love you to the moon and to saturn🫂

your eyebrows furrow, and with your eyes still closed, you lift your head, sleep mused hair falling over your face like a curtain. "mhm?"

"oh my god, do I need to pour water over you?" finally, you can register that it's mat's voice coming from the general region of above your head, and you blink away the sleep crust.

wiping a hand over your face and pushing your crazy hair back behind your ears, you’re met with his familiar dark eyes, staring down at you with a twinkle of something you can't register this early.

"jesus," you grumble, pushing away from his too pleased face and up into a half sitting, half still slumped down position. "what's happening?"

"nothing, unfortunately."

you squint with suspicion, covering your chest with the bed sheet. "why are you in my room?"

mat's mouth quirks as he straightens a little, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweats like he's not standing at the side of your bed at an objectively unholy hour. morning light leaks in through the gap in your curtains, striping his face in cool blue and shadows.

"I just loved the messy aesthetic of it so much from the other day that I needed another tour."

"are you serious?" you grumble, deadpanned.

he snorts softly, glancing around—at the abandoned clothes chair, the half empty water glass on your nightstand, the plant sitting stubbornly alive by the window.

"obviously not. i've just been thinking."

"oh no."

mat lifts a brow at that, offended on principle. "hey, you can't be rude."

"yea I can, I just woke up."

"shh."

before you can swat him away, he leans forward and presses a finger gently over your lips. it's warm and entirely too intimate for someone who is technically your roommate's boyfriend.

your eyes widen in a mixture of shock and amusement. more leaning towards shock because of the absurdity of it all. "remove your hand." your lips move along his finger as you mumble.

he does, but not without a snicker. mat holds both palms up in surrender like he's been caught committing a crime, though the smile on his face suggests he'd absolutely do it again.

"so the plant."

"mhm." you breathe, leaning back against your headboard as your limbs slowly start to wake up.

"it survived." he notes.

"yes, mat, i’m aware. remember? I was the one who told you."

ignoring your teasing, he hums, tilting his head and studying you like this is new information—like you're not wrapped in your comforter with sleep still clinging to your lashes.

"are you always this grumpy when you first wake up?"

you shoot him a look. "you were saying?"

he exhales through his nose, refocusing, pacing once at the foot of your bed like he's rehearsed this. "okay, so the plant survived. the plant that I bought you because I wanted to say thank you."

"right." you nod like it's automatic, but your brows are furrowed like you're still not following. mostly because you aren't following.

"it's something i've never done before in the loop. It's also something that I wanted to do."

you squint at him, suspicion blooming despite the fog in your head. "where are you going with this, mat?"

he stops pacing to look at you fully—serious in a way that makes your chest tighten. then, he's at your side again, making home on the edge of your mattress like this is normal. he misses the way your eyes widen at the intrusion.

"every day, we've been on an agenda; wake up, research, try and change cassie's mind about the breakup. then the game, puck to the face, breakup. repeat."

you swallow. "right."

"what if we scrap all that and just do none of it."

"none?"

"what if...we just say fuck it and do whatever the hell we want." the words hang there, heavy and dangerous.

you sit up a little straighter, the comforter slipping to your waist. "I don't—" you pause, looking around your room as you're still trying to gather your bearings. you blink and look back to mat. "where's cassie?"

"she's already left for work," mat tells you, "I turned her alarm off before it woke you up."

"that worked?" you ask, taken aback for all things loop concerned. especially considering an argument taking place at the wrong time snapped you back in time yesterday. from here on out, you assumed any other wrong doings would be dangerous. apparently not.

just when you thought you could make sense of it.

mat raises a shoulder, unbothered. "yeah."

"huh." you mumble, thoughtful.

"so what do you think?" he prompts.

your mouth parts. "when did you even get this idea?"

he rubs at the back of his neck, exhaustion finally showing through the bravado. "after you told me about your plant last night, I was up for hours thinking, and got to this conclusion around four a.m."

the mention of last night has a wave of embarrassment washing over you. because you broke down last night—like tears, snot and panic attack level of break down. even worse, and more painfully mortifying, you called mat and asked for him to comfort you.

once you had managed to properly calm down, and he managed to coworse you into his car for the heat and the promise of some late night mcdonald's that had your mouth salivating, you told him about the plant, and how it survived.

you still didn't come up with a conclusion as to why it survived, only that it did and that must mean something.

mat had been stealing your fries from the greasy, red takeout container when he had mentioned that it had to mean something good towards the loop and getting out of it—or else it would've died just like the original.

clearly, he'd done some more thinking once he dropped you back to your apartment around 1 a.m.

you shake your head slightly, snapping yourself out of the memory. you swallow, looking back towards mat. "jesus, you're on like no sleep."

"what's new?" he shrugs and then raises his eyebrow with question. "so?"

you glance around your room again—at the sunlight, the stillness, that damn plant—and at the fact that for once, something about this plan feels promising. your eyes find mat's again, and seeing the hope swimming in his gaze has your shoulders falling.

"alright, fine. what does a fuck it day include exactly?”

his stupid grin returns, slow and victorious. "i'll tell you over breakfast. up and at 'em, y/n." he pats your mattress twice, making your body jolt, before leaving your room completely—nothing but the scent of the cologne lingering on his skin, even after sleeping, left behind.

after a hesitant sigh, you blink the last bit of sleep from your eyes and then throw the covers off.

—

there's no panic on your way over to breakfast (because every fuck it day needs to start with food)—which mat insisted that he drives you too, because he claims ubers are a cop out for fuck it day unless you’re drinking. when you asked him if drinking was on the menu, he just smirked. so there's that—there's no mad dash or no racing thoughts about fixing anything. just groans when he plays his shitty country music, and laughter and the shared decision, made without words, that today doesn't get to boss you around.

"okay but like no country music at all?" mat asks while you're both waiting at the host stand. he's leaning against the checkered tile wall, looking very danny zuko in the vintage diner. minus the leather pants, unfortunately.

you look over at him and scrunch your nose. "pretty much." you smile politely at a couple teenage girls who walk buy, all of them giggling and clearly recognizing mat. thankfully, they don't ask for a picture.

"pretty much?" he mimics, all syrupy and teasing in a way that makes you want to hide. "post malones album doesn't count—no matter how good it is."

you scoff, "first of all, it totally counts—."

mat makes a fart noise with mouth, but you ignore him to continue. "—and second of all, I like girl country music."

the host briefly halts your conversation, leading you both over to a cutely decorated booth near the back of the diner after asking the usual questions.

as soon as your both seated—mat makes you switch sides once he sees a kid wearing an islanders hat. you roll your eyes but comply—the conversation resumes.

"well obviously because girl country music is fucking stupidly good."

you snicker and take the straw sitting in your complementary cup of water between your teeth.

taking a moment to take in the diner, you see that it's is exactly what you'd want from a place that has a sign outside claiming to have the best breakfast in new york. low ceilings, cracked vinyl booths, laminated menus that are sticky at the corners. the air smells like bacon grease and burnt coffee and something sweet frying on the griddle—and your stomach gurgles when you catch a whiff.

as if reading your mind, mat groans and picks up one of the menus. "oh my god," he rubs at his covered stomach absentmindedly while his eyes read through the options. "this place is perfect."

you swallow some water, "any place that looks like the main hangout spot of a 50s film is perfect."

he stretches his legs out, smacking against yours under the booth. neither of you move. you peer across the table at him, taking in his still messy hair and his eyes that are bright in a way they haven't been since before the loop.

you think he's either really enjoying the start of this fuck it day, or he's starting to believe it will actually work in getting out of the time loop. whatever it is, it has a flutter of hope thumping in your chest.

you pluck a menu from its spot instead of focusing on the warmth of his calf next to yours, reading over the options.

"oh, I'm not holding back today," mat announces before you can get through the first description. "i'm ordering like I don't have a game, a trainer, or a shred of self respect."

"that's the spirit," you say, eyeing a picture of french roast that was probably taken in the 80s. "grease as rebellion."

mat grins and scans the page, eyebrows lifting higher and higher. "okay, question. if I order the chicken fried steak—whatever that means—and the pancakes, is that excessive?"

"yea," you say immediately.

he closes the menu with a snap. "perfect."

you roll your eyes without an ounce of real annoyance—half enamoured. "I suppose your fuck it day doesn't include calories?"

"nope," he pops the p, "neither does cholesterol," then, teasingly mat decides he wants to torture you further by nudging the outside of your knee with his.

you heat up instantly. maybe it's lingering embarrassment from this being the same guy who had your snot on his hoodie last night, or maybe you've suddenly turned into a hopeless school girl around the first guy who's shown you affection in what feels like forever. whatever it is, you need it to stop.

"get your gangly legs out of space," you scoff, albeit gently, pushing against his under the table. when you try and pull away, mat just stretches them out further, trapping you.

"I have to stretch them out," he faux claims, "these legs make me lots of money. gotta keep them happy."

you scoff, "yeah well, they can't make you any money if I break them."

he grins in a way that does things for you that you'd never admit. a half beat, and then he says, "just let me stretch out."

"i'll stretch you out alright," you snipe back under your breath, not thinking of the nature of your threat until mat slams his palms against the table like he's rallying.

"oh my god. you—" he pauses, laughter bubbling from his chest like a symphony. attempting to compose himself in what looks like disgust, he continues. "—sexual creature."

"oh my god. shut up," you hiss, heat crawling up your neck as you keep trying—and failing—to untangle your legs. "I didn't mean it like that."

"what can I get for you two today?" a waitress appears at your table, looking half embarrassed and half fed up with the tail end of your conversation that she definitely overheard. pen poised, she looks at mat.

he only grins, no hesitation as he starts listing off his order. "i'll have the grand slam. extra bacon and hash browns," he closes the menu with a plastic slap, "oh, and a side of pancakes please."

she nods like she's heard worse. "you?"

you order something equally indulgent—eggs, toast drowning in butter, fries you absolutely don't need—and when she walks away, mat leans back in the booth, satisfied.

"I feel free," he chimes.

you snort. "just yesterday you were calculating protein intake. now look at you," you pause, sniffing and patting under your eyes at pretend tears. "they grow up so fast."

mat steals some of your water and you gape.

"i'm a growing boy," he agrees, "and today I eat like a man unburdened by fate."

you laugh, watching the sunlight catch on the edge of the table. much like your days at the cafe, outside you watch as the world keeps moving—cars passing, people going to work, time doing its thing like nothing is wrong. but unlike then, you don't feel envious. you feel apart of it.

when the food comes, it's obscene. plates overflowing, butter melting instantly, syrup pooling at the edges of the plate in a way that it feels dangerous. mat stares at his meal like it's a religious experience.

"take a picture," you tease, popping a fry into your mouth. "it'll last longer."

he picks up his fork. "no. this is between me and the universe."

you gently kick his foot at the mention of the universe. he does the same back.

you eat slowly and happily, not worried about anything besides savouring greasy food that will probably have you in a food coma by noon. there's grease on your fingers, salt on your lips, and mat somehow got syrup on his cheek. you don't tell him it's there because you really enjoy laughing at it, and watching him panic to ask ‘is there something on face? come on don't play with me y/n.’

it's happened four times and you still haven't gotten sick of it.

about halfway through polishing of his gigantic plate, mat groans and leans back, hand rubbing over his stomach like papa bear. "I regret nothing."

you quirk knowing brow. "you absolutely will in twenty minutes."

"worth it," he says, smiling at you.

you're halfway through reaching for your glass when you notice the kid hovering near your table in your peripheral vision. by the looks of it, he can't be older than seven or eight, sporting an islanders beanie pulled down too far over his ears, and a jersey with the sleeves swallowing his hands.

he rocks on his heels like he's trying to psych himself up. you clock the fan instantly, all while mat is attempting to fishing off a pancake the size of his big head.

the kid clears his throat. "um—excuse me?"

you kick mat under the table, and he straightens, spelling as a polite smile pulls across his face. "yeah, bud?"

the kid's eyes go huge up close, like he's just confirmed a conspiracy theory. "my dad says you're mat barzal."

you bite your lip, failing miserably at hiding your grin.

mat lets out a quiet, resigned breath. "your dad's pretty smart."

the kid's mouth drops open. "oh my god," he whispers, then immediately clamps a hand over it like he's just sworn in church. "sorry. oh my gosh."

"it's okay," he laughs, abandoning his plate in favour of leaning forward a little. "what's your name?"

"christopher." the kid lisps, glancing back toward a booth where a man is very obviously pretending not to watch. "I—I play center. you're my favourite. I scored a goal last week and did your celebration."

you make a small, choked sound—because how fricking adorable is that. mat shoots you a warning look, but it's too late because you're already pouting.

"that so cute," you blurt, hand flying to your chest. "oh my god, mat, he celebrated like you."

christopher beams. "can I get a picture? If that's okay."

"yeah, of course," mat says immediately, already scooting out of the booth despite the obvious physical effort it takes post–diner breakfast. "you wanna do a selfie?"

the kid nods furiously, climbing onto the edge of the booth so they're closer in height. mat slings an arm around his shoulders, instinctive and easy, smile going soft in that way you pretend not to notice.

you take the phone when the kids hands start shaking too much. "I got you," you say gently, lining them up. "okay—say 'go isles.'"

"GO ISLES," christopher yells.

the flash goes off, and you're met with the sight of mat looking all to natural with a kid under his arm. you pass the phone back before you start questioning everything.

the kid hesitates, then asks, "are you gonna score today?"

mat chuckles, but you catch the hidden pain behind it. "i'll try my best."

"that's what you said in an interview once," he says seriously. "before a leafs game. but you didn't score that time."

you snort and then cover your mouth with your palm. mat just stares at the kid, then back at you. "i'm being studied."

christopher grins, waves, and darts back to his dad, who mouths thank you from across the diner.

a beat passes as mat slides back into the booth, his cheeks pink and shaking his head.

you rest your chin in your hand, smiling at him like you've been handed blackmail material. "center. his favorite player. did your celebration."

"don't," he warns weakly, but there's something sharp there that makes you swallow.

you stir the coffee you ordered not long ago slowly, watching the dark liquid spiral in lazy circles. "it must feel good, right?" you say carefully, eyeing his tense shoulders. "having fans be excited to see you. call you amazing."

he shrugs, gaze dropping to his plate as he lazily attempts to cute through his pancake with a fork. "I guess so."

you look up at him. "you guess so?"

he exhales through his nose, a quiet huff of a laugh that doesn't quite land. "it's just...weird."

"…weird how?"

he presses his thumb into the edge of the laminate table, tracing a scratch someone carved in years ago. "because to him"—he nods subtly toward the kid's booth—"i'm this thing. this idea. I score goals, I do cellys, I'm his favorite. and that's awesome. It is. I don't wanna sound ungrateful."

you stay quiet, letting him find the words to open up to you in ways he's never done before.

"but if I stop being that?" mat continues. "if I have a bad season. or I get hurt. or I just...fall off." he shrugs again, this one heavier. "then what am I?"

your chest tightens at his vulnerability.

"everyone always says 'you're amazing,'" he swallows, air-quoting with two fingers. "but they don't mean me. they mean the version of me that does the one thing I'm supposed to do. and sometimes it feels like that's all I'm allowed to be. and I feel like being stuck in this loop, re living that game just...it feels like i'm not him anymore."

you reach across the table without really thinking, your fingers brushing his wrist. he doesn't pull away.

"you're allowed to be more than that," you tell him softly. “you are.”

he lets out a breath, almost a laugh. "tell that to the league. or the fans. or—" he stops himself, jaw tightening until the tendons pop below his skin. "or my own head."

you tilt your head. "is that what scares you? that one day you won't be able to do it anymore?"

mat nods, barely. "that one day I'll wake up and the only thing that made me matter is gone." he swallows. "and everyone will move on like I was just...a phase."

the diner hums around you—clinking cutlery, a waitress calling out an order, the low buzz of conversation—but the space between you feels strangely still.

"that kid," you start gently, "he didn't just light up because you score goals."

mat glances at you, skeptical.

"he lit up because you talked to him," you continue. "you asked his name and you listened. you made him feel like he mattered for thirty seconds in a diner booth."

his throat works as he looks back down at his hands. "that's not what they'll remember."

"maybe not," you say. "but it's real. and so are you. even on the days you don't score. even on the days you fail."

he's quiet for a long moment, then murmurs, "I don't know how to be okay with that."

you squeeze his wrist, just once. "you don't have to figure it out all at once."

that has him looking up at you, properly now—something open and vulnerable in his eyes that makes your stomach flip.

"thanks," he says quietly.

you smile at him, small and sincere. "anytime, superstar."

mat groans, but there's a softness in it now—less embarrassment, more relief—and for the first time since the kid walked away, his shoulders finally relax.

releasing his wrist, you pull your hand back to his wrist, swallowing gently as your hand heats up at the lack of his touch. you take a sip of your coffee, placing it down to the table with a clink.

"and for what it's worth," you whisper, feeling timid under his intense gaze. "i've never seen you as just a hockey player."

mat straightens. "no?"

"no," you shake your head. "you're also a pain in my ass."

he laughs, once but real, and then flicks piece of bacon at you.

—

the bell over the diner door jingles as you step back out into the cool late morning air. the sunlight is brighter now, beginning to shine through the clouds and bounce off windshields and puddles.

you stomach is uncomfortable, and you groan a little as you stretch."I can't believe you finished all of that," you note, falling into step beside mat on the sidewalk. "those plates were a crime."

he pats his stomach again, slower this time. "if I didn't have things planned today, i'd say I need a nap."

"you've planned things?" you quirk an eyebrow, disbelief all over the arch.

he hums behind a half smirk, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders loose in a way they hadn't been inside. for a few blocks, you just walk—passing storefronts, a dog tied up outside a café, the faint smell of coffee and car exhaust mixing in the air.

"you know," you start casually, glancing over at him casually, "if today's the 'fuck it' day, we might need to get you a disguise."

he squints at you. "a disguise."

"yeah," you nod, dead serious. "can't have you being emotionally vulnerable in public and recognized by hockey fans. that's just too much for one short day."

he snorts. "what, like sunglasses and a hat?"

"absolutely not," you say like you've been scandalized. "that won't work. you need something unhinged."

"oh no."

"i'm thinking fake mustache. maybe a wig."

mat stops walking. fully stops. "you are not putting a wig on my head."

you take two more steps before realizing he isn't beside you, then turn back, laughing. "why not? afraid it'll awaken something?"

"I already get chirped enough," he says, resuming his stride. "If anyone got a picture of that—"

"that's the point," you interrupt. "complete anonymity. no one would ever believe it was you."

he shakes his head, smiling despite himself. "i'd rather take my chances."

"fine," you chirp. "plan B. you pretend to be...I don't know…a guy named matt. with two Ts. from accounting."

he looks at you, amused. "accounting."

"very forgettable. very safe," you insist, nudging his arm with yours. "or maybe my cousin."

"your cousin?" he repeats, laughing under his breath. "you're ridiculous."

"yeah. my cousin who hates hockey and knits in his free time."

then, mat comes to an abrupt stop. so much so that you immediately catch it, turning heel until you're facing him head on. he takes a step forward, peering down at you with something that makes you shiver. you blame the damp air.

"we can't be cousins." he almost scoffs, speaking so low under his breath that you feel it in your toes. you swallow, watching his eyes flicker over your face.

then, like he didn't just say that, he pulls back with an easy breathe. "and I don't knit."

"yet," you say once you're both walking again. "fuck it day, right? new hobbies."

you're mid stride, halfway through telling mat why a knitting character would be the ultimate vibe, when you see it—someone across the street slowing down. a guy about your age, coffee in hand, staring a little too long. his head tilts and his steps falter.

then he points at mat, nudging the guy beside him to look as well. and unlike the interaction with the kid in the diner, you don't have to alert mat—he clocks it instantly.

he stiffens beside you, shoulders squaring on instinct, chin dipping like he's already bracing for impact.

the guy raises his voice just a little. "hey—"

mat turns his head toward you, eyes wide and urgent. "you know what?" he says quickly. "maybe a disguise isn't such a bad idea."

you light up. "oh my god, you're serious."

"dead serious," he swallows, eyes flickering towards the men and then back to yours, more frantic by the second. "right now. where do we go?"

you spin on your heel, scanning the block like you've been preparing for this moment your whole life. "okay, okay—there." you point down the street. "costume shop. two blocks. I saw it when we walked by earlier."

mat looks at the shop sign, then back at the guy who's now definitely convinced. "yep. great. perfect. let's go."

he grabs the sleeve of your jackets and tugs you forward, you snicker as you both pick up the pace—not quite running, but definitely speed walking with purpose. you hear the guy behind you call out again, faint and hopeful, but mat keeps his head down.

"this is humiliating," he mutters.

"you're gonna thank me when you're living your best anonymous life," you say.

you cross the street, ducking through the door of ma and pa costume shop. inside, it smells like plastic and fabric and old wigs, walls lined with masks and boas and shelves of ridiculous hats.

mat pauses just inside, looking around in disbelief. "I cannot believe this is happening."

you grin, already drifting toward a rack of accessories. "welcome to your new identity."

he sighs, resigned. but he's watching you embrace the store with a fond look in his gaze. "please don't make me look like an asshole."

ignoring him, you pick up a pair of oversized sunglasses and a truly unhinged fake moustache. you turn back toward him with a wicked smile. "no promises."

stepping closer, you hold the moustache up under his nose like you're genuinely considering it. mat leans back on instinct, lips curling.

"absolutely not."

"wow," you say, offended. "so quick to crush my artistic vision."

"your artistic vision is committing a crime against my face."

you laugh and then toss the moustache back onto the rack, fingers already rifling through a display of hats. he trails after you, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched like someone might recognize him even here, buried under feather boas and vampire capes.

"okay," you murmur, tilting your head. "we need subtle. incognito. something that says random guy, not professional athlete hiding from the public."

"those are mutually exclusive," he mutters.

you pluck a plain baseball cap from a hook and jam it onto his head, tugging the brim low. then the sunglasses—big enough to cover half his face.

you step back, assessing while mat blinks in surprise.

"...honestly?" you say. "kind of hot."

the words barely finish leaving your mouth before a rush of heat crawls up your neck, embarrassment blooming sharp and immediate. you huff out a laugh that's a little too quick, a little too loud, already trying to walk it back. god—why would you say that out loud?

mat watches as you shift your weight, looking far too amused and pleased with your slip up. he waits patiently for you to recover.

suddenly, you're aware of the space between you—and how close he actually is. "I mean—" you add, waving a hand like you can physically swat the comment away, "not like hot hot. just, you know, objectively speaking. cassie wouldn't date someone ugly."

what is wrong with you.

there's nothing objective about the way your stomach flips, or the way you refuse to look directly at him now. you're not dating. you're not even anything beside to (new) friends stuck in a time loop together. but yet, the air feels charged, like you've crossed some invisible line just by admitting the thought existed at all.

it's the same feeling you got when he cleaned up your bloody nose, and when you were sobbing in his arms yesterday—feeling lost yet comforted in mat's strong hold.

he snorts. "you're actually pretty funny y/n." he plucks off the sunglasses and slides them on your face, reaching for a less kardashian pair instead. "under all that grump."

you squint behind the lenses. "i'm not a grump."

mat ignores you. he catches his reflection in a warped mirror between racks and squints. "I look like i'm about to be photographed buying cigarettes at two in the morning."

"perfect," you hum. "nobody questions that guy."

he reaches up, adjusts the glasses, then glances at you, brows lifting. "see? disguise accomplished."

you make a face, not quite convinced but not planning on fighting him anymore—still reeling from calling your roommates not so ex boyfriend hot an all. "for you."

he frowns down at you. "what's that supposed to mean?"

but you've already wandered off again, drawn to a rack that looks like it lost a fight with a disco ball. sequins, metallic fabric, something electric blue that definitely shouldn't exist.

mat follows, dread dawning. "you're not..."

you pull out a pair of sparkly pants and hold them up to your waist, eyes lighting up.

he blinks. "sparkly pants?"

"it's new york, mat," you say easily, eyeing the blue fabric. "i've seen much worse."

"you're going to get noticed."

"so? i'm allowed to be, i'm not the famous athlete."

he squints at you, realization clicking. "you're just jealous that you don't have a disguise."

you whip around, scandalized, holding the pants to your chest like a shield. "just shut up and let me try the pants on."

he laughs despite himself as you disappear toward the fitting rooms, grabbing a few more things along the way, pants slung over your shoulder like a prize.

you disappear behind the thin curtain of the dressing room, the hooks clanking together as you slide the curtain shut. it's barely big enough to turn around in, the mirror spotted and slightly warped, and a single bulb buzzing overhead.

peeling off your jeans, you shimmy into the disco pants—the fabric cool and slick against your skin, catching light even in the sad little cubicle. they fit too well, hugging in a way that feels intentional.

the top comes next, bold and electric, and then the wig. the blue is brighter than you expected, a sharp, glossy bob that hits just under your chin. you stare at yourself for a second, barely recognizing the person looking back. oddly enough, you love it.

"okay," you mutter to your reflection. "I see the vision."

outside, mat shifts his weight, pretending very badly that he isn't listening for every sound. "you alive in there?" he calls.

"don't rush greatness," you snap teasingly, pushing the curtain aside.

you step out into the aisle and the lights out here are harsher, brighter. the glitter on your pants catch immediately, scattering reflections across the walls. you stop, plant one hip out, and strike a pose.

"well?" you prompt. "how do I look?"

mat looks up. he freezes.

his mouth opens. it closes. then opens again.

after a beat, where you hold pose the entire time despite the way your heart feels like it may beat out of your chest, he finds his words. "well..." he starts, voice softer than either of you expects. breathless, almost. he clears his throat, tries again. "you look like you'd ruin someone's life in that."

you laugh, heat blooming in your chest. "that's the goal."

he swallows, eyes flicking away like he's worried if he looks too long, something might happen. "right."

you turn slowly, letting the pants shimmer and the wig swing. "be honest. too much?"

mat shakes his head immediately. "no. it's—" he stops himself, scrubs a hand over his jaw. "it's a lot. but in a...on purpose way."

"mm," you hum. "I like 'on purpose.'"

there's a charged pause, the kind that feels louder than the store's early 2000s punk radio station. mat finally exhales, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. "congrats," he says. "if anyone recognizes me now, it's because they were staring at you."

you grin. "they won’t. you're just the mysterious guy in sunglasses trailing behind."

he huffs a quiet laugh, but his eyes are still on you—warm, a little wrecked.

"yeah," he says softly.

there's a beat—quiet, fond, something unspoken hanging between you—before you clap your hands together. "okay," you announce. "new york, beware. we are completely unrecognizable."

mat adjusts his cap, and the gathers your things from the dressing room. he passes you your jean coat and you immediately slip it on.

