But any fool can see they're falling.

Callum, it turned out, was a terrible flyer. He was practically shaking as they landed in Italy, eyes squeezed shut as the tyres hit the tarmac. Abi wanted to go and hug him like she had when they took off, but she sure wouldn't be doing it again after the telling-off she got from the stewardess. She turned the internet on her phone and waited for the flurry of notifications to come in as they slowed into their parking slot. The other passengers, many fellow Williams employees, got ready to disembark.

It was her first international race, and she was excited, already nervous about how she would cope with the pressure of ensuring the brakes functioned on race day. They had been working fine for the last few days, but the last thing they needed was for them to mess up and for none of the senior engineers to know how to fix it. Of course, the standard brake mechanisms would kick in and prevent one of the lads from hitting the wall at 200, but any assistance they could give the drivers was what would stop them continually coming last during the races.

Callum was at her side once they had stopped, Abi putting on her sunglasses and tidying up the small mess she had managed to make during the two-hour flight, packing her magazines and Kindle into her handbag.

"I need to have a cold shower," Callum complained, watching his friend meticulously pack up her bag and then hold it in the crook of her arm.  "And a stiff drink." He added as they joined the queue to get off the jet; soon, in the Italian sun's warmth, Abi sighed as the heat hugged her and instantly lifted her mood.

"I can go along with that." She smiled as they headed for security, her passport in one hand and free arm interlocked with Callum's. "Say we go freshen up and then have a night on the tiles, eh?" She suggested with a cheeky grin, approaching the passport control office, the aircon covering their arms in goosebumps.

"Sounds delightful; get us both a fancy Italian man to spend the evening with." He teased, unlinking their arms as they approached the passport booths. Abi slipped off her sunglasses and smiled at the man behind the glass, handing him her passport.

"Just some things to confirm for me," He said, his Italian accent thick and slightly hard to understand. "I must ask for your name, date of birth and place of birth."

"Abigail Louise Watts-Lloyd, 19th October 1998, Kings Lynn, Norfolk." She said, the words having been spoken a thousand times before when she had visited the country on holiday. He looked at her and then back to the passport.

"Okay, Miss, enjoy your stay." He said before the plastic gates opened and she was let across the border. Taking a step into Italy, her excitement continued to bubble. She had been to Silverstone every year, getting involved in the drama of the races and meeting the drivers she had grown to admire. But to be able to do so in her favourite country? She was sure it would be the best week of her life.

They were drunk by ten, running along the Monza strip hand in hand whilst laughing to themselves about nothing in particular. The locals knew that race weekend brought in all kinds of chaos, from drunk fans to multi-millionaires who would raid their stores for their treasures. As they came to a still outside their hotel, panting and laughing still, they smiled at each other, Callum wrapping a supportive arm around his best friend.

"We're here now; we may as well go to bed." He gestured to the large building they were in front of, but Abi just wafted her hand.

"Nah, bar first. I'm not going to sleep when we have the whole city to put to rights." She span around on the concrete, arms wide and a grin on her face. The security guards on the door looked on suspiciously, hesitant to let the two youngsters inside when they approached the heavy front doors of the hotel. A dazzling smile and a wink were all it took for them to be in the lobby without a fuss.

They found the bar on the second floor, ordering a bottle of wine to share as they settled on the balcony, the metal table in perfect view of the city. It was almost dark, but the golden light lit up the square below them, allowing a private view of the passing couples and locals.

"I hope your nerves from the flight are gone now," Abi said with a smile, glancing at Callum and then looking back to the scenery.

"Oh, for sure, less fear, more fatigue," He laughed, smiling at her and following her gaze. "Italy truly is beautiful, isn't it." He sighed, sipping his wine.

"It truly is, the country of love and wine and pasta. What more could you want." Answered Abi, opening her handbag to get her box of cigarettes out. They were far cheaper back home, so she was being careful not to chain the entire box in an evening, though the nerves she was feeling about the work she had to do before the weekend was killing her. She swore she wasn't an addict, but it was rare she could go a day without tasting the bitterness of the Marlboro light on her tongue. She offered the box to Callum, who, as usual, refused as she lit the cigarette.

"It sure does sound like your personality." Callum joked. "We have wine, we've had pasta, now all we need is some love in our lives." He said, sounding almost defeated, before looking around the stone balcony.

