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.