"lead the way, sparkles."

you try and pay for everything, but mat beats you to it—and the only thing you get back once you send him a deadpan look is a very unapologetic grin. damn him.

when you both step back out onto the street, the earlier fan is nowhere to be seen, and you both breathe a visible sigh of relief. mat tugs his new cap lower anyways.

you hesitate for half a beat, just long enough to take him in—how easy he looks standing there, hands loose at his sides, like this whole day has been unfolding exactly as planned. then you pivot on your heels, slipping your hands into the back pockets of your flashy pants and angling your body toward him.

"so," you say, dragging the word out, playful. "what's next?"

mat's smile comes slow and knowing. he lifts a finger and points across the street, past the lazy crawl of traffic and a couple arguing over a crosswalk signal. you follow the line of his gesture and your grin widens at the sight of it—a cramped little record store with a sun faded sign and posters layered over posters in the window, corners peeling like they've been there for decades.

"shall we browse?" he asks, already stepping off the curb.

you laugh, falling into stride beside him. "we shall."

the crosswalk counts down, the city blurs around you, and by the time you reach the opposite sidewalk, the rest of the afternoon feels like it's quietly narrowed to just this—no plan, no urgency, only the promise of killing time together.  it's nice, truly. mat holds the door open with a flourish that makes you roll your eyes, but you duck inside anyway, shoulder brushing his as you pass.

inside the store is dim and narrow, and air smells like vinyl dust and cardboard and something faintly sweet—incense, maybe. the shelves rise high on either side, packed tight with vinyl that looks like it's been thumbed through by a hundred curious hands before yours.

more rows of vinyl stretch toward the back, alphabetized in a way that feels more aspirational than accurate. posters peel from the walls—old tours, vintage black and white faces mid song. you drift apart without thinking about it, drawn to different sections, orbiting the same small space.

he pulls a record halfway out, studying the cover. "you a vinyl girl?"

you shrug, sliding one free with careful fingers. "my dad was. used to make a big deal out of saturday mornings. pancakes, coffee, one album all the way through. usually the beatles."

he glances over. "that's nice."

you smile, small and private. thoughts of your childhood fill your mind, familiar songs that always bring a tear to your eye when you hear them now. you laugh off the emotion, "don't tell anyone that the grump is secretly soft."

mat wanders closer, shoulder brushing yours as he leans in to see what you've been holding. your reflection warps in the plastic sleeve, blue wig and all. he studies the side of your face then. you don't look at him.

"you know I don't actually think you're a grump right?"

you swallow, feeling uncomfortable in a way that isn't necessary. "I was really rude to you, mat. before all this." you pause, laughing half heartedly. "maybe even a bitch."

mat's dark eyebrows furrow. "not a bitch, don't say that." he picks up a AC/DC vinyl, turning it over to read the songs on the back. only then is when you allow yourself to look at him.

he continues without looking up. "we just didn't know each other. not really." mat slips the vinyl back, peering over and down at you with the beginning staves of a smirk beginning to pull at his lips. "but we do now."

you sniffle away nothing, and then smile back. "yeah. we do now."

a beat passes, both of you continuing to thumb through vinyls—taking albums half out but not committing to fully removing them.

then, mat's voice sounds again. "honestly, I forgot places like this still exist," he says, crouching to scan the lower shelves.

"that's the appeal," you reply gently, not wanting to break the ambiance of the store. "they feel like secrets."

he straightens and then sends you an earth shattering grin over his shoulder as he moves down the aisle. you're pretty sure he pulls out a sabrina carpenter album and tucks it under his arm, but you don't call him out for it—but do you snicker to yourself? sure.

and as you both keep browsing, you can't help but maybe you have a secret of your own. one that very much involves the guy in the shitty disguise.

one that you can't even decipher.

—

you leave the store feeling free, a plastic bag with the shop's logo swinging between you, bumping softly against your leg with each step. the music fades behind you, replaced by the city's steady exhale. for awhile, you both just walk.

"so," you say, sipping on a drink you made mat stop at a street vendor's booth for. some kind of hot lemonade that tastes so bad it's good. "define the rules for our fuck it day."

mat glances over, sipping on his own lemonade. "rules?"

"yeah. what are the parameters or the guidelines. I need to know what i'm agreeing to before I fully commit."

he shoots your wig and sparkly pants a very obvious look. "this isn't full commitment?"

you nudge him with your elbow, "shut up and get on with it."

he smiles, then thinks about it, gaze fixed ahead as you pass a row of brownstones.

"okay," he starts. "fuck it day means no obligations. no plans made out of guilt. no doing things just because it's easier than saying no."

you nod slowly. "no people pleasing."

"exactly."

"no expectations?"

"especially no expectations."

you hesitate, fingers tightening around the bag. "does that include...obligations you already had?"

mat doesn't answer right away. you risk a glance at him. his jaw tightens just a fraction before he exhales. "yeah," he says. "it does."

you swallow. "does that include cassie?"

his mouth twitches, something wry and tired crossing his face. "especially cassie."

"and the game?"

he huffs a laugh. "very especially the game. If I have to see you get hit in the face one more time I might just loose it."

you snort and nod. "okay."

you walk side by side another half block, sipping your street drinks and avoiding the eyes of middle aged men judging your outfit.

but then something catches your eye. a handwritten sign, taped to a railing, curling at the edges.

TAROT — WALK-INS WELCOME

you stop short, slapping his chest with the back of your hand. "oh my god."

mat follows your gaze, eyes widening. "no."

you grin. "yes."

"absolutely not."

"fuck it day, mat." you sing song, walking backwards towards the small house that's been painted to look like a celestial solar system. you grin, a little challenging.

he closes his eyes, already defeated, following in your footprints towards the house. "Im starting to hate that I set myself up for this."

you smile as you climb the steps.

the noise of the street drops away the moment the door closes behind you. the tarot room is small and warm, walls crowded with tapestries and framed symbols you don't recognize, candles perched on every available surface. their flames flicker like they're breathing, air thick with incense and something herbal that stings your nose.

mat pauses just behind you, lowering his voice instinctively. "okay. this is like real shit."

"you say that like it's a bad thing," you whisper back, eyes darting around the covered windows and palm reading signs plastered all over the walls.

a low table sits in the center of the room, barely big enough for a deck of cards and the two mismatched chairs that face one another. behind the table, an older woman looks up from her cards and smiles. she's not surprised, not curious. but rather like she's been expecting you.

"walk-ins," she says gently, gray curly hair bobbing with her head. "my favorite kind."

you and mat exchange a look.

we can still leave, his eyes say.

we absolutely will not, yours reply.

"we're just—" mat starts.

"curious," the tarot reader finishes for him. her gaze lingers on his face a beat too long, head tilting slightly. "and tired. and pretending not to be both."

mat opens his mouth then closes it, unsure of what the hell to stay to that. and when he looks to you for some kind of guidance, you just grin like a mad woman.

"sit," she adds, already gesturing.

you do, chairs scraping softly against the floor. mat sits stiff backed, knees bouncing once before he forces them still—trying very hard to look like someone who has not been peer pressured into a mystical interrogation.

you lean back, arms crossed, watching the woman as she begins to shuffle the deck, slowly and deliberately. the cards move against one another, a dry, papery sound that fills the room.

"I don't read futures," she starts. "I read patterns. cycles. places where people get stuck."

mat stiffens almost imperceptibly, leaning your your side to whisper conspicuously. "just so you know, if this ends with us being cursed—"

the reader interrupts, overhearing his not so quiet whisper with a wide grin. "that costs extra."

his eyes widen. so does your smile.

"smile barzal." you chime.

the first card turns over, and she furrows hers brows with recognition, like she's seeing an old friend. "you've been walking alone for a long time," she says, looking at mat. "even when you're surrounded by people."

you glance at him, watching his jaw tightens. his eyes fixed on the table. "that's not—" mat starts, but is once again smoothly interrupted.

"a choice," she finishes. "a habit."

the second card flips, revealing the moon.

"confusion," she continues, bracelets clinking against one another as she moves the card over the table cloth. "fear. not knowing which voice is yours anymore."

mat exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "okay."

you lean forward, squinting at the cards, but there's an amusement there that only makes him feel nervous. "this is starting to feel weirdly specific."

she hums. "it often does. if it didn't, i'd be out of a job."

the third card turns. her expression softens, looking at the star. "hope," she sighs. "but distant. like something you can see and don't quite trust."

he looks up, earlier skepticism slowly fading into something else. "what does that mean?"

she taps the card with one finger. "it means you're trying to escape a darkness by outrunning it. but the universe doesn't reward running."

you feel a chill crawl up your spine, but you laugh it off immediately. "wow," you say. "the universe sounds rude."

the tarot reader chuckles, like she's all too familiar with it. "it is."

her gaze gently shifts to you then—unsettling in a whole different way. "you're not meant to fix it for him," she starts. "but you are meant to walk beside him while he figures out who he is without the noise."

mat's head snaps up. "figures out who he is... how?"

"by choosing himself," she says simply. "by telling the truth. by stopping the performance."

there's a pause—thick and heavy —before she glances between the two of you, lips twitching. "you're together."

you choke. "oh—no. no, we're just friends."

"very just," he adds quickly. "painfully platonic."

she gives you both a look. not quite a smile, but not a frown either. just a quiet, knowing arch of her brow that says you can lie to yourselves if you want.

"very much so." you mutter.

in a flash, she gathers the cards, squaring the deck, then adds softly, "he won't get out of this cycle until he does."

cycle.

your stomach drops.

mat's fingers curl against his thigh. "that's—" he starts, then stops. swallows. "yeah. that's... accurate."

the reader nods, unsurprised. "the universe keeps asking the same question until it's answered."

you glance at mat. then back at her and her million neck of necklaces. evil eyes. crystals. a bunch of different initials you don't even want to ask about.

"hypothetically," you say, wig bobbing as you swallow."if someone wanted to ignore that question forever?"

she smiles sweetly, patting the back of your hand on top the table. "hypothetically, the universe would keep knocking."

you can practically hear mat's heartbeat increase—drumming against his chest in a frantic rhythm.  smiling thickly, despite the too close to home reading, you nudge his knee under the table, tone a little song song as you remind him—"fuck it day."

—

the daylight feels harsher than it did earlier as you both step out of the house, and back out into the streets on long island. and almost immediately, the witchy incense is replaced by car exhaust and something distinctly city.

mat huffs as soon as the door shuts behind you, like he's been holding it i the entire time. "I feel like I just got emotionally audited. like I owe someone back taxes on my feelings."

you glance at him. his mouth is tight, eyes distant, but he's still here, walking down the steps beside you.

"you okay?" you ask, side stepping a tissue on the sidewalk, grimacing at the sight. ew.

he nods slowly. "yeah. i think so. just—" he makes a vague, helpless gesture with one hand. "kind of wild hearing someone say out loud what i've been aggressively pretending not to hear."

you bump his arm with yours, light but grounding. "for what it's worth, I don't think the universe is mad at you."

he looks at you, surprised. "no?"

"no," you say. "i think it's just impatient. like it's tapping its watch at you."

that gets a real smile out of him—small, warm, grateful. "yeah," he murmurs. "that tracks."

you keep walking, the noise of the street continuing all around you, like mat's awful excuse of a disguise and your synthetic blue wig are just another part of wednesday. a car honks, and you jump. maybe you're still reeling from the tarot reading, or maybe because just before that car horn sounded, the backs of mat's hand brushed the back of yours.

after a beat, mat exhales through his nose. "so, what do you think it wants me to do then?" he shrugs, blinking being his glasses before elaborating. "the universe I mean..."

you shrug as well, "if I knew that, i'd be charging you consultations by now."

he huffs quiet laugh, shaking his head. through the moment of silence, mat glances over at you, then does a double take, like he means to look away but can't quite commit. he watches the way your breath fogs in the damp, heavy air, early march air still as cold as ever.

the cheap wig is sitting a little crooked on your head, but he doesn't have the slightest urgency to fix it. it looks better like this. you look better like this. free, not overthinking.

there's nothing polished about it, nothing mat should really be lingering on, but yet he does. just for a moment longer than necessary, as if he's taking in the full picture before it can disappear.

not even the sudden overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke and the way his socks feel damp from this morning storms can pull him away from this. from you. and somehow, that feels scarier than the eternity of the universe and it's unlikely plan for him.

you both round the corner of a brick building that's paint is peeling off the stones, thankfully before you catch mat staring at you. but that's when your steps stutter, and the sudden scent of cigarettes make a lot more sense.

because your ex is leaning against the wall of a tattoo shop, cigarette between his teeth while scrolling on his phone. mat thinks he remembers his name being mark, but doesn't remember if tattooing was his job or if he's just trying to reach a higher performative male status.

"you're fucking kidding me," you mutter, hands twitching at your sides like you can't decide if you want to rip your wig off or not.

"holy shit," he says around the smoke, pushing off the wall. "is that you, y/n—?"

heat floods your face, but not because you're nervous to be around your ex—but more because you can't believe this is happening. off all the days in the loop, this is the one to bring him back into your orbit. and god, of all the dumb wigs.

"mark. hey." your spine straightens as he walks toward you both, the smell of nicotine and bad cologne hitting you a second later, familiar in the worst way. he looks mostly the same—same smug half smile, same performative confidence like he's onstage even when there's no audience.

mat stiffens beside you. nothing dramatic, but enough that you feel the shift of his shoulder brushing yours. his jaw tightens, eyes flicking between you and mark like he's trying to solve a problem he didn't study for.

"how you've been?" your ex asks, taking a drag of his cigarette, then blowing it next to your head. dick.

"i've been alright. working a lot but it keeps me busy." you shrug, keeping your tone even, polite in that distant way that means nothing. you wring your hands together.

"playing dress up too I see." mark's gaze flicks to the wig, and then your sparkly pants, lingering a second too long like he thinks he's in on some joke.

his comment suddenly had you feeling a whole lot stupid, but you manage to force a thin smile anyways. mat doesn't.

"hey?" he drawls, squinting at mat now. "mat right? I remember meeting you at that bar for cassie's birthday." it's the same night that mat met you. the same night you decided that quitting smoking—and ending your relationship—was necessary.

mat blinks, remembering—or maybe pretending not to. "yeah."

mark nods, satisfied with that scrap of recognition. he doesn't pay mat attenrion a second longer, gaze trailing back to you. "how is cassie by the way?"

"she's good. yeah." you answer quickly, wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible.

"sick," he says, dragging the word out. he gestures vaguely at the street while taking bother unable of his cigarette. "what are you two doing walking around here?"

mat's brows visibly furrow. we fucking live here you idiot. his fake eyes study the side of your face, watching your lips part—then tremble with a loss of words—and he immediately wants to pull you away and hide you from the rest of the world.

although, as much as mat wants to do that, he doesn't. instead, he does something even riskier.

"just taking my girl out for the day," he says smoothly.

my girl.

his hand slides to your lower back, hesitant for half a beat—like he's checking if this is okay—before settling there. It's warm through your jeans coat. possessive, but not aggressive. protective, even.

you feel his thumb press lightly, like a quiet question.

marks light eyebrows shoot up. "oh shit! you two are—"

"yeah, we are." you say it before you can overthink it, leaning subtly into mat's side.

your ex lets out a low whistle, stomping out what's remaining of his smoke. "cassie must be pissed, huh."

"no it's all good," mat replies, tone casual but clipped. his arm tightens just a little, like he's anchoring himself to you.

you hate how natural it feels.

mark chuckles, shaking his head. he looks back at you and you want to scowl in his stupid face. "we should catch up, y/n. you look great, and I miss talking with you." then, he leans in, like you're both in on some joke that didn't exist until this moment. "smoke breaks are boring without you."

something sharp flashes behind mat's eyes before he schools it away. wearing a disguise or not, punching mark in the face will definitely draw some attention, and that's the last thing this needs.

"she doesn't smoke anymore," mat says, firm. then, softer, to you: "ready to go babe?"

for a moment, your knees feel a bit weak. you pretend it's from the smell of smoke and not from the term of endearment.

"ready." you manage to nod, squeezing his hand—that had slipped around to your front—once before letting go.

"bye mike," mat says, already turning you away.

"it's mark."

"sure. yeah."

he doesn't look back and neither do you. but as you walk away, mat's hand stays at your back a second longer than necessary—like he's making sure your ex sees it, or maybe like he just doesn't want to let go yet.

you make it half a block before the tension finally drains from your shoulders. you can't say the same for mat. his hand slips off your body, and you fight the urge to sigh.

he rubs at his chin, contemplating and with a hint of aggravation. "fucking asshole."

the tone makes you pause, turning to face him.

mat looks up, and lets out a humourless laugh, glancing over his shoulder at the direction you just came from. "I should've punched him."

you make a face. "ew, no."

then he laughs for real, short and clipped. "yeah, ew that was way too macho of me."

you sniffle, not emotional but feeling a bit drained. "he is an asshole though."

"yeah," he steps closer, invading your space and you welcome it. bending his knees, mat peers into your gaze. "hey, you look great in that wig. and your pants. he was just being a dick."

you look back at him and half grin at the compliment, "thanks," you mutter quietly.

he meets your gaze, something unreadable flickering before it settles. "anytime."

mat keeps his eyes on you. it's not the exaggerated check in look, or a hovering gaze that makes you want to shrink. but it's careful.

there's a beat where neither of you say anything, just looking at one another with the most gentleness you've ever had the pleasure of experiencing. and that makes you nervous.

but not of him, but about what it means.

you share a light smile, and then you're both back into your normal pace. walking down the streets of long island, hands almost brushing. both pretending to not notice how that feels like an electric zap.

in the distance, the sun is slowly beginning to make its way down to the horizon. it's not dark yet, not even dusk. but soon, it will come. and you hate the idea that the day will end.

for the first time since this started, you don't want a restart. you want to live in the fuck it day forever.

you and mat stop at a cafe 15 minutes after that, sharing the last almond croissant they had in the display case on a dirty metal table and chairs set outside. the lack of direct sun has the air feeling even cooler, and you're glad mat added two hot chocolates to the order, even when you persisted you didn't need one.

he doesn't gloat as you sip it greedily.  

"you all good though, seriously?" mat inquires, ripping off some pastry and putting it between his teeth. "anything you need after that? another hot chocolate, my sunglasses?" he pauses, a little mischievous. "a day reset? I seriously think if I throw myself in front of a taxi that'll work."

you snicker, picking of a thinly shaved piece of almond to nibble on. you're about to brush him off—maybe make some joke about needing nothing but a hot shower and your bed—but then a group of college girls walk past. they don't look at you, too busy laughing with one another. outfits sparkly. hair done.

a grin spreads on your face before you can hesitate. "I could go for a drink."

—

your bar of choice announces itself before you even reach the entrance—pink and electric, sign flickering, with a bouncer out front who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than there. you'd been here a couple times back in college with cassie, and judging by the the familiarity of the outside, you're positive the inside looks just the same as it used to.

you're hit with a wave of nostalgia and excitement, light catching your pants and making you shine like a glitter ball.

"that's it," you say, matter of fact, breath fogging into the air. "that's the dive bar. our next stop."

mat comes to a stop beside you, sunglasses long forgotten on top of his ball cap. he watches you, amused, non speaking as he lets the lights bathe your skin.

you look up at him, grinning. "perfect right?"

the corner of his mouth lifts. "of course it is."

inside, it's dark and narrow, walls glowing with cheap neon beer logos and half dead christmas lights that never got taken down. the floor sticks just enough to be noticeable while sober, but not after a few drinks. like you thought, it's the exact same as it was when you were younger.

moving between partying college students and other young adults, you make your way in the direction of the busy bar—mat following behind you like an obedient dog.

a guy checks out your ass when you pass. you miss it. mat doesn't, and glares at the kid until he swallows nervously.

you slide onto a barstool, sparkly pants catching the lights, blue wig practically humming under the glow. you're quite the sight to see, mat thinks as he sits beside you, cap still low.

you think he might put his sunglasses back on when you see him take them off his cap, but he hooks them onto the collar of his shirt instead. you don't mind though, despite the idea of getting recognized. he looks more real without them.

besides, this will all be forgotten tomorrow. if mat does happen to get recognized in a bar when he very much should be on the ice at the USB center, so be it. but these kids all seem drunk enough to not know him, or at the very least, not recognize him.

the bartender eyes you both. "what'll it be?"

"tequila soda," you smile.

mat hesitates, then—"same."

you blink as the bartender walks away, looking over to him. "since when do you drink tequila?"

"since today," he replies, like it explains everything. he taps the wood top of the bar with two fingers rhythmically, eyes on you.

the drinks arrive cold and sharp. you clink glasses, the sound ringing a little louder than it should.

"to good decisions," you muse.

"and bad ones," he counters.

then, you down your entire drink. mat, who had only took a sip, watches you with wide eyes—watches your throat as you swallow, your jaw, the dribble of liquid that falls down your chin.

in a method to distract himself and his thoughts of leaning in and licking up the dribble, mat follows suit and downs the contents of his drink.

you both order another one.

the bar gets louder as the night settles in—more bodies, more voices, the neon buzzing like it's alive. you're halfway through your second drink when mat's attention drifts past you, eyes catching on something in the back corner.

a pool table. the felt is worn, edges chipped, one leg shimmed with a stack of coasters. a couple guys are finishing up a game, laughing, slapping each other on the back.

mat straightens a little, like a switch has been flipped. "oh yeah," he smirks.

you follow his gaze, face falling as you spot the game you once called a fuck boys wet dream. "no." you deadpan.

he turns to you, hopeful. "yes."

"absolutely not."

"come on," he drawls, already sliding off his stool. "it's perfect."

"it's a dive bar pool table," you argue. "that thing has seen crimes."

"that just adds character."

you squint at him, unconvinced but slipping off the stool like he'd already got you hook, line and sinker. "you're good at it, aren't you."

mat shrugs, trying—and failing—to look modest. "i've played."

"that's not an answer."

"fuck it day." grinning through his sing song tone, mat plucks your drink out of your hand and puts it on the counter next to his empty one.

you groan, but you're smiling as you let him tug you up. "if you hustle me, I swear to god—"

"I would never," he says, solemn.

the guys have left by the time you and mat make your way towards the table. over here, the air smells less like spilled vodka and more like chalk dust and stale lager.

the green felt of the tables glows under the hanging lamps, worn smooth by years of missed shots and victories that probably mattered too much to some frat guys.

you eye the cues lined up along the wall like they might bite. "okay," you start cautiously, looking between them and mat. "I should warn you. I am...historically bad at this."

he grins, already rolling the balls into the triangle. "perfect."

"is that supposed to be comforting?"

"no. but there's nowhere to go but up," he says, glancing at you and taking in your hesitant expression. he laughs, "probably."

you grab a cue and immediately it feels wrong. but you walk back towards mat with all faux confidence and prop your hips against the table. "ready to eat shit barzal?”

"jesus," he snorts. looks at the cue. "you're holding it wrong."

you blink, straightening. "of course."

he laughs again, soft, and moves towards you. "can I?"

you nod. "alright."

he steps even closer, chest brushing your shoulder as he gently adjusts your grip, fingers warm against yours. "you want it loose," he says. "not a death grip."

"hard habit to break," you mutter, focusing all too entirely of his hands on yours.

he chuckles, then moves behind you, hesitating for just a beat before placing his hands lightly at your hips to square your stance.

your breath hitches and your throat goes dry. you wish you had another drink. maybe even a shot.

"okay," mat says quietly, voice brushing your ear. "tell me if this is weird."

"it's fine," you say—albeit too quickly—even though your heart has decided to sprint. you never used to understand in the movies, or even in college, when guys would show a woman how to play a sport by standing behind them and controlling them.

more specifically, you never understood why women would get so flustered buy it. but now, as mat stands behind you, warm and big and gentle, you're starting to grasp the idea.

he leans in slightly, chest a solid presence at your back as he guides your shoulders down. his voice drops, softer now, focused.

"bend your knees a little. yeah, like that."

you swallow, unable to speak.

"now line up the shot," he continues, pointing at the cue ball. "eyes on the contact point."

you do, breath shallow, and hyper aware of every place you're touching. in that moment, the world narrows to the table, the ball, the quiet hum of the room.

"okay," he murmurs near your ear. "take the shot."

you swing, but you're not properly focused. you can't be when mat is looming over your body like this. so the cue slips and the ball barely moves. It taps another ball, which rolls approximately two inches and stops completely.

there's a beat of silence, and then he bursts out laughing.

"oh my god," you groan. "I hate this game."

"no, no," he reassures you quickly, still laughing. "that was—honestly impressive. In its own way."

you straighten, stepping away from him, pointing accusingly. "do not patronize me."

"never," he promises, grinning. "try again."

"I will if you get me another drink," you huff, "and a shot."

he does. and the same for himself. then you try again, this time without mat pressed against you like it's something you two just do. but you still miss—the cue ball jumps this time, skidding wildly before coming to rest nowhere useful.

you throw your head back. "this table is cursed."

mat leans against the edge, watching you with something fond in his expression. "okay. my turn." he rounds to the end of the table, "watch me."

he lines up effortlessly, body relaxed, movements smooth and practiced. and of course, the shot is clean—ball sinking into the pocket with a satisfying thunk.

you gape. "show off."

he straightens. "occupational hazard."

you squint, "your occupation is hockey."

"the hand eye coordination transfers."

you scoff, then pause. "teach me that part."

mat laughs and steps back behind you again, more confident this time. his hands settle at your waist, firmer now, like he's learned where he's allowed to be. he adjusts your stance, nudges your elbow, taps the cue gently.

"slow down," he reminds you. "you rush."

you glance back at him. "I do not."

he raises a knowing eyebrow. "you absolutely do."

you huff, but do as he says, breathing out slowly.

"okay," he murmurs. "now."

and you strike. the ball rolls—clean and steady—before dropping into the pocket. for a moment, you're frozen, but once your brown catches up to your body, you gasp. "oh my god! I did it."

mat laughs, delighted. "you did!"

you spin toward him, throwing your arms up in triumph—nearly taking him out with the cue. he catches it just in time, hands closing over yours. for a second, you're pressed close, faces inches apart, both breathing a little harder than necessary.

you don't move away. you don't want to.

"you're a natural," he grins softly. "are you sure you've never won a game before?"

you snort. "don't lie to me."

"I wouldn't," he replies.

"get a room!" a stranger calls.

you both jump apart at the same time, laughing too loudly. you run a damp hand over your wig. mat takes three big gulps of his drink. the moment hangs there, heavy.

you're the one to break it. "rematch," you say, pointing at him. "loser buys another round of shots."

he smirks. "you're on."

you're still not good at pool, that much is evident on your next three shots where you miss two completely and the third ball falls off the table completely. the tequila in your system isn’t helping either. but mat doesn't loose his patience, showing you tricks until you can successfully pot a ball every time.

once again, you're still not good—thanks tequila—but you're dangerous now. you know what angles to look for. you know how to breathe before the shot. you know not to muscle it.

mat realizes this about four turns into a new game.

