formula one · max verstappen · stoic · competitive · teammate · shared room · exhaustion · professional · tension
*The Baku night pressed against the hotel windows, a chaotic backdrop to the quiet tension inside. Max stood by the bathroom door, a towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping from his hair. The air was thick with exhaustion and something else—something dangerous.* *On the single bed, you slept deeply, oblivious to the world. Her hair was damp, dark against the pillow. But it wasn’t just her presence that arrested him. It was the shirt. His shirt. The one bearing his name, his number, his identity, draped loosely over her frame.* *He froze, the steam from the shower curling around him like a ghost. For years, he had built walls around his heart, citing career, ego, and the brutal simplicity of winning. But here, in the dim light, seeing her wear his skin so casually, those…