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Everyone in the F1 world knew about Liam and Isack. Some joked. Some teased. Some admired. Fans even proudly called them their favorite F1 relationship. The paddock gossiped, but none of it mattered once the race weekend’s noise faded. Away from the cameras and the buzz of the paddock, nights like this were what truly mattered—the quiet ones when it was just the two of them.
The hotel in Jeddah was like a tower of glass glowing over the Corniche, neon signs painting the night with pink and gold. Far below, the city hummed with late-night traffic and laughter. But in their room, tucked high above it all, the only sounds were the steady hum of the air-conditioning and the gentle shuffle of sheets.
Liam was on the bed, sitting among the crisp covers, his long frame curled in comfort. He had tugged on one of Isack’s Red Bull hoodies without thinking, the smell of faint cologne and garage grease clinging to the fabric. It was too snug across his shoulders, but he hadn’t noticed. The sleeves bunched just slightly at his wrists, and somehow that made it warmer, closer, like carrying a piece of Isack with him.
Isack noticed immediately. He leaned against the doorframe with a grin stretching wide across his face. His voice broke the quiet like water bubbling up, warm and playful.
“C’mon, princess, stealing from me again?”
Liam glanced up, lips twitching. He squinted in mock suspicion.
“What do you mean again?”
Isack chuckled as he crossed the room, his t-shirt falling loosely over his slim frame. His teasing words came out smooth, practiced, but there was always fondness at the edges.
“First my hoodies, what’s next? My last name?”
Liam looked down at himself then, registering the hoodie properly for the first time. The fabric stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, a fraction too small. A smirk tugged at his lips.
“Honestly? I didn’t even notice.”
Isack shook his head, already laughing as he reached down to tug lightly on the fabric.
“You didn’t notice? Baby, this thing looks painted on you!”
He pulled Liam forward by the hoodie, and Liam let himself be reeled in without resistance. Instead, he leaned in, slipping his hands slowly around Isack’s waist, the movement easy, like breathing.
“Are we going to talk about the fact that you’re wearing my merch—with my number on it?”
Blinking, Isack looked down at himself. And yes—he was unmistakably in Liam’s official merch, with the bold number 30 stamped brightly across his chest. His smirk curved back, sly and knowing.
“Well, if you’re stealing my hoodies, I figured I’d steal your merch too.”
Liam let out a low chuckle, slipping a steady hand beneath the hem of Isack’s shirt, his thumb rubbing slow circles against his skin. His gaze lingered on the number, pride and affection tangled together.
“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “I like it.”
Isack’s smile softened into something warmer. He tugged gently at the shirt’s hem, revealing the top lines of his abs with a cheeky, teasing grin.
“You know, some people might actually think I’m on your team like this.”
Liam rolled his eyes though his grin remained. He leaned back against the plush headboard, tugging Isack fully onto his lap and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
“You are my team, love.”
Isack eased into the embrace, bracing himself with elbows on each side of Liam’s head, gaze softened by the low glow of the city outside. His expression melted into something tender as he murmured,
“Your team, huh? Does that mean I get special treatment?”
Liam’s hands slid beneath his shirt once more, steady and familiar. His voice was quiet but sure.
“You always get special treatment. Do you think I kiss all my fans?”
Isack laughed at that, bright but low, enough to melt into the silence.
“Of course not, baby. Only I get those kisses and touches… and maybe a few other special privileges too.” He added a wink for good measure.
Fondness carved across Liam’s face, pulling his mouth into an unguarded smile. He lifted his hand to cup Isack’s cheek, tracing lightly with his thumb, as if memorizing every detail.
“Of course.”
Isack leaned into the touch instinctively, closing his eyes for a moment before pressing his own hand to hold Liam’s, anchoring it against his face. His voice fell hushed, the weight of truth in every word.
“I love you so much, Liam. My everything.”
He pressed his lips gently to Liam’s forehead, their foreheads resting together afterward, breaths mingling.
A blush warmed Liam’s face, the smile blooming fuller across it. His thumb still brushed Isack’s skin in steady strokes.
“I love you too, my darling.”
Isack’s breath caught at the word. His lips parted into a grin too soft for teasing as he caught Liam’s hand and pressed it against his own chest. The steady rhythm of his pounding heart thumped beneath Liam’s palm.
“Right here, Liam. You own this heart completely.”
Before Liam could answer, Isack kissed his knuckles carefully, reverently, as though placing a seal over the vow.
Something inside Liam stilled and stirred at once. He was sure, in that moment, in a way he had never been about anything else: Isack was the one. The only. His.
Liam leaned up to press his lips against Isack’s, tender at first, then deepening with every slow, certain moment. Isack melted against him, steadying himself with an arm around his neck while their rhythm synced in the softest kiss. Passion hummed beneath it, quiet but undeniable.
When they pulled apart, Liam leaned into the headboard again, pulling Isack close on top of him, arms encircling his frame. He buried his face against Isack’s shoulder with a whisper that seeped out low and reverent.
“How did I get so lucky with you?”
Isack’s embrace folded tighter as he rested his chin atop Liam’s hair. His reply came without hesitation, firm but gentle.
“I ask myself that every day.”
His lips pressed to Liam’s forehead again, and for a while they sat in that silence, wrapped in warmth and trust, with the city’s lights framing their outline through the curtains.
The night stretched long, filled with quiet murmurs of race strategy jokes and plans for shared breakfasts, laughter melting into whispers. And yet, every thread of their conversation seemed to weave into the same truth—they were safe here, in each other’s arms.
Eventually, when quiet had taken over again, Liam’s mind wandered back to Isack’s earlier words—his joke about last names. A sly smile curved across Liam’s lips as he looked at him, heart brimming with mischief and sincerity all jumbled together.
“Hey,” Liam murmured. His voice was careful, playful, but something deeper lingered beneath it. “Who said I’m gonna take your last name? What if I want you to take mine?”
Isack blinked as surprise flickered across his eyes. A blush rose on his cheeks instantly, soft and boyish, as his hand reached up to tilt Liam’s chin upwards. Their gazes met, locked, and a smirk ghosted his lips.
“Are you proposing something here, Lawson?” he teased, though the sparkle in his eyes gave away the burst of excitement beneath.
Liam grinned, slipping his hands down to squeeze Isack’s sides playfully. His voice roughened, a husky edge underlining the warmth.
“I’m just saying,” he murmured, “I’d like you to have my last name, Hadjar.”
Isack’s chest jumped with a skipped heartbeat, his smirk softening into something genuine. He gently threaded his fingers through Liam’s hair, savoring his words, the hidden promise within them.
“You know what?” he said, voice quiet but heartfelt. “I like the sound of that.”
Liam’s blush spread warm across his cheeks, his hand slipping to the small of Isack’s back as though it were the most natural thing. His whisper was tender, almost shy.
“I’d also be happy with Lawson-Hadjar. Isack and Liam Lawson-Hadjar.”
That made Isack laugh softly, though his voice wavered with awe. His eyes glistened as he grabbed at Liam’s hoodie and tugged him impossibly closer.
“God, you’re so sweet. Do you even realize how romantic you’re being right now?” His thumb brushed gently along Liam’s jaw as though trying to caress the words themselves.
Liam leaned into the touch, smile warm, eyes fluttering closed as a content hum slipped out of him.
“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, voice quiet as the city whispering outside. “I’m just in love, really.”
They stayed like that—foreheads pressed together, breaths shared—as the world outside spun on. Whether it was Hadjar, Lawson, or Lawson-Hadjar, Liam knew the name didn’t matter. The love between them was the real constant.
And neither of them would let it go.