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Monza, Italian GP 2021.
After the sprint race results in Daniel on P2 and Max P1, Daniel doesn’t know how to not scream.
It’s like they both are repeating the same position in reverse, back in the same circuit but different year. 2018 in Italy was one of their many highlights together that year.
Daniel is fucking smiling ear to ear every time something resembles to his years in Red Bull, with a kid he almost considered shy and cocky. What famous last words.
Now he’s back at his designated orange and black motorhome, trying not to remember the way his Red Bull’s one looked before. He likes papaya color like his team McLaren now, but navy blue always hits different that could remind him of something not related to motorsport at all, like the way he swims through the lagoons he already came across his hometown Perth, the way his favorite joggers always had, and the way somebody’s eyes were.
Well, not that dark blue, he remembers.
So, to celebrate and reunite the same feeling he had, he asks McLaren’s communication manager to give him permission. He’s successful. Now, with a little jog and a party shirt, he knocks on Max’s motorhome backdoor with the biggest smile he’s ever managed. There’s a faint shout from the inside, and Daniel couldn’t resist the burst when the door clicks open. He outstretches both hands to Max’s firm figure and draws him in. While dipping his face in the crook of Max’s neck, he then pats Max on the back, “Good job, good job.”
Max is looking a bit disoriented, apparently from the height differences. “Ah, yes yes, good job to you too mate.”
Daniel lets his chin brush Max’s nape a little longer, before finally draws out. “Remember Monza 2018? It’s like we’re in reverse now.”
Max is suddenly beaming at the mention of that. “Oh yes! We’re in the same positions, I’m P2 you’re P1. This time’s the opposite.”
Daniel is even more beaming when Max remembers. “We could cheer on that.”
“Well…” Max’s eyes look unfocused while still holding the door out. He doesn’t exactly let him in, now that Daniel realized. “… Kelly’s here. So maybe—”
“It’s alright,” Daniel manages to cut Max out of good will, “just keep pushing tomorrow ‘kay? See ya on the grid.”
Daniel lets himself peeled from Max’s ghosted touches when a hand is pulling his wrist. “No. I mean, she’s here but doesn’t exclusively come for me, so we can hang.”
Daniel is a bit shocked at that. Despite the happy interjection, he still wants to make sure. “No one’s here?” his eyes fleeting to Max’s back. And when Max shakes his head eagerly, Daniel is at loss.
He can celebrate the way he wants; and the way they always have.
As the door clicks shut, Daniel is even more at loss when he knows the world is not gonna see him for another hour. And he fucking relishes that.
Because, when the reunion started, the beers exchanged, the gazes heated up and the bed creaked, he knows he’s relieved. More than tomorrow’s possible outcomes. More than his own miserable races before this fucking highlight sprint.
He knows he could still compete with his former teammate, while possible butterflies feeling in the stomach argue with that.
Under the dim lights, Daniel looks at Max in the same way he was when they were still teammates. Different times, but same circumstances. But, what’s more different is not the warmth they’re created, but the simple, almost overlooked thing Daniel finds different.
He almost finds nothing bright blue in Max’s eyes. Instead, they are looking deeper and darker.
It fucking clicks Daniel; now he’s sure that navy blue is his lifetime favorite color, even if it’s still related to motorsport. But well, his navy blue this time doesn’t have to be related to motorsport either. It can be longer than his career.
Because his navy blue now is home.