Chapter Text
It was a simply lovely winter morning in the Abu Dhabi paddock. People milled about, chattering in excitement about the upcoming race- The Finale. The 2025 Formula One season had been long and grueling, and everyone, from drivers to mechanics, was looking forward to the long winter break coming up. It was currently Thursday- aka media day- but this Thursday was special; it was the day of the drivers' dinner. George Russell looked forward to the annual get-together every year, but this year was particularly exciting, as there was an actual championship fight to discuss.
George walked through the paddock, adorned in his white Mercedes Adidas shirt and black pants. He noticed M*x Verstappen talking to some mechanics nearby. His nostrils flared in annoyance at the mere sight of him; Max and George still hadn't solved their issues after what happened in Qatar last year. After they had 'lost all respect' for each other. George shuddered as he remembered last year's dinner, when the other drivers had wanted him to sit next to Max. He was both proud and slightly embarrassed at his reaction: pulling the chair away and sitting at the opposite end of the table. He prayed that there wouldn't be a repeat of that tonight...
George finally reached the Mercedes motorhome, walking in cheerily, feeling invincible and optimistic for the race, and looking forward to the winter break. He spotted Kimi and jogged over to him, and they began filming some TikTok for the Merc socials.
"Okay- Kimi just open your fingers like this," gestured the Mercedes admin with his own fingers. Kimi did as instructed, widening his index and thumb in front of the camera lens.
"Come here George, right in front of the lens, yes tilt your head..."
George followed admin's instructions as well, curious to see the results of the filming.
Once it was done, admin showed them the footage.
Kimi snorted as the video played, doubling over from laughter, "Mate! You look terrifying," he squeaked between giggles.
George shook his head playfully as he watched the video playing over the song 'Ocean eyes'. He nudged Kimi, jokingly telling him to respect his elders.
The day carried on with the same optimistic and cheerful vibe. It was kind of like the last day of school, where there's an air of relief and extreme hopefulness all throughout the day- at least that's what Kimi said, speaking from experience and all. George participated in interviews, sat through the press conference with Charles and Isack, and filmed a YouTube short about the team's favorite Christmas songs (he didn't know any but pretended to). At last, it was time to get ready for the drivers' dinner.
George went back to his hotel room, and unlocked his phone once he reached it. The F1 drivers group chat was filled with messages. George rolled his eyes for the millionth time as he saw the name of the group chat- 'Racers before Chasers 😘🤤'- and opened WhatsApp to read the many messages.
Racers before Chasers 😘🤤
Banana Leclerc: guys. we should all match!
Carlos: Match what?
Banana Leclerc: i mean wear matching clothes for the dinner. it will be cute 🤭
Pierre (future friend): lmao.
Banana Leclerc: good idea or non?
Liam (don't eat his skin!): Alrighty... what should we wear...
Gabriel Borteleto: mate why are you typing dot dot dot??
Banana Leclerc: something we all have! maybe a white shirt
Esteban: Sounds good to me! 😊👌
Carlos: Anything for you, Charles.
Albono: i agree- not with carlos's weird devotion lol but with the idea!
Liam (don't eat his skin!): Okay...
Gabriel Borteleto: for fucks sake stop with the ... 🤬
Gabriel Borteleto: oh wait can i swear or are there fia spies here? george?
Gabriel Borteleto: anyway i think it is a good idea i will wear a white shirt
Ollie: 𝒸𝒾𝒶𝑜; 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁𝓎
Albono: holy cow what is that font mate?
George laughed into his sleeve and finally decided to join in the conversation.
Me: Forget the font- what is that punctuation?!
Albono: you hypocrite '?!' isn't correct punctuation either!
Me: 🙄
Me: I will be wearing a white shirt.
Franco Colapinto: is it okaay if my shiirt haas a bit of bluue around the edges?
Ollie: 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝒶𝓈?
Banana Leclerc: i'd have to have a look "Fraanco"
Gabriel Borteleto: why does he text with double letters? what the fuck is up with this chat 😭😭
Fernando (phone case buddy 💖): Why are you crying, Gabi?
Gabriel Borteleto: mate you are old
Fernando (phone case buddy 💖): 👎👊🖕😂
Liam (don't eat his skin!): That just proves his point...
Sir Lewis Hamilton aka My Idol: Man, I'll wear a white shirt. I'm so grateful I have one, hehe. It will be a bit different though, heehee. I'm grateful for the men back at the factory who made this white cotton shirt. I knew it'd come in handy, man. Peace, with love and gratitude, Lewis Hamilton, 8 time formula one world champion.
George's eyes turned into love hearts as he read over Lewis's message, his respect for him increasing if that was even possible. He gasped slightly at '8 time world champion'- Lewis was being cheeky! He reacted to Lewis's text with a heart eyed emoji which mirrored his current expression.
