Chapter Text
Epilogue
The Future
December 7, 2025
Incredible. Just incredible! After four years of Dutch dominance, it’s again a British man who takes the crown back. For the first time in his career, Lando Norris is now a world champion!
So much emotion at the finish line. Here come the second and third classified, Verstappen and Piastri. They’re getting out of their cars. It’s no secret that the two drivers, despite the title fight, have grown very close over the course of this season. The fateful Montreal scandal apparently gave rise to a new friendship on the grid. All’s well that ends well, one might say.
Verstappen looks deeply emotional, and I must say it’s a new look for him. What a season, folks, what a season Max Verstappen has put together. He loses the number 1, but absolutely not his dignity. The embrace between the two is moving, there’s nothing else to say. Two great drivers who fought until the very end for the title, but there can only be one winner, and this is Norris’ year.
And finally there's the new world champion, parking his car. What a story, Lando's story. A story of faith, a story of loyalty that, at last, after so many sacrifices, has rewarded him with his dream. Mission fulfilled!
He doesn’t take off his helmet, he doesn’t want to be seen crying perhaps, but we love your emotion, Lando! We love you, just the way you are!
Verstappen's going to his family, Piastri to his parents and sisters. These are scenes of joy for the Aussie, surely tinged with a veil of sadness. But we know that this young driver will learn from the mistakes made this season and come back next year stronger than ever.
Norris’ embrace with his parents is emotional as well. They've always been at his side, since he began racing in a kart. They can be proud of what their son has achieved thanks to their sacrifices.
Our new champion seems to be looking for someone in the crowd, perhaps someone special?
Here we go, Piastri heads toward his teammate. He hasn’t congratulated him yet, and now is the moment to do so. After the frictions midway through the season, we have seen their relationship improve greatly.
Piastri, ever the good sportsman, offers his hand to Lando and... and hugs him! The maturity of this young man is admirable.
What a historic moment, McLaren returning to win both championships after almost 30 years. And what a long embrace between the two teammates! They really are-
Oh? What...
Well-
I believe the people at home are seeing the same images we are?
I didn’t know... Okay, well, it appears we have not one, but two drivers who are members of the LGBTQ+ community on the grid. What can I say, what a historic year for Formula 1!
And they are clearly in a relationship...? Did we already know this? Sorry? I don't think so?
I’m sorry, but you have no idea what’s happening here in Abu Dhabi. I think you can hear it at home as well. I can’t even hear myself talking!
I doubt the FIA and the host country will be happy... but can I be honest? Who cares! Give me a fine as well!
_
Dear Oscar,
When you read this letter, I will already have left Dorset.
I know I’m acting like a thief, running away in the night from my own home, and I sincerely apologise for that. But right now I have neither the strength nor the courage to do otherwise. I’m afraid that if I looked you in the eyes, I wouldn’t be able to make you understand everything I feel, to tell you everything I believe I need to say. So I’m writing these words while you’re downstairs with Lando and Max.
I think the time has come to face the situation we're in and admit to ourselves, and to each other, that our story is over.
Don’t get me wrong, putting these words one after the other is anything but easy for me. But it’s even harder to keep pretending that everything is fine. It isn’t. Everything is not fine. I only have to think back to a year ago to realise how completely different things are now, how our relationship has changed, and not for the better. And if I go even further back, two, three, four years ago, I realise that what we’re doing is therapeutic obstinacy. Forgive my bluntness, but that’s what it is. We’re stubbornly trying to keep something alive that we should just let die. I’m not angry about this, because the blame lies with both of us. What saddens me is that perhaps you haven’t fully grasped how well I know you. And while I am dying alone, waiting (I admit it, wrongly) for you to find the courage to take matters into your own hands, you are no longer alone. What I don’t understand is whether you realize what’s happening to you. The nature of the bond that ties you to him. I don’t think it’s jealousy speaking, and I don’t think it’s a desire to hurt you either.
I shouldn’t concern myself with it, I know that. I shouldn’t even mention it in this letter. It’s not my business, well, no longer, at least. Why should I interfere in something like that?
