Between the lines | CAMBROS

˗ˏˋ Lap By Lap ˊˎ˗

Quali was brutal. 

Again. 

The track never felt generous. The wind shifted between sectors, the grip came and went like a bribe. 

He placed P13.

Not a disaster. Still a gut punch.In the cool-down room, Liam clapped him on the back. 

"Better than last weekend."

Isack gave a tight smile. "I need it to be better than that."

Liam didn't push. He knew better.

_____

📸 @paddockpulse: "Isack Hadjar keeping it cool in Austin. Heat, pressure, nothing sticks."

💬 @f1softies: "he's got that sunburnt heartbreak vibe and i'm here for it."

💬 @slowburnfc: "pepe's in the paddock and isack is looking like he's seeing sunlight for the first time in weeks."

💬 @softreargrip: "the tension is louder than the engines. please."

_____

The Saturday night driver dinner happened in a garden-lit restaurant just off Sixth Street. Red Bull rookies, reserve drivers, and a few ex-F2s scattered among the tables.

Pepe slipped in late, hair a little too windswept, hoodie half-zipped. He found Isack already seated at the far end of a long table, a half-empty glass of something sparkling in front of him.

"Fancy," Pepe said as he slid into the seat beside him.

Isack didn't look away from his plate. "It's water with bubbles. I live large."

Pepe nudged his knee under the table. Isack didn't pull away.

They didn't talk much. Not with words. Not with all the noise around them. But there were glances. Long ones. Familiar ones.

Ollie appeared somewhere mid-meal, halfway into a story about his rental car nearly getting towed from a Walmart.

"It was a misunderstanding," he insisted. "I thought it was an open curb."

Kimi raised an eyebrow from three seats away. "It was a red zone."

"It was faded," Ollie shot back.

 "You could barely see the line."

"Then why did you park three meters from a hydrant?"

The table fell quiet for a beat. Isack bit the inside of his cheek. 

Pepe leaned in."Lowkey? They're getting worse at pretending they don't care."

Isack hummed. "Highkey."

____

Later, they walked back through the parking lot side by side.Isack was quiet. The kind of quiet Pepe had learned to read.

"You want to talk about it?"

Isack shook his head.

"Okay."

They kept walking.

Pepe stopped him just before the hotel doors.

"You know, you can have a bad quali and still be the best on track tomorrow."

Isack blinked. "Is that optimism?"

"No," Pepe said. "That's watching you race for a few years."

Isack didn't say anything. Just held his gaze for a second too long.

Then: "Come to the garage before the race?"

Pepe smiled. "Thought you'd never ask."

_____

Race day.The sky stretched clear and cruel. Tarmac shimmered like a dare.Isack was already suited when Pepe found him in the garage. The buzz of prep whirred around them—tyre blankets, torque wrenches, half-shouted Italian.

"You good?" Pepe asked.Isack nodded, eyes on the screen. 

"Better when it starts."

Pepe reached out. Not far. Just enough to touch the edge of Isack's sleeve.

"I'll be watching."

Isack met his eyes. There was something unsaid there. Something old and sharp and soft all at once.

"I know."

The lights went out.

Chaos followed.

The first sector was a warzone. Isack dodged a wheel into Turn 1, gained two spots, then lost one again at the hairpin. The car felt twitchy.

But he stayed in it.

Lap by lap, he clawed.

By Lap 15, he was in DRS range of P10. By Lap 25, he'd made the move stick.

He ended the race in P9.

Not a podium. Not fireworks.

But points.

Progress.

He climbed out of the car and removed his helmet slowly, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. His engineer gave him a thumbs up. The team clapped lightly.

When he walked back into the paddock, Pepe was there.

Waiting.

He didn't say anything. Just held out a bottle of water.

Isack took it. Drank. Then breathed.

"Thanks for being here."

Pepe shrugged. "I always am."

_____

📸 @paddockromance: "Martí spotted waiting outside the Red Bull garage post-race. Boyfriend behavior."

💬 @slowburnfc: "no one waitin on him like pepe waitin on isack. I need to lie down."

💬 @f1emotionaldamage: "they talk like they're allergic to vulnerability but also keep showing up like it's gravity."

_____

That night, Isack knocked on his door again.

Same hoodie. Same two lemon sodas.

They ended up on Pepe's balcony this time. Feet on the rail, backs against the wall.

"You gonna miss this?" Isack asked.

"You mean, pretending to be important at an F1 weekend I'm not even racing?"

"No. I mean... this."

Pepe was quiet for a second.

"I don't have to miss it," he said finally.

"No?"

"No," Pepe said, and turned toward him, eyes calm and certain. "Because you're not going anywhere."

Isack looked at him for a long time. Then leaned his head back against the wall.

"Good," he said. "I didn't want to."

The stars above Texas weren't much clearer than Monza or Singapore.

But maybe that didn't matter.

Not when the person beside you made the whole map make sense.