Downforce

A couple weeks later…

Europe arrived as a gauntlet of adrenaline-filled races.

The room was cool and quiet.

Nick sat on a tall stool beneath the lights, hands resting loosely on his knees, eyes drifting toward the massive screen mounted behind the stage. Someone in production tapped a keyboard, and the screen came to life.

First was the race in Spain.

The clip rolled without sound. Nick’s car was shown completing a clean pass replayed from three angles. It then transitioned to him crossing the finish line in fourth place.

Then the screen played the weekend in Austria, fast laps surrounded by green hills, the onboard camera steady even as the car twitched over curbs. The final shot was a clip of him finishing once again in fourth place.

Britain followed, Silverstone at full speed, the crowd noise was visible even without audio. Understandably, this was a source of pride for Nick as this was the Enstone team’s home race.

Finally, the highlight reel showed a third-place podium finish for Nick, standing on the podium spraying champagne on his fellow drivers.

The moderator of the event smiled as the footage looped again. “Alright, we’ll start in a moment.”

Nick nodded, adjusting slightly in his seat.

Monaco media day always felt different. Monaco is the most famous track for F1, and had a long and storied tradition in motorsports history.

The first journalist raised her hand almost immediately.

“Nick, three races in Europe and you’ve come out third in the Drivers’ Championship. How would you sum up this three-race stretch?”

Nick smiled at the journalist before answering.

“Solid,” he said. “The team has been focused on consistency, and the team’s hard work has more than paid off.”

A few people nodded, typing.

Another reporter leaned forward. “Spain, Austria, Britain—even before that, you were delivering results. In one of the best rookie performances in over a decade, tell us, are you intending on fighting for the championship?”

Nick laughed. “Of course I do, just like any other driver, I didn’t enter the sport to just be content scoring points or podiums. I came here to win and to prove that I’m the best. Of course I have a way to go, and it’s not just on my shoulders. I have my whole team and friends and family back home who support me.”

The screen shifted to Austria again, highlights of his car pulling off daring overtakes.

“That race especially,” the reporter continued, “you seemed more willing to pull off aggressive moves that even veteran drivers would think twice on.”

“I was,” Nick replied easily. “The car felt good. I felt that the risk was something I could take.”

Someone else jumped in. “But you’re still within reach of the championship lead.”

Nick shrugged. “Yes, but the season is long and I can’t afford to get complacent with where I’m at. And also, for me the most growth comes from pushing myself to always do better and improve where I’m at, on and off the track.”

It was a familiar answer, one he’d used more than once lately.

An older journalist near the aisle spoke next. “The last three races, you’ve definitely increased your momentum tenfold, tell us. What’s changed?”

Nick thought about that for a second.

“I think I’ve stopped trying to prove I belong,” he said. “Instead I’ve just been doing what I do best and delivering results that no one can question.”

The room hummed softly with approval, a few smiles around the room.

“Does that approach carry into Monaco?” someone asked.

Nick’s gaze shifted forward again. “Defintely. The goal here is, always, to not end up in a wall.”

That got a few laughs.

The screen paused on a still frame—his car brushing close to the barrier in Britain, inches to spare.

“Monaco’s one of, if not THE hardest track,” Nick continued. “Everyone knows that. But, to be like one of the all-time greats in the sport’s history, you must succeed here”

Another hand went up. “You’re being talked about less as a rookie now and more as a contender. Does that change anything for you mentally?”

Nick shook his head. “Not really. Same job. Same process.”

A pause.

Then, softer, “When I signed with Enstone, they promised me a good car in exchange for results so I have to keep up my end of the deal of course.”

The moderator nodded, glancing at his notes. “Last one from me. It’s been a fast-paced and exciting season, tell me is there a moment so far you enjoyed most?”

Nick hesitated.

“Korea definitely,” he said. “It definitely was a pivotal moment for me this season.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either.

The footage looped one last time as the moderator wrapped up. “Alright, that’s all we have. Thanks, Nick.”

