The light goes out and the world collapses into unimportant noise, fainted in the back of my mind. Engines roaming, tires screaming, my breathe catches somewhere between desire, instinct and eagerness. I keep driving as if the desert is going to catch me and carry me away with its sandy wind any minute now, but I make sure to catch the glimpse of that orange car in my peripheral.

Not to close, not to far, just perfect so I can catch a faint color of it. Laps after laps, we are after each other like chasing ghost under the bright sun. Not rivals, not teammate, the voice in my head screams something else so different that I can't quite make sense of it yet. Something wordless and electric, as if our cars know us better than we know ourselves.

Oscar overtakes with a bold decision, which sends shockwaves to my spine, forces admiration into my lungs. For a second, I wish I could be as good as him in reading the situation and blocked his way before he got the chance to move. I counter with a daring undercut, lead the car through a suffocating tight corner.

The final laps blur. My hear slamming, my head buzzing. I can feel my breath shortened, excited as I have Oscar right by my side, nervous as we might make another mess.

I cross the line first.

The radio explodes with congratulations and happy wishes. I quickly climb out of the car just to see Oscar right outside, his hair messy with sweat, cheeks flushed from adrenaline. He walks toward me slowly, as if he's not ready to step too fast in the moment but his smile is a real genuine one.

"Good race. Congratulation winner!" His voice is rough but there's no hint of anger or annoyance.

"That's P2, Osc. Amazing good out there". I smile so hard that my face hurts.

For a second – just a second – the world narrows down just to two of us and his bright smile. I wanted to lean in and give him a hug but instead I take a step back, not wanting to give media more articles to write about.

***

Post-race debrief is something I hate so much but it's the first time in my life that I actually look forward to check out our performance. The coolness in the room hits me once I step inside, light from screens covers the whole room and paints the walls blue. The silence hangs in the air like a whisper from the ghost, telling me I'm not ready to face this.

Our engineer points out parts in our reports, zooms in our telemetry.

Not identical, not mirror but worse.

They are in agreement. Two separate minds made the same choices, same reactions, the same lines written by different hands but match so perfectly.

Tom continues to talk, ignores our stiff faces. "Your strategies diverged. But the style — corner entry, throttle pickup, mid-corner speed — you two lined up like you choreographed it."

Oscar exhales softly, almost in disbelief. "We didn't."

Tom catches the tension like static in the air. He clears his throat again. "It's not bad. Just... unusual."

The room holds its breath. I never hear silence screams this loud, I would be the one who usually break it first but I honestly have nothing in mind. Oscar's knee bumps mine under the desk, gently grounding me in a way that feels unfair.

"We'll figure it out", he says quietly.

***

I can't seem to tear my eyes off the scene of Oscar drinking. Don't laugh on me, but it sure as hell is one of the most unusual things for today. When Oscar started his rookie season, we all wanted to buy him drinks and ask him to join us for party but he always said no. He even said no to Lewis, so obviously I had to carry most of the drinking just to save face for both of us. Not gonna admit I'm a party animal but probably something close to it.

Oscar, leaning against the bar, drink in hand, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion and adrenaline and something softer. He looks at me across the crowd, and the entire room bends around that one glance, like gravity readjusting itself.

We keep touching, accidental or intentional, I have no idea. All I know is I want to feel his heat on me, even just a little bit. Every touch feels like a promise and a sin, all at once.

I don't know who suggested going back. Maybe it was him, or maybe my half-drunken state did. But out of nowhere, we are in the elevator, two floors away from ours, doors sliding shut, our reflection trapped in the mirror walls.

When the door opens, we stumble out. I shakily put the card on the door, try my best to open it and let him in. The door clicks shut with a softness that betrays something in me. Oscar sits on the edge of my bed, elbows to his knees, steadily breath in and out.

"Do you know why I stay so late at the sim the other day?"

"No. Enlighten me then". I lied, because I might have known something. Not being so good at it so I turn away, pretend to be busy finding my pajamas.

"I stayed because I wanted to understand you" – his voice trembles a bit – "I wanted to see how you think. Why you chose the line you drove. Why your rhythm was so easy for me to match. I wanted to see if I could.... match you."

He moves closer but still not touching me. Just enough so I can feel the heat under my skin and his hazel eyes gleaming. I am not sure what to say, unable to process his words. Not sure if I should pretend like we are still rivals, which obviously not true, best friend, teammate or coincidence.

"Osc, I am not going to get a call by HR in the morning for saying inappropriate things to my teammate, right?"

Not letting him answer, I quickly continue and let the truth come out "Because I learned about how you drive as well, I spent nights without sleeping just to figure it out. I didn't mean to get too close to you nor to make you feel uneasy. I'm sorry"

"You didn't. I am happy that I am finally something to you"

He doesn't move. Something in his eyes softens so deeply it feels like falling. We stay like that, suspended, breath to breath, close enough to feel everything, too scared to cross the final inch.

And though nothing happens — no kiss, no touch, no confession louder than a whisper - something shifts irrevocably.

Something we can never unfeel. Something that will follow us through every race, every lap, every heartbeat for the rest of the season.