Chapter Text
The first thing Alaine noticed was the noise.
Not just loud, constant. Engines firing in short bursts, tools clanking against metal, voices overlapping in quick, efficient exchanges. It wasn’t chaotic in the way she expected. It was controlled. Everyone seemed to know exactly where to go, what to do, and how fast to do it.
Except her.
She stood just inside the paddock entrance, press badge hanging stiffly around her neck, notebook in hand.
Qualifying – Saturday
Race – Sunday
Practice – what exactly happens?
She stared at the last line for a second, then sighed and flipped the notebook shut.
“Right,” she muttered. “You’ll figure it out.”
A set of mechanics rolled past her, pushing a trolley stacked with tyres. They looked identical to her: same shape, same size.
“Those are different compounds, by the way.”
She turned.
A man in a team shirt nodded toward the tyres. “Soft, medium, hard. They wear differently.”
Alaine blinked. “Right. Obviously.”
He gave a small, knowing smile. “First race?”
“First time actually being here, yes.”
“You’ll pick it up,” he said. “Or at least learn what to ask.”
That, at least, sounded useful.
-
The media pen was more familiar territory.
Barriers, cameras, clusters of reporters rehearsing questions under their breath. Some spoke confidently into microphones, others scanned notes on their phones. It felt closer to home—structured, purposeful.
Alaine slipped into a corner, opening her notebook again.
Ask simple. Don’t pretend you know everything.
Let them explain.
She underlined the last line twice.
A sudden engine roar cut through the air. Even from here, it was sharp enough to make her flinch.
“Free practice,” someone beside her said without looking up. “They’re testing setups.”
Alaine nodded like she understood, writing it down anyway.
-
She didn’t have long to think.
“Miss Prost?” A media coordinator appeared beside her. “You’ve got five minutes. Driver interview.”
Her stomach tightened. “Which driver?”
He checked his sheet. “You’ll see.”
That wasn’t helpful.
-
The interview area was tighter than she expected. No dramatic setup, just a marked space, a few cameras, and a constant rotation of reporters stepping in and out.
The driver stepped in a moment later.
Up close, he looked younger than she expected. Not relaxed exactly, but composed. Like everything around him moved fast, and he had learned not to.
He gave her a brief nod. “Hi.”
“Alaine,” she said. “Renault Daily News.”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing at her badge. “I saw.”
She clicked her pen. “Ready when you are.”
He nodded once. “Go ahead.”
“How’s the car feeling going into the weekend?”
“Stable,” he said. “Still things to improve, but we’re close.”
She wrote, quick and neat.
“And practice; what’s your focus there?”
“Understanding the car,” he replied. “And how much we can push it.”
His tone was even. Controlled.
Her pen slowed.
He noticed.
“You don’t usually cover this,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“No,” she admitted. “First time.”
He nodded slightly. “I thought so.”
She glanced up. “Is it that obvious?”
“A little,” he said. “You’re listening more than you’re asking.”
She frowned. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s better.”
That made her pause.
She moved on.
“How do you deal with pressure during a race?”
“You don’t remove it,” he said. “You just get used to making decisions with it there.”
She wrote that down carefully.
“And your goal this weekend?”
He looked at her, not the notebook, not the camera.
“Win.”
Simple.
Expected.
Still, the way he said it made it sound less like a goal and more like a fact.
She shifted slightly.
“Do you ever get used to all of this?” she asked. “The pace, the noise?”
“Yes,” he said. “Eventually.”
“And for someone new?”
A small pause.
“You’re doing fine,” he said.
She blinked. “I didn’t ask that.”
“I know.”
There was no smile this time, but something softer in his tone.
She looked down at her notes, then back up again.
“Last question,” she said.
He nodded.
“What should someone new pay attention to?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he studied her, briefly, but not casually.
“Watch how people react,” he said. “Not just what they say.”
Her pen stilled.
“That sounds more like advice for me than the article.”
“It is.”
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“You’ll understand it faster that way.”
-
She closed her notebook. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
She turned-
“If you have more questions,” he said, not raising his voice, “ask me.”
She glanced back.
“Why you?”
He met her eyes.
“Because you’ll get a better answer.”
Not arrogant.
Not soft.
Just certain.
She turned back to leave without looking back at him.
-
The next reporter stepped forward the second Alaine left.
“Alright—quick one,” he said, already flipping through his notes. “How are you approaching tyre degradation for long runs?”
The driver answered immediately. Clean. Technical. Precise.
“Managing temperatures, mostly. It depends on track evolution.”
No pause. No hesitation.
Just like before.
But not quite.
Two reporters standing just outside the barrier exchanged a glance.
“…Did you notice that?” one of them muttered under his breath.
“Yeah,” the other replied quietly. “He doesn’t usually… talk like that.”
“Like what?”
The first reporter tilted his head slightly toward where Alaine had disappeared into the paddock.