Fernando (phone case buddy 💖): LuLu, why are you signing off. This isn't gmail. And you have 7 WDCs.
George turned off his phone to start getting ready for the dinner, but glanced at it as it buzzed again.
Albono
Albono: holy glaze georgie
Me: What?
Albono: heart eyes for lewis? seriously? 😂
Me: 🙄
Then George actually switched his phone off because the clock was ticking and he still hadn't begun getting ready. He showered and did his skincare (nothing extreme), blow dried his hair, and contemplated his wardrobe to see what he had that would fit the dress code. He settled on a crisp white button-down shirt paired with dark beige khakis. He ironed the clothes, dressed up, and did a once over in the mirror. Perfect. He sprayed a bit of perfume, twirling through the scented mist, then slipped on a watch, socks, and loafers, and exited his hotel room at a brisk pace, looking forward to chattering with Alex and the others.
He entered his navy blue Mercedes-AMG ONE hypercar, and made his way to Alex's hotel to pick him up. As he waited at the entrance of the hotel Alex was staying at, he wondered how the race on Sunday would go- they still hadn't done practice obviously, so he had no idea about their pace. Qatar wasn't the best weekend, so he hoped Abu Dhabi would fare better, to end the season on a high note and all. His train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the passenger window.
"Oi, open up!" Alex screeched with a grin.
George unlocked the door, and as Alex stepped inside, George laughed.
"Look at us- soulmates I guess," George chuckled, referencing the fact that they were both wearing the exact same outfit.
Alex laughed along, and the ride to the restaurant was comforting and fun. When they reached the fancy building, both drivers exited and stepped inside.
Everyone was already there- apart from Fernando, Lance, and Nico- and they were all lounging around a long rectangular table.
"Evening everyone! I hope we're not too late," George greeted.
As Carlos assured him that they weren't late, George glanced around the table and looked at everybody's outfit. Apparently, not everyone got the memo about the dress code, as Oscar, Lando, Yuki, Max, Isack, and Kimi were not wearing white shirts. Pierre, George noticed, was sporting a grey hoodie, even though George was sure he'd read the dress code.
"Oh not you too," Oscar grumbled as he spotted George and Alex, "Everyone's wearing white or black, and I'm the only one wearing burgundy."
George chuckled good naturedly. "At least Pierre's wearing grey."
Oscar scoffed playfully. "At least," he repeated with a grin.
Yuki chimed in by saying, "I didn't get the memo either!"
"That's why I didn't wear a white shirt. For you, love," Pierre said to Yuki.
Everyone settled in, menus were brought out, and food was ordered. Lewis in particular ordered practically the whole menu, calling out the food names like he was the one who was going to pay. As they waited for the food, they talked good naturedly, the atmosphere calm and comfortable.
After a while, the food was served. Steaming piles of noodles and dumplings sat upon literal silver trays, the steam wafting from them delicious in itself. Steamed golden buns surrounded the platter, inviting and warm. Rice and chicken with some sort of glazed sauce atop beckoned them forward, its smell appetizing. The food was way too much, and they couldn't wit to dig in.
The drivers ate hungrily, finally tasting real food after a season filled with diet-strict "meals". George savored the taste of the dynamite shrimp, his mouth watering as he bit a piece. He saw Lando next to him flinch at the sight of a plate of fish, and couldn't help but push the plate closer. All in all, the food was delicious, and soon, they were all full and content.
"Is there room for dessert?" Kimi asked. Everyone stared at him in shock, wondering how he had space after the feast they had just devoured. "What?!" he said defensively, arms raised.
Max smiled at him. "I guess we can order some fortune cookies," he compromised.
George rolled his eyes. He'd been trying to ignore Max all night, and it had been working- until now.
Max noticed his apparently not-very-well-hidden eyeroll, "What is it George?" he asked sharply.
George sighed and said nothing, not wanting to make a scene. But Max didn't back down. "What, George? Spit it out. Don't go all PR trained on me now."
George whipped his head around to glare at Max, appalled. "How dare you," he hissed at him, voice low.
"Why did you roll your eyes."
"Not everything is about you, Max. It's none of your business."
"Yeah, right. First spreading lies about me to the media, now lashing out at me."
George didn't miss his own words being used against him, and his temper quickly rose. "Fine," he gritted out, teeth ground together, "I think you're being two-faced by acting all kind to the rookies. Stop the act."
Max laughed. Actually laughed. Like what George said wasn't to be taken seriously.
"You idiot," Max muttered, shaking his head, "Unlike you, I don't put on performances. I do what I mean to do. I'm kind to the rookies because I want to be. You, of course, wouldn't understand."
