It's one of those days at MTC that makes us feel like we should've stayed at home and rested instead.

Oscar and I have been here since eight in the morning, rotating between the sim and the gym like we're stuck in a loop someone forgot to break. I've driven the same virtual lap enough time that I could probably do it with my mind drifting to dinner plan. At some point around lunch, we decide the only joy left in the building is pasta so we finish all of it. Not metaphorically. I'm pretty sure the cafeteria has none left by the time we walk out of it.

We're meant to have a meeting with Zak and Andrea about tire management for the upcoming race. Maybe Zak wants to see us to reassure about how great we are doing before Andrea adds numbers to justify it. The kind of things you half listen to while already thinking about the next session.

By three in the afternoon, no one has shown up although our meeting was scheduled at ten. Neither of them picks up their phone as well.

I'm sprawled across one of the chairs outside the sim room, legs hooked over the armrest in the way that would definitely give people the ick if anyone passes by. Oscar's on his phone, scrolling with the calm focus of someone who has never been betrayed by people showing up late in his life.

"Should we be worried? What if they got kidnapped?"

Oscar looks up, genuinely considering the possibility for a second then answers flatly, "No".

I nod, accepting that immediately. That's how we work. If Oscar says no, it usually means no and I never question him.

"Boring day at work. Wanna race me?"

"Hahahahaha you? You are attempting to run on a straight line again?"

"People laugh at me because they are jealous at my style okay?"

I stand up and start the timer on my phone, fast-walking with purpose to the other side of the building. Oscar falls into step beside me, unfairly smooth like he's not even trying. I'm about to call him out on cheating when we pass one of the meeting rooms.

The door isn't fully closed, just enough to see inside. Zak is there, Andrea too. Standing close, shoulders angled inward – the kind of posture that doesn't belong to tire compounds or lap time deltas. They talk softly, inaudible that I can't make sense of no matter how hard I try to. Oscar glances at me - quick and unreadable - before he leans in and tries to eavesdrop the same way I am.

"Probably sponsors", I whisper to him although we've gone far away from the room that it doesn't matter anymore. Oscar doesn't answer, just shrugs as he's not totally convinced.

Five minutes later, Zak's assistant appears on the doorstep, asking us to come along with her with a careful expression spreads out on her face. When we get inside, Zak and Andrea are looking at two different directions, a folder on the table neatly closed.

We all seated around the table. The document flies across the table, reaching me and Oscar before we open it carefully. The document isn't printed on McLaren signature kind of paper, ink slight faded at the edges, formatting uneven as if whoever sent it didn't care how it looked as long as it arrived to the right people. The header lists a government office I recognize only because over the years I've learned to notice the shapes of authority even when its name remains a mystery to me.

I didn't realize people still use fax machine to send out documents but the longer I stare at it, the more it makes sense. Emails can be forwarded. Digital trails can easily be leaked with a screenshot. Faxes feel like an illicit problem which never meant to leave the room.

I read and then reread it again to make sure that I am not imagining things.

"Following internal review and consultation with relevant authorities, it has been determined that participation of these 02 following individuals: driver Oscar Piastri and driver Lando Norris from McLaren MasterCard F1 Team in the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix presents unacceptable risk to the public order and cultural integrity.

This determination is based on the public nature of their personal relationship, the global attention the relationship has received and the likelihood of its visibility during the event.

As such, entry clearance will not be granted under current circumstances."

There's no signature at the bottom, just a slightly crooked stamp like it's laughing at our faces. Oscar shifts closer, gently pulls the paper from my grip and places it back neatly again on the table. His fingers intertwined with mine, thumbs lightly pressing against my skin.

Andrea leans forward to explain things clearer again. "They are not accusing you of breaking the law. They are saying your existence as it is now, is a threat to their culture. Your relationship visibility is provocation to them."

Zak turns from the window to face us, heaviness laced in his voice. "This sport has always relied on silence and implication. There's a widely known understanding that something should be stayed unspoken, even if everybody knows."

He gestures vague like he's waving at decades of paddock history. "In the past, it was easier to manage things like this when there was no camera pointing at you from all angles, no team blackmailing you behind people's back. Now you can barely go out and get grocery without people taking a picture of you and post it online immediately."

"We are undeniable now, at least after everything we've gone through". Oscar speaks up quietly and we all know his point of view is correct. "We have got no other plan to change this situation and surely can't say the whole relationship is fake. No backup narrative is available to use."

Zak, being the CEO as he is, taps the fax once against the table to straighten it and starts talking about a different point of view. "From their perspective, this is the final race. Global broadcast. Which means they'll lose a lot of money if we withdraw from the race, since both of you are sponsors' sweetheart and extremely marketable now. But also, they are filthy rich so I'm not sure who loses more."

"So this is why we rarely see drivers come out openly before, not until they retire. Knowing privately is manageable, knowing publicly is not". All Oscar does from the moment he steps in the room is just stating out facts, but those are hard pills to swallow that makes me start wondering what if we were wrong from the beginning?

Zak doesn't hesitate when I ask about our next steps. "We push back. Escalate the pressure on FIA, use all our diplomatic channels to win us some leverage. This doesn't end here."

"And if they don't change their decision?"

"Then we make it very clear that no title, no race or trophy is worth putting you in danger. None of them matters. At least the Constructors' Championship is already us."

Oscar asks if we should be doing anything. Andrea answers firmly yet gentle, "Train. Harder than ever. Prepare for the race, especially you, Oscar. Practice more of controlling wet tires on corners. And trust us. Let us stand in front of this and protect you."

Oscar drags me out of the meeting room when Zak and Andrea tell us they need to discuss things privately. I walk behind him like a ghost without any emotions and thoughts left in mind. This race is about to bring him the very first Championship in his Formula One career, or let him have a taste of broken heart. I don't even realize that Oscar has already stopped walking until his lips are on my hair, kissing me with a quiet intensity that pulls me back into my body.

Yet, all I can think of at the moment, absurdly and desperately, is how to sneak him into that race and make sure he wins this season anyway.