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pastryfication · 18 days ago

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vamos com tudo — gabriel bortoleto

the spanish grand prix was always special for you. watching your father race in your home country, spending time with your family in the paddock and this year, someone else makes it even more special.

3.2k words

my little comeback baby <3 please show it some love

The space around you is filled with noise; footsteps in every direction, voices overlapping, and the bustling sound of engineers making last-minute adjustments on the shiny cars.

Your grandmother’s hand is clutched tightly in yours, your fingers twined together as you walk through the paddock at a brisk pace. Just ahead, your grandfather is in deep conversation with your father, and a couple of paces behind is your aunt and her husband, also holding hands as they take it all in.

It’s nothing new to you, walking around amongst the cars and chaos, shadowing your father in his element, but it’s always nicer like this. When you’re surrounded by the comforting sound of your family’s chatter.

When you aren’t alone.

In front of you, the family patriarchs suddenly stop. The Aston Martin hospitality stands tall next to you. Glass sliding doors let you peek into the sleek room, in front of where a few potted plants stand, presumably to make it seem more inviting, but the grey interior fools no one. It’s not supposed to be cozy. It’s supposed to exude business and professionalism.

Fernando turns to his mother first, kissing her cheeks and muttering a few words, too quiet for you to hear, before he turns to you.

“Be good for your grandparents, mija,” he leans down to press a lingering kiss in your hair. “I’ll see you after qualifying, yeah?”

You nod obligingly, smiling at your father’s serious face. “Of course, Papa. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He presses another kiss to your head, this time closer to your temple, shooting you a comforting smile over his shoulder, before he leaves you, walking with determined steps towards the team garage.

He likes to be alone before sessions. It makes it easier for him to get into the headspace he needs to race. As long as you can remember, he’s left you at the hospitality, saying he can’t race when you’re too close to his mind.

You were his weakness--his Achilles heel--had been since you first opened your big, glassy eyes and looked up at him, and he had never hidden it from anyone.

You were his everything. His favourite in the whole world, *just not on race days*. Not when he had to be in the car.

And so, you watch as he jogs down the pathway to the moss painted garage while you let yourself be dragged along by your grandparents as you enter the building you’re way too familiar with.

—

Your eyes are glued to the screen in front of you, your eyes following the small green dot representing your father.

Your family is once again engaged in lively chatter, but your focus is elsewhere. Qualifying always has you on edge, but today more than usual. Because as much as you try to deny it, your eyes are following another green dot as well. An awfully ugly, bright neon green dot. The dot belonging to car 05. Gabi.

Your lips involuntarily turn upwards at the thought of the Brazilian, a boy—young man—that you had made acquaintances with the year before, when the seriousness of his racing career became more apparent and your father had decided to take him under his wing, signing him to A14 Management.

Flashes of trips in private planes, busy Formula 2 races and late-night dinners concealed as meetings cross your mind. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t followed him just as closely as you followed your dad, cheering on him in silence whenever you watched the races at home with your friends.

You would also be lying if you said that the sight of his sweaty face in post-race interviews hadn’t caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach on multiple occasions.

And maybe, just maybe, you have a hidden agenda with your paddock appearance this weekend. *Maybe* you’re hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy you had so bravely suppressed your crush on for way too long.

That’s why you so sneakily slip out of the Aston Martin garage once the qualifying session comes to an end, hoping to find the driver in P12 to congratulate him.

You know your way around the Spanish paddock, not surprisingly, since you’d been attending since you were a tiny baby with big innocent eyes and no teeth, so the walk is quick.

The media pen is filled to the brim with drivers, PR-assistants and media personnel, so you keep yourself away, not wanting to be unknowingly caught in the shot of an interview, but your father’s hawkeyed gaze spot you either way, and once he’s finished up with the reporter, he makes his way over to you, sweaty arms open in expectancy of a hug.

“Congratulations, Papa!” You leap into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

When you pull back, he’s grinning widely. “Thank you, mija. Did you watch?”

“I always watch.” His smile turns impossibly wider before he leans down to kiss your temple for a lingering moment.

“Have you talked to Gabi?” He looks around as if in search for his mentee. “He’s alone this weekend, so he might like a familiar face.”

In his hurried search, you think he completely misses the way your cheeks redden in a warm blush, and you’re quick to lower your face in an attempt to hide it. He doesn’t, though. Your father never misses anything.

“I see him over there!” Fernando suddenly takes off, pulling you behind him with a tight hold on your hand, so you have no choice but to follow him.

“Gabi!” You father’s booming voice catches the attention of the 20-year-old, and he looks over from where he’s standing.

“Hola, Gabi,” He pulls the younger man into a half hug, clapping his back with camaraderie. “Well done on Q2!”

“Thank you, Fernando.” His face breaks into a smile. “And hi,” his eyes turn to you when you’re pushed forward by your eager father.

You smile back, and he reaches out to pull you into a quick hug. When your face gets close to his neck, your nose sniffs up his scent. It’s a mix of sweat and something else, something surprisingly pleasant and manly that warms your cheeks once again.