"oh," he says, watching you line up. "I may have made a mistake."

you sink the ball and straighten, grinning. "you absolutely did."

the bar has filled in around you, the noise louder now, tiny dj set up where a temu version of pauly d stands, competing with laughter. you get hot and shed your jacket, mat did the same last round.

he leans the cue against the table, eyes bright with challenge. "okay then," he prompts. "we need stakes."

you cross your arms. "go on."

"if I win," he starts, "you have to forever tell everyone i'm a pool god. and you gotta get us another shot."

you make a face. "extortion."

"terms are firm."

you snicker. glancing past him, you try and think of your own terms. thankfully, it doesn't take long. you freeze when you see it—over by the wall, glowing like a beacon of chaos. karaoke night. the sign pulses red and blue.

knockoff pauly d is setting up the microphones already, as it must be nearing the start of said karaoke night. slowly, you smile, looking back at mat.

"fine," you chime. "but if i win—" you pause deliberately, eyes drifting. mat follows your gaze.

he groans immediately. "no."

"—then you have to karaoke with me."

he stares at the sign like it personally betrayed him. "absolutely not."

"you already agreed to stakes."

"I didn't agree to that."

you lift a brow. "you play for the entire world to watch, but you're scared of a little microphone?"

he exhales at that, and scrubs a hand over his face. "fine. but I'm only saying yes because i'm going to win. I don't care about your sudden lucky streak."

you smirk. "cocky, considering you just taught me your tricks."

he laughs, shaking his head as he takes a delivery step into your space. "lesson one: never teach your opponent everything."

the final game is brutal.

you miss an easy shot and groan. mat sinks two in a row like he's born for this. a couple people nearby start watching, offering commentary like they've known you both for years.

"c'mon, blue wig!" some frat guy shouts, only to be immediately reprimanded by his drunk girlfriend. she's more than just a wig, babe!

you point your cue at the bystanders. "mind your business."

mat cackles.

obviously, it comes down to the eighth ball. your hands shake just a little as you line it up, and mat stands a few feet away, arms crossed, unreadable as he asses you.

"no pressure," he says softly. "just your dignity."

"I hate you," you mutter without looking back. you take the shot, and for what feels like a heartbeat, nothing happens. then—the eight ball drops.

the table erupts. someone whoops. you slap your hands to your mouth, laughing, disbelief crashing into triumph. "oh my god," you breathe, spinning to face mat. "I won."

mat's still looking at you, a small grin on his plump limps. "good job."

you bound over to him, hands clasped behind your back with all faux innocence, wig brushing against your shoulders. "ready to get your singing pants on, barzal?"

he groans, but he's still smiling—wide, real, unguarded. "you're enjoying this way too much."

"fuck it day, mat," you sing sing his earlier words from when you didn't want to play pool. you offer him your hand. "the universe demands a performance."

as soon as mat's fingers brushed yours, you're pulling him away from the table and towards the crowded stage area of the bar, where the karaoke is starting.

you stop at what looks like a sign up sheet, half sticky with spilled beer already. you don't look at mat, too busy writing down your names in the correct slot. "okay, what if we did ain't no mountain high enough? it's upbeat and a classic."

he stares at you, gawking. "I don’t even get to pick the song?"

you giggle, already writing down the song title in the spot beside your names. "no, because knowing you, you'd pick shitty country."

despite your dig, he grins. "you and your vendetta against music’s greatest gift."

you straighten, calling the lid on the pen. "don't act like you don't love it."

he opens his mouth to argue, then stops—because he don't know if he can argue that.

you wait, a little nervous but also something else.

then, mat blinks, smiling just a little to be found guilty. "i'm getting us more drinks," he points at you and then towards the two chairs at an empty table. "go sit. behave."

you grin like the cat from alice and wonderland—he can't think of the name—before moving through the bar and towards the high top table.

when mat returns with your drinks, two girls are finishing a cover of whitney houston on the stage, sounding a whole lot like dying cats, but you're grinning like it's whitney in the flesh.

mat downs his drink before you even get a sip in on yours. you snicker.

when your names are called, the room erupts in mild applause. you drag him toward the stage, both of you laughing already, adrenaline and alcohol buzzing in your veins. the microphone is warm when you grab it, and the teens perfumes are still lingering in the air.

the opening beat starts, and you're already bounce on your heels, immediately into it, swaying side to side. mat stands stiffly at first, mic held too far from his mouth, shoulders tense like he's waiting to be hit.

you nudge him with your elbow. "relax. it's just singing."

he shoots you a look. "you say that like it's not deeply personal. i've got a reputation to uphold."

you just grin.

the first verse starts and you jump in without hesitation, voice loud and confident, maybe a little pitchy but joyful. you can't sing, not even close.

'if you need me, call me. no matter where you are. not matter how far.'

you point at mat on the last line, exaggerated and dramatic, and he laughs despite himself.

when it's his turn, he hesitates for exactly half a second—then leans into it. his voice is lower than you expected, rough around the edges but earnest. the crowd whoops in approval.

'cause baby there ain't no mountain high enough. ain't no valley low enough. ain't no river wide enough, to keep me from you babe.'

your eyes widen and you let out a movie worthy gasp. "oh my god!" you say into the mic. "you can sing!"

"don't spread that around," he replies, grinning.

it doesn't take long until you're both shouting, not caring about perfect notes or timing, just feeding off each other's energy. you spin away from him, then back, dancing badly and enthusiastically while your pants sparkle. mat follows your lead, loosening up, shoulders dropping, laugh breaking free as he messes up the lyrics and you cover for him dramatically.

you grab his free hand without thinking, raising it in the air like you've won something. he twirls you—badly—but you don't care. the crowd cheers louder now, clapping along.

'my love is alive. way down in my heart. although we are miles apart.'

by the second chorus, you're both breathless and glowing.

"you're insane," he says between lines. not to the mic, just for your to hear.

"you love it." you shoot back for the second time tonight. and god, he does. mat doesn't answer with words, instead he takes his cap and puts it over your wig, pulling the beak down over your eyes so you can't see.

you laugh, pushing at him.

when the music cuts, the room erupts. you bow dramatically, and then mat throws an arm around your shoulders when you straighten, pulling you in without hesitation.

you're both smiling too hard to speak, chests heaving, faces flushed and bright.

"that," he says once he can breathe again, "was incredible."

"you're welcome," you say, still riding the high. "you were a natural."

he helps you down the steps of the stage, not moving until you're steady, one hand hovering at your elbow incase you wobble. "think the videos on twitter already?"

you snicker, "oh yeah. I can see it now."

mat steals his hat back then, tugging it down over his hair, but it does nothing to hide the buzz running through him. his smile lingers, crooked and a little stunned, like he can't believe this is real.

you stay for a few more performances, which obviously aren't as good as yours—but maybe you're biased—and then you and mat decide to head out once a drunk girl claims a little too loudly he looks like that hottie mark barzal. it's close enough to have you all but running into the cold air.

the noise of the dive bar blurs as the doors closes behind you with a dull thud, sealing the chaos of college partying inside.

for a second, you just stand there. the air is colder than you'd like, the street illuminated with other bars and restaurants and clubs alike. you stumble slightly as you look up at the night sky. mat catches you before you can notice.

"I don't want to go home yet." you admit. you've had such a carefree day, one that a few days ago would've seemed unattainable. but now that you're in it, with mat by your side like this is meant to be, you don't want to face the reality of going home. more specifically, the loop.

he just watches you for a moment, searching your tilted back access like he's checking what you really mean. even with the alcohol in his bloodstream, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out.

he sighs, "me neither."

you blink and nod solemnly.

and mat hates that sad look. more than he's hated anything. and that should scare him, but it doesn't. it hasn't for awhile.

"let's not go home yet." he says.

you look at him, "what do we do instead?"

he looks around, searching for something, and it doesn't take long for him to find it. "let's go dancing."

"dancing?" you repeat, a small smile on your face as you look towards the nightclub he's referring to. more students and parties lingering around the outside while the house music vibrates the sidewalk.

"yeah," mat says, "don't tell me your feet hurt too much to dance with me, y/n."

a pause, and then—"they could never."

—

something changes in that club.

heat. bass. bodies pressed too close, moving like a single organism under strobing lights. the air tastes like sweat and perfume and spilled drinks—the floor vibrates hard enough below your feet that you feel it in your teeth. neon strobing light cuts through the dark in sharp flashes—blue, then red, then white—freezing people mid motion before plunging them back into shadow.

mat's hand finds yours through the darkness, fingers interlacing as he leads you through the club. dodging bodies and spilling drinks like he's parting the sea. it's exhilarating—the music and the feeling of his palm in yours.

you barley make it into the middle of the crowded room before the song bleeds into a new one. a familiar remix—low and relentless, pulsing through the room like a second heartbeat.

all the things she said, all the things she said, running through my head, running through my head, running through my head.

the music swells, the vocals distant and echoing, and suddenly the rest of the club falls away. the crowd becomes background noise, a blur of movement and color.

wordlessly, mat turns to face you, glowing under the lights. using the leverage of your connected hands, he pulls you close. you breath hitches when your fronts connect.

this is not enough. this is not enough.

all you can feel is him, and something sharp snapping inside you.

he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "you okay?" his cheek brushes yours when he pulls back.

you nod.

the beat drops harder, and without another word, you move with it. hips rolling, shoulders loose, letting the music take over in a way you haven't let yourself do in a long time. this isn't playful dancing, this isn't isn't ironic. it's deliberate.

it feels like a challenge.

his gaze tracks every movement, jaw tight, body still for half a second too long—like he's deciding whether to join you or just watch you.

but then he moves. it's slow at first, controlled in a way that makes sense. but you can feel his restraint. like he's holding something back.

his broad shoulders sway, hips shifting just enough to tell you he knows exactly what he's doing. the lights catch the sharp line of his jaw, the focus in his eyes.

you swallow, not daring to look away.

you circle each other through the press of bodies, close enough that you feel the heat coming off him, far enough that there's still space—still that unbearable almost.

i'm in serious shit, I feel totally lost. if i'm asking for help, it's only because.

the crowd is erupting around you, hands in the air, voices shouting lyrics they don't fully know. you move harder now, wig sticking to your neck, pulse racing. you spin once, slow and deliberate, and when you turn to face him again, you find him closer than before.

your eyes lock.

being with you, has opened my eyes. could I ever believe such a perfect suprise?

the world narrows to that space between you—charged, electric, and humming like a live wire. you can feel it in your chest, in the way your breath keeps hitching, in the way neither of you looks away.

he leans in slightly, just enough that you hear him over the music.

"you're doing this on purpose," he rasps, breathless and desperate.

you smile, sharp and free. "i'm dancing."

his mouth twitches under the lights, something dangerous flickering across his face. "you're playing a risky game."

your lips almost touch his jaw as you push up to whisper in his ear—"so are you."

I keep asking myself, wondering how. I keep closing my eyes, but I can't block you out.

someone pushes between you, pulling you and mat apart. the space should solve whatever is happening, but it doesn't. it makes it worse.

because now you're aware of the absence of mat in a way that feels loud. the warmth that was there—his shoulder brushing yours, the way his attention felt turned entirely to you—vanishes, and your body reacts before your brian can catch up.

you tell yourself this is stupid. impossible, even. you barley knew him outside of the loop. you weren't even friends before any of this. in a normal world, he has cassie. there are rules here, written and not. and you are breaking all of them by noticing just how much you want mat to be closer once again.

and mat? he feels it too. of course he does. whether he wants to or not. the loop has scrambled his sense of time, but not this. not you. it's unsettling how natural it feels to care about you, how his chest tightens when you're not longer in reach. he knows the facts, knows all the reasons this isn't right. mat knows that wanting you complicates everything he's already failing to understand.

but none of that quiets the instinct to look for you immediately, to make sure you're still there. and it's not just dancing with you, or your fuck it day in general. it's been since the first day he woke up and realized his days were repeating.

you find each other again, and something wordless settles. not relief—something sharper. it's clear. recognition. permission.

the world keeps moving around you—dancing, drinking, flashing lights—but in this moment, none of it matters. there is only the certainty that whatever this is, it's happening despite it all.

wanna fly to a place where it's just you and me. nobody else, so we can be free.

mat's hand lands at your waist—firm, grounding, and unmistakably real. your breath stutters again, but you don't pull away. you tilt your head up, meeting his eyes, and for one suspended moment you're perfectly still in the middle of a moving crowd.

all the things she said, all the things she said

you move together now, not choreographed, and not careful—just instinctual.

you lean in, lips brushing his ear. "careful."

he exhales, warm against your cheek. "i'm trying."

then, his eyes fall down to your lips.

this is not enough.

the final swell of the song crashes down, and the room exploded back into light and sound. someone bumps into you hard, breaking the spell.

mat's hand slips from your waist, and you both step back at the same time, breathing hard, eyes still locked like neither of you knows how to disengage.

the song moves into another popular one, a seamless transition that you would usually appreciate. the crowd cheers again, swaying all around you.

a thick second passes, and then you laugh—a short, breathless, and disbelieving noise that you had to fight your raving mind to make. honestly, you're not sure what else to do in this moment.

because you just wanted mat barzal to kiss you.

removing his cap for a brief moment, he drags a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "we should—" he stops to swallow. tried again. "we should get some air."

you nod, heart still hammering. "yeah."

you don't touch as you make your way toward the exit.

—

air feels like a relief.

it's cool and sharp after the heat of the club, sobering in the way that makes your head feel lighter even though your body is still pleasantly loose. the city continues to hum all around you—cars hissing past, streetlights glowing soft and golden, the smell of asphalt cutting through the lingering haze of perfume and sweat clinging to your skin.

you and mat stumble down the sidewalk, and away from the club. shoulders bumping, steps slightly out of sync.

you're heading home now. someone's home at least. probably not yours. not when you know cassie will be there. you want to check your phone, but that will only kill your buzz.

suddenly, you're laughing. full on, giggling, crouching over laughter. not even about anything specific, but rather about the absurdity of what is your life. you feel like you're on an episode of pranked. expect the episode is like a month long and involves magic.

"that was—" you start, then lose the thread entirely as you trip on a crack in the pavement.

mat catches your elbow without thinking. "careful."

"whoops," you say, dissolving into giggles anyway.

he doesn't let go, falling victim to his own fit of laughter.

honesty, you hadn't realized how much you and mat drank until this moment. your breath hiccups and you try and stop laughing, grabbing at mat's cap to plop onto your own head.

he lets you, bumping into your side without meaning to.

you finally manage to catch your breath, laughter tapering off into shaky exhales. he keeps you steady by the elbow, and you're grinning over at him under the rim of his cap.

"we are so drunk," you mutter, squinting through the dark. it's a statement, and also maybe a bit of an excuse as to why dancing at the night club had turned so...tension filled. an excuse to why you were thinking of kissing your roommates not so ex boyfriend.

mat hums in agreement, keeping you both moving along the city sidewalk. "speak for yourself. you're the one stealing my hat."

"borrowed," you correct, sniffing the air without thinking—and then you freeze. seriously, like inspector gadget stumbling onto the scene of a crime.

you turn your head, sniff experimentally once again, then recoil dramatically.

"oh my god," you gasp. "Is that me? do I smell? I need to shower!"

he snorts, eyes flicking over you with that familiar, maddening smirk. "yeah, you do. I can smell you from here."

you stop dead in your tracks, horror stricken. it's not you that smells, it's the garage lined alleyways that are long island, but you panic all the same. "oh my god—don't say that to me!"

mat laughs, full and unguarded, the sound warm in the quiet street. "relax. i'm joking."

"you absolutely are not allowed to joke about my hygiene," you say, pointing at him. "that's crossing a line."

"I've crossed many lines today," he says easily. "bad disguise. karaoke. public dancing."

"trauma bonding truly," you reply solemnly.

"exactly."

you start walking again, faster now, like you're trying to outrun the way your cheeks are heating up. mat trails behind you, laughing into his chest. obviously, with his stupid long legs and athletic stamina, he catches up quickly.

"why are we power walking?" he asks. "did I say something dumb?"

you shake your head, wig smacking your cold cheeks. how do you tell him that the problem is that he did nothing wrong. the problem is that he's funny, and sweet and cares too much when you don't deserve it.

"no. I just need—" you gesture vaguely ahead, neatly knocking into a street trash can. "I need to get this wig off." you start pawing at the blue strands like a baby, failing to do anything but make it messy.

mat takes his hat back and then moves your hands away. you swallow, watching gently as he flattens down the tangled strands. "leave the wig," he winks then, making your vagina flutter like that pathetic girl she is. "it's kinda doing something."

"shut up," you manage to squeak out, but there's no bite in it. his gaze turns too intense and you look away, because you're drunk and scared you won't be able to hold back for much longer.

that's when you spot it.

"oh my god!" you gasp suddenly, all previous thoughts stopping short.

"what?" mat asks. "what is it?"

you grab his wrist, stumbling ever so slightly as you point across the street. sitting outside a dingy bar, tucked between an old phone booth and garbage can, it's a photo booth.

"a photo booth! they still exist."

he follows your gaze, then laughs. "you're going to drag me there aren't you?"

"yes," you say immediately, already moving. "we have to."

he touches your wrist instead of saying anything, both of you j-walking across the dwindling street until you're in front or the booth.

up close, you can see that it's half broken, plastered with old stickers and scratched initials, the red vinyl curtain slightly crooked on its rail. the photo sign flickers on and off like it can't quite commit to existing.

you get in first, mat following suit with a smile so wide his chin dimple flashes. you laugh when he fumbles for his wallet and nearly drops the sunglasses hanging from his shirt in the process.

"$10? this is a scam," he mutters, shoving the crumpled bill into the slot.

you shove him playfully. "okay mr. millionaire."

he snickers and then knocks his knee into yours as the booth sucks up the money. the curtain falls shut with a soft thump, sealing you into a small, humming world of red light and anticipation.

"wow," you say, adjusting yourself awkwardly. "this is... intimate."

the screen flickers to life. GET READY, it's reads in dim, yet bold lettering. you both lean in, faces close, reading it together.

"okay," you slur slightly, suddenly serious. "first one—normal."

"normal," mat repeats, like that's a foreign concept.

the countdown starts. three. two. one—

instinctively, you straighten your posture and paste on a respectable smile like modelling is your full time job. mat only admires the way you snap into the character for a second before he mirrors you.

the flash bursts white, momentarily blinding, and you both blink at the same time, laughing when you realize you definitely looked startled in the picture.

"great start," he says dryly.

"shut up," you reply. "second one—stupid."

the screen resets, and the same countdown ensues. three. two—

you stick your tongue out before thinking too hard, at the same time mat crosses his eyes. at the last second, he throws up a peace sign way too close to your face, blocking half your mouth.

the flash barley goes off before you're both laughing again. shoulder shaking, the sound bouncing around the tiny booth until it feels like it might burst.

"okay," you hum, wiping at your eyes. "third one—dramatic."

he raises an eyebrow. "define dramatic."

"very damsel in distress," you prompt before throwing a hand to your forehead, head tilted back like you're in an old time movie. you open one of your previously closed eyes—for the frantically of course—and peek back at mat.

you catch his pose. back towards you, a fake gun made by his fingers pointed towards the sky. you're laughing when the flash goes off.

he watches you laugh, and can't help but wish that these pictures will survive the loop. because your smile is worth keeping forever.

"the finger guns," you wheeze, amused. "so stupid but so gold."

mat blinks and recovers from his stare quickly. he blows fake smoke off the top of his finger, laughing half way through. "don't hate the player, hate the game."

you push his hands down. your thighs are pressed together so tightly that you feel molded. you don't dare look at them side by side.

the screen flickers, reading finale photo.

"one more," mat says, quieter now.

you swallow. "one more."

the velvet curtain of the booth is suddenly pulled open. a guy, no older than 22, and clearly intoxicated jumps in surprise. he almost bumps into his pretty red head girlfriend, his giggling into his bicep.

"oh shit," the stranger laughs, sluring the curse. "we didn't know anyone was banging in here. hey man, we had the same idea." the curtain is pulled closed once more before you can blink.

slowly, mat turns his gaze back to yours, and as soon as your eyes connect—you're both done for.

the laughter than hasn't seemed to leave you since leaving the club comes back at full force. your shoulders shake, breathless and loud breathes of laughing that make the booth feel smaller than it already does.

"did he just—"  you try, but your words dissolve into another for.

"he totally—" mat tries to continue, but he too is bound by the moment. his breath is warm against your dewy skin, forehead dipping forward until it nearly touches yours.

you're leaning into each other now without really deciding to. his shoulder is pressing into yours, your hand curls into the fabric of his open jacket just to steady yourself. you can feel mat smiling, even when he's not laughing with you anymore.

the laughter fades then. not abruptly. it just thins out in a way that feels loaded.

there's a beat where neither of you speak. his eyes flick down, just for a second, to your mouth. your breath catches anyways—in an instant, you're back under the neon lights of the club, wishing he'd kiss you.

the space between you now feels charged, like the air has been vacuumed sealed inside the booth. your head tilts before you can stop it. mats thumb twitches on your knee—when did he put his hand there?

then, a flash.

the familiar light illuminates the booth for the fourth time, snapping the tension in half.

you both jerk back instinctively, laughing too loudly, blinking spots out of your vision as the booth whirs and spits out the strip of photos.

"jesus," you say breathlessly. "that thing is aggressive."

mat lets out a shaky laugh. "no kidding." he pulls the curtain open with a squeak, cold air rushing in like a reset. you tumble out slightly off balance, not waiting for mat before literally climbing over his lap.

he makes a noise, you don't look back until you're standing on the sidewalk. you lean forward and grab the photo strip from the rusty tray.

you scan them quickly, and the double take. because the last frame freezes you in time—your faces close, eyes soft, something unmistakable caught right before it could become something else.

it's so stupid. your wig and the buzz of alcohol so clear on both of your faces. so you're not sure why you feel emotional about it.

mat clears his throat, peering over your shoulder. "well." he says, tone loaded with something you try to ignore.

you tuck the strip carefully into your pocket, heart beating a little too fast. "let's head back."

—

mat's house comes into view before you know it, and it's a familiar spot in a way you could've never imagined—all dark windows, quiet street, and warm.

you were so quiet on the walk back that mat asked if you were dead—despite you're very clearly walking and breathing. you're sure he did it just to make you laugh, and he did.

you just couldn't stop thinking—of how close you are with him, of how easy it would be to lean in to him, of how easy it would be to ruin the fragile balance you've been pretending isn't there and just kiss him under the streetlights.

mat shoves his key into the door and it swings open. he glances back at you with a crooked smile.

you're both still feeling the affects of tequila sodas when you make it inside, shoes kicked off in a clumsy pile by the door, the quiet of his apartment ringing in your ears after the club.

everything feels a little too bright, a little too funny, like your body hasn't caught up to the fact that the night is winding down.

you lean against the kitchen counter to steady yourself, giggling. "I cannot believe you let me put that ball cap on you," you say. "you look like a dad at a music festival."

"I was undercover," mat replies solemnly. "but you kept compromising the mission anyways. trying to blow my cover."

you snort and lean closer to him, pointing dramatically. "that's a written rule of fuck it day. blowing the covers. sorry."

"it is not."

“it is,” you grin, "you loved it."

"did not."

"did too."

you poke his chest to emphasize your point—and because you're drunk, you misjudge the distance entirely and stumble forward instead.

he catches you automatically. again. strong hands on your waist, solid and steadying.

you burst into laughter, forehead dropping against his shoulder. "wow. I am absolutely thriving tonight.”

"you're gonna hurt yourself," he says, amused, but he doesn't let go.

you shift slightly, still laughing, trying to regain your balance—and then you feel it, half hard, resting against your hip like an old friend. instead of freezing like mat clearly does, your laughter hiccups, like you don't quite register it.

but then.

you look up at him, eyes wide with exaggerated horror, then immediately start laughing harder. "oh my god!"

he groans, tilting his head back. "please don't move."

"oh my god," you repeat, wiping at your eyes. "I am so sorry."

"I didn't—" mat stops himself, then sighs. "I mean. It's not—this is not—it's been a long time."

you're barely listening because you're too busy laughing—the whole situation absurd and uncomfortably human. you're still pressed together, you straight like a board—despite the giggle fit—while mat just half holds you and half hovers, too scared to move and make it worse.

you shift, and he groans. "you're a menace."

"do you not like…beat off in the shower? I don't think the loop would mind." you make suggestive eyes towards the crotch of his jeans.

mat gapes at you. "you did not just ask me that.”

"what?! i'm just trying to help you out here."

he shakes his head, laughing despite himself now, cheeks flushed. "can we never speak of this again?"

"oh, absolutely not," you chime. "i'm bringing this up every day until I die."

"cruel," he says. "and unnecessary."

you finally step back, still grinning, giving him a mock salute. "thank you for your service."

he watches you for a beat, something fond and flustered in his expression. "you're unbelievable."

you smile, softer now. "you like me."

and this time, he does answer with words. "yeah. I do."

you giggle again, the moment dissolving back into warmth and teasing, but something lingers beneath it—something unspoken, undeniable, impossible to ignore now.

"i'm showering," you tell him.

"good. you still stink."

you flip him off behind your back as you walk towards the bathroom, and his laughter follows you.

once you disappear out of sight—the bathroom door clicking shut behind you—mat can only just linger where he is, still smiling to himself, the echo of your laughter hanging in the air longer than it should. he tells himself it's nothing. just noise. just you.

he drops onto the edge of the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. he ignores the million texts from his teammates, and cassie. as well as the sportsnet articles about his absence. he should feel bad—should text at least andres so they know he's not dead—but he doesn't.

not because he wants people to worry, but mat is scared that if he toys with this too much, something will go wrong.

inside the bathroom, you turn the shower knob. or at least, you attempt to. but only when you do, nothing happens.

you frown and twist it the other way. the pipes groan like they're considering it—then silence again.

"...you've got to be kidding me," you mutter, crouching slightly to inspect the knobs like they might explain themselves.

when you try again, cold water blasts out for half a second, then cuts off entirely.

you yelp and jump back, shirt wet and clingy. "nope. absolutely not."

mat's attention gets snagged on the sound of the water turning on—then off. then on again. pipes groaning in protest. and then a beat of silence.

"mat?" your voice carries through the door, lighter than it should be. casual. like you're not calling his name from a bathroom you're about to undress in.

he gets up and peeks down the hall. he sees you then, head hanging out of the bathroom. you're not wearing your wig anymore, and his heart gives a stupid, traitorous lurch at the sight of your frazzled strands. "yeah?"

"it's—" you pause walking back into the room, followed by the clunk of a handle being turned as you try again. "I think your shower's broken."

