Late at night, your phone lights up with a message from Max:

“You coming?”

No greeting. No explanation.

When you arrive, he opens the door immediately—like he’s been standing there waiting—and the second you step inside, his hand is already on you, pulling you close.

The paddock during the day is chaos—fans, media, engineers, cameras, constant noise. For Max Verstappen, it’s all routine. He moves through it like he owns it, calm and controlled.

But none of it is actually his.

The attention, the expectations, the constant presence of people—it all belongs to the world.

You don’t.

Somehow, without either of you planning it, you became something separate from that life.

You don’t show up during the day.

You don’t stand in the crowds or wait by the barriers.

You only come when everything goes quiet.

At night.

And that’s exactly how he wants it.