Chapter Text
Daniel was back.
Not behind the wheel, not lighting up the timing screens, not the way he used to be — but back all the same. This time, a mic in his hand, a grin stretched over nerves he couldn't quite shake, and a "media guest" badge swinging around his neck. Just hanging around the paddock, asking drivers silly questions, cracking jokes for the cameras. Easy. Light. Harmless.
Except it didn’t feel harmless when he caught sight of Max Verstappen twenty feet away and forgot how to breathe.
Max didn’t even look at him. Not really. A stiff nod, a glance that slid off Daniel like he wasn’t even there, before he disappeared into the Red Bull garage. Daniel stood there, feeling that hollow thump in his chest again — the one that had started the second he stepped back into this world he used to call home.
Maybe it was normal. Maybe everyone felt this way after being gone so long. Two years was a long time. Long enough for things to change, for people to move on. Daniel knew that. He knew that.
Still, the ache didn't listen to reason.
He missed so much.
Pulling the mic tighter in his hand, Daniel plastered on his best smile and headed toward the next interview.
It was fine.
It was all fine.
He was here to laugh, to be the friendly face people remembered. Not to dig into old wounds he didn’t even remember getting.
And certainly not to get his heart broken by someone who looked at him like a stranger.
Daniel slipped back into it like he’d never left.
One by one, the drivers stopped to greet him — grins wide, arms pulling him into quick hugs, jokes flying fast and easy.
Lando punched his shoulder and called him an old man. Carlos laughed so hard he nearly dropped his water bottle when Daniel teased him about finally learning how to smile.
Charles beamed like he couldn’t believe Daniel was real, tapping his chest and saying, “Good to see you back, mate, really.”
It was good. It was normal. Like nothing had changed and he hadn’t missed two whole years .
Almost.
Because every time Daniel caught sight of Max out of the corner of his eye, that good feeling cracked a little more.
Max stood a little apart, headphones hanging around his neck, arms folded like a wall Daniel wasn’t meant to climb. He’d nod politely if Daniel got too close, but there was no easy smile, no teasing shove, none of the warmth Daniel half-expected without even knowing why.
It stung.
It stung worse than it should’ve.
But Daniel laughed through it. Shouted across the paddock at George. Took selfies with fans. Made fun of Lando’s haircut. Threw himself into the moments that didn’t hurt.
Because if there was one thing he still knew how to do, it was fake a smile until it almost felt real.
Almost.
Later, when the buzz of the paddock dimmed and most of the drivers had disappeared behind closed motorhome doors, Daniel sat alone on a low wall near the media center.
Feet dangling. Mic abandoned somewhere beside him.
He didn’t even realize he was staring off into space until someone cleared their throat nearby.
“Mate,” Nico Rosberg said, dropping onto the wall beside him with a soft grunt, “you look like a kicked puppy.”
Daniel startled a little, laughing weakly. “Thanks, man. Real confidence boost.”
Nico grinned, but there was something knowing in his eyes, something too sharp to brush off.
“You know," Nico said, nudging Daniel's knee lightly, "back in the day, I used to look just like you. Moping around the paddock, watching Lewis out of the corner of my eye like a lovesick idiot. Took me five bloody years to pull my head out of my ass and tell him how I felt.”
Daniel blinked, thrown. “You and Lewis?”
Nico shrugged, casual like he hadn't just dropped a nuclear bomb into Daniel’s brain. “Yeah. Didn’t exactly advertise it back then. But point is — you, my friend, have that same look. That sad, heart-eyes look. It's pathetic. Just go tell them already. Whoever they are."
He said it with a wink, like he knew exactly who Daniel hadn’t been able to stop watching all day.
Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it again. The words got stuck somewhere in his throat.
“I’m not— it’s not—” he stammered, flushing hot.
Nico laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, you’re sitting here like a man who's already lost before the race even started.”
And with that, Nico hopped off the wall and disappeared into the night, leaving Daniel alone with nothing but the heavy thump of his own heart and the stupid, inescapable thought:
What if he was right?
…………………………………………
Daniel wasn’t great at listening to advice, but something about Nico’s words lodged in his brain like a stubborn stone.
Maybe it was the way he said it — easy, offhand, like love wasn’t this big terrifying thing Daniel had built it up to be.
Maybe it was the loneliness clawing at him every time Max walked by without looking his way.
Either way, by the next morning, Daniel had made up his mind.
He was going to talk to Max.
No grand declarations or anything — he wasn't that stupid. Just... something. A conversation. A start.
He caught Lando near the McLaren motorhome, still pulling off his fireproofs after practice, hair a sweaty, chaotic mess under his cap.
If anyone knew how Max was doing these days, it was Lando. The kid had been practically glued to Max’s side during the years Daniel had missed.
"Hey, mate," Daniel said, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking on his heels. "Quick question — think Max would, uh, be open to a little chat later? Y'know, catching up and stuff you know about ….dating?"
Lando paused, towel halfway to his face, and gave him a look — a complicated mess of sympathy and oh no.
It made Daniel’s stomach sink instantly.
"Dan," Lando said carefully, like he was handling something fragile, "I don’t know if that’s...the best idea right now."
Daniel forced a laugh. "C’mon, it’s just a date. What’s the worst that could happen? No?"
Lando grimaced. "It’s not you, okay? It’s just...Max is still kinda...nursing a broken heart."
He said it fast, like ripping off a band-aid. "He’s still hung up on his ex. Big time. Like, really in love. Hasn’t gotten over it."
Daniel's heart twisted in a way that made him feel vaguely sick.
"Oh," he said, trying to keep his voice light. "Yeah, no worries, mate. I get it."
Lando hesitated, then added, almost like he hated himself for saying it,
"If you really wanna impress him...you gotta be better than whoever he still loves. Otherwise—"
He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.
"Otherwise you're just gonna get hurt."
Daniel swallowed hard, his hands curling tighter in his pockets.
Better than Max’s ex.
Someone Max still loves.
"Yeah," Daniel said, forcing a smile. "Better. Right. Easy."
But inside, something crumpled.
.....
Author’s Note:
Hey hey! Just popping in before you dive into this emotional rollercoaster to say one very important thing: there is absolutely NO cheating in this story and no jealous EX — pinky swear, cross my heart, dramatic tear down the cheek and all.
I know the premise might make your heart race in the “oh no not this trope again” way, but trust me, this isn’t that kind of angst. This is the slow-burn, heartache, healing, soulmates-who-find-each-other-again kind of love story. And I promise — it will be worth it.
So buckle in, grab tissues (and snacks), and believe in the boys and the mess they have to wade through to find their way back to each other.
Thanks for being here ❤️
– Ria