Carlos blames it on one video. That’s how it starts, anyway....small enough to be dismissed later, reduced to a shrug and a careless I was bored, okay?

He’s lying sprawled across his couch after a race weekend, limbs heavy, brain slower than usual, still in partial team kit....shirt wrinkled, sleeves pushed up, the faint smell of rubber and heat still clinging to him. The room is dim, lit only by the low, bluish glow of his phone. He hasn’t bothered to turn on the lights. He hasn’t bothered to move.

His thumb moves on autopilot. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

Nothing sticks. It’s all noise....faces, captions, music clips that blend into each other. His mind isn’t really processing anything. It’s just… there. Existing in that quiet, empty space that comes after adrenaline has burned out.

Then....

one video.