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The desert seemed endless around the Lusail circuit, as if everything happening there were isolated from the real world. The sand moved gently in the wind, and under the still-low sun, the trucks and hospitality vehicles gleamed with a golden light that made everything seem calmer than it actually was. But inside the paddock, no one was calm.
Franco stood in the Alpine garage, staring at his car with his arms crossed. It wasn't the look of someone angry. It was worse. It was the look of someone who already knew he was about to face an uphill battle.
"We had to do it," his engineer explained in a low voice. "The modifications were necessary."
Parc fermé. Changes. Automatic penalty.
“I’m starting from the pit lane,” Franco said, as if he were reminding himself more than the team.
They nodded. He put on his helmet without any drama. No beating his chest or cursing. But when he got into the car, his grip on the steering wheel was firmer than usual.
From the pit lane exit, he watched the grid form for the sprint. He saw the red lights illuminate in the distance. And when they went out, the roar of the engines swept past him like a stampede he could no longer catch.
He started last. Alone. Chasing the pack.
Ahead, Oscar started from pole position. His car was perfectly aligned. Motionless. His reaction was clean, direct. There was no hesitation, no visible skidding. The McLaren launched itself into the first corner as if it knew exactly what to do.
"Good launch," his engineer informed him.
Oscar didn't respond. He didn't need to.
The sprint race was intense and precise. The Australian drove as if every meter were a statement. As if he needed to prove something to someone, even though no one had asked for explanations.
When he crossed the finish line in first place, he didn't celebrate excessively. He just closed his eyes for a second inside his helmet. P1. That was enough.
Meanwhile, in F2, the day wasn't so kind. Arvid got out of the car with an expressionless face. P18. No crash. No drama. Just a lack of pace, traffic, details that added up to become a burden. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. He glanced at the timing board once and then looked away.
Dino, on the other hand, had finished P9. Not brilliant. But consistent.
Arvid walked towards the hospitality area without looking at anyone in particular.
From a few meters behind, Logan watched him. He wanted to approach him, he felt almost a physical urge to do so. He wanted to tell him that he knew. That Isack had confirmed the announcement would be made after that weekend. That Red Bull would promote him and Arvid would go to Racing Bulls. That his life was about to change. He wanted to tell him he wouldn't be alone, but it wasn't the right time, not when he had just finished eighteenth and still wore the stiff expression of someone trying not to feel small.
So Logan pressed his lips together and held back.
"Soon," he murmured to himself.
The F1 qualifying session unfolded under the floodlights, and Lusail ceased to resemble a desert circuit, transforming into a glittering, almost surreal stage.
Oscar was flawless once again. Sector after sector, the clock ticked in his favor. There were no sudden corrections. No doubts. When he crossed the line, pole position was his. Again. He climbed out of the car with measured movements and gave a thumbs-up toward the garage, the small gesture more powerful than any celebration.
Gabriel didn't have that feeling. He had qualified better than his final position would suggest, but the penalty for the collision with Lance Stroll in the previous race would send him five places lower on the grid. He would start fourteenth.
He leaned against the car for a moment before removing his helmet. He knew it was coming, but that didn't lessen his frustration.
That night, the paddock was buzzing with whispers. Isack had spoken with them at length. It confirmed what Max had hinted at days before. The announcement would be imminent after Qatar. Red Bull. Racing Bulls. Changes.
Arvid knew it. Isack knew it. A few others sensed it. But officially, it didn't exist yet.
Logan looked at his phone again in the hotel room. He typed a message. Deleted it. Typed it again. Deleted it again. He didn't want the first approach to be a simple text. He wanted to look him in the eyes when he told him the pack was ready to welcome him if he wanted it.
Sunday dawned on Lusail with a warm, almost aggressive golden light.
The wind carried fine sand across the asphalt, and the heat wasn't as extreme as in its inaugural edition, but it was persistent, like a constant pressure on the skin. The circuit seemed larger than the day before, more open, more exposed.