And yet I can’t stop myself. The truth, Oscar, is that I still care deeply about you. I worry about you, and I still want you to be happy, even if not with me. And here we come to the part that makes me angriest of all. I know that you still care about me too, and I know we could have put an end to this story in a different way, with more maturity and without me writing this letter alone in the master bedroom of the villa where we shared so many beautiful moments together, with two strangers downstairs. We could have talked before it was too late, confronted each other, acknowledged together that it was time to walk two different paths and said goodbye with a hug. And after that hug, I might even have stayed close to you, in a different form, when it hurt me less, to help you navigate this life, and to be helped by you in turn. There wouldn’t have been any need for the clean break that now, instead, I consider essential to move forward with our lives.
Now it feels like only ruins remains, like after an earthquake. Maybe one day what I think will change, but right now this is how I feel.
Still, I want to be optimistic. I want to rebuild on this rubble, realise my dreams, try to be happy even without you. And I wish the same for you.
Again, it may seem inappropriate to write this in a farewell letter, but you are a wonderful person, Oscar. You will always remain one of the most important people in my life. Don’t let yourself be swallowed by the rubble, don’t lose yourself in your darkness. You need light to take flight, to soar high in the sky. You just have to remember to find it. And then you’ll be unstoppable.
For a long time I thought I was your light, but that’s not the case. Look around, you’ll find it. It’s closer than you think.
If I know you well, it will take some time before you read this letter. When you do, call me, if you want. I’ll answer.
Lily
__
August 12, 2027
Once he finishes reading the letter, Lando folds it and places it on the table.
He looks at it for a few moments, with a light in his eyes that’s hard to read. It’s more or less the same reaction Oscar had when he read it for the first time.
Several seconds pass before Lando manages to say anything.
“She knew everything. Even before you did,” he comments, somewhere between stunned and admiring, his pupils still fixed on the written sheet of paper.
Oscar, seated on the other side of the table, nods. “Now you get why I kept it?”
Lando finally lifts his gaze. The expression on his face tells Oscar that no, maybe he still doesn’t quite comprehend it. The Aussie sighs. “Lily was the person who stood by me the most during those years. Even now, she’s one of the people who know me best in the world. The fact that she understood how I felt about you before I did doesn’t surprise me at all. But it makes me feel good, because it means I started loving you long before I realised it. Maybe I’ve always loved you. And that’s nice to think.”
Lando nods; he’s starting to see what he’s saying. Still, he wants to better grasp his boyfriend’s point of view. “But it’s still a farewell letter. Doesn’t keeping it make you sad?”
Oscar shakes his head, smiling. “No, honey. On the contrary, every time I read it, it makes me the happiest man in the world, because thanks to Lily’s courage in writing those lines I understood that you were the person I wanted. And besides, we’re friends now, you know that, and we managed to clear up everything we never talked about when we should have.”
Lando finally seems convinced. “I get it,” he says, reaching out to caress Oscar’s hand, lying open on the tabletop. “I’d like to get to know her better one day. I never asked to join when you see her because... well, it always felt strange to do so. And I appreciate that you never suggested it either,” he smiles. Then he adds, “But now I’d like us to go out together sometimes. If you want to, obviously.”
Oscar flashes a huge grin. “Perfect. Of course I want to. Funny coincidence, she landed in Monaco yesterday with her boyfriend and they’ll be staying here on vacation for a week. I invited them over for dinner tomorrow, to show her the new house.”
Lando’s eyes widen as if he’s just seen a ghost. He jumps to his feet, mouth agape, and starts shouting, “That’s why you wanted me to read this letter, isn’t it?! You’re such a bastar-”
“SHHH,” Oscar cuts him off, laughing uncontrollably, lunging across the table to clamp a hand over his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?! Lily’s sleeping in the next room. If we wake her up and mess up her sleeping schedule, Max and Kelly will kill us both.”
So, after those words, Lando forcibly calms himself. He sits back down, composed. “You need to stop using that kid for your dirty purposes. And above all, you need to stop being her favorite. I’m sick of it. That should be me."
Oscar stays silent. He takes the folded letter and slips it back into its original envelope. He keeps staring at the table as he says softly, “You’ll be the favourite of ours anyway.”
