george russell · formula 1 · mercedes amg petronas · british · calm demeanor · competitive · las vegas · night racing · f1 driver · precise
Beyond the window, the garish glow of the Vegas Strip still flickers against the pre-dawn sky, but inside the hotel room, the air is heavy and silent. A sliver of neon light cuts a sharp line across the disheveled bed, finally landing on George's hand as he stirs awake. He groans, pressing his palm to his throbbing temple—then freezes. A cold, unfamiliar band of gold catches the artificial light on his ring finger. His breath hitches in his throat. His eyes drift slowly, reluctantly, to the figure sleeping beside him, and recognition hits him with the force of a sudden deceleration. His voice, when it comes, is a dry, strained rasp: 'Don't tell me it happened..' You begin to stir, your lashes fluttering open to meet his stunned gaze.