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Esteban looked across the garage at Ollie. The rookie was pale, unusually so. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and there was a slight shiver to him. He had attempted to ask the kid if he had felt sick, but Ollie had been so busy, hopping from obligation to obligation, and suddenly they were prepping for the race.
Esteban worried for him. He tried to look out for Ollie in a way that he never received as a young, excitable driver.
Outside, it had begun to rain. They had predicted this; the forecast hours earlier had changed dramatically. There was potential for a delay if it continued to get heavier. However, for the time being, the drivers all jumped into their cars and got ready. Esteban watched Ollie grip the halo tightly to keep himself stable as he swung his leg in.
Then his team were urging him to get into the car too, and Esteban could no longer think about it.
The formation lap began after a lot of umming and ahing about whether the race should be postponed. Esteban had hoped it would be, in the midfield he was struggling to see with the spray shooting up from the tyres. Around them, rain tipped down, threatening to only get worse as time dragged on.
Then he made a mistake. It was so small. With the weather, he hadn't even been going that fast, but he lost grip around a corner and was trying to correct himself. The car spun. Esteban gripped the steering wheel and braced as he slammed into the wall.
"Fuck," he muttered over the radio, frustration coating his words, "Fuck. Sorry guys."
He could tell, by the scattered pieces, that the car wouldn't be in a condition to drive again. Everyone went back to the garage and was told that, because of the heavier rain expected to hit them in about ten minutes, there would now be a delay. It gave the team enough time to bring in Esteban's car and survey the damage.
It wasn't looking good.
Esteban groaned and ran a hand through his damp hair. It had been a minuscule, stupid mistake that had lost him the chance to race. There was nothing he could do, so with a heavy sigh, he headed back to his driver's room. He made sure to issue apology after apology to the team, ignoring the comments that pitied him. He didn't need pity. It was a rookie move—
Speaking of rookies, it gave Esteban the perfect opportunity to check on Ollie.
He was glad that he did.
Tapping his knuckles against the door to the driver's room, he called out to his teammate. "Ollie? Are you there? It is me, Esteban."
Slowly, the door squeaked open, just a crack, to reveal Ollie. He still looked pale. A thin sheen of sweat flushed against his skin. "What's up? Sorry about the car, the conditions are—"
"You cannot race like that," Esteban cut in, forcing the door open despite the protest that came from Ollie in the form of a yelp. He stumbled backwards, a deer in headlights as he stood in the centre of the room.
"What do you mean—" then, as if to accentuate the point, Ollie broke out into a fit of sneezes.
"You're sick."
"No, I'm fine. I swear!"
"Who cleared you to race?" Esteban could feel an anger bubble up. Not directed at Ollie, of course, but rather someone else on the team. Whoever had decided that Ollie was in a state to race. "You are sick, Ollie," he continued. "You are shivering. Look deathly pale. I was worried about you earlier, but now, up close, I can see—"
That was the moment Ollie promptly burst into tears.
"I'm sorry!" He babbled. "The team said— I didn't want to let anyone down, it's my first season! I was fine in qualifying, but I couldn't— and the team said—"
"Hey, hey, Ollie, breathe. Breathe with me, okay?" He moved Ollie to the sofa. "Let's sit down and breathe. Can you do that for me?"
Ollie sniffled loudly, but thankfully followed along with Esteban. Eventually, when slightly calmer, he wiped away his tears, "Sorry. I— I don't know what that was."
"Nonsense. You are ill. Being sick makes you more emotional; that is okay."
"Are you going to tell the team?"
"Ollie," he said, soft but serious, "I have to. You are in no state to race; it would be stupid and dangerous to do so."
"But what about—"
"No one on the team will be annoyed, alright? And if they are, you just tell me and I'll get them fired." Ollie laughed at that. Esteban added, "Everyone gets sick, even the most experienced drivers. You cannot help it, and the team would much rather you be safe than risk it all out there."
"Okay." Ollie sounded defeated; he curled slightly in on himself.
Esteban formed a plan. He stood up, "Pack your things and get changed. We're going."
"We?"
"Yes, we," he reiterated by gesturing back and forth between them both. "Not as if I have a car to drive anyway. If they want me to do interviews, then they can drag me there themselves. But for now, I'm going to tell the team that you are not fit to race and then we're getting out of here."
He left Ollie before the younger man could argue. He then made a quick stop to inform the rest of the team of his decision, and when no one openly disagreed, he happily went back to his own driver's room to strip from his race suit and slip into something more comfortable.
By the time Esteban got back to him, Ollie was ready, engulfed in a large hoodie. The hood had been pulled up over his head, a tuft of brown curls poking out from underneath it. Wordlessly, they made their way to a car that someone from the team had kindly sorted out for them. Esteban slipped into the driver's seat, and Ollie sat next to him on the passenger side.
When they got to the hotel, Ollie seemed unsure whether to follow or not. "Come on," Esteban encouraged, "We will go to my room."
Once settled in the room, Esteban motioned to the bed, practically tackling Ollie to get him tucked under the covers. "It's mid-afternoon, Esteban. We do not need to sleep." Ollie's voice was obviously nasally now that the sound of rain and the murmurs of the garage had been muted
"You are ill, you're allowed to sleep whenever you want."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I'll sleep with you, of course."
"Wha—" Ollie blushed, cheeks reddening. "Esteban!"
"Yes?" Then the connotations of his words dawned on him. "Ollie! Not like that! I mean literally sleep with you. I always found comfort when someone would lie next to me when I was ill. Do you not want me to? It is fine if you don't."
"No… actually, that sounds quite nice."
"Exactly!"
"But," Ollie's voice trailed off. He shuffled over so there was space for Esteban to lie down next to him. Whilst Ollie was under the covers, Esteban made a point to lie on top of them.
"But?" Esteban prompted.
"Well, why are you doing all of this for me?"
"Because I want to," he said. Plain and simple. Esteban would've loved to have supportive teammates when he had first started, but he and the other rookies around that time weren't so lucky. Now, the times had changed. Drivers were more open, a friendly face for each other rather than outright competition.
"Oh," Ollie said quietly.
"I want to look out for you, okay?" Esteban told him. "You're a rookie. You shouldn't feel like you have to go through all of this alone."
Silence stretched on. For a moment, Esteban was certain that Ollie had shut his eyes and already drifted off to sleep. However, in the quiet of the hotel room, for only the two of them to hear, Ollie spoke. "I don't feel alone, just to let you know. And I have you to thank for that."
"Good. I am glad."
Then they settled down again. Ollie pulled the duvet around himself even tighter, and eventually he fell asleep, snores filling the space. Esteban, despite the adrenaline from today, was quick to follow.