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It was terrifying. To the point of horror, to the point where your hands shake and you can't draw a breath. His vision went blurry almost instantly. Oliver could only feel the car hurtling across the track toward the barrier, slamming into it with brutal force, every organ in his body crushed. With a power he had never felt before. His knee slammed especially hard against the inside of the cockpit, and the Brit let out a hiss of pain, cursed under his breath, and still tried to get up, to climb out of the car.
Luckily, he managed.
But the moment he put his foot on the gravel – his ankle twisted, and only by sheer luck did he stay on his feet. His head was spinning disgustingly, his knee hurt so badly that he was practically hopping on one leg – only to collapse anyway. He sat right down on the ground, yanked off his helmet, and bent his leg slightly. Everything still swimming before his eyes, he tried to nod at the marshals asking if he was okay, and wiped his tears on the sleeve of his race suit.
The thing was, nothing was okay. Nothing at all.
It had been a completely disastrous weekend. Problems in first practice, in third practice, crashing out in the very first segment of qualifying – okay, he could accept that. He could psych himself up for better. Because he knew how to overtake, and he knew he could fight his way forward. When you start the season in the points and sitting fifth in the standings – you want to keep that level. Of course, Bearman was a realist; he knew he wouldn't hold onto fifth forever. But fuck – to go out of the race because of that regulation, because of Franco's super-clipping that left him zero options... It was disgusting. No one was really to blame for that, when you thought about it. Except maybe the FIA, who chose not to listen to the drivers and their warnings about how dangerous the slow zones were – all for the sake of artificial excitement. Watching the crane lift his car, watching the side pod smashed to pieces and the front wing destroyed, Oliver felt an ugly lump lodge in his throat – and then a sting of guilt. That much damage was going to cost the team a fortune, the safety car had probably come at the worst time for a lot of people, and for his – incredibly kind and sensitive – heart, it was too much. The urge to apologize endlessly hit him in an instant, but the searing pain in his knee brought him back to reality.
He winced, squeezing his eyes shut. The thought that there were cameras everywhere, that fans in the stands were filming too – it made him tense up. He knew that in just a couple of hours, videos and photos of him crying, of him broken, would be all over the internet – and that... pissed him off. It cracked something even deeper inside him. He just wanted to disappear from everyone's sight and not talk to anyone at all. Putting weight on his leg turned out to be almost impossible – he practically leaned on the two medics who'd checked him out, and hopped on one leg to the medical car. Because even the slightest pressure on his right knee sent a sharp bolt of pain shooting through his whole body.
Damn that new regulation to hell.
Everything after that was a blur. Oliver just wanted it to be over: the examinations, the X-rays, the doctors banning him from even sitting in the simulator for the next week and a half. He got off easy, really. A 50G impact could have affected him much worse – he could have broken his leg or worse, so yeah, he was damn lucky to be a tough nut, and the fact that he was limping was the least of his problems.
He returns to the team garage already accompanied by the people close to him from the team and his manager, apologizes to his crew, to the mechanics over and over, and bites his lip almost to the point of bleeding. Now that they've given him painkillers and adrenaline still has him in its grip, the pain is almost gone. But in its place, the guilt and shame come flooding back again.
He knows that from a logical standpoint, no one is to blame. That the problem was the difference in speeds, that he had practically no choice but to swerve to avoid plowing into Franco. But right now, rationality and logic aren't welcome in his head. He feels like he let the team down. He knows that with this start to the season, and just in general, there were pretty high expectations of him. And he wanted with all his heart to live up to them, to bring them as many points and as much growth as he could while he was here. Ferrari was his home – he had always dreamed of driving for them – but Haas had become his second home. He loved this team, loved and respected these people, and he certainly didn't want to cause them damage. Like he did today.
"Switch your brain off for just a second, mate." Enzo's hand lands on his shoulder. "You need to rest, not overthink all kinds of nonsense."
