Sophia offered me her hand, and this time I took it without hesitation.

The air itself seemed to still as the final few cars came around from the formation lap and found their spots on the grid for the race start. This was nothing like qualifying yesterday, where the air buzzed with something that almost felt like a tempered excitement. Now, the tension in the air was so hot, it could have singed the hair on the back of my neck. 

Since we had a limited view of even just the starting line, everyone in the garage had their eyes turned up towards the screens, which showed the live cable broadcast you'd normally see on TV, and we could hear the usual announcers in the headsets we wore.

The beeping came first as the lights counted down, and the moment we heard it's lights out and away we go, the roar of the engines came thundering through the garage, and suddenly I was even more thankful for this big ass headset.

"Vaughn gets away well, but so does Olsen. They're almost side by side going into turn 1!"

I was hearing what the announcers were saying, but I was so hyper fixated on the screen as the cars roared down towards the first turn that I wasn't registering it. It was all just white noise at this point. All I was fixated on was the metallic black of car #1.

Sophia and I instinctively gave each other's hands a squeeze as Atlas and Adrian went into the first turn, their front tyres so close together it must have taken the most expert-level precision to avoid hitting each other...but they were experts.

They exited the turn still side by side as they immediately swooped down into turn 2, but at the last second, Atlas charged forward and came flying out of the exit of turn 3, coming out just enough ahead of Adrian for him to know that Atlas had the racing-line, and now the lead.

The entire crowd erupted, but right in front of us, the Porsche pit crew and mechanics jumped out of their seats, cheering and jeering and all manner of exuberant celebrations. Sophia and I clutched onto each other, but this time in relief, as Atlas began to pull away through the straight aways in sector two.

"And by turn 3, Atlas Vaughn has already taken the lead of this race! Absolutely brilliant attacking by this young driver."

I would assume this was when they would ideally pan to the garage shot, showing all of us screaming like little kids when they catch sight of the ice cream truck on a hot day, and I was glad I'd chosen to forgo a little bit of fashion in lieu of wearing Atlas's Porche bomber jacket despite the fact that it damn near swallowed me. I felt good in it regardless, and I was sure it showed as Sophia and I hugged. The race was far from over, but one step (or lap) at a time, and in a place like this, little victories mattered.

Now with clean air in front of him, Atlas soared like a comet in the night, voyaging alone through a place both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It felt like every time I blinked, I saw him rocket through the straightaway and over the start-finish line for another lap.

Objectively, the rest of the race was...well, boring. However, if you were an Atlas Vaughn fan, the rest of the race was fucking brilliant.

When Atlas came in for a pit stop before everyone else in the top 5, Sophia explained to me that they were trying to cover off the undercut from Mercedes and Adrian. Positions were always lost during a pit stop, but if it was timed up properly, you could come back out to the track with minimum places to make up, and by making a move to take that pit stop first, you can force those guys now in front of you to do the same. Since Atlas had already put nearly 8 seconds between him and Adrian in the first 25 or so laps, a searingly fast 2.2 second pit stop spat him out right behind Jaye in P4, who swiftly slid aside to allow Atlas to pass him into P3. Normally that kind of thing could have caused discourse between certain drivers on the same team, but it seemed like everyone was on team Atlas today.

It only took a few laps before Adrian and Cal both went in, putting Atlas back in first with Adrian and Cal behind him in P2 and P3 respectively, where he continued to soar for the rest of the race. In fact, he was so far ahead that with 3-4 laps left in the race, the crew began to file out of the garage to where the winning cars pulled up further down the pit lane. Sophia gave me an expectant nod, and I looped my arm around hers before she led us away.

While I no longer had a visual of the track, the explosive surge in crowd noise almost drowned out the announcement that rang throughout the grand prix.

Atlas Vaughn, your Singapore Grand Prix winner!

We'd abruptly stopped in the middle of the paddock as Sophia pulled me into a hug, seemingly invisible to the faceless bodies rushing around us. As I hugged her back, I was floating out of my own body, just barely registering the smell of burnt rubber and petrol in the air and the way the very ground underneath me seemed to vibrate from the engines of the cars. Fireworks boomed overhead, raining color and light down on us.

She pulled away but kept her head close, cupping my cheeks with her hands and smiling through the glistening in her eyes. There were no words I could have given her, but I also realized I didn't need to. Being there with her, and with him, said more than words ever could.

By the time we made it to the end of the pit lane where the interviews and trophy ceremony would take place, Callahan was finishing up his interview, his hair an elegantly swept up mess from his helmet, and his face still red and dotted with sweat.

"I know how much this win means to Atlas and his family," Callahan took a beat, glancing over his shoulder to where a mega screen replayed the shot of Atlas passing the checkered flag. He turned back to the reporter, this time with a grin that made the little dimple in the corner of his mouth pop."Of course, I always want to win, but I couldn't be happier for Atlas tonight."

"You're a class act, Callahan Jane," the reporter said with a smile. "Congrats on P3. And now we're just waiting for your race winner."

Callahan offered the reporter a nod before waving to the crowd one last time, throwing in a wink for good measure.

I quickly sent out a text to Gemma, beaming and grinning like I never would again. Do you hear your man right now? What a fucking class act.

Gemma responded immediately. As always. Happy for your Welsh lad. 

