got to work.
She started with cardio—six minutes of incline running, just enough to get her heart rate up but not enough to push her too early. Sweat formed along her brow, and her breathing steadied into its natural, controlled rhythm.

Next came the neck exercises.

Drivers needed strong necks more than anything.
She secured the weighted harness and leaned into the resistance, moving her head slowly side to side, forward, back. The burn was immediate but familiar, almost comforting.

Focus.

Control.

Discipline.

These were the things she understood better than people.

After twenty minutes, she switched to upper-body work.

Pull-ups, slow and controlled.
Lat pull-downs.
Shoulder presses.
Her mind drifted—not away from the movements, but into the quiet spaces between them.

Last night.

The texts.

Daniela.

Her grip faltered for half a second during a rep, and she exhaled sharply in frustration.

She didn’t like distractions.

She never had.

But Daniela’s words kept returning—soft, teasing, warm. A strange contrast to the cold efficiency of the gym. Sophia shook it off and pushed harder, arms burning, muscles tightening under the strain.
“Come on,” she muttered to herself. “Focus.”

She finished her set and paced the length of the gym, letting her pulse settle.

The next circuit was brutal: rowing machine, battle ropes, then a minute of burpees. By the second round, her lungs were burning.

Good.

Pain made sense.

Effort made sense.

Emotions did not.

She finished the third round drenched in sweat, reaching for her water bottle as her phone buzzed from across the room.

She ignored it.

Probably a team email.

Or media.

Or—Her thoughts paused.

No.

She wasn’t going to check.

Not yet.

Her physio, Lila, arrived right at 8:30. Sharp blonde bob, coffee in one hand, clipboard in the other.

“You look like you’ve been fighting your own demons,” Lila said, dropping her bag.

Sophia wiped sweat from her forehead. “I won.”
“Barely,”

Lila smirked. “Come on. Table.”

Sophia lay face-down as Lila began her usual assessment—neck mobility, shoulder rotation, spine alignment. Her hands were skilled, firm, searching for tightness.

“You’re overworking again,” Lila muttered.

Sophia grunted. “I need to be in top shape for Monaco.”

“You also need to not shred your muscles before we even get there.”

Lila pressed into a knot along Sophia’s lower back.
Sophia hissed softly.

“Yep. Overworking,” Lila confirmed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Lila gave her a look she couldn’t see but felt.
The quiet kind.

The kind that meant I know you’re lying.
“You had media yesterday,” Lila said. “Did that drain you?”

“Media always drains me.”

“Personal life? Something there?”

Sophia stiffened.

Too quickly.

Lila noticed.

She said nothing for a moment, just kept working, hands firm but gentle.

“If something’s eating at you,” Lila said eventually, “it’s going to show on track.”

Sophia stared at the floor through the face cradle, jaw clenched.

“There’s… someone,” she admitted quietly.
It felt strange to say it out loud.

Like exposing something she hadn’t even fully acknowledged yet.

Lila didn’t react with surprise.

Just hummed knowingly. “A good someone or a bad someone?”

“…Good. I think.”
“And?”

“And nothing,” Sophia snapped a little too fast. “She’s just… someone I’m talking to. It’s not a big deal.”

Lila paused again.

Then, calmly:
“You don’t ‘just talk’ to people, Sophia. If you’re mentioning her at all? It’s something.”
Sophia swallowed hard.

Her pulse ticked louder in her ears.
“I shouldn’t be distracted,” she murmured.

“Being human isn’t a distraction,” Lila said simply. “It’s allowed.”

Sophia didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
Her phone buzzed again across the room.

Lila smirked.
“Is that her?”

“I’m not checking.”

Lila laughed softly. “For someone who says it’s nothing, you’re working awfully hard to pretend you don’t care.”

Sophia closed her eyes.

She couldn’t argue with that.

Sophia stepped out of the physio clinic with her gym bag slung over her shoulder, the cool air of the hallway brushing against the faint heat still radiating from her legs. Her muscles felt looser now—light, almost—but her mind was still buzzing with the physio’s words, a mix of caution and encouragement echoing in her head.

“You’re in good shape. Just don’t push the tendon on the left too hard this week.”

She’d nodded, promised she’d be careful, but deep down she knew she’d still push it. Not recklessly—but enough. Enough to feel ready. Enough to feel in control.

As she reached the elevator, she finally remembered her phone.

She unlocked it, and right away, there it was—Daniela’s name lighting up her screen.

Daniela: (7:42 PM) — I just got home. Today was rough, not gonna lie. Rehearsal nearly killed me. The tour being less than a month away is starting to feel real lol.

Sophia stopped walking for half a second.
A smile tugged at her lips—soft, subtle, but real.
She leaned a shoulder against the wall, rereading the text. Twice. She didn’t know why she found herself smiling at that, of all things—Daniela exhausted, joking about dying in rehearsal. But she did.

Another message was under it, sent just ten minutes later: (7:52 PM) — Did training go okay? Are you resting now?

Sophia exhaled gently, the tension that had been coiled in her chest since the physio appointment easing just a little. She clicked on the message thread, thumbs hovering for a moment as warmth bloomed low in her stomach.

Daniela thought about her.

Even while tired.

Even after a brutal rehearsal.

Sophia opened the camera for a second—not to send anything yet, just to see herself. Sweat-dampened hair pulled back, cheeks still flushed from exertion. She looked tired. But she didn’t hate it. She looked…alive.

She switched back to messages and typed slowly, thinking between every word.

Sophia:Physio went longer than I thought. Training was good, though. Legs are tired in a nice way. And yes, I’m finally resting lol.

She hesitated, then added:

You okay? You sounded really exhausted in your last text.

She read it again. Realized it sounded a bit too worried. Deleted the last sentence. Rewrote it.
Rehearsal killed you that much?

Better. Lighter. Friendly.
Not too intense.

Though the truth was…she had been worried.

She hit send, still smiling a little as she pushed open the glass door to the outside.

The night air was cool on her face, grounding her. She tugged her jacket tighter around herself and started walking toward the parking lot, her phone still warm in her palm.

But despite everything—despite the physio’s cautions, despite the pressure of her next race coming too fast—her mind wasn’t on the soreness in her leg or the weight on her shoulders.

It was on Daniela.

On the fact that the girl had gotten home tired and immediately thought to ask how she was doing.
Sophia shook her head softly, trying not to read too much into it.

Trying—and failing.

She slid into her car, set her phone on the passenger seat, and caught her own reflection in the window.
Still smiling.

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, the kind of small, quiet laugh slipping out that she only ever made when she was caught off guard by her own emotions.

Then she whispered into the empty car, as if saying it out loud would make it less ridiculous:
“God, Daniela… what are you doing to me?”

 

Daniela’s pov

Daniela had just stepped out of the shower, hair wrapped in a towel, oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder as she moved around her apartment with slow, heavy steps. Her body was still humming with the ache of rehearsal—the kind of deep soreness that only came after hours of repetition, drilling choreography until every muscle felt carved out.
She dropped onto her couch, exhaling hard.

Her phone buzzed the second she settled back.
She reached for it lazily—thinking maybe Megan was sending her a meme, or the group chat was arguing about dinner for tomorrow.

But when the screen lit up, her breath paused.

Sophia:Physio went longer than I thought. Training was good, though. Legs are tired in a nice way. And yes, I’m finally resting lol.

Daniela felt something in her chest flutter, sharp and quick.
She reread the message. Then again.
She didn’t know why she did that—why her brain insisted on sinking into every single word, analyzing them like they meant something deeper.

Finally resting lol.

She pictured Sophia saying that, her voice a little tired, maybe soft, like at the end of a long day.

Her chest warmed, unexpectedly.

Then she scrolled to the second message Sophia sent:
Rehearsal killed you that much?

Daniela snorted under her breath, unable to help it.
“She really asked that,” she murmured to herself, smiling.

Yeah. Rehearsal had killed her.

Her legs hurt, her shoulders were tight, the tour felt too close and too huge.

But somehow… reading Sophia’s message made her feel less tired. Or maybe tired in a sweeter way.
She lay back against the couch, phone resting on her chest for a moment as she stared up at the ceiling.

Sophia had answered.

Even after physio.

Even after a full training session.

Daniela didn’t know why that mattered so much—but it did. God, it did.

She lifted the phone again, thumbs hovering. For a moment, she hesitated—wanting to sound normal, calm, not like she’d been waiting for Sophia’s reply more than she should admit.

Finally she typed:
You survived physio, so that’s already impressive
She paused. Deleted it. It felt too shallow.
Tried again:
I’m glad training went well. And yeah… rehearsal destroyed me. We’ve been running the entire set like we’re already on tour.

She stopped. Bit her lip. Added, before she could stop herself:
I’m kinda jealous you’re resting right now ngl.

She stared at the sentence.

Jesus.

Why did she write that?

Her stomach twisted—not unpleasantly, but nervously. Butterflies. She never got butterflies.
She debated deleting it. Her thumb hovered over the backspace.

But then she imagined Sophia reading it, maybe smiling a little, maybe rolling her eyes affectionately.
Her heart did that stupid, warm flip again.

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.
The message bubble popped up, neon-blue and terrifying.

Daniela dropped her head back against the couch cushion, covering her face with her hands and letting out a long groan.

“What am I even doing…?”

But she was smiling.

Small.

Soft.
Completely involuntary.

And as the minutes passed, her eyes stayed glued to the phone, waiting—hoping—for those three little dots to appear.

Hoping for Sophia.

Her mind immediately began to spiral.

It’s fine.
That’s fine.
It’s casual.

Everyone gets jealous of rest, that’s normal. Totally normal. She won’t read it weird. She trains like a beast—she gets it. She probably won’t even notice that part. It’s fine.

Another part of her brain:
Yeah but what if she DOES notice and now thinks you’re being weird or clingy or—“NOPE,” she muttered aloud, shaking her head hard.

She dropped her phone beside her and slid down until she was practically horizontal on the couch, staring up at the ceiling again. She crossed her arms over her stomach as if she needed to physically hold herself together.

Her thoughts were a full stampede:
Should I have added a second emoji? Would that have softened it?

God, no, two emojis is too much.

Should I send a follow-up message?

No, that makes it worse.

Should I throw my phone across the room?

Tempting.
I need to chill. I need to chill SO HARD.
She peeked at her phone again.

Still nothing.

Her heart squeezed.

She’s probably busy, she reasoned. Probably eating, or showering, or… whatever drivers do after training. Fixing the car? No no no, that’s not her job—Daniela, what are you even THINKING.

She covered her face with her hands again.

It was stupid how much she cared. She shouldn’t. They barely knew each other. Daniela didn’t get nervous like this around people. Ever.
But Sophia wasn’t just “people.”

Something about her—calm, focused, intense but gentle in the moments between—had crawled under Daniela’s skin way too easily.

And now Daniela was sitting in her dim apartment like an idiot waiting for a message from a woman who drove at 300 km/h for a living.

God, what am I turning into…
She pressed a cushion over her face and screamed into it silently.

Then—her phone buzzed.

Her heart catapulted into her throat.

 

Sophia’s pov

Sophia stepped into her apartment still slightly damp from her post-training shower at the facility. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, hoodie hanging open, sports bag slung off her shoulder stinging a big.

The moment the door closed, she breathed out—long and tired.

Training had been brutal. Her shoulders still burned, and her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. She dropped her bag at the entrance and stretched her neck until it cracked.

She was about to flop onto the couch when she remembered: Her phone.

She’d left it in the kitchen after physio, face down on the counter.

She walked over, rubbing her eyes, and flipped it.

Two notifications.

One from her engineer.

One from…
Her pulse jumped slightly.

Daniela.

Sophia unlocked her phone, opened the messages, and her lips lifted—not a full smile, but the beginnings of one.

Daniela:I’m glad training went well. And yeah… rehearsal destroyed me. We’ve been running the entire set like we’re already on tour.

I’m kinda jealous you’re resting right now ngl.

 

Sophia froze.

“…Jealous?” she murmured under her breath, eyebrows raising.

She read it again.

A tiny, involuntary warmth bloomed in her chest.

It wasn’t flirty.

But it wasn’t not flirty.

And the fact that it came from Daniela—who was sharp, talented, always a little guarded, always trying to seem like things didn’t faze her—made something inside Sophia melt unexpectedly.
She leaned her hip against the counter, still staring at the message.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Should she tease?

Keep it casual?

Match the tone?

Her mind flickered briefly with an image she didn’t expect: Daniela at the coffee shop, leaning forward, eyes bright when she laughed.

Sophia swallowed.

Whatever she replied, she didn’t want to make Daniela uncomfortable.

But she also… didn’t want to distance herself.
Very slowly, she typed: If rehearsal destroys you again, I volunteer my resting expertise for support.
She paused.

Then added a second line before her nerves could stop her: Also… I don’t mind that you’re jealous.

She stared.

Her heart thumped—low, uncertain.

Was that too much?

Maybe.

But it felt… honest.

Sophia exhaled sharply, shook her head, and hit send.

She placed her phone down, face up this time, and walked to the fridge to grab some cold water. But she kept glancing over her shoulder toward the counter every few seconds, waiting—
for Daniela’s name to light up the screen.

 

Daniela’s pov

Her phone buzzed again, and Daniela practically launched off the couch to grab it.

Sophia’s name lit up the screen.

Her pulse spiked.

She opened the message.
First line:
“If rehearsal destroys you again, I volunteer my resting expertise for support.”

Daniela blinked.

Then blinked again.

Her stomach did a weird little flip. It was stupid and warm and embarrassing, and she immediately pressed a hand over it like her own body was betraying her.

But it was the second line that nearly short-circuited her brain: “Also… I don’t mind that you’re jealous.”

Daniela froze.

Her cheeks flooded with heat so fast she felt it all the way to her ears. She sat perfectly still for three seconds, then grabbed a pillow and slammed it over her face, muffling the strangled noise that escaped her.

“Oh my GOD,” she whispered into the cushion.
Her legs kicked the air. Her feet hit the armrest. She was fully losing her mind.

What does that MEAN?

What is she implying?

Why did that make my stomach DO THAT?

It wasn’t flirty. Was it flirty? It was kind of flirty. Oh my god. Why did I read it like it was flirty?

She peeled the pillow off her face and sat upright, hair messy, heart racing.

Then she read the message again.

And again.

Each time her heart did the same ridiculous jump.
She tried to calm down by analyzing the words—classic Daniela spiral.

Maybe Sophia was just joking.

Teasing.

Maybe it meant nothing.

Sophia teased the racers sometimes. That didn’t mean flirtation.

But she doesn’t talk to them the way she talks to you.

Her brain unhelpfully reminded her of that conversation in the coffee shop—how Sophia’s voice softened a little when she spoke to her, how she actually looked relaxed.

Daniela swallowed.

She wasn’t supposed to think about that. She wasn’t supposed to… feel something about it.

She liked a boy.

She reminded herself of that repeatedly.

And yet—Here she was, heart pounding because a girl sent her two lines over text.

She fell backward onto the couch again, exhaling hard, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to her sudden identity crisis.

“What do I even reply to that…” she whispered to herself.

Her fingers hovered over her phone.

She typed a reply.

Deleted it.

Typed a different one.

Deleted that too.

She groaned, rolled onto her stomach, and kicked her feet again like a frustrated teenager.

Finally, she sat up, took a deep breath, and forced her brain to choose something safe, friendly, and not incriminating.

She typed: Don’t tempt me, Laforteza. I might actually take you up on that resting expertise lol.
Okay. Good. Light. Not too much.

Then she added:And I’m glad you don’t mind. Didn’t want to sound weird haha.

She stared at the message.
“Okay. Okay, that’s fine. Totally fine. Normal,” she told herself.

Her thumb hovered.

She hit send.

Then she tossed her phone onto the couch and walked away dramatically like she needed to distance herself from the whole emotional meltdown she’d just gone through.

She ignored the fact that she was smiling.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia dried her hair with a towel as she picked up her phone again, expecting maybe a short, polite reply.

Instead, she saw: Don’t tempt me, Laforteza. I might actually take you up on that resting expertise lol. And I’m glad you don’t mind. Didn’t want to sound weird haha.

Sophia’s brows lifted, a breath of surprised laughter pushing out of her.

Not weird.

Not even close.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, twisting the towel in her hands. The apartment was dim, city lights reflecting through her windows, a soft hum of nighttime traffic below. Training exhaustion pulled at her muscles, but the messages… they did something else entirely.

Her fingers moved over the keyboard slowly, deliberately.

Sophia: You don’t sound weird. At all. If anything, I like that you said it.

She hesitated.

Was that too forward?
Maybe.

But Daniela kept surprising her, so maybe it was okay to give her a little honesty back.

She added another line: And if you ever really need to rest, you know where to find me.

She stared at the words.

Simple.

Safe.

But warm.

She hit send.

She plugged her phone into the charger and set it beside her pillow, then lay back across the bed with a long exhale. Her body ached from training, but in a satisfying way. Tomorrow was big. Race day always was.

She closed her eyes for a second—Buzz.

She opened them quickly, heartbeat skipping as she reached for the phone.

Daniela again.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela was already under her covers, hair wrapped in a messy bun, hoodie too big for sleep but comfortable. She was exhausted—rehearsal had absolutely crushed her—but she was also… restless.
When her phone buzzed, she instantly grabbed it.

Sophia’s new message lit up her screen.

Daniela’s breath caught.

The warmth in her stomach turned into a slow, heavy, fluttery feeling that made her bury her face in her pillow again.

“Why does she TALK like that,” Daniela whispered dramatically into the mattress.

It wasn’t flirting.

It wasn’t.

But somehow it felt like it.

Her heart was doing the thing again—too fast, too warm. She wasn’t used to this. Boys didn’t make her feel like this. Not even the one she currently liked. Nothing about this was normal.

Trying to calm down, she shifted onto her back and exhaled.

She needed to be normal. Casual. Friendly.

So she forced her fingers to type something that didn’t reveal the meltdown happening inside her chest.

Daniela: Your race is tomorrow, right?

She stared at it.

Watching from home felt wrong. Passive. Distant.

She wanted to be there.

She wanted to see Sophia’s focus, the way she transformed on the track. She wanted to feel the atmosphere again, the adrenaline, the noise, the chaos. She wanted to be closer.

And since the group had a free day—The choice was embarrassingly easy.

Before she could second-guess herself, she deleted her original message and typed something new:
We actually have the entire day off tomorrow. No rehearsal. So… if it’s not weird… I was thinking of coming to see your race again.

She reread it, cheeks heating.

It sounded bold.
Too bold?

She added quickly: Only if that’s cool with you!
I don’t wanna bother you before a big day.

She hesitated.
Then, almost shyly, added a final line: I just… really liked watching you race last time.

Her stomach squeezed.

Okay. That was too honest.

But she didn’t delete it.

She sent it.

Her heart pounded so loud she could hear it in her ears. She buried her face in her pillow again.
Then she added another message, softer: Anyway, it’s getting late and I should sleep before my brain melts.

Goodnight, Sophia :) And… I hope tomorrow is amazing for you.

She set her phone down, turned off the lamp, and curled under the covers.

She should’ve been thinking about sleep.

About rest.

About discipline.

Instead she thought of Sophia.

Sophia in the car.

Sophia stepping out, hair damp with sweat, a calm smirk in place of a smile.

Sophia looking at her like she saw her.

Daniela pressed a hand lightly over her chest, trying not to feel too much.

“Goodnight…” she whispered again, voice barely audible.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia picked up her phone on the counter, expecting a simple goodnight text.

But when she opened the thread, she froze.
We actually have the entire day off tomorrow…
So… if it’s not weird… I was thinking of coming to see your race again.
Only if that’s cool with you!
I don’t wanna bother you before a big day.
I just… really liked watching you race last time.

Sophia’s breath caught in her throat.

Daniela wanted to come.

Again.

Not because her band was doing something.

Not for photos or events.

Just to see her.

And she liked watching.

Sophia slowly sat down at the edge of her bed, her heart beating in a way she couldn’t categorize. Not adrenaline, not competition, not nerves.

Something softer.

Something dangerously close to hope.

She reread the messages several times, thumb hovering over the screen like touching it too hard might break this fragile moment.

Her phone buzzed one more time:
Goodnight, Sophia :)
And… I hope tomorrow is amazing for you.

Sophia’s chest tightened—not unpleasantly.
Just… unfamiliar.

She typed back quietly, without overthinking: It’s not weird. I’d like it if you came.

She paused, then added:
And you could never bother me.

Not you.

She hesitated before writing the last line: Goodnight, Daniela. I’ll do my best tomorrow… if you’re there, that’ll help.

She hit send.

Then she set the phone beside her pillow, lay back in the darkness of her room, and tried to sleep.

Tried.

But her last thought before drifting off was:
She’s coming to see me.

And it made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Sophia woke up before her alarm.

Race days always did this to her—her internal clock snapped awake like her brain knew the world was already moving. It was barely sunrise, faint light bleeding through her curtains, painting soft shadows across her walls. The city outside was still half-asleep, but her mind wasn’t.

She lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, breathing slowly.

Race day.

That was enough to set her heart into its steady professional rhythm.

But another memory slipped in behind it:
Daniela’s texts.

I’ll come to see your race.
I really liked watching you last time.

A different kind of beat pulsed in her chest—lighter, warmer, way more invasive than adrenaline.
Sophia exhaled and rubbed her face like she could physically push the feelings back into a controlled space.

Today she needed focus.

She swung her legs out of bed, stood, and began her routine—everything done with the quiet efficiency of someone who’d been living race-to-race for years.
Warm shower, cold rinse.

Hair tied up tight.

Tracksuit.

Protein shake.

Meditation for three minutes and forty seconds—never four, never three.

She grabbed her keys, phone, and team pass before heading to the elevator.

Outside, the morning air was crisp, and her Mercedes street car sat waiting. She slid into the driver’s seat, buckled in, and started the engine, the gentle roar grounding her.

She pulled out onto the road.

The city passed in a blur, and for once, she didn’t blast music or listen to engine simulations. She drove in silence, letting her thoughts settle into neat compartments the way they always did.

But one thought kept slipping out of its box:
She’s coming today.

Daniela.

She didn’t have to—she wanted to.
Sophia tightened her grip on the steering wheel, jaw tense in a way that betrayed the softness trying to surface.

She didn’t know what that meant.

She wasn’t supposed to think about what it meant.

Focus, Laforteza.

She inhaled deeply.

The track entrance was ten minutes away.

She turned on her indicator at a long intersection—
And somewhere across the city, another girl was waking up with her own racing heartbeat.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela woke up to the sound of Yoonchae yelling down the hallway.

“MEGAN TOOK MY HAIR TIE AGAIN!”

“You have 400 hair ties!” Megan shouted back.

“That’s not the POINT—”

Daniela groaned into her pillow.

Living with KATSEYE was like living inside a permanent thunderstorm—no silence, no peace, just glitter and yelling and laughter. Normally she loved it.

But today her heart was already beating too fast for noise.

She sat up quickly, hair falling in her face.

Race day.

Sophia’s race day.

She didn’t have to go. No one asked her to. The company didn’t schedule it. The girls didn’t push her.

But the moment Sophia said she’d like it—
She couldn’t imagine not going.

She threw on a hoodie, tugged it halfway off again, tossed it onto the bed, and started digging for a different one.

Something that didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

“Morning,” Megan said from the doorway, chewing toast.

Daniela squeaked and nearly tripped. “Morning.”

Megan raised an eyebrow. “You’re up early.”

“I’m… awake because… you know… morning things.”

“Morning things?” Megan took another bite. “You never wake up before 11 on off-days.”

Daniela froze.

“…I can change,” she tried.

Megan smirked. “Okay. So where are you going?”

Daniela pretended to be fascinated with a sock on the floor. “Out.”

“Uh huh. Out where?”

Lara walked by, saw the scene, and stopped in the hall. “Is this about the F1 girl again?”

Daniela made a dying noise. “It’s not ABOUT—no one said—WHAT?”

Yoonchae peeked around the corner. “You’re going to see Sophia race again? Awwww.”

Manon appeared behind them all, voice flat but amused: “Leave her alone. She’s in her feelings.”
Daniela’s face went nuclear.

“I’M NOT IN MY FEELINGS—”

“Then why are you choosing outfits for a racetrack?” Megan asked, pointing at the clothes scattered across her bed.

Daniela grabbed the nearest hoodie and threw it at her.

“IT’S COLD OUTSIDE!”

“It’s 18 degrees,” Manon corrected.

Daniela grabbed her bag, shoved past them, cheeks burning.

“Goodbye,” she muttered, praying they’d stop teasing.

But as she put her shoes on, Lara called: “Tell Sophia we say hi!”

Daniela froze mid-lace.

Yoonchae added, “AND TAKE PICTURES!”

Megan cupped her hands. “BE SAFE, LITTLE LOVEBIRD!”

Daniela slammed the door behind her with a mortified groan.

Outside, she pressed her hands over her face.
“Kill me,” she whispered to the hallway.

But then—She lowered her hands.

Took a breath.

And despite everything, a smile spread across her lips.

She was going to see Sophia.

Again.

Not because fate forced it.

Because she wanted to.

She walked toward the elevator, heart racing like she was already at the track.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia was already on the road, the soft purr of the engine filling the quiet interior of her car. Her GPS said 10 minutes to the track, but she’d left early anyway — she always did. Being ahead of schedule calmed her nerves, let her settle into race mode without feeling rushed.

The sky was still pale, the sun barely rising, casting soft golden reflections across her windshield. Her coffee sat in the cup holder, half-finished, sending faint warmth into the air around her. She kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on her thigh, tapping occasionally with leftover adrenaline from her early wake-up.

She should’ve been thinking about tire pressure, cornering lines, gear ratios, the mechanics she needed to check in with.

But instead, her mind drifted.

Daniela.

The thought slipped in before she could stop it.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
Last night’s messages were still replaying in her head. How easy it had felt to talk to her — too easy. Sophia wasn’t used to that. She wasn’t used to… looking forward to someone showing up at her race.
Focus, she told herself.

She’s just being supportive.
Don’t overthink it.

But when Daniela texted that she’d rather spend her rare rest day watching her race than staying home, Sophia had stared at her phone for far too long.
She didn’t know what to make of that feeling. Warm? Nervous? Something fluttery and unfamiliar.
She exhaled and rolled her shoulders back.

The track came into view as she took the exit. Staff were already moving barricades, checking timing systems, setting up for the spectators. The place always had a certain hum on race mornings — not loud, not chaotic, but charged.

Sophia slowed the car, turning into the designated lot. She parked smoothly, cut the engine, and the sudden silence felt loud in her chest.

She grabbed her gym bag, stepped out, and inhaled the sharp scent of rubber, fuel, and early morning chill.

Normally, this moment grounded her.
Today, her mind wandered again.
I wonder if she’s on her way.

Sophia shut the door a little harder than necessary, annoyed with herself. She was a professional. She had a routine.

And yet, somewhere underneath all the discipline and preparation, a small, dangerous anticipation pulsed quietly.

Daniela was coming.

And that shouldn’t matter as much as it did.
With a steady breath, she headed toward check-in, boots hitting pavement in a familiar rhythm. She forced her thoughts back toward warm-up drills, hydration, controlled breathing — anything but the girl who somehow kept slipping into her focus.
But even as she moved through the motions, that same undercurrent remained, subtle and persistent:
She was glad Daniela wanted to be there.

More than she should be.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela stood in the hotel bathroom, staring at her reflection while running a hand through her still-damp hair. She’d woken up early—earlier than she needed to on a rare rest day—and she didn’t even pretend to be surprised at herself.

Today was race day.

Sophia’s race day.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile too openly at her own reflection.

She’d told the girls last night that she was thinking of going to see Sophia race again, but they all had their own plans for the day. Rest, gym, errands, a brunch Yoonchae had been begging for all week. It was the perfect opening for her to slip away unnoticed.

And honestly?

She preferred it that way.

Not because it was a secret.

But because it felt… quieter. Personal. Like she could actually focus on being there, not on answering questions or getting teased.

She grabbed her phone from the counter. Sophia hadn’t texted her this morning — obviously. It was race day. She was probably already at the track.

Locked in.
Focused.

Daniela slipped into her jeans, pulled on a black top, and grabbed a light jacket. Something casual. Nothing too attention-grabbing. She added sunglasses and tied her hair half-up, the rest falling naturally over her shoulders.

Her heart fluttered more than it should have.
You’re just going to support a friend, she reminded herself.

But it didn’t sound very convincing, even in her own head.

She left the room quietly and got into a car. The drive was uneventful, her thoughts looping back to last night’s texts, the anticipation of seeing Sophia, and the quiet thrill of doing something for herself without anyone else tagging along.

When she arrived at the track, streets were lined with fans holding flags, wearing merchandise, cheering for their favorite drivers. Security guided her quickly to a reserved entrance near the paddock, bypassing the bulk of the crowd.

Her chest tightened.

Everything felt different today.

Last time, she’d been excited, curious, starstruck by the atmosphere.

This time…
This time she knew someone here.

Someone she wanted to support.

Someone who had saved her number, who talked to her like she mattered, who made her stomach twist in ways she didn’t understand yet.

She stopped beside a railing, inhaling deeply, grounding herself.

Then her phone buzzed.

A message from Sophia.

Daniela’s heart jumped before she even opened it.

Sophia: Already at the track. Warm-ups soon. Hope you slept well.

Daniela smiled — soft, warm, completely involuntary.
She typed:

Daniela: I’m here, actually. Came alone. I didn’t want to miss it.

She hesitated, then sent it before she chickened out.
Her cheeks warmed instantly.

She tucked her phone into her pocket and started toward the VIP stairs.

Her legs felt lighter than normal.

Nerves?

Excitement?

Probably both.

Today felt like it meant something — not big, not dramatic, just quietly important.

Daniela picked a seat overlooking the track, pulling her jacket tighter around her as engines began to roar in the distance.

She leaned forward, elbows on knees, scanning the pit lane.

She wasn’t sure if Sophia could see her from here.

But she hoped she did.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia’s gloves were already on, tied tight around her wrists. She leaned over the edge of her Mercedes in the paddock garage, glancing at the iPad held by her race engineer, Paolo. The digital map of the Monaco track glowed under the morning lights, the winding streets and tight corners a familiar yet always-demanding challenge.

“Sector one is tricky with the new tarmac,” Paolo said, pointing at a narrow hairpin near the harbor. “You’ve got to brake later than usual, but not too late. Grip will be inconsistent with last night’s drizzle.”

Sophia nodded, tapping a finger along the screen, memorizing the curves, the elevation changes. “Got it. Late braking on the hairpin. Grip inconsistent. Sector three—I’ll stay slightly tighter on the chicane.”

Paolo smiled. “Exactly. You’ve done this a hundred times in sims, but nothing beats the real thing.”

Sophia smirked briefly, though her tone stayed neutral. “That’s why I’m here.”

She began her warm-up, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms. A dull stiffness tugged at her right shoulder — lingering from yesterday’s strength session — and she immediately thought of her physio’s warning: “Take it easy on that shoulder, Sophia. Don’t push it too hard today.”

But she pushed through it anyway, adjusting her rotation slightly, careful not to aggravate it, yet refusing to let it slow her down. Pain had never been a reason to quit, only a signal to manage and focus.

The engines in the garage roared as mechanics ran final checks. The air smelled of fuel and rubber, and her heartbeat found its rhythm — precise, controlled, ready.

Then she looked up.

Her eyes caught a flash of familiar movement in the VIP section, a bright jacket and confident posture standing out among the guests.

Daniela.

Sophia’s chest tightened just slightly, a sensation she didn’t often allow herself. Her lips lifted into a small, private smile, one she rarely gave anyone outside her immediate team. It wasn’t a grin or a laugh, not yet, just the gentle curve of approval and warmth. A subtle acknowledgment that someone mattered — someone unexpected.

Daniela waved, a quick motion that was both casual and deliberate.

Sophia waved back, letting the gesture linger a fraction longer than she normally would. Then she exhaled, returned to her stretches, and rolled her shoulder slowly, mindful of the physio’s instructions, pushing through just enough to loosen it without strain. But even as she prepared mentally and physically, the corner of her mind kept catching that bright presence in the VIP section.

Sophia moved toward her Mercedes, boots scraping softly against the garage floor. The mechanics gave her quick nods and thumbs-ups as she slid into the cockpit. The familiar smell of leather and carbon fiber filled her nose. The tight space hugged her like a second skin, comforting, functional, precise.
She flexed her right shoulder once more, careful. The dull ache lingered — a reminder of her physio’s instructions to take it easy — but she adjusted her harness strap and tightened it anyway. It pressed against her, reminding her to maintain posture, to stay controlled, to manage the pain instead of letting it dictate her performance.

“Everything ready, Sophia?” Paolo asked from the side of the pit lane, voice steady but carrying that underlying urgency that always made her heart race.

“Ready,” she said, letting her fingers hover briefly over the wheel, feeling the familiar buttons, the soft texture of the grips, the subtle vibrations of the car even while stationary. She exhaled.

Focus.

Precision.

Control.

The engines around her roared to life, filling the garage with deep, reverberating vibrations. Her shoulder protested faintly against the confined space of the cockpit, but she rolled it once, easing it back into place, careful not to overcompensate.
Then, again, her eyes lifted toward the VIP section.

There she was.

Daniela.

Sophia’s chest warmed. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen her today — they had waved earlier, a brief, subtle acknowledgment — but now, as Daniela leaned slightly forward, watching her intently, it felt… different. More personal. More grounded.

Sophia tightened her grip on the wheel, tested the pedals, flexed her fingers. Engines roared louder around her. Lights on the track began their countdown. The car thrummed beneath her like a living creature.

And she stole one more glance toward Daniela — again, a second acknowledgment that grounded her even as the adrenaline started to spike.
Focus, she whispered.

But a small, stubborn part of her heart couldn’t help but recognize that this was no ordinary support in the stands.

This… mattered.

The starting lights blinked red, one by one. Sophia’s gloved hands tightened on the wheel, shoulder stiff but steady, every muscle coiled and ready. Engines around her roared, echoing through the narrow Monaco streets.

Focus, she reminded herself.

Grip.
Braking.
Timing.

