Carlos Sainz is not in love.

He’s not in love with Max Verstappen. He’s not in love with the way Max smiles like the world belongs to him and somehow makes you want to give it to him. He’s not in love with the stupid way Max runs his hands through his hair when he’s nervous before a test. And he’s definitely not in love with the way Max always finds a way to sit just close enough to ruin his day.

No. Carlos Sainz is simply suffering from a chronic case of proximity annoyance.

It’s completely unrelated to Max being the golden boy of their high school—star athlete, honor roll student, universally liked, irritatingly good-looking. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that they’ve known each other since they were seven and used to race their bikes down Carlos’s street like their lives depended on it. That was a long time ago. They’ve grown up. Max got fast, and Carlos got feelings.

Very inconvenient, very loud, very unreciprocated feelings.

Which is why, one stormy Tuesday night with too much soda and not enough dignity, Carlos did what any teenager spiraling down a hormonal heartbreak pit would do.