A massive eruption of cheers came from the crowd, much louder than it had been before, and when I snapped my gaze back up to see the cause of the commotion, Callahan had Atlas wrapped up in a hug. A real, genuine, two-armed thing that people who gave a shit about each other did. Everyone, including me, fucking lost it. 

"You don't see that every day," the reporter added with a chuckle, and the crowd agreed. I stole a glance behind me towards the grandstand, where everyone was on their feet, and more Welsh flags than I expected dotting the crowd, billowing in the night air.

As Atlas now approached the reporter, another roar of cheers came from the grandstand, and after heaving out another exhausted breath, Atlas raised his hand in appreciation. The cheers got louder, and for just a moment when our eyes met, I gave him a smile. Exhaustion painted his red face, but he smiled back. My soul had finally whooshed back into my body like a punch to the chest, knocking all of the air out of my lungs as if the sight of him had truly and genuinely taken my breath away. 

"I think..." the thick-accented English interviewer began trying to speak over the ongoing cheers and thunderous applause. "I think this sounds like a home race for you in the UK, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Atlas nodded, taking his cap off and wiping sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "Yeah, honestly still just processing it all."

"Winning here for you is almost the equivalent of winning the whole championship isn't it?"

Atlas pinched his mouth together as he nodded again and processed his response. Under the glare of the lights, with the heat of the track still sizzling and the sound of the fans that roared his name, Atlas was cracking open, and out trickled little bits of his soul, like shards of platinum and diamonds. It was beautiful, and I was sure I'd never looked at another living person the way I was looking at him.

"Yeah, I mean, uh..." he looked down at his boots and rubbed the back of his neck. When he looked back up, there was no mistaking the glaze over his eyes. "I've never even been on the podium here. You know, it's always been something for me every time we're at this track. I had engine issues last year, we had to retire the car early. I crashed out the year before that. It's just..."

Atlas took a step away from the interviewer and put his hands to his face, desperate to stop the tears from spilling. The grandstand gave another loud round of cheers and applause. Standing before all of us now wasn't the Alpha. He was just Atlas.

"Sorry," he shook his head, sucking in another breath. "I'm sorry it's just...really overwhelming. I was all revved up before but now I'm starting to come down, it's starting to really sink in and...it's a lot."

"I'm sure it is. Can you just sort of walk us through your race and when you truly felt like you knew you were going to win?"

Atlas swallowed hard and took off his hat again. His cheeks glistened under the lights, but it was almost impossible to tell which was sweat and which was a stray tear or two that he'd let fall. "I got away well and tried to at least not get caught in the dirty air behind Olsen's car. We dove into turn one side by side, but coming around turn 3 I just got a pristine exit and pulled away." Even the way he used his hands to describe it was endearing, but I'd clearly reached a point where I'd think anything he did was endearing.

"But coming up on turn 10, I was definitely uh...holding my breath," Atlas continued, his breath more steady as he went on. "I was gripping the steering console like my life genuinely depended on it, and after I got past it, Ronnie comes on the radio and says alright, 1 lap down 60 to go. But every lap I'd go through that turn, I felt myself just unwind more and more, sort of losing myself to the car and the track and..." he put his hand to his forehead as he shook his head again, his resolve hanging on by the most infinitesimal thread. I felt Sophia reach down and gently squeeze my hand. "Next thing I know, I'm lapping cars, we pull out an absolute ace pit stop, cover off the undercut and...I'm just fucking flying. I'm sorry for the language...I mean no I'm not really, but I'll get scolded later for it, so...sorry I guess."

We all let out a little collective laugh, but he took that brief moment to try and collect himself again. "I didn't really feel it until I heard Ronnie on the radio again going P1 mate, that's a P1. I just...I knew Dad wanted me to do this on my own, and I just...I needed to, and I did. So this one's for him."

That little thread had been pulled, and maybe not under the weight of the heavens, but under the weight of his legacy, his namesake, and his future, Atlas crumpled. He let tears fall freely down his face, rubbing at his red cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt.

The interviewer slung his arm around Atlas's shoulders in a quick hug before finally sending him off.   

Normally drivers went right up to prepare for the trophy ceremony, but Atlas ran back over to us, scooping his mom into a hug and kissing her cheek. He turned to me after, lowering his head so our foreheads touched. All eyes were on us, but I didn't care.

"Hi," he said softly, just enough for me to catch it over the overwhelming sounds of an overwhelming night. I reached up and dabbed at his tear-stained cheek with my sleeve.

"Hi," I replied with a faint smile.

He finally exhaled, and with it came, "I couldn't have done this without you."

He was sweaty and smelled like petrol and adrenaline, but in that moment, amidst the heat and the lights and the onslaught of emotions, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to my cheek, and I would have voyaged across the universe with him forever.

lock the doors and warn the federation
bright and bold, here comes the revolution
my oh my, the king is on a mission
i am on my way, unstoppable

voyager / angels & airwaves

i really don't have words for this one. i'd written the scene of atlas's post race interview months and months ago, knowing this would be a big emotional turning point in the story, but i didn't realize the emotional impact it would have on me. i don't say this a lot, but i truly am proud of it. i'm so proud of everything i've been able to do with this story (along with my partner in crime w1ldflow3r, you can thank her for THAT hug scene), but this one in particular hits for a lot of reasons. i hope it hits for y'all too.

we still got a ways to go yet, thanks for sticking with me and my best kids <3