Every team dinner, Max slides a paper ring in Daniel's finger. But the grid(except Checo) thinks that's platonic, until Max slides a diamond ring.

It’s another team dinner. One of those long, slightly-too-formal things where sponsors pretend they care about the drivers and the drivers pretend they’re not itching to go home.

Daniel’s laughing at something—something Lando said, maybe? Max isn’t sure. He’s not really listening. He’s watching.

Daniel’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, and there’s this little dimple that only shows up when it’s real—the kind of laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep and uncontrollable. Max thinks it’s his favorite thing in the world. No, he knows it is.

Quietly, without even looking down, Max tears a strip from the napkin resting on his lap. His fingers move automatically—twisting, folding, looping. He’s done this a hundred times. Maybe more.

By the time Daniel turns toward him, grinning, Max is ready. He lifts the delicate little ring and gently takes Daniel’s hand, sliding it onto his ring finger with practiced ease.