The lights went out.

She launched forward, the Mercedes responding perfectly to every input. The hairpin came fast — tighter than in simulations — but she managed it, pressing just enough with her right shoulder to stabilize the wheel. Pain radiated slightly, sharp enough to demand attention, but she ignored it.
Lap after lap, she pushed harder, weaving past competitors with calculated aggression. Her breathing was steady, her eyes scanning the track, pit wall updates flashing in her peripheral vision. Every turn tested her shoulder; every straight challenged her focus.

Her engineer’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Sophia, sector one clean, you’re gaining on Verstappen. Keep your line tight on the chicane.”

“Copy,” she replied, her teeth clenching as she maneuvered the car through the final curve before the harbor stretch. Pain stabbed again in her shoulder, but adrenaline sharpened her senses. She leaned into it, controlled the car, pushed the limits.

The crowd roared. The narrow streets blurred. And through it all, Sophia’s eyes flicked once toward the VIP section — there, Daniela was standing, gripping the railing, eyes wide with anticipation.

A small, smile tugged at her lips again. Focus returned immediately, but the knowledge that Daniela was watching gave her a quiet boost, something grounding in the chaos.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela’s eyes were glued to the track, heart hammering. Each time Sophia appeared around a corner, precision and control radiated from the car like electricity. She leaned forward, hands gripping the railing, inhaling sharply every time the Mercedes narrowly avoided a scrape on the walls.

Her stomach flipped as Sophia’s car slid perfectly into the chicane, overtaking a competitor with millimeters to spare. The crowd roared around her, but Daniela barely noticed. She was completely absorbed.

She’s amazing, Daniela whispered, not wanting anyone to hear.

A faint smile curved her lips as she realized Sophia wasn’t just fast — she was controlled, graceful under pressure, pushing through pain she couldn’t see. And it made Daniela feel a mix of awe and worry.

Sophia’s pov

 

Halfway through the race, the shoulder stiffness became a constant reminder. Every gear change and steering adjustment demanded more focus than usual. Sweat ran down her temple, but she refused to let the pain alter her rhythm.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered under her breath, pressing the wheel down through the final lap. The finish line loomed. Her vision tunneled to the checkered flags painted on the street.

A final hairpin — tighter than any she’d trained for — approached. She leaned into it, shoulder screaming faintly, teeth gritted. The Mercedes responded perfectly. She accelerated onto the final stretch.

Victory, she thought.
You’ve earned it.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela leapt slightly as the Mercedes crossed the finish line first. The sound of engines and the cheering crowd swelled around her, but she felt frozen, unable to clap immediately.

Sophia had done it. Won. And she had pushed through pain to get here.

Her worry surged as the car slowly decelerated and returned to the pit lane. She pulled out her phone to text, then caught herself — she wanted to see Sophia first.

Sophia’s pov

 

The car came to a halt in the pit area. Mechanics rushed to help her out, but she waved them off. Shoulder sore, muscles screaming, heart still pounding — but victory was hers.

She unstrapped, swung out of the racing car, and saw Daniela waiting near the railing of the VIP area.

“Hey,” Sophia said softly, a rare, open smile on her lips as she waved.

Daniela’s face lit up with relief and awe. “Sophia! Are you okay? Your shoulder…”

“I’m fine,” Sophia lied effortlessly, though the small wince betrayed her. “It’s just stiff, nothing I can’t handle.”

Daniela stepped closer, hands gripping the barrier, her concern evident. “You didn’t have to push yourself so hard. I was… worried.”

Sophia’s smile softened, more genuine this time, as she shook her head. “I had to. And I’m glad you were watching.”

Daniela blinked, surprised by the sincerity in Sophia’s eyes. The small, subtle moments — the rare smiles, the acknowledgments — suddenly felt heavier, more personal.

Sophia leaned lightly against the pit barrier, shoulder aching, adrenaline still racing. And even through the pain, through the exertion and exhaustion, she felt… grounded.

Because Daniela had been there.

Watching.

Caring.

She went back to the Mercedes pit, making sure everything was good with the engineers.
She was ready to leave.

Paolo and the mechanics patted her shoulder gently, but she waved them off. Not now. She had only one destination in mind.

Her gaze lifted toward the VIP section again. Daniela was leaning slightly forward, eyes scanning the pit lane until they found Sophia again. Relief, awe, and an unspoken question flickered across her face.
Sophia’s lips curved into that rare, soft smile — the one she reserved for moments like this, moments that weren’t about racing strategy or media appearances. She walked toward the VIP entrance, careful with her shoulder but moving with purpose.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela’s chest tightened as Sophia approached. She had already exchanged a few words with her immediately after the race — Sophia had insisted she was okay, brushing off the soreness in her shoulder with that calm, controlled tone that somehow made her even more impressive.

But now, seeing Sophia again, walking toward her despite the lingering stiffness, Daniela couldn’t help feeling that familiar mix of worry and admiration.

“You did it,” Daniela said softly as Sophia reached the barrier. Her voice carried awe more than anything else. “You really won. I… I’m proud of you.”

Sophia offered a faint smile, small but genuine. “Thanks. Means a lot coming from you.”

Daniela bit her lip, glancing briefly at Sophia’s shoulder. “Still… careful with that thing, okay? You pushed so hard out there.”

Sophia leaned lightly against the barrier, shrugging in her usual controlled manner. “I’ve got it under control. Just stiff, nothing more.”

Daniela nodded, exhaling slowly. She couldn’t hide it entirely — the mix of pride, relief, and something more intense curling in her chest. Watching Sophia conquer the track, push through the pain, and still remain this composed, made her heart tighten.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia’s rare smile lingered. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a dull ache in her shoulder, but the presence of Daniela here — watching, caring, proud — grounded her in a way the race never could.

She adjusted her stance slightly, careful not to aggravate the shoulder, and let herself just breathe for a moment. This small pause, standing here with Daniela, felt like a quiet victory all its own.

“Come on,” she said softly, “let’s get out of the pit lane. I could use a seat and someone to not talk about racing for two minutes.”

Daniela’s lips curved into a small, teasing smile. “You just want to sit. Not talk? That’s… very un-Sophia of you.”

“Sometimes I can be normal,” Sophia replied, smirking faintly.

Daniela’s pov

 

She followed Sophia along the edge of the pit lane, keeping pace while secretly studying her. Shoulder wrapped in her jacket, posture still strong, but something about the slight limp in her step, the way she rolled her shoulder subtly, told Daniela everything she needed to know.

She’s unstoppable, Daniela thought. And somehow, still… human.

As they moved toward a quieter area behind the pit, away from the media and the buzz of the team, Daniela felt a strange mix of pride, admiration, and protective concern. Watching Sophia dominate the track today — pushing through pain and still winning — made her care more than she had anticipated.
And even though she wouldn’t say it out loud, even though Sophia was smiling and calm, Daniela realized that this small, quiet moment after the chaos of the race meant just as much to her as the victory did to Sophia.

Sophia’s pov

 

The pit lane buzzed with mechanics, media, and team personnel, but Sophia led Daniela around a corner toward a quieter area near a storage garage and some seating benches reserved for team staff. The sun was warm, but a light breeze carried the scent of the track and faint engine smoke. Here, the chaos of the race felt distant.

Sophia sank into a bench seat, stretching her legs out, rolling her shoulder slowly. She hadn’t wanted to seem weak in front of the media or her team, but with Daniela, the posture softened.

Daniela sat beside her, careful not to crowd her, yet close enough that Sophia could feel her presence. She watched the subtle tension in Sophia’s shoulder, the way she massaged it lightly.

“You sure you’re okay?” Daniela asked softly. Her voice carried genuine concern, tinged with awe.

Sophia exhaled, letting her head tilt back against the bench. “Yeah… it’s just stiff. Could barely feel it while racing, but now that it’s over… it’s reminding me it exists.”

Daniela’s eyes softened. “Let me see,” she said. Her hands hovered a moment before lightly pressing along the muscles near Sophia’s shoulder and upper back. “I’ve got some first-aid training from the tour — we have to be prepared for injuries, minor accidents, and… dance mishaps. This counts, right?”

Sophia chuckled quietly, the sound low and almost private. “Yeah… you can check it.”

Daniela pressed gently, feeling the tension, the tightness beneath the muscle. She didn’t dig too deep, careful not to aggravate anything. “It’s sore, but nothing serious. You just need to stretch and maybe ice later. But you… you pushed through that, didn’t you?”

Sophia nodded, shrugging lightly. “I had to. Monaco isn’t forgiving. Every second counts.” Her eyes flicked toward Daniela, a subtle warmth there. “It helps… knowing someone’s watching.”

Daniela smiled, fingers still lightly brushing her shoulder. “I was worried, yeah… but I’m proud of you. Watching you push through that pain… it’s kind of incredible.”

Sophia’s smile grew faintly, quieter than her usual reserved expression. “You always say the right things, don’t you?”

“Not always,” Daniela said, leaning back slightly, letting the moment breathe. “But… sometimes, I think I do. Today… today was one of those times.”
A pause settled between them. The track noise was distant, the pit lane chaos muted. Just the two of them, a private corner where the world outside didn’t exist for a moment.

Sophia shifted slightly, letting herself relax against the bench, her shoulder still aching but manageable. She glanced at Daniela, the presence she normally kept at arm’s length feeling… easier to lean into.
“You know,” Sophia said softly, “it’s rare… someone can make me feel like this. Calm. Not racing, not stressed. Just… here. It’s… nice.”

Daniela’s fingers lingered for a moment longer on Sophia’s shoulder. “I get it,” she said quietly. “You’re usually… all control, all focus. But with me… you let a little of that go. And I notice. And I… like it.”

Sophia’s chest tightened slightly, the rare hint of vulnerability showing only in her eyes. “I like it too,” she admitted.

The conversation hung between them, intimate, unspoken, heavy with a sense of new possibilities. Not yet confession, not yet romance, but the slow pull of trust and connection.

Daniela smiled softly, letting her hand fall lightly back to her lap. “Promise me you’ll ice that shoulder later,” she teased lightly, though her eyes stayed on Sophia’s, warm and focused.

Sophia chuckled quietly. “Promise.”

For a few minutes longer, they just sat there. Watching each other, feeling the aftermath of adrenaline and victory, of worry and care. Quiet, intimate, unhurried — a first step toward something more.

The quiet corner couldn’t last forever. Sophia’s team was waving her over — the media and post-race interviews were waiting, cameras already trained on her as she emerged from the car.

Daniela rose as well, adjusting her jacket. “I should let you… get back to your team,” she said softly, though her eyes lingered.

Sophia stood and, for the first time in a long while, let herself reach out. She placed a gentle hand on Daniela’s shoulder, her thumb brushing lightly against the fabric. Tender, controlled, and full of unspoken words.

“Text me when you’re done,” Sophia said, voice low but warm. “I want to hear from you.”

Daniela blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I will,” she promised.

Sophia released her shoulder, and they shared one last glance — brief, charged, heavy with connection — before Daniela stepped back, giving her space to move toward the waiting press.

The cameras were relentless, the lights blinding, microphones shoved near her face.

“Congratulations on your victory, Sophia! Your first win of the season!”

“Can you tell us what was going through your mind on the final lap?”

Sophia answered politely, professionally, her voice calm and precise. But even as she smiled for the cameras, a small part of her mind remained on Daniela — the way she had lingered, the warmth of that hand on her shoulder, the soft promise to stay in touch.

Once the questions slowed, and the team finally waved her toward the debrief, Sophia slipped away from the microphones. Her shoulder throbbed faintly, but she ignored it.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she texted Daniela letting her know she was finished with her interviews.

Sophia: “Hey… interviews are done. If you want, you can stop by my apartment. Shoulder recovery and post-race debrief, but… I promise snacks and comfort.”

She paused, fingers hovering over the send button, thinking of the soft smile she had just shared with Daniela. Then she pressed send.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela’s phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at it, heart skipping a beat. The message from Sophia felt intimate, personal, and slightly daring.

Stop by her apartment…?

Her lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile. She was tired from the day, from the adrenaline of watching Sophia dominate the track, yet something inside her stirred at the thought of being close to her.

Maybe… just for a little while, she thought, already walking toward her car with a new sense of anticipation.

Daniela’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual as she navigated the quiet streets. Monaco was winding down after the race, the crowds dissipated, but her mind was anything but calm.
I can’t believe she actually invited me…

The thought made her chest tighten in a way she couldn’t ignore. She had spent the day watching Sophia push herself to the limits, shoulder stiff, muscles screaming, yet dominating every corner of the track. And now… she was going to see her again, privately. Just the two of them.

Daniela exhaled slowly, trying to calm the rush of thoughts. She imagined Sophia sitting on her couch, probably still in compression gear from the Mercedes team, maybe tired, maybe sore. Her fingers tapped lightly against the wheel.

I just… want to make sure she’s okay. Not just proud of her… I want to take care of her, see her comfortable.

She deserves that.

The car turned the corner, and there it was — Sophia’s apartment building, quiet, almost private in the early evening light. Daniela parked and took a deep breath, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

Focus.
Be calm.
Be yourself.

She grabbed the bag she had packed with a few comfort items — fruit, a drink, and the small gel ice pack she kept for emergencies — and made her way to the door.

Sophia pushed the door open, still in her tight compression gear from the Mercedes team, hair slightly damp from the quick shower she had taken in the garage. Her shoulder protested faintly as she moved, reminding her she had pushed far more than usual today.

“Daniela?” she called softly, leaning slightly against the doorway.

Daniela stepped in, closing the door behind her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Hey. You look… exhausted.”

“I am,” Sophia admitted, walking toward the couch. “Race takes a lot out of you, even if you’ve done it before.” She eased herself onto the couch, stretching her shoulder subtly as she settled.

Daniela followed, placing the bag on the table. “Good. Then I can help.”

Sophia tilted her head, eyebrow raised slightly. “Help how?”
Daniela pulled out the small gel ice pack. “This shoulder. I think it might be worse than you’re letting on.”

Sophia hesitated, just a fraction, before nodding. Daniela moved gently, placing the ice on the muscle. Sophia flinched slightly at first, the cold sharp against her tender shoulder.

“You okay?” Daniela asked softly, watching her reaction closely.

“Yeah…” Sophia admitted, voice quiet, “more than I let on.” She closed her eyes briefly as Daniela’s careful hands kept the ice in place, the discomfort lingering but manageable.

Daniela’s chest tightened. She really did push herself… She let her fingers linger lightly on the pack, ensuring it was steady. “You should never hide how much it hurts,” she murmured. “I can’t… not care about you, Sophia.”

Sophia opened one eye, looking at her. Her usual composed, reserved exterior softened. “I know,” she said, voice low, “and… I don’t want you to worry. But… thank you. For being here.”

Daniela smiled, leaning slightly closer, hands careful, attentive. “Always.”

Then, letting the ice on Sophia’s shoulder, Daniela pulled out a small plate of food she had brought — a comfort meal Sophia loved. “You’re not allowed to eat alone, not after that performance,” she said gently, offering it.

Sophia chuckled faintly, the first genuine laugh since the race. “I guess I can allow that. But only because you brought it.”

They sat together on the couch, Sophia in compression gear, Daniela attentive and careful, sharing quiet conversation between bites of food. The room was warm, private, safe — a stark contrast to the chaos of the track and the media earlier.

Sophia’s shoulder ached faintly under the ice, her body telling the story of the day’s push, and Daniela watched every subtle reaction, every flinch and sigh. It made her heart tighten, realizing just how much Sophia had given today — not just for the race, but for the pride, for the victory.

I want to take care of her. Not just her shoulder, but… her.

And for the first time, Sophia let herself truly relax in Daniela’s presence, the warmth, care, and quiet intimacy of the moment bridging the gap between them, slowly and deliberately, building something neither had quite named yet.

Sophia sank onto the edge of the couch, running a hand over her damp hair. The tight Mercedes compression gear still clung to her muscles, comforting in its familiarity, but her body ached for something softer, something she didn’t have to fight to move in.

“I really should change into something more comfortable,” she murmured, tugging slightly at the hem of her top.

Daniela glanced up from the bag she had unpacked.

“Want me to help?” she asked gently.

Sophia’s lips curved faintly in a small, tired smile. “Yeah… my shoulder. I can’t get this off without making it worse.”

Daniela nodded, moving closer and positioning herself carefully. “Okay… we’ll do it slowly.”

Sophia lifted one arm cautiously, a soft hiss slipping through her teeth as Daniela guided her through the movement. The compression top peeled away slowly, sticking slightly to her skin from leftover heat and adrenaline. Underneath, she wore only her sports bra — the black one she always used after race days — leaving the bruising along her shoulder fully exposed.

Daniela swallowed, steadying herself before speaking.

“Okay… slow,” she murmured, and her hands were warm, steady, impossibly gentle.

She helped Sophia ease her injured arm free first, then tugged the rest of the garment over her head with practiced care. When it was finally off, Daniela reached for the soft cotton T-shirt laid out on the edge of the couch — the one Sophia had forgotten she’d tossed there earlier.

“Arms up?” Daniela asked softly.

Sophia nodded.

Daniela slipped the shirt over Sophia’s head, then supported her elbow with one hand while guiding the sleeve up carefully with the other. Each motion was slow and deliberate, like Daniela was afraid of hurting her — or maybe too aware of how close they were, how bare skin brushed lightly against her fingers.

When the shirt was finally on and settled against Sophia’s ribs, Daniela exhaled, almost quietly enough for Sophia not to notice.

“Good,” she breathed. “That’s… good.”

She reached behind her to grab the fresh new ice pack waiting on the table. Without a word, she placed it gently back onto Sophia’s shoulder, cupping it in place as the coolness spread across the tender muscle. Her fingertips pressed lightly along the edge, checking the pressure, making sure the cold hit the right spot.

Sophia let out a slow, relieved sigh — not just from the ice, but from Daniela’s touch, from the care woven into every movement.

And Daniela stayed there a moment longer, holding the pack in place, her breath brushing Sophia’s cheek as she whispered:
“Tell me if it’s too cold.”

“Better,” Sophia admitted quietly, settling back onto the couch. Her shoulder still protested faintly, but at least the tight gear wasn’t constricting her movement anymore.

Daniela settled beside her on the couch, eyes warm, fingers brushing against Sophia’s shoulder lightly. “Now we’re talking,” she said with a small smile. “Comfortable and finally able to relax.”

Sophia sank deeper into the couch, the soft t-shirt against her skin already soothing some of the lingering tension from the race. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by the dull ache in her shoulder — but with Daniela here, it didn’t feel like a burden.
Daniela gently placed the ice pack on her shoulder, the cold sending a faint shock through the sore muscle. Sophia flinched slightly but allowed the sensation to settle, letting herself fully relax for the first time since the race.

“Careful,” Sophia muttered, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re too gentle. I might actually fall asleep here.”

Daniela laughed softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You’ve been pushing yourself all day. You deserve gentle.”

Sophia tilted her head slightly, feeling the ice press against the muscle, and allowed herself a subtle shiver. “It’s… colder than I thought it would be,” she admitted quietly. Her voice was softer than usual, tinged with a rare vulnerability she rarely allowed anyone to see.

Daniela’s fingers lingered briefly, teasing lightly as she shifted the pack. “Is that all you’ve got for me?” she asked with a smirk. “Just a flinch and a mutter? You’re tougher than that, Sophia.”

Sophia chuckled quietly, leaning back. “Tough… yes. But sometimes even the tough need someone to notice when it hurts.” Her gaze softened as she looked at Daniela. “And… I’m glad it’s you.”

Daniela’s smile softened in response. “I’m honored, really.” She gently guided Sophia’s arm through a slow stretch, careful not to aggravate the shoulder. “Just relax. No racing, no performance… just you, and me, and this ridiculous ice pack.”

Sophia allowed herself to follow the movement, the tension in her shoulder easing slightly under Daniela’s touch. She felt warmth creeping up her chest — not just from relief or care, but from the quiet intimacy of the moment. She had spent so long keeping her guard up, keeping people at a distance, and yet… with Daniela, it felt safe to let go, even if just a little.

“You know,” Sophia murmured, voice soft, “I don’t usually let people do this for me. Watch me like this. Help me without me having to… explain.”

Daniela’s grin was teasing but gentle. “I’ll take it as a challenge then — get you to relax fully. Maybe by the end of tonight, you’ll be thanking me instead of glaring at me for being so… helpful.”

Sophia smirked faintly, the sound quiet and private. “Maybe. Don’t push your luck.”

But as Daniela continued to help her stretch and ice the shoulder, Sophia felt her usual walls slowly melting away. She laughed softly at a teasing remark, flinched at the ice just enough to make Daniela smirk, and even allowed a small sigh of relief to escape as the tension in her muscles eased.
For the first time in a long while, Sophia didn’t have to be perfect. She didn’t have to be untouchable. She didn’t have to hide.

With Daniela here, beside her, attentive, teasing, and quietly persistent, she could just… be.

And that, she realized quietly, was almost more exhilarating than any race victory.

Chapter Text

Daniela’s pov

 

The sunlight filtered through the blinds as Daniela scrolled through her phone, sipping her coffee, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She paused on Sophia’s name, hesitating before opening the message thread.

How’s your shoulder this morning? she typed, trying to sound casual but carrying a weight of genuine concern.

She imagined Sophia in her apartment, probably stretching lightly, maybe still sore from yesterday. The thought made her chest tighten.

After sending the message, Daniela grabbed her rehearsal bag and headed to the studio, her mind already half on the conversation she hoped they’d continue tonight.

By the time Daniela arrived at the studio, the rest of Katseye was already warming up. Megan and Yoonchae were chatting near the mirrors, stretching and discussing choreography, while Lara and Manon went over vocal runs.

“Morning,” Lara called out. “How was your rest day?”

Daniela grinned, a little shyly. “Good… well, I didn’t exactly rest entirely. I… went to see Sophia.”

All the girls paused mid-stretch, eyes wide. “Sophia, the driver, again?” Yoonchae echoed, teasing.

Daniela blushed slightly but nodded. “Yeah, the F1 driver I met before. The one from Monaco. I went to her apartment, made sure her shoulder was okay… we had dinner, and, um… helped her with some stretches and icing.”

Manon smirked knowingly. “Sounds like a cozy evening. And just friends, right?”

“Just friends,” Daniela said quickly, but the faint smile on her lips betrayed her. She wasn’t even sure herself with what she wanted. The other girls teased gently, asking questions that made Daniela laugh and blush, though she tried to deflect.

Rehearsal started in earnest. The girls went through hours of choreography, vocal runs, and stamina exercises. Daniela’s body moved with muscle memory, but her mind kept drifting to Sophia — wondering if her shoulder still ached, if she had slept well, if she was remembering yesterday’s quiet, warm moments.

By the time rehearsal ended, Daniela was exhausted, clothes damp with sweat, hair sticking to her neck. She slumped into a chair near the mirror, pulling her phone from her bag.

A notification blinked on the screen.

Sophia: “Hey… morning check-in appreciated. My shoulder is sore but fine. Physio says I need two days of rest, or it could worsen. I’m on one of those today. Would you… maybe stop by after rehearsal? I could use some company… and help, if you want.”

Daniela’s heart fluttered. She read the message twice, then smiled softly, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.

Of course I’ll go, she thought. She typed quickly:

Daniela: “I’ll be there. I can help with stretches, ice, anything you need… and stay for company too.”

She put her phone down and exhaled, exhaustion from rehearsal mixing with anticipation. She couldn’t wait to see Sophia again — to check on her, to spend time with her, and to feel that quiet, intimate connection continue to grow.

Sophia’s pov

 

The morning sunlight spilled across Sophia’s apartment as she stretched lightly on the couch, still clad in the soft t-shirt and comfortable leggings she had changed into last night. Her shoulder ached faintly — a dull reminder of yesterday’s race — but it was tolerable.

A knock sounded at the door, and Lila stepped in, her bag of supplies in hand and a warm, professional smile on her face. “Good morning, Sophia. Let’s see how that shoulder’s holding up after yesterday.”

Sophia lifted her arm slowly, rotating it with controlled precision. “Feels okay… still stiff, though,” she admitted.

Lila nodded, her practiced hands pressing lightly along the sore muscles. “I can feel the tension, could aggravate into a sprain. You really pushed yourself yesterday. But you know the rule — at least two full days of rest, or it could worsen.”

“I know,” Sophia said, keeping her voice calm. She hated feeling restricted, but she trusted Lila. She always did.

“Good. We’ll do some light stretches, maybe some gentle massage, but nothing strenuous. No lifting, no racing, nothing that aggravates the shoulder,” Lila said, applying a soothing gel and guiding Sophia through a few careful movements. “And you’ll ice it afterward, okay?”

Sophia nodded, letting out a quiet breath.
“Understood. Thanks, Lila.”

“You’re welcome,” Lila replied, patting her shoulder lightly before packing up. “Remember — rest is part of winning too.”

Sophia gave a small smile as Lila left. She turned back to her couch, settling under the throw blanket with the ice pack, letting the quiet of the morning wash over her.

With Lila gone, Sophia sank into the couch cushions, curling slightly and placing the ice pack on her shoulder. The apartment was quiet, filled with faint reminders of last night — the lingering scent of comfort food, the warmth of the space, and the calm that only came in solitude.

Her phone rested nearby, and though she resisted checking it constantly, she thought about Daniela. She said she’d stop by after rehearsal…

The thought made her chest tighten in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable. She shifted slightly, trying to stretch without aggravating her shoulder, and let herself relax for the first time since the race.

For the first time in a long while, Sophia didn’t have to be perfect, didn’t have to hide her exhaustion or pain. She could just… be.

And as the clock ticked closer to when she knew Daniela would arrive, that pull — the quiet, steady awareness of care, warmth, and connection — kept her awake, alert, and quietly anticipating the knock on the door that would bring her more than just company.

Daniela’s pov

 

The streets were quiet, sun beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting warm light across the city. Daniela gripped the steering wheel, rehearsals still buzzing in her mind, but her thoughts kept drifting to Sophia.

I hope her shoulder isn’t bothering her too much…
Her fingers drummed lightly on the wheel as she parked outside Sophia’s building. She had packed a small bag with some fruit, drinks, and a gel ice pack — little things that made her feel like she was helping, making a difference.

As she climbed the stairs to Sophia’s apartment, anticipation and nervous excitement tangled together.

Just stay calm.
Be yourself.

She knocked lightly on the door.

“Coming!” Sophia’s voice called from inside.
The door opened, and Daniela was met with the sight of Sophia in a soft t-shirt and joggings, shoulder slightly hunched but smiling faintly. Even tired, even sore, she looked effortless in the way she carried herself.

Daniela stepped inside, holding a small tote bag.

“Hey,” she said, smiling brightly. “I brought reinforcements for the recovering F1 driver. You survived yesterday — barely — and I wasn’t about to let you do it alone.”

Sophia laughed softly, letting the brief tension in her body ease. “You really don’t have to make this so dramatic.”

Daniela smirked, setting the bag down on the counter. “Maybe. But drama makes recovery more fun, don’t you think?”

Sophia shook her head, smiling. “I suppose… only because you brought snacks.”

Daniela pulled out a small plate filled with Sophia’s favorite comfort foods — warm, hearty, and perfectly portioned. “Ta-da. Shoulder first. Eating after.”

Sophia settled onto the couch, curling slightly into a blanket. “I guess… the shoulder part comes next,” she said with a faint smile.

Daniela knelt beside her, pulling out a gel pack from her tote. “Relax. I promise it won’t hurt… well, maybe just a little if you flinch.”

Sophia let out a quiet laugh. “I’m not a flincher.”

Daniela raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”

Instead of the careful, clinical routine of their last encounter, this time Daniela made the process playful. She held the cold pack lightly against Sophia’s shoulder, wiggling it slightly and teasing, “Whoa, don’t make that face. It’s only mildly frostbite-level cold.”

Sophia squirmed, hiding a small laugh. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am,” Daniela admitted with a grin. “But only because you’re too stubborn to admit it actually hurts.”

Sophia shook her head, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. “I don’t usually let people do this for me. Let someone… care like this.”

Daniela’s expression softened. “Good thing I’m persistent, then. You can relax here. No walls, no pretending, no pressure.”

Sophia leaned into the gentle, teasing attention, letting her shoulder loosen under Daniela’s guidance.

The playful energy made it lighthearted, but also intimate — a closeness Sophia hadn’t realized she craved.

Once the shoulder was tended to — enough to make it manageable — Daniela pulled the plate closer.

“Eat. You’re not allowed to starve while recovering.”

Sophia chuckled, taking a bite. “I suppose I can allow it… only because you’re here.”

They ate together, talking softly between bites.

Sophia shared small moments from yesterday — the tension of the race, the ache that lingered longer than she’d admit to anyone else, little frustrations that had made her laugh quietly despite the soreness.

Daniela listened, teasing occasionally, making her laugh more freely. It was light, warm, and intimate — a sharp contrast to the intensity and pressure of the track.

Sophia realized something quietly profound: she could be herself here. She could laugh, eat, complain about soreness, and just exist — and Daniela’s care made it feel safe, natural, and unexpectedly comforting.

For a while, they simply sat together, sharing the food, exchanging small smiles and laughter, with Daniela occasionally nudging her playfully or adjusting the shoulder gently.

Sophia leaned back against the couch cushions, letting herself sink fully into the comfort of the moment. She didn’t have to be perfect, she didn’t have to hide her vulnerability, and she didn’t have to push through alone.

With Daniela beside her — teasing, attentive, quietly persistent — Sophia could simply be, and it felt like its own kind of victory.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela sank onto the arm of the couch opposite Sophia, her bag of empty containers beside her. She picked at a small piece of fruit, but her mind wasn’t on food. It was on Sophia — the way she had laughed, the subtle way her shoulder tensed then relaxed under Daniela’s careful hands, the quiet moments between bites where Sophia’s eyes met hers just long enough to make her chest tighten.
How can someone be so… composed on the track, so tough, and yet… like this off it? Daniela’s fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, her mind spinning in soft spirals. She tried to push the thoughts away, focusing on something else — the upcoming tour.

The world was closing in fast: rehearsals were more intense than ever, choreography still needed refining, and the media schedule was relentless. In a few months, they’d be traveling across continents, performing, meeting fans, and keeping up appearances, all while keeping their energy and health intact.

How am I going to do all of this and… think about her? Daniela’s chest tightened. She tried to shake it off, focusing on her phone, checking the rehearsal notes for the day, but the image of Sophia on the couch, relaxed and vulnerable, kept creeping back.

Sophia, sitting under the blanket with the ice pack gently pressed to her shoulder, noticed Daniela’s distant expression. “Hey,” she said softly, tilting her head. “You’re somewhere else. Thoughts drifting?”

Daniela blinked, startled, and let out a quiet laugh. “Maybe… I’m just… stressed. Everything coming up.”

Sophia smiled faintly, her voice calm and grounded. “I get it. It’s a lot. But you’re not alone in it. You’ll manage. You always do.”

Daniela’s eyes met hers, and the warmth in Sophia’s tone was grounding, steady. Somehow, that quiet reassurance — so simple, so understated — eased some of the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.

“You really mean that?” Daniela asked softly, almost afraid to hope that someone else could see past the stress and still care enough to reassure her.

“I do,” Sophia replied. “And, if it helps, you can take a moment here with me. No choreography, no media, no schedules. Just… this. Just us.”

Daniela’s chest loosened, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. “You make it sound easy.”

Sophia chuckled lightly, a small, warm sound. “Not easy. But possible. And… you deserve it.”

The room was filled with the soft glow of the afternoon sun, the distant hum of traffic outside, and the gentle comfort of being allowed to just exist without expectations. Daniela felt her shoulders relax, her racing thoughts slowing, replaced by the simple rhythm of conversation, laughter, and quiet attention.

For a brief moment, the stress of the upcoming tour faded. The future, the deadlines, the rehearsals — all of it became secondary to the present, to the gentle energy radiating from Sophia, and the subtle bond that was slowly forming between them.

Daniela realized she could get lost in this — in Sophia’s presence, her attention, the way she made even the simplest moments feel significant. And somehow, knowing that she could trust Sophia to be steady, to be present, made the chaotic world outside seem a little less daunting.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia shifted slightly so that she could gently place her free hand on Daniela’s forearm — a subtle, tender gesture that spoke more than words ever could. Daniela’s breath hitched softly, and she felt her chest tighten, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.

“You make this… calm,” Daniela said quietly, almost as if she were admitting it to herself.

“Good,” Sophia replied, voice low and soft. “That’s the point.”

Daniela let her hand rest near Sophia’s, not pulling away, the silence between them comfortable, almost charged. The ice pack on Sophia’s shoulder was forgotten for a moment as they simply existed like this — together, quiet, and fully present.

Sophia glanced at Daniela, noticing the way she kept stealing glances, the soft tension of her fingers, the way she seemed to breathe a little easier just being there. She’s so much more than she lets on, Sophia thought. And I’m… glad she’s here.

“Do you want more food?” Sophia asked, reaching for the plate again.

Daniela shook her head, smiling. “I’m good. I think I’d rather stay right here… for a while.”

Sophia’s smile softened. She adjusted the blanket over her legs, careful of her shoulder, and let herself lean just a little closer, comfortable in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

It wasn’t the race, it wasn’t the tour, it wasn’t the world outside. It was just them. Just this. And for Sophia, that was enough.

The apartment had never felt this warm.
Sophia sat back against the couch cushions, her legs stretched out, an ice pack resting gently against her shoulder. Daniela had placed it there with careful fingers, checking twice that it wasn’t too cold, and then lightly brushing her hand down Sophia’s arm as if silently asking, Here? Does this help?
It did. More than Sophia could admit without sounding ridiculous.

The physio appointment that morning had left her mood heavy — rest days always did — but having Daniela here softened everything, like someone was peeling the pressure off her ribcage one strip at a time.

Daniela sat sideways on the couch, one knee up, her body angled toward Sophia like she wanted to really listen.

Not pretend.
Not perform.
Just be here.

Sophia wasn’t used to that.

“So…” Daniela exhaled, twisting a ring on her thumb.
“Tour stuff is getting overwhelming.”