Oliver is about to answer, to formulate the thought that it's not like that at all. So that his thoughts don't become someone else's problem. But he gets interrupted.
"And it shows on you, by the way. You've apologized to the mechanics ten times in the last five minutes. That's it – go to the motorhome and rest, please. The press will come to you, so you don't have to put strain on your leg or be in the middle of all that chaos in the media zone."
Oliver doesn't argue. He really, really wants to rest, wants to give himself a chance to breathe. He probably even needs it. So he doesn't fight it. He just nods and leaves the garage, heading toward the team's motorhome. But the awful thoughts still creep into his head. Not about letting the team down anymore. Not about this being a disastrous weekend. No. This is more like delayed panic. What if it had been a street circuit? Or a track without gravel? What would have happened to him and to his life if not for the barriers? The Brit winces, collapsing onto the soft couch, and grabs a small pillow, burying his face in it.
He's scared to think about any of it. And disgusted that his crash is a consequence of the FIA's indifference to the requests and warnings from nearly all the drivers. He swallows thick, sticky saliva and reaches for his phone. He doesn't want to go on social media – of course, Oliver knows exactly what he'll see there. His crash from a million angles, people trying to figure out who's to blame – someone will definitely blame him – and footage of his vulnerability. He doesn't want to see that. Not now. So he just opens some stupid game he installed because of an annoying ad, and turns off notifications.
It was a kind of healing.
***
Becoming the youngest championship leader – that's probably what every driver dreams of. Consistently getting on the podium – that too. And Kimi is happy with his win. He's truly overjoyed, right up until the moment they're in the cooling room and they start showing the race highlights. The Italian knew there had been a retirement – the safety car made that clear enough – but he didn't ask over the radio what had happened. He was too focused on the race, on making everything go the way he wanted. But when the footage of that crash flashes before his eyes – Oliver's crash – something inside him snaps and drops with a dull thud. Probably his own heart, unable to watch those images calmly. Because it was Ollie. His Ollie. The person he would give his soul for, the person he would sacrifice himself for to keep safe. And now he's watching the Brit slam into the wall at full speed.
Fuck.
"Oh my God," he finally manages to swallow the lump in his throat and react to the horror. His hands clench into fists on their own, trying to regain his composure. He wants to take off running to Haas, to ask where Oliver is, to go to him. He wants to make sure he's alive and okay, but he fucking can't. Of course, they're not just going to let the race winner leave.
"Shit," concludes Charles, sitting next to him, and Kimi winces. He agrees with Leclerc more than ever before.
The Italian feels his hands starting to shake. He's so fucking worried. He needs to find at least someone to ask how Ollie is doing. But he knows he won't be able to. That now they have to go to the podium, then answer a million questions, then the team will drag him off to celebrate. He doesn't want any of that now. He wants to be with Oliver. He wants to see him, wants to finally allow himself to hug the guy and never let him go.
"Kimi," a hand lands on his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Don't lose touch with reality. It really was scary, but I'm sure everything's fine." Oscar gives a strained smile. Antonelli is somehow sure that he knows what he's talking about, that he knows what emotions he's feeling right now, so he gives a weak nod and, exhaling loudly, gets up from the couch.
Inside, he's already praying that these "victory procedures" will be over quickly.
But time drags on. Especially when they end up in the media zone. While he's free, he quickly scans everyone present. He tries to spot anyone who might know something about Oliver's condition. Because he can't get him out of his head – Antonelli won't be able to calm down until he knows if he's alright, until he knows how he's feeling. He needs to know. Otherwise, he'll spiral, walking around with a panic eating away at him from the inside. Terrible thoughts were already starting to creep into his head: watching the footage, he could roughly understand how hard the impact was. What the consequences could be. So...
"Esteban!" Kimi rushes over to the man as soon as he spots him. Oliver's teammate would surely know how he was doing. "Hey. Congrats on the points," the Italian says with a weak smile. He knows it means a lot to Haas. He anxiously fiddles with the sleeve of his team jacket while looking at the Frenchman.