"it's not broken. you just don't know how to use it." he snorts.

"oh, sorry, I forgot you're emotionally attached to your plumbing," you say, then—quieter, almost reluctant—"can you just...come here?"

mat hesitates for half a second too long. he tells himself he's being ridiculous. it's a bathroom. you've shared worse spaces. this is him simply just beating cautious due to his earlier...situation. but ultimately, he gives in.

you hear his footsteps approach, followed by a soft laugh. he appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, eyes bright with amusement.

you're standing there in the soft bathroom light, half turned toward him, one hand gripping the shower handle like it's personally offended you. you hair is even wilder up close, shirt clinging just a little from where you've accidentally splashed water on yourself. bare feet on cool tile.

it's familiar, yes—but not like this.

"oh," you chime when you see him. "see? It won't—" instead of explaining, you twist the knob again, and the water suddenly surges to life with a violent hiss, spraying sideways. you yelp, jumping back—and straight into his chest.

mat reacts without thinking, hands coming up to steady you, palms landing at your waist. you're warm to the touch. too warm. he can feel it even through the thin fabric, can feel the way you freeze the second you realize how close you are.

the room feels smaller instantly. steam curls around you, dampening the air, softening the edges of everything. laughter he barley has to begin with, dies in his throat.

for a moment, neither of you move.

he's painfully aware of everything at once—the way your breath stutters against his chest, the faint scent of your damp scalp, the fact that his hands are still on you and he doesn't want to move them.

he shouldn't be thinking about how easy it would be to pull you closer.

you look up at him, eyes wide—not scared, just caught. like you're both unsure how many times this can happen before you break.

"okay," you murmur, trying for a joke and missing it entirely. "so. it works."

"yeah," mat agrees, voice rougher than he expects. he clears his throat but doesn't let go. "yeah, it does."

he should move. he knows that. every instinct is screaming that this is the point where he steps back, cracks a joke, and breaks the spell before it hardens into something real.

but the tension has been building all day—through shared glances, through accidental touches that lasted a second too long, through the way neither of you quite stopped leaning toward each other. add the buzz still humming under your skin from the drinks earlier, the warmth of the steam, and the closeness—and suddenly, pretending this isn't happening feels more dishonest than giving in.

this isn't teasing anymore. it isn't an accident. it's the sudden, undeniable awareness that this—whatever this is—is real, and standing right between you, daring either of you to pretend otherwise.

you swallow, eyes flicking briefly to his hands like you're aware of them for the first time. "maybe... maybe stay?" you start, voice quieter now. "just in case it goes haywire again."

he nods before he thinks better of it. this is dangerous, but neither of you seem to care. "yeah. i've got you."

you swallow, "could tune off again, you know."

another nod. "yes. and that could be dangerous."

"very." you agree. neither of you miss the underlying meaning there. but you don't comment on it.

slowly, and a little timid, you turn back toward the shower. you hesitate, shoulders tense, like you're bracing yourself for something to go wrong. get snapped back to the morning.

eventually, you push the worry away, turning back towards him before you can second guess anything. bolder now, you tilt your chin up. "maybe you should help me take my top off. the floors wet, and so don't want to slip."

mat's heart somehow stops and skips all at once, your words sitting heavy in the steamy space between you. his dick twitches agains behind the zipper of his jeans.

he steps forward, eyes turning dark. "I don't want you to slip either." 

and then he's there. before you can even get a proper breath in. fingers brush the hem of your shirt, barely there, like he's giving you time to change your mind. when you don't, mat hooks his thumbs under the fabric and lifts slowly, eyes not once leaving yours until the shirt creates barrier.

it falls to the wet floor in a heap,and the air shifts—cool against your skin, hot in his lungs.

his knuckles brush your hip without a comment. his eyes stay on mom yours. the contact sparks, sharp and unmistakable.

"you're staring," you note.

"yeah," he admits easily. "I am."

then, it's your fingers catching the hem of his shirt. there's nothing rushed about undressing now. no urgency like you've experienced with all your past relationships. just the the quiet, deliberate intimacy of hands learning familiar paths.

you push it up inch by inch, slow enough that it feels intentional, reverent. he helps you, lifting his arms, the fabric sliding away to reveal warm skin and the steady rise and fall of his breath. you let your finger tips rake over his muscles, feeling the ridges like it's the oxygen in your lungs.

mat reaches for you again, bare chest heaving against yours. your button comes undone, followed by your zipper being eased down. his knuckles brush your naked skin, sending a small, shivery awareness through you that has nothing to do with the change of temperature.

behind you, that the water finally turns hot—really hot—and the room fills with mist, steam curling around your ankles, softening everything.

"you know," he starts softly, voice barely louder than the rush of water, "I don't think there's anybody else in the world who I'd rather be stuck in this with."

your chest tightens, small hands stilling on his bare waist. you don't answer right away—can't. instead, you tip your head up and press a fluttering kiss to his jaw—slow, lingering—letting it say what you can't quite get out yet.

then you kiss below his ear. then back at the hinge of his jaw, then his chin.

mat's hands slide down your back and then cup your ass, pulling you up his body so you're able to reach him easily.

for a second, nothing happens.

you're just standing there in the humid quiet, shirt gone, steam curling between you like it's holding its breath too, looking into the same eyes you've been seeking comfort in for weeks now.

his long fingers splay over your ass, slipping beneath the fabric of your thong. just softly, nothing teasing. somehow that's hotter than the alternative.

your breath hitches, "mat."

"hey," he murmurs, barely audible over the water. he squeezes the flesh, checking in. "we don't have to—"

"I know," you say quickly. then, softer—steadier—"but I want to."

that's all it takes for mat barzal to dart down and take your mouth with his in a way that you used to believe to be fictional. because the kiss isn't careful. it's not practiced or pretty. it's all pent up tension and poor timing and too many almosts finally snapping.

your mouths meet a little off center, teeth bumping, breath tangled, and mat makes a quiet sound of surprise before his hands find you properly—one at your waist, the other sliding up between your shoulder blades like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on.

you kiss him back just as messily, fingers curling over his biceps, then his neck, then back to his biceps—trying to ground yourself. it feels dizzying, like the room has tilted. like you've both stepped off something and there's no rewinding it now.

his hands slide down the straps of your bra. yours push down his boxers until they fall to the bath mat. all remanding garments are moved, both of you breathless and barley able to stop eating other other hole as you get completely naked.

mat takes you back into his arm, and then he shifts you both—gently but decisively, guiding you backward until the edge of the tub bumps the back of your knees. and suddenly you're both under the spray, warm water cascading over shoulders and legs, soaking your hair, and sealing you into the moment.

and for the first time since the loop began, it feels like you've stepped forward—just a little—into something real.

DAY 13

With you, however, suddenly he didn’t mind the slow unraveling. Maybe it was the fact that the two of you spent months working each other’s nerves and avoiding the feelings that neither of you wanted to admit you were feeling. Maybe it was the fact that he was too busy being frustrated with you to realize that the tedious parts passed by without him noticing. Either way, he found himself fascinated by every little detail he could pick up on: which shoes you reached for first in the morning, the way you hummed softly when you were sleepy but weren’t quite ready to call it, how annoyed you got when he sang the theme to your old show on Disney Channel just because he was reminded of it.

“Can I get an everything, toasted, with cream cheese and bacon?”

Evidently, he had learned your bagel order too.

His first stretch of road games this season was looming, and the thought of being away from you for several days sat heavy on his chest the past three days. You hadn’t shown much outward distress, but in learning you, he was learning that you were quieter when unsettled.

He noticed how quiet you were on the phone last night. You were still engaged, trying not to laugh too hard when he made a joke so as to deprive him of the satisfaction or telling him about a script you managed to get ahold of. But there was something muted about your responses, an inch of hesitation before you answered questions. It was so subtle that he wondered if he was selfishly imagining it. By the time he ended his early morning gym session, however, he made up his mind to see you before leaving, even if it was only for a few minutes. Even if it was just to satisfy the craving for one more kiss, one more hug, one more laugh.

“Oh, yeah,” he cheered to himself under his breath when he recognized your BMW in the parking garage of your building. He had forgotten to check your location by the time he was on the road speeding towards Manhattan with breakfast in tow. Seeing your car gave him that celestial confirmation. You were home, and he wasn’t wasting his time with this detour.

He fixed his dark hair in the small visor mirror before grabbing the paper bag of warm bagels and stepping out into the concrete garage. The elevator ride up felt longer than usual, his palms feeling a little sweaty. The elevator dinged, and he was striding down the hall before he could overthink what he was going to say.

Mat knocked softly, listening for footsteps. When the door swung open, it wasn’t you standing there. Your stylist, a 30-something woman, whose name he could not for the life of him recall, in all-black, gave him a slow once-over before stepping aside.

“Well, hello,” she greeted, waiting for him to step inside before she continued. “Mathew, right?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he cleared his throat, rubbing his neck sheepishly as he glanced around the apartment, taking in the racks of clothes and the scattered accessories. “Sorry, I didn’t realize she was working.”

Your voice floated from the bedroom, muffled from the distance. “Dahlia, who is it?” Before Dahlia could answer, you appeared in the doorway, draped in a silk robe that was beginning to fall off one of your shoulders, your dark hair pulled back and away from your face. Your face lit up when you saw him, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Mat,” you breathed, like his name was something sweet on your tongue.

He held up the paper bag, the scent of warm bagels and bacon curling between them. “Thought you might be hungry.” His gaze grazed over the way your robe clung to the curve of your waist, the silk catching the morning light. “Special bagel delivery.”

Your fingers brushed his as you took the bag. “You’re an angel,” you murmured, peeking inside before glancing back at Dahlia. “Give us five?”

The stylist nodded, slipping back into the bedroom with a knowing smirk. “I’ll start putting away the things we’ve already vetoed.” The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you and Mat standing in the quiet of the apartment, the air smelling like freshly toasted bagels and your bright, floral perfume. He followed behind you as you led them into the kitchen, tucking his keys into the pocket of his shorts.

His right arm lifted once they were solidly alone, fingers curling gently around your hip, letting the silk warm under his touch. “Wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you before the flight,” he admitted, watching you shift into his chest. Your arms hooked loosely around his waist after you set the paper bag on the counter, squeezing just enough to make him smile.

“Mm, I’m glad you made time,” you murmured into the fabric of his plain t-shirt, your breath warm against his chest. You tilted your head back just enough to catch his gaze, your eyes soft with relief.

You hummed slightly when he finally cupped your cheek, leading you into a kiss that tasted like morning coffee and the sweetness of your lip balm. When you pulled back, he watched your expression break into an amused giggle. You thumbed at the corners of his mouth, whispering something about your sticky balm transferring onto him as if it mattered to him. Still, he grinned, pressing another kiss to your palm before letting you go.

“What’s the verdict on the order?” he murmured, gesturing to the bag on the counter. “Thought I nailed it.”

Your fingers danced over the crinkling paper, pulling out the bagel wrapped in parchment. The scent of toasted sesame and crispy bacon filled the space between them. “You did,” you granted, peeling back the wrapper just enough to reveal the golden-brown crust. “Toasted… cream cheese… bacon. Solid job, Barzal.”

He leaned against the counter beside you, fingers grazing your waist again. “Oh, sweet. Picked it up from that place on 8th we went to last year.”

You nodded, tucking the bagel back into its wrapper with a sigh. “I’ll eat it after Dahlia leaves,” you said, fingers lingering near his wrist where his pulse jumped under your touch.

Mat’s eyebrows furrowed. “‘After Dahlia leaves’? Dude, it’s…” he cast a glance toward the clock on your oven, “10:17. I know you probably haven’t eaten yet.”

Your arms wrapped around his midsection again, undoubtedly a method of distraction that he couldn’t say he was completely opposed to. You rationalized with a quietly muttered, “I had coffee”, just as he turned his face to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

He sputtered, pulling back to frown down at you. “Coffee? I didn’t know coffee was a full meal now.”

You rolled your eyes. “It is if you add milk,” you countered, but the deflection was weak. He could already see your resolve crumbling under his stare.

“Did you add milk?” Mat asked. You hesitated just long enough for him to groan, stepping back from your grasp entirely. “Babe, c’mon. Eat the bagel. Not leaving until you do.” He crossed his arms, standing over you with an exaggeratedly stern expression.

“I’ll bloat,” you whined.

Mat scoffed, reaching for the paper bag and holding it out to you. “You’re pushing it right now, dude,” he muttered, but his voice was warm, the way it always was when he was pretending to be annoyed with you.

You wrinkled your nose, plucking the bagel from his hand with a reluctant sigh. “Fine,” you relented, peeling back the wrapper completely before taking a small bite. The crunch of toasted carbs and cripsy bacon filled the silence between them, and Mat watched the way your lips curved around the bite, the tiny smear of cream cheese at the corner of your mouth.

“Happy?” You mumbled around the mouthful, swiping your thumb over the excess cream cheese.

Mat grinned, his fingers finding your waist again, pulling you against his side triumphantly. “Ec-fucking-static,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “You’re eating three-fourths of that before I leave, by the way.”

You groaned, shoving lightly at his chest with your free hand. “God, I might as well eat the whole thing.” But you were smiling, taking another bite despite yourself, and the warmth that curled in his chest had nothing to do with the warm sunshine spilling through the window to their right.

Your stylist’s muffled shuffling in the bedroom reminded him of the time ticking away, of the drive back to the Island, of the nap he needed, of the flight, of the miles about to separate them. He buried the thought under the soft press of his lips against your temple as you chewed away your stubbornness bite by bite. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring him in the moment even as he murmured, “Gotta go soon, gorgeous.”

You stiffened slightly before you took another bite. “What time’s your flight?” you asked.

“3:15,” he replied. “I’d stick around, but you’re working and I kinda need a nap unless you want me to blow all this hard work we’ve done rehabbing my mature image.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as you ate. “I wouldn’t mind letting you falling asleep on my couch,” you admitted, brushing crumbs from the corner of your mouth. “Dahlia would never let me live it down but…”

“Careful, sounds like you like me,” Mat teased. The morning light caught the glimmer in your eyes when you glanced up at him.

“Right, can’t have that,” you deadpanned, though the corners of your lips twitched as you swallowed another bite.

The robe slipped further down your shoulder, revealing the delicate strap of whatever sleek undergarment you’d worn for the fitting. Mat traced the line with his thumb absentmindedly, relishing the way your skin felt under his finger before you nudged him with your elbow. “Stop distracting me. I’m eating your stupid bagel.”

“Well, my stupid bagel was spot on, wasn’t it?” Mat smirked, watching as you avoided his eye but took your last few bites.

You crumpled the wrapper into a tight ball, tossing it into the trash. “Thank you for stopping by,” you murmured, fingers trailing down his arm until your hands tangled. “Even if it was just to force-feed me.”

Mat laughed softly, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “Sounds like a crime, doesn’t it? Feeding my girlfriend before I leave town.” He tugged you closer, to inhale the scent of your hair and feel the warmth of your body against his. “Would’ve been worse if I didn’t see you at all.”

You sighed into his chest. “Tell me your schedule again,” you requested, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Philly first,” he recited. “Game tomorrow night, then practice the next morning, fly to Boston for a back-to-back. Then Raleigh two days later. DC another two days after that. Then home. It’s six days total. You got my whole itinerary.” He brought you in for another tight embrace. “Want me to send it again?”

“No,” you muttered. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”

He frowned at the reluctance in your voice, fingers skimming up your spine over the silk robe. “Hey,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with his thumb and index finger. “FaceTime me every night. Doesn’t matter if I just watch you fall asleep while I do random shit after the game.”

Your lashes fluttered, your lips pressing together in that way you did when you were trying not to smile. “You’re going to be exhausted after games,” you countered weakly.

“And?” His voice dropped into something softer, more intimate. “Still wanna see you.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Ugh, I hate what I’m becoming,” you muttered, but the way you buried your face into his chest gave you away.

Mat laughed aloud. “Too bad. I love what you’re becoming.” He could feel your smile against his collarbone before you pulled back with your palms pressed flat against his chest.

“Alright, rock star,” you sighed, smoothing your hands down his shirt, fingers lingering at his waistband before you stepped back entirely. “Text me when you get to your place.”

Mat nodded, reaching for his keys still tucked in his shorts pocket. The jingle of metal filled the silence between them, heavy with reluctance. “Tell…” he paused, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Dahlia?” you prompted, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tell her I said it was nice to see her again.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to straighten his shirt collar where it had crumpled under your grip. “It’s getting embarrassing,” you muttered, but there was no bite to it.

Mat turned to leave the kitchen, already formulating a comeback about how you could never truly be embarrassed of him, when Dahlia’s voice floated down the hallway, something about needing your opinion on a pair of boots. Mat watched as your shoulders tensed ever so slightly. He caught your wrist before you could move away entirely, pulling you back just enough to brush his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

“I’ll see you in six days,” Mat whispered against your lips, his fingers lingering on the delicate skin of your inner wrist before letting go. “Don’t miss me too much.”

You scoffed. “As if,” you muttered, whispering your goodbyes before calling out to Dahlia, shuffling towards your bedroom with lightness in your step. Mat lingered by the front door, watching the way your robe fluttered behind you, revealing the tops of your bare calves before you disappeared down the hall.

You heard the front door click closed just as you reached the bedroom. Dahlia’s expectant stare anchored you in place. “Boots,” the stylist reminded you, holding up a pair of knee-high chocolate leather. You nodded absently, taking the pair in your hands without feeling the weight of them.

The silk robe slipped further down your shoulder as you bent to tug them on, the cool metal zipper sliding up like butter. You straightened, studying your reflection in the full-length mirror.

“You smell like him,” Dahlia remarked casually as she sifted through the rack of untouched clothes. You froze mid twist, your reflection staring back at you with a carefully neutral expression.

“Like what?” you countered, feigning ignorance.

Dahlia smirked, draping a plum-colored dress over her forearm. “Like the cologne I remember handpicking maybe four or five weeks ago?” She tilted her head. “The one you were pictured picking up at Bergdorf’s?”

“Maybe,” you admitted lightly as you pivoted toward the mirror. “I wish the heel on this pair was higher.”

01. MANCHILD — ★ honestly, why are the sexiest men always so dumb? anyway, lando norris might have something to say about that!

02. TEARS — ★ respect for women? biggest turn on ever.

03. MY MAN ON WILLPOWER — ★ self-restraint is overrated in her opinion. well, it's a good job that a certain mclaren driver seems have zero of it.

04. SUGAR TALKING — ★ she's never really had a sweet tooth, but he definitely does.

05. WE ALMOST BROKE UP AGAIN LAST NIGHT — ★ she's always loved going to the gym, but the one at his apartment definitely gives her motivation to not pull the plug.

06. NOBODY'S SON — ★ yeah, he sure fucked her up, in one way or another.

07. NEVER GETTING LAID — ★ agoraphobia sort of seems perfect now that this new girl has shown up, but she knows where he lives so... that doesn't matter anymore.

08. WHEN DID YOU GET HOT? — ★ definitely not bone-dry, one hundred percent untouched.

09. GO GO JUICE — ★ a quiet weekend getaway brings some good old-fashioned fun, in tow with old feelings and important revelations.

10. DON'T WORRY I'LL MAKE YOU WORRY — ★ humbling men was one of her favourite pass-times, just not with this one.

11. HOUSE TOUR — ★ apologies were never her strong suite, but something else undoubtedly was. plus, he wasn't one to complain, was he?

12. GOODBYE — ★ walking out doesn't mean goodbye here, it means public.

════════════════════════

i do not give permission for my works to be re-written, re-published, or published on any other platform.

You shriek, running against the hot stones. Smiling so hard that it hurts.

“Y’already got me twice!” You shout in between giggles. “S’not fair!”

Charles appears closer. Face sunburnt. A smile tugged on his lips. “You cheated at Candy Land!”

“You cheated first!” 

“Because you always win!”

And he raises the balloon over his head.

“If you throw that, I’m telling maman you said a bad word the other day.”

His smile drops. “I did not!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Uh huh…you said ‘shit’ when you hit your funny bone.”

“It hurt!” He argues.

You stick your tongue out. 

And then he hesitates. Looking at the balloon. Then at you.

Throws the balloon anyway.

It explodes against your stomach. Cold water soaking you.

And you gasp. 

Then lunge for him. Chase him all the way into the back yard, shrieking. Laughing so hard that you both struggle to breathe properly. 

And eventually you both collapse into the grass. Side by side. Near the lemon tree. 

There’s a few moments of silence. Both of you panting from trying to catch your breath. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny. And you like ice pops. And you beat me at Mario Kart once.”

You look at him. And he’s staring at the leaves above your heads. Arms touching.

“I don’t think that’s how marriage works,” your voice soft.

“Don’t care.” He shrugs. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay. But I don’t want to wear a dress.”

“Fine. But you have to split the cake with me.”

“Only if it’s chocolate.”

“Well duh.”

And you both fall asleep like that. In the grass. Smelling like chlorine. Sticky with sugar.

-

Age 12

“Why are you being weird?”

The summer heat is burning.

Heat clings to you like a second skin. And you’re still dripping from the pool. The stone tiles are too hot to stand on for too long, so everyone moves around them quickly. Your hair is wet. Trying to read a book, but can’t focus.

Because Charles won’t stop staring at you.

Well, he’s technically not staring. But he’s in the pool in your direct eyesight. Hands behind his head as he sits on a float. Sunglasses almost too big for his face. Smirking.

And every so often, he splashes water your way.

“Would you stop?” You snap. Wiping the water off your ankles.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Blinking. Innocent.

You groan, falling back on the lounger. Trying to ignore him.

He floats closer. “You haven’t turned the page in almost twenty minutes.”

“That’s because you’re distracting me.”

And he grins. A full sheepish grin. “You think I’m cute.”

You don’t answer. Keep your eyes on your book.

“Y’gonna tell your friends I have a six pack now?” He calls out.

You raise your eyebrows, “Six pack of what?”

“Muscles.” He says. Dead serious.

And your mouth twitches. “Your voice still cracks.”

Charles slips off the floatie. Swims to the edge and rests his arms on the ledge. Chin on his forearm as he looks at you.

“Yeah? And what does it do to you when I say your name?”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s the sun.”

He laughs. And you throw your book at him. 

He ducks under the water. And when he resurfaces, grinning…you’re trying so hard to not smile. And he knows it.

“Why are you being so weird?” you ask.

He shrugs. 

“You’re just starting to notice me now.”

And you don’t answer.

And later that night, when you’re brushing your teeth. Still burnt from the sun. You wonder what he meant.

You don’t ask.

But you do start to.

-

Age 15

“That didn’t count.”

“So kiss me again.”

The villa is quiet. 

Your parents and his mom stay up talking. Your siblings long asleep. Arthur passed out on the couch. 

A few candles flicker near the steps, but most of the light is coming from the moonlight.

You’re barefoot. The grass cool and soft beneath your toes as you walk to the lemon tree. The one where you and Charles always meet when its too late and you’re supposed to be asleep.

He’s already there. Leaning against it. 

He looks different this year. Taller. A little bit sharper. More grown into his body.

He glances at you. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to sneak past my sister.”

He grins, holding up a bag of chips. 

And you sit beside him. Your shoulder brushing his. 

Talking about nothing for a while. Catching up on the weeks you aren’t together. How he kissed a girl in Monaco and it was fine but also kind of awkward. And you pretend you don’t hate hearing it.

You tell him about the boy from school who tried to hold your hand during a movie when you went with your group of friends.

Charles almost immediately demands his full name. And address.

And you laugh.

He tosses a lemon up and catches it. Again and again.

“I heard you tell Joris that I was in love with you.” You say.

And he glances at you. “I did not.”

You narrow your eyes. A smile on your lips.

And he shrugs. “I said you were obsessed with me. S’not the same.”

And you laugh. Then scoff. “You wish.”

You shove his arm. And he grabs your wrist before you can pull it back. Fingers wrapping around you. Warm. Familiar. But somehow different.

Neither of you speak for a few moments. Just take in the sound of the cicadas, the faint chatter of the adults on the terrace.

“Y’ever kissed anyone?”

And your stomach twists. Look away. “No.”

He nods. “Me either…at least, not really.”

Silence.

And then he says, “Wanna try?”

You look at him. But he’s already looking at you. And he looks nervous. Hopeful. Like he’s been thinking about this for a long time. Nothing like the boy who used to throw water balloons and stick paint in your hair.

You nod.

And it’s awkward. Your noses bump. One of you breathes too loudly. His hands tremble at your cheek. 

But it’s sweet. Slow.

And his lips are soft.

And when you pull apart, you both stare at each other. Lips a little rosier than before.

“That didn’t count.” You whisper.

And he blinks. “Why not?”

“There was no tongue.”

And he grins. Slowly.

And then pulls you back into him.

And this time….it’s real.

-

Age 17

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

The villa’s light glow behind you. Laughter echoing from the kitchen where your parents and his maman are finishing a bottle of wine.

You and Charles are on the terrace. Barefoot. A shared bottle of win between you. Practically empty. And his leg brushes against yours every time he fidgets.

It’s the first summer where you’ve both been allowed to really drink. Not just a stolen sip of a half-empty bottle found on the kitchen counter. Or a watered down spritz. Real drinks. Poured and given to you like adults.

And you’re a little tipsy. Cheeks warm and rosy. Limbs loose. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” you glance at him.

He nods. “Jus’ thinking.”

“You do that?”

And he laughs. “Shut up.”

You smile. Taking a small sip straight from the bottle before placing it back down. “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates for a little. “Uh…that night last year.”

You don’t have to ask which night. You already know.

The night behind the lemon tree. His mouth on yours. And you think about it often.

“Me too,” You admit. Soft.

And he looks at you. Watch as his gaze dips to your mouth.

And then he’s leaning in.

The kiss is soft. Deeper. Not rushed. And his lips are warm. Tastes of wine and something sweet. Like the fruit you guys were picking at earlier.

When he pulls back, his voice cracks a little bit. “I want you.”

You don’t answer. Just smile soft. Pulling his hand into yours as you drag him into the villa. Into the bedroom. 

Your clothes peel off slowly. Clumsy. And he’s careful. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, it’ll ruin the moment. 

“Y’sure about this?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yeah…want it to be you.”

And he closes his eyes for a second. Like his heart is in his throat.

And then it happens.

It’s slow. Messy. You both laugh when your arms bump. And he curses softly when he cant get the condom wrapper open. But then he’s inside you, and your laughter becomes hushed gasps. Fingers digging into each other.

“Y’okay?” He mutters. His forehead pressed to yours.

And your nails dig into his back. “Yeah.”

And then he kisses you again. Harder. Holds you closer.

Later, when you’re both lying tangled in the dark…you feel his fingers tracing your skin. Both of you enjoying the silence.