George's fist clenched at the insults thrown at him. In his peripheral vision, he saw Lando hand Alex a tenner. "Told ya," he heard Alex whisper victoriously. Oh, they were betting on him, were they? Those bastards.
George ignored the apparent casino around him, focusing on the smug asshole currently in view. But before he could utter a savage comeback, a Chinese woman approached their table.
"Cookie?" the woman asked with a smile. George ignored her, determined to not look away from Max's withering stare.
"Cookie?" the woman repeated, impatience lacing her tone, though the smile still occupied her wrinkled face.
George finally turned to face her- and so did Max, so George didn't lose the staring contest- and looked at the tray she was holding. It was silver and flat, and only two fortune cookies laid on its surface. George was confused as to why there were only two cookies rather than one for each driver, and why she was giving them to George and Max rather than Kimi, who ordered them.
"This isn't really a good time," George said, itching to continue his argument with Max.
"No, it's a good time," the Chinese woman insisted. She gestured pointedly between the two of them, but George didn't understand why.
George decided that taking the cookie as soon as possible meant he could go back to arguing sooner rather than later, so he thanked the woman and took a cookie. Max followed his lead, grabbing the other fortune cookie. The woman grinned evilly and retreated.
George turned his head around to look back at Max, who was already giving him a death glare. George kind of forgot what they were arguing about, but he didn't forget the rage that took control of him whenever he looked at Max. "Stop pretending, Max. I'm so sick and tired of you trying to be the center of attention wherever you go! Give us all a break and keep to the sidelines for once," George exclaimed.
"Jealous much?" Max bit out, attempting nonchalance, but George didn't miss the bite in his tone.
George was drained from the little debacle they had just performed. He didn't want to look at the other drivers to see their reactions. They were probably shocked at their immature behavior. Or worse, laughing at them. Instead, he glanced at the fortune cookie still in his hand. Apparently Max had gotten the same idea, as he was also inspecting it. George cracked open the baked good, hoping Kimi will forgive him for stealing his cookie, and took out the slip of paper. The printed text on the paper read:
'A journey soon begins,
its prize reflected in another's eyes.
When what you see is what you lack
then selfless love will change you back'
"What the fuck does that mean?" George heard Max mutter to himself. George was thinking the exact same thing. Before either of them could dwell on it, the entire restaurant began shaking. George glanced around, panicked.
"What the fuck?" he exclaimed. What was going on? The plants on the table fell, as did a random wall tile. The lights flickered ominously, and a random fork flew. George held on to the dining table, watching as Max clutched the wall behind him. George couldn't see anyone other than Max, who was nearest to him. Despite his better judgement, he inched towards Max, desperate in the moment. As suddenly as it had started, the shaking stopped.
George blushed as he realized how close he was to Max. "You okay?" he asked, hoping to bring Max's attention away from George's reaction.
"Yeah," he replied, shaken.
"What the fuck just happened?" Yuki screamed into the air.
Pierre rolled his eyes and shushed his boyfriend, but was also looking confused himself, talking in hushed tones with Esteban. Everyone was in a state of disarray at what had just happened. Gabi and Liam had hidden under the table in panic, tangled with each other, but quickly jumped apart. Oscar had fallen into Lando's arms and was attempting an escape, but Lando clutched him tightly. Charles had actually fainted in fear, and Carlos splashed a glass of cold water on his face to wake him up. Lewis was... smiling? What the fuck? Kimi was sulking about having lost his fortune cookies, and Ollie was comforting him, glaring at George and Max.
George got up and stepped outside of the private dining room of the restaurant. He glanced about, mouth hanging slightly open; everyone was calm and composed, going about their day, as if nothing had just happened. He heard footsteps beside him, Max coming into view.
"Huh?" he mumbled, staring around in confusion. Did an earthquake not just happen? George leaned against the wall behind him, his thoughts jumbled up and trying to figure out what just happened.
"You felt that too right?" he asked Max meekly.
"Yeah, of course. I don't understand how it's normal out here though," Max supplied. At least George wasn't going crazy then. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. But Max had other plans: he approached a random man sitting at the table in front of them.
"Excuse me, sir? Did you just feel an earthquake?" Max asked the stranger. The man looked at him like he was crazy.
"There wasn't an earthquake..." the man said, looking around in fear. George would've stopped Max, had the scene not been amusing. And he was also curious.
"Yes there was!" Max insisted, his eyes wild. The man stood up, apparently thinking Max some kind of nutjob (George had to agree) and called a waiter.
"How can I help you?" the waiter asked politely.
The man's legs shook as he pointed to Max. "This man is saying there was an earthquake. He's a maniac!"
"No he's not- I mean, maybe-" George input, which probably didn't help Max's case.
"The waiter looked at Max, then at George. Apparently, he took George's "maybe" as confirmation that Max was, in fact, a maniac, and promptly called security.