"Oh, Kimi, hey. Thank you so much." The man gives a kind smile and reaches out his hand for a handshake. Kimi would without hesitation call this guy one of the kindest people on the grid. "And congrats to you on the win. You don't look particularly happy for a championship leader," Ocon frowns – the disappointment on the other's face is far too easy to read.
Antonelli sighs, nervously twisting his fingers. He must have been far too obvious with his emotions.
"How... how is Ollie? They showed us his crash in the cooling room, and honestly, I haven't been able to think about anything else since that moment. It looked so awful."
Something clicks in Esteban's head. Of course, it was about Oliver. The Italian always had it written all over his face that he cared too much about his friends. And Bearman – his former teammate, the one he spent a year with in Formula 4 – he was clearly an important and close person to Kimi. That puts everything in its place. Of course, it was hard for him to celebrate his win after what he saw.
"He's okay – as okay as anyone can be after a hit like that. The doctors said it's just a bruised knee. He got off easy." Esteban smiles and pats Kimi on the shoulder. "Don't worry so much. He's tough. He'll be fine. He's even walking on his own already."
"What was the impact?" – because the words "got off easy" and "walking on his own" are worrying. That clearly wasn't the kind of minor injury drivers often deal with.
"Kimi, look..." Esteban tries to dodge the question, but his gaze slides across Antonelli's face and he realizes he'd find out anyway. He'd just ask someone else. "50G. But listen – he really did get off incredibly easy. And he's fine right now."
Kimi's heart stops when he hears the number. An impact 50 times greater than Oliver's own weight – the worry inside him grows like never before. He believes Esteban. He believes Ollie is okay. But just the realization of that number terrifies him. Anything could have happened. His ears are ringing at the thought that he could have lost Oliver. Could have lost the person he loves. Without ever telling him. Without ever spending enough time by his side.
"God. It looked awful, but I never imagined numbers like that. Is he still here? Will they let me see him? I really need to..."
"Right now he's with the press in our motorhome, but later they should let you in." Esteban lightly pokes Kimi in the side, then points somewhere behind him. "And your manager looks like he's going to kill me if you spend another minute here. Go do your interviews, winner. I'll tell our guys you're coming."
As soon as he's in the hands of his manager and the press, he knows this is going to take forever. A million questions – all the same, all generic – make him want to bang his head against the nearest wall. He wants to run away from the interviews, from the team photos, from the celebration. He doesn't need any of that right now. But he holds it together with dignity – though he does sneak away from the celebration. He changes his clothes again to stop being sticky from all the champagne poured on him, and slips out of the paddock, hoping not to run into anyone. So no one drags him back to celebrate.
The mission fails when someone grabs him by the elbow.
"Where are you going? We've got a celebration – in your honor, in case you forgot."
"Bono..." Kimi makes the most pitiful face he can muster. "I need to go to him. I'm truly grateful to the whole team, to all of you, but I can't stay."
"To him – meaning?" Kimi catches a confused look, until another person appears nearby. George.
"To Oliver, who else. He's been off since the podium – he must have seen the highlights. Right?"
Antonelli gives a barely noticeable nod. Russell, in general, knew more than anyone. He was like an older brother to the Italian – someone he could trust with everything. Even the secret of his feelings for Bearman. So of course he steps in. He couldn't have done otherwise.
"But the celebration! Kimi..." Bono looks at his "charge" with hope in his eyes. Hope that he'll stay with the team after all.
"Sorry, really. But I'm way too worried. I'm leaving." Kimi waves goodbye and walks away quickly.
He hears George explaining to Bono that for him, this is a matter of life and death. Saying something about how the Italian wouldn't have been able to stay put anyway until he saw with his own eyes that Bearman was alive and okay. The engineer grumbles in confusion, and then Antonelli can't hear any more. But he's convinced that George will be able to prove he's right – and prove how important this "escape" really is.