“Like he was thinking before answering,” he said. “He’s normally straight to the point.”
Inside the pen, the driver gave another short, textbook response.
Measured. Controlled. Professional.
Back to normal.
“…And he never asks reporters questions,” the second added. “Did you hear him earlier?”
“I caught part of it,” the first said. “Sounded like he was-” he hesitated, searching for the word.
“Trying?” the second offered.
A brief pause.
“…Yeah.”
They watched as the driver gave a short nod to the current interviewer, already shifting his focus, expression settling into something more familiar. Detached. Efficient.
“Strange,” the first reporter murmured.
The second let out a quiet breath. “Not really.”
He glanced once more toward the paddock.
“Just means he noticed her.”
A little further down the corridor, another small group of reporters stood with their phones, quickly typing notes.
“Did he just… compliment her?” one of them said, half-laughing.
“I’ve been covering him for two seasons,” another replied. “I’ve never heard him do that.”
“Maybe he’s working on his media image.”
“Not like that.”
They paused.
One of them glanced up. “Who was she?”
“New, I think,” someone said. “Didn’t recognize her.”
Another reporter smirked slightly. “Figures.”
“Why?”
“Because he looked like he was trying not to say the wrong thing for once.”
That got a quiet chuckle.
“Didn’t work,” someone added.
“No,” the first said. “But it was close.”
-
Back near the interview area, the driver finished his final answer.
“Thanks,” the last reporter said, already stepping away.
He nodded once, polite as ever.
Then, for just a second-
His eyes flicked toward the direction Alaine had gone.
It was subtle. Barely there.
But it didn’t go unnoticed.
“…Yeah,” one of the reporters muttered under his breath.
“That was definitely different.”
-
The paddock felt different in the evening.
Quieter, but not calm. The noise had settled into something lower, engines cooling, distant voices, the occasional sharp clink of tools. The rush had thinned, leaving space that felt… too open.
Alaine kept her head down as she walked.
Her notebook was open in her hands, eyes fixed on the page more than necessary.
Tyre behaviour.
Track evolution.
Watch the people.
She paused at the last line, her grip tightening slightly.
“…Right,” she murmured, more to fill the silence than anything else.
She turned a corner without really looking-
-and stopped.
Her breath caught.
He was there.
Leaning against a barrier, jacket slung over one shoulder, no cameras, no reporters, no one else around him. Just him. Still. Unoccupied.
For a second, she considered turning around.
Pretending she hadn’t seen him.
But it was too late.
He had already noticed her.
“You didn’t get lost,” he said, voice quieter than before.
Alaine forced herself to look up, just briefly. “No.”
She shifted her notebook slightly, like it gave her something to hold onto.
A pause stretched between them.
He didn’t move.
She didn’t either, but only because she wasn’t sure how to leave without making it obvious.
“I was just heading back,” she added quickly.
“Of course,” he said.
He didn’t sound offended. Just… aware.
She nodded once, eyes already dropping back to her notebook, hoping that would be enough to end it.
It wasn’t.
“Did anything make sense?” he asked.
Alaine hesitated.
“…Some of it.”
Her voice came out softer than she intended.
“That’s a start.”
Another pause.
She shifted her weight, taking a small step as if to move past him, but not quite committing.
He noticed.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the notebook.
“I should go,” she said, a little more firmly this time.
She took a step forward.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
Slowly, she turned back.
He hadn’t moved closer. He didn’t block her path. His voice hadn’t been loud, just enough to reach her.
“If you’re still confused about this place,” he said, “you can ask.”
Alaine shook her head almost immediately.
“I’m fine.”
It came out too quickly.
He noticed that too.
“Alright,” he said, but there was a faint hint of something behind it, something that suggested he didn’t quite believe her.
Another pause.
Then, quieter:
“You don’t seem fine.”
Her eyes flicked up, just for a second.
“I am,” she insisted.
A beat.
“I just… prefer to figure things out on my own.”
That part, at least, was true.
He studied her for a moment, not in a way that felt intrusive, but enough to make her more aware of herself than she wanted to be.
“Fair enough,” he said.
She nodded once.
Then, before he could say anything else, she turned and walked past him.
This time, she didn’t hesitate.
Her steps were quicker now, not quite rushed, but deliberate enough to make it clear she wasn’t stopping again.
Behind her, she didn’t hear him follow.
Only the quiet hum of the paddock returning around her.
-
Alaine didn’t slow down until she was well past the corner.
Only then did she stop.
Her shoulders dropped slightly as she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
She looked down at her notebook again.
The words blurred for a second before settling back into focus.
Watch the people.
She stared at the line for a moment longer than necessary.
Then, slowly, she flipped the page.
On a new line, she wrote:
Do not get involved.
They’re trained to charm, and you’ll never know when it’s real.
She hesitated.
Alaine stared at it for a second.
Then she shut the notebook