Carlos Sainz had learned two things in the two years he’d been dating Max Verstappen.

One: Max was competitive about everything, from karting to cooking pasta.
Two: Max Verstappen was even more competitive about being romantic.

Carlos had laughed, Max had looked smug, and the pattern was set.

But two years in, Carlos thought maybe  just maybe  the intensity would fade. That Max would eventually relax into the comfort of them, slip into the easy rhythm of knowing they belonged to each other without needing to prove it every second. That once Max was certain Carlos was in love with him really, irrevocably in love …he would stop.

Stop ambushing him with flowers tucked behind his ear after a race.
Stop sending him middle-of-the-day texts that were nothing but I miss you, as if they hadn’t seen each other that morning.
Stop plotting grand gestures that seemed stolen from a script and delivered with that stubborn glint in his eye.

Carlos assumed Max would hold onto him quietly once the relationship was secure, as most people did.
He was wrong. So, so wrong.