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Mark was tired.
Tired of the injustice of Formula 1, of Red Bull's attitude, of losing, ultimately. Always second, always in the shadow of Sebastian "Red Bull's Golden Boy" Vettel. How many times did he have chances for the title, when he could have claimed his first championship and forever etched his name into racing history, so many times he let those chances slip away. Somewhere due to team decisions, somewhere due to his own mistakes, which together led to this outcome. But none of it matters anymore, because it never happened, and it never will. Today he will run his last race as a Red Bull driver, and as a Formula 1 driver. It will be over.
Perhaps someday in the future he will return, but to other races. Not here. Not again.
He was ready to leave last year, but the only thing holding him back was Fernando. After another empty season, only he kept him here. But even that wasn't enough anymore. Fernando was a friend, once a teammate, and a person with whom he could talk and lose track of time, but also be silent when needed. There was no awkwardness, tension, or anything else that made the atmosphere uncomfortable, as often happens; there was only calm and silent support.
He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he started to fall in love. It felt as if it had always been with him, so familiar, and most importantly – so right, this love felt. It was already a part of him. It had seeped into his skin, into his thoughts, into his heart – and became a part of his life so naturally that it was impossible to distinguish where he began and where it did. This feeling of eternal warmth and a slight nostalgia that accompanies you wherever you are.
When the Spaniard smiled, looking at him, his chest filled with warmth, and for his honey eyes, he was ready to give the whole world. Mark always just wanted to be happy; he didn't need titles, victories, and all the rest. Yes, he would definitely miss them, the adrenaline and euphoria he got during races or standing on podiums, the feel of the car and the speed, but most of all he would miss one hyperactive Spaniard, and his teasing. Mark wanted to be happy, but without Fernando, it wouldn't happen. Perhaps someday he would gather the courage and tell him about his feelings, or love itself would pass with time, which he strongly doubted.
After the race, Mark took second place in the Grand Prix and third overall in the championship, while his teammate won yet another title. It all turned out pretty well, didn't it? Yes, third place again, but he had already come to terms with it. The only thing that clouded the day was Fernando. Or rather, his possible reaction. The Australian didn't know what exactly he expected to receive. It could be anything. Fernando was a mystery, and no one could ever tell what was going on in his head, not even Mark. The Spaniard could be happy for him, he could be angry – anything, and this uncertainty scared him. He didn't want to lose him.
Standing on the podium, Mark felt pride, joy at sharing it with Fernando, and a certain relief that it was all over. As much as he loved racing, he was glad to turn this page in his life.
After the traditional champagne shower, he leaned against the railing, looking out at the crowd, enjoying the view, when Fernando approached him. For a while, they just stood together, but then he turned to Mark, and his hand rested on his lower back, holding him in place.
Fernando looked surprisingly happy for a man who had just lost the championship again and taken second place. And knowing the man, his character, and how he took all defeats upon himself, as if only he was to blame and not Scuderia "this year is definitely ours" Ferrari, it was even more interesting.
Gesturing for Mark to lean in, which he obediently did, a warm breath touched his ear, and Fernando began to speak:
"Listen, Mark, next season we might be on the same team, can you imagine! Ferrari agreed to it!"
His heart stopped. Seeing such a happy smile on the Spaniard's face, the sparkle in his eyes that hadn't been there for a long time. Everything inside him tightened; he understood that he should have told him long ago, not dragged it out until the very last moment. But... he was too afraid. Apparently, his silence had gone on too long, and Fernando continued:
"Come on, Mark! This is such an opportunity, like in the good old days!"
"Fonz... Listen..."
Fernando stared at him, the smile still plastered on his face, but his gaze held confusion. Damn it, why had he waited so long. A lump formed in his throat, preventing him from finishing.
"I'm leaving. Horner and the others know."
That was it, he'd said it. There was no turning back.
It seemed Fernando hadn't understood what he'd just said, but as emotions flickered across his face, Mark realized it was starting to sink in.
"What? Mark, but why?... Why don't you want to stay with me?"
His voice was quiet, almost pleading, as if the idea of Mark joining him at Ferrari was the only thing keeping him afloat, and now it had all come crashing down.
"Fonz..." Mark shook his head, his heart aching.
But without waiting for a response, he began to pull away. The warmth of his hand vanished, replaced by emptiness and cold.
"Fernando, wait! Hold on!"
Mark grabbed his wrist, trying to hold him in place, but Fernando just pulled his hand away and left without looking back.
He wanted to follow him, to explain everything, but Sebastian jumped onto his shoulders, celebrating his victory. He'd thought about shaking off Vettel and winning for Fernando, but the Spaniard needed to be alone, to calm down, and then they would talk about everything, in silence. Mark would be able to explain his decision and that he wasn't abandoning the Spaniard himself, as Fernando seemed to have interpreted his words.
But only Mark thought that. He needed to think less and act more.
And that's why, after that incident, they didn't see each other, didn't talk, nothing.
Fernando wasn't taking calls, wasn't replying to messages, and wasn't opening his hotel room door.
After a week of such avoidance, Mark even tried asking his friends where Fernando might be and why he wasn't responding, but they didn't know. Only Jenson was left.
"Jens, hi! Have you by any chance heard anything from Fernando? He's not answering his calls." Mark tried to sound casual, to hide the fact that he was beside himself.
"Mark, hello, dear! He said he was going to Spain to see his parents and would turn off his phone."
Pausing, he continued in a more serious tone. "Mark, he was very sad… And it wasn't because of the title, I saw it. Did you do something?"
