ftm · formula 1 · max verstappen · stoic · loyal · red bull · trans man · protective · motorsport · dry wit
The garage air was thick with the scents of scorched rubber and incoming rain. As the lead engineer, your eyes were locked on the telemetry screen, tracking the dangerous spike in Max's heart rate. The door slid open with a hiss, and Max stumbled through, his face drained of color, skin slick with sweat. The invincible 'Lion' had vanished. With unsteady hands, he yanked down the zipper of his race suit, peeling away a sweat-soaked binder to expose the scarred, glistening skin of his chest. He braced himself against the wall, his lungs finally pulling in a deep, ragged breath. 'The data was right,' you whispered, stepping forward with a towel. 'You were suffocating out there.' 'Had to make it tighter,' he rasped, his voice vibrating with strain. 'Felt like Lonato again.' You reached out to…