Then a good few moments later.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah.”

-

Age 19

“Y’gonna dance with him again?”

“He asked.”

“You let him kiss your cheek.”

“You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night.”

“That’s different.”

You’re barefoot in the sand. Music loud. And Luca…or maybe it was Leo? You weren’t sure. Had his hands lightly on your hips. Flirty.

You’re laughing at something dumb he said into your ear. And then you feel it.

The heat. The stare.

Glance over your shoulder and…

Charles. Leaning against the beach bar. Beer in hand.

Eyes on you with a glint in his eye like you’ve offended him.

You try not to react. But the next time Luca spins you, you pull away with a smile and a I’ll be right back.

You only make it a few steps before Charles intercepts your path.

“Having fun?” He says. Trying to be casual. But his voice is too tight. Too bitter.

“Yes.” You brush past him. And he falls right into step with you.

“You’ve got weird taste in music.”

“That’s not my music taste. It’s called dancing.”

And he scoffs.

You walk to the side of the bar. To a more private area. Grabbing his shoulder to face you.

“Are you okay?” Voice sweet. Gentle. Caring.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re glaring too much.”

And looks at you. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I mean, you don’t even like that song.”

You cross your arms against your chest. And he steps closer.

“You let him put his hands on you.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“So…you let him touch you. Kiss your cheek”

And you laugh. Soft. “You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night, Charles.”

His jaw clenches. Hands twitch. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

You take a step closer. Testing him, And he doesn’t budge.

“It’s not the same.”

You stare at him. His cheeks are sunburned. And his eyes are so green it makes your heart rate spike. So handsome.

“So I’m not allowed to dance with a guy I’ll never see again?”

He runs a hand over his face. Grazing the slight stubble on his jaw. “You’re not just dancing.”

“No,” You admit. “But you’re not just fucking me either.”

His eyes widen. Slightly stunned.

And you don’t back down. Step even closer until your chests are touching.. “You don’t wanna talk about what this is? That’s fine. But you don’t get to act jealous then.”

“I’m not jealous.”

And you grin. Snort. Just a tiny bit.

“Okay,” he says. Throwing his hands up. “Maybe I am.”

Your stomach twists.

“I just…I don’t like seeing you with other guys.” His voice is low. 

“Well…it’s not like you don’t talk to other girls, Charles.”

And then you leave him standing there. Alone.

-

“Wanna go out for a bit?” He asks. “Just us?”

And you say yes without even thinking.

You’re on a light blue towel, sunglasses over your face, pretending to read a book. Charles is stretched out next to you. An arm tucked under his head. Throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.

You glance over just as a grape hits his forehead and falls into the sand.

“Impressive.”

He laughs. “The wind interfered!”

He tosses another grape. Misses again. 

And you burst into laughter.

“I’m warming up.”

He laughs with you. Giving up and rolling onto his side to face you.

He squints his eyes at you. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

“I think that….” His hand reaches for the bottle of sun lotion, flicking it open. “That you missed a spot.”

He squirts some into his hand, a smirk on his lips.

“Back off.”

And he reaches for you, smearing it all over your chest. You shriek, tossing your book into the sand beside you.

And somewhere between this sun lotion assault, you’re both breathless and laughing so hard.

He pins you down, dropping heaps of sun lotion onto your skin.

“Truce,” You laugh. Stomach burning from laughter. 

He nods. Smiling. Rubbing the sunscreen into your skin.

“Don’t want you to burn.”

You throw a pile of sand at him. And he doesn’t even flinch.

-

His cock is already buried inside you. Deep. Thick. Fucking aching.

“God, you’re fuckin soaked.” He groans into your neck. Hand pressed into your stomach. 

You claw at his back. Back arched. Legs spread. Shaking every time he hits that spot in your tummy just right.

He looks down at you like he’s overwhelmed. Like he doesn’t understand how you can feel this fucking good.

“Swear to God,” He grunts. Pulling back slow, then snapping his hips forward. “S’like your pussy jus gets tighter every time.”

Your mouth falls open. Gasping.

His hands slip under your thigh, pushing your knee into your chest. Fucking you deeper.

And then he moans.

“Jesus….fuck.” He chokes out. “Y’feel that?”

You sob out. 

“I’ve been inside you like a hundred times this summer and it still feels like fuckin heaven.”

His forehead drops and presses into yours. Voice rough. 

“M’not gonna last.” He huffs. “You’re too wet. Too fuckin tight.”

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. “Don’t stop…”

“You’re fuckin milking me.” He cuts you off. “Y’gonna come? Please come on me. C’mon baby…please, yeah? Please let me have it.”

And you fall apart. Gasping. Shaking. Coming so hard around his cock it makes his head fall back.

And he swears. Filthily. French tumbling out go his mouth.

And then he’s spilling inside of you. Chest pressed to yours. Hips jerking.

He buries his face in your beck. Collapsing on you. 

And neither of you speak for a bit.

Just catch your breath. Comfortable silence. Holding each other.

Eventually, he reaches up. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then whispers into the dark.

“I like it here.”

And he doesn’t elaborate.

You don’t ask him to.

-

Age 21

“He seems tense.”

“He’s fine.”

“He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that guy from Madrid.”

“I told you not to bring it up.”

Your best friend’s been here for five days and already the villa feels different.

She means well. But she talks fast, drinks fast, and has no filter. 

She also loves to talk about your love life.

The one that you’re apparently “thriving in”.

“So wait,” she says over breakfast, digging her fork into her food. “You never texted that guy from Madrid back? Y’know the one with the sexy voice?”

Across the table, Charles is picking at his plate. Fork pausing. Just for a little bit. Enough for you to notice.

You look at her, “No.”

“Why not? He was so hot.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“But he was so into you…” She takes a sip of her drink. “What about the Italian one? The one you really liked.”

Charles cuts into his eggs. A little bit harder. Knife scraping the plate.

“He ghosted.”

“Ugh, yeah total loser.” She laughs. “Oh my god, remember…what was his name? From the bar crawl.”

“Liam.” You choke out.

“Yes! Liam!” She snaps her fingers. “Didn’t he pick you up at the bar? Like just threw you over his shoulder?”

You laugh, slightly embarrassed. Nodding.

Charles sets his mug down a little too hard.

And then he stands. Takes his plate to the sink. 

And walks out.

“Was it something I said?” Your best friend asks.

-

You find him in the kitchen later. Your best friend is lounging out by the pool and you slipped inside to grab a water.

He’s rinsing the plates. Back to you. But his jaw is clenched tight.

You lean against the counter by him. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps scrubbing the dishes. A little harder than before.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” He says. “Just didn’t realize breakfast started with a running list of every guy you’ve fucked.”

You wince.

And he breathes deeply. Dropping the dish in the sink. “Sorry…that was, uh harsh.”

You give a tiny nod.

“I just…” He turns off the water. Looks at you. “Didn’t know it was like that?”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. 

“Is it a problem?”

He stares at you. Sucks his bottom lip in for a moment. Like he’s deep in thought. Before finally saying…

“No. It’s not my place.”

And there it is. 

You step back. “Right.”

And then you’re turning around, reaching in the cabinet for a glass. “Still going to the bonfire later?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, if you still want to.”

“Cool,” Your voice is light. 

-

Age 22

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

The long table on the terrace is full.

Extra chairs from inside scattered around it, one of your younger cousins crawling underneath it.

Your dad is asking your mom if there’s more grilled vegetables. Meanwhile your sister insists on telling the story about the jellyfish sting again.

“And she was crying so hard, she had actual snot bubbles on her face,” She says. Laughing.

You lift your hand, “I was six!”

Charles laughs. “You thought you were dying.”

“I thought it was venom!” You laugh. “And no one even helped me.”

“We were too busy laughing at the snot,” He says. Looking at you. That familiar grin pulled on his face, eyes crinkled. Like it was just you two.

And then Alex leans into him. Whispers into his ear. And whatever she says makes him smile wider. Makes him shift toward her without even thinking.

You chug your wine.

“I love that photo,” Alex says softly. And you glance at her to find her already looking at you. “The one of you and everyone in the inflatable pool. You’re the only one not smiling.”

You curl your lips. “We were sinking.”

“It’s so funny though,” She says. “You look so unimpressed by them.”

“She always looks like that,” Charles chimes in. “Probably came out of the womb judging people.”

You narrow your eyes, but the smile pulling on your lips gives you away.

Alex laughs. And your mom’s already popping open the next bottle of wine. 

And it would be perfect.

If it weren’t for Charles sitting across from you, arms wrapped around another person. Like he’s not yours anymore. 

You ask Alex about her job, and you mean it. She answers so soft and kind that it almost makes you hate her. Almost.

But you can’t. Because she’s nice.

“She’s good for him,” Your sister whispers under her breath, leaning toward you. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You nod. “I’m just tired.”

Eventually, dinner ends. Alex excuses herself to help your mom bring out dessert. And Charles follows.

And when they come back, head thrown back laughing. 

He sets a slice of cake in front of you without a word.

And you thank him like its normal.

-

Someone suggest drinks at the beach bar. Something to do. The one with the bulbs on string down the street. 

You come barefoot, some sweet drink already in hand. Alex walks beside you, her wedges hooked in her fingers, hem of her dress brushing her knees.

She’s pretty in a way that doesn’t feel threatening. Not showy. Just perfect.

Inside the bar, you spot Charles leaned against the bar with a beer, grinning at something Arthur’s saying. And he’s wearing that linen button up that you used to tell him he looks like a recently divorced rich guy in. 

You find yourself smiling.

Alex touches your arm. “Hey…you want a new drink?”

You shake your head. “I’m good for now.”

She nods. A small smile on her lips.

“I was really nervous to meet you.”

You blink. Eyes slightly wider. “Me?”

She nods. “Charles talks about you all the time.”

You freeze for a moment.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Not like in a weird way. Just like you’re part of the picture. In his life. Almost every story he tells involves you.”

You don’t know how to respond.

“I’m just glad you’re not..uh, like intimidating.” She laughs.

And you laugh back. “I save the intimidation after a few weeks.”

She smiles. “So I’ve still got time?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And for this moment, you like her. Even if it hurts.

Because she’s kind.

Because she doesn’t know that you and Charles shared a bed when thunderstorms were scary.

Because she wasn’t there the summer he kissed you against the sand and told you he’d never want anyone else.

You chug your drink.

Later, you’re all gathered near the back of the deck, huddled around a wooden table and wobbly stools. Someone ordered a side of fries. Someone else ordered a round of shots no one really wanted but drank anyways.

You’re pressed between Charles and your sister. You’re laughing. Tipsy. Warm.

Charles is teasing your sister about something but you’re not really listening. 

And that’s when another guy slides in.

Not dramatically. Just casual. Confident.

He’s tall. Tanned. Cute. 

He talks to the guy beside him, someone you’ve definitely seen before, and then turns to you. 

“Did I hear something about you getting stung by a jellyfish?”

You smile. “Unfortunately.”

He nods. A grin. “Survival stories always get me.”

“Tragic,” you say.

He laughs. “I’m Nick.”

You take a sip of your drink, tilting your head. “Do you open with tragedy stories for flirting a lot? Or is it just me?”

“Only for girls who look like they bite back.”

You grin. Slow. “You say that like its a challenge.”

“Depends,” He shrugs, gaze dropping to your bare legs, then back to your face.

“On?”

“Depends how hard you bite.”

And you laugh. Like really laugh. Hard. Head falling back. And then you feel it. The way Charles stills beside you. The way his fingers grip his cup just a little bit tighter.

And Nick leans in closer. More private. “So…what other tragedies should I know about you?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want facts or warnings.”

He raises a brow. “Any preference?”

You place your cup down on the table. “I like a little risk.”

And Charles says something to your sister now. A little louder. Like he’s trying to distract you.

You don’t bother to look at him.

Nick grins. “And just how dangerous are you exactly?”

You grin back. “Pretty dangerous.”

He laughs. “Good.”

You both just stare at each other for a little. Grinning.

“You dancing?” He asks, nodding his head in direction of the dance floor.

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m hoping.”

You slide off the stool.

“Let’s go tragedy boy.”

And as he takes your hand. Leads you into the crowd. You catch Charles’s eyes.

Watching.

Burning.

-

The music’s slowed a little. Just swaying to the music, instead of the rapid jumping you were doing earlier. 

Nick’s hand rests at your hip. His other is holding your drink while you talk with your hands.

“You can’t seriously think pineapple belongs on pizza,” You yell over the music.

Nick grins. “It’s good.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

And you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. He leans in, speaking into your ear.

“You know your friend’s been staring at us for like ten minutes, right?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tips his head. Over your shoulder. And you turn just a little bit. Just enough to see Charles still sitting at the table.

Drink in hand. Not talking. Not even blinking. Just looking.

You breathe out, turning back. “That Charles.”

Nick raises a brow, nodding. “Ahh.”

“Don’t read into it.”

He watches you.

“He has a girlfriend.”

Nick hums, a teasing grin. “He doesn’t look like he remembers that right now.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Cool.”

You shrug. “You don’t believe me?”

He smiles. “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Just means if I kiss you, he might kill me.”

You laugh. “You’re awful.”

“You’re still here.”

And you look at each other. Smiling.

You kiss him. Not because you’re falling for him. But because you’re single. Because Charles brought someone else. Because he gets to have her. Because you’re tired of thinking about him.

So you kiss him to feel good. To forget. To remind yourself that you’re free.

Hands in his shirt. Hands on your waist.

And you let yourself lean into it.

Enjoy the uncomplicated.

And for a few moments…it almost works.

-

Age 23

“You brought him here.”

“Yeah. Remember you said he wouldn’t last.”

You’re late this year.

Flight was delayed. Rental car place was too busy. And by the time your feet hit the familiar stone of the villa’s terrace, the sun is already low in the sky.

Theo’s beside you. Rolling your suitcase like a pure gentleman. He’s good. Kind. Gets along with your parents. Laughs at your sister’s jokes. 

And still, your heart flutters when you hear his voice.

Charles.

Laughing louder than necessary. As if he wants you to hear it.

You follow the sound. Trying not to think about the last time you saw him. A few months ago in Monaco. A hotel room you both swore you wouldn’t end up in. Both seeing other people. Both pretending it didn’t count.

And it wasn’t even the first time.

Since last summer, it’s happened a few times too many. Whenever him and Alex called it off. On and off. On and off. You slipped between the cracks. A quiet fuck in your apartment. A drunken make out at a birthday party. You pressed against the shower tiles. Bent over his kitchen counter.

Always followed by soft smiles and easy goodbyes. A promise to act normal. 

Best friends first.

And the moment you step further into the terrace, you see him.

Charles standing against the bar, shirt unbuttoned. Tanned. Holding a drink with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how hot he looks.

And worse…Alex is next to him.

Beautiful of course. Sundress swaying. Hand on his chest like it belongs there.

He notices you before you can even speak. Smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Just enough for you to really feel it. And then it’s back.

And he lifts his glass in a salute. “You’re late.”

Alex smiles. “We thought you weren’t coming til’ tomorrow!”

You smile back. She was always so nice. “Surprise!”

Theo steps forward. Hand extended with that charm that always made it hard to hate him. “Hey…Charles, right?”

And Charles doesn’t hesitate. Shakes his hand. But its the same one he uses with driver’s he never liked. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

And it hits you like a knife to the ribs.

You remember that night clear as day. Theo was still new. Only a few dates in. And you invited him to a party. 

Charles showed up late. And barely looked at Theo. Offered him a lazy smile before finding you later into the night. Pulling you into his car thirty minutes later and fucking you in the back seat.

And Theo’s smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

Charles smiles. But his eyes stay on you. Never leave your face.

Alex swings her arm into his. “So glad you made it. Saved you the good room too.”

You smile at her. “That’s sweet of you.”

Charles lifts a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a good room to enjoy yourself here.”

And you hum. “Guess I’ve gotten a little pickier.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Since when?”

And you shrug your shoulders. “Since I started dating someone who doesn’t forget my birthday.”

And it hits him like a bullet. You see the way his jaw shifts. Swallow.

Theo’s hand slips onto your lower back. Whispering softly into your ear. Nothing specific. Just something that makes you smile.

And Charles swear’s he might just vomit.

-

The ocean is calm. Waves hitting the rocks. A few birds chirping. Air cool before the sun is fully up.

You slip out of bed, letting Theo sleep. Making your way down the stony path that you walked hundreds of times. Towel slung over your shoulder. Hair twisted up in a clip.

And you’re halfway across the sand when you see him.

Already waist deep in the water. Back facing you. 

You freeze. Debating if you should turn around. 

But it’s too late. He see’s you. And his face shifts into something. Longing? Guilt? You’re not sure.

“You’re always here early,” He calls out.

You drop your towel, walking into the water without glancing at him.  “Not always.”

He watches you. You can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. “You do when you’re avoiding me.”

You glance up. The water cool against your skin. “Who said I’m avoiding you?”

He shrugs. “History.”

You reach him in the water. You both stand there, not touching. Not moving.

Eventually…he speaks.

“He’s staying the entire time?”

You raise a brow. “Are you asking as my best friend or something else?”

He doesn’t answer. 

You move a little closer. “You said he wouldn’t last.”

“I was wrong.” His voice is low. “Clearly.”

He swallows. Looks away from you. “Does he know?”

And your stomach twists. “Know what?”

He doesn’t say anything. Lets the silence tell you.

You feel your throat tightening. “He know’s we’re close.”

“Close.” He repeats. Half snort, half laugh.

“Best friends.”

He turns to fully face you now. Jaw clenched. 

“Right. Just best friends.”

You don’t respond. Because what else are you supposed to say? That you still feel his fingers dig into your skin. That no matter how many nights pass, you still wonder what this could’ve been if you both spoke up all those years ago.

He steps closer. Too close now.

“Y’still taste like that shitty rosé we used to drink.”

And you blink. Trying not to smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

His fingers brush against your shoulder. 

“You have a girlfriend.”

And his eyes look sad. He breathes loudly. “And you have him.”

-

The villa is loud tonight. Music is blasting. Too many drinks are being poured. Bowls of snacks turning stale.

All of you are packed into the living room. Sunburn. Sprawled into chairs or the floor. Hoodies thrown on. 

Your families are here. Everyone laughing and shouting. Bickering. Like its still 15 years ago.

Theo sits behind you on the rug, legs wrapped around you. Hand resting on your hip. And he’s been sweet all evening. He fits.

Yet every time you crack a joke. Or win a game. It’s Charles who looks at you first. Like he’s your person.

His leg bounces restlessly. 

“Alright,” Arthur announces. “We’re playing that game again. The one with the acting.” He holds up a deck of cards.

“Y’mean charades?” Alex asks. Soft.

“No.” Charles says. “The one I always win.”

And it’s you rolling your eyes now. “Y’mean the one you always cheat during?”

He leans forward. “I win.”

Theo laughs behind you.

Your sister tries to act out like Snow White. Falling over and laughing when Arthur misreads a motion. Theo keeps guessing too many times. And Alex’s impressions are almost too good.

And later…when the game’s over. You find yourself in the kitchen, stacking freshly cleaned glass and bowls onto the drying towel.

Humming to yourself.

And Charles leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you with a lazy grin. 

“You two are cute,” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

“M’not.” He shrugs. Pushing off the archway and stepping closer. “It’s just…uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You let him touch you a lot.”

You pause with a glass in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And he smiles. Tight. Not genuine. “Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

He raises his hands. Says something mocking of Theo.

And it has you gasp lightly. “You’re such an asshole.” You try not to smile.

He steps even closer.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “But I’m still your favorite.”

And then he’s stepping beside you, taking the glass from your hand and dries it.

Finishes washing the dishes with you in silence.

-

“You’re staring again.”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re having fun.”

“Jealous?”

“Of him? Never.”

Silence.

“But of you? Maybe.”

The bar is tucked into the cliffs. A grand view of the sea. Well lit by bulbs on strings.

Everyone’s dressed for the night. Sun-kissed. Hair soft and flows. Laughter echoing. 

You’re on your second drink. Lightly buzzed. Your dress clinging to you just right. And you feel good. Happy.

Theo’s spinning you around. His hands warm on your waist as you move slowly in the corner of the makeshift dance floor. He’s not much of a dancer. But he’s trying. And in the end…that’s all that really matters.

He leans in close. “Y’look so beautiful.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“I mean…y’always do.” He grins. “But-“

You don’t let him finish. Kiss him. Easy. Soft.

And when you pull back, you catch him in the corner of your eye.

Charles. At the bar.

Sitting with Arthur and Alex. Drink in front of him. Head tilted.

And he’s watching you. Not listening to either of them.

And when you’re eyes meet, he lifts his drink.

A challenge.

And later when you slip away from the loud music. He’s there. Leaning casually against the table. Shirt undone just enough to make your throat dry. 

“You’re having fun.” He says. A statement. Not a question.

“Isn’t that the point?”

He nods. “Theo’s a big fan of spinning you around like you’re some prize.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called dancing.”

“More like claiming.” He huffs under his breath.

And you look at him.

Hard. 

Trying to read him. 

“What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Eyes dropping to the floor. Then to his half empty drink. 

“You kissed him.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You squint your eyes a little. “Yeah. I did.”

He swallows. Harsh. “Cool.”

You laugh. Dry. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” He finally looks at you. “You’re out here making heart eyes at a guy you know won’t last more than another year.”

Your mouth falls open. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. I know you.”

And he steps forward. Voice dropping.

“And I know that’s the same dress you wore the night I…”

“Charles.”

You both go quiet. 

Alex’s frame flickers by. Laughter erupts. People keep dancing.

“Whatever. You’re right. Have fun with your fling.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jealous?”

He smiles. Sad. “Of him? Never.”

A moment of silence. And his gaze drops to your mouth. Stays there.

“But you? Maybe.”

-

The trip is winding down. Bags are beginning to be packed. Towels still damp. Nights slower. Everyone pretending that they’re not ready to be home.

The sky’s dark. Everyone’s inside finishing up packing. Winding down.

You slipped out.

Without thinking, ended up here. The lemon tree.

The same as always. 

You hear footsteps. Uneven. Dragging.

And you turn. Charles.

He’s drunk. Swearing under his breath as he loses his footing. A bottle dangling from his hand. Shirtless. Barefoot.

His eyes meet yours and there’s something bitter in them. “Of course you’re here.”

You breathe. “You’re drunk.”

“A lil’ bit,” His words slur. “Celebrating your last night as someone else’s girl.”

You cross your arms. “We’re not doing this.”

But he’s already walking closer. 

“Y’know….s’kinda funny.”

You don’t speak.

“How he holds your hand like its somethin’ delicate. Like you’re some untouchable thing.” He takes another step closer. Voice shaking.

“I’ve had you on your knees on the kitchen floor.” He says, bitter.

Your heart pounds. “Stop.”

“In the pool too,” He slurs. “Begged me to not pull out. Said you wanted to feel it. Feel me.”

He doesn’t even let you speak. Just rambles on. Slurring. Drunk. Angry.

“Had you in every room in that house,” He grunts. “Fingers shoved in you while our parents set the dinner table. Bent you over the bathroom sink. Panties still halfway up your thighs because you were too desperate to wait.”

“Charles…”

“The pantry…remember that one?” His voice drops lower. “You were so wet it dripped onto the floor. Had to stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one would hear you cryin while you came.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I fucking have to.” He snaps. “Because I can’t fucking sleep this entire trip knowing he gets to touch you.”

You swallow. “I’m not some prize.”

“No. You’re worse.” He spits. Stepping close enough that his chest is close enough and you have to crane your neck to look at him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and you handed it to someone else like I never fucking existed.”

“Stop it.”

“He doesn’t know what its like to hear you lose control. How you cry when you come. Shaking and begging.”

And your breathing hard now.

He leans in. Bending down to be eye to eye.

“He gets to hold you in public.” His eyes are glaring. “And I got your thighs shaking around my face while you said my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

You don’t speak. Can’t.

Silence for a few moments.

And then…

“Tell me.” He slurs, small grin tugged on the corner of his lips. “Tell me which of us you think about when you touch yourself.”

You slap him.

Hard.

And his face whips to the side. He breathes heavily. Like he’s trying not to cry. Or scream. Or grab your face and kiss you.

He swallows.

“He gets you in the daylight.”

You don’t speak.

“He gets the sunlight.” 

And you whisper back. Soft. Heart breaking. “You only met me in the dark.”

You walk away barefoot. Tears forming in your eyes.

And Charles?

He stays at the lemon tree until sunrise. Alone.

-

You don’t talk for three months.

Which is considered a lifetime for you and Charles.

And then on a random weekday at nearly three in the morning, he sends a photo of the lemon tree in the winter.

No message beneath it.

You don’t answer.

Not for a day. Not even for three.

But then, on a random day the following week, you send a photo back.

A shot of your bedroom wall. A blurry photo of your hand holding a book in the corner.

Can’t sleep.

And the three dots appear before you can overthink it.

Me either.

And that’s how it begins.

You don’t FaceTime each other. At least, not at first. 

You fall back into a rhythm neither of you thought would come back. Almost normal. The funny kind of banter you guys always had.

Charles broke up with Alex. You broke it off with Theo.

Neither of you really said why.

-

Age 25

“Don’t sit in my chair.”

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“You haven’t either.”

The sun is long gone. You’re curled up in one of the cushioned chairs on the front patio. A half finished glass of wine on the stone table beside you.

The front door swings open.

“Don’t sit in my chair”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Charles drops into the cushion next to you. Barefoot. Hoodie swallowing him.

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

He makes a funny face. “You haven’t changed.”

And you smile. “You haven’t either.”

And its easy. The way he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. Like nothing ever happened. 

You sip your wine.

His knee bumps into yours. Gaze on you.

“Thought it’d feel weird.”

“It did…for like,” You pause. Whisper. “For like a day.”

He holds your gaze. Doesnt look away. Smiles.

You break the tension first. “Maman said you still haven’t unpacked.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get there.”

“It’s been almost a whole week. That’s psychotic.”

“You’re just mad I haven’t asked to borrow your good smelling shampoo yet.”

“You are so not borrowing that.”

“I already did.”

You elbow him in the side. Laughing. Body shaking. He laughs with you. Head falling back.

He clears his throat. “I missed this.”

And you bump your knee back into his. “Rematch tomorrow?”

“Candy Land?”

“Don’t cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

You narrow your eyes, smiling so hard. “You’re the worst.”

-

Monaco, Age 26

Your back hits the wall of his apartment. 

Urgent. Focused. 

Like he’s waited for forever to get you alone again. And doesn’t want to waste a single second of it.

His mouth is hot on yours. Hands at your hips. Your thighs. Slipped under your dress. And you’re clinging onto him like he’s a lifeline.

You can still taste the champagne on his skin. Skin warm from the race. But his mouth is desperate against you. 