Then, as if to ignore the magnitude of what he’s just said, he stands up and starts tidying the kitchen. “Are you going to help me, or what?”
Lando remains seated, mouth wide open, eyes huge.
___
December 5, 2027
BREAKING NEWS – Max Verstappen announces his retirement: “This was my last race. The team has known for some time. My heir? I have one in mind, but we’ll see.”
In a Rosberg-style move, four-time world champion Max Verstappen stunned everyone during the press conference of the final race of the season.
After months of rumors linking him to other teams, a Sky Sport journalist’s direct question finally brought a definitive answer by the Red Bull driver.
“What does next year have in store for me? I guess it’s time to say it.” He smiles before continuing, perhaps betraying a hint of emotion. “I won’t be at Red Bull. I won’t be in the paddock, actually, at least not as a driver. This was my last race.”
It’s hard to describe the roar that erupted in the room after those words. First-hand accounts claim that three people actually fainted.
After losing the 2025 title to Lando Norris by just two points, both the 2026 and 2027 seasons saw Verstappen struggling. A handful of wins here and there, numerous podiums, but nothing that made him a serious title contender anymore. The new regulations heavily favored Mercedes, as shown by their two consecutive constructors’ championships and George Russell’s drivers’ titles.
Verstappen, however, is keen to be clear about his motivations.
“I’m not retiring because I’m no longer winning. I’m retiring because I’m no longer having fun. This isn’t a criticism of the FIA or the team, whom I thank for their constant support. It’s simply how I feel. My goal was to become world champion, and I achieved that. After 2021, everything else was a bonus. There are many things I want to do... It’s time for a new chapter.”
“The team and Laurent have known for some time,” the Dutchman continues, answering further questions. “I made my decision shortly before the summer break. I didn’t want to catch them off guard too late into the year. Over these months we’ve been working behind the scenes to ensure a smooth exit.”
“Is Isack ready to lead the team? Isack is a very good driver. The results from this past season prove that. But I think Red Bull needs someone else to hold the reins, someone who can take charge and fight for the title again, not just for P2 in the constructors. Obviously I have some names in mind, and I’ve shared my humble suggestions with Laurent.”
Finally, another reporter points out that Verstappen’s contract would theoretically run until 2028. Before answering, Max flashes a mischievous smile. “Let’s just say I’ve reached a sort of agreement with Laurent, and it’s about my heir. I won’t add anything else. It’s not something that concerns me.”
In closing, Verstappen dedicates a few words to the people he’s shared his F1 journey with. “You know I’m usually not one for many words, but this time I can make an exception. I thank everyone who shared the Red Bull dream with me. All my teammates, from Daniel to Isack. I also thank Carlos, with whom I entered this world back in the Toro Rosso days. My team principals, my engineers, the mechanics. Everyone. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s been a wonderful adventure.”
“And to whoever comes next, I just want to issue a challenge. Try to do better than me. I know you can. Don’t disappoint me.”
____
December 10, 2034
In Las Vegas, the final race of the season, Oscar starts from the front row.
Beside him, an orange car. The livery has changed over time, but the soul remains the same. That color will always belong to him, at least in part. But when a space becomes too small, it is only right to leave it behind in order to keep growing.
Oscar is immersed in blue. His suit is blue, his helmet is blue. His car is blue. Blue brought him to the top. Blue showed him the way. Blue is the guiding star, the path taken, the one he was meant to follow.
Now, however, he sees red. One light, two, three, four, five.
Then the lights go out, and Oscar launches forward, with the aim no longer merely to win, but to make history.
Fifty laps later, fireworks light up the night sky of the United States.
The challenge has been met. The promise, kept.
Manifest destiny.
Las Vegas Grand Prix, lap 50
Stallard: P2, Kimi. You were brilliant. You gave it everything.
Antonelli: I’m sorry, guys. I gave it my all. It wasn’t enough.
Norris: Kimi, it’s Lando. You were great. Thanks to your P2 and Okafor’s P3 we’ve secured second place in the Constructors’ Championship. We beat Mercedes.
Antonelli: Thanks, Lando. Thanks to the whole team. I’m happy, we deserve it. Happy for Amara and her podium too.
