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The hotel room was quiet except for the television.
Not properly quiet, the F1 pre-race coverage filled the space in a constant stream of commentary and engine noise, but muted enough that Dino barely registered any of it. The screen flashed through shots of the grid, mechanics, celebrities in the paddock, all bright colours and movement that felt very far away from him.
He sat at the edge of the bed already changed into a t-shirt and a hoodie under it, staring at absolutely nothing.
The race replay kept looping in his head anyway.
P2.
Still within reach.
The car feeling good beneath him for once, genuinely good, matching the leader corner after corner and then its gone up in smoke. Literally.
A knock sounded at the door.
Dino looked over slowly.
Room service, probably.
He’d ordered something earlier because his engineer had practically threatened him over text after the race. The food had arrived over an hour ago and still sat mostly untouched on the little table near the window. So they were probably here to clear up.
Another knock.
Dino considered ignoring it.
If he stayed quiet enough maybe whoever it was would assume he was asleep and leave.
The knocking stopped.
Relief lasted approximately three seconds before he heard the soft click of someone trying the handle.
Dino frowned immediately.
What the hell?
He pushed himself off the bed, exhausted irritation replacing the numbness for the first time all evening, and crossed the room barefoot.
The door swung open.
And there, somehow, was Gabriele.
Still in his MP Motorsport polo. Hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it all afternoon. Accreditation hanging crooked around his neck. Looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone standing outside another driver’s hotel room uninvited.
Dino blinked.
“…Why are you here?”
Gabriele leaned one shoulder against the doorframe casually. “Hello to you too.”
“You have your own hotel room.”
“Yes.”
“And yet.”
“And yet here I am.”
Dino stared at him another second before sighing and stepping aside anyway.
“Did you steal a keycard?”
“No,” Gabriele said, walking in immediately. “Reception lady likes me.”
“That is worse somehow.”
The door clicked shut behind them.
Gabriele took one look around the room–the untouched food, the dim lighting, Dino’s abandoned firesuit bag half-open on the floor–and his expression softened for just a moment.
Only for a moment.
Then he glanced toward the television.
“So,” he said lightly, “your boyfriend is starting in the points.”
Dino stared at him flatly from beside the door.
“He is not my boyfriend.”
“Are you sure he knows that?”
Dino grabbed the nearest pillow from the bed and launched it directly at his face.
Gabriele barely caught it in time, laughing as he stumbled backwards onto the mattress.
“Violent,” he accused.
“You deserve it.”
“You throw surprisingly well for someone emotionally devastated.”
“Get out.”
“No.”
Gabriele stayed sprawled across the bed anyway, still grinning faintly.
Dino rolled his eyes and looked back toward the television before he could accidentally smile back.
Grid graphics flashed across the screen.
A sweep of Audi colours crossed the broadcast.
And suddenly Dino paused.
Oh.
Oh, he could absolutely work with this.
Slowly, he looked back at Gabriele.
“Well,” he said innocently, “P13 for your boy, right?”
Gabriele frowned immediately. “What?”
“I mean,” Dino continued, voice dangerously casual now, “it’s pretty obvious-”
“Shut up.”
“Have you seen yourself with Gabi?”
“We are not talking about Bortoleto.”
Dino pointed triumphantly toward him. “See? Defensive already.”
“We are friends, okay? He annoys me.”
“I annoy you but you have never looked at me like that.”
Gabriele nearly choked. “I do not look at him like anything!”
“Keep lying to yourself, Gabri.”
Another pillow flew across the room.
Dino caught this one against his chest with a laugh–an actual laugh this time, startled out of him so suddenly it almost sounded unfamiliar.
Gabriele narrowed his eyes at him from the bed.
“There,” he said immediately. “That was the goal.”
Dino’s smile faded softer this time around the edges.
“You’re annoying.”
“Mhm.”
“You should be celebrating your podium.”
“I did celebrate.”
“You got P3.”
“And?”
“And you extended the championship lead.”
Gabriele shrugged one shoulder, suddenly looking far more interested in the race graphics than the conversation.
“It’s just one weekend.”
Dino looked at him for a second too long.
Because there it was again–that thing Gabriele always did. Quietly folding his achievements smaller whenever Dino was hurting.
Not denying them.
Just… lowering the volume.
Dino hated that a little.
“You know,” he said carefully, “your race was actually good today.”
Gabriele glanced over.
“I know.”
Simple. Honest.
And somehow that made it better.
The lights on the television shifted to shots of the formation lap preparations. Commentary rose louder through the speakers.
Gabriele adjusted himself further into the bed like he fully intended to stay there forever.
Then, abruptly, he frowned.
“Your room is freezing.”
“It’s not.”
“It is for normal people.”
Before Dino could ask what that meant, Gabriele pushed himself off the mattress and wandered toward the mess of clothes and team kit dumped near the armchair.
Dino narrowed his eyes immediately.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m cold.”
“That does not answer my question.”
Gabriele crouched down, completely ignoring him, and started digging through the pile with absolutely no shame whatsoever.
“Gabriele-”
“Aha.”
He emerged victorious holding a red Ferrari hoodie.
Dino stared.
“Hey,” he said immediately, “that’s mine.”
“I know.”
“You’re not a Ferrari junior.”
Gabriele pulled the hoodie over his head anyway. “I know,” his voice came muffled through fabric, “but I am Italian.”
The hoodie was comically oversized on him.
The sleeves swallowed his hands entirely. The hem nearly reached his thighs. It looked less like clothing and more like he’d been kidnapped by cotton.
Dino looked at him for exactly three seconds before laughing.
Properly laughing this time.
Gabriele pointed accusingly from inside the enormous hoodie. “Do not mock me.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“I look warm.”
“You look like a child who got lost at Monza.”
“At least Ferrari likes me.”
“Oh, now you’ve gone too far.”
Gabriele grinned and flopped back dramatically onto the bed, drowning instantly in red fabric and smugness.