Applause followed.

As the lights dimmed slightly and people began packing up, Nick hopped down from the stool. A staffer handed him a bottle of water. He took a sip, then glanced back at the screen as it went dark.

Spain. Austria. Britain.

His phone buzzed in his pocket

Nick twisted the cap back onto the battle and checked his phone.

A single message.

🡺 You ready for our date tonight?

He let out a small breath, smiling at the end of it.

🡸 Of course, I’ll be at the museum at about 4:30.

The dots didn’t appear immediately.

“Good session,” Marcus said. “Very well worded, but with a little bit of your signature charm.”

Nick slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked at Marcus, tablet tucked under his arm.

“It was straightforward,” Nick responded. “I don’t know why you get so worked up over interviews.”

“Well, the fans love you either way,” Marcus responded. “And I get worked up because this isn’t the 70s, where drivers can be nonchalant playboys”

They started walking toward the paddock exit, the sound of footsteps echoing faintly against the tiled floor.

Outside, the air felt different, the cool air carrying the salt of the harbor just beyond the buildings. Everything looked expensive.

“Schedule’s tight,” Marcus continued. “Track walk in an hour. Briefing after that. No room for surprises this weekend.”

Nick hummed in acknowledgment.

His phone buzzed again.

This time, he checked it immediately.

🡺 That works for me.

🡺 I’ll see you later.

Nick typed a quick reply as they stepped into the waiting car.

🡸 Can’t wait <3.

The door closed, muting the noise of the street outside. As the car pulled away, Nick leaned back against the seat, eyes drifting to the passing view—yachts packed tight along the water, balconies stacked above narrow streets, barriers already going up in places they’d be driving flat-out in less than two days.

Monaco always felt busy before the cars ever hit the track.

He noticed how close everything was. Buildings. Side streets. Guardrails. There wasn’t much space anywhere, and that was before the circuit was even closed.

Marcus glanced at him. “Monaco’s different,” he said. “This would be your biggest challenge yet, if I’m being honest.”

Nick nodded. “There’s no room for mistakes here.”

“No,” Marcus agreed. “You make a mistake, and suddenly your race is over.”

The car slowed as they merged toward the team compound near the harbor. The noise outside picked up—engines revving, voices carrying across the water, the constant movement of people preparing for the weekend.

Nick’s phone buzzed again, but he didn’t check it this time. He already knew who it was, and there was no rush. They’d agreed on that much.

The car came to a stop. Nick leaned forward slightly, adjusting his jacket before reaching for the door.

“Just remember,” Marcus said, stopping him briefly, “keep things clean this weekend. On track and off.”

Nick gave a short nod. “I will.”

He stepped out of the car and walked toward the Enstone garage, already thinking about the track walk, the briefing, and qualifying.

Monaco demanded precision.

And this weekend, precision mattered everywhere.

A few hours later, Nick stood just outside the museum entrance, checking his watch.

It wasn’t in the heart of all the excitement going on in Monaco. The building sat a few streets away from the harbor, far enough that most of the race-week crowd hadn’t wandered over yet. A few tourists came and went, but no one seemed to notice him.

“Relax,” Nick told himself.

It was strange feeling nervous. Of course, he had known Areum as kids, and the two had reconnected as if there was no separation. On the other hand, Nick was still learning how to approach the new dynamic between them, given the romantic context.

At 4:32, a dark sedan pulled up to the curb.

Areum stepped out a moment later.

She wasn’t dressed for a schedule or a stage. A short-sleeved ivory blouse sat on her shoulders; the collar opened at the neck. The blouse was complimented by high-waisted black trousers that flowed down her legs, subtly emphasizing her beautiful figure. Below were black loafers with gold accents. This was the kind of look that made her blend in, which was an important skill for an idol to have.

Nick straightened without realizing he’d been slouching.

Seeing her in person always reset something in him. Texts and calls helped, but they being near her brought back never failed to touch his heart.

