95 ∓ 1

I

The cheering outside was only muffled by the closed door and the walls of the pitstop. Various hundreds of voices shouting the names of the racers that day and amongst them;

Francesco.

He forced a light smile as he sat there, alone, his mind wandering to lord-knows-what. His elbows on his knees and chin resting on his hands, he stared at the dark grey stone that was the floor. In all honesty, he wasn't feeling the usual drive (hah) for racing today; some unknown internal feeling twisted about in the back of his mind and he didn't know whether to listen to it or not. He didn't know what was bothering him; he didn't want to find out.

He reached into his suit, pulling the small metal cross of a pendant from inside it. Never was one to believe too much in that, but now he was hoping it worked to ease his nerves and calm his thundering heart. He gently pressed his lips against it, closing his eyes and gripping onto the chain desperately. Outside, he just heard the announcer begin naming the racers. Just a mere few minutes after that and he'd be out on the track again.

Now or never.

He got up, stuffed the small accessory back under his suit, and briskly walked out. The blast of noise as he made his way out barely fazed him, and he grabbed his helmet from one of his crew with a quiet 'grazie'. His formula car gleamed in the sunlight, no doubt properly refuelled for this upcoming race. His crew, scattered about the pitstop discussing the statistics and probabilities of the race, same as ever. This was no different than any other race he's been in, and yet he still didn't feel reassured.

"Hey, Francesco!"

He whipped around, helmet sandwiched between his arm and his hip as he struck a casual pose, aiming to be not much different from when he was fully engrossed in the race.

"Ah, McQueen, how can I help you?" Francesco asked, not condescendingly as he always did, and yet not as compassionate and caring as one would think.

"Nothing much, just wishing you luck," explained McQueen, glancing around the track.

"Oh, I'm not sure if it's me who'll be needing luck." He paused to gently pat the tail of his car, just above where the bumper stickers of 'Ciao, McQueen' were stuck, a challenging grin plastered on his face. "I am not the one reading this, am I?"

The other racer simply rolled his eyes, giving Francesco a light clap on the shoulder as a gesture of solidarity before returning to his own pitstop. The Italian racer looked to his car, then quickly secured his helmet on, plopping himself in the driver's seat and taking a deep sigh. Nothing would go wrong,

Right?