In F2, Arvid was different; not transformed, but more composed.
The race was clean. Patient. He didn't try to force impossible overtakes. He didn't despair when DRS wasn't enough in the early laps. He waited. And when the opportunity came, he took it.
One. Then another. Then yet another.
When he crossed the finish line in P4, he remained silent for a few seconds in the cockpit. It wasn't a podium finish, but it was an answer.
Dino finished P9 again. Consistent once more. Without any major surprises.
In the parc fermé of the second category, the young Englishman removed his helmet and slowly exhaled.
In F1, the race began with a different scene: Franco starting again from the pit lane. Alpine had once more modified the car in parc fermé.
"Good luck," said the engineer before the start.
Franco closed his visor.
"Then let's have some fun overtaking."
When the pack started, he pulled away alone, a few seconds later, chasing the train of red lights in the distance.
Oscar started from pole position. The start was clean, though not perfect. He defended precisely through the first corner, closing the inside line without leaving any gaps. For the first few laps, the car responded well. Solid pace. Clear strategy. But behind him, the race was falling apart.
Ollie received the first warning.
"Penalty. Ten seconds of Stop and Go for an unsafe restart."
Ollie gripped the steering wheel tightly. He served the penalty. Ten seconds that felt like an eternity as he watched cars whiz past him. And just as he was trying to piece the race back together… the radio crackled again.
"Gearbox problem. We're assessing it."
The car started acting up on one of the straights.
"No... no, no, no," he murmured.
"Box box. We're retiring the car."
The ensuing silence was worse than any argument. He climbed out of the car with stiff movements. His helmet came off with a more abrupt jerk than usual.
Five straight races scoring points. Streak broken. And not because of his own mistake. In the garage, he avoided looking directly at anyone.
"It wasn't your fault," a mechanic told him.
"Yeah," Ollie replied, trying to hide his disappointment. "We'll try again next time."
Isack was having a solid race. Not brilliant. But consistent.
Two laps from the end, he felt the vibration.
DNF.
Two laps. Two damn laps.
He took off his helmet inside the pit box, silently. No one spoke immediately; there was no need.
Later on, the battle was fierce. Kimi was holding his position, defending intelligently. The car wasn't the fastest on the straights, but he was doing his best. Lando was closing in, lap after lap. In the final laps, the tire wear began to show.
The overtake was swift, and by the time they crossed the finish line, Lando had gained that position… and valuable points.
Kimi remained silent after the checkered flag.
“Good job today,” his engineer attempted.
The trouble came later. Social media exploded with cruel speed.
Overrated.
Giving away the championship.
He’s not ready.
Rookie mistake.
Kimi shouldn't have looked, but he did. In the hospitality lounge, sitting on a side sofa, phone in hand, shoulders hunched just a bit more than usual.
"Put that down," Gabriel said, sitting down next to him.
"I'm just looking," Kimi replied quietly.
"Then stop doing it."
Isack, still smarting from his own DNF, came over too.
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone on Twitter.”
Kimi tried to smile. It didn’t quite work.
The next to arrive was Ollie. He was still fuming about his own race, but that faded into the background as soon as he saw Kimi’s expression. He sat down next to him without saying a word for a few seconds. Then, gently, he took the phone from his hands.
“There,” he said.
Kimi didn’t protest this time. His boyfriend looked directly at him.
“Listen to me,” he said with a gentle firmness. “I’m proud of you.”
The alpha looked away.
"I made a mistake."
"Yes," Ollie admitted. "And yet you still had an incredible race. You know who doesn't know you? Those people. You know who does? Us."
Kimi took a deep breath as the omega put an arm around his shoulders. He felt the subtle scent slowly envelop his body and smiled slightly; Ollie always knew what to do to cheer him up.
“Five straight races scoring points,” the older one murmured. “I just lost my streak because of something that wasn’t even my fault. And yet, you know what? It doesn’t change who I am. And your mistakes don’t change who you are.”