"This is all a big misunderstanding!" George wailed, which only made security run towards them faster. Max glared at George, and George glared back.
The security man was buff, bigger than George and Max combined. He carried them both, one in each pot-lid sized hand, and comically dragged them out of the restaurant in shame. George considered pulling his 'Do You Know Who I Am?™' card, but didn't want to tarnish his reputation further, so he just relaxed into the guards deathly grip. Max attempted thrashing about, but quickly gave up. The security guard reached the door in a matter of seconds, and exchanged Max from his right hand to his left hand in order to free up a hand to push open the door. So now Max and George were being carried in the same hand. Holy fuck.
It was pouring outside, Abu Dhabi humid as ever, yet the guard still deposited them without a care in the world. He let go of their collars and they dropped to the wet asphalt in a pile of limbs, George landing atop Max. The guard immediately shut the door behind them.
"Fucking pathetic," George muttered as he stood upright, dusting his once white shirt off. So much for Charles's dress code. Max stood up too, muttering a string of curses under his breath. They stood face to face, glaring at each other even after all this. The contrast was almost funny. George in his white shirt and dark khakis, Max in his black shirt and white pants. They were polar opposites in every way. The only thing they had in common was the matching glare adorning both their faces.
As he was staring daggers at Max, George zoned out for a bit. What should they do now? Do they just walk home and leave the dinner or do they somehow sneak back into the restaurant in shame and explain themselves to the other drivers. George cringed internally at the thought of Alex's relentless teasing and Lewis's disappointed gaze.
Suddenly, the door opened, saving George from his nightmares. A laugh diffused in the air around them. It was Oscar, apparently very amused at their shenanigans.
"What happened here?" he snorted. Max side-eyed him, unimpressed by how funny he was finding all this.
"Whatever," Max grumbled. "I don't wanna talk about it," he added firmly.
George smiled, suddenly aware of how ridiculous the night had been. And what was up with that random earthquake that apparently no one had felt?
"Oscar, you felt the earthquake, right?" George asked, desperate to know whether he was imagining things.
"Yeah, of course. Weird, that was"
Thank God. He wasn't crazy. Or 17 people had hallucinated an earthquake simultaneously. Same difference.
Soon after, the other drivers piled out of the restaurant. Pierre had payed the bill, grumbling good naturedly about Lewis ordering the entire menu. Takeaway boxes were distributed between people, and all too soon, everyone said their goodbyes and headed their separate ways. George and Alex hopped inside George's navy blue Mercedes, and George immediately turned the heater on, hoping to dry himself a bit.
"So... that was an interesting dinner," Alex prompted with a mischievous grin. George rolled his eyes, mentally prepared for Alex's teasing.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, though he couldn't quite hide his smile.
The drive to Alex's hotel was short but filled with laughter and joking. They teased each other, commented on the other driver's clothes, gossiped the way only old friends can. After he dropped Alex off, George made his way back into his own hotel room, exhausted yet satisfied. Sure, the day had been weird and annoying because of Max, but he'd had fun with his mates, and was looking forward to Fp1 and 2 tomorrow. As he unlocked the room door, he contemplated whether he should shower or just sleep fully clothed. He tried passing out immediately, but ultimately couldn't, so freshened up and put on a pair of fresh plaid pajamas, then collapsed into a dream-filled sleep.
The morning sun cut through George's eyelids, waking him up from whatever weird dream he'd been enjoying. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion; he was sure he closed the blinds fully the previous night. Well, maybe the sun was just that strong. They were in Abu Dhabi after all. George sat up, grogginess replaced by optimism; this was it, the last weekend of the season. It was bittersweet, as he was going to miss the rush of racing in the next few months, but he needed the break. He climbed out of bed, making his way to the en suite bathroom. He picked up his toothbrush and was just about to let it enter his mouth, when he caught sight of his reflection- and screamed. He screamed so loud the birds on the roof of the hotel flew away hurriedly. The scream echoed and echoed but kept going, high-pitched and terrified. Because there, looking back at him in the mirror, was Max Verstappen. George punched the mirror, but Max stayed even though the cracked glass. George inspected his face, turning it around slowly, screaming and gasping all the while. Mirror Max moved along with him, screamed and gasped with him. George looked down at his hands- or, where his hands should've been- but instead of his long and cared-for fingers there were blunt and short ones. He brought up one of 'his' hands to his face, testing it out. He found stubble and stifled another scream.
What. The. Actual. Fuck. Why was he in Max Verstappen's body. How the fuck was this real? He pinched himself like he saw people in movies do when they thought they were dreaming. He was still Max. He shut his eyes, opened them again. He was still Max. He paced around the bathroom, banged his head on the sink, stopped for a breath. He. Was. Still. Max. George screamed one last time before he fell to the floor and went unconscious.