She spotted him quickly and walked over, stopping just close enough to be private.

“You’re late,” Nick said.

“Two minutes,” she replied. “That still counts as on time.”

She smiled. This time it was a big smile, reaching her eyes.

The pair walked into the front doors side by side, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

Inside, the air was cooler. There was an ambient quiet as their footsteps echoed softly as they passed the ticket desk.

Areum felt herself exhale as soon as the doors closed behind them.

In here, she somehow felt comfortable enough to relax and just be…herself.

“This place was a nice idea,” Nick said.

“I checked the schedule,” she replied. “No private events. No press.”

“Huh, you did your research.”

They walked into the first gallery. Glass cases lined the walls; placards sat below each exhibit, describing what and where these valuables came from. The lighting cast soft and even glows over the whole hall.

They slowed naturally, stopping in front of a display.

Nick and Areum both read the placard.

She liked moments like this. Quiet ones. She liked that Nick didn’t try to fill every pause. He seemed comfortable letting things just happen.

After a few minutes, the pair walked down the walkway to the next hall.

“How was media day?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said. “Same questions as always.”

She glanced at him. “You handled it well.”

“I just like to answer questions naturally, I’m not a big fan of scripts.”

“That’s why,” she said. “I think being able to be yourself is a blessing.”

Nick felt himself relax as they walked. Being here reminded him why he’d wanted to do this in the first place; it was a chance to stand next to her without cameras or prying eyes.

He noticed small things. The way she slowed when she was actually interested in something, the way her hands folded behind her back when she read, the way she leaned slightly closer when she spoke quietly.

At one point, their hands brushed.

Neither of them pulled away.

Areum noticed it immediately. She didn’t look down. She didn’t change her pace. She let it happen because she wanted to, because deep down, she wished the moment would last forever.

It felt safe.

“How are you holding up with the tour and everything?” Nick asked quietly.

“Busy,” she said. “Tired. But okay.”

“I worry about you sometimes,” he admitted. “You don’t really let yourself slow down.”

She glanced at him, surprised—not by the concern, but by how easily he said it.

“I don’t know how,” she replied honestly. “I think if I stop, everything catches up.”

Nick considered that. “I get that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Being behind the wheel, it’s the only time my head’s quiet. But everything else just stacks up around it.”

She gave a small smile. “Such is the life of two celebrities.”

“Probably,” he said. “But I think I’ve done a good job of not letting it get to me.”

They walked a few more steps before stopping in front of a display neither of them was really reading.

Areum took a breath. “I’ve missed this,” she said. “Talking like this. Without watching the time.”

Nick turned slightly toward her. “Me too.”

There was a pause.

Her fingers shifted then, curling gently around his. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He held her hand properly, firm but careful, like he was checking that it was okay before committing to it.

“I don’t know how long we can keep stealing time like this,” Nick said. “But I want to. As long as we can.”

“I do too,” she said. “Even if it’s just moments. I’ll take them.”

He squeezed her hand once. “I don’t take this lightly, you know.”

“I know,” she said. “I trust you.”

That landed harder than anything else she could’ve said.

They stood there for another second longer than necessary, hands still linked, neither of them in a hurry to let go.

Then Areum smiled softly and leaned closer, her voice low.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s walk a little more before we have to be careful again.”

Nick nodded. “Okay.”

They stopped at another display, standing close enough now that their shoulders touched lightly. Nick felt it through the fabric of his jacket. It grounded him in a way nothing else had that week.

Areum thought about how strange it was that this—standing in a museum in the middle of Monaco—felt more heart-racing than any stage she’d stood on in months. There was no audience, no feedback, just the two of them

She liked that he didn’t rush her. That he didn’t ask for more than she was ready to give in public. It made it easier to imagine what this could become if they ever stopped having to plan every detail.

“You okay being here?” Nick asked.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

That was enough.

They continued through the gallery, conversation quiet and ordinary. Travel. Schedules. Small things they never had time to talk about over the phone. For a while, the rest of the weekend faded into the background.