Her voice was light, but Sophia caught the tremor under it. She always caught things other people missed — body language, fatigue in a teammate’s posture, the way a mechanic swallowed hard before admitting something was wrong with the car. She was trained to read tension.

Daniela had plenty of it.

Sophia shifted carefully so she was facing her. “Tell me.”

Daniela blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Sophia said simply.
“Talk.”

She didn’t offer advice. Didn’t jump in. She never did. Listening was easier, more natural. Words were the things that always got her in trouble.
Daniela, looking relieved at the invitation, exhaled slowly.

“It’s just… we’ve been rehearsing nonstop. New choreographies, new arrangements, new pressure. I’m supposed to keep up the image, you know? Perfect smile, perfect vocals, perfect everything.”

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “And I’m tired. I’m excited, but I’m tired.”

Sophia studied her, the way her shoulders curved inward slightly, the way she kept rubbing that ring like it grounded her.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Sophia murmured.
Daniela snorted softly. “Tell that to the internet.”
“I don’t care about the internet.”

“I wish I didn’t,” Daniela whispered.

Sophia hesitated, then reached out — gently, very gently — and rested her hand on Daniela’s forearm.
It shocked them both a little.

“I mean it,” Sophia said quietly. “You don’t have to be perfect around me.”

Daniela’s pulse jumped under her fingertips. Sophia felt it — because she was that close now, because Daniela didn’t pull away.

“I… I don’t even know why I’m talking so much,” Daniela admitted shyly. “I don’t usually… open up like this to people.”

Sophia’s lips twitched, a small, dry smirk. “Funny. Neither do I.”

Their eyes met. Something soft. Something new. Something dangerous if she didn’t keep her feelings under control.

Daniela looked down at the ice pack, checking it like a nurse. “Your shoulder still okay?”

“Hurts,” Sophia admitted. “But manageable.”

Daniela clicked her tongue. “Sophia, your definition of ‘manageable’ is not real. That thing is bruised and overworked. Lila literally said no training.”

“And I’m not training.”

“You want to.”

Sophia didn’t deny it.

She let her head fall back against the couch. The soft leather was cool against her neck. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. Race weekends always left her buzzing and burnt at the same time, and the adrenaline comedown today was brutal.

But Daniela stayed.

Talking.

Fidgeting with her rings.

Opening up more than she’d opened to anyone lately.

And Sophia…

Sophia let herself feel comfortable.

No walls. No strategy. No toughness. Just quiet.

“You know what’s weird?” Daniela asked, voice softer now.

“What?”

“I don’t feel… judged with you.” She shrugged one shoulder lightly. “Like I can say all the messy stuff and you won’t look at me any differently.”

Sophia breathed out a slow laugh. “Probably because I’m not great with people.”

“That’s not true,” Daniela said gently. “You’re good with the right ones.”

There was no reason those words should hit her so hard — but they did.

The clock on the wall ticked softly. The Monaco breeze moved the curtains. Nothing about the setting was dramatic, but Sophia felt something inside her shift. A small, slow click, like a puzzle piece falling into place.

She shouldn’t be getting attached.

Not this fast.

Not this much.

But she was.

And Daniela wasn’t even trying — she was just being herself.

Sophia felt her eyes getting heavier. The ice pack had melted into a cool weight against her shoulder. Her body was sinking into the couch in that way it only did when she was around people she trusted.
Which… didn’t make sense.

Daniela noticed immediately. “Hey, you’re tired.”
Her voice was warm, not teasing. “You can sleep if you need to.”

“I’m fine,” Sophia said automatically.
Daniela smiled softly. “You don’t have to be ‘fine’ with me either.”

That made Sophia look away quickly — because she wasn’t used to someone being gentle with her on purpose.

Not affectionate.

Not careful.

Not kind.

“Maybe just for a bit,” Sophia murmured, relaxing her spine.

Daniela nodded. She didn’t move away. Didn’t fill the silence with chatter. She just stayed close, legs tucked under her, watching Sophia with that soft, earnest expression that felt like sunlight after years of racing in the rain.

For the first time in a long time, Sophia allowed herself to close her eyes in someone else’s presence.
And she fell asleep like that — shoulder aching, heart too full, and Daniela watching over her quietly.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela shifted slightly on the couch armrest so she could see Sophia better, though she didn’t move far. The apartment was quiet — just the soft hum of the city outside, the faint buzz of the radiator, and the slow, steady rise and fall of Sophia’s breathing.
She watched the way Sophia’s shoulder rose and fell under the thin T-shirt, how one hand lay loosely on her stomach, the other curled gently by her side. Her face, relaxed and almost peaceful, looked nothing like the fierce competitor she’d seen dart out of the garage hours ago.

God, she still looks like she’s racing, Daniela thought. But this — this was different.

Her mind didn’t race with doubts or gossip or schedules. Instead it fluttered in quiet, gentle loops:
She trusted me.

She fell asleep here, with me beside her.
I’m… so glad I came.

 

Her fingers itched to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from Sophia’s forehead, to press gently on her shoulder and whisper rest. But she didn’t. Instead, she simply stayed still and watched.

A part of her imagined what it meant — not just for tonight, but for later. For whatever this… was between them. She swallowed nervously, heart sharp and loud in her chest.

She stood slowly, crossed the room silently to the small kitchen counter, and with quiet hands made a note on a sticky pad: ”Get more gel packs”

Just in case.

For tomorrow.

Because she couldn’t stop thinking about keeping Sophia safe — even from the ache in her shoulder.
She glanced back.

Sophia was still sleeping.

Steady.
Vulnerable.
Real.

Daniela exhaled softly.

And she stayed there, on the couch armrest, quiet sentinel for someone who rarely let anyone in.

Sophia’s pov

 

Morning light spilled gently through the curtains. Sophia’s eyelids fluttered open slowly. For a second she forgot where she was — then the faint ache in her shoulder returned, memory flooding in. The race. The physio. Daniela. Yesterday’s quiet. The couch.
Her head felt heavy in the best kind of way, her body floating somewhere between sleep and reality. She shifted, arm raising carefully to steady herself, and felt the softness of the blanket draped over her legs.
She turned her head slightly — and caught sight of the sticky note on the counter in the kitchen (the same lightly curled paper she vaguely remembered seeing earlier). She squinted, blinking once, then again. The handwriting: clean, familiar, gentle.
“Get more gel packs.”

A smile — soft and small — touched her lips. She sat up slowly, gingerly touching her shoulder where the ice pack had been. It was stiff, a dull ache pulsing faintly — but not a sharp pain. Better, compared to yesterday.

She stood, shuffling over to the kitchen counter, grabbing her phone that rested beside her coffee mug. Screen lit up. A new message:

Daniela: “Morning, sleeping beauty. I left that little note because I might — just might — be a worry-wart. Also: when you’re up: I brought breakfast muffins. No pressure, but you know where to find them :)”

Sophia’s lips curved into a genuine, relaxed smile. Her chest eased. The tension she always carried — the one she wore like protective armor — felt lighter now.

She typed back:

Sophia: “Thank you. And yes — got the note. Also — your muffins are basically illegal. I owe you one :)”

She paused. Looked around the quiet apartment, glanced at the couch where Daniela had sat just hours ago. The sunlight warmed the floorboards, the room smelled faintly of yesterday’s comfort meal and lingering after-race sweat. It all felt… hers. Safe. Private. Shared. Somehow.

She pressed send and exhaled — deep, calm, grounding.

Then she went to the sink, started the coffee brewing, and whispered quietly to herself:
Maybe… this could work.

For a little longer than the next race.

Maybe even beyond.

Chapter Text

Daniela’s pov

An hour into rehearsal, Daniela’s body moved on autopilot — sharp turns, quick footwork, the kind of precision Katseye demanded this close to tour. But her mind?

Her mind was nowhere near the mirrored studio.
It kept drifting back to Sophia.

The image returned like muscle memory: Sophia on the couch last night, hair messy from sleep, eyes soft at the edges for once — letting Daniela help her, letting her see her pain without pushing her away. It unsettled her in the gentlest way… made her chest warm in a place she didn’t know how to name yet.

“Dani.”

Megan’s voice snapped her out of it. Daniela blinked, realizing she’d missed half the eight-count.

“You okay?” Megan asked quietly, handing her a water bottle.

“Yeah. Yeah, just… tired.”

It wasn’t a lie.

But it wasn’t the full truth either.

The choreographer restarted the sequence, which meant five more minutes of intense combinations. Daniela exhaled, steeling herself. She had to focus — the tour was in twelve days, and the schedule only got harder from here.

And yet…

Between steps, between notes, between breaths… her mind returned to Sophia again.

The way Sophia had relaxed when she’d leaned against the couch.

The way her voice softened when she finally let herself open up.

The way she’d winced — just barely — when Daniela helped her put her shirt on.

By the time rehearsal broke, Daniela was sweating and utterly exhausted. Her legs trembled. Her lungs burned. Her mind felt stretched thin.

She grabbed her phone the second she reached her bag.

1 new message from: Sophia
Daniela’s heart jumped — embarrassing, but real.
She unlocked it quickly.

Sophia: Morning. Lila came by. Shoulder’s a bit worse today. She gave me painkillers and told me: “Two days. No cheating.”
I’m resting like I’m supposed to… I think.
I saw the note you left. Thank you. The muffins were good.

Daniela smiled despite her exhaustion, brushing her thumb over the screen.

Her reply came without hesitation:

Dani:I’m glad you liked them. Do you need anything? I can stop by after rehearsal — help with ice or food or whatever you need.

She hesitated, then typed one more line — more honest than she intended:

Dani: I’d like to see you again.

She stared at that sentence, heart thudding.
She almost deleted it.

Almost.
But she didn’t.

She pressed send.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia didn’t realize she had fallen back asleep on the couch until a knock from her shoulder — a dull, unwelcome throb — pulled her out of the haze.
The apartment was quiet, sunlight filtering through the curtains in a soft stripe across her legs. She groaned softly, pushing herself upright.
Lila had left not long ago.

“Two days, Sophia. Not one and a half. Two.”

Her physio’s firm warning still echoed in her head.
Sophia knew she was right; the pain was sharper today, a stubborn ache that pulsed whenever she moved her arm too quickly. A sprain borders on a tear if you’re careless, Lila had said.

Sophia wasn’t careless… but she also wasn’t used to stopping.

She shuffled toward the kitchen for water — and that’s when she saw it:

Daniela’s note, resting next to a container of new muffins.

Sophia smiled before she could stop herself.
The handwriting was round, soft, rushed:
Left you muffins for breakfast — the blueberry ones you liked.
Don’t forget the ice.
Text me when you wake up.
— Dani

Her phone buzzed just beside it, vibrating against the counter.

Daniela’s name lit up the screen.

Sophia opened it instantly.

Dani: I’m glad you liked them.
And hey… don’t push that shoulder. Seriously.
Do you need anything? I can stop by after rehearsal — help with ice or food or whatever you need.
I’d like to see you again.

Sophia blinked at the last line.

Something warm — something that made her chest feel strangely light — bloomed quietly inside her.
She leaned her hip against the counter, rereading it once, twice, three times.

Then she typed, fingers slow but certain:

Sophia: I’d like to see you too. I’m okay, just… tired. Lila says the shoulder needs rest, so I’m staying on the couch like a model patient. You don’t have to come if you’re drained from rehearsal, but… if you want to stop by,
I’d like that.

She hit send before she could overthink it.
A beat.
Two.

Sophia felt herself relax in a way she didn’t recognize — a kind of comfort she never allowed with anyone else. She glanced toward the blanket draped over the couch, the space where Daniela had sat last night, the soft echo of her laugh still lingering in the air.

For the first time in months, maybe years…
rest didn’t feel like suffocation.

It felt like waiting for someone to come back.
And Sophia realized she genuinely wanted Daniela to.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela hadn’t even finished twisting the cap back onto her water bottle when her phone lit up again.

For a second, Daniela forgot how exhausted she was.
Her breath caught — one of those small, unintentional moments of surprise she couldn’t hide even if she tried. Her heart thudded once, sharp and warm.

Megan glanced over from the mirror.

“You look… happy. Scary happy.”

Daniela rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

“Shut up.”
Megan smirked knowingly.

“Is it the racer?”

“Maybe,” Daniela muttered, which only made Megan grin wider.

But the teasing faded as soon as Daniela looked back at the message.

Sophia wanted her to come. Sophia, who kept everyone at arm’s length, had invited her again — not out of necessity, not because she needed help, but because she wanted her presence.
Daniela typed quickly:

Dani: I’ll come by after rehearsal. I’ll bring lunch. Something that doesn’t require you to move that shoulder. Rest. I’ll be there soon.

She hit send — no hesitation this time.

Rehearsal resumed, but she danced lighter somehow, even though her legs were aching.
Her chest felt less tight.

Her stress about the tour felt… quieter.
After two more hours, they wrapped.

Daniela grabbed her bag, hair tied up high and messy, and slipped out before the others could drag her into post-rehearsal plans.

Outside, Monaco’s late-afternoon sun warmed the streets. She pulled her mask higher, tucked her hair into a hoodie, and headed toward the small takeout place Sophia had mentioned liking.

As she waited for the order, she caught herself tapping her fingers restlessly against her thigh.

She was nervous.

Not for the tour.

Not for cameras.

Not for the thousands of people who would scream her name in twelve days.

But because she was about to walk into Sophia’s apartment… again.

And it felt like crossing an invisible line — one that she wasn’t sure she had the right to cross, but one she didn’t want to step away from either.

When the food was ready, she took a long breath, steadying herself.

Sophia wanted her there.

That was enough.

Daniela started walking toward the building — the same path as last night — her heart beating faster with every step.

Sophia’s pov

 

The afternoon sun spilled softly through the apartment windows, warming the wooden floor.
Sophia lay stretched across the couch, one arm draped over her forehead, the other tucked close to her side.

Her shoulder throbbed — not agonizing, but persistent.

The kind of pain that reminded her that Lila was absolutely right.

Two days.
At least.

Anything less would be reckless.

Sophia hated that.

But for once… she wasn’t alone with that frustration.
She’d been replaying Daniela’s last message for the past ten minutes, her chest loosening every time she thought about it.

I’ll be there soon.

It was ridiculous how much that simple promise calmed her.

She shifted slightly and hissed as the pain spiked.
Stupid shoulder. Stupid mistakes. Stupid insistence on pushing through qualifying last week.

But then her gaze drifted to the kitchen counter — where Daniela’s muffins were — and her annoyance melted into something softer.

She had never had someone…care in such small, thoughtful ways.

Not teammates, not engineers, not rivals.
Not even sponsors.

People cared about what she produced.

Not about her.

Except Daniela.

Daniela cared like it was natural. Like she didn’t have to think about it. Like Sophia being in pain mattered.
Sophia let her eyes close for a moment, exhaustion wrapping around her like a heavy blanket.

She didn’t sleep — not fully — but drifted in a light haze between rest and awareness, her body grateful for the stillness
.
A quiet buzz interrupted the silence.

Her phone lit up again:

Dani: I’m almost there. Don’t get up. I’ll let myself in.

Sophia’s lips tugged into the faintest smile.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t rush to the mirror.

Didn’t straighten the apartment or herself.

She just… waited.

Comfortably.
Unusually.
Almost peacefully.

Because Daniela coming felt less like a guest arriving
and more like something that made sense.
A soft knock at the door made her eyes open.

Sophia inhaled, steadying herself.
And for a moment, the apartment felt warm in a way it never had before.

Daniela’s pov

 

The hallway outside Sophia’s apartment was quiet, almost too quiet — the kind of hush that made every footstep echo. Daniela stopped in front of the door, balancing the takeout bag in one hand.

Her stomach fluttered.

It’s fine. It’s just Sophia. She invited you.

She knocked softly.

No answer — but she knew Sophia probably couldn’t get up without hurting herself.
So she tested the handle gently.

Unlocked.

She pushed the door open just enough to peek inside, her voice low and warm.

“Soph…? I’m coming in.”

The apartment smelled faintly of eucalyptus from the physio spray and… muffins. Her muffins. The sight made Dani’s chest warm.

Sophia was still on the couch, lying on her side, eyes half-open — not asleep, but drifting. When she noticed Daniela, her expression softened instantly.

“You made it,” Sophia murmured, voice heavy with fatigue.

Her smile was small — but real. Rare. Precious.
Daniela felt it hit her harder than she expected.
She stepped inside fully, closing the door behind her quietly.

“I told you I would.”

Sophia shifted, wincing a little as she adjusted her arm.

Daniela’s brows pinched with worry. “Did I wake you?”

Sophia shook her head. “No. Just resting.”

Daniela moved closer, placing the takeout on the coffee table.

“Okay. First things first — shoulder check.”

Sophia sighed dramatically. “You’re acting like Lila.”

“Good. Someone has to,” Daniela shot back gently.
She sat beside her, close but not too close, studying Sophia’s face, looking for signs of worse pain. Sophia didn’t hide from her — that alone said everything.

“Did you ice it again?” Daniela asked.

“Not since this morning,” Sophia admitted.

Daniela exhaled, soft but exasperated.

“Of course you didn’t. Stay there.”

She got up, grabbed the ice pack from the freezer — the one Lila left — wrapped it in a thin towel, and returned.

Sophia watched her the whole time, eyes warm, almost amused.

Daniela knelt beside her on the floor, bringing the ice gently toward the shoulder.

“Ready?” she asked.

Sophia nodded.

Daniela pressed it lightly to the tender area.

Sophia shivered — not from cold, but the jolt of pain.

“Sorry,” Dani whispered instantly, adjusting the pressure.

Sophia’s breath steadied.

“It’s okay. You’re better at this than most professionals.”

Daniela smiled softly.

“Don’t flatter me. I know this hurts more than you’re letting on.”

Sophia didn’t deny it.

Which, to Daniela, said more than words could.

Sophia’s pov

 

Daniela’s touch was gentle — almost too gentle.
Her fingers skimmed the edge of the swollen muscle as she held the ice in place, careful not to press too hard.

Sophia didn’t know how someone could be so soft and so sure-handed at the same time.

“So…” Daniela murmured, eyes fixed on the shoulder, “Lila said two days off, right?”

“Mm-hm.”

“And you’re actually listening?”

Sophia smirked. “Aren’t you proud?”

Dani looked up, eyes narrowing playfully.

“I’ll be proud when you stop pretending you’re indestructible.”

Sophia’s breath caught — not from pain this time.
There was something about Daniela caring this openly that hit somewhere deep, somewhere untouched.

Daniela checked the time, then gently held the ice in place with one hand while brushing stray hair away from Sophia’s face with the other. It was such a casual gesture — yet intimate in a way Sophia felt all the way down her spine.

“You hungry?” Daniela asked softly.

“Starving.”

“That’s why I brought food.” She nodded toward the takeout.

“I got the couscous you like. And the grilled chicken. And… okay, maybe dessert too.”

Sophia let out a soft laugh — real, unguarded, surprising even herself.

“You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I know,” Daniela said quietly.

“But I want to.”
Sophia swallowed hard.

No one said things like that to her.
Not without wanting something in return.

But Daniela said it like it was obvious — like caring for Sophia was natural.

After a few minutes, Daniela lifted the ice pack off gently.

“There. Better?”

“A little.”

“I’ll reapply it later. Now you eat.”

She helped Sophia sit up — carefully, supporting her good side — and settled next to her on the couch, their knees brushing lightly as Daniela unpacked the food.

Sophia didn’t move away.

She didn’t want to.

They ate quietly at first, then gradually fell into conversation — light, soft, full of small smiles.
Daniela talked about tour stress, about choreography changes, about how she kept messing up one transition.

“It’ll be fine,” Sophia said, tone low but reassuring.

“You always pull through when it matters.”

Daniela looked at her, eyes glowing.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Something in Daniela’s expression softened completely — like tension melting out of her body.
And Sophia realized…

She loved being the person Daniela came to when she needed grounding.

Daniela’s thumb brushed lightly along the back of Sophia’s hand, tracing little half-circles she almost didn’t seem conscious of. They’d sunk deeper into the couch without noticing, the late afternoon sunlight softening the room, turning the edges of everything warm and gold.

“Hey,” Daniela murmured, her voice dipping just above a whisper, “I, um… I should tell you before it gets too late in the day.”

She swallowed, eyes flicking away for a second. “We’re leaving tomorrow. The group. For LA. Promo stuff before the tour officially starts.”

Sophia blinked, her stomach tightening in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

“Oh.” It came out small, but she cleared her throat. “Right. That makes sense.”

Daniela instantly frowned, leaning in closer like she hated how that sounded.

“I didn’t want to drop it on you out of nowhere. And I didn’t want you to think I was just—”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just wanted you to know.”

Sophia nodded gently, then exhaled through her nose.

“Well… I leave in two days anyway,” she murmured. “Barcelona’s race weekend starts Friday.”
The moment the word Barcelona left her lips, Daniela’s gaze flicked instinctively to Sophia’s shoulder — and this time, Sophia saw her really look.

Not just at the way she was holding it protectively.
But at the bruise.

It spread across her deltoid and collarbone like spilled ink — deep violets mixing with reds and fading yellow edges. Angry. Raw.

Worse than yesterday.

Daniela’s breath faltered.

“Oh my god… Sophia.”
She shook her head, eyes widening in worry and disbelief. “You’re planning to race with that?”
Sophia swallowed. She wanted to hide it, cover it, shrug like nothing was wrong — but Daniela’s gaze made it impossible.

“Lila said if I rest properly for two days, it’ll be manageable,” she muttered.

Daniela looked up at her sharply. “Manageable? Sophia, your shoulder is throbbing while you’re just sitting here.”

Her voice cracked slightly, emotion tightening her throat. “How are you supposed to handle qualifying laps? Let alone a full race at 300 kilometres an hour?”

Sophia looked away, jaw clenching. “I’ll… figure it out.”

Daniela shook her head gently, but firmly. “No. Not alone.”

She slid a little closer. “Let me help with the stretches Lila gave you. You did the first set but not the full routine.”

Sophia sighed, but nodded.

Daniela guided her carefully upright, her movements slow and deliberate.

When Daniela lifted Sophia’s arm to begin the first stretch, she brushed too close to the harsh purple edge of the bruise.

Sophia winced so sharply she couldn’t hide it.

Daniela froze.

“Sorry.”

But her voice wasn’t apologetic — it was pained. Like she somehow wished she could take the injury instead.

The first stretch was bearable.

The second — the one crossing Sophia’s arm across her chest — was not.

A hot, stabbing pull shot through her shoulder, and Sophia sucked in a breath, fists clenching.

“You’re tensing,” Daniela whispered.

 

“I’m—trying—”
But the pain hit deeper, forcing a tremble through her body. Her free hand shot out, gripping Daniela’s thigh for stability.

Daniela immediately steadied her, the worry in her eyes softening into something warm and grounding.
“Sophia,” she whispered. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

Sophia’s voice cracked. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Daniela leaned closer, forehead nearly touching her temple.

“I’m glad you let me,” she murmured. “I want you to trust me, even with the parts you think you need to hide.”

Sophia let out a shaky breath, slowly melting into Daniela’s support.

The pain didn’t vanish — it throbbed deep and stubborn — but with Daniela holding her steady, it didn’t feel like something she had to battle alone anymore.

Outside, the light dimmed into the soft blue of early evening.

Inside, Sophia felt the strange, comforting weight of someone who wasn’t leaving until she knew the truth:
And the truth was… this hurt.
And she didn’t have to pretend otherwise.

The last stretch wrung a tremor out of her; Sophia leaned back into the couch, breathing through the aftershocks of pain. Daniela stayed close, one hand steady on her arm until Sophia’s muscles loosened again.

Daniela eased back only when Sophia let out a shaky exhale.

“Okay,” she murmured. “That’s enough stretching for tonight.”

Sophia nodded, exhausted. “Yeah… Thank you.”

Daniela settled beside her, not touching at first — just giving her presence, warm and grounding. When Sophia shifted toward her, their arms brushed naturally.

Two days after Monaco, and the bruise still throbbed under her shirt.

Daniela’s eyes flicked toward it. “It’s still really swollen.”

Sophia sighed. “It’s better than yesterday. Lila said I should be grateful it wasn’t worse.”

Daniela gave her a look that wasn’t angry… just deeply concerned.

“You pushed through all of that. Two days later and you’re still hurting like this.”

Sophia stared at her hands. “It was Monaco.”

“As if that makes self-destructing acceptable,” Daniela said softly.

Sophia didn’t answer at first. Then:
“Winning Monaco changes the season. If I hadn’t fought that hard…”
She pressed her lips together. “It would’ve slipped through my fingers.”

Daniela thought for a moment, then asked quietly,
“Do you regret pushing that far?”

Sophia blinked, surprised by the question.
“…No,” she admitted. “But… I regret how much it cost.”

Daniela’s voice gentled. “That’s allowed, you know.”

Sophia swallowed. “I didn’t sleep the night after the race. My shoulder was throbbing so hard I couldn’t think straight. I barely got through media day.” She hesitated. “I hid the pain.”

“For them,” Daniela said.
“For everyone.”

Daniela shook her head in disbelief. “No one should have to go through that alone.”

Sophia looked down — jaw tightening — not from anger, but the realization of just how alone she had been that night.

“And now Barcelona is coming,” Daniela murmured. “And you’re still bruised. Still hurting.”

Sophia let her head fall back against the couch. “I know.”

“Are you scared?” Daniela asked gently.

Sophia hesitated — then nodded.
“Yeah.”

The admission felt heavier now, not about the moment but about the consequences still looming from a victory that had taken too much.
“What scares you the most?” Daniela asked.

Sophia inhaled deeply.

“That I burned too much of myself in Monaco. That if qualifying is tight, I won’t be fast enough. That the pain will mess with my reaction time.”
Daniela listened like she was absorbing every syllable.

“And that…”

Sophia’s voice softened.

“…if I crash again, it won’t be just a bruise.”

Daniela’s hand brushed her good shoulder slowly. “Sophia… Barcelona isn’t worth you hurting yourself more.”

Sophia tilted her head, looking at her.
“But I don’t know how to hold back.”

Daniela offered a small, sad smile.

“Then let me help you learn.”

Something warm — something terrifying — expanded in Sophia’s chest.

Daniela gently pressed the ice pack back onto her shoulder. Sophia shivered at the cold, biting her lip, and Daniela instantly steadied her arm with her other hand.

“Sorry,” Daniela whispered. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
Sophia did… and it helped.

“Okay,” Daniela said softly, “you’re done stretching for the day. Now you need real food.”

Sophia arched an eyebrow. “You’re cooking again?”
“Yes,” Daniela replied, already rising. “Someone has to feed you before you collapse.”

Sophia laughed weakly, her body relaxing into the cushions as Daniela moved around the kitchen. Watching her felt strangely domestic — surreal, but comforting.

“Something warm?” Daniela asked.

“Please,” Sophia admitted.

Daniela cooked a simple soup again — but added fresh herbs this time, rice noodles, chicken. Something heartier. She served it with soft bread she had brought earlier that morning.

When Daniela returned to the couch with the bowl, Sophia felt an ache that wasn’t physical.
“You spoil me,” Sophia mumbled.

Daniela smirked. “Someone’s got to do it.”

Sophia ate slowly, quietly. Daniela watched her carefully, checking her breathing, wincing whenever Sophia winced.

“You know…” Daniela said softly as Sophia finished her bowl,
“…you don’t have to pretend you’re okay around me. Not two days later. Not ever.”

Sophia’s breath caught.
She set the empty bowl aside.
She let herself lean sideways.
Her temple brushed Daniela’s shoulder.

Daniela froze for half a second—then melted into it, resting her cheek lightly against Sophia’s hair.
For a moment, the world finally stopped moving.

After a quiet minute, Daniela asked softly:
“Will you really be okay for Barcelona?”

Before Sophia could answer, Daniela gently lifted the edge of the ice pack—checking the bruise.

It had darkened. Spread.

Sophia hissed softly.

Daniela’s face fell. “Sophia… this is worse than it was yesterday.”

“I know,” she admitted.

“You’re really going to race like this?”
Sophia nodded.

“I don’t have another choice. Points matter. Momentum matters.”

Daniela stared at the bruise again — horrified, protective, heart aching.

“It’s not smart,” Daniela whispered. “It’s not even safe.”

Sophia looked at her, eyes tired but unwavering.
“It’s who I am.”

Daniela closed her eyes for a moment, fighting something in her chest.

Then she whispered:
“Then I’ll be there.”

Sophia inhaled sharply. “…What?”

“I’ll be at Barcelona,” Daniela said softly. “I’m flying to LA tomorrow for promos, but after that, I’m coming back. I won’t let you go through another race alone.”

Sophia’s throat tightened.

She had no words.

None.

Only heat behind her eyes and a trembling breath she tried to hide.

Daniela touched her cheek gently.
“Hey. You don’t have to say anything. Just… let me be there.”

Sophia nodded—small, vulnerable, real.
And Daniela pulled her into a gentler, slower embrace.

After dinner, the apartment settled into a quiet rhythm. Sophia reclined on the couch, the ice pack lightly pressed against her shoulder, and Daniela beside her, knees brushing, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the bruise.

“You know,” Daniela said softly, “you don’t have to do everything alone. Even Monaco. Even Barcelona.”
Sophia let out a shaky breath. “I’ve never had anyone care enough to notice.”

Daniela smiled faintly. “Guess that makes me a first, huh?”

A small laugh escaped Sophia. “Yeah… first in a long time.”

For a while, they didn’t speak. Just presence, warmth, and the quiet hum of the apartment. Sophia let herself relax, more than she had in years. No walls. No armor. Just… this. And Daniela.
Eventually, Daniela nudged her gently. “I should probably get going soon. Early flight to LA.”

Sophia’s stomach tightened. “Tomorrow?”

Daniela nodded. “Yeah. Promo week, interviews, photoshoots… all that chaos. But I wanted to see you tonight.”

Sophia’s throat constricted. “Thanks.”

Daniela leaned over, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to Sophia’s temple. “Text me when you wake up, okay?”

Sophia nodded, and Daniela slipped her phone and bag together, pausing at the door. Her eyes lingered on Sophia for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“Take care of your shoulder. Please.”

“I will,” Sophia whispered.

The door closed softly behind her, leaving Sophia in the dim glow of the apartment. Her shoulder ached more than she wanted to admit. Her chest ached for more than just the injury. She sank back into the couch, curling slightly, letting exhaustion and emotion pull her under.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sunlight filtered through the curtains. Sophia stirred, rolling onto her back, eyes immediately drifting toward her phone.

A small smile flickered when she saw a message from Daniela:

Daniela: “Good morning, sleepyhead. Did you survive the night without tossing the ice pack across the room?”

Sophia typed back quickly, a warmth spreading in her chest.
Sophia: “Barely. Shoulder’s still angry, but I survived. You?”

Daniela: “Up and packed. Flight in a few hours. Sad I can’t see you before takeoff”

Sophia: “…I’ll be okay. Rest day is helping. Just… missing you already.”

Daniela: “I miss you too… Promise me you’ll ice again and actually stretch?”

Sophia typed a short reply, her fingers hovering as she hesitated. Then:
Sophia: “Promise.”

A small, private smile curved her lips. She’d never felt someone care like this. And it wasn’t about Monaco, or Barcelona, or any points on the board. It was just… Daniela.
Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela sat by the window, suitcase at her feet, headphones in, but her mind was elsewhere. Every thought kept circling back to Sophia: the tense shoulders, the bruise, the quiet vulnerability, the rare moments when she let her walls down.
Two days after Monaco… her shoulder still throbbing… she’s probably still on the couch right now… alone…

The anxiety gnawed at her. She’d be in LA all week, doing photo shoots, interviews, promo videos — but she promised herself she’d check in as often as possible. Every text, every little update, every reassurance from Sophia… it would be a lifeline until they were back in the same city.

She exhaled slowly, leaning her forehead against the airplane window. She’s tough, yes. But I can’t let her hurt herself again.

Not like this.
Not alone.

Sophia’s pov

 

Back in her apartment, Sophia finally sat up properly, pulling her legs under her, shoulder still tender. She glanced at her phone and typed carefully:

Sophia: “I can’t stop thinking about the race… how close it was, the turns… but I also can’t stop thinking about you.”

She hesitated, fingers hovering over send. Then she tapped.

Within moments, Daniela’s reply came:

Daniela: “I was thinking about it too…You were amazing, Sophia. But seriously… shoulder first, points second, okay?”

Sophia smiled softly, the ache in her chest softening a fraction.

Sophia: “Okay… shoulder first. But I’ll be racing Barcelona in two days anyway.”

Daniela: “You better text me before every practice. I’m not missing a second of worrying about you”

Sophia laughed quietly. “Deal.”

Then the two fell into a comfortable stream of texts — race reflections, quiet jokes, reminders about ice packs, stretches, meals. A lifeline bridging the distance, even as Daniela headed across the Atlantic, and Sophia prepared for Barcelona.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

 

The morning sunlight spilled across the apartment as Sophia stirred awake, the bruise on her shoulder still throbbing from Monaco two days prior. Lila was already scheduled for a quick checkup, and Sophia knew she had to face it — her shoulder needed care, not excuses.

Lila arrived right on time, her bag clinking softly with ice packs, wraps, and massage tools.

“Good morning, champ,” Lila said, smiling, though her eyes immediately darted to Sophia’s shoulder.

“Bruise looks a bit darker. How's the pain today?”

“Better,” Sophia admitted, wincing slightly as she raised her arm. “But it’s stiff.”

“Expected,” Lila said, adjusting the ice pack over the bruise. “Two more days of careful rest, or you risk aggravating it before Barcelona. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” Sophia said quietly, biting back the stubborn urge to argue. She sat back on the couch, letting Lila apply gentle pressure and massage the tight muscles. The cold from the ice pack made her flinch, and Lila noticed immediately.

“Careful,” Lila murmured. “I know it hurts, but we have to loosen it.”

Sophia let herself relax under Lila’s hands, feeling a strange comfort in the professional attention. No cheering crowds, no cameras, no adrenaline — just focused care.

Once Lila was done, she gave a small nod of approval. “You’re on track. Rest, ice, stretch gently, maybe a light workout but no upper body, and hydrate. That’s it today. Your body will thank you.”