***
It takes him about fifteen minutes to reach the American team's motorhome. On the way, practically every other person felt it was their duty to stop him – to congratulate him on the win, to tell him how great he was doing and what a powerful season he was having. Kimi – being a kind soul – couldn't say no to all that small talk. Even though it kept blocking his path to his goal and eventually made him want to run away, he kept a grateful smile on his face. As soon as he reaches his destination, he shifts nervously from foot to foot – but still steps inside the other team's motorhome. He takes a few steps and immediately feels a dozen eyes on him.
In one of the main rooms near the entrance, a small part of the team was sitting around a table with the team principal – which made the Italian feel a little embarrassed. He freezes in place, his gaze sweeping over Ayao, Oliver's manager and trainer, Esteban and his manager – and then he awkwardly scratches the back of his head, realizing the silence has gone on too long.
"Hello! I'm... I'm here for Oliver," the boy says with a small smile. "Is that okay?"
He had already asked Esteban, but he asks again – now directly to the people close to the Brit, and of course to the team principal.
"Go ahead," Ollie's manager nods toward somewhere in the back. "He's in his room. Tired, but I think he'll be happy to see you."
Kimi throws out a quick "thanks" and runs up the stairs toward the drivers' private rooms. And suddenly – standing right in front of the door to the Brit's room – he feels another wave of anxiety wash over him, mixed with a sense of awkwardness. His hands start trembling slightly as a real storm brews inside him again. But the main thing in all of this was to see Oliver, to hug him, and to make sure he was okay. Antonelli knew that would help. So he raises his hand to knock before entering – luckily, he was familiar with basic manners. And only after hearing a quiet permission does he open the door and step into the other man's room. Everything here was soaked in Oliver's personality: the British flag with signatures on the wall, his helmet on the table, and a small teddy bear – a gift from Kimi himself – sitting next to it. That makes the Italian's lips twitch into something like a smile.
"Hey," Kimi shifts his gaze to Oliver himself, and something inside him tightens at how exhausted he looks. The Italian bites his lip again, searching for words – even though the only thing he wants right now is to hug the Brit tightly. To confess his feelings and whisper words of love for a long, long time. "I saw your crash and... I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were more or less okay."
Bearman, listening to Kimi, shifts to a sitting position so he can also comfortably sit down next to him, and hints at it with a look – not wanting to interrupt the guy.
"I thought you'd be with your team right now," Ollie chuckles softly. Truth be told, he was so glad that Kimi was with him right now. He needed this person by his side – even if he wouldn't say it out loud, so as not to pull Antonelli away from important matters and celebrations. "I'm fine. Just a bruise and a little time off from the simulator, even," the Brit sighs dramatically. "The least of all the bad things that could have happened to me, honestly. So I'm calm – and even joking about it pretty well."
"The team really tried to keep me there, but... it was more important to me to make sure you're okay right now," he glances at the other's knee. "Does it hurt badly? Did they give you any medication?"
Oliver feels warmth spread through his chest at the other's words. He was more important. More important than celebrating a victory, more important than being with the team after taking the championship lead. It touched him deeply – made his heart beat faster, made his lips treacherously stretch into a stupid smile. The Italian did terrible things to him. Because of him, Bearman forgot how to breathe. Because of him, his heart skipped beats and butterflies started fluttering in his stomach. Right now, he tries to escape the grip of this feeling – so as not to be so obvious. He tries to turn the situation into a joke.
"Nothing hurts. I'm alive, in one piece, doing great. Ready to get on the podium right now if I had to."
Kimi frowns, sighs heavily, and shifts his gaze to Oliver, then closes his eyes. He's glad to see the smile on the other's face and hear the positive notes in his voice. But fuck... it sits badly on top of his still-very-real fears. Yes, they all risk themselves every weekend – their lives and everything they have – but... right now he just wants to grab Oliver in his arms and never let him back on track. To protect him from crashes this terrible, from this stupid regulation.
