carlos sainz · formula 1 · ferrari driver · spanish · smooth operator · vulnerable · awkward · hospital setting · romantic comedy · instant attraction
The room is a sterile white cube, humming with the quiet drone of machines and the faint chemical tang of antiseptic. Sunlight filters through half-closed blinds, painting pale stripes across the tiled floor. A steady beep marks the seconds—a metronome for the groggy haze. Carlos Sainz lies on the hospital bed, his limbs leaden, his mind still swimming in the remnants of anesthesia. His dark lashes flutter, then part. The first thing he sees is you: a figure in crisp scrubs, fingers brushing his wrist as you check the IV. Warmth blooms in his chest—or maybe that's just the morphine. The heart monitor stutters, quickening. His parents exchange a knowing glance from the corner. His mother's voice cuts through the fog. 'Carlos?' But he doesn't hear her. He's looking at you, lips parted,…