Sophia exhaled, exhausted, and sat curled on the couch. The apartment felt quiet and lonely without Daniela. She reached for her phone.

Daniela: “Good morning! How’s my favorite racer?”

Sophia smiled softly. “Sore, but surviving. Lila says I’m okay for light training today.”

Daniela: “I wish I could see you. I just wrapped up a photoshoot here… LA’s chaos. I miss you”

Sophia: “I miss you too. Hurry back before Barcelona, okay?”

Daniela: “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Promise me you’ll rest and ice!”

Sophia chuckled faintly. “Promise. And thanks for checking in… it helps more than you know.”

The rest of the morning passed slowly. Sophia did gentle stretches and mobility work, icing her shoulder periodically, all while keeping her mind focused on the upcoming Barcelona race. She visualized the track, the turns, and every braking point, letting the mental rehearsal pair with her physical recovery.

Daniela’s pov

 

Across the country in Los Angeles, Daniela navigated a whirlwind of interviews, photoshoots, and press obligations. Katseye’s promotional tour was kicking off, and every second was accounted for. Yet, even in the midst of the chaos, her mind kept drifting back to Monaco — to Sophia, to her shoulder, to the quiet vulnerability she had let Daniela see.
During a brief break between interviews, Daniela pulled out her phone and typed:

Daniela: “Lunch now… thinking about you. Hope you’re resting and icing.”

Almost immediately, Sophia replied:

Sophia: “Always. Miss you already.”

Daniela smiled softly, imagining Sophia alone in her apartment, following Lila’s instructions, being careful.

Lunch with Megan, Yoonchae, and Lara was noisy and chaotic, but Daniela’s thoughts kept wandering. She sipped her water absentmindedly, sneaking glances at her phone, waiting for a response from Sophia.

Sophia: “Packing light for Barcelona… Lila says I’ll be okay for practice Friday. I just… hope my shoulder holds up.”

Daniela’s chest tightened. She’s going to push herself anyway…

Daniela: “Promise me you won’t overdo it. I’ll be back before the race. I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Sophia: “Promise… and thanks”

Daniela laughed quietly. “She’s stubborn… but adorable,” she murmured to herself.

“You’re so distracted today,” Megan said.

“Not distracted,” Daniela replied with a smirk. “I’m just… invested”

Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Sophia:

Sophia: “Thanks for checking in today. Feels good just knowing you’re thinking of me.”

Daniela’s chest warmed. I’ll be back before the race. I’ll make sure she’s okay… and maybe make her laugh a little too.

Even amid the hectic LA schedule, the connection they were building — slow, careful, and quietly profound — was undeniable. The thought of seeing Sophia tomorrow in Barcelona kept Daniela smiling as she returned to her work.

The rest of the afternoon blurred with more interviews and last-minute promo obligations. Still, she found a few spare moments to text Sophia:

Daniela: “Do your stretches now, please! Or I’ll lecture you over text all day.”

Sophia: “Fine… lecture away. I did my warm-ups anyway”

Even amid the hectic day, Daniela’s thoughts were anchored in Sophia, in Monaco, in the two days of care and small vulnerability that had passed between them.
She couldn’t wait to return.

Sophia’s pov

 

The morning sunlight spilled across Sophia’s apartment one last time. She stretched carefully, mindful of her shoulder, which still throbbed faintly despite Lila’s strict rest regimen. Today, she would leave Monaco for Barcelona, a city alive with anticipation for the next race.

Her suitcase was already packed, containing her racing gear, casual clothes, and physiotherapy essentials. She double-checked her shoulder wrap, the ice packs Lila had insisted she bring, and her notes on the Barcelona track.

Before leaving, Sophia sent a quick text to Daniela:

Sophia: “Heading to Barcelona this morning. Hotel near the track — L’Appartement du Raval. Can’t wait to see you”

Almost instantly, Daniela replied:

Daniela: “Safe flight! I’ll be there as soon as I can, miss you already.”

A small smile tugged at Sophia’s lips. Even in the quiet of her hotel lobby, waiting for the shuttle to the airport, she felt anchored by Daniela’s care.
The flight was uneventful, giving Sophia a few quiet moments to focus on stretches in her seat, ice packs applied carefully, and mental rehearsal of the Barcelona track. The ache in her shoulder was a reminder of Monaco, but also a motivation — she needed to be ready.

Daniela’s pov

Daniela’s final interviews and promo events in Los Angeles wrapped up mid-morning. She could feel the exhaustion pressing in from two full days of nonstop cameras, questions, and travel logistics, but there was a thread of excitement she couldn’t shake. Barcelona awaited — and with it, Sophia.
She typed quickly during a brief lull:

Daniela: “Flight booked. I’ll be there soon! Hope you’re ready for me!”

Her assistant reminded her she needed to change for a quick photoshoot before heading to the airport. Daniela hurried, the excitement pulling her through fatigue. Thoughts of Sophia kept replaying in her mind — the quiet apartment in Monaco, the shoulder she had helped ice, the laughter they had shared.

As she drove to the airport, Daniela imagined Sophia in Barcelona, waiting in the hotel near the track. The thought of seeing her again made her pulse quicken.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia arrived at the hotel in the early afternoon, her suitcase rolling softly behind her. She checked in quickly and made her way to the apartment near the track. The space was modest but comfortable, perfect for a racer needing rest and focus before the weekend’s practice sessions.

No sooner had she set her bag down than her phone buzzed:

Daniela: “Landed! Can’t wait to see you.”

Sophia stepped into the hallway, scanning the lobby, and then — there she was. Daniela, hair slightly windswept from the flight, carrying a small bag and a radiant smile.
“Sophia!” Daniela called softly, weaving through the few guests.

Sophia felt a warmth spread across her chest. “Dani,” she breathed, a quiet smile escaping.

Without thinking, Daniela closed the distance and hugged her gently. Sophia felt herself relaxing instantly, her usual walls fading in the warmth of the embrace.
“You made it,” Daniela whispered, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Your shoulder okay?”

Sophia shrugged lightly, feeling a twinge of pain. “Better than Monaco. I iced and stretched on the flight.”

Daniela’s hand lingered near her shoulder, almost subconsciously. “Good… but I’ll be keeping an eye on you this weekend”

They walked to the apartment together, exchanging light, teasing remarks along the way. Daniela noticed the careful way Sophia moved, the cautious rotations of her shoulder, and her own chest tightened with worry and something deeper — a need to be close, to protect, to care.

Once inside, Sophia collapsed on the couch with a quiet sigh. Daniela knelt beside her, instinctively retrieving an ice pack from Sophia’s bag.
“Here,” she said softly, placing it gently on Sophia’s shoulder. “Better?”

 

Sophia exhaled, letting the tension in her muscles slowly ease. “Much. You… really didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

Daniela smiled, teasing but tender. “I know But you deserve it. You push yourself too hard.”

For a quiet moment, they stayed like that — close, familiar, yet charged with something unspoken. The Barcelona weekend waited, with its practices, qualifying sessions, and race, but right now, neither wanted to move.

Sophia finally spoke, almost shyly. “Thanks for coming… for everything.”

Daniela leaned slightly closer, her hand brushing Sophia’s lightly. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else”

The apartment was small, intimate, quiet. For once, Sophia didn’t feel the need to hide, to armor herself, or to carry the weight alone. And Daniela — even with the whirlwind of a global tour and promo — felt anchored, connected, and more aware than ever that this slow, careful friendship was shifting into something neither of them wanted to rush, but both already cherished. Neither was particularly hungry, but they ordered something simple — a few small plates and a pizza — and ate together on the couch, shoulders brushing occasionally. The conversation was light, teasing, filled with quiet laughter, a calm contrast to the adrenaline of travel and upcoming race preparations. By the time the food was gone and the dishes cleared, both felt the weight of the day melt away. Sophia leaned back with a sigh, shoulder propped carefully, and Daniela nudged her gently, smiling. It wasn’t just a meal — it was a quiet moment of normalcy, of connection, of comfort. They closed the night on a positive note, small smiles lingering as they turned in, ready for the busy weekend ahead.

The first light of morning spilled through the hotel curtains. Sophia lay in the slightly too-firm hotel bed, shoulder still tender, her mind already racing through the day ahead. Barcelona’s Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya waited, and with it, her first practice sessions of the weekend.

A soft knock on the door startled her slightly.

“Morning,” Daniela’s voice called.

Sophia swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing a little as her shoulder twinged. Daniela stepped inside, carrying a small kit of kinesiology tape, rolls of elastic band, and a careful, focused expression.

“Good morning,” Daniela said softly, kneeling on the floor beside her bed. “Time to make sure this shoulder survives practice.”

Sophia nodded, allowing Daniela to gently move her arm, checking for tension and soreness. “Be gentle, okay? I don’t want to hurt you in the process,” she murmured with a half-smile.

“I know,” Daniela replied, her hands steady and precise. She cut strips of tape and applied them carefully over Sophia’s shoulder, making sure the tightness and soreness were supported. Sophia flinched only slightly when Daniela pressed lightly over the most bruised spot.

“There,” Daniela said, leaning back slightly, “good as new… or at least as good as it can be before you rip up the track.”

Sophia exhaled and smiled. “You… make me feel safer than Lila ever did”

Daniela laughed softly. “Well, someone has to. You’ll be fine, I promise. Just promise me you won’t push past what we taped for.”
“I promise,” Sophia said, a rare glimmer of trust and vulnerability in her eyes.

They both got ready quietly, each in separate beds and their own space in the modest hotel room. The quiet morning was comfortable — no need for grand gestures, just the simple ease of presence.
The hotel lobby was calm, a soft hum of staff and the occasional early breakfast guest. Sophia and Daniela walked together, side by side, toward the shuttle that would take them to the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya.

Daniela fell into step beside her, hand brushing lightly against Sophia’s at one point, just enough to elicit a small smile from the racer.

“You’re really going to push it today, huh?” Daniela asked, teasing lightly but eyes full of concern.

Sophia shrugged, keeping her gaze forward. “Barcelona’s a tricky track. I need to be ready. But… I’ll be careful.”

“You’d better be” Daniela said, smirking. “I don’t want to have to tape you up again mid-practice.”

Sophia laughed softly, shaking her head. “You already did enough this morning.”

The shuttle arrived, and they climbed aboard together. The short ride was filled with quiet chatter — light teasing, reminders about her shoulder, and a shared focus on the weekend ahead. It was mundane, yet comforting. For Sophia, it was a rare feeling: she didn’t need to maintain walls or push people away. Daniela’s presence made the tension ease, just enough for her to feel grounded before hitting the track.

Once at the paddock, the smell of fuel, rubber, and engines brought a familiar surge of adrenaline. Sophia’s shoulder ached faintly beneath the tape, but the careful morning ritual with Daniela gave her confidence.

As they walked toward her car, Daniela leaned slightly toward her. “I’ll be watching, making sure you don’t go too wild”

Sophia’s lips curved in a small, genuine smile. “Thanks… I might actually listen to you.”

Just a quiet moment of connection — simple, intimate, and charged with the unspoken. The weekend of Barcelona racing stretched ahead, but for now, walking together in the early morning light, they were just two people sharing the small, meaningful moments before the storm of the track.

The sun had just cleared the horizon, casting a golden light over the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya. Sophia adjusted her helmet in the team garage, her shoulder still tender under the kinesiology tape Daniela had applied earlier that morning. Every movement reminded her of Monaco, but she pushed aside the worry. Barcelona demanded focus.

She climbed into the Mercedes, settling into the seat with the practiced ease of someone who had done this thousands of times. Today was FP1, the first practice session, and her goal was simple: feel the car, respect her shoulder, and learn the track’s nuances.

A small buzz of energy ran through her as she glanced toward the private VIP section near the first corner. A familiar figure stood out among the sparse crowd of early arrivals — Daniela. She had secured a space near the track, allowed for close friends and family, where she could watch without being jostled by the general public.
Sophia’s chest lightened at the sight. Even before she left the garage, she allowed herself a rare smile, giving a small wave. Daniela returned it with a soft grin, leaning against the railing and scanning her shoulder as if reminding herself to be ready to help if needed.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela shifted her weight, hands resting lightly on the railing that separated her from the track. From here, she had a direct, almost intimate view of the pit lane and the approach to turn one, perfect for keeping an eye on Sophia without being in the way.

Her thoughts flitted nervously. She had spent hours yesterday imagining this moment — Sophia in Barcelona, starting the weekend fresh, carefully navigating the track despite her shoulder.
As Sophia’s car rolled onto the track, Daniela held her breath, mentally reviewing everything she had reminded her about yesterday: stretches, ice packs, careful warm-ups. Seeing Sophia move smoothly, her posture solid, gave Daniela a little relief.

When Sophia glanced up and caught her eye, Daniela leaned slightly forward, giving a quick nod. Their unspoken connection passed quietly between them, carried by the briefest of gestures — enough for Sophia to feel seen, enough for Daniela to reassure herself that Sophia was okay.

Sophia’s pov

 

The session began, engines roaring as cars hit the tarmac. Sophia pushed gradually, respecting the tape and the soreness in her shoulder. She focused on braking points, the line through each corner, and how the tires responded on the morning track.

Daniela stayed in her spot, occasionally shifting her weight to follow Sophia’s every movement. She had brought a small notebook, jotting down subtle observations — not racing data, but reminders to check in with Sophia after each run.

During a brief in/out lap, Sophia lifted her hand slightly in a small wave toward Daniela. Daniela returned it, smiling gently. Even in the noise of the engines, the smell of fuel, and the rhythm of the track, that small connection held weight.

Later, when Sophia came into the pit for a quick stop, Daniela leaned closer to the railing, calling softly:

“How’s the shoulder? Be careful out there.”

Sophia gave a brief, reassuring thumbs-up, though the slight wince betrayed her effort. Daniela’s lips pressed into a thin line, concerned but trusting Sophia to manage.
They walked the delicate line of being close without intruding. No words were needed to communicate the care between them. In that private section, amid the roar of engines, Daniela could support and watch, and Sophia could feel seen and understood, even as the practice demanded focus and speed.

 

The morning light was sharper than yesterday, glinting off the tarmac as Sophia climbed back into the Mercedes. Her shoulder throbbed faintly despite the tape and careful warm-ups, but the soreness had faded enough that she could focus. FP2 now, meant pushing the car a little harder, feeling the limits of traction and braking, and getting ready for qualifying.

Daniela’s presence in the private VIP section made her chest tighten pleasantly. Today, she was leaning forward slightly, eyes following every turn, her small notebook forgotten as she simply watched. Occasionally, she shifted closer to the edge of the railing — just enough for Sophia to notice, just enough to feel supported without saying a word.

Sophia launched into the session, the Mercedes responding beautifully beneath her hands. She tested the corners with measured aggression, the back of her mind constantly aware of Daniela’s gaze. At the tight Turn 3, she braked slightly later, feeling the tires grip perfectly. Her shoulder twinged as she adjusted the wheel, and she caught Daniela’s eye as she passed.

A small, almost imperceptible smile curved Sophia’s lips. Daniela raised a brow and grinned subtly, leaning closer. It was a silent conversation, a shared acknowledgment of effort and risk, of trust and connection.
During a brief pit in/out lap, Sophia came to a slow stop near the pit wall. Daniela called softly, her voice carrying just over the faint hum of engines:

“You pushing too hard?”

Sophia shook her head, a playful glint in her eye. “Maybe a little. But only because I know someone’s watching.”

Daniela smirked, leaning over the railing just enough for Sophia to see her clearly. “Well, keep the shoulder in one piece, or I’ll have to scold you”

Sophia chuckled softly, wincing slightly as she adjusted her posture. “I’ll survive… probably.”

With each lap, Daniela moved subtly, keeping her line of sight on Sophia, occasionally noting when she straightened, when she winced, or when she pushed a little harder than she should. Sophia, in turn, allowed herself to test the limits — careful but brave — and each time she passed Daniela, she offered a small smile, a nod, a flicker of connection that said more than words could.
During a quieter stretch of the session, Sophia’s gaze met Daniela’s again. This time, she gave a little wave, teasing lightly:

“Try not to fall for me while I’m weaving through the chicane.”

Daniela laughed quietly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible. But somehow… I already have.”

The exchange was soft, playful, intimate, and it lingered in the air between them even as Sophia accelerated away into the next lap. For both, the session wasn’t just about lap times and tire wear; it was about shared focus, trust, and the slow, teasing beginnings of something deeper.

When FP2 ended, Sophia’s shoulder ached faintly, but she was buzzing with the controlled thrill of pushing herself carefully — and the warmth of Daniela’s attentive, quietly protective gaze lingered longer than any engine note could.

The session ended, engines cooling and crews beginning their routine checks, and Sophia eased the Mercedes to the pit lane. Her shoulder was sore, sharper than she expected after pushing herself through FP2, and the ache reminded her why she had been so cautious.

“Hey,” Daniela’s voice called softly from the private section, stepping closer with an ice pack already in hand. “Come on, let me help you.”

Sophia raised a brow but smiled faintly. “You’re spoiling me. But… thanks.”

Daniela caught her as she stepped out of the car, steadying her gently. The proximity made Sophia’s chest tighten — in a good way. Daniela carefully positioned the ice pack against her shoulder, the cold pressing soothingly against the tender muscle. Sophia inhaled sharply, the sensation sharp but relieving.

“See? I told you I’d keep you in one piece,” Daniela teased lightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Sophia smirked, wincing slightly as she shifted. “You’re getting way too confident.”

Daniela laughed softly, leaning just a little closer. “Confident enough to know you’re stubborn… and charming when you’re like this.”

Sophia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth spreading through her. “Charming, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

The rest of the paddock was busy — engineers packing up, other drivers heading toward their transport — but the two of them stayed in their little bubble of quiet attention. Daniela’s hand lingered near Sophia’s shoulder for a moment longer than strictly necessary, and Sophia felt a rare sense of ease wash over her.

Back at L’Appartement du Raval, the city lights painted soft reflections across the living room windows. Sophia eased onto the couch, her shoulder wrapped carefully in the ice pack Daniela had helped her with earlier, while Daniela poured water into glasses and placed them on the coffee table.

“Thought we could order something light tonight,” Daniela suggested. “Nothing fancy, just… food, couch, and a little downtime before tomorrow.”

Sophia nodded, grateful. “Perfect. I could use a break from thinking about lines and braking points.”

They scrolled through menus together, laughing quietly at Sophia’s indecisive grumbling over toppings. Once the order was placed, they sank into the couch, shoulders brushing, comfortable in a way Sophia rarely allowed herself with anyone.

“Your shoulder okay?” Daniela asked, lightly pressing the ice pack again.

“Better… it hurts more than I let on, but I’m managing,” Sophia admitted quietly.

Daniela smiled softly, her eyes warm. “Good. Just… don’t pretend for me. You know I’ll take care of you if I have to.”

Sophia let herself relax, leaning back into the cushions. “I know… and I appreciate it. More than I can say.”

They ate in companionable silence, sharing small jokes and quiet smiles. The apartment felt safe, intimate, and calm — a stark contrast to the roar of engines and the pressure of the track. For a few hours, nothing existed but the simple joy of being together, the subtle warmth of shared company, and the gentle reassurance that whatever the weekend brought, they had each other to rely on.
The hotel room was warm and dimly lit, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching them through the balcony doors. Sophia stood near the edge of the bed, fingers hooked under the collar of her Mercedes compression top, trying — and failing — to pull it over her head without feeling knives shoot through her shoulder.

Daniela noticed instantly.

“Stop,” she said gently, crossing the room with quiet, determined steps. “You’re going to make it worse.”

Sophia let her hands fall, exhaling through her nose. “It’s annoying. I swear these things fuse to my skin.”

Daniela smiled softly. “Let me.”

Sophia nodded, lifting her arms just enough for Daniela to slip her fingers under the fabric. The movement was slow, careful — Daniela guiding the tight shirt up inch by inch. When the fabric reached her injured shoulder, Sophia sucked in a breath.

“Sorry…” Daniela murmured, her voice low and apologetic.

“It’s okay. Keep going.”

“Then let me.”

Sophia nodded, lifting her arms just enough for Daniela to slip her fingers under the hem. Daniela worked slowly, drawing the fabric upward inch by inch. When she reached the injured shoulder, Sophia bit down on a gasp, and Daniela froze.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll go slow.”

“It’s okay. Just… be careful.”

Daniela resumed, breath soft, movements precise. When the compression top finally came off, the tape underneath — the physio’s support strips from earlier — peeled partially with it. One end tugged painfully, and Sophia winced.

Daniela caught it instantly.

“Hold still,” she murmured, stepping closer. “The tape’s coming with it. I’ll take it off properly.”

Her fingers worked delicately along the edge of the kinesio tape, lifting and easing it away bit by bit. Each strip came off slowly, Daniela making sure not to rip or rush, her focus unwavering. When the last section released, Sophia felt both the sting of adhesive pulling free and the warm wash of relief at the pressure easing.

“There,” Daniela breathed, letting the tape fall into her hand. “All gone.”

Only then did she look directly at the exposed skin.

Sophia stood in just her sports bra, the cool air brushing her skin. Daniela’s eyes immediately went to her shoulder. The bruise was still there harsh— ugly, deep purple at its center but faintly yellowing at the edges, healing but still brutal.

Daniela’s expression softened, eyebrows lifting with guilt and concern.

“Oh, Sophia…” she whispered.

Her hand hovered for a heartbeat before she placed it gently on the injury — her palm cold from the AC.
Sophia shuddered instantly, breath hitching.

The pain flared, sharp but somehow softened by the tenderness of Daniela’s touch.

“Your hand… is freezing,” Sophia said through a small exhale.

Daniela looked up at her through her lashes, a small, apologetic smile appearing. “Sorry. My hands are always cold. Are you okay?”

Sophia swallowed. “Yeah. It just… hurts. But I’m okay.”

Daniela didn’t remove her hand immediately. Instead, she let her thumb graze the outer edge of the bruise, featherlight, studying Sophia’s reaction with quiet care. Sophia didn’t pull away. Despite the sting, there was something reassuring in the touch — in being allowed to be vulnerable without needing to hide it.

“Come here,” Daniela said softly once the shirt was off, reaching behind her to grab Sophia’s loose t-shirt. She slipped it gently over Sophia’s head, guiding her arms through the sleeves with the same patience someone might use handling delicate glass. When it was done, she stepped back just enough to look at her.

“There. That’s better.”

Before Sophia could respond, a knock sounded at the door. Daniela blinked. “That must be the food.”

She went to get it, and soon enough they were both sitting cross-legged on the bed, containers spread between them, the warm scent of pasta and roasted vegetables filling the room. The atmosphere felt easy — comforting, in a way Sophia wasn’t used to.

Halfway through the meal, Daniela’s tone shifted — soft, thoughtful.

“Can I… ask you something? If it’s too personal, tell me.”

Sophia froze for a second, fork hovering. “Sure.”

“You’ve had other crashes before, right? More serious ones?”

Her stomach dropped.

Instantly.
Viscerally.

She forced her fork down gently, her heartbeat thudding slow and heavy.

“There was one,” she said quietly. “In Formula 2.”

Daniela didn’t interrupt — just listened, eyes warm, steady, present.

Sophia took a breath, rubbing the edge of her plate with her thumb. “It was a sprint race. Wet track. A driver spun in front of me and… I had nowhere to go. We collided hard.”
Her throat tightened.

She swallowed through it.

“He didn’t make it.”

 

Daniela’s eyes widened, her breath catching in sympathy. “Sophia…”
Sophia shook her head softly. “I walked away with a dislocated shoulder and some bruises. And he… he didn’t get the chance to show anyone what he could’ve become. Sometimes I think about that. About how unfair it was. About how…”

Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “About how I get to keep racing and he doesn’t.”

Daniela’s hand slid toward her, slow and gentle, fingers brushing the back of Sophia’s own. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.” Sophia exhaled shakily. “But every time I win, I think… maybe it makes up for it a little. Like I’m carrying something for both of us.”

Daniela didn’t try to tell her it didn’t work like that. She didn’t offer empty comfort. Instead, she rubbed her thumb in a small, grounding circle against Sophia’s knuckles.
“That’s a heavy thing to carry alone,” Daniela murmured. “Thank you… for trusting me with it.”

Sophia let herself meet Daniela’s eyes — and saw nothing but honesty there.

No judgment.
No fear.
Just care.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the need to put her walls back up.
The night softened after that — comfortable again, easy enough that Sophia found herself smiling at Daniela’s dry jokes, laughing when Daniela stole a bite of her pasta, leaning into her shoulder when the pain eased.

As the night closed in, Sophia’s eyelids grew heavy. Daniela propped her shoulder slightly, adjusting the ice pack one last time.

“Get some rest,” she whispered softly. “Tomorrow will be intense, and I want you in one piece.”

Sophia smiled, letting the tension of the day melt away. “I will… thanks to you.”

The lights dimmed, the apartment quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside, and for the first time in days, Sophia felt a deep sense of calm — and the knowledge that tomorrow, whatever the track threw at her, she wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia woke before her alarm.

Not from nerves — she didn’t really get nervous anymore — but from habit. Years of conditioning, race mornings etched into her bones. But today, when her eyes opened, something broke the familiar pattern.

She wasn’t alone.

Across the dim hotel room, in the other bed, Daniela was curled beneath the sheets, face relaxed, breathing slow and even. Soft strands of hair had fallen over her cheek, faintly illuminated by the first thin stripe of morning light pushing through the curtains.

For a moment, Sophia just… watched.

Not in a weird way — just quietly, almost stunned at how peaceful the room felt. Race mornings were supposed to feel cold, sharp, surgical. Awake, prep, focus, block everything out.
But now, the silence felt warm.

Her shoulder, however, reminded her reality was still there — a dull throb that radiated up into her neck. FP2 had aggravated it, FP3 hadn’t been much better. She had hidden the worsening pain from everyone but Lila… and from Daniela, who saw more than most.

Sophia sat up slowly, carefully, trying not to wake her. She grabbed her phone, slipping out of bed and walking out into the small living room, stretching her back with a quiet hiss as the joint tugged angrily.

She rolled her shoulder once.

Immediate regret.

But she inhaled, straightened, and pushed the pain back down where it belonged. One race at a time. She’d been through worse.
She set her phone on the table and began her slow warm-up stretch routine, wincing through the first few pulls. The compression top sat folded neatly on the couch armrest — she’d put it on last, after Daniela taped her shoulder.

If Daniela didn’t notice how bad it actually was.

Sophia exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face.

She had no idea how she would hide it today.

Daniela’s pov

 

Her alarm dragged her out of sleep, vibrating across the nightstand. She reached out blindly, groaning, palm smacking around until she finally found it.
The hotel room was quiet.

Sophia wasn’t in her bed.

Daniela blinked, sitting up quickly — not out of worry, more out of instinctive alertness. The faint sound of controlled breathing and shifting fabric floated in from the living room, and she relaxed immediately.

Sophia always woke early.

Daniela rubbed her eyes, stood, and padded quietly out of the bedroom.

Sophia was stretching — jaw tight, eyes narrowed on the ground, breath shallow in a way Daniela now recognized as pain she refused to admit. Sweat already dotted her temple, not from exertion… from enduring.

Her chest tightened.

Sophia looked up at her, managing a faint smile.

“Morning.”

“Morning…” Daniela whispered, walking closer, voice soft with sleep. “Why didn’t you wake me? I said I’d help you first thing.”

“You looked peaceful,” Sophia said simply. “Didn’t want to ruin that.”

Daniela’s cheeks warmed unexpectedly.

“Well… I’m awake now. Sit.”

Sophia obeyed.

Daniela went to her bag, grabbing the medical tape she’d packed — instinctively, as if she were packing for tour. She knelt behind Sophia, fingertips brushing warm skin as she gently peeled off the remnants of yesterday’s tape.

As she pulled the last strip away, she froze.

The bruise… was big. Dark. Angry-looking. Even worse in the morning light.

 

“Sophia… this is not better.”

Sophia didn’t answer at first.

Then, quietly: “I know.”

Daniela inhaled sharply.

“Do you want it taped the same way or—”

“Harder,” Sophia said, voice low. “Tighter than yesterday. I need it held in place.”

“That’ll hurt,” Daniela warned.

“It hurts anyway.”

Daniela closed her eyes for a second, steadying her breath, steadying her hands.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

And she did — wrapping the tape firmly, supporting the joint with practiced pressure.
Sophia’s jaw clenched when Daniela’s fingers pressed into the sore spot. The smallest flinch.

She thought she hid it.

She didn’t.

Daniela said nothing — she only worked more gently after that.

When she finished, Sophia let out a careful breath.

“Thank you,” Sophia murmured.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Daniela grabbed the compression shirt from the couch. “You still need to put this on.”

 

Sophia snorted softly. “Right.”
Daniela hesitated, then held the shirt open.

“I’ll help.”

Sophia paused — just long enough for Daniela to see her soften — then nodded.

She lifted her arms slowly, cautiously. Daniela guided them through the sleeves, mindful of the injured side, her fingertips brushing bare skin. Her eyes flickered briefly, involuntarily, to the curve of Sophia’s shoulder, the defined line of her collarbone.

She looked a little longer than she should have.
Sophia noticed — but said nothing.

Daniela pulled the shirt down gently, smoothing it around Sophia’s ribs, hands lingering a second longer than necessary.
The moment felt suspended — warm, wordless, charged.

Sophia’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

Daniela stepped back quickly, cheeks warming.

“Okay. You’re done.”

Sophia gave her a small smile — tired, pained, but real.

“Let’s go win a race?”

Daniela huffed.

“Let’s go not damage your shoulder permanently.”

Sophia’s pov

 

The paddock was already buzzing by the time they arrived. Engines warming, journalists weaving through team personnel, the sharp smell of gasoline mixing with morning air.
Sophia walked with purpose — helmet in hand, shoulders squared — but every step sent a dull ache radiating down her arm.
Behind her, Daniela followed, staying close but not hovering.

Sophia liked that.

Her race engineer, Tomás, spotted her immediately.

“Morning, Laforteza! Shoulder okay?”

Sophia lied without hesitation.

“Fine.”

Daniela shot her a look.

A very obvious liar look.

Sophia ignored it.

Tomás handed her the warm-up data sheet, and they began reviewing strategy as they walked toward the garage.
Halfway through the breakdown, Sophia glanced up.

Daniela had made her way to the reserved team/family section, where she could watch without being swallowed by the crowd. She looked small compared to the engineers and team members around her — but she also looked like she belonged there.

Sophia felt something tug in her chest, pressure.

And she wasn’t used to feeling anything on race days.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela stood near the railing, overlooking the garage with a perfect view of the car and Sophia’s team prepping around it. Her phone buzzed — a message from Megan.

Megan: Hey you still in LA, your apartment is empty. You alive? We're going back to the studio on Tuesday, don’t forget!

Daniela smiled and typed back:

Daniela: Left LA. I’m in Barcelona. At the race.

A second later:

Megan: You WHAT?

Daniela stifled a laugh.

She looked back down at Sophia — who was rolling her arm slowly, wincing when she thought no one was watching.

Daniela’s smile faded into worry.

She was used to pushing through pain — tour injuries were part of the job — but Sophia’s shoulder wasn’t a bruise from dance practice. It was a damaged joint carrying a car at 300 km/h.
Every instinct in Daniela screamed at her to run down there and take her out of the lineup herself.

But then Sophia looked up.

Just a small glance.

Their eyes met across the garage — and Sophia smiled at her.

A soft, tiny, private smile.

Daniela felt her heartbeat stutter.

So yeah… okay. She could understand a little better why she was here.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia settles into the cockpit, shoulder already throbbing under the tape Daniela wrapped tighter than yesterday. Too tight, probably. Good. She needs it to be.
She rolls her neck once, twice, ignoring the sting. The engineer’s voice crackles in her ear, the grid forming around her like a living beast. She flexes her fingers on the wheel. Just sixty-six laps. Nothing new.

Just survive.

The lights above blur for a second.

She blinks hard.

No. Not again. Not today.

But she can’t help it — Daniela’s face flashes in her mind. Daniela frowning as she taped her shoulder, Daniela lingering when helping her put on her compression shirt, Daniela’s cold hand on her skin last night, Daniela worrying with that look that feels almost… dangerous.

Sophia inhales sharply.

Focus.
Drive.

The lights turn red.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela stands wedged between two Red Bull hospitality staff, arms crossed so tightly her knuckles ache. Her chest is tight — tighter than she wants to admit. Every minute this race gets closer, her fear rises.

 

She watches the monitor as the grid fills. Sophia’s car comes into view.
Even through the helmet cam, Daniela recognizes the tiny movements — the jaw clench, the shoulder roll, the way Sophia tries to mask pain.
Yesterday, her shoulder was bad.

This morning, it looked worse.

The start lights appear on the giant screen.

Her pulse spikes.

“Come on, Sophia…” she whispers.

Five lights.

Four.

Three.

She swallows.

Two.

One.

Lights out.

Sophia’s pov

 

Chaos.

The opening laps are a blur of tire smoke, elbows out, no space to breathe.

Her shoulder screams every time she flicks the wheel into a corner, but she forces her jaw shut, breath steady.
A car lunges beside her into Turn 4.

She reacts late — pain delays her instinct by a fraction.

The cars nearly touch.

Sophia’s heart jumps up her throat.

She hears Daniela’s voice in her head — Don’t you dare…

She snaps the wheel inside, saves it by pure muscle memory, pain slashing through her shoulder like fire.
“Gap behind is seven tenths, nice save,” her engineer says.

Sophia doesn’t answer.

Another car dives at her through the chicane — overly ambitious rookie. She jerks left, barely avoiding his wing. The proximity alarm flashes red on her steering wheel.
She mutters, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The pain radiates down her arm. She barely feels her fingers.

But Daniela’s face comes back — how she looked at her this morning, worried, almost pleading.
Sophia pushes harder.

Win this. Just win this. Give Daniela something to smile about.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela flinches every time Sophia narrowly avoids disaster — and there are too many near-misses. Wheel-to-wheel fights, reckless late lunges, her car taking brutal kerb strikes.
“She’s fighting harder than usual,” one of the mechanics mutters.