He's so scared. He's so afraid of losing this guy that the negative thoughts won't leave him alone.
"I'm glad you're okay. But let's hold off on the podium appearances for now."
"You don't want to stand on the same podium as me? Ouch, you've wounded me right in the heart, Kimi..."
Oliver is joking again. He almost always joked, and Kimi loved that about him – loved every single other trait of this guy too. But right now... it didn't annoy him, but it stung deep inside. His worry only grew with each joke, swelling to an incredible size – like in another moment, Antonelli would just explode.
"Sorry, sorry," Bearman seems to read his emotions and drops the jokes. He scans the other's face, noticing a worry in his friend's eyes that he had never seen before. "Come here."
Ollie opens his arms, inviting Kimi into a hug. Antonelli loved hugs more than anything in the world – tight, truly "bear-like." And he also charmingly rested his head on the other's shoulder. How could the Italian say no? Of course, he immediately leans in closer, hugging Oliver tightly, smiling, feeling the other's arms close around his back.
"I got so scared when they showed us the highlight of your crash. You were flying into that barrier so hard and so fast that I... I didn't even know what to think, Ollie. I was so scared for you – not knowing how you were, what was happening to you, God. I swear, I couldn't go a single second without thinking about what was hurting you. E io... avevo tanta paura," Kimi gives a weak shake of his head, realizing he's slipped into Italian. "I was so afraid you were badly hurt. I'm so afraid of losing you."
The words pour out of him like a stream – he can't control the flow. He's saying everything he'd been thinking, everything he'd been feeling. Never before had he been this open. Like all his brakes and boundaries had been completely blown.
"And you know what," Kimi sniffs, feeling someone stroking his back. "In that moment, I realized there's so much important stuff I haven't told you. So much that you need to know – and if something had happened to you... I never would have been able to."
"Hey," Ollie pulls back slightly to look Kimi in the eyes. "Right now, I'm here, right in front of you. And I'm okay, yeah? You can let go of all that worry, Curly. I'm right here, alive. And we've got plenty of time for you to say whatever's on your mind. So... please don't cry."
Antonelli gives a weak nod, biting his lip. He thinks: either now or never. Even if Ollie doesn't feel the same way – this day has shown that you need to talk about your feelings. You can't keep them locked inside, afraid you won't have time.
"Ollie," Kimi lifts his gaze, looking into the other's eyes. "You're the most important person in my life – did you know that? Because of you, I feel so many emotions. Positive ones, of course, but... you always know how to cheer me up, making those stupid jokes of yours that make me genuinely laugh. You're someone I can trust unconditionally – you're a great friend and teammate, but... there's something else." Kimi bites his lip, gathering his strength. "I'm in love with you. For the last year and a half, I think? Definitely since the Prema days. You've always been so sweet, so kind, so friendly – I couldn't resist. And I don't think anyone could. Because it's you. You're special, Ollie... like a whole universe to me, and I can't put into words how much you mean. But I couldn't be in this world, in this sport, without you."
The Italian falls silent – a silence hangs between them. He nervously glances at Oliver, already ready to apologize for everything he just said. But Oliver's hand slides to his cheek, and the boy carefully leans in and plants a kiss on the tip of his nose.
"God, Kimi, you're incredible," the Brit sighs with relief. "I was so afraid you were going to say something terrible. But you... your words made me feel so good, I swear. Like that was the one thing I was missing to feel truly happy. I love you too. So much that words aren't enough to describe it. But I can show you. And I'll show you in every moment of every day – if you'll let me."
He leans in again, leaving a dozen short kisses on Kimi's cheeks, gently stroking his neck. Oliver had wanted to do this for far too long to deny himself now. Thanks to Kimi, this day had lost its horrible color and become the best day of his life.
Kimi whispers that he'll never let Oliver go – and the other chuckles, saying he'd be more than happy with that. And they both know: a new story lies ahead, a new status, so much still to come. But the main thing is – they have each other. And now everything will be okay.