Kimi rested his forehead against Ollie’s shoulder for a second.
“You’re not that mistake,” he continued. “You’re the driver who comes from the back of the grid. The one who fights. The one who doesn’t hide.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“And if anyone says otherwise again, they can say it to my face.”
Isack nodded.
"Exactly."
Later, when Oscar saw the magnitude of the comments, he didn't hesitate to contact George.
"Talk to Mercedes," he asked. "Tell them to moderate the comments. This is getting out of hand."
The other driver responded almost immediately.
"I'll handle it."
The pack didn't argue. Didn't question. Didn't analyze statistics. They closed around Kimi. Protecting. Assuring. Reminding him, again and again, that the outside noise didn't define his worth. And as the track lights slowly went out, Lusail fell silent. But inside the hotel, in that small space where voices were soft and hands rested on one another, Kimi wasn't alone against the noise. And that, in the end, mattered more than anything.
The announcement came on a bright Abu Dhabi morning, under a clear sky that seemed almost too perfect for what it meant.
Isack Hadjar to Red Bull.
Arvid Lindblad to Racing Bulls.
The internet exploded. The media started analyzing everything even before the press release had finished circulating.
In the paddock, attention shifted. Arvid was no longer just the promising F2 driver; he was now the next young prodigy to make the leap. And that, in Formula 1, changed everything. (They just hoped the hype wouldn't end up clipping the boy’s wings; they couldn't bear to see someone else in the pack suffer the fate of being the new 'driver of the moment'.)
Max had been discreet, but efficient. He arranged a simple meeting at his hotel after receiving approval. A specific time was given in a message.
"Go," he had said in that calm voice he used when he was serious. "They'll explain everything better than I can."
The young man knew perfectly well who he meant.
The afternoon in Abu Dhabi was warm, golden, almost tranquil. When Arvid arrived at the hotel, the lobby smelled of flowers and air conditioning. He hesitated for a second before going up to the designated floor.
As a precaution, he had placed a small scent suppressant patch at the base of his neck. He didn't want his scent to give him away. He didn't want to feel exposed during such an important conversation.
When he knocked on the door, it was Logan who answered. The omega smiled at him immediately.
"Hey," he greeted warmly. "Come in."
Oscar stood behind them, leaning against the inner doorframe, his expression gentle but attentive.
"Thanks for coming."
Arvid nodded, entering with controlled steps. They had made sure the common areas were empty. The pack knew this conversation needed space.
They sat on the large living room sofa. Not too close. Not too far. Logan started.
"Max has probably already told you something," he said simply. "But we'd rather explain it to you ourselves, calmly."
Arvid nodded.
“Yes. He told me about… the packs.”
The Australian rested his elbows on his knees.
“Right now there are three main ones in F1,” he explained matter-of-factly. “The adult one, that’s the one Max’s in. Ours, which you know who’s in it. And the one with George, Lance, Esteban, Mick, Alex, and Yuki.”
The pup listened intently. Logan continued:
“Packs aren’t contracts. They aren’t policies. They’re bonds. Real support. Mutual care. A safe space.”
Oscar added:
“Max thinks it would be best for you to stay with us.”
Arvid hesitated for barely a second before admitting:
“He explained it to me like this. He said… that it’s the safest option for me right now.”
Oscar blinked. He hadn't expected Max to send Arvid with explanations already given. Logan, on the other hand, wasn't surprised. He understood perfectly. Max's omega instinct was still there, driving him to seek safety for those he considered vulnerable. And Arvid, in his eyes, was a pup in need of guidance.
"We want you to have all the information," Logan said, now serious. "Don't make a decision without understanding everything."
And then they talked. For hours. They explained how the bonds worked. That no one was obligated to anything. That respect was absolute. That consent was everything. Oscar was very clear:
"Here, we don't ask permission to exist. We don't ask permission to feel. We don't ask permission to occupy space."