Nick knew it wouldn’t last forever.

Areum knew that too.

But for now, this was theirs.

And neither of them wanted to waste it

They didn’t stay long.

Near the end of the exhibit, Areum checked her phone briefly, then slid it back into her pocket.

“I should go soon,” she said.

Nick nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

Neither of them moved right away.

They stood near the exit, people passing around them without paying attention. Nick was aware of how close she was again, how easy it would’ve been to reach for her hand fully this time.

He didn’t.

Areum noticed that too. She appreciated it more than she ever said.

“This was nice,” she said.

“It was,” Nick agreed. “I needed it.”

“So did I.”

They stepped outside together. The street was busier now, foot traffic heavier as the afternoon wore on. A car waited half a block down.

Areum adjusted her jacket and turned toward him.

“Be careful this weekend,” she said. “Especially here.”

He smiled slightly. “I always am.”

She gave him a look. “You know what I mean.”

She hesitated, then leaned in just enough that her voice stayed between them. “Text me after.”

“I will.”

That was all.

She walked away first, keeping her pace normal, not looking back. Nick waited until she’d turned the corner before heading in the opposite direction.

The moment was over, cleanly.

That night, Nick didn’t sleep much.

Three days later.

Lap 78 of the Monaco GP.

Monaco never allowed for an easy buildup. Qualifying had been tense and exact. One mistake meant starting behind cars you’d never get past.

Yet Nick had somehow managed to get in the lead after qualifying 2nd.

Ahead of him, the track was clear. Behind him, the gap was just enough that he had some cushion.

Into Sainte Devote.

Brake early.

Turn in clean.

No lock-up.

He clipped the inside curb and let the car drift out just enough to avoid unsettling it. The exit was tidy, no correction needed.

Up the hill toward Massenet, Nick stayed off the curb. He’d seen too many races end there for less. The car stayed smooth through Casino Square, the steering wheel barely moving in his hands.

“Gap holding,” the engineer said. “You’re good.”

Nick focused forward.

Mirabeau came next. Slow. Tight. He kept it neat, avoided the temptation to carry extra speed. Loews Hairpin followed, Nick taking it full lock, steady throttle, no wheelspin. The car rotated cleanly and pointed straight.

Downhill again.

Portier.

He reminded himself not to rush it, to get the exit right. He did just that.

The tunnel swallowed him for a moment, the engine echoing off concrete. He stayed centered, eyes fixed ahead, waiting for the light to return.

Out of the tunnel, Nick slammed the brakes hard into the chicane. This was where mistakes happened when drivers tried to end the race early.

Nick didn’t.

He hit the marks. Turned once, then again; the car stayed settled.

The swimming pool section came up fast. He took it exactly as planned. The barriers flashed past, close enough that he could see the texture in them, but the car never drifted toward them.

“Two corners,” the radio said. “You’ve got this.”

Rascasse.

Slow in. Clean out.

The exit opened up.

The finish line came into view.

Nick crossed it without lifting.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the radio exploded.

“That’s P1!!!! P1!!!”

“You’ve won!!!”

“You’ve won Monaco!!!”

Nick exhaled hard, his grip loosening on the wheel.

“The first of many wins,” he said, voice steady despite the noise around him.

On the cooldown lap, he drove slower than usual, just to let it sink in. He looked at the barriers, the tight corners, the places where one mistake would’ve ended everything.

None of them had.

As he pulled into parc fermé, mechanics were already climbing the wall, arms raised, shouting his name. Nick shut off the engine and sat there for a second longer than necessary before climbing out.

Monaco.

He’d won Monaco.

Later, after the interviews, after the noise, after the champagne, Nick finally had a moment alone. He reached into his pocket and checked his phone.

A single message waited.

🡺 I watched the whole thing.

Nick smiled as he typed his reply.

🡸 I was thinking about you on that last lap.

He didn’t add anything else.

He didn’t need to