Daniela bites her lip.

She knows why.

Sophia isn’t just fighting competitors — she’s fighting her own body.

Every aggressive move is a reminder of how badly she’s hurting.

When Sophia’s car nearly gets clipped through Turn 10, Daniela’s hand flies to her mouth involuntarily.
“That could’ve been a crash,” she breathes.

She texts Megan back with trembling fingers:

“I’m at the race… she’s pushing way too hard.”

Megan: “Be careful with her.”

Daniela locks her phone with a sigh.

“I’m trying,” she whispers.

Sophia’s pov

 

Her vision starts blurring on the edges.

She breaths through clenched teeth.

Five laps to go.

She leads — barely.

Her direct rival is closing in, one tenth per sector.

Her shoulder feels like it’s burning alive.

Don’t slow down. Don’t show weakness.

She hits a kerb hard — too hard — and feels her arm almost give out.

The car snaps sideways.

Instinct and pain collide. She catches it, but the jolt sends a fresh wave of agony straight down her spine.

“Everything okay?” her engineer asks.

“Fine,” she lies.

Three laps.

Two.

Final lap.

She pushes with everything she has — and none of it is painless.

The checkered flag appears ahead.

Her eyes sting.

She crosses the line first.

She can’t even lift her hand to wave.

Daniela’s pov

 

Sophia steps out of the car slowly — too slowly.

She masks it well for the cameras, but Daniela recognizes the stiffness, the way she’s protecting her right side, the forced smile.
The team surrounds her, cheering, hugging, lifting her slightly — Sophia flinches almost imperceptibly.

But the moment Daniela approaches the barrier separating visitors from the team space, Sophia’s eyes land on her.
It’s like everything else fades.

Sophia steps toward her instinctively.

Too fast.

The movement sends pain tearing through her shoulder, but she doesn’t care.

Daniela doesn’t even have time to think — Sophia throws her arms around her, burying her face in Daniela’s shoulder, shaking from adrenaline, from relief, from pain.
Daniela freezes, then closes her arms around her in return.

“You won,” Daniela whispers, voice tight.

“You actually won.”

Sophia’s breath is shaky. “Yeah… but my shoulder… I think I made it worse.”

Daniela pulls back slightly, cupping Sophia’s cheek.

“Sophia… was it worth it?”

Sophia smiles — tired, triumphant, aching.
But her eyes soften in that way that breaks Daniela’s heart.

“For you?” she murmurs.

“I’d do it again.”

Daniela’s breath catches.

She doesn’t know if she wants to kiss her or shake her.

Instead she whispers, “Don’t say things like that… you’re going to terrify me.”

Sophia presses her forehead lightly against Daniela’s.

“I already did, didn’t I?”

Daniela can’t answer.

She just holds her tighter — carefully — as the podium celebrations explode around them.

Sophia’s pov

 

She barely makes it to the FIA medical room.

The adrenaline is fading fast — too fast — leaving her shaky and cold, her arm numb and her shoulder throbbing so violently she feels nauseous.
Daniela is right behind her, one hand hovering near her back but never touching unless Sophia stumbles.

Every time she sways, Daniela’s fingers press lightly against her spine.

Inside the medical bay, Sophia sits on the padded table. The doctor begins asking the usual questions, but Sophia’s mind feels foggy, exhausted.
Daniela stands on the left side of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the doctor as if daring him to miss something.

“Any numbness in the fingers?” he asks.

Sophia nods.

Daniela’s eyes widen. “Since when?”

Sophia doesn’t answer immediately.

Daniela’s voice sharpens. “Sophia.”

“Mid-race,” Sophia admits quietly.

Daniela inhales sharply, a sound between shock and anger.

The doctor gently palpates her shoulder.
Sophia bites down a groan.

When he rotates her arm, she winces so hard she shakes.

The doctor steps back.
“You’ve aggravated the injury significantly. You need absolute rest.”

“How long?” Sophia asks, voice too small.

“At least one race. You have to skip the next Grand Prix.”

The words hit her harder than any crash ever has.

She stares blankly at the floor as her chest tightens.

Her throat burns.

One race.

A whole race.

It feels like failure. Like letting down her team. Her fans. Her own impossible standards.

Her breathing gets shallow. Her pulse spikes.

Her body begins to shut down — slowly, silently, like a door closing.

Daniela notices before the doctor does.

“Hey—hey.” Daniela steps closer, her tone warm and low. “Sophia. Look at me.”

Sophia’s eyes don’t move.

Daniela gently places both her hands on the sides of Sophia’s face, lifting her gaze.

“You’re okay. You’re breathing too fast, that’s why you feel dizzy. Look at me.”

Her thumb brushes Sophia’s cheek without thinking.

Sophia tries to swallow. “I can’t skip a race. I—I can’t.”

“You can,” Daniela whispers. “Because you need to. Because you’re human. And because your body is asking for help.”
Sophia’s eyes suddenly brim with tears — silent, stubborn, burning tears.

Daniela steps even closer.

“You did enough today,” she murmurs. “More than enough.”

Sophia closes her eyes, and one tear slips down.

Daniela catches it with her thumb.

It was the first time Daniela saw Sophia break that much.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela keeps an arm around Sophia the entire drive back.

Sophia barely speaks.

Shock settles over her like frost.

When they reach the room, Daniela helps her out of her fireproof undershirt again — carefully, slowly, whispering apologies whenever Sophia winces.
The bruise on her shoulder is bigger now.

Darker.
Angry.

Daniela’s stomach twists.

She touches it lightly — cold fingertips brushing over the swelling.
Sophia shivers at the contact, her breath catching.

“I’m sorry,” Daniela murmurs.

“Don’t be,” Sophia whispers back.

Daniela presses an ice pack to the shoulder, holding it steady.

They sit on the edge of the bed, facing the window, the lights of the city flickering across the floor.
Sophia leans slightly into her, exhaustion making her unguarded.

Daniela lets her.

After a long silence, Sophia finally speaks.

“I hate that I’m weak.”

Daniela immediately shakes her head. “You’re not weak. You’re injured.”

Sophia laughs bitterly. “Same thing.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Daniela turns to face her fully. “Weak is giving up. Weak is not showing up. Weak is not fighting. And that is the opposite of you.”
Sophia looks at her, eyes glossy, lips trembling like she’s trying not to break.

Daniela keeps going, softer now.

“You are the strongest person I know. You prove it every time you get in that car.”

Sophia swallows hard. “Maybe too strong.”

Daniela’s voice drops. “I was terrified today.”

Sophia’s head lifts slightly. “You were?”

“Yes.” Daniela’s throat tightens. “Every overtake. Every time someone got close to you. Every time you grabbed the wheel with your right hand and I knew it hurt.”
Sophia’s breath shudders.

“I didn’t want you to see that,” she murmurs.

“I see everything,” Daniela whispers.

Their eyes lock for a moment too long.

The air changes — heavy, warm, fragile.

Sophia looks down. “Why do you care so much?”

Daniela opens her mouth — then closes it.

Because she knows the real answer.

Because she’s been feeling it grow with every hour they spend together.
Because when Sophia got out of that car today, Daniela thought she might collapse from fear.

But she can’t say that.

Not yet.

So instead she says, “Because you matter. Because you’re important to me.”

Sophia’s heartbeat stutters visibly in her throat.

She whispers, barely audible, “You’re important to me too.”

Daniela feels her chest tighten — a quiet ache she has no name for.

Sophia leans her head on Daniela’s shoulder, exhausted and hurting, but trusting.

Daniela lifts her arm carefully, letting Sophia settle against her fully.

The room falls silent.

Nothing loud.
Nothing dramatic.

Just two people sitting in the half-dark, holding each other in a way neither of them expected.

An almost-confession.

An almost-beginning.

And both of them know this… whatever it is… isn’t going away.

Not after today.

Not ever.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia wakes up before her alarm — as always — but everything feels wrong today.

Her body is stiff, heavy, slow.

Her shoulder burns with a deep, pulsing ache that radiates down her arm and up into her neck.

And she barely slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the race again — the moments she lost feeling in her fingers, the dizzy wave that hit her in turn seven, the brief second she couldn’t fully judge the distance of the car beside her.

She drags herself out of bed silently, not wanting to wake Daniela in the other one.

She slips into the main room and sits on the couch, staring at the floor.

Her phone buzzes.

A message from her agent.

“The doctor informed me. You need to rest. Mercedes is fully covered for the next Grand Prix — everything is handled, so don’t worry about the team. Fly back home to LA and recover properly. You’ll receive a shoulder brace as soon as possible.”

Sophia exhales shakily.

She knows it’s the right decision.

She knows she needs rest.

 

But it still feels like failure scraping down her ribs.

She rubs her face, exhausted.

Behind her, she hears the soft rustle of sheets.

Then Daniela’s voice — warm, sleepy, concerned.

“Sophia?”

Sophia turns. Daniela is sitting up, hair messy, eyes heavy with sleep, but already worried.

“Why are you up?” Daniela asks, standing and crossing the room toward her. “You should still be resting.”

“I’m fine,” Sophia insists.

Daniela stops in front of her. “You don’t look fine.”

Sophia tries to smile, but it falters.

Daniela kneels in front of her — the same way she has every morning since Barcelona — gentle, steady, present.

“What happened?” Daniela asks softly.

Sophia hesitates.

The truth tastes bitter in her mouth.

She looks away.

“I got a message from my agent.”

Daniela’s brows lift slightly.

“They said the team is okay for the next race… that I don’t need to worry.”

“And you don’t?” Daniela asks carefully.

Sophia shakes her head. “Of course I do.”

Daniela’s expression softens. “Sophia…”

Sophia’s breath catches.

Something in her chest cracks open — all the fear she’s been holding in since the race pushing up to the surface.

She stares at her hands.

“There were moments…” she whispers, “during the race… moments I couldn’t feel my fingers.”

Daniela’s eyes widen, horrified. “When?”

“After lap fifteen,” Sophia says quietly. “Then again around lap thirty. And then at the end.”

“And why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Sophia laughs bitterly. “How was I supposed to? I couldn’t lose the race like that.”

Daniela sits beside her immediately, knee touching hers, voice low and urgent.

“Sophia, that wasn’t safe.”

“I know,” Sophia whispers. “I know.”

She presses a hand over her face.

“There were seconds where everything blurred. Where the cars around me—” She stops, swallowing hard. “I couldn’t tell how close they were.”
Daniela’s heart stutters visibly in her throat.

She lifts a hand, hesitating only a second before placing it gently on Sophia’s thigh, grounding her.
“Sophia,” she murmurs, “you could have died.”

The words land like a hard truth Sophia didn’t want to touch.

She nods.

Daniela looks at her fully now — not the racer, not the podium finisher, not the unstoppable machine the world thinks she is — but the person.
The human.

The girl who tried to drive through fear and pain because she didn’t know how to stop.
Sophia breathes out shakily.

“I felt dizzy on lap forty. I thought I was going to pass out. I… I almost missed the braking point.”

Daniela closes her eyes like the thought physically hurts her.

She takes Sophia’s hand gently — fingers brushing over her knuckles, steady, warm.
“You didn’t tell me that last night.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Sophia says softly.

Daniela opens her eyes, voice trembling with emotion she can’t hold back.

“Sophia… you’re already hurt. I’m already worried. I would rather know the truth than watch you pretend you’re okay.”

Sophia looks at her — really looks — and something shifts between them again, something unspoken but painfully clear.
Daniela squeezes her hand.

“What can I do?” she asks quietly. “Tell me how to help.”

Sophia exhales.

And for once… she doesn’t force herself to be invincible.

“You’re already helping,” she whispers.

Daniela’s thumb strokes her palm.

Soft.
Protective.
Reassuring.

There’s no tension between them now — just vulnerability and closeness, raw and real.
Sophia leans her head lightly on Daniela’s shoulder.

Not a collapse.
Not weakness.
Just trust.

And Daniela stays perfectly still, like she understands how significant that small gesture is.
“Let me tape your shoulder again before we check out.”

She didn’t ask permission — she was simply there, like she had been all week.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela spread the tape on the small hotel desk, then knelt in front of Sophia, helping her remove her loose sleep shirt. The bruise was worse today — deeper in color, the swelling more defined.
“God…” Daniela whispered. “Sophia, this is… a lot.”

Sophia kept her gaze down. “It’ll be fine.”

“That’s not the point.”

Daniela touched her shoulder with the back of her fingers, cold and feather-light. Sophia inhaled sharply, jaw clenching — not from discomfort but from something else entirely, something Daniela pretended not to notice.

She worked slowly and carefully, anchoring the tape in firm supportive lines, guiding Sophia’s arm when needed, murmuring small apologies every time Sophia winced.
“There,” Daniela finally said. “Better?”

Sophia nodded once. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Daniela’s hands lingered for a breath too long. “Don’t lie to me today, okay?”

Sophia swallowed. “…Okay.”

Sophia’s pov

 

The medical staff met her near the hotel lobby. They handed her the shoulder brace and gave instructions that sounded painfully familiar: rest, ice, avoid strain, no racing.
Sophia held the light-but-sturdy brace in her good hand. It felt like defeat molded in plastic.
Daniela watched her with worried eyes but didn’t push. Not yet.

They rolled their suitcases out the doors together. The morning sun felt too bright. Too sharp.

“You ready?” Daniela asked softly.

“No,” Sophia admitted. “But let’s go.”

Daniela’s pov

 

The car ride was quiet but warm — their shoulders brushing occasionally, their hands almost touching on the middle seat. Sophia looked exhausted, staring out the window with a clenched jaw she couldn’t keep relaxed anymore.

At the private terminal, Daniela handled most of the check-in, subtly taking weight off Sophia. She guided her through security, stood close when fans hesitated to approach because Sophia clearly wasn’t okay.

On the plane, Daniela took the window seat so Sophia could rest without leaning awkwardly. When Sophia finally closed her eyes, Daniela slid a blanket over her, lifted her bad arm gently, and guided her into a more comfortable position.

Sophia didn’t wake up, but she leaned into her like she trusted her more than she realized.

Once her breathing steadied, Daniela rested her head lightly on Sophia’s shoulder.

Neither of them mentioned how intimate it felt.

Sophia’s pov

 

Her apartment felt colder than usual when they stepped inside — too modern, too spacious, too empty after weeks of movement.
Sophia moved stiffly, suitcase rolling behind her with one hand. The shoulder brace she’d been given pressed firmly against her skin, and although it helped, it also made everything real.
Daniela closed the door behind them and set her own suitcase down.

“So,” she said softly. “I’m not leaving.”

Sophia blinked. “Dani—”

“No,” Daniela repeated, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. And I don’t want to go home when you’re hurting like this.”

Sophia felt something shift — a deep, quiet tear in the walls she always kept up.

“You don’t have to take care of me.”

Daniela’s expression softened, almost breaking.

“I want to.”

The words hung in the air, trembling, dangerously close to something neither of them dared name.

Sophia’s breath caught.

For a moment — a full, suspended moment — she thought Daniela might step closer, might touch her cheek, might say the thing that’d been unspoken for days.
But Daniela only reached out and brushed her fingers lightly over the brace on her shoulder.

“Let me stay tonight,” she whispered. “Please.”

Sophia nodded, barely audible.
“…Okay.”

Daniela smiled, gentle and relieved.

Sophia’s heart swayed in her chest — one beat away from confession.

But neither spoke. Not yet.

They simply stood there, inches apart, sharing the kind of silence that feels like the beginning of something much bigger.

Sophia sank into the couch of her apartment, the plush cushions feeling alien compared to the cramped hotel room. The city lights outside cast soft patterns across the floor. The shoulder brace pressed snugly against her, a constant reminder of the price she had paid yesterday.

Daniela moved around the kitchen, unpacking a small takeout order they’d brought from a nearby spot. The smell of warm food made Sophia’s stomach tighten — hunger mixed with exhaustion and nerves.

“You need to eat,” Daniela said firmly, placing a plate in front of her.

“I’ll just nibble,” Sophia murmured, but Daniela sat across from her, eyes unwavering.

“Nope,” Daniela countered. “You’re not doing anything half-assed today. You’ve been running on adrenaline and stubbornness for a week. Eat, or I will literally feed you myself.”
Sophia blinked, a small laugh escaping her despite the tension in her shoulder. “Fine,” she said, picking at the food.

Daniela watched her, soft, careful. Every small movement — Sophia reaching for her fork, shifting to ease her shoulder, flinching at the brace — tugged at Daniela’s chest. She wanted to reach out and touch her, to soothe the ache in more ways than one, but restrained herself, letting Sophia have space while staying close.

Daniela’s pov

 

After the meal, Daniela nudged Sophia gently toward the couch. “You’re lying down. Now.”

“I—”

“No excuses.” Daniela’s tone softened, but the firmness remained. She helped Sophia adjust the brace, making sure it was comfortable, then draped a blanket over her.
Sophia wanted to argue, wanted to convince herself she didn’t need this. But every muscle in her body screamed otherwise. She surrendered, letting her head fall against the couch cushions.
Daniela crouched beside her, holding her hand lightly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “I’ll be right here. Don’t move.”

And for the first time in days, Sophia let herself simply rest, feeling the tension seep out of her shoulders, letting someone care for her without guilt.

When she saw Sophia asleep, shoulders tense even in rest, Daniela pulled her phone from her pocket. She tapped out a quick message to Megan, letting her know how Sophia was doing:

“Hey Meg! Sophia’s back in LA, so am I now. She’s resting on the couch — brace and all. Looks exhausted but safe. I’ll be there for rehearsals on tuesday, but wanted you to know how she’s doing.”

Sophia’s pov

 

Hours later, after a nap that barely counted as sleep, Sophia awoke. Daniela was still there, curled in the chair nearby, phone in hand but eyes occasionally darting toward her.
The adrenaline that had carried her through Monaco, the need to be strong, the constant push against pain — it all crashed down in a tidal wave.

Her eyes filled with tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed, and the sobs caught in her throat. She tried to silence them, but Daniela was immediately at her side, arms around her, warm and steady.
“Shhh… it’s okay,” Daniela murmured, rocking her gently. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You never have to pretend with me.”

Sophia let herself fall completely into Daniela’s embrace. The weight of fear, pain, guilt, and exhaustion poured out. Daniela held her tightly, whispering reassurances she didn’t know she needed:

“You’re safe.”

“You’re strong.”

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

The raw vulnerability left Sophia trembling, but also closer to Daniela than ever before.

A few minutes passed and Sophia had drifted back to sleep. Her chest tightened — she hated leaving her like this, but she needed to call it a night, the rehearsals tomorrow couldn’t be skipped, and she knew she could check in constantly via text.

Daniela paused by the couch, placing a soft hand briefly over Sophia’s shoulder, careful not to disturb her sleep. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she whispered. Then, quietly, she left.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sunlight spilled across the apartment as Sophia stirred awake on the couch, her body stiff from the night’s rest and the brace still snug around her shoulder. The apartment was quiet — too quiet without Daniela nearby.

On the kitchen counter, a small note caught her eye. The handwriting was unmistakable, looping and precise:
“Morning, Sophia. Don’t forget to rest today, okay? Text me when you wake up — I’ll be thinking of you. Sorry I have to leave you alone for a bit, but I’ll check in as much as I can. —D.”
A small smile tugged at Sophia’s lips. Despite feeling guilty for relying so much on Daniela, her chest warmed at the thoughtfulness. She picked up her phone, thumb hovering over the screen, debating what to text back.

Daniela’s pov

Daniela tapped her foot lightly in the rehearsal studio, the music echoing around the walls. She had been texting Sophia every so often, checking in between choreography and vocal warm-ups, but it still felt wrong leaving her alone.

“Are you okay?” Megan asked, noticing Daniela’s distracted glances at her phone.

“I’m fine,” Daniela said quickly, though her grip on her water bottle tightened. “It’s just… Sophia. She’s back in LA, resting, and I hate leaving her alone even for rehearsal.”
Lara reached over, nudging her gently. “She’s a fighter. She’ll be okay.”

Manon added with a teasing smirk, “Besides, she’s lucky to have you hovering like a guardian angel.”

Daniela smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I just… I know she’s pushing herself harder than she should. I want to be there to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself more.”

Yoonchae placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She’s lucky to have someone like you. You’re doing the best you can, even from a distance.”

The words grounded Daniela. She knew they were right — she couldn’t be with Sophia every second, but the texts, calls, and the note she left in the morning were all small ways to stay connected.
“Thanks, girls,” Daniela whispered. “I just… I feel bad leaving her alone today.”

“Don’t. She needs rest, and you need rehearsal,” Megan replied gently. “You’re doing everything right.”

Daniela nodded, her mind still half on Sophia, imagining her curled up on the couch, brace on, phone nearby, waiting for her message. She could practically feel the tension in Sophia’s shoulder from here — and it made her chest ache in ways she wasn’t ready to name yet.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia stretched carefully on the couch, her shoulder braced but still throbbing slightly from the previous day’s race. She pressed her fingers lightly against the sore spot, wincing at the tenderness, before letting out a quiet sigh.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. A text from Daniela:

“Morning, Soph. How’s the shoulder today? I know I can’t be there in person, but I’m here if you need anything. Don’t push yourself.”

Sophia’s chest warmed at the message. She typed back carefully, not wanting to sound weak:

“Better than yesterday… I think. Still sore. Wish you were here.”

Almost immediately, Daniela replied: “Wish I was too. Hang in there. Take it slow, okay? And if you need me, you know I’ll come running.”

Sophia smiled softly, letting the words linger as she adjusted the brace again. The shoulder ached, but it wasn’t just pain she felt — it was the steady, undeniable pull of wanting Daniela close, even if just through texts.

 

Later, Sophia leaned back against the couch, careful not to jostle her shoulder. She removed the brace for a moment, carefully palpating the bruise and stiffness. Her hand trembled slightly, and she realized how much strain the Monaco race had put on her.

She pressed her phone to her ear, dialing Daniela for reassurance who was still at rehearsal. When Daniela picked up, the sound of her voice was enough to calm the tightness in Sophia’s chest.

“Hey… just checking in,” Sophia murmured, her fingers brushing against the sore spot.

“I was hoping you’d call,” Daniela replied softly. “How does it feel? You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“I’m… managing,” Sophia admitted, though her voice betrayed her discomfort. “It hurts more than I thought it would.”

Daniela’s tone softened, filled with concern. “Don’t push yourself. I’ll be there if you need anything, okay? Even if it’s just holding an ice pack or bringing you food after rehearsal.”

“I might take you up on that,” Sophia whispered, a small smile breaking through the tension.

Sophia lay sprawled on the couch, her good arm propped behind her head, the ache in her shoulder pulsing in a slow, steady rhythm. The TV was on but she wasn’t really watching it — just letting the noise fill the room while she tried not to think about the upcoming exam. Hours passed, with Sophia being stuck in her thoughts—looking at the TV trying to make sense of it all.

Her phone buzzed against her thigh.

She didn’t move at first, too comfortable — too tired — but the second buzz made her reach for it.

A message from Daniela.

Daniela: Did you eat? Or are you pretending coffee counts as food again?

Sophia snorted softly, heat blooming in her chest.

Before she could type anything, another message came:

Daniela: Remember the doctor wants the full mobility tests today. They’re doing deeper scans too.

Daniela: I’m coming after rehearsal to get you. Don’t go alone.

Sophia blinked at that. Daniela was already balancing rehearsals, media prep, and everything the team threw at her… and yet she wanted to come for her.
Sophia: I can get there—

The bubbles popped up before she finished typing.

Daniela: No. I want to be there. I don’t care how tired I am.

Sophia’s chest tightened in that way it did around Daniela — half yearning, half fear of wanting too much.

She closed her eyes and let the quiet fill the room again. She wasn’t racing the next event, and she had accepted that… mostly. But the follow-up exam was bigger — more precise imaging, a full strength assessment, joint stability check, possible injections. The kind of appointment that could determine timelines. The kind that made her stomach knot even if she pretended she was calm.
And the team briefing afterward…

She pictured the room: engineers, strategists, her team principal. Questions, timelines, expectations. They’d want clarity. She had none to give.

She brewed coffee slowly, trying not to think about the weight of it all. She sat on the couch with a heating pad on her shoulder, scrolling mindlessly until her phone buzzed again.
A voice message.

She tapped it.

Daniela’s soft voice filled her living room, gentle in a way Daniela wasn’t with anyone else.

“Soph… don’t stress about the medical exam, okay? It’s just data. Information. Nothing is being decided today. And I’ll be there the moment rehearsal ends. We’ll go together. You don’t have to face all that alone.”

Sophia felt her throat tighten.

No one had ever said that to her — not like that.

She typed back slowly.

Sophia: Thank you. Really. I… I’m better when you’re around.

She regretted hitting send instantly. Too vulnerable. Too transparent.

Then Daniela replied:

Daniela: Good. Then I’m absolutely coming.

Sophia set the phone down, leaned her head back on the couch, and closed her eyes. For the first time that morning, the tension in her shoulders — well, the uninjured one — eased.
She spent the rest of the afternoon moving softly around the apartment: doing light stretches, changing ice to heat, reading a few pages of a book before losing focus. Every small movement reminded her of the coming exam: the doctor lifting her arm, pushing, pulling, testing limits she already dreaded reaching.

She tried to distract herself with lunch. With music. With an unsuccessful shower because of her shoulder. Nothing fully worked.

But knowing Daniela was coming…that made the time pass a little easier.

Late afternoon sun was starting to dip when her phone buzzed again.

Daniela: Leaving rehearsal now. Get ready. I’m picking you up in ten.

Sophia exhaled, a mix of nerves and something almost like relief washing through her.

She grabbed her jacket as carefully as she could, moving slowly so the pain wouldn’t flare. Her heart wasn’t pounding from worry about the scan anymore.
It was pounding because Daniela was going to be right there — walking beside her into the clinic, sitting with her during the tests, waiting with her before the briefing.
Not as a teammate.

Not as a friend who “just wanted to help.”

But with a tenderness that Sophia could feel even through text messages.

She locked the apartment behind her and stepped outside, waiting at the curb.

Daniela showed up exactly when she said she would, hair damp from a quick shower after rehearsal, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She looked tired, but when she saw Sophia waiting by the door with her shoulder brace on, her expression softened into something warm and immediate.

The part of her that wanted to lean into Daniela’s warmth and let herself be held through all of this.

“Hey,” Daniela said quietly, stepping closer. “Ready?”

Sophia nodded — but the moment she moved, Daniela’s eyes darted to her shoulder, worry sharpening the softness.

The ride to the medical center was quiet at first, the city buzzing outside the windows. Inside the car, it felt like its own little world.

Daniela kept glancing over — not subtly at all.

“Does it hurt?” she asked finally, voice low.

Sophia shrugged with her good shoulder. “It always hurts.”

“That’s not comforting,” Daniela muttered. She reached out instinctively — her fingers brushing just above the brace before she caught herself and pulled her hand back to the steering wheel.
But the ghost of that touch lingered. Sophia felt it all the way down her spine.

“Sorry,” Daniela added after a moment. “I’m just… checking.”

“You can check,” Sophia said without thinking.

It slipped out too soft, too honest.

Daniela froze, lips parting slightly.

Then she smiled — that slow, shy curve that always melted Sophia.

“Okay,” she murmured, eyes flicking back to the road.

But her blush said everything.

For the rest of the drive, their hands kept almost brushing on the center console — never quite touching, but close enough that Sophia felt every inch of distance.
The exam room smelled like antiseptic and cold air. Sophia hated it immediately.

 

The doctor started with mobility tests:

“Lift your arm as high as you can.”

Sophia did. Her breath shook.

Daniela, sitting in the corner, sat up instantly.

“Higher?” the doctor asked.

“She can’t,” Daniela said before Sophia could answer. “Not without—”

Sophia sucked in a tight breath as pain shot down her arm.

Daniela stood. She didn’t ask — she simply moved to Sophia’s side, fingers brushing her uninjured hand, grounding her subtly, protectively.
The doctor continued.

Pressure tests.
Resistance tests.
Neurological checks.

Sophia fought not to crumble.

Daniela’s jaw kept tightening, her hand hovering near Sophia’s back like she wanted to steady her but wasn’t sure she was allowed.
Then came the final imaging. Sophia sat on the medical table while they reviewed the scans.
The doctor spoke clinically, detached.

“Tendons are inflamed. Rotator cuff strain. Aggravated since the race. You’re grounded for a minimum of two weeks. Maybe longer.”
Sophia swallowed hard. Her vision blurred.

Daniela saw it immediately.

The second the doctor stepped out to print the report, Daniela moved closer and knelt in front of her, gently resting her hand on Sophia’s uninjured knee.
“Hey… breathe,” she whispered.

Sophia tried, but the breath came out broken. “I can’t race. Again.”

“You shouldn’t,” Daniela replied firmly, but softly. “You shouldn’t have been racing yesterday either.”

Sophia’s eyes glistened. “I had to win. I needed that win.”

Daniela’s expression twisted — proud and devastated at the same time.

“I know,” she said.

And then quieter, almost trembling:
“I hated watching you fight through that pain. I hated not being able to stop you.”

Sophia leaned into her just a little — just enough that their foreheads almost touched.

They went straight to the Mercedes office afterward.

Sophia’s team wasn’t angry, but the disappointment weighed heavily.

“You pushed beyond safe limits,” one engineer said.

“We understand why, but you can’t risk permanent damage,” another added.

Sophia sat stiffly, brace pressing into her skin, trying to stay composed.

Daniela stayed behind her — not officially part of the team, not officially involved — but her presence filled the whole space. Her fingertips brushed Sophia’s back once, barely-there but intentional.
Sophia straightened at the touch.

Grounded herself.

Spoke clearly.

“I understand. I’ll recover properly. I just… wanted to deliver.”

“You did,” her team principal said. “But now we need you healthy.”

Sophia nodded, but her throat tightened painfully.

Meeting adjourned.

The moment they stepped out into the hallway, the performance in Sophia’s posture collapsed — shoulders sagging, breath trembling.
Daniela slid her hand down Sophia’s arm, slow and careful, stopping just above her elbow.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered.

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Sophia looked at her, eyes tired, raw.

“Home,” she echoed.

And it suddenly meant something more.

Something they were both starting to realize.

The air between them in the car felt different now — heavier, softer at the same time.
Sophia sat with her brace tight, her breath shallow from pain and exhaustion.

Daniela drove quietly, glancing over every few blocks.

Not worried — watchful.

“Does it hurt right now?” Daniela asked eventually.

Sophia nodded without looking at her. “Yeah.”

Daniela’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “We’re getting you home. You’re not lifting a damn thing.”

Sophia would’ve smiled if she had any energy left.

The ride continued in soft, warm silence, broken only by Daniela’s small gestures — turning the heat up when she noticed Sophia’s hands cold, adjusting her seatbelt because it pressed the wrong way, making sure the road was smooth.

Little things.

Things people don’t do unless they care deeply.

Sophia felt them all.

Daniela followed her inside with the steady confidence of someone who had done this before.
She placed Sophia’s bag down.

Turned on the soft lights.

Helped her slip out of her shoes.

“Sit,” Daniela said softly.

Sophia tried to argue.

“Daniela, you don’t have to—”

“Sit,” Daniela repeated, and there was no fight left in Sophia to resist.

She lowered herself onto the couch, exhausted. Daniela kneeling beside her to untie her brace, check her swelling, retape the looser bandage that rubbed.
Her hands were delicate, cold as always — a relief on burning skin.

“You did too much today,” Daniela murmured.

Sophia inhaled shakily. “I know.”

“You can stop being strong now,” Daniela added quietly.

And that was the moment the crack in Sophia’s chest widened.

When Daniela had stepped out briefly, Sophia caught a glimpse of the message Daniela had sent Megan earlier:
“She’s home. She’s hurting more than she says. I’m staying with her tonight.”

“Tell the girls I won’t miss tomorrow's rehearsal but… I hate leaving her alone.”

Sophia hadn’t meant to read it.

But it changed something in her — in the way she looked at Daniela now.

In how deeply it hit her that someone cared enough to worry like that.

Daniela brought over soup she reheated.

They ate quietly.

Sophia barely tasted it.

But she watched the way Daniela kept glancing at her, making sure she swallowed, making sure she was okay.

“How was rehearsal?” Sophia whispered.

Daniela gave a soft shrug. “Fine. I couldn’t focus. Kept thinking about you.”

Sophia’s heart skipped. Hard.

“You… were thinking about me?”

“Yeah,” Daniela replied simply, eyes flicking up, unguarded for a split second. “A lot.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

It pulsed with something new — fragile, warm, terrifying.

It happened fast.

One second she was sitting.

The next, her breath stuttered and her body folded forward, the weight of the day crushing her all at once.
She pressed her good hand to her forehead.

Her chest tightened.

Her eyes finally overflowed.

“I can’t…”

Her voice cracked.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Daniela froze for half a second — then moved.

She settled beside Sophia and gently pulled her against her chest, careful of the injured shoulder.
“Hey,” she whispered, one hand sliding into Sophia’s hair.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Sophia let out a broken, gasping sob into Daniela’s hoodie.

“All I do is push and push and my body just— it gives up— I can’t race— I can’t—”

Daniela hushed her softly, thumb brushing tears off her cheek.

“You are not your pain,” she said softly.

“You’re not weak. You’re injured. That’s different.”

Sophia shook, gripping Daniela’s sleeve with trembling fingers.

“I hate disappointing people.”

“You didn’t disappoint me,” Daniela whispered.

“Not for a second.”

Sophia finally looked up at her, eyes swollen, breath uneven.

Daniela didn’t move away.

Their faces were close.

Too close.

“Soph…” Daniela breathed, voice trembling. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Sophia blinked slowly, tears clinging to her lashes.

“I don’t want you to leave tonight.”

Daniela exhaled sharply — not surprised, not hesitant — just affected.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

Sophia’s lips parted. “Thank you.
”
Daniela brushed a strand of hair behind Sophia’s ear — the gentlest touch.
“Sophia…”

Her voice slipped into something raw.

“If anything happened to you on that track— I don’t know what I’d do.”
Sophia’s heart stopped for a beat.

That was it.
That was the moment they both felt it —the quiet, unmistakable shift from care into something deeper.