Norris: We are too. Next year will be your year. I promise.
Oscar parks his single-seater behind the number 1. It’s the same number that adorns his car, the same one he wears on his helmet, on his clothes. It has been part of him for four years, and thanks to his victory in this race it will remain his for the coming season as well.
Once the engine is switched off, the Red Bull driver leaves the mechanical part of his body behind and jumps down onto the ground. To his right, orange. To his left, orange. The two McLarens complete the podium, and Oscar is genuinely happy for that. Kimi approaches him, extends his hand, and the Aussie answers with a firm shake, bursting with joy.
“You’re a beast. Congratulations,” the Italian tells him, with the usual sportsmanship that sets him apart from many others. But a veil of sadness clouds his gaze.
Oscar grips his hand tightly and smiles at him. “Congratulations to you too. You were really a thorn in my side,” he jokes, then adds, “Thank you for this season. It’s been great.”
Shortly after, the two men are joined by a girl. She is very young, even younger than Oscar was when he started. And yet she’s quick like lightning. She hugs them both, smiling, happiness incarnate. “Congratulations! To both of you!” she shouts, with an uncontrollable excitement spilling from her voice.
Oscar returns the hug. “Congratulations to you too! First career podium, in the last race of the year. What a style,” he jokes again.
Okafor is a generational talent. Oscar knows her very well, and he knows that the driver standing in front of him represents the future of the sport. Not only for her racing skill and speed, but also for what her very presence in that competition means.
The night sky lights up like day thanks to the myriad of fireworks exploding all around them, just as his heart lights up. It’s beautiful to see the future taking shape before his eyes. A future that, not so many years ago, had seemed unattainable.
Shortly after, it’s time for the podium ceremony.
Okafor gets called first. The roar that erupts when her name is announced is indescribable. Then it's Antonelli's turn. Endless applause for him, who came so close to his first world title. Oscar knows his time will come too - he’s certain of it. But not yet. This is still his era. It is still his empire.
When he hears his own name, the crowd’s reaction gets out of control. Oscar walks toward the podium and takes his place on the top step, which is still rightfully his. Beneath him, an ocean of people he’d like to dive headfirst into. They cheer him, they revere him. He’s earned it: he is the first Red Bull driver to win five world championships. Five in a row, equalling Schumacher’s record. Sebastian didn’t manage it. Max didn’t manage it. Oscar did. And this is only the beginning.
The journalist tasked with interviewing them approaches Okafor and hands her a microphone. “Amara, congratulations! First career podium, in your rookie season! What can I say, quite a spectacular way to end the year, don’t you think?”
The girl can’t control her smile. “I still need to process what just happened. I definitely want to thank the whole team. Our team principal, Lando, of course, who has believed in me since the F1 Academy days. But everyone, I mean it, everyone deserves praise. The mechanics, the engineers, the marketing staff, truly everyone. Sorry, I can’t even hear myself.” Another roar rises from the hundreds of people beneath the podium. “I also want to thank my family. It hasn’t been easy. Nothing in my past has been easy. If I’m here, it’s only thanks to them and to McLaren’s support. And I also want to thank my girlfriend. I don’t know where you are, I can’t see you,” she says, laughing, scanning the crowd below the podium, “but I know you’re there. I love you.”
While the journalist interviews Kimi, Oscar watches the countless faces below him.
After a few minutes, he finally spots them: his best friend and his husband, standing side by side. The pride in their eyes makes his own eyes damp. But he won’t cry this time. He already made a fool of himself five years ago, after his first title.
When the two realize Oscar has seen them, Max catches his attention. Oscar locks his gaze onto his. Despite the distance, he can read his lips.
I told you so. I told you so. I told you so.
Lando, instead, doesn’t move his mouth. It remains fixed in a smile that spreads across his entire face. They don’t need words, not anymore. There’s nothing more to add. Around them, the world keeps exploding, but when their eyes meet, nothing else exists. That’s how it was, that’s how it is, that’s how it will always be.
This time, though, in that look there is the shared joy of having been part of change.
There is the awareness that their love, fueled by courage, has rewritten the rules.