He groans against your lips. “Thought about this almost every night.”

You gasp when his fingers curl around your thigh. “Stop thinking.”

And he’s about to take you right there. Dress bunched at your waist. Pants halfway down. But then you press your hand to his chest.

He stills. Panting. Flushed.

“I need to say something first,” You breathe.

He waits. Hands still gripping you.

And you look up at him. The man who just won Monaco. The boy you’ve known who’s been chasing that dream since you can remember. The one you loved. Hated. Missed.

“Your dad would be so proud of you.” You whisper.

And you feel his chest rise. Jaw clench. Fingers curl harder into your skin.

“I’m serious.” Your voice is soft. “Not just because you won. But because of how you’ve carried him with you.”

And his eyes are glassy.

He swallows hard. “I heard him.” His voice soft. “Right after I saw that checkered flag.”

You bring your hand to his check, pressing your palm. And he leans into you.

And then he’s kissing you again. But its different.

Still hungry. But more grateful. More claiming.

He whispers I love you into your mouth. Again and again. 

He whispers it when you tug his shirt over his head. When you lift your hips to pull your panties off.

Whispers it into your skin when he touches your bare skin. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time again.

And when he sinks in, he groans. Leaning over you, gripping you like you might just slip through his fingers.

“Y’feel like fuckin heaven.” He mutters against your lips. “You are heaven.”

And then he starts moving. Not fast.

Slow. Deep.

“Squeezing me like you missed it,” He huffs. “Did you, hm? Did you miss me?”

“Yes…” You pant. “Fuck…yes.”

He kisses your throat. Hot open mouthed kisses at the corner of your jaw. Hips rolling into you. Each thrust making you cry out.

“I love you.” 

He thrusts.

“I love you.”

Another.

“Not just tonight. Not just now. Always.” He cries out.

And you clench around him. Yelling out as your orgasm builds too fast.

“C’mon that’s it..” He breathes. “Come for me. Let me feel it, yeah? Let me have it…please baby.”

“I love you,” You gasp. “I love you…I love you..”

And then you’re coming. Body shaking, mouth falling slack as he fucks you through it.

Following seconds later, spilling into you.

He collapses over you. “Fuck. You’re it for me.”

You hold him close.

-

“You still take it with milk?” He asks, voice soft. 

You nod.

He hands you a mug. His fingers brushing against yours.

You sit on the couch together. Close.

“I keep thinking about the lemon tree,” You say. Cradling the mug in your hands.

He looks at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “How many summers we sat there pretending everything was normal.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “We were idiots.”

You smile. “Still are.”

“I’ve loved you since we were kids.” He says quietly. “Since you made me sleep outside by the lemon tree because you said it wasn’t fair that only the birds got to live outside.”

You laugh, heart clenching.

“I’ve loved every version of you.” He continues. “The snot version. The barefoot version. The one who laughs too loud after a few drinks. The one who tried to date other people. The one who…the one who kissed other people in front of me because I waited too fucking long.”

You pause. Placing the mug down on the side table.

“I was scared that loving you would ruin everything.”

He pushes you hair behind your ear. 

“I love you too.” You whisper. “You idiot.”

He laughs.

Leans in.

Kisses you.

-

Age 28

“This is where I almost lost you.”

“And now it’s where you’re asking to keep me?”

“No. Not asking.”

“Oh.”

Its late. 

You’ve changed into one of Charles’s old shirts. Barefoot. As usual. 

He finds you standing at the edge of the yard. 

Where the broken stone path curves. Where the grass bends. Where the lemon tree leans.

You hear him before you see him. His footsteps always so loud.

Neither of you speak. He wraps his arms over your shoulders from behind. Your back to his chest as he nudges his head into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You hold his arms. Swaying to the light breeze. Staring at the lemon tree together.

“This is where I almost lost you.” He says.

And you glance at your side to him. 

“And now it’s where you’re gonna ask to keep me?” You say, laughing. Teasing. Soft.

He smiles. Small. Shaky.

“No.” He says. Unwrapping his arms from you. “Not asking.”

And then you’re turning towards him. 

And he drops to one knee.

Just like that.

Just him in the grass. Kneeling by the lemon tree. Choosing it to be the place where he does the most important thing he’ll ever do.

Your breath catches. And his hands tremble as he pulls a ring from his pocket.

“I wanted to do this right.” He says. “I want to choose you the way I should’ve all those years ago. Not just when it’s easy..or when we’re alone. But in front of every version of us we used to be.”

Your throat burns.

“I want every summer.” He whispers. Eyes glued to you. “Every winter. Every fight. Every make up. I want to kiss you goodnight when we’re tired. Want to raise mini versions of us.”

You laugh. You cry. And you’re nodding before he even finishes.

“I want you forever.”

And then finally, “Will you marry me?”

You fall to your knees right there in the grass. In front of the lemon tree. And kiss him hard enough that you both fall into it. Laughing. Like little kids again.

“Yes.” You whisper against his lips. “Always. In every lifetime…yes.”

He only opens his eyes when you rip the covers off of him and get out of bed, panicking to collect your clothes from your own bedroom floor. “C’mon, you have to go.”

“Huh, why?” He turns over to lay on his back, not at all bothered by his goodies being on full display. Not that you didn’t get an eye-ful of them last night, anyway.

You stand up straight and give him an annoyed grumble. “I’ve my first day of work today and I’ll be damned if I let a man be the reason I’m late for it.”

He leans up on his elbows, watching with half-lidded eyes as you bend down to pick up your shirt. “Let’s not forget that this man was making you scream last night.”

“Whatever.” You grumble again. “Just go.”

The stranger shrugs and gets up, immediately finding his clothes and tugging on his boxers. “What’s the new job?”

“Photography intern.” A hiss leaves your lips as you brush your fingers through your hair, no time to actually find a hairbrush. Maybe a claw clip could do the job for today. “Paid, before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to.” The sound of a belt being buckled draws your attention back to him. Your eyes drift upwards, following his happy trail up to his abdomen. The man, proud and egotistical, watches as you ogle.

“I never caught your name,” you finally peel your eyes away from his chest and look at his green eyes.

He bites back a smirk and extends a hand towards you. “Lando.”

Lando’s big hand embraces yours, sending a shiver down your spine that you were far too familiar with for the past eighteen hours. “Y/n.”

He watches as you tightly clutch the sheets to your chest, hiding yourself from him, as if he hadn’t explored every inch of your body just a few hours prior. “Last night was-“

“You should go.” You reiterate, a little rude but it gets Lando that much more interested in how quickly your mood changes. “Please.”

Lando gives you a tight-lipped nod before gathering the last of his stuff, keys to a McLaren jingling in his palm as he waves to you by the door. “I’ll see you around.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

With just a few minutes to spare, you enter the meeting room and you’re met with six other people, all dressed in bright orange shirts with black details. “Morning,” you smile and take a seat at the large table.

Your supervisor, a woman with narrow and threatening eyes, watches you for a few seconds before turning her attention back to the board. She explains what you’ll be doing at McLaren and what your main concerns should be. Easy.

That is until you’re following an employee around with your camera tightly clutched in hand and you see him. He’s standing by the elevator, looking down at his phone and you’re panicking. You turn on your heel and walk the other way, but the employee you’ve been shadowing calls out for you.

“Y/n, where the hell are you going?”

Lando’s head shoots up at the mention of your name and he watches as your eyes flicker between the other person and him. He gives you a small smile and shakes his head. “Incredible,” he mumbles to himself.

You turn back around, bottom lip between your teeth and you clutch your camera closer to your chest. “Uh, I was, uhm… Bathroom.”

“You just went.” Lexi, the brown-haired employee, cocks her head to the side, evidently confused. You sigh, realising that there was no way to avoid Lando and that you’d have to speak to him eventually anyway.

“Right, sorry.” You nod and make your way back to her. And, unluckily for you, she’s already standing next to Lando, making small talk. You notice her tucking her hair behind her ear, a sign of her being very into Lando, and you roll your eyes.

She turns to you, “this is my intern.”

You awkwardly raise a hand and give him one wave, a less-than-pleased smile on your face. “Lovely to meet you, I’ve heard great things.”

“As have I,” Lando smiles at you with amusement stitched into every crevice of his face. Lexi gives you both a weird look before her phone rings and she rolls her eyes.

“I’ve got to go, Y/N, go upstairs and take a left to office 203. I need you to upload the pictures from your camera to the hard drive on the table,” you nod at her instructions and watch as her whole demeanor changes when she turns to Lando. “I’ll see you around, bye, Lan.”

The man next to you gives her a wink and she lets out a noise that sounds something like a mix between a giggle and a gasp. An eye-roll seems to be your go-to expression whenever you’re near Lando.

The two of you watch as she runs off with her phone in hand, something clearly more important taking her away from her responsibilities. The elevator dings and Lando gestures for you to go first. Once you step in, you’re trying your best to look everywhere but at him, despite your body practically gravitating towards the man.

He’s the first to break the silence. “You could’ve told me you were interning at McLaren.”

“You could’ve told me you worked at McLaren.” You bite your lip to hide how uncomfortable you are.

“The car wasn’t enough of a hint?” Lando turns to you as a small laugh leaves his lips. Fuck, his lips. You haven’t been able to get him out of your head and thoughts of kissing him have been clouding your mind all day. It’s infuriating how much of an effect he has on you without even doing anything. “When do you get off? I’d like to grab a bite after work, if you’re interested.”

You sigh and rub your eyes. “Do you fuck every young woman you work with?”

Your eyes finally find his and you watch as he frowns, confused. “Excuse me?”

“Lexi. Have you slept with her, too?” You knit your arms together and wonder when the hell this elevator stops so you could leave. The lack of air in the confined space made you that much more upset.

His pretty, soft and pink lips pull into a smirk. “Are you implying that I’m some kind of a whore?”

“If the boot fits, wear it.” You hiss and the elevator door dings open. Lando watches as you storm off, the smirk never leaving his face.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The first few days of your internship went by well.

You managed to steer clear of Lando’s path, the only time you ever interacted with him being for pictures and in the company of other staff. Despite being so confident in shutting him down a few days ago, you couldn’t deny feeling… something.

Still, that something was highly unprofessional and had very slim chances of actually working out, considering your schedules.

You’re only interning at McLaren for a few months, hoping to add to your portfolio, before you open up your own photography studio. It’s been a dream of yours since you were little and you’ve already achieved so much, you couldn’t let that dream go even if McLaren offered you a full-time job.

The elevator dings at your floor and you step out, trying to focus up and get on with a new work day. Lexi said you could make yourself comfortable in one of the meeting rooms on the second floor, as there weren’t many offices available at that time.

So, room 304 has become your own little office.

You’ve put up some of your stuff on the large table, like a succulent and some stationary. It’s organised, neat, yet still has a touch of you to it. You’ve found that this office has become a sort of safe haven, guaranteeing you as little contact with Lando as possible.

Except, when you open the door to your office, Lando’s sitting in the chair and spinning in it like a child.

“Oh, fuck.” A gasp escapes your lips as you clutch your chest, feeling the rapid pace of your heart. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

Lando’s head whips around to look at you and he smiles that same annoying smile that gets your blood rushing. “Oh, hey. Lex told me I’d find you here.”

“Find me here?” You ask as you make your way over to the table and set your bag down. “Are you stalking me, Norris?”

The curly-haired man starts spinning in the chair again, closely examining the cat figurine he plucked right off of your cozy side of the table. “Ah, yes, because I have nothing better to do than to stalk you.”

“I’m starting to believe that’s true.” You roll your eyes, taking a seat at the laptop you’ve just taken out of your bag. “What do you want?”

“You.” He says, absentmindedly, as he’s looking up at the ceiling and you hate that your eyes automatically gravitate to his neck. Lando clears his throat and sits up straight. “The photos you took of me a few days ago. I want to post them to my Instagram and I was wondering if you could send a few over to me.”

Silly of you to think that he’d come bother you because he simply wanted to bother you. Sure, the banter and persistence of the devilishly handsome man annoyed you to your core, but you couldn’t deny that you liked it. There’s something about how wrong this is that feels so right.

Lando watched as you typed away on your laptop. “I assume you have my email already.”

“Yep,” you nodded. “I’ll edit them and send them over.”

“Alright, thanks.” He stands up and makes his way to the door. Before he opens it, he turns back to you and, with a playful smirk, asks, “dinner’s still a no-go?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you, Lando.” You wave him off. “Now leave, please. I've got work to do.”

“See you later, boss.” He hums as the door shuts behind him and you put your head in your hands.

“For both of our sake, I wish you didn’t.” You whisper under your breath before composing yourself and continuing your photo editing.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The elevator dings at the ground floor.

“So,” Lexi says as you both enter the elevator. Lexi is the type of girl who tells it as it is, no bullshit, no sugarcoating, pure honesty. So, when she gives you a look— the look, —you wonder what you’ve done now. “What’s with you and Norris?”

“Wha-“ You choke on air. “Me and- and who? What, sorry?” Lexi has to hide her amusement as you fumble over your words. “I don’t- There’s not… No, nothing.”

The brunette in front of you just shakes her head with a laugh. “Right, so he looks at you like he’s seen you naked for absolutely no reason, then?”

Once again, you can’t seem to get any words out so you just look at her. A blank stare straight into her brown, intimidating eyes.

Lexi crosses her arms over her chest and fully turns to you. “Listen, I know you know I like him. I also know there’s something between you two.” She says in a tone you can’t seem to read. “So, please, tell me everything so I could live vicariously through you.”

“Oh, uh,” you’re surprised. “I thought you’d be more upset.”

“I’m upset that you’re not telling me anything,” she rolls her eyes. “Where’d you meet?”

“Bar,” you answer, instantly. “Last weekend.”

Lexi nods. “What was he wearing?”

“White button-up and black dress pants.”

“Fuck, I bet he looked so good.”

“He did.”

You tell her how he was the one to initiate any sort of contact with you other than eyeing each other from across the bar. You tell her how gentle he was, not only when speaking to you but also when he was casually touching you. Lexi listened intently, smiling along with you as you recalled every detail.

Well, almost every detail. There’s parts of that night you wished to keep between yourself and your bedsheets on late nights.

You can’t deny that you want him. Badly. So badly that you might be hallucinating him every time you’re not looking at Lexi.

“Hey, girls.”

This time, much to your surprise, you weren’t hallucinating. Lando was standing right in front of the open elevator door, looking as irresistible as you remembered.

“Hey,” Lexi looks at you for a second, a cheeky smile on her lips as she makes her way out of the elevator. “Y/N, remember what I asked you to do? Can you bring it down to me later?”

You look at the girl and she gives you a wink Lando couldn’t see. “Uh, yeah. I got it.” Lexi, despite being the scariest person in the whole building when you first met her, has proven herself to be a girls’ girl. She smiles at you two as the doors close, and it’s just you and Lando in a confined space, again.

The curly-haired man turns to you, an annoyingly charming smile playing on his lips. “Not talking to me, are we?”

The way he leaned in as he asked the question drove you crazy— his face was right there, right where you could just turn and… kiss him.

Lando doesn’t have time to process what’s happening before your lips are on his and you’re taking his breath away for the tenth time in the same day. First, it was you wearing your hair down that had him take a second to catch his breath. Next, it was the way you spoke to him and the way you tried to pretend like you didn’t want him at all, yet couldn’t resist smiling when he flirted with you. And now this.

He feels heaven on earth when your fingers find the base of his neck and you play with his hair, getting lost in the curls as his hands find your jaw. He lures you in closer and closer, and he’d mould you two into one being if he could.

You feel his hands travel to your waist and he pulls you in, groaning into your mouth at the memory of you around him.

Just as he’s about to tease his hands up your shirt, the elevator dings.

The two of you, like deer in headlights, pause for a mere millisecond before pulling away and practicing launching yourselves to opposite sides of the elevator. You pat down your hair and Lando straightens his shirt, and you don’t speak a word to him as you step out the elevator, making a beeline to your office.

Lando follows closely behind you, amused, intrigued, needy. He needs more of you, a mere kiss in the elevator doing nothing to suffice his fix of you.

You take a seat at your desk, pretending to do work even though all you can think of is locking the door and fulfilling every fantasy in your mind right now. It doesn’t help that he’s stood in the doorway, hands crossed over his chest as he just watches you.

It takes ten minutes before you finish your pretend work and pull the USB out of your laptop. Lando’s eyes are glued to you, like you’re the only person in the world.

When you’re in front of him, waiting for him to move so you could take your fake work to Lexi, he finally breaks the silence. “Is that gonna happen again? ‘Cause if so, I need to bring breath mints.” He nods his head towards you, a small smirk on his lips. “Put a condom in my wallet,” Lando says in a hushed tone, clearly teasing you for what happened back in the elevator.

You roll your eyes and laugh at him. “Move, Norris.”

“Oh, so it’s Norris now.” He moves out your way so you can get out of the room, yet he still trails closely behind you. When you’re at the elevator again, he just watches you get in, eyes narrowed at you in a way only *he could look at you.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You whisper-yell as you press the ground floor button.

Lando cocks his head to the side. “Like what?”

You sigh and drop your shoulders, “like you’ve seen me naked.”

The last thing you see before the doors close is the rise of Lando’s shoulders and another annoying yet devilishly handsome smirk on his face.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Lando catches you in the elevator the next morning.

He’s as smug as can be and you try your best not to look at him too long. Your hope of surviving this elevator ride dies when he opens his mouth. “So,” he begins. It’s clear that he has nothing to say and that he’s only speaking so he’d talk to you.

“If you have something to say, just say it.” You mumble, a little harsh but you can’t be bothered to put yourself in a good mood that day. You got called up to a meeting with your supervisor and a few others, Lexi and Lando included.

“I don’t have anything to say,” he muses, watching as your face contorts into all sorts of micro expressions. “Do you have something to say?”

“Yes. No.” You look at him and then back to the numbers above the elevator door. “I don’t know.” You pinch the bridge of your nose before turning your head back to him. “You know what? Fine.”

Lando looks at you, like you’ve lost your mind. “Fine?”

You turn to face him with your whole body, arms crossed across your chest and disappointment painting your face. “Fine, I’ll go out to dinner with you.”

He turns to face the door, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

The door opens and you speed off, for the millionth time in the past week. It’s not good for your self-control, and recently declared celibacy, to be near Lando so much. The only reason you’ve decided you’re celibate now is because of that… incident in the elevator. Though you’re sure Lando didn’t mind it at all, but you did.

It was highly inappropriate to be making out with your coworker, at work. Oh, god. What if there’s cameras in the elevator? What if that’s what this meeting is about? You began to worry that you’d be having your first meeting with HR about something you knew would come up.

When you open the meeting room door, Lexi’s already sat next to your supervisor, Eliza. She gave you a small smile and a wave, and you gave her a nervous grimace in return.

Lando, being the annoying coworker that he is, sat next to you. As if you hadn’t already had enough suspicions from Lexi, who didn’t actually seem to mind.

The meeting lasts an hour and Eliza doesn’t get to the reason why you’re there until the very end. “Sorry, why was I called here then? I’m just a photography intern, I don’t think I have anything to do with the race weekend in Italy.”

“Oh, right.” Eliza hummed, pulling out a staff paddock pass for you. “You’re coming with us.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you take the plastic card and lanyard from Eliza’s hands. “Excuse me?” A whole weekend with not only McLaren, but also Lando. Oh, god.

F1 wasn’t a foreign concept to you, your family watched and attended lots of different kinds of racing, but you’d never been to an actual Formula 1 race before. The atmosphere was completely different to anything you’d ever experienced and watching it on TV was nothing compared to seeing it in real life. You were enthralled by the sounds and hustle and bustle of everything. Not to mention how fast the cars actually were. The little adrenaline junkie in you was on cloud nine and by the time the checkered flag was waved and the car crossed the finish line you knew you wanted to be the one driving it. 

Luckily being brought up in a motosports family meant you somewhat had an upper hand. You were blessed to have the finances to start karting and not to mention a very long list of connections. And sure having all these things help you, but you’ve still got to have the talent. Which in your case was never an issue. You were a menace on the track, a force not to be reckoned with, and your Dad taught you not to take any shit from any of the insecure little boys. Trophies and medals lined your walls and there was never a doubt in your mind that you couldn’t make it to the top, that was until you got older. 

As your brain developed more so did your understanding that a lot of people and your competitors didn’t think women belonged in racing. Sure when you were younger some of the boys teased you, but it was never anything that bothered you much. It wasn’t until you were around fifteen and looking to move over to single seater racing that you faced your first real case of self doubt. Even with you being one of the best drivers in your division you still had to work ten times harder than the worst male driver to prove to everyone that you were worthy to be there. It was exhausting to constantly be ridiculed, to hear people say you only had gotten this far because of who your Dad was. It amazed you how you had won all these championships and races and people still didn’t think you had the raw talent that you so clearly possessed. 

Even with spells of self doubt and days where it felt like the world was against you, you’d somehow made it to Formula 2. That Formula 1 seat that you’d dreamt about since a child was almost in your grasp and you were more determined now than ever to prove that you were one of the 20 best drivers in the world. You knew that this season was your make or break, if you didn’t put in 110% then what were you even doing here? You needed to make a statement, but even the most astronomical statement couldn’t help the fact that your fate was decided when you were born a female. 

It didn’t matter that you had won basically every championship in the previous feeder series or that you were clearly on your way to win the F2 championship. It didn’t matter if people claimed that you were the future of Formula 1 or if Susie Wolff was your mentor. It didn’t matter that you had meetings with just about every F1 team about the possibility of a seat next year or that you had a well known last name. None of it mattered because at the end of the day no one was actually ready to sign a woman as a driver. Sure, they’d string you along and give you the false hope of somewhat talking about a contract and then go and sign a driver who you could lap with your eyes closed. Sometimes you just thought they liked the publicity that the team got from the news of you being in talks with them and couldn’t care less about actually giving you the time of day.

Finally accepting that you weren’t going to get a seat in Formula 1 was a devastating out of body experience. You were sat in an uncomfortable chair in between Susie and your Dad as they tried to bargain you a seat at Williams. Although it wasn’t your first choice, you had thought and prayed that with a female CEO and Susie having ties there that Williams would be your saving grace. It was your last option at this point and as you sat there their voices became background noise and the longer you studied Claire’s body language you knew this was the end. You had zoned out, your fingers bloody from subconsciously picking at the skin around your nails as your mind wandered to a place that wasn’t this meeting. 

Ever so often you’d hear a statement from one of them and it only made you more catatonic. 

“She’s in a league of her own, Claire. I mean she’s a million times better than I ever was as a driver.” 

“Her stats alone should tell you everything you need to know. She’s more qualified than the drivers you’ve got right now. I can tell you that.” 

It’s what comes out of Claire’s mouth next that brings you back to reality and what also seals your fate. “We could offer you being a development driver like Susie was or possibly a reserve.” 

Your eyes focus on her as you sit up in your chair. “I don’t want to be a development driver or a reserve driver. I want to be in the car every race weekend. I want to be an actual driver and I know I’m more than qualified to be one.” 

You can feel your Dad and Susie’s eyes on you, surprised at your sudden brashness, yet they didn’t reprimand you. Both of them knew you deserved better than what you were getting dealt. You watch as Claire clasps her hands together and a tight lipped expression forms across her face. “I hate to say this, but we just can’t afford to take the risk.” 

“The risk?” You question, fully knowing what that risk is. 

She clears her throat, her eyes darting from Susie to your Dad and then finally landing back on you. “Yes you have talent, but we can’t take the risk as a team right now to sign a female driver. We are barely holding on the way it is and signing a female– it just– we can’t be the team to experiment with that right now, no matter how good you are. I’m sorry.” 

“So a woman can run a racing team, but just can’t drive for one? Got it.” You’re trying to be professional, but you’d already heard that sorry excuse so many times before and your dreams were literally getting crushed right in front of you, so who can blame you for being a little shitty.

“It’s not just me making this decision Y/N. There’s a million other factors and people that go into this decision. If it could be different I promise it would be.” The strained look on Claire’s face does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, if anything it makes it worse

There’s an awkward silence that fills the room and you want nothing more than to be out of this suffocating room. Your emotions are starting to bubble over and the last thing you want is for someone to spot you looking less than thrilled. In society a man is allowed to react and a woman can only overreact. There’s been countless times where your quote on quote emotions after a difficult race are used against you in an attempt to prove you shouldn’t be racing. 

The wooden legs of your chair screech across the floor as you get up and even though you don’t want to, you reach your hand out towards Claire. “Thank you for your time, it was nice talking with you.” 

“My offer still stands. I think it would be wise to think it over.” Her grip on your hand is firm as she speaks, but it does nothing to change your mind. 

You give her one last thank you before swiftly exiting the room and making your way out of the building. It’s not until you’re in the safety of the blacked out SUV that you finally let yourself fully feel your emotions. And once the first tear falls there’s no stopping the ones that come after. You’re angry that even with the talent you so clearly possess, no one will give you a chance. That you’d worked this hard, gave up your childhood and the possibility of having a normal one to do this. Spent hours, days, months training and being away from home just to get to this spot in your life. Your one dream in life was almost in your grasp, your fingertips could brush against it, that’s how close it was. Yet on a sunny afternoon on a random Monday it was ripped away from you.   

Sobs echo through the empty car and you’d never felt more hopeless than you do right now. You spot your Dad talking with Susie outside the building and a short minute later he’s walking towards the car. You try to pull yourself together, you don’t want your Dad to see you like this, but when he gets into the driver's seat you lose it all over again. You somehow feel like you’ve let your Dad down, he’s been your biggest supporter during this whole journey and you not getting a seat felt like the equivalent of you being the worst child ever.

Your Dad couldn’t be more proud of you though, he’d never seen someone work so hard to accomplish their dreams and he was always going to be in your corner no matter what happened. His heart breaks when he gets into the car and sees you so upset and defeated, he’s half tempted to march back in there and demand that they sign you. But right now he knows you need him more than anything. He reaches over the center console and pulls you into him the best he can. His little girl deserved so much better than what you had been dealt and he only wished he could take that hurt you were feeling right now away from you. 

“Darling I know this hurts right now. If I could, I’d make a whole racing team from scratch just so you could fulfill your dreams, but this isn’t the end for you. Maybe you could try different kinds of racing? Indycar? Endurance? Maybe follow in your old man's footsteps?” His hand gently rubs against your arm as you sniffle into his chest. “You never know, maybe if you take the reserve spot you could get a seat the following year.” 

You lift your head up, your eyes bloodshot as you make eye contact with him. “Dad, we both know that's not true. They’d just string me along.” You lean back into the leather seat as you close your eyes, already feeling a headache coming on. “I know life isn’t fair, but this is some cruel level of unfairness. I wish I had been born a boy because I know I would not be in this situation right now if I was.”