But Daniela’s forehead rested against Sophia’s temple, and Sophia leaned into her like she had been waiting for this exact closeness for weeks.
And it was enough.

For now.

 

Daniela was still beside her when Sophia, exhausted, drifted back to sleep for just a moment.

Maybe two minutes.

Maybe twenty.

She didn’t know.

But Daniela knew the exact second the nightmare hit.

“Soph— hey— hey—” Daniela whispered urgently, shaking her gently.

Sophia’s breath came in panicked gasps, her back arching away from the bed, her good hand clawing at the sheets.
“No— no— brakes— I can’t— I can’t—!”

Daniela climbed onto the bed without thinking, bracing Sophia’s shoulders, grounding her.

“Hey. Soph. You’re safe. You’re here with me.”

Sophia jolted awake, chest heaving, eyes wild.

Before she even understood where she was, her hands gripped Daniela’s sweatshirt, clinging like she might disappear.
“I’m sorry,” Sophia whispered, shaking.
“I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” Daniela murmured, pulling her closer, careful of the injury.
“Just breathe. You’re okay.”

Sophia pressed her forehead to Daniela’s shoulder, breath trembling.

“Stay,” she whispered.

Her voice broke on the single word.

“Please.”

Daniela didn’t hesitate.
“I’m not going anywhere.”

Sophia woke before the sun — she always did — but this morning, her body felt foreign. Heavy. She didn’t sleep much, waves drifting in and out of a deep sleep.

Sophia’s phone buzzed.

A message.

From Daniela. Sent when Sophia was sleeping. “If you wake up before me, don’t do anything alone. Wait for me.”

“Please.”

Sophia stared at it.

Such a simple message.

But no one had ever cared about her like that — not in a quiet, consistent, everyday way.
Her throat tightened again.

Her injured shoulder throbbed under the brace. Her eyes burned from crying.
Her throat was tight, raw.

She tried to sit up quietly, but the movement sent a sharp, electric pain down her arm.
She bit back a gasp.

And that tiny sound was enough.

From the other side of the bed, Daniela stirred — slow, sleepy, but instantly alert the moment she saw Sophia holding her shoulder, her jaw clenched.
“Soph?”

Her voice was hoarse with sleep
.
Soft with worry.

“I’m fine,” Sophia whispered automatically.

Daniela blinked at her. “No, you’re not.”

She slid out of her bed, padded across the wooden floor, and knelt beside Sophia’s, not caring about her own exhaustion.
“Let me see.”

Sophia hesitated — a reflex she’d built over years of hiding pain.

But last night had cracked something open.

She didn’t argue.

Daniela’s fingers brushed her collarbone, then the edge of the brace.

Her touch was gentle, but the pressure still made Sophia flinch.

“Sorry—” Daniela whispered.

“It’s okay,” Sophia breathed. “Just… sensitive.”

Daniela slowly undid the straps, lifting the brace away. Her brows knit the moment she saw the swelling was worse than yesterday.
Her voice dropped.

“God, Soph…”

Daniela ran her fingers carefully along the skin — cold fingertips on hot, inflamed muscle.
Sophia exhaled a shaky breath at the contrast.

Then Daniela’s eyes drifted lower — and that’s when she saw it.

A scar.
An older one.

Long, pale, thin — clearly from another crash, another lifetime of pain Sophia never talked about.
Daniela froze.

“What’s this from?” she asked softly.

Sophia swallowed.

Her voice came out small.

“F2. My big collision… the one where—”

She couldn’t finish.

Daniela didn’t push.

But her expression changed — softer, yet fiercer.

She reached out and traced the scar with the back of her knuckles, barely touching it.

“You’ve survived too much alone,” she whispered.

Sophia’s breath hitched.

Eventually Sophia calmed enough to stand, but her legs were unsteady.

Daniela saw it.

Of course she did.

“Sit,” she said again, guiding Sophia to the couch.

“I’ll make something.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Daniela said simply. “I want to.”

Sophia’s heartbeat stuttered.

Daniela moved in the kitchen with this soft, unconscious tenderness — checking if Sophia was watching, offering a small reassuring smile each time their eyes met.
Neither talked about the nightmare.

They didn’t need to.

It lingered between them, drawing them closer instead of pushing them apart.
Sophia watched Daniela from the couch — the way her hair was still messy from sleep, the way her hoodie hung loose, the way she kept glancing over like she needed to confirm Sophia was still there.

It warmed something deep and hidden inside her.

And scared her just as much.

Daniela brought the breakfast over, sitting close enough for their knees to touch.
“Tell me how bad it really is,” she said gently.

Sophia tried to look away — but Daniela kept her gaze steady.

Daniela inhaled sharply — a confession trembling on the edge of her lips.

But instead, she leaned in, pressing her forehead to Sophia’s…

a barely-there touch, but deeply intimate.
“Because,” Daniela whispered, voice trembling,
“The thought of losing you makes me sick.”

Sophia’s heart slammed against her ribs.

There it was.

Not said directly.

Not named.

But undeniable.

They stayed like that, foreheads touching, breathing the same small space between them.

Neither moved away.

Neither wanted to.

Chapter Text

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela had never been the type to hover.
She’d never been clingy, never been overbearing.
But with Sophia?

Every instinct felt sharp, reactive, territorial — like any threat, any pain aimed at her needed to be blocked, redirected, made to disappear.

The more she learned about the race, about the dizziness and numbness, the more her heartbeat stayed unsteady and wired, even hours later.

As they walked into Sophia’s living room after
breakfast, Daniela kept close behind her in case her shoulder buckled. She didn’t even think about it — her body just moved that way.

“Sit,” she murmured, not realizing how firm her voice sounded.

Sophia blinked, almost amused.
“You’re bossy today.”

Daniela softened instantly. “Sorry, I just— I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Sophia looked at her then — really looked — and something in her chest melted.

“Thank you,” Sophia whispered.

And that was when the almost-kiss happened.
Sophia moved a little closer to hand Daniela the remote, their fingers brushing. Daniela didn’t pull away.

Neither did Sophia.

They stayed like that — close, touching, neither breathing.

Daniela’s gaze dropped to Sophia’s lips for half a second.

Barely long enough to notice.

But long enough that Sophia noticed.

Her breath hitched.

Daniela swallowed, leaning in the smallest fraction—
And then—

Her phone buzzed.

A text banner flashed at the top of the screen.

A name.

A guy’s name.

The guy from the club — the one she danced with too closely, kissed back when she was confused and needing noise to distract from loneliness.

Sophia saw the name. Jonah.

Her whole expression changed.

The warmth that had been tentatively blooming in her eyes dimmed instantly — replaced with a quiet, guarded distance Daniela had never seen on her before.

Daniela didn’t even open the notification. She just locked her phone, shoving it into her pocket.

But the damage was already done.

“Soph—”

“It’s fine.” Sophia’s voice was clipped, almost polite.
“You don’t have to explain.”

Daniela stepped closer. “He doesn’t mean anything, I swear—”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Sophia cut in, tone too calm to be honest.

“And I don’t want to be… in your way.”

She tried to pick up the ice pack on her own.
Her shoulder screamed at the movement — Daniela could see it — but Sophia forced herself through it anyway, refusing to wince in front of her.

“Soph, stop— let me help.”

“I’m okay.”

She wasn’t.
Daniela knew it.

Everyone with eyes would know it.

But Sophia kept going anyway, reaching for her brace, using her injured arm like she had something to prove.

“Please,” Daniela whispered, “just let me—”

“I said I’m fine.”

The words were soft.

But final.

Sophia’s heart cracked in her chest.

Sophia’s pov

 

She shouldn’t have looked at Daniela’s phone.

She didn’t mean to.

But the name popped up right in front of her — the guy that looked to be more thana friend. A stupid, irrelevant moment.

Except it didn’t feel irrelevant.

Not with the almost-kiss still tingling on her skin.
Not with Daniela’s breath still close to her lips.
Sophia pulled away before she could stop herself.
Something tight and sharp wrapped around her ribs.
She told herself she didn’t care.

Told herself it didn’t matter — Daniela was allowed to talk to whoever she wanted.

Allowed to have a life.

Allowed to move on.

Sophia had no claim.

Absolutely none.

She repeated that like a mantra as her shoulder throbbed so intensely she felt nauseous.

She didn’t want Daniela to see her hurt.

Not after seeing that guy’s name.

Not when she felt stupid and small for caring at all.
So she forced her face into a blank expression and mumbled an excuse.

“I should rest. Big day tomorrow… with the checkup.”
Daniela looked shattered by that sentence.

“Okay,” she whispered, stepping back.

“But don’t go to bed yet— let me fix the brace—”

“No.”

Sophia put on her coldest, most professional tone.
“I can handle it.”

Daniela froze, like the words physically hit her.
Sophia hated herself for it.

But she couldn’t take them back.
Not without unraveling.

She slapped the brace on wrong because she couldn’t lift her arm properly, biting down on a gasp so Daniela wouldn’t hear.

She managed to get to her bed — alone — even though she felt lightheaded and sick.
She hated how empty it felt without Daniela in the room.

But Daniela wouldn’t want her, not when she already had someone messaging her.

And that’s when Sophia started building up her walls again.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela stood frozen in the hallway, watching the door to Sophia’s bedroom close.

The silence was suffocating.

She didn’t want to leave.

Not like this.

Not when Sophia was hurting, physically and emotionally.

But she had a scheduled Zoom interview — mandatory — and Sophia clearly didn’t want her there.

She grabbed her bag, glancing at Sophia’s closed door again.

Her stomach twisted painfully.

She whispered into the empty living room:
“I’m sorry, Soph.
”
And she left.

In the elevator, her hands shook.

On the streets, she walked too fast.

Her eyes burned.

The guy texted again.

She didn’t even know what she wanted with Jonah.
Part of her wanted him, the other, unsure, wanted Sophia.

Sophia’s pov

 

The silence in the apartment felt colder than the ice pack she pressed to her shoulder.

She lay on her side, staring at the wall, feeling stupidly close to tears.

She thought about the almost-kiss.

About the tenderness.
About how Daniela looked at her like she was someone precious.

And then she thought about the notification.

And everything inside her shut tight.

She whispered into her pillow, voice cracking:

“Of course she has someone…”

Her shoulder throbbed violently.

But the ache in her chest was worse.

“How could I be so stupid? Thinking she wanted to have more.”

Daniela’s pov

 

By the time Daniela reaches their building again, her body feels like it’s buzzing under her skin—too many cameras, too many questions, too much fake smiling. And underneath that, something sharper:
Sophia’s face earlier when she saw that message.
The way she shut down instantly, like a flame snuffed out. As if she was a stranger.

The way she clutched her shoulder and whispered that she was fine, then disappeared into her room before Daniela could insist on helping.

Sophia wasn’t responding to her texts. Daniela needed to clear the air. She stands in the quiet hallway, forehead resting against the door for a moment before she unlocks it.

Inside, the apartment is dim, warm. One lamp on. Shoes by the door. Everything in its place—except the tension floating in the air.

Sophia is on the couch, blanket pulled to her chin, eyes closed.

Pretending.

Daniela knows her breathing pattern too well.
She kneels beside the couch, voice low and soft.

“Hey… I’m back.”

Sophia doesn’t move.

Daniela swallows. “I know you’re awake.”

A beat.

Sophia’s eyelashes tremble.

She slowly opens her eyes.

Her expression: guarded, hurting, distant.

Daniela feels her heart clench.

She sits on the floor beside her, close enough that their knees almost touch.

“Can we talk?” she whispers.

Sophia’s voice is scratchy. “…You have interviews tomorrow. You should go back to your appartment.”

“Sophia,” Daniela says, finally letting it crack, “don’t shut me out.”

Sophia looks away. “Why were you texting him?”

The words fall heavy, surprising in their honesty.
Daniela blinks, taken aback. “…Him?”

“The guy, Jonah” Sophia murmurs. “The one you posted on your profile.”

Ah.

Everything suddenly fits together.

Daniela exhales, leaning back on her palms. “Sophia. No. No, no, no.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t—he’s not—he means nothing.”

Sophia doesn’t respond, cheeks flushing with something like embarrassment. Or fear.

Daniela softens further. “He messaged me because he saw the race on TV. That’s it. I didn’t answer.” The words settled between them, neat and convincing.

He had asked to meet Daniela.

Sophia hesitates. “I thought maybe… you were seeing someone.”

Daniela’s breath catches—because there’s something else under Sophia’s tone. Not just curiosity. Not just insecurity.

Something more.

Something that feels like heartbreak.

“Sophia,” Daniela says gently, “look at me.”

Sophia does.

And Daniela sees the panic hiding behind her eyes.
“Why did you react like that?” Daniela asks quietly. “Tell me the truth.”

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia’s throat tightens.

She hates this.

Hates how transparent she feels.

Hates how much seeing that guy’s name burned.
She grips the blanket with her good hand. Her shoulder throbs, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in her chest.

“I just…” she whispers, voice cracking. “You were helping me. Taking care of me. And I thought maybe I misread everything. And that you had someone. And I didn’t want—”

She stops herself.

Daniela inches closer, hand hovering just above her arm—close enough to feel the warmth, but not touching without permission.

“You didn’t want what?” Daniela murmurs.

Sophia swallows hard, eyes stinging.

“I didn’t want to be… someone you felt obligated to help.”

Her voice breaks.

“Or someone you’d feel guilty for caring about if you were seeing someone else.”

The vulnerability lands sharp and quiet.

Daniela’s eyes widen with something close to heartbreak.

“Sophia,” she whispers, “I’m not seeing anyone.”
Sophia breathes shakily.

“And I’m not helping you out of guilt.” Daniela’s voice is low, earnest, trembling. “I’m helping you because I care about you. A lot more than I should.”

The world goes still.

Sophia feels everything inside her collapse and bloom at the same time.

Daniela lifts a hand—very slowly—and gently cups Sophia’s cheek with her fingertips.

Soft. Warm. Careful.

Their faces are inches apart.

“Please don’t shut me out again,” Daniela whispers.
Sophia nods, breath catching. “I won’t.”

Daniela smiles—small, relieved, aching.
They stay like that for a long moment.

Finally, Daniela brushes her thumb over Sophia’s cheek and whispers:
“Get some sleep, Sofi.”

Sophia closes her eyes as Daniela adjusts the blanket around her and sits beside the couch until her breathing evens.

Even though she promised she wasn’t seeing anyone…

Sophia falls asleep wondering what that “more than I should” really means.

Sophia’s pov

 

She wakes to quiet sounds from the kitchen.
Daniela — messy bun, sleeves pushed up, wearing one of Sophia’s hoodies — is making coffee like she’s lived here forever. Soft humming, sunlight catching in her hair, warmth radiating off her without even trying.

Sophia lies still, watching her, heart tightening painfully.

Then she shifts, and her shoulder throbs sharply.
She sucks in a breath.

Daniela turns instantly.

“Does it hurt more today?” Her voice is gentle, careful.

“A bit,” Sophia mutters. “It’ll fade.
”
Daniela looks like she wants to argue, but the doorbell rings.

“Lila is here,” she says, wiping her hands. “Your physio.”

Sophia blinks. “You… called her?”

“You were asleep. And she specifically told me yesterday to update her.”

Daniela shrugs — but her eyes are full of concern.
Sophia’s chest warms.

Daniela walks to open the door.

Lila steps inside with her familiar calm presence — small, athletic, hair in a low braid, medical bag over her shoulder.

“There she is,” she says warmly. “Morning, Sofia.”

Sophia smiles. “Hey. Sorry for the early call.”

“Girl, you’ve been worse,” Lila laughs lightly. “Come sit. Let’s see how angry that shoulder is today.”

Daniela stays a little behind her, arms crossed, but her eyes never leave Sophia.

Lila immediately notices.

She glances back at Daniela, amused.

“And you must be Daniela.”

Daniela straightens. “Uh—yeah. Hi.”

Sophia internally panics — please, God, don’t say anything embarrassing—

Lila gives a tiny smile and turns back to her patient.
“Alright, my superstar, shirt off.”

Sophia hesitates.

Daniela turns away instantly, giving privacy — but not moving far.

Lila smirks softly. “You brought a very respectful one,” she teases.

Sophia’s face goes hot. “Lila—”

“What?” she giggles. “You talk more when you’re in pain.”

Daniela’s ears turn pink.

Sophia dies inside.

Lila shifts into full medical mode: palpating the joint, assessing swelling, checking rotation limits, measuring tension, comparing movement to last session…

Sophia winces sharply when Lila raises her arm higher.

Daniela steps forward instantly.

“Careful,” she says, voice low. “That hurts her.”

Lila raises her brows, impressed by the protectiveness, but keeps working.

“She’s healing,” Lila says, “but she’s stiff. And inflamed. Better than before, but still nowhere near race shape.”

Daniela exhales softly — relief and worry tangled.
Sophia keeps glancing at her, feeling heat rise in her chest for reasons she doesn’t want to name yet.
“Lie down for me,” Lila says.

Daniela is already there, helping lower Sophia carefully, her hand steady at Sophia’s waist.
Sophia tries not to tremble from the touch.
After a final check of mobility and pain reaction:
“Okay,” Lila says, “you’re improving. Slowly. But—”

Sophia sighs. “But not enough.
”
“Not enough for racing. Not enough for heavy training. You’ll need tomorrow’s scan and at least a week more rest.”

Sophia nods tiredly
.
Daniela responds first:
“We’ll make sure she rests.”

Lila’s eyes flick up at the “we.”

A small, knowing smile.
Sophia swallows hard.

Lila zips her bag and gives Sophia a soft shoulder squeeze — careful of the injured side.

“Call me if it locks again. And if you can’t shower alone, ask—”

Her eyes flick meaningfully to Daniela.

Sophia groans. “LILA.”

“What, I didn’t say anything,” Lila grins. “Take care of her, okay?”

Daniela blushes and murmurs, “I will.”

When the door closes, the apartment goes quiet again.

Sophia exhales shakily.

“She is never coming back.”

Daniela smiles. “She actually really cares about you.”
Sophia looks at her.

“Yeah… so do you.”

Daniela freezes.

Their eyes lock.

The air between them shifts — warm, charged, terrifyingly gentle.

Daniela steps closer.

“Sophia,” she whispers, “I meant everything I said last night.”

Sophia’s pulse jumps.

“Me too.”

Daniela lifts a hand, brushing a stray hair from Sophia’s cheek — slow, soft, almost trembling.
The scan from Lila had gone as well as it could. Sophia felt exhausted, every muscle in her shoulder tight and protesting, but the brace and tape were holding everything in place. She sank back onto her bed, letting herself finally breathe.

Daniela stood beside her, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Sophia’s ear. “You okay?” she asked softly.

“I will be,” Sophia murmured, managing a tired smile. “Thanks for staying.”

Daniela nodded, glancing at the clock. “I have to leave for a bit—meetings with the girls and a short rehearsal. I’ll stop by after, I promise.”

Sophia tilted her head slightly. “Don’t work too hard.”

“I’ll be back before dinner.”

With that, she slipped out quietly, leaving Sophia to rest.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela walked briskly to her apartment, collecting a few items for the evening—a fresh set of clothes, some notes for rehearsal, and a small care package for Sophia: a few snacks and a bottle of water. Her mind, however, was mostly on Sophia.

She looks so small when she sleeps, Daniela thought. I hope she’s actually resting.

She couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as she considered how easily Sophia let her touch linger during the check-up, how vulnerable and strong she was at the same time.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Daniela stopped in the hallway, exhaling slowly before pulling it out. Jonah’s name stared back at her longer than she liked. After a moment, she typed, then erased, then typed again.

Daniela:Can’t today. I’m busy.

The reply came almost immediately.
Jonah: No worries. Another day then?

Daniela’s thumb hovered over the screen. She didn’t answer. She locked her phone instead, tucking it away as if distance alone could quiet the unease in her chest.

Her thoughts drifted back—inevitably—to Sophia.

The studio was alive with music, lights, and movement. Katseye was practicing choreography for their upcoming tour, and Daniela moved with practiced precision, counting steps, correcting timing, all while trying not to think too much about Sophia back in her apartment.

She’s probably resting… maybe she’s awake… I hope she isn’t overdoing anything, Daniela thought, her chest tightening.

During a short break, she pulled out her phone and opened a new message to Sophia.

“Hey… how’s the shoulder today? Don’t try to do too much on your own.”

She hesitated, thumb hovering. Then added:
“I’m at rehearsal now… can’t wait to get back and check on you. Eat something before I’m back, ok?”

She put the phone down and tried to focus on the steps with Yoonchae and Megan, but her thoughts kept drifting. Every small movement she did in rehearsal reminded her of helping Sophia out of the compression gear the night before, brushing ice over her shoulder, the soft shiver Sophia had given at her touch.

After a quick run-through of the chorus, she typed again:

“I swear, you have to tell me if it hurts too much. I don’t care about schedules or plans. I just want you safe.”

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia’s phone buzzed on the couch beside her. She opened the messages and felt a warmth bloom in her chest.

Her shoulder throbbed, but it didn’t matter—Daniela’s care, her constant attention, the way she seemed to think only about her, made every ache feel lighter.

She typed back quickly, trying to keep it casual, though her fingers trembled slightly:
“I’m resting. Shoulder’s stiff, but Lila’s tape and brace are helping.”

Then she added a line she almost didn’t dare to:
“Be careful at rehearsal… don’t overwork yourself.”
Sophia set the phone down, smiling softly. The distance between them, brief though it was, already felt like too long.

Minutes later, while adjusting a formation in rehearsal, Daniela felt her phone buzz. She peeked, reading Sophia’s reply.

A grin tugged at her lips, but her heart clenched a little at the thought of Sophia alone, nursing her shoulder. She typed:

“Promise I won’t push too hard.”

She slipped her phone back into her pocket, focusing again on the choreography, but her mind kept wandering back to Sophia’s apartment, the small moments of care, the soft sighs, and how close they had gotten.

Rehearsal was finally over. When Daniela arrived at Sophia’s apartment, she found the door slightly ajar. Peeking inside, she saw Sophia curled up in her bed, shoulder lightly taped, the brace slightly off to the side. Her chest rose and fell slowly in deep sleep.
A soft smile crossed Daniela’s face. Carefully, she walked over, “Rest, you deserve it,” she whispered.
Daniela moved to the kitchen to start preparing something simple yet comforting—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and a little pasta. The aromas soon filled the apartment.

Sophia stirred at the smell and sat up slightly, brushing hair from her face. “Smells amazing,” she said hoarsely, her voice still rough from the morning’s scan and the tension of pretending she was fine.

“You have to eat,” Daniela replied softly, plating the food and sitting beside her on the couch. She placed the plate in Sophia’s lap, letting her shoulder rest against her side.

They ate slowly, talking in low tones. Daniela would occasionally brush her hand against Sophia’s, whether to adjust the plate or gently guide her posture. Sophia’s shoulders relaxed under the touch, and for the first time all day, she felt truly safe.
At one point, Daniela leaned closer, fingers brushing against Sophia’s hair as she tucked it behind her ear. Sophia’s lips parted slightly, but she looked down, heart pounding. The closeness, the care, the way Daniela’s presence had become a tether—it was intoxicating.

Dinner finished, they lingered in the kitchen for a moment, cleaning together. The intimacy wasn’t forced; it was simply being near one another, sharing quiet space after the stress of the day. Finally they moved to bed, getting ready for their day tomorrow.
“Goodnight, Sophia,” Daniela whispered.

“Goodnight, Dani,” Sophia murmured, eyes closing. Finally, truly, letting herself rest.

The room was silent except for their breathing, the only tension the unspoken feelings that neither of them wanted to rush. But in that quiet, shared space, they both knew something profound was beginning.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since the last check-up.
A week of slow mornings, careful movements, and pretending the waiting wasn’t eating her alive.
Sophia was already awake when the soft knock came at the door.

She always was.

The apartment was quiet, washed in early light, the city barely stirring outside. Sophia sat at the kitchen counter with a mug she hadn’t touched in ten minutes, her shoulder stiff beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. The bruise had faded from angry purple to something duller, yellowing at the edges, but it still throbbed when she shifted wrong. A reminder. A warning.

Another knock, gentler this time.

She stood, rolled her shoulder carefully, and crossed the room.

Daniela was there when the door opened, hoodie pulled up despite the mild morning, hair still slightly damp like she’d rushed out after a shower. It had become routine over the last week — Daniela showing up early, keys already in hand, like this was just… normal now.

“Morning,” Daniela said softly.

Sophia’s mouth curved before she could stop it. “You’re early.”

Daniela snorted. “You say that every time. And every time you’re already awake.”

“Occupational hazard.”

They stood there for a second too long, the doorway holding something unspoken between them. Then Daniela stepped inside, familiar now in a way that still surprised Sophia.

“How’s the shoulder?” Daniela asked, dropping her bag by the chair.

Sophia shrugged, immediately regretted it. “Better. Still stiff.”

Daniela watched her too closely, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “That didn’t look better.”

“I didn’t say perfect.”

That earned a small smile — fond, tired, restrained.
Daniela moved toward the kitchen, automatically grabbing another mug. She didn’t ask where things were anymore. That, too, had become routine.
“Big day,” she said, pouring coffee.

Sophia exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Monday morning. Medical center. Follow-up imaging, strength tests, range of motion. The kind of appointment that decided everything without ever asking how she felt about it.

Spielberg was in a week.

She hadn’t said it out loud yet, but the thought had been sitting in her chest since she woke up.

They didn’t talk much after that. Not because there was nothing to say — because there was too much.
The drive was quiet, the city sliding by through the windshield. Daniela drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh, fingers tapping absently in a rhythm that didn’t belong to the radio. Sophia noticed anyway. She always noticed.

“You nervous?” Daniela asked eventually.

Sophia’s gaze stayed on the road. “No.”

Daniela didn’t push. She just hummed softly, unconvinced.

The medical center was all white walls and low voices, the kind of place that smelled like disinfectant and patience. Sophia went through it all on autopilot — greeting staff she knew too well, slipping into familiar rooms, rolling her shoulder when asked even as her jaw tightened.

Daniela stayed close without hovering. Watching.
Listening.

The doctor talked through scans on a screen, pointing out progress with clinical calm.

“Ligament is healing well,” he said. “Inflammation’s down. Still some sensitivity.”

Sophia held her breath.

“We’re clearing you for light training,” he continued. “No full load. No aggressive steering yet. And we’ll reassess before Spielberg.”

There it was.

Light training.

Not a no. Not yet a yes.

Sophia nodded, professional, composed. “Understood.”

Daniela let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Later, while Sophia tested range of motion, lifting her arm slowly under supervision, Daniela noticed the bruise again — smaller now, but still unmistakable.
“You see?” the doctor said. “Healing. But you feel pain, you stop.”

Sophia smiled tightly. “I always do.”

Daniela knew that was a lie.

When it was over, when forms were signed and next appointments scheduled, Daniela walked her back to the car. Sophia moved carefully, favoring her shoulder without admitting it.

“You did good,” Daniela said once they were inside.

Sophia glanced at her. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You waited,” Daniela replied. “That counts for you.”
That made her laugh — quiet, reluctant.

Back at the apartment, Daniela helped her inside, lingering like she wasn’t sure if she should leave yet.
“You’re clear for light training,” she said again, like repeating it might make it safer.

“For now.”

Daniela nodded. “I’ve got rehearsal in an hour.”

Sophia leaned against the counter. “I know.”

There was a pause. One of those moments where something almost slipped.

“I’ll text you,” Daniela said finally. “Later.”

“Yeah.”

Daniela hesitated, then left.

The apartment felt too quiet after.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela barely heard the music once rehearsal started.

She went through the motions — counts, spacing, timing — muscle memory carrying her where her thoughts couldn’t. Every break, her phone was in her hand before she realized it.

No new messages.

Her thumb hovered over a name she shouldn’t be thinking about.

Jonah.

She told herself it was simpler this way. Safer. That whatever this thing with Sophia was — soft, dangerous, impossible — it wasn’t something she could afford.

Sophia needed stability. Someone solid. Someone who didn’t come with confusion and half-formed feelings.

Daniela wasn’t that person.
So she texted Jonah.

Something casual. Something normal.
When rehearsal ended, when the day stretched ahead of her like a question she didn’t want to answer, she agreed to meet him at a bar she barely liked.

The bar Jonah chose was dim and loud in the way that pretended to be intimate. Low ceilings, amber lights, music just a little too aggressive to allow for real conversation. Daniela noticed the sticky floor, the way people leaned too close to be heard, the stale mix of perfume and alcohol clinging to the air.
She arrived early. He didn’t.

By the time Jonah showed up, already smiling too wide, she was halfway through a drink she didn’t really want. He hugged her without asking, arm lingering around her shoulders just a beat longer than necessary.

“You look good,” he said, eyes scanning her in a way that made her shift.

“Thanks,” she replied, polite. Careful.

They talked about nothing important. His work. Her tour. He joked about how busy she must be, how she probably had people chasing her all the time. Daniela laughed at the right moments, nodded when expected, but the conversation felt hollow. Like she was watching herself from a distance.

She checked her phone once. No new messages.
Jonah noticed.

“You bored already?” he teased.

“No,” she said quickly. “Just tired.”

He leaned closer. “It’s loud in here. Want somewhere quieter?”

She hesitated. The word quieter settled wrong in her chest. Still, she didn’t want to make it awkward. Didn’t want to be dramatic. She told herself she was overthinking.

“Sure,” she said. “Just for a bit.”

The car smelled like leather and something sharp, artificial. The door closed with a heavy click that made her flinch before she could stop herself. Jonah turned the engine on but didn’t drive. The music outside dulled into a distant thrum.

They sat there, silence stretching.

He reached for her hand.

She let him, at first.

His thumb traced over her knuckles, slow, testing. Daniela shifted back slightly, trying to create space without making it obvious. He followed the movement instead of stopping.

“You’re tense,” he said. “Relax.”

His hand slid higher, resting on her thigh.
Daniela’s breath caught.

“Hey,” she said, gentle but firm. “I’m not—”

He laughed softly, like she’d made a joke. His hand moved again, closer, pressure increasing, fingers brushing somewhere that made her whole body go rigid.

“Jonah. Stop.”

This time, her voice was sharper.

He didn’t.

Her heart started to pound, loud enough she was sure he could hear it. She pushed his hand away, harder now.

“I said stop.”

His expression changed — annoyance flickering across his face. “Come on. It’s fine. Don’t be like that.”

She reached for the door handle.

That’s when he grabbed her wrist.

Not gentle.
Not playful.

Pain flared immediately, sharp and startling, and something cold flooded her chest.

“Let go,” she said, panic threading her voice.

He tightened his grip instead.

Something in her snapped.

Daniela twisted, pulling back with everything she had, nails scraping against his skin as she yanked her arm free. She shoved the door open and stumbled out, heart racing, lungs burning.

“Daniela—” he called after her, anger in his voice now. “This isn’t over.”

She didn’t answer.

She walked fast, then faster, then broke into a run, not stopping until the noise of the bar was far behind her and the city felt empty enough to breathe again.
By the time she reached her apartment, her wrist throbbed and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She locked the door. Leaned back against it. Slid down until she was sitting on the floor.

And all she could think about was Sophia.

How safe her apartment felt. How quiet. How warm.
She crawled into bed without changing, pulling the hoodie sleeves down over her wrists like armor, exhaustion crashing over her all at once.

Her phone buzzed once on the nightstand.

She didn’t look.

She closed her eyes, chest tight, and let sleep take her before she could think too much about the bruise already forming beneath the fabric.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia woke before her alarm, as she always did.
For a few seconds, she lay still in bed, staring at the ceiling of her apartment as pale morning light crept in through the curtains. Her shoulder throbbed dully — not sharp, not alarming, just present. A reminder. She rolled carefully onto her back and reached for her phone on instinct.

No message.

Her brow furrowed.

Daniela always texted in the morning. Even if it was just awake, or a stupid emoji, or a complaint about being tired. Especially lately. Especially after nights they didn’t spend together.

Sophia checked the time. Too early for rehearsal, but not too early for Daniela.

She typed, then erased, then typed again.

Sophia: Morning. You okay?

Sent.
She waited.
Nothing.

Sophia sat up slowly, feet touching the floor, unease settling low in her stomach. She told herself not to overreact. Daniela had a life. Interviews. Rehearsals.

Jonah.

The thought tightened something in her chest.
She showered, dressed, moved through her morning routine with mechanical precision. By the time she finished her coffee, her phone was still silent.
That’s when she grabbed her keys.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela woke with a headache and a heavy, hollow feeling in her chest.

She hadn’t slept well. Hadn’t really slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt hands on her wrist again, the pressure, the surprise of it. She pulled the hoodie tighter around herself, sleeves covering her arms down to her knuckles.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Sophia.

Daniela stared at the screen for a long moment before turning it face-down again.

She couldn’t answer. Not yet. Not like this.

She sat up slowly, wincing as she moved her arm, then froze when she heard a knock at the door.
Soft. Hesitant.

Her heart skipped.

Another knock.

“Dani?” Sophia’s voice. Careful. Concerned.

Daniela swallowed. She considered pretending she wasn’t home. Considered hiding. Instead, she stood, legs unsteady, and walked to the door.

She opened it halfway.

Sophia was already there — hair still damp, jacket thrown on hastily, worry written openly across her face.

“You didn’t text,” Sophia said immediately. “I—”

She stopped when she really looked at her.

Daniela’s eyes were red. Her posture closed in on itself. The hoodie sleeves were pulled down far too deliberately.

“I’m fine,” Daniela said quickly, stepping aside. “You didn’t have to come.”

Sophia entered anyway.

The apartment was quiet, blinds still drawn, untouched since the night before. Sophia’s gaze flicked around automatically, then back to Daniela.

“You don’t look fine.”

Daniela shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “Didn’t sleep.”

Sophia moved closer, instinctively lowering her voice. “Did something happen?”

“No.”

The answer came too fast.

Sophia hesitated, then reached out — slow, giving Daniela time to pull away — and gently caught her wrist.

Daniela flinched.

Not dramatically. Just enough.

Sophia froze.

“Dani,” she said softly. “What is that?”