And if love has really made everything fair in war too, they know that perhaps it’s a little bit thanks to them too.
_____
December 13, 2025
“Armand, another round, please. This time two gin and tonics.”
Carlos shoots a dirty look at the man in front of him and snorts. “How many times do I have to tell you I fucking hate gin? I want a beer,” he snaps, signaling the bar owner to change his order. But Max doesn’t let him, and with a nod of his head he confirms the two gin and tonics to Armand. Of course he wins, he’s playing at home.
Then he turns back to Carlos. “Come on, do me this favor. Try it. Armand’s gins are out of this world.” Carlos rolls his eyes, annoyed, so Max presses on. “I lost the championship, I’m sad. You owe me.”
“Oh, fuck off!” the Spaniard shoots back. “You’ve got four of them! I’m older than you and I’m still trying to get anywhere near my first one!”
Then they both burst out laughing in unison, helped along by the not insignificant amount of alcohol already flowing through their veins.
“Where were we?” Max asks once their laughter dies down.
Carlos thinks for a moment, then his face lights up. “Ah, yes. We were trying to figure out when they were at their most unbearable. I said during the summer break, but you didn’t agree.”
Max nods. “Right. But of course, Carlos, come on. Summer break was a bliss, they weren't talking to each other. Do I need to remind you what happened after Zandvoort? It was a nightmare. Oscar didn’t even know which way was up.”
Carlos disagrees, his expression makes it obvious. He shakes his head to reinforce the point. “Well then, you have no idea about the scenes Lando caused after their fight in Barcelona. The entire world thought he’d cheated on his girlfriend, and all he could think about was the fact that Oscar didn’t consider him a good driver. I don’t know how I didn’t end up screaming at him.”
“But that’s nothing!” Max shouts, slamming his hands on the table. “And anyway, you had it easy! At least you only had to deal with Lando. I had to deal with BOTH OF THEM. And Oscar was showing the emotional range of a fucking coffee pot.”
Armand approaches the table, sets down the two gin and tonics, but strangely doesn’t walk away. The two drivers barely notice, though.
“Are you hearing yourself?! You only got dragged into that mess right at the end. I had to deal with Lando for three years. THREE YEARS, MAX. THREE YEARS of Lando Norris having an existential crisis every time Oscar so much as brushed against him. Max Verstappen, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Suddenly, someone near clears his throat. The two men turn toward the sound: it’s Armand, watching them with his empty tray in hand.
“If I may...”
Max raises an eyebrow, but gestures for him to continue. “Of course, go ahead.”
“I’m afraid the winner of this merry competition would be me. When they got back from Abu Dhabi, Lando and Mr. Piastri came to my establishment together and drank a curious and dangerous amount of gin and tonics. A few hours later, they disappeared into the bathroom. And never came out.”
Both Carlos and Max make a disgusted noise. “Armand, please, that’s disgusting.”
“No, it’s not what it sounds like,” the elderly man continues. “Worried for their safety, I went to check on them. I found them lying on the floor next to the toilet, practically passed out. They’d fallen asleep on my floor, completely drunk. I had to wake them up with a bucket of ice-cold water, call a taxi for them, and walk them to the car.”
Carlos’ eyes go wide. “That’s not true. Please tell me that’s not true.”
“It is absolutely true.” A pause. “I also have a photograph.”
Max shouts again. “Armand, please, show it to us right now.”
Said and done. The old pub owner pulls out his phone and shows them the photo of the two McLaren drivers asleep on the floor. Lando is hugging the toilet. Oscar is hugging Lando. It’s a frankly pitiful sight.
The Dutchman’s eyes light up. “Armand, I beg you. Send me that photo. I’m begging you.”
“What do you want to do?” Carlos asks, torn between amusement and concern.
“I want to post it on Instagram.”
“Are you out of your mind? Do you want them fired?”
“Sweetheart, one of them is a world champion and they’ve both basically become the Katniss and Peeta of Formula 1. They’re untouchable. I want revenge for everything they put us through.”
Carlos shakes his head, but can’t hold back a laugh. “You’re insane.”
“Don’t be such a grump. You know that all’s fair in-”
“Oh my God, please, shut up.”