"Easier said than done," She grimaced. "But things are good with you and Alex, aren't they?" Abi asked, but her only response was a shrug. She knew not to push any further. "Well, it's safe to say no love will be coming my way anytime soon." She admitted, tapping ash into the tray atop the table and picking up her glass of wine. "Only so many times I can swipe right, eh." She added, sipping her wine and then returning to her cigarette.

"See, this is the issue! You need to meet someone organically," Callum sighed, scouring the bar snacks menu. "At work, at the gym, at a cricket game..." He placed the menu down and smiled at her. "Boys on apps want one thing, and that's sex. If you want to meet someone to spend the rest of your life with, you need to look beyond that." As wise as ever, Abi could do nothing but nod in defeat. Callum was right; nothing good could ever come out of a relationship with someone she swiped a screen for. There was never any chemistry, just aesthetic appreciation. Oh, how wise her friend could be.

"Perhaps." She tapped her nails against the wine glass before bringing the cigarette to her lips, trying to end the conversation before she began to have another romance crisis. There was no need for that.

As the hours ticked by and bottles became empty, they decided to call it a night when the waiter asked them to return to their rooms so they could pack up. It was just before one, and they knew they had stayed up too late anyway. Besides, the wind had grown cold, and the wine was getting cheap and sour.

They hugged to say goodnight and then disappeared into their bedrooms, just two doors down and opposite each other. Abi plugged in her phone and opened the patio doors, stepping onto her balcony and smiling at the sky. She had never seen so many stars in her life and never the moon so bright.

She returned to her room and washed, singing along to the Spice Girls record she had chosen all the while. She knew the words, and the dance steps off by heart, grooving about her hotel room to 2 Become 1 like she was one of the band members. She threw her hair up, sure to kink it in a way no pair of straighteners could ever fix, and put on one of the pyjama t-shirts that hung in her wardrobe. She stood on the balcony for one last smoke, looking up at the stars and counting as many as possible, tracing the shapes with a boney finger and a smile. She was sure it was the absolute definition of contentment.

She returned to the bedroom and had a few stretches before picking up her phone, flicking through her notifications, and swaying a little in time to the music. She paused the song and was about to get into bed when there was a knock at the door. Frowning and slipping her slippers back on, she went to the door and peeked it open. Her eyebrows rose, and she smiled at the tall figure the oak revealed.

"You alright?" She asked. George turned to look at her. He was in pyjama shorts and a vest, clearly ready to go on some rant. But his face softened when he saw Abi, cheeks flushed and a dopey smile on her face. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Yeah, yeah... Uh, I came down a few days early to have a bit of a holiday, not really been to Italy much." He said, chewing his lip and trying to keep his eyes from the tee hem that skimmed Abi's thighs. "I, uh... I was just wondering if you could turn it down a little bit? Just, as much as I love the Spice Girls, it's making it a bit hard to sleep." Abi knew that he would have gone mental if it had been anyone but her. George was prim and firm with everybody, but with her? Well, Abi was sure he could be no sweeter.

"Shit, yeah, of course. I was heading to sleep now anyway." She smiled, scratching the back of her neck. "Sorry to keep you up; I'll be on my best behaviour for the rest of the week." She promised with a smile, leaning against the door frame. "No more karaoke evenings for me, promise." George laughed and shrugged.

"I like your singing, just not at half one." It was Abi's turn to laugh, the two smiling at each other for a moment too long. "Anyway, I should let you get some sleep. Hopefully, see you over the weekend at some point?" He asked, making Abi smile and nod.

"Yeah, sure, we'll see each other soon." Although a little hesitant, George left with a smile and returned to his hotel room next door. Abi slowly shut the door and flicked the lock, chewing her bottom lip and resting her back against the cool wood.

After George had dropped her back at work the morning after the party, they hadn't spoken. Not because they hadn't wanted to, but purely because they didn't have each other's contact details. It was a little silly, really, to have not even thought to share phone numbers. But if Abi asked, she would be giving a hint to George that she wanted something more than a civil friendship which she definitely didn't want. Sure, they'd had a nice evening together, and she was sure nothing was more comfortable than falling asleep in the crook of those muscular arms, but she had made that promise to herself. But they could still be friends, right? Reminisce upon the times they had at school where six years of Abi's life had been taken up with falling in love with George. She would sleep on it - though she would be surprised if her brain didn't start overthinking the second she got below the sheets.