“It’s been a while.” You meet his eyes and in a short moment, the world closes in to just the two of you, looking at each other as something unspoken passes between you. Your lips quirk up in a familiar smile that has him smiling as well, before you both look away.

“Do you want to join us for dinner tonight? We were thinking of going out, right mija?”

You nod sweetly at him, and Gabriel quickly agrees. “Yes, I would like that, thank you.”

—

That night, you take extra care when applying your makeup and spend an extra minute when brushing through your hair, causing your father to loudly call out his complains to you from the other side of the door.

The drive to the restaurant in your father’s fancy car is quiet. You don’t turn on the radio, and neither does he, but the silence is comfortable, filled with a nice familiarity.

You love Barcelona. It’s home, a place you hadn’t spent much time in your childhood, but a place that held a special place in your heart nonetheless.

The restaurant your father had chosen is your usual one, the one you always visit when you’re home, and when you enter through the doors, Gabriel is already waiting.

He’s standing a bit awkwardly, hands bunched together tightly in front of him, while his eyes wander around the room. He smiles when he spots you and pulls you both into half hugs before leading you towards a table near the back of the room, where a group of your father’s personal entourage is already waiting. They’re a friendly bunch, people you’ve known your entire life, but still, you take a step in on yourself, putting on your best polite smile and trying your best to avoid eye contact.

Maybe if you had looked up, you would have seen the way Gabriel’s eyes lingered on your face with a small frown, but you didn’t, instead your eyes stay focused on the ground.

A friend of your father’s, his “personal assistant”, who you honestly don’t know the official job description of, does catch the look, however, and with a barely concealed smirk he suggests: “Why don’t we let the young people sit together, let them escape from us boring old men.”

You blush for the thousandth time that day, and the man winks conspiratorially at you as you’re ushered toward the end of the table.

Gabriel smiles politely at you as he pulls out your chair, and you carefully pull down your skirt as you sit, your hands immediately landing in your lap to nervously twist together.

You end up sitting between your father’s personal photographer, Pedro, a young brunette who you consider a nice acquaintance, and Gabriel.

The three of you hold polite conversation while you wait for the food, bland topics like the weather, the track conditions and your different schoolings.

The conversation is smooth; you laugh numerous times, and even when Pedro turns around to the other conversations, you and Gabriel keep talking. Nothing deep, nothing special, just funny, polite talk that made the night go by way too fast, and before you know it, the bill is being delivered to the table, and your father quickly snatches it up, promising to pay for everyone.

You smile, coming to a stand along with everyone else, but before you can slither away to the safety of your father’s side, you feel a hand gently touch your arm.

You turn around and look.

It’s Gabriel.

Suddenly your heart starts beating twice as fast and the skin where his hand rests feel possibly glowing.

“Hey,” he utters, quiet as though he’s sharing a secret no one else can know. “I’m going out to drinks with a few of my friends now, maybe you’d like to join?”

You suck in a breath, your eyes flickering to your father for a second too long, and Gabriel takes it as a bad sign.

“You don’t have to, of course.” He’s quick to assure you. “Only if you want to! I just thought it could be fun.”

You turn to look at him again, and the hope shining brightly through his eyes make you do a double take. “Oh, um,” you suddenly forget how to speak, his deep eyes boring into your soul and removing all words from your brain. “Yeah, um, I’d like that. I mean, that could be fun.”

You nod, and he nods back, and then you’re both standing to the side of the group, nodding like two complete idiots till you realise what you’re doing and awkwardly stop, immediately breaking the eye contact with a giggle.

—

The bar is loud, filled to the brim with people who stink of alcohol and sweat. You keep yourself close to Gabriel and his mates—who turn out to be Ollie, Dino and Kimi, three faces you’re luckily already familiar with—trying desperately not to get lost in the crowd.

“You alright?” It’s Gabi. He’s looking down at you with those warm eyes, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else, so the only response you can muster is a nod. “Just tell if it becomes too loud, yeah?”

You nod once again, taken back by his obvious care.

Dino seems to notice it as well, because he looks at the two of you conspiratorially before whispering something in Ollie’s ear. They both laugh loudly before Gabriel nudges them hardly in the ribs, effectively shutting up his friends, and ushering you forward towards a table.

Once you’re sat, he doesn’t waste a second before getting seated himself, shooting a dirty look at Ollie, who had cheekily tried to slither in between you.

When the table has clearly been claimed as yours, Ollie and Kimi rise again, pointing towards the bar.

“We’ll order,” the Brit promises. “Just say what you’ll like.”

Once you’ve given your order to the boys, they fight their way through the busy crowd towards the bar, and you’re left sitting in the middle of the other two.

Gabriel is sitting close to you, closer that he needs to, perhaps, but you aren’t going to comment on it. Instead, you enjoy the way your thighs rest so close together that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, making you suddenly aware of how sweaty you’re becoming yourself.