"What makes you think it was me?!" Damn it, this conversation was starting to wear him out.
"Don't be an idiot, everyone knows for a long time that he's crazy about you!"
"What makes you think that?" No, no, this couldn't be.
"Mark, you're not only an idiot, but you're also blind. Sort out your problems already, huh? You're in love too! Only someone without eyes and a brain wouldn't notice that! But if you upset him even more… I'll tell you later." He hung up, and Mark was left sitting in silence.
Fernando loved him? This… This couldn't be. He couldn't love him.
After several more days of failed attempts to reach him, he finally made up his mind. Mark was going to Spain. He had spent those days lost in thought, reminiscing about him. Fernando's glances and touches that Mark hadn't noticed or pretended not to notice, how Fernando rejoiced in his victories more than his own, and many other things. In the end, he finally agreed with Jenson; perhaps it was mutual. At least, Mark hoped he wasn't mistaken.
He bought tickets for a flight that same day. Quickly packing a sports bag and calling a taxi, he left.
The plane wasn't delayed, and he arrived on time. The entire flight, he couldn't shake the thought that he was mistaken, that he had imagined it, and that he would just make a fool of himself by showing up uninvited. But Fernando wasn't talking to him anyway, so it couldn't get any worse, which was somewhat comforting, but only a little.
Fortunately, Mark remembered where Fernando's parents lived, as he had been there a few times. So, he hailed a cab and headed there.
A middle-aged woman opened the door. She recognized him, though he didn't know how, but as soon as she did, a sweet smile lit up her face.
"¡Fernando, querido, baja, un amigo llegó a verte! ¿Por qué no dijiste que él estaría con nosotros? Le prepararía una habitación"*
Mark understood little, but it seemed they were talking about him. Then, a voice and funny footsteps were heard from upstairs.
"¿Qué? ¿Qué amigo, mamá? Yo no llamé a nadie."
Spotting him, Fernando froze halfway down the stairs and just stared at him, as did Mark. The woman, noticing this, hurried to leave.
"Bueno, chicos, los dejo, sigan conversando. Los llamaré para almorzar."
"¡Gracias, mamá! " Fernando shouted after her, and then turned to Mark.
"Why did you come?"
"Fernando, I wanted to talk. You weren't answering your calls, I thought something had happened."
"Talk? About what?"
Mark hesitated, looking around: his mother was cooking in the kitchen, humming to herself, and his father was sitting in the living room. Too many witnesses to his shame.
"Not here? Please..."
Fernando just nodded and told him to follow him. They went up to the second floor, to his room, and continued.
"So? You left, you abandoned me, why are you here?"
His arms were crossed, his face impassive, but his eyes held something he couldn't decipher. Something on the verge of pain and hope. The sight made Mark's stomach clench. No, he had to end this.
"Fernando, I left racing, not you. I wanted to tell you that day, but you didn't open the door or answer me. Fonzie... I could never leave you. You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. The only thing that kept me in racing for the last couple of seasons was you! But I'm tired, I'm really tired. I want peace. Peace with you, Fernando."
The Spaniard's posture became less tense, his arms dropped to his sides, and tears welled up in his eyes, as they did on the Australian's face, but Mark didn't notice, he continued to speak.
"I want to wake up and fall asleep with you, share a home, get dogs, and just be happy, Fonzie..."
"But... Mark, I won't leave racing, I can't, it's my life."
"I know, Fernando, I always knew that. It's a part of you, and you won't give it up."
Mark walked closer to him and took his hands in his, looking him straight in the eyes.
"But I love you, all of you, every part of you. I can race with you and support you at the Grand Prix. Maybe... Maybe we can try?"
In response, Fernando gently touched Mark's lips, as if trying to convey the depth of his feelings without words. The Australian felt the warmth and the touch, his breath a mixture of excitement and tenderness.
At that moment, their bodies merged into one, both united by a moment of genuine intimacy. The kiss, filled with long-held love, hope, and relief, created a sense of unhurried harmony and trust, as if the whole world was disappearing, leaving only them and their feelings.
"I love you too, Mark. I... I really don't know what came over me. I thought it was the end. I guess I was afraid you didn't want to see me anymore, so I broke it off first. Forgive me, I really didn't want to hurt you. Thank you for coming, I missed you."
Fernando spoke somewhere into Mark's collarbone, his arms wrapped around Mark's waist, while Mark simply held him, stroking his hair.
"It's okay. It's okay, Fonzie... I should have told you right away. Damn it, I'll have to send Jens a fruit basket."
Fernando hummed questioningly.
"He's the one who told me where you were, and then... You could say he opened my eyes."
"That idiot, I asked him not to tell anyone, but alright, thank you, he deserves it. And that's that."
A light laugh filled the room. Mark was happy now, and that was the least that could be said.
Mark had retired to find a quiet place with Alonso, but Fernando was never the quiet place Mark had sought.
He was a hurricane, an endless stream of emotions, a constant drive to win and move forward no matter what, full of a determination and resilience that Mark lacked to continue. Fernando kept going, even after many years, he still tried to win, even if it didn't quite work out. And Mark... Mark was always with him, sharing his podiums, his defeats, and his dreams.
He was and remains everything.
Mark retired, hoping to find a quiet place with Alonso. What he discovered, however, was far greater. He found a world where he feels truly happy, a place that will always embrace him, offer help and solace, and never turn him away.
Indeed, it was loud, it was passionate, often complex to grasp, and at times utterly frustrating, with its share of setbacks and issues. Yet, it was his, and Mark's joy knew no bounds.