Daniela tried to pull her arm back. Sophia didn’t tighten her grip, but she didn’t let go either.

Sophia’s voice stayed calm, but her eyes didn’t.

When Daniela tried to pull her wrist away, Sophia’s grip tightened just enough to stop her — not forceful, but unyielding. Her gaze dropped to the edge of the sleeve, to the hint of discoloration already visible beneath the fabric.

“Who did this?” Sophia asked.

Daniela felt it then.

Not concern. Not pity.

Anger.

It was sharp and sudden, flashing across Sophia’s face before she could hide it — jaw locking, nostrils flaring slightly, something dark and dangerous settling behind her eyes. The kind of look Sophia wore on track when someone pushed too far, when instinct took over and mercy disappeared.

For a split second, Daniela was certain of one thing:
if she said Jonah’s name, Sophia would want to hurt him.

The realization made her chest tighten.

Not because she was afraid of Sophia — but because no one had ever looked at her like that before. Like she was something worth defending. Like someone crossing a line meant consequences.

“That doesn’t matter,” Daniela said quickly, yanking her arm back, pulling the sleeve down as if she could erase the look altogether.

Sophia didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

The anger stayed — quiet now, coiled, dangerous — and Daniela knew she’d seen too much.

“It does to me.”

Daniela laughed, sharp and brittle. “Why? You’re not responsible for me.”

Sophia’s voice dropped. “I didn’t say I was.”
They stood there, the air between them taut.
Daniela crossed her arms, sleeves still hiding everything. “You should go. You have training. Physio. A million things more important than—”

“Than you?” Sophia interrupted, quiet but firm.

Daniela snapped back, “Yes.”

The word hung between them, heavy and untrue.
Sophia took a step back like she’d been pushed. She nodded once, jaw clenched.

“Okay,” she said. “If that’s what you want.”

Daniela didn’t answer.

Sophia grabbed her keys, pausing at the door. “I’m here when you’re ready,” she added. “But don’t shut me out like this.”

Then she left.

The door clicked shut.

Daniela sank onto the couch, breath shaking, hands finally slipping free of the sleeves to reveal the darkening bruise around her wrist. She stared at it for a long time.

She hadn’t protected herself from hurting Sophia.

She’d just pushed her away.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

 

The days that followed were quiet in a way that hurt.
Sophia threw herself into routine because routine was the only thing that didn’t ask questions. Early mornings. Physio appointments. Light training approved by the medical staff — resistance bands, controlled movements, careful repetitions that reminded her of everything she still couldn’t do.
Her shoulder was improving. Slowly. The bruise had faded to a dull yellow-green, pain receding into something manageable, something she could work around.

None of that helped the silence.

She checked her phone more often than she meant to. Pretended she wasn’t waiting for a name to appear on the screen. Pretended she hadn’t memorized the exact amount of time Daniela usually took to text back.

At night, alone in her apartment, Sophia replayed the moment Daniela had snapped yes at her like a blade. The way her eyes had been bright with unshed tears. The way she’d looked like she was holding herself together by sheer will.

Sophia told herself she’d done the right thing by leaving.

It didn’t stop the ache.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela waited three days before she could bring herself to text.

Three days of rehearsals she barely remembered. Of the girls exchanging looks when she missed counts or stared too long at the mirror. Of Jonah’s name sitting in her phone like a threat she refused to open.

On the fourth morning, she sat on the edge of her bed, phone heavy in her hands.

She typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

I’m sorry.

Too small.

I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I was overwhelmed and I took it out on you.

Too much.

Her fingers hovered, trembling.

Finally, she sent the truth — the simplest version she could manage.

Daniela: I’m sorry for how I acted. I didn’t mean what I said. Can we talk? Maybe coffee?

She stared at the screen until it blurred.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia saw the message between stretches.
She read it once. Then again.

Her chest tightened, something fragile loosening just enough to let air back in. She didn’t answer right away — not out of spite, but because she needed a moment to steady herself.

Sophia: Coffee sounds good.

A pause.

Sophia: Our place?

Daniela exhaled shakily when the reply came through.

Daniela: Yeah. I’d like that.

 

The café was half-full when they arrived, familiar in a way that softened the edges of Daniela’s nerves. Same corner table. Same chipped mugs. The barista still remembered their orders.

They sat across from each other, hands wrapped around warm cups, neither quite knowing where to start.

“I didn’t come to interrogate you,” Sophia said first, voice calm but careful. “I just… I was worried.”

Daniela nodded, eyes fixed on the table. “I know. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

Silence stretched, not uncomfortable — just honest.
“I don’t want to push,” Sophia added quietly. “But I don’t know how to care less. That’s kind of my problem.”

Daniela huffed out a weak laugh. “You care in a very… intense way.”

Sophia allowed herself a small smile. “Occupational hazard.”

Daniela finally looked up, meeting her eyes. “I’m glad you came that morning. Even if I wasn’t ready.”
Sophia stirred her coffee once, then stopped.

She looked up at Daniela—not casually this time, not carefully. Direct.

“Who did it?”

Daniela’s fingers tightened around her mug. She’d known the question was coming. Had felt it sitting between them since they’d sat down.

“It was Jonah,” she said finally.

The name landed like a dropped glass.

Sophia didn’t speak. She didn’t move. But something in her face shifted—sharp and unmistakable. The calm she carried so deliberately slipped just enough to reveal what lived underneath it.

Fire.

Not loud. Not reckless. Controlled, focused, terrifying.

Daniela noticed it immediately. Her breath caught. “Sophia—”

Sophia leaned back in her chair, jaw tight, eyes dark. “Did he hurt you more than that?”

“No,” Daniela said quickly. “I left before.”

Sophia nodded once, slow. “Good.”

The word wasn’t relief. It was restraint.

They didn’t talk much after that. Coffee cooled between them, forgotten. When Daniela glanced at her phone, she stiffened.

Another message.

Jonah.

I’m outside your place.

We need to talk.

You can’t ignore me forever.

Her chest tightened. She turned the screen off, hands shaking despite her effort to stay still.

Sophia noticed.

“Come home with me,” she said immediately.
Daniela blinked. “What?”

“My place,” Sophia clarified. “Tonight. As long as you need.”

Daniela hesitated, guilt flickering. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sophia leaned forward, voice low. “You could ask me to do anything right now and I’d say yes.”

Daniela swallowed.

“Even if it meant getting rid of the man who hurt you,” Sophia added quietly.

That settled it

The hours collapsed into each other.

By the time they reached Sophia’s apartment, the sun was already setting. Daniela kicked off her shoes and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all day.

Her phone buzzed again.

She didn’t check it.

Sophia took it gently from her hand. “You’re safe here.”

Daniela nodded, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

Later, Daniela sat cross-legged on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees, joining an online meeting with the other members of the group. Faces filled the screen—concerned, familiar.

Sophia moved quietly around the kitchen, cooking with practiced ease, occasionally glancing over to make sure Daniela was still there.

Still breathing.
Still okay.

After the meeting, Daniela showered. When she stepped back into the living room in borrowed clothes—long pajama pants, a soft T-shirt that hung loose on her frame—Sophia looked up from setting plates on the table.

Her gaze dropped.

Daniela’s wrist.

The bruise was still there, dark against pale skin. Daniela tried to hide it with her other hand, too late.
Sophia’s chest tightened. “Dani…”

“It looks worse than it feels,” Daniela said quickly.
Sophia didn’t argue. She just nodded, eyes lingering a moment too long.

They ate quietly. Talked about races. About tracks. About how Spielberg terrified Sophia even when she pretended it didn’t.

After dinner, they curled up on the couch. Daniela leaned into Sophia without thinking, head resting against her shoulder. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed, sleep taking her quickly.

Sophia noticed how jumpy she was. How her body stayed tense even in rest.

She stayed still, breathing carefully so she wouldn’t wake her.

With her free hand, she reached for her phone and texted Lila.

Sophia: Can you come by tomorrow? For Daniela.

She didn’t wait for a reply.

Hours passed. Midnight came and went. Daniela’s phone lit up again. And again.

Jonah.

Sophia’s jaw tightened. She turned the phone off completely, anger burning hot and useless in her chest. She wanted to do something. Anything. She knew that with her shoulder, she couldn’t do much.
And so, for now, she stayed.

She woke Daniela gently and guided her to the bed. Daniela barely stirred, sinking back into sleep immediately.

Sophia sat on the edge of the mattress for a long time, staring at the floor.

Then she turned off the lamp and lay down on the other side of the bed, careful not to touch.
Sleep came late.

Sophia’s pov

 

Morning arrived quietly.

Sophia woke first, as always. She let Daniela sleep, making coffee and setting a cup gently on the bedside table. Then she returned to the living room, replaying old races on the TV, mind already dissecting lines and braking points.

A knock at the door.

Sophia stood.

Lila.

At the same moment, Daniela stirred, blinking awake to see Lila stepping inside.

“What—?” Daniela started, then stopped.

Understanding dawned slowly.

“This is for you,” Sophia said softly.

Daniela looked at her, emotions tangling in her chest—gratitude, surprise, something dangerously close to relief. With Sophia, she felt more okay.

Lila examined her wrist carefully, professional but gentle. Sophia hovered nearby, worry written openly across her face.

“You’re safe,” Lila said eventually. “But this wasn’t nothing.”

Sophia exhaled, jaw tight.

Daniela met her eyes.

In them, she saw it clearly now.

She was safe here.

And she knew—without doubt—that Sophia would burn the world down to keep it that way.

 

Sophia left in a day.

The thought sat at the back of her mind like a countdown she refused to look at too closely. For now, she stayed. She made the apartment quiet.

Safe.

Daniela rested.

A lot.

Sophia helped her onto the couch, easing her down like she was made of glass, then wrapped an ice pack in a towel and pressed it gently to her wrist.
“Tell me if it’s too cold,” Sophia murmured.

Daniela shook her head. “It’s fine.”

She curled closer without realizing it, her head resting against Sophia’s chest. Sophia adjusted instinctively, one arm around her shoulders, the other steadying the ice pack in place.

Daniela’s breathing slowed.

She fell asleep like that—soft, heavy, trusting.
Sophia didn’t move.

She stayed frozen in place, heart pounding, afraid that if she loosened her hold even a fraction, the world would come back for her. Take her away. Hurt her again.

Daniela’s phone buzzed.

Once.
Twice.
Again.

Sophia glanced down at it, jaw tightening. The name on the screen was the same every time.

She ignored it.

Hours passed in fragments. Daniela woke briefly, blinking, disoriented, then drifted off again. Sophia stayed with her through it all—refreshing the ice pack, brushing hair from her face, whispering reassurances Daniela barely seemed to hear but leaned into anyway.

When Daniela finally woke properly, the room was dim with late afternoon light.

Sophia smiled softly. “Hey.”

Daniela frowned, confused for a moment. “Did I sleep long?”

“Long enough,” Sophia said. “How’s your wrist?”
Daniela shifted, reaching for it instinctively, by reflex—

Sophia caught her hand gently, stopping her. She pulled her closer instead, the ice pack still resting where it needed to be.

“You’re okay,” Sophia whispered. “You’re safe. He’s never coming near you again. I promise.”

Daniela’s breath hitched.

She didn’t argue.

She just stayed there, eyes closing again, trusting Sophia’s arms more than her own thoughts.

Later, Sophia spoke quietly, almost casually. “You should stay here while I’m gone.”

Daniela looked up. “What?”

“My apartment,” Sophia clarified. “While I’m at the race. It’ll… it’ll help me focus, knowing you’re safe.”
Daniela hesitated only a second before nodding.

“Okay.”

Sophia exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days.

They ordered light food—nothing heavy. They ate together at the table, slow and quiet, talking about small things. Music. Tracks. The race after Montréal. Anything but Jonah.

While Daniela rested again, Sophia drifted into her own thoughts—flashbacks cutting sharp and unwanted. The bruise. The messages. The way Daniela had flinched.

Anger simmered low and constant.

Daniela jolted awake suddenly, gasping, hand flying toward her wrist.

Sophia reacted instantly, pulling her back into her chest, steady and firm. “Hey. Hey. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Daniela clutched at her shirt, shaking.
Sophia held her tighter, ice pack still pressed between them. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”

Daniela’s breathing slowed again, uneven but real.
Seeing her like this hurt more than Sophia wanted to admit. She missed the Daniela who laughed easily, who smiled like the world was kind. That smile had been gone for days now.

They ate dinner quietly when Daniela felt up to it.
After, Sophia left to buy groceries. Daniela stayed curled on the couch, phone in her hands. She scrolled through Jonah’s messages despite herself. The words blurred together—entitlement, threats, promises that made her skin crawl.

When Sophia returned, bags in hand, she moved methodically through the kitchen, putting everything away like routine could anchor her.

She joined Daniela on the couch.

“What did he write?” Sophia asked gently.

Daniela didn’t answer.

She just handed her the phone.

Sophia read the messages, her face hardening with every line. When she finished, she wrapped an arm around Daniela, pulling her close, protective and unyielding.

“He doesn’t get to touch you,” Sophia said quietly.

“Ever.”

That night, they slept.

Together. No space between them.

 

Morning came too soon.

Sophia packed quietly. This was the race after Montréal, Spielberg—the one she could finally compete in. She moved through the motions automatically, heart heavy.

At the door, she turned back to Daniela.

“Text me,” she said softly. “When you wake up. When you eat. When you land in bed again.”

Daniela nodded. “I will.”

Sophia hesitated, then pulled her into a careful hug. “I’ll message when I land.”

“I know,” Daniela whispered.

Sophia left.

And Daniela stayed—safe, waiting, holding onto the promise that this wasn’t goodbye.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

 

The plane hums softly around Sophia, a steady vibration she’s learned to tune out over the years. Normally, flights calm her. Normally, this is where she shuts everything off.

Tonight, she can’t.

She stares at the dark window, her reflection faint against the glass. Daniela’s face keeps slipping into her thoughts uninvited — the way she’d curled into her side on the couch, how light she’d felt when she finally slept, the bruises she’d tried to hide like they were nothing.

Three days.

It shouldn’t feel this heavy. They weren’t even… whatever that word was. Together. Not officially. Not clearly. And yet the thought of being gone when Daniela needed someone — needed her — twists low in her chest.

Sophia exhales slowly, pressing her head back against the seat.

You’re safe, she thinks, as if Daniela can hear it from across the Atlantic. You’re in my apartment. I locked the door. I left the lights on.

It doesn’t help.

Her shoulder aches faintly — not pain, just awareness — grounding her. Spielberg is tomorrow. FP1 and FP2. Focus. She forces herself to breathe evenly, lets the exhaustion finally catch up to her.
Sleep comes in fragments. Daniela’s laugh. Daniela asleep on her shoulder. Daniela flinching.

When the plane touches down, the jolt pulls her fully awake.

Spielberg.

The drive from the airport is quiet, green hills rolling past the cab window like a postcard she doesn’t have the energy to admire. The hotel looms familiar and impersonal, too clean, too empty.

Her room smells faintly of detergent and nothing else.

Sophia drops her bag, sets her helmet carefully on the desk, lines her gear up with methodical precision. Control where she can get it. She showers, changes, stretches carefully, listens to the quiet settle in.

This is usually when she feels calm.

Tonight, the silence presses in.

She picks up her phone.

Sophia: Landed. In the hotel now, how are you feeling?

She hesitates, thumb hovering.

Sophia: Text me when you wake up, okay?

She sets the phone face-down on the nightstand, lies back, and stares at the ceiling waiting for a notification.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela wakes slowly, wrapped in unfamiliar quiet.
For a few seconds, she doesn’t know where she is. Then the smell hits her — Sophia’s laundry detergent, faint coffee, something clean and grounding — and she remembers.

Sophia’s bed.

She turns onto her side, pulling the blanket closer, staring at the empty space beside her. It still feels warm. Ridiculous, maybe. Or maybe not.

Her wrist aches dully. Lila’s tape holds, snug and reassuring. Daniela flexes her fingers carefully, then lets her hand rest against the pillow.

Sophia had left early. Too early. Daniela knows why — flights, schedules, pressure — but that doesn’t make the absence lighter.

She reaches for her phone.

The screen lights up with Sophia’s name.

Daniela’s chest tightens.

She reads the messages slowly, twice, like she might miss something hidden between the lines.

She types.

Daniela: Hey, i’m okay. Slept a lot. Wrist is sore but manageable..

She pauses, fingers hovering.

Daniela: You there yet?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Sophia: Yeah. Just got in earlier, you safe?

Daniela smiles despite herself. A small, tired thing.

Daniela: Yeah, doors locked, lights on.

Daniela: Your place feels… calm.

There’s a long pause before the next message.

Sophia: Good. That helps.

Daniela swallows, staring at the words. She lies back against Sophia’s pillow, eyes tracing the ceiling she’s looked at so many times before — but never from here.

What was this?

She’d told herself it was confusion. That Jonah was the obvious choice. That Sophia was… off-limits. Complicated. Someone who deserved better than her uncertainty.

But lying in Sophia’s bed, wrapped in her things, with her name lighting up the screen — Daniela feels something settle deep in her chest.

Something real.

Daniela: FP tomorrow, right?

Sophia: FP1 and FP2. I’ll be careful.

Daniela exhales slowly.

Daniela: I know. Just… don’t disappear on me, okay?

On the other side of the world, Sophia stares at the message, something soft breaking open in her chest.

Sophia: I won’t.

Daniela sets the phone down, closing her eyes. For the first time since that night, her shoulders loosen.

She’s alone.

But she’s not abandoned.

And somehow, that makes all the difference.

Sophia’s pov

 

The paddock is already alive when Sophia steps out of the car.

Engines warming. Engineers talking too fast. The smell of fuel and hot rubber clinging to the air. Normally, it sharpens her. Centers her.

Today, it just feels loud.

She rolls her shoulder once, carefully. It answers with a muted ache — not pain, not danger. Still healing. Still fragile. She tells herself it’s fine, that she’s cleared, that she’s done this a hundred times before.

But Daniela isn’t here.

No quiet hand on her back. No murmured breathe just under the noise. No familiar weight grounding her before she puts the helmet on.

Sophia notices the absence more than she expects.
She moves through the garage, nodding at engineers, listening, responding automatically. Her body knows the routine even if her mind keeps drifting somewhere thousands of kilometers away.
Apartment. Couch. Hoodie sleeves pulled too low.
She shakes her head, focusing.

“FP1 is data,” her engineer reminds her. “No heroics.”
“Copy,” Sophia answers, calm and steady — like she isn’t fighting the urge to look at her phone one more time.

Out on track, the car feels… almost right.
Her first laps are cautious. Feeling the steering. Braking points. How the shoulder responds under load. The Red Bull Ring is unforgiving — short, sharp, fast — nowhere to hide mistakes.

She pushes gradually.

Lap after lap, confidence builds, then wavers.
Her grip tightens on the wheel at Turn 3, shoulder flaring just enough to make her jaw clench. She corrects. Keeps going.

You’re okay, she tells herself. You’ve got this.
But every time the rear steps out, every time another car gets too close, her chest tightens. She catches herself glancing toward the pit wall, toward the VIP area.

Empty.

By the time FP1 ends, she brings the car back clean. Respectable times. Nothing alarming.

Still, when she pulls her helmet off, her hands are shaking.

No one notices.

She does.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela wakes to silence that feels wrong.

Too quiet. Too still.

She lies there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening for sounds that aren’t coming — the coffee machine, footsteps, Sophia humming under her breath.

Nothing.

Her wrist throbs faintly. A reminder she can’t shake. She sits up slowly, heart jumping at the smallest noise from the street below.

She checks the locks. Twice.

Then her phone.

No new messages.

Sophia’s probably in FP1, she reminds herself. Busy. Focused.

Still, the thought doesn’t fully settle her.

Daniela makes coffee she barely drinks. Paces the apartment. Starts a show, turns it off halfway through. Every sound makes her flinch — footsteps in the hallway, a car door outside.

She hates this version of herself.

She pulls her hoodie tighter, fingers brushing the tape on her wrist. Safe. She’s safe. She knows that logically.

Emotionally, she feels like she’s waiting for something bad to happen.

She checks her phone again.

Nothing.

Her chest tightens.

Sophia sits on the pit wall, helmet beside her, cooling down. Her shoulder is wrapped, ice pressed gently against it. She finally allows herself to grab her phone.

Sophia: FP1 done. Car felt okay, shoulder’s holding.
She hesitates, then adds:

Sophia: I kept thinking you were going to be there.
The reply comes faster than she expects.

Daniela: I felt it—like something was missing all morning.

Sophia exhales, the tension in her chest easing just a little.

Sophia: You okay?

Daniela looks around the apartment before answering, like someone might be watching.

Daniela: Yeah, just tired. Jumpy.

Daniela: Miss you.

Sophia’s throat tightens.

She types, deletes, types again.

Sophia: I miss you too.

Sophia: More than I shouls, probably.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Daniela: Same.

That single word lands heavier than anything else.

Sophia’s pov

 

FP2 is faster. Hotter. Less forgiving.

Sophia pushes harder, because she has to — because that’s what’s expected — but every lap feels like walking a line between confidence and something close to panic.

She manages it. Keeps it clean. Finishes strong.
Still, when she climbs out of the car, sweat-soaked and exhausted, the first thing she does is reach for her phone.

Sophia: FP2 done, no incidents. Proud of myself today, I think.

There’s vulnerability in that she doesn’t try to hide.
Daniela reads it sitting on the couch, knees pulled to her chest.

Daniela: You should be, I just wish I could’ve seen it in person.

Sophia swallows.

Sophia: Me too.

 

Daniela lies in Sophia’s bed again that night, phone clutched in both hands.

They text about nothing and everything — the track, the apartment, the dumb show Daniela finally finished, the way Sophia’s shoulder feels almost normal under the tape.

Each message comes faster than the last.
As if silence might undo them.

As if distance might take something fragile away if they stop holding onto it.

Daniela: Promise me you’ll text when you're back in the room.

Sophia: I promise.

Sophia: Promise me you’ll sleep.

Daniela: Only if you do first.

Sophia smiles softly at her screen in the quiet hotel room.

Sophia: Deal

They don’t say what this is.

They don’t have to.

For now, the thread between them holds — stretched tight across oceans, aching, but unbroken.

 

Sophia wakes before her alarm.

Again.

For a moment she forgets where she is, reaching across the bed out of habit — and her hand closes on empty sheets. The realization hits harder than she expects.

Hotel room. Austria. Qualifying day.

Her shoulder aches faintly, more from tension than injury. She sits up slowly, breathing through it, grounding herself the way she’s been taught.

One day. Just get through today.

She checks her phone.

No message yet.

Daniela is eight hours behind. Probably asleep. She tells herself that’s fine. Normal. Healthy.
Still, her chest tightens.

The paddock feels different today.

Sharper. More crowded. Cameras everywhere. Qualifying always carries a different kind of weight — there’s no room for “almost,” no long race to fix mistakes.

Sophia goes through the motions: briefing, suit, helmet. She listens, nods, asks the right questions. On the outside, she’s composed.

Inside, everything is too loud.

She keeps replaying FP2 in her head. The moment her shoulder twinged exiting Turn 3. The slight hesitation on throttle. The split second where she thought, what if it gives out again?

She hasn’t told anyone that part.

Not even Daniela.

She rubs her shoulder unconsciously as she waits in the garage, fingers pressing through the fabric, searching for reassurance that it’s still there. That she’s still there.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela wakes to her phone buzzing.

She grabs it instantly, heart racing, then exhales when she sees Sophia’s name.

Sophia: Qualifying today.

Daniela blinks at the screen, still half-asleep, then sits up, hoodie slipping off one shoulder.

Daniela: I’m here, how do you feel?

Sophia hesitates before answering. Daniela can feel it, even through text.

Sophia: Fine. Nervous. Normal stuff.

Daniela frowns slightly.

Daniela: You don’t have to minimize it for me
Three dots. Stop. Start again.

Sophia: I know. I just don’t want to think about it too much.

Daniela understands that instinct too well.

Daniela: Okay, just remnants you don’t have to carry it alone.

Sophia stares at the message longer than necessary.
Sophia: I wish you were here.

The words land in Daniela’s chest, heavy and warm and terrifying all at once.

Daniela: Me too.

Sophia’s pov

 

The car feels sharp.

Too sharp.

The first lap is fast, aggressive, the kind that demands total commitment. Sophia delivers — muscle memory taking over — but her breathing is off when she crosses the line.

She’s through.

Good enough.

Still, when she pulls into the garage, her hands are trembling.

She clenches them into fists, then forces them to relax.

Get it together.

She catches herself glancing toward the empty space where Daniela would usually stand — not officially allowed there, but always close enough to be felt.
She swallows.

Traffic. Yellow flags. A lap compromised by another car. Her engineer’s voice comes through faster, tighter.

“Need one more push lap.”

Sophia’s jaw tightens.

She goes again.

Halfway through the lap, her shoulder flares — sharper than before. Not unbearable, but enough to spike panic straight through her chest.

For a split second, her vision tunnels.

No. Not now.

She forces herself to breathe. Focuses on braking points. On exits. On the rhythm of the track.

The lap is good.

Barely.

She makes it through.

The moment she stops in the garage, she rips her helmet off and presses her forehead into her hands.
She wants to text Daniela.

She doesn’t.

Not yet.

By the time Q3 starts, the weight is crushing.

This is where mistakes are punished. This is where doubt creeps in and feeds on fear.

Sophia rolls out of the garage, heart pounding, every sensation amplified.

She thinks of the crash. Of rehab. Of being told she couldn’t race.

Of Daniela’s wrist. The bruise. The way she’d looked that morning.

I can’t afford to break.

Her first lap is messy.

She aborts.

Second attempt.

Halfway through, her shoulder twinges again — and this time, the fear hits harder than the pain.

Her hands tighten too much on the wheel.

The car snaps slightly on exit.

She corrects it — barely — heart hammering so hard she can hear it over the engine.

She finishes the lap.

Not perfect. But solid.

When the session ends, she doesn’t know where she’s placed until her engineer tells her.

“P4. Strong result.”

P4.

Good. More than good.

And yet, when she unclips and climbs out, her legs feel weak.

Sophia sits alone in the hospitality area, shoulder iced, staring at nothing.

The spiral hits after — when there’s no longer adrenaline to hold it off.

What if it had gone worse?

What if tomorrow it does?

What if she can’t do this without Daniela here?

She hates that thought.

Hates how true it feels.

She finally texts.

Sophia: P4. I almost lost it in q3.

The reply comes instantly.

Daniela: Hey, you didn’t and that matters.

Sophia exhales shakily.

Sophia: I kept wishing you were next to me.

Daniela closes her eyes at that, pressing the phone to her chest.

Daniela: I'm with you, even from here.

Sophia lets herself believe it — just for tonight.

Tomorrow is race day.

And she’s not sure how much longer she can pretend this distance isn’t breaking something fragile open inside her.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

 

The plane hums softly around Sophia, a steady vibration she’s learned to tune out over the years. Normally, flights calm her. Normally, this is where she shuts everything off.

Tonight, she can’t.

She stares at the dark window, her reflection faint against the glass. Daniela’s face keeps slipping into her thoughts uninvited — the way she’d curled into her side on the couch, how light she’d felt when she finally slept, the bruises she’d tried to hide like they were nothing.

Three days.

It shouldn’t feel this heavy. They weren’t even… whatever that word was. Together. Not officially. Not clearly. And yet the thought of being gone when Daniela needed someone — needed her — twists low in her chest.

Sophia exhales slowly, pressing her head back against the seat.

You’re safe, she thinks, as if Daniela can hear it from across the Atlantic. You’re in my apartment. I locked the door. I left the lights on.

It doesn’t help.

Her shoulder aches faintly — not pain, just awareness — grounding her. Spielberg is tomorrow. FP1 and FP2. Focus. She forces herself to breathe evenly, lets the exhaustion finally catch up to her.
Sleep comes in fragments. Daniela’s laugh. Daniela asleep on her shoulder. Daniela flinching.

When the plane touches down, the jolt pulls her fully awake.

Spielberg.

The drive from the airport is quiet, green hills rolling past the cab window like a postcard she doesn’t have the energy to admire. The hotel looms familiar and impersonal, too clean, too empty.

Her room smells faintly of detergent and nothing else.

Sophia drops her bag, sets her helmet carefully on the desk, lines her gear up with methodical precision. Control where she can get it. She showers, changes, stretches carefully, listens to the quiet settle in.

This is usually when she feels calm.

Tonight, the silence presses in.

She picks up her phone.

Sophia: Landed. In the hotel now, how are you feeling?

She hesitates, thumb hovering.

Sophia: Text me when you wake up, okay?

She sets the phone face-down on the nightstand, lies back, and stares at the ceiling waiting for a notification.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela wakes slowly, wrapped in unfamiliar quiet.
For a few seconds, she doesn’t know where she is. Then the smell hits her — Sophia’s laundry detergent, faint coffee, something clean and grounding — and she remembers.

Sophia’s bed.

She turns onto her side, pulling the blanket closer, staring at the empty space beside her. It still feels warm. Ridiculous, maybe. Or maybe not.

Her wrist aches dully. Lila’s tape holds, snug and reassuring. Daniela flexes her fingers carefully, then lets her hand rest against the pillow.

Sophia had left early. Too early. Daniela knows why — flights, schedules, pressure — but that doesn’t make the absence lighter.

She reaches for her phone.

The screen lights up with Sophia’s name.

Daniela’s chest tightens.

She reads the messages slowly, twice, like she might miss something hidden between the lines.

She types.

Daniela: Hey, i’m okay. Slept a lot. Wrist is sore but manageable..

She pauses, fingers hovering.

Daniela: You there yet?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Sophia: Yeah. Just got in earlier, you safe?

Daniela smiles despite herself. A small, tired thing.
Daniela: Yeah, doors locked, lights on.

Daniela: Your place feels… calm.

There’s a long pause before the next message.

Sophia: Good. That helps.

Daniela swallows, staring at the words. She lies back against Sophia’s pillow, eyes tracing the ceiling she’s looked at so many times before — but never from here.

What was this?

She’d told herself it was confusion. That Jonah was the obvious choice. That Sophia was… off-limits.

Complicated. Someone who deserved better than her uncertainty.

But lying in Sophia’s bed, wrapped in her things, with her name lighting up the screen — Daniela feels something settle deep in her chest.
Something real.

Daniela: FP tomorrow, right?

Sophia: FP1 and FP2. I’ll be careful.

Daniela exhales slowly.

Daniela: I know. Just… don’t disappear on me, okay?
On the other side of the world, Sophia stares at the message, something soft breaking open in her chest.

Sophia: I won’t.

Daniela sets the phone down, closing her eyes. For the first time since that night, her shoulders loosen.
She’s alone.

But she’s not abandoned.

And somehow, that makes all the difference.

Sophia’s pov

 

The paddock is already alive when Sophia steps out of the car.

Engines warming. Engineers talking too fast. The smell of fuel and hot rubber clinging to the air.

Normally, it sharpens her. Centers her.

Today, it just feels loud.

She rolls her shoulder once, carefully. It answers with a muted ache — not pain, not danger. Still healing. Still fragile. She tells herself it’s fine, that she’s cleared, that she’s done this a hundred times before.

But Daniela isn’t here.

No quiet hand on her back. No murmured breathe just under the noise. No familiar weight grounding her before she puts the helmet on.

Sophia notices the absence more than she expects.
She moves through the garage, nodding at engineers, listening, responding automatically. Her body knows the routine even if her mind keeps drifting somewhere thousands of kilometers away.
Apartment. Couch. Hoodie sleeves pulled too low.
She shakes her head, focusing.

“FP1 is data,” her engineer reminds her. “No heroics.”

“Copy,” Sophia answers, calm and steady — like she isn’t fighting the urge to look at her phone one more time.

Out on track, the car feels… almost right.
Her first laps are cautious. Feeling the steering. Braking points. How the shoulder responds under load. The Red Bull Ring is unforgiving — short, sharp, fast — nowhere to hide mistakes.
She pushes gradually.

Lap after lap, confidence builds, then wavers.
Her grip tightens on the wheel at Turn 3, shoulder flaring just enough to make her jaw clench. She corrects. Keeps going.

You’re okay, she tells herself. You’ve got this.
But every time the rear steps out, every time another car gets too close, her chest tightens. She catches herself glancing toward the pit wall, toward the VIP area.

Empty.

By the time FP1 ends, she brings the car back clean. Respectable times. Nothing alarming.

Still, when she pulls her helmet off, her hands are shaking.

No one notices.

She does.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela wakes to silence that feels wrong.
Too quiet. Too still.

She lies there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening for sounds that aren’t coming — the coffee machine, footsteps, Sophia humming under her breath.

Nothing.

Her wrist throbs faintly. A reminder she can’t shake. She sits up slowly, heart jumping at the smallest noise from the street below.

She checks the locks. Twice.

Then her phone.

No new messages.

Sophia’s probably in FP1, she reminds herself. Busy. Focused.

Still, the thought doesn’t fully settle her.

Daniela makes coffee she barely drinks. Paces the apartment. Starts a show, turns it off halfway through. Every sound makes her flinch — footsteps in the hallway, a car door outside.

She hates this version of herself.

She pulls her hoodie tighter, fingers brushing the tape on her wrist. Safe. She’s safe. She knows that logically.

Emotionally, she feels like she’s waiting for something bad to happen.

She checks her phone again.

Nothing.

Her chest tightens.

Sophia sits on the pit wall, helmet beside her, cooling down. Her shoulder is wrapped, ice pressed gently against it. She finally allows herself to grab her phone.

Sophia: FP1 done. Car felt okay, shoulder’s holding.
She hesitates, then adds:

Sophia: I kept thinking you were going to be there.
The reply comes faster than she expects.

Daniela: I felt it—like something was missing all morning.

Sophia exhales, the tension in her chest easing just a little.

Sophia: You okay?

Daniela looks around the apartment before answering, like someone might be watching.

Daniela: Yeah, just tired. Jumpy.

Daniela: Miss you.

Sophia’s throat tightens.
She types, deletes, types again.

Sophia: I miss you too.

Sophia: More than I should, probably.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Daniela: Same.