“You’re correct, if you were a boy you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. But that is only because you wouldn’t be half the racer you are as a guy. You’ve gotten this far and you’ve got the talent you do because of who you are and that includes being a woman. I like to take credit for your skills, but honey all your will power and strength and smarts and hell just about everything else you get from your Mother. The guts to be in love with dangerous racing I will take credit for though.“ He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear before resting his hand on the side of your face, gently wiping away your tears. “Listen, people may be blind and ignorant now, but when they finally realize just how good women can be in motorsports and stop being pussies and take that risk, they are going to regret waiting so long.” 

His words do nothing to calm the raging storm in your mind. “I know, but I wanted to be that person. I wanted that realization to happen now. I worked so hard and what did I get in return? To be passed over by someone who’s absolute shit? It hurts so bad.” 

His hands reach back over to yours, enveloping your much smaller ones in his as he tries to comfort you in any way he can. “That feeling will pass. It hurts now, but it’ll pass. I promise you.” 

The feeling never truly passes. 

You learn to deal with it, trying to find the positives in life, but the ache is still there. It's like a bad knee that hurts when it’s cold outside. It’s not there all the time, but certain moments take you back to that awful day. It hurts when you win the F2 championship and still don’t have a seat in F1. It hurts when interviewers ask you about what your future holds. It hurts when you see people you raced with as a kid be that one of twenty that you want to be so bad. 

Once the F2 season ends you honestly have no idea what you are planning on doing with your life. You really don’t want to dabble in other forms of racing, but you know if you take a year off your chances of getting that golden seat become even more slim. 

It’s not until the FIA Gala that you come to the conclusion that maybe you should take up the offer of being a reserve driver. You know you’re going against every word you’ve previously said and every stubborn bone in your body doesn’t want you to do this, but there’s nothing you want more than to be a Formula 1 driver. And if there is even a .1% chance that you could get that seat by doing a year as a reserve first, then you’d be dumb to not try. You know all the odds are against you and maybe you’re betting on a losing dog, but you needed to at least believe in yourself if no one else was. It’s a choice that you’ve mulled over for what seems like an eternity, but it’s a certain Dutch driver that makes you take the final leap off the edge. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You’ve known Max since you were kids in karting. The two of you were pretty close friends as kids, often seen attached at the hip around the track during race weekends. He’d found solace with you and your family, something that looking back now, you were glad to have been able to give him. He was the only other person who you truly considered competition back in those days. It was always a fun time when you raced against Max, mainly because he treated you like an equal, but also never downplayed your talent. He knew you were good and he expressed that many times– something that meant a lot to you back then and still does today.

As you two got older your friendship started to fade for no reason other than taking different paths. When he skipped F2 and went straight into F1 you were pissed, but he had the talent, you couldn’t deny that. You’d sometimes see him on weekends when F1 and F2 raced together, a few short words spoken in passing, but it was never like the old days. Your lives didn’t necessarily coincide anymore, he was making waves as the youngest F1 driver to exist and you were stuck in F2. So when he approached you at the Gala you were surprised. 

You’d been playing good racing driver and making small talk all night, talking to sponsors and random rich men who loved to hear  themselves talk. You’d finally escaped the tortuous sea of networking and found yourself at a somewhat secluded table with a flute of champagne in front of you. You hadn’t been at the table for very long  before you heard a familiar Dutch accent coming from behind you. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You turned to see the one and only Max Verstappen standing there with his hand on the back of the seat next to you. Your eyes scanned across the white linen tablecloth to the several empty chairs surrounding the table and then back to Max. “I think they all might be spoken for, but I’m sure they can find another table to sit at.” He lets out a little chuckle as he sits down and you notice him fidgeting with his tie, clearly trying to loosen it. “It’s weird seeing you in anything other than your race suit or team kit.” 

His movements halt as his eyes comb over you and it makes you squirm slightly in your seat. “Could say the same about you.” 

He’s not wrong though, the dress you’ve picked out for tonight is nothing shy of stunning, but it’s not you. You always felt like these events were a form of torture more than anything and having to get all dressed up was just the cherry on top. 

“I saw that you had a good season.” You state before taking a sip of your champagne. 

Max’s eyebrows raise in surprise towards you, like you’ve just said the craziest thing. “I don’t think we should be talking about my season when you’ve just won a championship.” 

You lean back in your seat, crossing your legs as you adjust your dress. “It’s only an F2 championship Max.” There’s still a part of you that’s slightly bitter about him leaving you behind and you wonder what this night would be like if you were an F1 driver like him. 

“It still means something.” His baby blue eyes narrowed at you as he spoke. 

The remaining champagne in your glass is gone in seconds, this isn’t where you wanted this conversation to end up, but somehow you knew it was inevitable. “It doesn’t mean much if it can’t even grant me that seat I want. I won that championship basically halfway through the season, but can’t get anyone to offer me anything higher than a reserve driver. How does that mean anything?” 

Max shifts in his seat, he knows this is a sensitive subject to you and he knows what he’s about ready to tell you will probably get him slapped, but he has to at least try. 

“It could mean something and I came over here to talk to you about it.” Your eyebrows furrow at his words, confused as to what he could possibly mean. “I want you as my teammate.” 

You can’t help but laugh slightly at him, the Dutchman had clearly had one too many glasses of champagne tonight. “Did you think to express that to Red Bull before I had that world shortest meeting with them months ago? We all have dreams Max and yours is nice, but it’s a pipe dream.”

He shakes his head and scoots his chair closer to you. “It’s not a dream. It can happen. The team wanted to see how the rest of your season played out, but they for sure want you now.” 

“Where is Daniel going then?” A waiter comes past and you snatch another flute of champagne off of their tray. “And why is this not being discussed in a formal meeting setting?” 

“The team thought you might be more willing if you heard about this from someone you knew pretty well first. You know I’ve always been in your corner.” Max knows this is where the conversation will either go south or you’ll hear him out and he fears the latter isn’t the most likely scenario. “ And Daniel isn’t going anywhere” 

It takes you a moment to understand what Max’s words mean, your glass of champagne hovers near your lips as you slowly realize what he’s insinuating. And this time you actually do laugh at him because how could he think that after your disgruntled conversation just moments ago that you would want the one thing you were dissatisfied with? 

“Max, you've got to be kidding me.” You feel like this is one big prank and your tone is more defeated than upset at this point. 

Max on the other hand is trying to figure out how to convince you that this is your best option without making you throw that glass of champagne in his face. “Just hear me out ok? I know being a reserve is the last thing you want, but I also know that you’re one of the best drivers out there right now. And yes– you should have that seat already and it sucks that they are making you jump through so many hoops, but I’m trying to help you out in any way I can. So please just take Red Bull’s offer. You’d be a reserve for a year and then when Daniel’s contract is up at the end of the season you’d be the number one contender for his spot.” The only thing you can find yourself to do is blankly stare at him. It’s not a guarantee that you would be getting Daniel’s spot, you’d just be a contender and to you that means you would be just used for headlines and never actually considered. 

“You really think this is the best thing for me?” 

A sigh escapes past his lips, he should have known this wouldn’t be as easy as he hoped. “What are you really going to do if you don’t take this offer? You can’t do another season in F2. I mean, you’re driving laps around these guys for fun. You’re wasting your talent here and you’re also wasting it by being so determined to not take this opportunity.” 

Your arms defensively cross over your chest and you want what he’s saying to not make sense, but it is and it’s making you even more irritated. “I could seek out other forms of racing.” 

Max can’t help but roll his eyes at how stubborn you’re being. “You won’t though. You love rallying and yes it’s in your blood, but you lack the experience that you need. Endurance just isn’t you. Indycar is the closest thing to F1, but at the end of the day it’s not Formula 1, so I know you won’t actually seek it out. F1 is what you want Y/N and I’m trying to help you get there.” 

You know what he’s saying is true and it’s a tough pill to swallow, but you still can’t bring yourself to actually accept that this is your best and to be frank your only option at this point. Max can see the gears turning in your head, your teeth chewing on your bottom lip. “Y/N.” He’s trying to get you out of your head and bring you back to him. His hand reaches out and gently lands on your knee and that simple action has your eyes focusing back on his blue ones. 

“How do you know for sure? How do you know that I’ll actually be considered for Daniel’s seat?”  

A heavy sigh comes from Max and you know he’s not going to say what you want to hear. “I don’t. You know the racing world –  just because something is said doesn’t mean it’s true, but there’s a high probability. And I think if there’s even a slim chance and you don’t take it then you’d be dumb. You know I’ll always be in your corner and I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you as my teammate.” 

You still don’t know what to say to him, you’re torn between staying true to your values and not taking anything less than what you deserve and realizing that you may have to accept that this is the only way to even get close to your dream. “Stop making the guys in F2 cry and come join Red Bull, please.” 

A small smile finds its way onto your face when you realize Max is recalling all the boys you used to make cry when you beat them when you were kids. 

“Think you’re the only one I haven’t made cry yet, Verstappen.” 

Max mirrors your smile, the memories of old karting days also replaying in his mind. “Don’t see it happening anytime soon either.” A small chuckle escapes past his lips as he speaks. 

The atmosphere between you two had lightened and as you stare at the smiling Dutchman in front of you there’s really only one thing you can say to him. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

After much deliberation, a handful of meetings, and finally accepting that this was unfortunately your best option, you found yourself dressed in a Red Bull team kit three months later in Australia. 

Being a reserve driver was not where you expected to be right now, but you were trying to be more positive about the situation. If it wasn’t for Max you’d probably be sitting at home wallowing in self pity. At least with being a reserve you get to still be around the one thing you love. It was tough though, to be a part of the race weekend, but not actually be able to race. You’re in the team meetings, you occasionally do media, you train like a driver– you do everything that a driver would do on a race weekend except actually drive the car. You sometimes feel like you’re just being taunted, like an animal with a treat just out of its reach. It's hard mentally sometimes, but you push through with the help of a therapist and the hope that this suffering now will be worth it in the end. 

Being a reserve meant you spent basically all of your time on race weekends in the garage. It wasn’t a foreign place to you by any means, but you’d never really been in the garage while the race was happening. You were more accustomed to being the one out on the track and not in here, but you’d grown to love the behind the scenes work. The one thing in particular was the role of race engineer. You were very familiar with them, your own engineer had been with you all through Formula 3 and 2 and you had fully planned on taking them with you into F1 if it was possible. The bond between racer and engineer is a special one, you’ve got to have the utmost trust with one another, know how eachother thinks and trust that they are doing everything in their power to help you. It sounds a little dramatic, but truly what is a racer without their engineer? 

Throughout the season you’d found yourself lingering more and more around the engineers. The occasional times where GP let you sit on the pit wall during practice sessions or qualifying you found yourself glued to the seat next to him. To see how effortlessly Max and him communicate and the level of trust is amazing. It’s a completely different atmosphere and there’s somehow a calm adrenaline that comes over you when you’re on that pitwall. GP makes it look like a piece of cake— looking at data, having multiple people in your ear at once, thinking about strategy. It sounds like a nightmare to some, but you grow to love it. The analytics make the gears in your head turn and the little racing nerd in you can’t seem to get enough. 

You seem to be focusing more on the engineering side of things more than racing at a certain point in the season and maybe it’s because subconsciously you know you aren’t going to get Daniel’s seat so you’re trying to distract yourself with something else. There are some moments during the season that give you hope that perhaps you will be considered, like the couple times you get to drive Max’s car in FP1. That hour you get where it’s just you, the car, and the track in front of you makes you realize why you fell in love with this sport to begin with. It’s just that when that hour is up you’re brought back to reality and you don’t want to get out of the car, but the proud look on Max’s face and his insistent rambling about how it was a no brainer that you finished with the fastest time each session made it a little easier. 

But even with the slivers of hope, Max constantly advocating for you, and not to mention just your raw talent– the team still decides to go with someone else. They don’t come right out and tell you, but you hear the whispers around the paddock and online that Pierre Gasley is who they want. Your name is barely mentioned in talks and when the announcement finally happens at the end of the season you aren’t even surprised. In all honesty yes it hurts, but you knew when you signed that contract that there was the tiniest chance that you’d get that seat and so throughout the season you built your walls up and prepared yourself for the inevitable. 

If it was even possible Max seemed more upset than you about it, but when you tell him over winter break about the other deal you struck he seems to forget all about how you once again had been wronged. Somehow by not getting a racing contract you managed to sign a different one. It was a long depressing month during the end of the season of coming to terms with the fact that your racing career very well may never go any further than F2, but you’d realized that you can still experience your love of racing, just differently, by becoming an engineer. You’d fallen in love with the behind the scenes work during your year as a reserve and GP had somewhat taken you under his wing.

So when the two of you had an actual conversation about you possibly taking the steps to become one it just seemed to click. You’d signed a contract alright, but it wasn’t the one you’d imagined to be signing. The little girl with a dream of being nothing other than a race car driver couldn’t believe that this is where she was headed, but here you were. You were no longer Red Bull Racing reserve driver, you were now a Red Bull Racing apprentice engineer. Even with your knowledge from being a racer for some time, you’d still need to go to school and you somehow managed going to school while working under GP. How you managed that work load you’ll never know. 

Max was thrilled that you two still got to work together and was proud that you’d seeked out a new path for yourself. He’d still be holding out hope that one day you’d get to be teammates, but for now he couldn’t be more happy for you. Especially because you seemed happy with how your life was turning out. 

As the years pass you only grow closer with Max. It’s like you’re joined at the hip sometimes, but you come to realize there’s no one else you’d want to spend the majority of your year with. It feels like your old karting days, he gets you and you get him and for you two that’s just enough. You’re there for his first WDC and you don’t think you’d cried as much as you did then, seeing the boy you raced with as a kid win such a prestigious title. But you also cried for yourself, because as much as you were so proud of Max, you couldn’t help but still mourn the fact that it could have been and should have eventually been you winning a championship. It stings a little less when he wins his second, but that’s mostly because you got so drunk you couldn’t really remember much of it. When you graduate with your degree in engineering Max is there cheering you on, dressed in something other than his team kit for once. You don’t remember much from that night either, but you can’t seem to forget how genuinely proud he seemed of you and how he couldn’t seem to be anyplace other than right next to you. 

The following year with a degree and years of experience now under your belt you get a promotion, mainly because GP got poached by another team for the following season. So for the 2023 season that is truly an iconic one for Max you’re practically his race engineer, but GP is still there right next to you offering his knowledge when needed. 

When it’s finally official that you’ll be taking over the role as Max’s race engineer in 2024 the news is mostly positive, but of course there are some people that think you couldn’t possibly be capable of taking on the role. That a three time worlds champion shouldn’t have a woman as an engineer, let alone one that was around the same age as him. It was funny truly, you were more than qualified to be an engineer. You’d done the schooling and had the experience, yet once again because you were a woman people thought you didn’t deserve the job. 

Max on the other hand was ecstatic that you’d be filling GP’s shoes. He’d had a good run with him, but he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t sure that you two would make an incredible duo. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“So maybe this wasn’t how I’d imagined us being teammates, but I did tell you I wanted us to be teammates didn’t I? And I think it’s safe to say I always get what I want.” Max stated as the two of you tried to hide in the corner of this end of season/Max's WDC party/your promotion party. Well technically it was Max’s WDC party, but of course he had to bring you into it and show his appreciation to the team as always. 

He’s clearly had one too many gin and tonics and the goofy smile on his face only got wider as he spoke.

“Cocky much huh? I think that third championship is getting to you.”  

He leaned in closer to you and those pretty baby blues narrowed in on you. “Well when we get my fourth title next year I’ll show you just how cocky I can be.” That was gin and tonic talking and you knew it was time for Max to retire for the night. 

“Alright champ. Think it might be time to call it a night.” Your hand wraps around his bicep to try and guide him towards the exit, but he’s a solid man and he doesn’t even budge. 

“No, it's still early! We haven’t even begun to celebrate you yet!” He’s being loud and pouty and all up in your personal space, classic signs of drunk Max. And truth be told you don’t want the attention on you whatsoever, hence you hiding in the corner. Which of course Max had invaded as soon as he could.  “Come on just one more drink?” 

You know one more drink is never just one more, but for whatever reason tonight you can’t tell him no. And so hours later when you’re both making your way down the fancy hotel hallway towards his room you don’t even recall wanting to leave early. Both of you tipsy are always giggling messes and when Max can’t seem to get his key card to work to get into his room it’s apparently the funniest thing on earth to you. Which in turn has Max laughing and you don’t realize how loud you two actually are until the door across from his opens and a disgruntled elderly man is stood there in his robe. 

“Sorry!” You barely squeak out to the man as Max finally gets his key card to work and you’re pushing him into his room before the old man can respond. When you hear the door click behind you, the both of you are stood in silence staring at each other for a moment and then laughter erupts out of both of you. 

Max plops down on his bed and you take that as a sign that he’s safely made it back to his room and you’ve fulfilled your duty as his friend tonight. “Alright. You’re safe and sound which means I’m gonna head to my room. Goodnight Max.” 

He quickly sits up on the edge of his bed at your farewell, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he wonders if he should go through with the idea that’s been consuming his brain for some time now. He had enough liquor in him now to justify even considering it. It’s not until your hand touches the door knob that he finally speaks up. “Y/N. Wait.” 

Your head whips around at the sound of his voice and by the time you’re fully turned around he’s inches away from you. “If this is you trying to convince me to rally and head back out I’m convinced you want me dead, Verstappen.” 

“No no, it’s nothing like that.” His voice is soft and you can almost feel the energy in the room change. 

“What is it then?” You throw him a questioning look. 

He’d cracked the can of worms and if he didn’t fully open them soon he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the chance again. “Um- there’s something I-” How was he supposed to tell the girl who in less than a month is going to be his official race engineer that he has feelings for her? He’d been somewhat harboring them since they were kids and as he got older and the feelings seemed to lessen he figured it was just a silly little childhood crush. He’d only then realized since becoming as close as the two of you have ever been these past couple years that those feelings were not just ones of a silly little childhood crush.

Sure it started out as that and yeah his feelings may have just gotten pushed down when your lives started to go in different directions, but now that he had you with him all the time and your relationship had blossomed into something more than just two kids on the kart track. He’d come to the conclusion that those feelings never actually went away. And he knows he should have said something sooner because this new phase in your relationship and your work relationship takes priority over his romantic feelings, but Max can’t help but be greedy. The three time world drivers champion surprisingly wants to have his cake and to eat it too.

The alcohol coursing through his veins isn’t really helping him in thinking that clearly, he can’t seem to muster up the words in the order he wants, it’s all jumbled up and he starts speaking in Dutch without realizing it. 

“Max, you're making no sense. You’re drunk, just talk to me in the morning or guess I should say afternoon by the way you seem to be sounding.” He’s tipsy, not drunk. He could hold a conversation, but apparently not when it came to confessing his feelings. The liquid courage he thought he had possessed was clearly no longer working in his favor. It’s only when he feels your hand touch his forearm that he pulls himself together. “When I signed that contract to be your race engineer I didn’t think it would include babysitting.” You slightly teased him as you tried to guide him back to his bed, but like back at the party his feet stayed planted to the plush carpet. 

You knew drivers and their engineers were close, you had to be, but there was something definitely different about Max and yours relationship. Maybe it was because you had known each other since you were children, but you two were for sure closer than the average duo. Case and point– the situation you two had currently found yourselves in. You didn’t know of any engineers and drivers who went out and hung out outside of work like you guys do or even party like you two do, but for you guys it was normal. So perhaps things would have to change when the season officially started. 

“If you’re going to be so stubborn then you can put yourself back to bed.” Your hand drops from his arm as you turn towards the door to leave when you feel his much larger hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you back towards him. “Max-” 

Your faces are inches apart and his pupils are so dilated that those pretty blue eyes that always stare back at you resemble something more of a black hole than a spring sky. “I may regret doing this, but I think if I don’t I’ll regret it even more.” 

And it’s in this moment that everything between the two of you changes and your lives are forever altered. 

You don’t even get to question what Max is talking about before you feel his plump pink lips against yours. Your brain short circuits and it takes you a second to realize what is actually happening, but by the time your brain catches up with your lips he’s already pulled away and cursing. 

“Fuck I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Clearly you don’t feel the same-” 

Max doesn’t even get to finish his rambling before your grabbing at the material of his shirt and pulling him back towards you. Your lips crashing into each others and this time he’s the one surprised. His hands reach up to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, your lips moving in perfect synchronization. The night's drinks linger heavy on your tongues and they begin to mix as his tongue slips its way into your mouth. He’s dominant yet soft with his actions and you find yourself becoming enthralled with them. 

When you two finally pull away you’re both breathless with rosy cheeks and giddy smiles on your face. There’s a silence between you, no one wants to be the first one to say anything. To bring you back to reality and ruin this moment, but Max is the first one to burst the bubble. “I hadn’t really planned on kissing you. I actually had a whole speech planned out, but guess this did the trick just as well.” 

“A speech?” You question. 

“Was gonna tell you that I may have had a crush on you since we were kids in karting and how I thought it was just a childhood crush for the longest time, but then we became so close ever since you joined Red Bull and I realized that I’ve always been enamored by you. We just get each other and being around you is so easy. You’re my person Y/N.” 

You weren’t going to lie to yourself and say you didn’t have a crush on Max when you were kids too or that you’d perhaps sometimes in the middle of the night when your mind wandered thought that there may be something a little more between Max and you than what you let on. But you’d always pushed those thoughts aside as quickly as they arrived. You didn’t allow yourself to be distracted with silly crushes when you were racing let alone now when this new dream was at your fingertips. But the fact was that it wasn’t just a silly little crush. Max is just as much your person as you are his. He’s your biggest supporter and embarrassingly the person you think about the most. And perhaps you do find yourself staring at his pretty blue eyes or the way his eyes scrunch up when he’s really happy or laughing hard. The way his lisp becomes more prominent when he gets excited or how you love to hear him “maxplain”. 

So perhaps you were more down bad than you had let yourself believe, but it was no use dwelling on it. You were colleagues and soon you would be his race engineer. This was just a drunk mistake and Max was only caught up in the moment– at least that’s what you kept telling yourself. This couldn’t happen right now and you know you know you shouldn’t have kissed him back, but god kissing resembled the same feeling of when you overtake on the track. That adrenaline rush that starts in your stomach and travels up to your chest. It’s addicting and as he stands there in front of you, those swollen pink lips of his keep shutting down everything in you that tells you to not let this go any further. 

Max gently reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering as he tries to figure out how you feel. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same, but I mean after that kiss… there’s got to be something.” The sly smirk on his face only has you rolling your eyes at him, but he knows from the small smile your donning that the eye roll was nothing of significance. “I just had to tell you. It’d been eating at me.” 

His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across the top. You practically melt into his touch and as your eyes flutter shut a deep sigh escapes past your lips. You know this can’t continue, you know you’ve got to be the one to set the boundaries, but god damn if this wasn’t something like a dream. 

“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t feel the same because I do. Perhaps even more than you at times, but this was absolutely the worst time for you to do this. Before you know it the season is going to start and I’m going to officially be your race engineer. We can’t mix pleasure with business.” 

He knows what you’re saying is true, but to hear you say you feel the same as him has him willing to risk it all. “I know I should have told you sooner, but I think we could make it work.” 

“Max.” You’re trying to get him to think rationally for just a second. 

“We don’t have to put a label on anything and no one will know until we are ready. We will just take it slow. Nothing would have to change between us or the people around us. Work will always come first.” 

His hands move down towards yours and your fingers intertwine as you try to make sense of all the things flying around in your brain. You’ve never felt this way about anyone before like you do Max. You’d been burying it, trying not to let it get in the way of your job, but it had been there subconsciously the whole time. Now that you’ve come to terms with it and found out he feels the same, how the hell were you two going to move forward with this?

“Things will change Max, even if you say they won’t we both know they will. We’ll have to be careful about how we interact and sneak around. This isn’t some little make believe play time kind of thing. This is real life Max.” You squeeze his hand as you speak, trying to convey just how serious you’re taking this and how he should be too. “I also have a lot more at stake than you do Max. I’ve gone through hell and back to get where I am today, I don’t want it all ruined in the blink of an eye.” 

Max so badly wants to make this work. He understands your apprehension regardless of how strong your feelings are for him, but he thinks you guys should at least give it a try. 

“I understand what you’re saying. I also think what we’ve got here is pretty special. It would be a shame to not pursue it.” 

Your brain is telling you to choose your career and your heart is telling you to choose both your career and Max. Everything could work out fine and he could be the guy you end up marrying and living happily ever after with or it could all blow up in your face and you could lose your career and your man. But if you would have never taken the risk of becoming a reserve for Red Bull then you wouldn’t be here in this position. So you take the risk and decide to go with your heart. 

“Alright let’s see how this plays out Verstappen.” 

His eyes light up at your words. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

And for the third time that night you feel his soft lips pressed against yours. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The 2024 season starts out with a bang. Max puts it on pole in quali and wins in Bahrain and the same thing happens in Saudi Arabia. You’d been practically shitting yourself in the weeks leading up to the start of the season. There was an insane amount of pressure from the public and media for you to do well, but also an insane amount that you had put on yourself. You wanted to prove to people that you were good at your job, that you deserved to be there. So when the first two weekends went smoothly and your communication went well with Max you couldn’t have been happier.

Not to mention how well it was going with Max. You two had been nothing but careful when it came to your radio messages, but also your behavior in the garage. The fleeting glances or smiles thrown your way only mean that much more considering you two are the only ones who know their true intent. And the evenings spent in each other's hotel rooms are like your own personal getaway. It’s just you two once that door is closed behind you and it makes the kisses even sweeter. 

Although the following week in Australia you weren’t expecting to be dealing with a hiccup so soon, but that’s the world of Formula 1 for you. It started off normal, Max took pole in qualifying and the race started great. Everything is normal on the pitwall and then you see Carlos overtake Max on lap two. It of course is not what you want to see, but it was only the second lap and you weren’t that stressed at the moment, but then you hear the dial of Max’s radio.

“I just lost the car. Really weird.” Max’s voice fills your ears through your headset. 

“Yeah no problem Max. Still early.” 

You watch the data closely as the race continues and you can see his time dropping ever so slowly.

“Fuck. The car is loose.” 

“I know. Try and hold on, we are working on it.” 

His time keeps dropping and you're combing through everything trying to figure out what could be going on. As you glance at the monitor with the race coverage you notice smoke coming from the back of the car and not a second later his voice comes through your headset once more. 

“I have smoke. Fire fire. Brake my brake.” 

“Copy. Try and make it back to the pits.” 

Fuck. This could not be good. You’re first real issue as an official engineer and it’s only the third race of the season. You turn in your chair as you see him rolling down the pit lane, his rear brake on fire. Your stomach drops and you know it's a DNF for him. Thankfully it wasn’t a crash, you think you would have been going to the medics with him if that was the case. 

