Chapter Text
“Carlos Left Five Minutes Ago.”
(Media Day, 06:42 AM – 07:30 AM)
📍 Williams hotel → paddock
Cast: Carlos Sainz, Alex Albon, Tasha (team coordinator), James Vowles
Mood: Confusion, suspicion, and the slow dawning of awe
06:42 AM
Tasha almost misses the message.
She’s in the corner of the hotel breakfast lounge, three sips into a triple-shot espresso, scrolling through the group chat nicknamed “Mornings with Mayhem”. Mostly it's logistics. Tyre compound discussions. Weather warnings. Alex forgetting his socks.
But today, in the middle of it, there's something strange:
Carlos: “Heading to the paddock now. Left five mins ago.”
She stares at it for a second.
Then again.
He shouldn’t even be awake yet.
“Is Carlos okay?” she mutters to herself, rereading it like it might change.
Across the room, Alex Albon stumbles in wearing mismatched socks and a hoodie that might be his or might be a Red Bull souvenir blanket. He's clutching a banana like it's a lifeline.
“You seen Carlos?” he asks, mid-yawn.
Tasha just shows him the screen.
Alex squints. Then blinks. “Left five minutes ago? But we were supposed to meet here at—”
“Ten minutes from now,” Tasha says.
They both turn to look out the hotel window. Nothing but empty sidewalk, a hint of morning fog, and a golf cart sitting idle in the drive.
06:55 AM
New ping in the chat.
James Vowles: “Just passed Carlos on the paddock side access path. On a bike. Carbon frame. Full kit. Looked like he was racing the sunrise.”
James Vowles: “He waved. I think he had coffee in his bottle cage.”
Tasha stares.
Alex's jaw drops.
“Did he… bike here?”
07:01 AM
They’re in the backseat of the team golf cart, bouncing mildly over curbs as Tasha mutters something about legality and Alex squints into the horizon like he’s hunting a mythical beast.
Carlos is already at the paddock.
Already inside the Williams garage.
Already changed into a clean team kit, sipping a second espresso with one leg casually crossed.
His bike is parked beside the media tent — a matte black, top-tier carbon beauty with a custom blue saddle and a discreet “CS55” etched on the frame. It gleams.
Alex gapes. “He teleports.”
“No,” James says. “He cycles. Like a lunatic.”
“He cycles like he’s paid to do it.”
“He probably is,” James mutters. “His quads have better PR than most drivers.”
07:12 AM
Alex confronts him at the coffee machine.
“You biked here.”
Carlos blinks at him innocently. “Yes?”
“From the hotel.”
“Yes.”
“That’s—like—what? Fifteen minutes?”
Carlos tilts his head. “Eleven.”
Alex gasps. “It took us twenty-four. And we ran a red light.”
Carlos smiles, vaguely saintlike. “I left at sunrise. Traffic’s better before seven.”
Tasha, from behind a croissant, murmurs, “We didn’t even know there was traffic before seven.”
07:19 AM
James Vowles watches Carlos walk through the hospitality zone with the natural serenity of a man who’s already finished his cardio, had two coffees, and beaten the rest of the team by a solid half hour — all before sunrise.
He watches Carlos greet three mechanics by name (well tries to, get's 1 wrong 2 right progress), hand over a protein bar to an intern who forgot breakfast, and casually deflect an interview request with a smile and a shoulder pat.
James looks at Alex.
Alex looks at James.
They say nothing.
But they’re already thinking the same thing:
We’re going to need bikes.
love,
Tee