That single word lands heavier than anything else.

Sophia’s pov

 

FP2 is faster. Hotter. Less forgiving.

Sophia pushes harder, because she has to — because that’s what’s expected — but every lap feels like walking a line between confidence and something close to panic.

She manages it. Keeps it clean. Finishes strong.

Still, when she climbs out of the car, sweat-soaked and exhausted, the first thing she does is reach for her phone.

Sophia: FP2 done, no incidents. Proud of myself today, I think.

There’s vulnerability in that she doesn’t try to hide.
Daniela reads it sitting on the couch, knees pulled to her chest.

Daniela: You should be, I just wish I could’ve seen it in person.

Sophia swallows.

Sophia: Me too.

Daniela lies in Sophia’s bed again that night, phone clutched in both hands.

They text about nothing and everything — the track, the apartment, the dumb show Daniela finally finished, the way Sophia’s shoulder feels almost normal under the tape.

Each message comes faster than the last.

As if silence might undo them.

As if distance might take something fragile away if they stop holding onto it.

Daniela: Promise me you’ll text when you're back in the room.

Sophia: I promise.

Sophia: Promise me you’ll sleep.

Daniela: Only if you do first.

Sophia smiles softly at her screen in the quiet hotel room.

Sophia: Deal

They don’t say what this is.

They don’t have to.

For now, the thread between them holds — stretched tight across oceans, aching, but unbroken.

Sophia wakes before her alarm.

Again.

For a moment she forgets where she is, reaching across the bed out of habit — and her hand closes on empty sheets. The realization hits harder than she expects.

Hotel room. Austria. Qualifying day.

Her shoulder aches faintly, more from tension than injury. She sits up slowly, breathing through it, grounding herself the way she’s been taught.
One day. Just get through today.

She checks her phone.

No message yet.

Daniela is eight hours behind. Probably asleep. She tells herself that’s fine. Normal. Healthy.

Still, her chest tightens.

The paddock feels different today.

Sharper. More crowded. Cameras everywhere. Qualifying always carries a different kind of weight — there’s no room for “almost,” no long race to fix mistakes.

Sophia goes through the motions: briefing, suit, helmet. She listens, nods, asks the right questions. On the outside, she’s composed.

Inside, everything is too loud.

She keeps replaying FP2 in her head. The moment her shoulder twinged exiting Turn 3. The slight hesitation on throttle. The split second where she thought, what if it gives out again?

She hasn’t told anyone that part.

Not even Daniela.

She rubs her shoulder unconsciously as she waits in the garage, fingers pressing through the fabric, searching for reassurance that it’s still there. That she’s still there.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela wakes to her phone buzzing.

She grabs it instantly, heart racing, then exhales when she sees Sophia’s name.

Sophia: Qualifying today.

Daniela blinks at the screen, still half-asleep, then sits up, hoodie slipping off one shoulder.

Daniela: I’m here, how do you feel?

Sophia hesitates before answering. Daniela can feel it, even through text.

Sophia: Fine. Nervous. Normal stuff.

Daniela frowns slightly.

Daniela: You don’t have to minimize it for me

Three dots. Stop. Start again.

Sophia: I know. I just don’t want to think about it too much.

Daniela understands that instinct too well.
Daniela: Okay, just remnants you don’t have to carry it alone.

Sophia stares at the message longer than necessary.
Sophia: I wish you were here.

The words land in Daniela’s chest, heavy and warm and terrifying all at once.

Daniela: Me too.

Sophia’s pov

 

The car feels sharp.

Too sharp.

The first lap is fast, aggressive, the kind that demands total commitment. Sophia delivers — muscle memory taking over — but her breathing is off when she crosses the line.

She’s through.

Good enough.

Still, when she pulls into the garage, her hands are trembling.

She clenches them into fists, then forces them to relax.

Get it together.

She catches herself glancing toward the empty space where Daniela would usually stand — not officially allowed there, but always close enough to be felt.
She swallows.

Traffic. Yellow flags. A lap compromised by another car. Her engineer’s voice comes through faster, tighter.

“Need one more push lap.”

Sophia’s jaw tightens.

She goes again.

Halfway through the lap, her shoulder flares — sharper than before. Not unbearable, but enough to spike panic straight through her chest.

For a split second, her vision tunnels.

No. Not now.

She forces herself to breathe. Focuses on braking points. On exits. On the rhythm of the track.
The lap is good.

Barely.

She makes it through.

The moment she stops in the garage, she rips her helmet off and presses her forehead into her hands.
She wants to text Daniela.

She doesn’t.

Not yet.

By the time Q3 starts, the weight is crushing.
This is where mistakes are punished. This is where doubt creeps in and feeds on fear.

Sophia rolls out of the garage, heart pounding, every sensation amplified.

She thinks of the crash. Of rehab. Of being told she couldn’t race.

Of Daniela’s wrist. The bruise. The way she’d looked that morning.

I can’t afford to break.

Her first lap is messy.

She aborts.

Second attempt.

Halfway through, her shoulder twinges again — and this time, the fear hits harder than the pain.

Her hands tighten too much on the wheel.

The car snaps slightly on exit.

She corrects it — barely — heart hammering so hard she can hear it over the engine.

She finishes the lap.

Not perfect. But solid.

When the session ends, she doesn’t know where she’s placed until her engineer tells her.

“P4. Strong result.”

P4.

Good. More than good.

And yet, when she unclips and climbs out, her legs feel weak.

Sophia sits alone in the hospitality area, shoulder iced, staring at nothing.

The spiral hits after — when there’s no longer adrenaline to hold it off.

What if it had gone worse?
What if tomorrow it does?
What if she can’t do this without Daniela here?

She hates that thought.

Hates how true it feels.

She finally texts.

Sophia: P4. I almost lost it in q3.

The reply comes instantly.

Daniela: Hey, you didn’t and that matters.

Sophia exhales shakily.

Sophia: I kept wishing you were next to me.
Daniela closes her eyes at that, pressing the phone to her chest.

Daniela: I'm with you, even from here.

Sophia lets herself believe it — just for tonight.

Tomorrow is race day.

And she’s not sure how much longer she can pretend this distance isn’t breaking something fragile open inside her.

Sophia’s pov

 

Race mornings are always quiet.

Not because the world is calm — but because her mind strips everything down to essentials. Wake. Breathe. Stretch carefully. Feel the body before it has a chance to betray her.

Sophia sits on the edge of the hotel bed, feet planted on the carpet, eyes closed. Her shoulder hums beneath the tape — not screaming, but not silent either.

Behave, she thinks. Just today.

She reaches for her phone before she can stop herself.

A message is already there.

Daniela: I’m awake, talk to me

Sophia exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Sophis: Race day.

Daniela: I know, how does your shoulder feel, really?
Sophia considers lying. She doesn’t.

Sophia: Tight. Manageable. I’m more scared of my head than my body.

There’s a pause. Longer this time.

Daniela: Then promise me something, if you start spiraling—you slow it down.. Even if it costs you a place.

Sophia’s jaw tightens.

Sophia: You know I can’t promise that

Daniela: I know, but I had to try

Sophia smiles faintly at the screen.
Sophia: Stay with me today, even if it’s just texts

Daniela: I’m not going anywhere.

The paddock is electric.

Race day energy vibrates through the concrete, the air thick with expectation. Sophia moves through it with practiced ease — nodding to engineers, answering questions, pulling on her race suit.

She feels alone in a way she hasn’t since her injury.
Not unsupported. Just… exposed.

As she settles into the car on the grid, helmet resting against the head surround, she closes her eyes for one final second.

She imagines Daniela’s hand on her shoulder.
The grounding weight of it.

The way her voice lowers when she’s worried.
Drive, she tells herself. Just drive.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela doesn’t sit down.

She paces the living room with her phone in her hand, the race broadcast playing but barely registering. Her coffee goes cold on the table.
She jumps at every radio transmission.
Every close-up.

Every time Sophia’s car appears on screen.
Her wrist still aches — a dull reminder — but it’s nothing compared to the tension coiling in her chest.
She texts even when she knows Sophia can’t answer.
Daniela: Lights out soon, breathe for me
No reply.

She presses her lips together and keeps watching.
Sophia’s pov

 

The lights go out clean.

No chaos. No panic. Just instinct and muscle memory taking over, the car surging forward beneath her like something alive.
Her shoulder holds.

Not perfectly — there’s a dull burn every time she corrects the wheel, a reminder that her body hasn’t forgotten — but it doesn’t fail her. That’s all she asks of it today.

Lap after lap, she settles into the rhythm. Tires managed. Pace controlled. No hero moves. No risks she can’t afford.

By the final stint, she’s in fourth.

Then opportunity opens.

A mistake ahead. A door left just wide enough.
She takes it.

The move is clean. Controlled. Confident.

When the checkered flag falls, Sophia crosses the line in P3.

Third.

She exhales hard, a breath she feels like she’s been holding for weeks.

On the cooldown lap, her radio crackles with congratulations. Pride. Relief. Encouragement.

She barely hears it.

Her hands are shaking.

Back in paddock, she climbs out of the car carefully, body protesting now that adrenaline is fading. She looks up toward the stands out of habit.

Daniela isn’t there.

The absence aches more than the injuries ever did.
She pulls her phone out anyway, fingers moving on instinct.

Sophia: P3, We did it. I’m okay

Send.

Then the cameras descend.

Media blurs together.

Questions about the comeback. The pain. The pressure. Whether she felt ready.

Sophia answers automatically, measured and professional.

“Yes, it feels good.”
“Yes, the team’s support has been incredible.”
“Yes, I’m listening to my body.”

By the time she’s done, it’s late.

She makes it back to the hotel exhausted, shoulder throbbing, adrenaline finally bleeding out of her system. She drops her bag by the door, doesn’t even shower.

She means to text Daniela again.

She doesn’t.

Sleep takes her the second her head hits the pillow.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela knows, rationally, that Sophia is fine.
She watched the race. Saw the podium. Read the headlines.

But when the night stretches on and her phone stays silent, that logic doesn’t help.

She checks the time. Then the door. Then the phone again.

She’s probably asleep, she tells herself.

Still, her chest tightens.

She lies on Sophia’s bed, curled on her side, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant city noise through the window. The apartment feels too big without her.

Her phone buzzes once.

A notification that isn’t Sophia.

She turns the screen face-down and closes her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia wakes at 4:58 a.m.

Her body protests immediately — shoulder stiff, ribs sore — but her mind is already moving. Flight time. Logistics. Emails.

She showers quickly, packs what little she unpacked, fingers moving on autopilot. By the time she leaves the hotel, the sky is still dark, the city quiet.
In the back of the cab, she finally checks her phone.
No reply from Daniela.

Guilt flickers through her.

She types while the car weaves through empty streets.

Sophia: Sorry, I crashed as soon as I got back. On my way to the airport now.

Send.

At the terminal, she finishes responding to team messages, scheduling follow-ups, confirming medical appointments. It’s all noise compared to the single thought grounding her.

I’m going home.

The plane lifts off smoothly.

She sleeps again without meaning to.

When the plane lands, the first thing Sophia does is turn her phone back on.

Signal floods in.

She doesn’t wait.

Sophia: Landed. I’m okay. I’ll be home soon.
She stares at the message after sending it, thumb hovering like there’s more she wants to say.

There is.

But for now, this is enough.

She shoulders her bag carefully and heads toward baggage claim, exhaustion heavy but relief settling in beneath it.

Daniela is waiting.

Even if she’s not there yet.

 

The apartment door clicks open softly.
Sophia doesn’t announce herself. She sets her bag down just inside the doorway, movements careful, practiced. The familiar smell of the apartment hits her all at once — coffee grounds, clean laundry, the faint citrus candle Daniela always forgets to blow out.

Daniela is already in the hallway.

Barefoot. Wrapped in one of Sophia’s hoodies. Eyes lifting like she’s been holding her breath for days.
They freeze.

Then Daniela crosses the space between them and walks straight into Sophia’s arms.

Sophia exhales — a long, shaky release — and holds her without thinking, arms circling her back carefully, protectively. Daniela presses her face into Sophia’s shoulder, fingers curling tight into her jacket.

“I was okay,” Daniela murmurs. “Until you walked in.”

Sophia closes her eyes. “I’m here.”

They stay like that longer than either of them means to.

They’ve moved apart, eventually.

Not because either of them wants to — but because the world has a way of creeping back in.

Sophia unpacks mechanically. Shoes by the door. Helmet case slid into its corner. Jacket hung up. Daniela watches from the kitchen doorway, quiet, giving her space.

Too much space.

Sophia moves like she’s still in the paddock — controlled, precise, distant. She answers questions with short replies. Smiles when Daniela smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Daniela feels it immediately.

It’s subtle. But she knows Sophia too well now not to notice.

They sit at opposite ends of the couch, tea growing cold between them.

“You’re not here,” Daniela says softly.

Sophia’s fingers still on the mug.

“I am,” she replies automatically.

Daniela tilts her head. “You’re not.”

Silence stretches.

Sophia swallows, gaze fixed on the floor. The image comes back uninvited — Daniela’s wrist, the bruising. Jonah’s name. The way Daniela had said it like it was nothing, like it hadn’t carved something open inside Sophia.

“Why were you even with him that night?” Sophia asks quietly.

Daniela stiffens.
Her eyes lift slowly. “What?”

“With Jonah,” Sophia continues, voice still calm but tighter now. “Why were you meeting him? At a bar. Alone.”

Daniela sets her mug down carefully. Too carefully.
“I didn’t think it was dangerous,” she says. “I thought I owed myself clarity.”

Sophia lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “Clarity?”

“I was confused,” Daniela admits. “About everything.”

About me, Sophia thinks — but doesn’t say.

“And you went anyway,” Sophia says. “Even though something in you knew it wasn’t right.”

Daniela’s shoulders slump. “Yes.”

The honesty disarms her.

Sophia rubs her hand over her face, frustration bleeding through now. “Do you know what it felt like, hearing his name come out of your mouth like that? Seeing your wrist and not being there when it happened?”

Daniela’s voice breaks. “I didn’t want you to protect me.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Sophia says, finally looking at her. Her eyes are dark with something sharp and aching. “I wanted you to be safe.”

Daniela’s breath stutters. She looks down at her hands. “I thought I needed someone who wasn’t you.”

The words sit between them, raw.

Sophia’s jaw tightens. “And?”

Daniela lifts her eyes again. “And I was wrong.”

Something in Sophia softens — not fully, not yet— but enough for her shoulders to drop.

She scoots closer, slow, giving Daniela time to pull away.

She doesn’t.

Sophia’s hand rests near Daniela’s knee. Not touching. Just there.

“I can’t lose you,” Sophia says quietly. “Not like that.”

Daniela nods, eyes shining. “I know.”

They don’t talk much after that.

They don’t need to.

Eventually, they’re back on the couch, closer now. Daniela leans into Sophia’s side like she belongs there. Sophia hesitates — just for a second — then lets her arm settle around Daniela’s shoulders.
Daniela exhales deeply, like she’s been holding herself together with duct tape.

“You don’t have to be strong anymore,” Sophia murmurs.

Daniela’s voice is barely audible. “I didn’t want to fall apart without you.”

Sophia presses her lips into Daniela’s hair. “I’m home.”

This time, Daniela believes it.

Later, Daniela falls asleep first.

Curled against Sophia, breathing finally steady, tension drained from her frame. Sophia stays awake longer, staring at the dim ceiling, one hand resting over Daniela’s sleeve — close to the bruise, but never touching.

She’s safe now, Sophia tells herself.

And for the first time since Austria, the thought doesn’t feel like a lie.

They have tonight.

And that’s enough.

Chapter Text

Sophia’s pov

Sophia woke to quiet.

Not the heavy, bruised quiet of injury weeks ago — just the kind that comes after travel, adrenaline, and a body finally standing down from race mode. The apartment was dim, the curtains still half-drawn, sunlight filtering in like it didn’t want to intrude.

Her shoulder spoke to her before anything else did.

Not pain. Not really. More like a reminder — a dull, low ache that tightened when she rolled onto her side. She stilled immediately, breathed through it, then tested the movement carefully.

It held.

That alone felt like a win.

She lay there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, replaying Spielberg in fragments. Clean laps. Good pace. Third place. A comeback that felt real instead of borrowed.

And Daniela.

Sophia turned her head toward the other side of the bed.

Empty.

For a split second, her chest tightened — then she remembered. Daniela had gone to sleep late, half-curled on the couch, still wearing that oversized hoodie she favored when she thought no one was watching.

Sophia pushed herself upright, slower than usual, careful with her shoulder. The apartment smelled faintly like coffee already.

Of course.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela had been awake for nearly an hour.
Not because she needed to be — she just hadn’t trusted sleep enough to stay in it.

She moved quietly around the kitchen, barefoot on cold tile, phone face-down on the counter. She hadn’t checked it yet. She wouldn’t until later. That was the rule she’d made for herself.

Coffee first. Grounding first.

She glanced toward the hallway when she heard movement.

Sophia appeared, hair messy, still in one of Daniela’s old t-shirts from a past stay that neither of them acknowledged anymore.

“You’re up,” Daniela said, softer than she meant to.
Sophia nodded. “You too.”

They shared a look — something unspoken settling between them. Relief, maybe. Familiarity.

“How’s the shoulder?” Daniela asked, trying to sound casual and failing.

Sophia rotated it gently. “Better. Still there. But better.”

Daniela exhaled before she could stop herself.
She poured a second cup of coffee and slid it across the counter. “Sit.”

Sophia obeyed without comment.

Daniela hovered — not touching, not asking — just watching as Sophia lifted the mug without flinching. She caught herself doing it and stepped back, embarrassed.

That earned her a small smile.

They ate breakfast together in easy quiet. No rush. No schedule. Just the soft hum of the city outside and the knowledge that, for once, neither of them had to be anywhere yet.

Spielberg was done.
Silverstone could wait.

Sophia’s pov

 

By Tuesday, Sophia felt more like herself.

Not fully — the shoulder still pulled when she reached too far, and she was careful during her morning training session — but her body felt responsive again. Willing. Cooperative.

She left early for physio, leaving Daniela asleep on the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes like she’d been fighting the light all night.

Sophia paused before leaving, watching her for a moment longer than necessary.

She didn’t wake her.

Physio went well. Encouraging. Controlled load. Green lights with conditions.

When she returned, groceries in hand, Daniela was awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through rehearsal notes.

“You’re back early,” Daniela said.

“Cleared for more strength work,” Sophia replied, setting the bags down. “Still light. But it’s progress.”

Daniela smiled — real this time. “I knew it.”

They spent the afternoon in parallel — Sophia stretching, icing later when the ache crept back in; Daniela rehearsing quietly, humming under her breath, stopping to scribble notes.

At some point, Daniela wordlessly brought Sophia an ice pack.

Sophia took it without comment.
It felt like trust.

 

The venue buzzed before Sophia even stepped inside.

She hadn’t expected to feel out of place — she’d stood in louder, more chaotic environments before — but this was different. The energy was electric, anticipatory, layered with music and lights and movement.

And Daniela.

Sophia watched from the side of the crowd as Daniela took the stage.

She looked different here.

Not softer — sharper. Focused. Alive in a way Sophia usually only saw on-track. Daniela moved with confidence, laughter easy, voice steady. She belonged here.

The realization hit Sophia unexpectedly.

This wasn’t just Daniela’s world.

It was a part of her.

Sophia felt something shift in her chest — not jealousy, not fear — just understanding. Respect. A quiet awe.

When their eyes met briefly across the room, Daniela smiled, quick and bright.

Sophia smiled back — slower, deeper.

She realized, then, that she wasn’t just watching because she cared.

She was watching because she missed her when she wasn’t right beside her.

The thought unsettled her more than she expected.

Daniela’s pov

 

From the stage, Daniela spotted Sophia immediately.
She always did.

Even when the crowd blurred, even when lights flared too bright — Sophia grounded her. A fixed point. Safe.

The performance flew by.

Afterward, sweaty and breathless, Daniela found Sophia near the exit.

“You came,” Daniela said, unnecessarily.

“I said I would.”

“I know. Still.”

Sophia studied her. “You were good.”

Daniela shrugged, suddenly shy. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always true.”

 

They walked home together later, quiet but close. Daniela talked about the set list; Sophia listened, shoulder brushing hers occasionally, not pulling away.

That night, Daniela chose the couch again.

Not because Sophia asked.

Because it felt safer than being alone.

The days stopped blurring after that.

They fell into a rhythm instead.

Mornings together. Afternoons apart. Evenings shared.

Sophia grew more guarded — not distant, just careful. Daniela noticed it in the pauses, the way Sophia sometimes seemed to pull inward when Jonah’s name came up indirectly, when Daniela’s phone buzzed unexpectedly.

Daniela didn’t push.

She hovered instead—reminders to ice, to eat, to rest.

Sophia let her.

And neither of them crossed the line.

Yet.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela noticed it when she packed her bag.

It wasn’t deliberate. That was the problem.

She stood in her own apartment, staring at the open duffel on her bed — clothes folded with careless precision — and felt that familiar tug of habit telling her to stay. To settle in. To move through her evening the way she always had.

Instead, she zipped the bag closed and checked the time.

Sophia would be back from training soon.

The realization came quietly, sliding into place without ceremony.

She wasn’t choosing convenience.

She was choosing safety.

Daniela locked her apartment behind her and didn’t look back.

Sophia’s pov

 

Sophia came home tired — the good kind. Muscles warm, lungs clear, mind sharp from controlled laps in the sim. The ache in her shoulder had faded to background noise, no longer commanding her attention.

She kicked her shoes off at the door and stopped short.

Daniela’s bag sat by the couch.

Sophia blinked once, then smiled despite herself.

“You’re early,” Sophia said as Daniela emerged from the kitchen.

Daniela shrugged. “Didn’t feel like going home.”

The words landed heavier than Daniela intended.

Sophia didn’t comment. She just nodded and moved closer, leaning briefly into Daniela’s space before pulling back.

“Like I already said, you can stay here as long as you want Dani.” Sophia said, leaning on the kitchen counter.

Daniela gave her a private smile, thanking her for this.

 

They cooked together — not side by side, but intersecting. Passing things. Touching hands without acknowledgment. Daniela handed Sophia the ice pack before Sophia even asked for it.

Sophia took it.

That night, Daniela slept in the bed.

On her side. Space between them. A line neither crossed.

But she slept deeply.

 

Saturday carried weight without urgency.

Sophia spent the morning in light training, then met with her engineer remotely. Data reviews.

Adjustments. Silverstone looming in the background like a promise and a threat.

She came home to find Daniela on the couch, scrolling through her phone with an unreadable expression.

Sophia felt it immediately — the tension.

“You okay?” she asked.

Daniela nodded too fast. “Yeah.”

Sophia didn’t push.

Instead, she sat down beside her, shoulder brushing Daniela’s thigh. Close enough to be felt. Not enough to demand.

Daniela exhaled slowly, phone sliding face-down onto the cushion.

They watched old races that afternoon — Silverstone highlights from years past. Sophia talked through corners, braking points, elevation changes. Daniela listened, absorbing it all with quiet intensity.

“You talk about this place differently,” Daniela said.

Sophia nodded. “It demands honesty.”

Daniela thought about that long after.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela woke before Sophia again.

It startled her.

She lay still, listening to Sophia breathe beside her — slow, even. The sight of her, relaxed and unguarded, tugged at something deep and unfamiliar in Daniela’s chest.

She slipped out of bed quietly and padded into the kitchen.

Coffee. Toast. Routine.

But the thought lingered.

I feel safer here.

Not happier. Not distracted.

Safer.

The realization frightened her more than it should have.

She had rehearsal today, meetings with the girls. A routine that had started to take form ever since Sophia came back from Spielberg.

Sophia’s pov

 

The days began to count themselves.

Monday meant full training review, media prep, flight logistics for Silverstone. Sophia moved through it all efficiently, professionally.

But something else had crept in.

Awareness.

She noticed Daniela more — the way she hovered near doorways, the way her hand lingered when passing something, the way she flinched when a notification buzzed unexpectedly.

Jonah lived between them without being named.
That night, Sophia caught Daniela staring at her reflection in the window.

“What?” Sophia asked softly.

Daniela shook her head. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

Daniela’s pov

 

On tuesday, Daniela skipped rehearsal.

Not officially — just deferred it.

She stayed in Sophia’s apartment, folding laundry that wasn’t hers, cleaning surfaces that didn’t need it. The compulsion to make things orderly felt urgent.

Safe.

When Sophia came home, Daniela was sitting on the floor, back against the couch.

“You didn’t go?” Sophia asked.

Daniela shrugged. “Didn’t want to.”

Sophia crouched in front of her. Close. Concerned.
“Dani,” she said gently, “you don’t have to disappear to stay.”

The words hit harder than Daniela expected.

She looked away. “I know.”

But she wasn’t sure she believed it yet.

The tension sharpened.

Not explosive — restrained.

They moved around each other carefully, like two people aware of thin ice but unwilling to turn back. Touch lingered longer. Silence stretched heavier.
At night, Daniela’s thoughts spiraled.

Habit would be easier.

But safety had a name now.

Sophia.

And once named, it couldn’t be undone.

That night, as they lay side by side, not touching, Sophia spoke into the dark.

“Silverstone’s going to be intense.”

Daniela swallowed. “I know.”

“I’m glad you’re coming.”

Daniela turned her head. Their eyes met in the dim light.

“So am I.”

The space between them hummed — not yet broken.
But no longer empty.

Sophia’s pov

Airports always did this to her.

Not the crowds or the noise — those were manageable — but the in-between. The suspended feeling of waiting to go somewhere that mattered.

Silverstone sat heavy in her chest, a mix of excitement and expectation she refused to name as nerves.

Daniela walked beside her through security, calm in a way that felt intentional.

“You’re quiet,” Daniela said once they found their seats at the gate.

Sophia shrugged. “Just focused.”

It wasn’t a lie. Just incomplete.

On the plane, they sat shoulder to shoulder, close enough that Sophia could feel the warmth of Daniela’s arm through the thin fabric of her jacket. Daniela fell asleep first, head tipping slightly toward Sophia without quite touching.

Sophia didn’t move.

She stared out the window instead, watching clouds slide past, thinking about corners she’d driven a hundred times in her head. About the weight of expectation. About how, somehow, Daniela being here made it feel lighter — and heavier — all at once.

Daniela’s pov

 

The hotel room was quiet in the way only unfamiliar places could be.

One bed.

Daniela stopped just inside the door, keys still in her hand, eyes flicking automatically toward the center of the room. White sheets. Crisp pillows. No second option.

Sophia noticed immediately.

“Oh,” she said, a little too casually. “I can take the couch.”

Daniela turned to her. “You don’t have to.”

Sophia shrugged, already dropping her bag by the armchair near the window. “I don’t mind. I’ll sleep anywhere.”

Daniela hesitated. She felt it — that familiar tightening in her chest, the instinct she’d been following without naming for weeks now. The pull toward safety. Toward her.

“The couch is awful,” Daniela said finally. “And you’re racing this weekend.”

Sophia smiled faintly. “I’ll survive.”

Daniela shook her head, firmer this time. “No. We can share.”

Sophia blinked. Just once.

“Dani—”

“It’s just sleeping,” Daniela added quickly, like she needed to convince herself as much as Sophia. “We’ve shared worse situations than this.”

Sophia studied her for a moment, something unreadable passing behind her eyes. Then she nodded.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “If you’re sure.”

Daniela was.

They changed with their backs turned, movements careful, respectful. When they finally lay down, there was space between them — deliberate, almost ceremonial.

Sophia lay on her back, hands resting loosely on her stomach. Daniela lay on her side, facing away, staring at the far wall.

Neither slept.

“You nervous?” Daniela asked softly after a while.

Sophia exhaled. “A little.”

Daniela rolled onto her back, ceiling reflected faintly in her eyes. “Your shoulder?”

“Less every day,” Sophia said. A pause. “I’m more worried about… everything else.”

Daniela turned her head just enough to look at her. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Sophia didn’t respond, but she shifted — barely — until her arm brushed Daniela’s.

Daniela didn’t move away.

Instead, she reached for the ice pack on the nightstand and gently placed it against Sophia’s shoulder, careful, practiced.

“Just in case,” she murmured.

Sophia’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was charged — full of things neither of them was ready to say yet.

Eventually, sleep found them like a compromise.
Close enough to feel each other breathe.

Not close enough to cross the line.

Yet.

Sophia’s pov

 

By the time Sophia stepped into the garage Friday morning, the familiar hum of Silverstone had already settled into her bones.

Engines warming. Radios crackling. The smell of rubber and fuel hanging low in the air.

Her shoulder felt… fine. Not perfect, but stable. Three, almost four days since Spielberg now. The bruise had faded into something yellowed and dull, more annoyance than threat. She rolled it once, slow and careful, before sliding her balaclava on.

Tomàs caught her eye immediately.

“How does it feel today?” he asked, tablet already in hand.

“Good,” she answered honestly. “Responsive. No sharp pain.”

He nodded. “We’ll build into it. FP1 is data, not heroics.”

She smiled faintly. “You always say that.”

“And you always ignore me,” he replied, deadpan.
FP1 was exactly that—methodical. Sophia focused on braking points, tire temperatures, the way the car settled through Copse and Maggots. Silverstone demanded confidence. Hesitation punished you.
Her radio crackled.

“Try opening up more on exit, especially through Becketts.”

“Copy,” she answered, jaw tight with focus.

She finished FP1 mid-pack. Solid. Clean.

FP2 came hotter. Faster laps. More traffic.

Her stress lived quietly behind her ribs, never fully surfacing, but always there. She drove through it anyway, letting instinct take over where fear tried to creep in.

P5 by the end of FP2.

Tomàs leaned into her cockpit afterward. “That’s your baseline.”

Sophia nodded. “I know.”

And she did.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela watched from the family area, fingers curled around the railing.

She tried not to hover.

Tried not to count every lap. Every sector. Tried not to feel her chest tighten every time Sophia braked hard into Stowe.

But she did anyway.

When Sophia climbed out of the car after FP2, helmet tucked under her arm, Daniela felt the tension ease—just a little.

She was smiling.

Tired, but smiling.

Sophia chose the restaurant.

Small. Quiet. Far enough from the circuit that it didn’t feel like an extension of the paddock.

They sat across from each other, jackets draped over chair backs, the weight of the day finally loosening.
“I never pictured you like this,” Daniela said after a while.

Sophia raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Open,” Daniela said. “Not guarded. Not… closed off.”

Sophia looked down at her plate. “You just caught me at a weird time.”

Daniela shook her head. “No. You’re kind. You always were. I just don’t think you let many people see it.”

Sophia exhaled softly. “Maybe I didn’t want them to.”

Their eyes met.

Something unspoken passed between them.

They didn’t touch.

Not yet.

Sophia’s pov

 

Saturday. FP3 drained her.

She pushed harder than she meant to, adrenaline overriding fatigue. By the time qualifying came, her body buzzed with exhaustion.

P2.

Not pole. But close.

Close enough to feel satisfied.

Back at the apartment, she barely made it through half an episode of a random show before sleep took her on the couch, head tipped awkwardly against the cushion.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela stayed up.

Emails to Hybe. Scheduling. Calls she didn’t want to think about. Group chats lighting up with Megan and the girls teasing her for being quiet lately.

She glanced at Sophia sleeping on the couch, blanket pulled up to her chest.

Didn’t wake her.

Went to bed alone.

Sophia’s pov

 

She woke before dawn.

Ran.

The air was cool, perfect. Her legs moved easily. Her mind was quieter than expected.

When she returned, Daniela was finally awake, hair messy, blinking sleep from her eyes.

“You’re impossible,” Daniela muttered.

Sophia smiled. “You love it.”

They prepared in companionable silence.

Then it was time.

 

The temperature was perfect.

Grip was good. Tires held.

Sophia settled into the rhythm immediately—fast through Abbey, precise into Village, aggressive through Luffield. Every corner demanded commitment.

Her radio crackled.

“Gap is holding. You’re faster in Sector 2.”

She pushed.

Lap after lap, pressure mounting.

Second place. Then first—by fractions.

The final laps blurred into instinct and breath and sheer will.

When the checkered flag waved, Sophia crossed the line P1.

By seconds.

She screamed inside her helmet.

Daniela’s pov

 

Daniela didn’t remember moving.

One second she was standing behind the barrier in the family area, fingers locked together so tightly they hurt, eyes fixed on the timing screen. The next, the name SOPHIA — P1 flashed, bold and undeniable, and something inside her chest gave way.

She exhaled sharply, like she’d been holding her breath for the entire race.

Around her, people erupted—cheers, clapping, radios barking congratulations—but it all blurred. The noise washed over her without really reaching her. All she could see was the Mercedes slowing on the cool-down lap, the car weaving slightly, victorious.
Sophia had done it.

After Monaco.
After Barcelona.
After Spielberg.
After everything.

Daniela pressed a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed by a rush of pride so sudden it startled her. Not the distant kind she’d felt watching performances from the wings or cheering teammates onstage—but something visceral. Personal.

Mine, a dangerous part of her thought.

She swallowed hard, grounding herself as Sophia pulled into the paddock.

Daniela watched her climb out of the car, helmet coming off, hair damp with sweat, smile wide and disbelieving.

Sophia’s eyes lifted instinctively.

They found Daniela immediately.

The look on Sophia’s face changed—not just joy, but relief. Like she’d been racing toward this moment, not just the win.

Before Daniela could think better of it, Sophia was already walking toward her, helmet tucked under her arm, still glowing with adrenaline.

Daniela barely had time to brace herself before Sophia reached her.

The kiss wasn’t planned.

It wasn’t careful.

It was quick and real and full of everything they hadn’t said yet.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Sophia murmured, breathless, forehead still close to Daniela’s.

Daniela laughed softly, stunned, hands hovering uselessly at Sophia’s sides. “You couldn’t wait five minutes?”

Sophia grinned. “No.”

And in that moment—surrounded by noise and cameras and a world that suddenly felt too small—Daniela realized something shift, something settle.

This wasn’t confusion.
This wasn’t habit.
This was choice.

It made her realise that she was actually falling for Sophia Laforteza.