Dino starts leaning over you, saying something to his friend about car set-ups that you don’t even try to understand, so instead, you lean back in your seat, letting them steer the conversation wherever they want to.

You’re so engrossed in trying to look interested in what they’re saying that you almost don’t notice when Gabriel casually rests his arms behind your seat, his hand dangling dangerously close to your bare shoulder.

Your breath hitch in your throat, and you cough lightly to cover it up, looking discreetly to the side.

To your disappointment, he doesn’t seem to be bothered at all, keeping the talk going all the same, even when Ollie and Kimi loudly come back with six drinks clutched in their hands.

You all look questionably at them, wondering the same. *Had they really failed mathematics that bad?* But they only laugh at your expressions.

“Two for the lady!” Kimi exclaims. “We can’t drink too much with the race tomorrow, so you’ll have to do it for us.”

He eagerly pushes two drinks your way, and you accept them with a laugh. It was going to be a fun night.

—

Five drinks in and you’re beginning to let yourself loose. The boys are not far behind, having seemingly forgotten their promise to hold back as they holler at one another to finish off their drinks and buy more.

They’re a rowdy bunch, you come to discover, once the small edge of PR-training was drunken away, they go absolutely ballistic, and you very much enjoy watching the show unfold.

Though it seemed every time they went into the crowd, Gabriel very quickly found his way back to you. At first, you had excused it, reminding yourself that he probably felt a responsibility to protect you for your father, but as his hand finds place on your back for the second time that night, you decide to allow your thoughts to wander. Allow yourself to become a bit foolish.

Because as you stumble home, all five of you struggling to walk straight, he still makes sure to stay right beside you, keeping you on the inside of the sidewalk, even when it means clumsily dragging you to the other side. And when you reach the hotel, he insists on walking you all the way to your room, even though he’s staying in a completely different hotel and the boys are standing outside, threatening to walk on without him.

So, when he hesitates in the opening of your room, leaning his weight against the door, you want to do more than kiss his cheek briefly and thank him for a great night. You want to do more than promise to text the next morning.

But alas, you don’t. And when you go to sleep that night, warm and cozy beneath the many duvets, but still feeling a small coldness in your beating chest, you can’t help but wonder about what might have happened if you had done it.

—

The next morning comes early and bright with a sickening headache and a deep-rooted nausea pulsing through your body.

When your father comes pounding on your door to fetch you, you had just dragged yourself to the shower, trying to wash away the lingering proofs of the night before.

“You know,” your father starts once you are finally seated in his car. “I was young once too.” He glances sideways at you. “But I was far better at hiding a hangover than you. You know your abuela is going to see you like this?”

You groan at your father’s words, leaning your pounding head against the cold window. “I know. I’m sorry, Papa.”

“No, no, don’t apologise. I’m glad you had fun. Just think about it, mija. You’re going to feel terrible today.”

And as much as you hate to admit it, he’s right.

Not even thirty minutes into the race day, and you already want to go home. The constant smell of food wafting in from the cafeteria makes your uneasy stomach churn, and your grandparents loud chatter turns out to not be so comforting when your head is feeling like exploding from noise.

So when a small knock on the door to the small area reserved for your family startle you, you’re just about ready strangle the culprit. At least that’s until your eyes lock on Gabriel standing hesitantly outside, a sheepish look on his face.

“Hey,” his eyes flits nervously between you and your family members, who are all intensely staring at him. “Can we talk for a moment?”

You’re on your feet in a matter of seconds, stalking towards the door where he’s standing, and when you start walking briskly down the hallway, he follows you blindly.

“What’s up?” When you finally reach your destination of a small meeting room where no one ever goes, you turn around to look at him, your stomach flipping even more when you notice the nervous look on his face.

“I had a great time yesterday,” he admits.

“Yeah, me too.”

He smiles, a wide teeth smile that send your body into overdrive, a blush covering your cheeks as usual when he’s nearby.

“You’re really fun to be around.” He scratches his neck awkwardly. “I hadn’t realised how much I missed being around you. So, yeah, I guess I was just wondering-“

You don’t give him a chance to finish. You don’t even give yourself a chance to finish your thoughts before you’re moving forward, your hand delicately moving to hold his cheek. He immediately freezes, a blush now covering his cheeks as well.

“Oh, um,” It seems as though that’s as far as your confidence goes, because now you’re stuck as well, standing completely still while looking into his eyes.

“Can I,” he clears his throat awkwardly. “Can I kiss you now?”

You barely have time to nod before his lips lower onto yours and you feel yourself melting beneath his touch. One hand on your hips, the other hesitantly placing itself on your neck to lead you closer towards him.

It’s intense. Gentle but so intense, and when you pull away, you’re a little dazed. It’s everything you’ve dreamed off and so much more.

He seems to think the same, staring at you through wide, glazed eyes, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh. He’s quick to follow, and then the two of you are standing together in an abandoned meeting room, with only a short time till he has to be on the track, hangover and maybe still a bit influenced by the alcohol from the night before, laughing between kisses like you’re in middle school.

It's magical, and for once in your life, you’re all in.

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