Logan added:
"If you come in, you're one of us. Not an unwelcome addition. Not a project. Just one more. One of us."
They talked about soft hierarchies. About how they organized themselves without rigidity. About how they protected the younger ones without smothering them.
Arvid asked everything he needed to ask. What if they argued? What if he needed space? What if he didn't fit in?
The alpha of the pack answered patiently.
"We argue like any group that loves each other. With respect. Space is always respected. And fitting in isn't forced."
Logan was more direct:
"We don't want you to fit in. We want you to be yourself."
The silence that followed was long. Not awkward. Thoughtful.
When they finished, the sun was already setting. Oscar exchanged a glance with Logan.
"If you want," he suggested, "you can stay a while. We're all going to get together before dinner. A little pack time."
Arvid hesitated for barely a second.
Arvid hesitated for barely a second.
"I'd like to."
The nest was set up in the main area. Large cushions. Blankets. Warm lighting. Windows closed so they could enjoy the air conditioning and not roast while snuggled together.
When Arvid entered, he felt something different. Not pressure. Not an invasion. Just presence.
Isack was the first to approach, an easy smile on his face.
"Hi."
Liam was beside him, relaxed.
“We told you they didn’t bite.”
The beta pup let out a small laugh. If part of his Red Bull family was here, he could feel safer.
The atmosphere was gentle, almost domestic. Franco was practically lying on Logan, shamelessly seeking affection, his caramel scent wafting sweetly through the air. He was an alpha, yes, but there was nothing dominant about his demeanor. He seemed more like a pampered cat.
Arvid blinked at that. He wasn’t used to seeing alphas acting so freely, not even with someone who was clearly his pack mom.
Isack and Gabriel were talking in hushed tones, so close that their scents—berries and wood—mingled with an almost intimate ease. Kimi was curled up next to Ollie. Ollie had his arms wrapped around him protectively, enveloping Kimi's fresh mint with his cherry aroma. Every now and then, he whispered something in Kimi's ear, making sure he kept smiling. Arvid assumed it had something to do with the statements about cyberbullying that the racing teams had been posting on social media.
Paul and Dino were playing with a blanket, gently pushing each other, chocolate and mandarin mingling in the air like a constant joke. Jack and Liam were exchanging quick banter, chuckling softly, their scents of sandalwood and melon respectively floating lightly. And in the center, like an invisible balance, were Logan and Oscar. Coconut and a very recognizable citrus scent. Steady. Firm. Soft.
Arvid watched everything in silence, absorbing it all. No one invaded his space. No one tried to mark him with their scent (though deep down, everyone wanted to).
After a few minutes, Arvid reached for the patch on his neck. He hesitated.
"Oscar," he murmured. "Can I…?"
The alpha looked at him.
"You don't need to ask permission, remember?"
Arvid stood still for a second.
“In our pack,” Logan added gently, “we don’t ask permission to be ourselves.”
Arvid nodded slowly. He removed his eye patch, and the scent of bergamot emerged shyly at first, then clearly. There was a slight shift in the air. No one commented. No one overreacted. They simply accepted him.
Logan moved slightly to give him more space. Isack settled closer, but without touching him, aware of his boyfriend’s presence pressed against his body. Kimi smiled from his corner. Liam raised his head and winked at him.
Arvid felt something he hadn’t expected. Calm. A profound calm. They hadn’t marked him. They hadn’t surrounded him. They had simply included him.
Time passed almost unnoticed. When he glanced at his watch, he realized he had to leave.
“I don’t want to get back too late,” he said.
Oscar nodded.
"Thanks for coming."
Logan walked him to the door.
"Think about it carefully," he reminded him.
Arvid smiled. He wouldn't say it officially until after the race. He didn't want to throw himself off balance before Sunday. But as he walked back to his hotel, the bergamot still floating freely in the Abu Dhabi night air, he knew he'd made up his mind. As soon as that last race was over… he would accept.
For the first time, the idea of belonging didn't scare him.