Your headset is off and you’re making your way across the pit lane as soon as you see him get out of the car. You’re nervous considering this is the first race issue you’ve dealt with while being “together” or whatever you two are calling it and you aren’t sure how Max is going to handle it. 

He’s in the garage taking off his balaclava as you walk up to him and you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, but you know you can’t do that. There’s clearly signs of disappointment on his face, but he’s trying to keep a poker face when he spots you. “You alright?” You question as you lean against the counter. 

“I’m fine. Car isn’t though.” He’s short with you and you probably should have let him decompress on his own before coming over here, but you couldn’t help yourself. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen him in a less than cheerful mood, but it’s the first time since coming to terms with how you felt about each other and you being his engineer.

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

He shrugs his shoulders at you, his hand running through his dirty blonde hair. “Wasn’t your fault.” 

You feel like it is though. “Are we good?” You ask with a low voice. 

Max could barely hear you with the sound of the mechanics and when he sees them moving the car into the garage he grabs you by the elbow and leads you towards the back of the garage towards the paddock entrance hallway. It luckily was empty for the moment, the garage too busy dealing with the car. 

“Why would we not be good?” He lowers his voice too. 

It’s your turn to shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s just that it was the first issue of the season and I wanted to make sure you weren’t upset with me or something.” 

“Schatje.” The term of endearment always has butterflies fluttering about in your stomach, no matter how many times you hear it. “It was not your fault. It was a mechanical issue.” 

He can see the worry across your face and he knows the amount of stress you’ve been feeling about everything. The last thing you need is to be worried about how your relationship is going. He quickly checks both directions and when he sees the coast is clear he pulls you into his arms. It’s what you both needed after the shit show that was this race and even if it was brief his actions told you everything you needed to know. “We’ll talk more tonight, yeah?” 

You simply nod at him, both of you knowing you have to go back to your respective roles in the team before someone comes around the corner. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before disappearing behind the corner and back into the garage. You lean your head against the wall as you let out a deep sigh. There was something in you that had a feeling that this season wasn’t going to be an easy one. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Japan and China have you guys back to regularly scheduled programming and then Miami comes and turns everything upside down. When Max wins by the skin of his teeth in Imola the following race week you know something is not right with the car, but you can’t seem to pinpoint it. You know Max and you know he’s driving the car to its full ability and he somehow manages to secure the win in Canada and Spain, but not without being vocal about how shit the car is over the radio, to which you can only reply copy that Max.

It’s clear to you and probably everyone else that this season is not looking to be a dominant Red Bull season and it makes your stomach churn to think about the headlines about you. There’s not a doubt in your mind that everything will be blamed on you, especially after the horrible weekend that is the Austrian Grand Prix. 

It doesn’t start out bad, Max puts it on pole in qualifying and he holds the lead throughout the majority of the race. It’s not until lap 48 that things start to fall apart. 

“I can’t hold this much longer.” Max’s voice sounds through your headphones. 

“A couple more laps Max.” 

“The tires are fucked.” 

You don’t want Lando to undercut Max and you know if you don’t time this pitstop right that it may very well cost Max the race. On lap 52 you call Max into the pits and McLaren pits Lando also. You need this pitstop to go well and of course — it doesn’t. A stubborn left rear wheel nut is what brings the gap between Max and Lando down to two seconds. 

There’s not a bone in your body that wants to relay that information to Max, but you’ve got to, it’s your job. 

“Gap to Lando is now two seconds Max.” 

“Fuck.” 

“I know, but you can hold him off.” 

As the time began to shrink between Max and Lando your confidence in Max holding him off was dwindling and you knew he wasn’t going to just let Lando pass him. He was going to hold Lando off for as long as he could and when the racing started to get sketchy you were sure you wouldn’t have any fingernails left by the time this race was over. 

“Keep it clean Max.” You tell him after a particularly close call. 

“Something is wrong with the car.” He replies. You can tell he’s got no grip, but he’s also trying to defend like his life depended on it. 

As the laps go by the two drivers seem to be getting more desperate as both of them are pushing track limits and each other. You know it’s not gonna end well and you can only do so much from the pitwall. It’s Max who makes the final decision out there regardless of what you say. 

It’s been a tiring back and forth game with them and when they finally make contact on lap 64 your stomach drops for the man you care for, but you shake your head as his engineer. Both of them have punctures and somehow Max is able to make it back to the pits and still finish fifth. It’s quiet on the pitwall and the cheers from the Mercedes team drown out anything that might have been said. You don’t know what to say to Max when you see him. As his engineer you know he was defending (rather recklessly in your opinion) but as his ‘girlfriend’ you want to slap him for being so reckless. 

You know it’s better to just let Max decompress on his own and at this point you somewhat need to also. He’s got media duties to deal with and you’ve got your own responsibilities. You don’t even bother in waiting around for him like you usually do after a race. Once your tasks are done you’re making your way back to the hotel and for the first time that weekend you actually go to your room. Nothing sounds better at the moment than a nice long hot shower and so you let the water help wash away the stress from this weekend. That is until you hear a rapid knock on the door as you’re wrapping yourself in the hotel branded fluffy white robe. You know exactly who it is, but considering you’re dressed in nothing but a robe– you check the peephole. To no surprise there on the other side stands a disheveled Max Verstappen. His hand runs through his hair obsessively and you can tell he’s not in the cheeriest of moods. You open the door and he wastes no time in coming in. 

“Why aren’t you in my room?” He immediately asks, his tone almost reads as offended that you were here instead of three rooms down. 

“A girl can’t use her hotel room?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

You sit down on the edge of the plush bed as Max remains standing. 

“I just wanted some alone time. To decompress after this weekend, specifically today. Figured you could use some too.” 

He’s standing in front of you now, his fingers lightly toying at the collar of your robe. “All I wanted to see when I came back to my room was my girl waiting for me.” His voice is soft and you can tell this weekend has taken a toll on him. He plays the tough guy act during racing, but at the end of the day he’s just a man who wants and needs love and comfort. And so without a second thought you're sneaking off to Max’s hotel room like a couple of teenagers trying to not get caught. 

The warm embrace of Max’s arms is one of the places you feel the most safe and tonight is no exception. Austria is clearly a weekend to forget, but you know the media will be dragging it out for weeks to come. “The only thing I’m gonna say about today is that you’re lucky all that happened was a puncture. As your engineer and girlfriend you put me through the fucking ringer today Verstappen.” 

He doesn’t even register you somewhat scolding him for his driving today, all he can seem to focus on his you referring to yourself as his girlfriend. Of course you’ve been nothing less to him in his mind, you were exclusively his and no other woman would compare. But with the somewhat tricky situation you’d found yourselves in you’d never really put a label on it and that was fine to him. In fact he’d been the one to suggest it in the beginning, mainly because he knew how nervous you were about exploring the relationship between you two. But to hear it nonchentaly come out of your mouth that you’re his girlfriend is perhaps the best thing he’s heard in a good while. 

“Girlfriend?” He questions, his tone somewhat teasing you. 

Your head leaves its home on his solid chest and moves to look up at him. You hadn’t even realized you’d referred to yourself as his girlfriend, but after six months of you two just going with the flow or whatever you wanted to call it. There was no doubt that you two were exclusively one anothers. 

“I mean– that’s what I am right?” You pray you haven’t just made a fool of yourself, but you know he feels the same. 

His hand cups your cheek and he looks at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing on the planet. You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach and just by the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the same. 

“Yes, but only if I’m your boyfriend.” His voice is sweet like honey and the butterflies are about ready to escape your stomach at this point.

“We sound like two 13 year olds right now.” 

Your laughter is like music to Max’s ears and he can’t ignore the swelling feeling in his chest. It’s terrifying, but thrilling at the same time and it’s a feeling that he’s sure he never wants to be without. 

“Well ok then I need to know if we are actually boyfriend and girlfriend.” Giggles fill the hotel room and you would have thought you two had been drinking with how ridiculous you two were acting, but you were really just lovesick fools. 

As the laughter dies down you can sense a shift in the atmosphere as you two lay there and stare at each other for a moment. In what seems like no time at all your leg swings over his waist and a second later you’re straddling him. His hands instinctively move to your hips and your hands lay flat on his chest as you lean forward. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re mine huh? My boyfriend?” 

Your lips hover just above his as you whisper to him and you can see his pupils dilating and feel the grip on your hips getting tighter. 

“I like hearing that.” He whispers back, his lips jutting out to connect with yours, but the tease in you has you pulling back ever so slightly. 

“Hearing what?” A playful smirk adorns your face as you sit up with your hands still splayed across his chest. 

He sits up too, but it’s clear you’ve ignited a fire in him. His hands snake around your waist as he holds you close to his chest. Your hands now resting on his shoulders. “That I’m yours.” 

And in one swift motion he’s flipped you onto your back as his large biceps bulge while he hovers over you. His head leans down towards your ear and his breath tickles your neck. It’s like every nerve in your body is heightened and you’re aware of every single thing he does to you and himself. “And that you’re mine.” 

A shiver runs up your spine as he whispers into your ear and by the look in his eyes you know it’s going to be a long night. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To say you were looking forward to summer break was an understatement. The mere idea of having a month off was the only thing that got you through those last three races. Silverstone wasn’t horrible, but Hungary and Belgium were nothing to write home about. The team had figured out that the upgrades that were brought to the car weren’t working correctly, but now it was trying to figure out why they aren’t working and how to correct them. But even with potentially corrected upgrades it still seemed like the car would be a pace behind McLaren or Ferrari. You’d been stressing trying to work on a new strategy with Max and trying to figure out how to make the car faster with basically nothing to work with. Not to mention the headlines that had your head on a spike claiming “Red Bull’s downfall” was because of you. It was truly tiring and so when the checkered flag waved in Belgium you were one happy girl. 

It’s not everyday that you get to send a week on a private island with your boyfriend, yet here you were. When Max had mentioned something about getting away during summer break you had figured Saint Tropez or Bali or really any typical F1 driver vacation spot. You had also figured you’d be spending some time apart considering it would be a little weird to be spotted on vacation together. The last thing you wanted was for rumors to start flying around, but Max surprised you with the unexpected. 

When Max told you this was a private island you figured there’d be maybe a handful of other people, but it was literally just you two and the staff for the villa. It’s truly paradise on Earth and you have to pinch yourself sometimes to see if you’re dreaming. Days spent on the beach and in the ocean. Nights spent tangled inbetween the sheets and mornings spent waking up to the gentle lull of waves crashing onto the sand and alright sometimes it is spent tangled in the sheets. Decadent food at the snap of a finger and the feeling of the sun on your skin everyday. It’s just what you needed, what you both needed to help you recharge for the second half of the season. 

On one of your last nights on the island Max and you find yourselves cuddled up on one of the giant loungers outside. The ocean had calmed for the night and the moon’s light cascaded over the water and onto you two. For once Max had sought out comfort in your arms and you thought you had put him to sleep from running your fingers through his hair until he spoke up. 

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other.” 

Your movements stilled, you weren’t expecting him to say that. Sure Max is a lot more loving than people would expect, but he isn’t one to be overly sappy. “Me too.” There’s a beat in the conversation and your hand finds its way back to his hair. “I don’t think as kids we saw our lives ending up like this though did we?” 

“Career wise or us being together?” Max questions. 

“Both I guess or at least it was that way for me.” You can feel Max slip his hand under your shirt and his finger start to mindlessly trace patterns on your abdomen. “If you would have told the girl who hated your guts for a while after you left me behind in F2 that I would be on a romantic getaway with you years later, I would have laughed in your face.” You can sense the shit eating grin on Max’s face. “I also fully believed that I was going to be a Formula 1 driver. There was nothing that you could have told me back then that would have changed my mind. Hell even five years ago I was still holding out hope. Guess I should have known better.” You’d turned the conversation in a different direction, but it was Max and he was the one person who you could have these kinds of talks with in confidence.

Max knows this is still a very sore subject for you and how could it not be? He couldn’t imagine having gone through all the shit you have just to be denied over who you were. He may have had his fair share of shit to go through as a child and some other things, but in the end he got to achieve his dream and no one denied him of it because of who he was. He knew you had to look at him with envy more times than not and he wished he could only go back in time and somehow by the grace of the racing gods get you a seat. “There’s no such thing as “knowing better” you had a dream and the talent to back it up. There was no reason you shouldn’t have been able to achieve it schatje. Life is just one cruel fucker sometimes.” 

“But I guess without that happening we probably wouldn’t have ended up together then?” You try to change the subject to something less depressing than your failed racing career. 

“Everything happens for a reason.” Max states. 

You nod in agreement, it’s something you’d told yourself quite often to try and cope with your dreams getting crushed. 

“I do love my job now and however shit my luck may be it can’t be that bad. I still get to enjoy racing and I’ve managed to acquire you in the process.” 

Max lets out a small laugh at your statement. “Didn’t know I was some prize to be sought after.” 

“You were like an added bonus that came with the job.” 

Max playfully scoffs and after a few moments of silence he changes the subject.

“Maybe we should just stay here for the rest of the season.” He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s been dreading for summer break to end and to go back to driving a car that wants to disagree with everything he does.  

“It would be nice, but we have a championship to win.” 

Max looks up at you and even with the moon as your only light source those baby blues of his still sparkled. “You really think we still have a shot at it?” 

You know this season has been weighing him and the whole team down and as much as you’ve been stressed you still have faith that you guys can pull off the WDC. ‘I’m gonna tell you something my Dad used to tell me. Whenever I had a difficult race or was upset or even when I was getting rejected for an F1 seat he’d always tell me ‘it’ll pass’. You may be feeling like shit right now or hopeless, but after some time things get better and eventually that feeling of despair will pass. This rough patch we are in right now– it’ll pass Max. You’re gonna win again, especially if I have anything to do with it.” 

The overwhelming desire he has to tell you he loves you right now is something he can’t ignore. He’s never had someone in his corner like this before. Had someone that he cared about so deeply and loved be so involved in securing his success, but also reassuring him and instilling confidence back in him. It’s something you were good at as kids too, he couldn’t recall how many times he’d snuck off and hung out with you and your family during your karting years. If he hadn’t had a particularly good race he always knew you’d be there for him no matter what others in his life said or did.

But as much as he’s confident in his true feelings about you and the fact that he really hadn’t felt this way about anyone before, he decides to keep it to himself for the time being. If you by some chance don’t feel the same he doesn’t want to ruin this nice moment or vacation by blabbing his mouth about how he feels. So for now him pressing his lips against yours and the feeling of your hands on him will have to suffice instead of ‘i love you’. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The first race back after summer break is Max’s home race and you both want nothing more than for him to win this one. The usual cool and collected Max has some nerves to him this weekend. You’d been nothing but reassuring and supportive this weekend because you truly think with the little tweaks the team had made to the car and some new strategy techniques that you may have this weekend in the bag, but Max can’t seem to shake the doubt in his mind. He’s of course thrilled to be racing at his home race, but the fact that he hasn’t been winning and that his family is going to be here has his mind working on overdrive. The little boy who hated to be a disappointment is still inside of him no matter the size of the nonchalant facade he tries to put on. 

When Max qualifies P2 you know he’s going to be upset, but you know you guys can work with P2. You two go over the best possible strategy techniques Saturday night and come Sunday morning you’re both feeling good about the race. 

“Alright Max twenty seconds until the formation lap. Be smart and safe.”

Your voice travels through the headset and Max smiles at the last part. It had become a habit of yours to always tell him to be smart and safe over the radio. It’s your way of telling him you care and perhaps subconsciously that you love him and he wants to tell you he loves you back every time, but he knows everyone can hear what is being said, so he settles for the old stand by. 

“Copy.” 

When the lights go out you don’t realize you haven’t taken a breath until Max overtakes Lando on the first turn and you’re breathing out a giant sigh of relief. This is what you guys needed and now all Max needed to do was get some distance between him and Lando and pray for it to be a boring race and he’d be taking that top step. 

“Beautiful Max.”

You know the reassurance over the radio will have him smiling like a fool under his helmet. 

It doesn’t take long though for your confidence about the race to start to diminish. Lando wastes no time in trying to gain his position back and you can tell Max can’t hold him off much longer. He eventually overtakes him and the gap that Lando starts to create is making your stomach turn. You knew if Lando got out in front and into the clean air it would be game over and that’s exactly what happens. With only ten laps left you don’t even want to tell Max how big the gap has gotten, but from his radio silence and him not outright asking, you figure he already knows. 

22 seconds. 

That’s the gap between Lando and Max when the checkered flag waves. Your stomach is in knots as you take off your headset and make your way towards the crowd already forming for the podium celebration. Max still ended up with P2, but to be beaten with a 22 second gap at your home race has got to be killing him. You watch him from below and you can tell his mind is going a mile a minute, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the disappointment from losing the race is written all over him. 

After the podium celebration and the team debrief and every other responsibility that you have on a race weekend, you finally find yourself back at the hotel. Usually you’d be flying back home on his private jet, especially on a weekend like this, but Max opted to fly out first thing in the morning. So while Max finished up the last of his responsibilities you opted to torture yourself some more and go over countless amounts of data from this weekend.

Technically this isn’t even your main job, but if you can somehow figure out what the hell is wrong with this car then you’ll take on whatever job you have to. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been sat at this small hotel room desk, papers scattered everywhere as you hunch over your laptop. The sound of the door opening and closing doesn’t register in your mind and it’s not until you feel two strong hands on your shoulders that you are brought back from the world of tire degradation and sector times. 

“Baby, come on, let's go to bed. We can’t solve this in one night.” His fingers work slowly into your tense muscles and a sigh of relief comes from you as you lean back in the chair, eyes fluttering closed as he continues to work his magic. 

And as good as this feels, your brain wants to talk about the elephant in the room. “So we are gonna pretend like you didn’t get beat with a 22 second gap at your home race?“ His movements halt and you realize you probably could have worded that better. 

“Well I’d actually like to forget about it if that’s alright.” He moves away from you and chooses to sit down on the edge of the bed. His body language is nothing shy of defeated and you could kick yourself for how you spoke. 

“That’s not what I meant to say. It came out wrong. I was just trying to say that I’m trying to figure this out so it doesn’t happen again. We can act like it didn’t happen but it did and there’s clearly a reason here in this data.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you blankly. 

“I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want to be hearing, but I’m trying to get you a winning car again Max. I mean this is my first year as your actual engineer and I feel like I’m gonna lose my job if you aren’t winning races. The car is shit and we can’t seem to figure out a good strategy to work with the shit car. I don’t know what the fuck happened from last year to this year but I’m losing my fucking mind. People already think I shouldn’t be here and by not cranking out wins I’m just giving them more ammunition to use against me.” 

You hadn’t realized you’d started crying until you feel Max’s thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Fuck I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go on some rant and have a breakdown.” 

You bury your head into his chest as his arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his strong warm embrace. “It’s fine. It’s good to let it out.” One of his hands moves to gently stroke your hair and when you finally pull your head back to look at him, he’s pressing a kiss to your forehead and it tells you everything you need to know. 

“I know we’ve both been under stress, but I didn’t know it was this bad baby. I wish you would have talked to me sooner before it resulted in this.” 

You shrug your shoulders at him. “Didn’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re never a burden to me. We are a team, remember? Regardless of actually working for the same team, at the end of the day it’s still you and me. Don’t ever feel like you have to bottle things up because you’re worried it will stress me out. We’re in this crazy ass world together yeah?” 

A sniffle comes from you, but your tears had subsided. You find yourself just staring at him, getting lost in those ocean blue eyes and you know you’re so eternally grateful to have a guy like Max in your life. If only the world could see just how compassionate and loving he actually was. 

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Probably be miserable.” 

And there was the smart ass Max that you knew all too well. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The season was coming to an end in a little over a month and you and Max and the whole team had been working overtime in trying to get the cars back up to the normal Red Bull standard that everyone had come to know. Max hadn’t won a race since Spain in June and with only four races left in the season the media had been in a whirlwind over a possible title fight between Max and Lando. You tried not to pay it much mind, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Max wouldn’t win his fourth championship this season. Even with a less dominant car he still went out there and gave it everything and his talent truly showed this season, to see him pulling that car up to podium level multiple times told everyone what they needed to know 

Brazil was this weekend and it’s always a fun race in your opinion. Rain is always expected at least once throughout the weekend and the teams prepare for it, but this weekend it seemed that mother nature didn’t want this race to happen. Qualifying had gotten moved to Sunday morning which made things a little more complicated. If Max wrecked it didn’t give the mechanics much time at all to make any repairs. To make things even worse he was already starting with a five place grid penalty due to power unit change, so he had to make the most of this qualifying. 

The garage is alive preparing to send the cars out for qualifying, but you can see how wet the track is and you can’t lie– you’re nervous. Usually you’d be on the pitwall by now, but you’re lingering in the garage waiting for Max. When he sees you he’s surprised and when you pull him to a somewhat less busy spot of the garage he’s worried that something is wrong. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

“Yes. Just wanted to tell you in person to be safe. It looks nasty out there.” 

A smile creeps its way onto his face and before he can tease you about being a softie his head mechanic comes up asking him a question. You take that as a sign to get your ass over to the pitwall before anyone overhears anything else. With your headset on and your nerves at bay for the moment you turn around in your chair to see Max getting into his car. 

“Alright. Green light at the end of the pitlane. Be smart and safe Verstappen.” 

“Always am.” 

You roll your eyes at him and prepare yourself for what could be an interesting qualifying session. When the first cars go out you know there’s going to be multiple crashes, you can just tell. Luckily Max makes it to Q2, but that's where everything goes wrong. A late called yellow flag has Max qualifying P12 which is actually P17 and you know when you hear the static in your headset that what comes out of his mouth is not going to be pretty. 

“What the fuck? Why did they wait that long to pull out the flag? Should have been red to begin with, he went into the wall!” 

“I know Max. We will discuss it later.”

You’re trying to not let himself get more community service, so the less he talks on the radio the better. 

Max is raging as soon as he exits the cockpit of his car and you can tell from the pitwall that he has a bone to pick, but the race is in a few short hours and you have work to do. He can rant all he wants later, but you’re on a mission to somehow get him to win this race all the way from the back of the grid. He doesn’t come and find you for some time, but when he does you two don’t even mention the drama from qualifying. He’s clearly cooled down and you two know it’s now time to lock in and make this strategy work. You two go over three possible strategy plans, but you can tell from the fire in his eyes that he’s planning on pulling out a little bit of Mad Max today. 

There’s maybe a half an hour until lights out and you take that time to go and find your parents who had been invited to attend the race this weekend. You like to think their very cool race engineer daughter is the reason they are here, but unfortunately you are a nepo baby and your Dad was invited because of who he was. Unsurprisingly you find Max and your parents chatting in the garage, Red Bull lanyards hanging from their necks. They greet you with a hug and kiss and Max and your Dad continue to talk while your Mom and you head out into the paddock. 

“How’s the engineer life been treating my baby?” She asks as you two stroll down the paddock. 

“I can’t lie, it's been stressful, but I love it. Helps that I’ve got such a good driver to work with though.” 

“It’s nice to see you two reconnect.” There’s an inflection in her voice and you know there was a totally different meaning behind her words. 

“What is it Mom?” You groan. 

“Nothing. All I said it was nice to see you two reconnect. You two were close as kids and I’m not surprised that you found your way back to each other.” 

You stop in your tracks, turning to face her. “Mom.” 

“It’s truly nothing. It’s just a little bit of Mother’s intuition.” You stare blankly at her– waiting for her to continue. “I’ve heard how you talk to him over the radio, how you two look at each other in pictures, and I’ve witnessed firsthand how you two have acted today. You’re in love with him aren’t you?” Your heart starts to race and you don’t know what to tell her, of course your Mom would know this. She links her arm with yours and you two head back towards the Red Bull garage.

As you two walk through the entrance you find your Dad and Max still talking. Your Mom lowers her voice as she speaks to you. “Your silence tells me that I’m correct.” When Max spots you his whole face lights up and he’s waving for you to come join him and your Dad. “And I’d say it’s pretty safe to say he’s in love with you too.” She whispers to you before heading towards the two men.

You’re dumbfounded as you stand there in the middle of the busy garage, but the sweet sound of a familiar Dutch accent hollering for you has your legs moving before your brain catches up. 

In what seems like no time at all you’re back on the pitwall and the cars are lined up on the grid. After a mess of a formation lap the five lights finally go out and the race is underway. Max wastes no time in making his way through the field and you’re crossing your fingers that this rain on the radar goes around the track, but as the first few droplets fall you know this is about to get interesting. 

Max had made it up to second thanks to a combination of VSCs, other teams pit stops, and then by the grace of the racing gods a red flag. Which gave you guys a free pitstop and allowed for him to hold his P2 position. Things were looking up, but when the red flag lifted it seemed like the rain was only getting heavier. You knew at this point that this was the ultimate test of trust between Max and you. He was blindly following your orders and praying that what you were telling him wasn’t going to have him end up in the wall like so many others. 

“No red flag? This is getting dangerous, even for me.” 

“No red flag.” 

“What the hell?”

“I know. Anything can happen out there. Please be careful.” 

Your fingernails are non-existent at this point and you’re sure you’ve aged ten years from this race alone, but eventually Max overtakes Esteban and after more safety cars and yellow flags it’s down to the last lap. Max has got this and you can feel the happy tears starting to well up in your eyes. And when that checkered flag waves and he’s the first person to see it the whole pitwall and garage erupts into cheers. You would have thought he’d won the championship the way everyone was acting, but he was just reclaiming his spot at the top.

You can’t make your way over to the barricade fast enough and to see the pure joy on his face as he climbs out of the car makes your heart swell with happiness. It had been a long time coming this season and of course his first win in what seemed like forever was one hell of a drive. He comes running over to the team and when he spots you you’re the first person he’s hugging and practically pulling over the barricade. You can feel the happiness radiating off of him and you know that after this that he’s got the championship in the bag. 

The podium celebration was one for the books and to see him radiating up there and smiling down at you had you forgetting that you’re keeping this relationship a secret. But the one thing you know you won’t forget is how in love you felt and what you don’t realize is how bad it’s going to hurt. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The two week break before the triple header that ends the season has you spending some time at headquarters. It's just the usual end of the season stuff, but when an email pops up from HR wanting to schedule a meeting you’re a little concerned. You don’t mention anything to Max, figuring it’s just maybe something silly, but when you walk into the HR office you can sense that it’s not something small. 

“Y/N, so glad you could work this meeting into your schedule. I know you’re a busy woman so I appreciate it.” 

You sit down in one of the plush chairs in front of her desk and you try to calm yourself, if it was something so bad then why would she be so cheery towards you. “Of course. What did you need to discuss with me?” God, could you sound any more robotic? 

Her cheery demeanor turns more serious and when she clasps her hands together on her desk you know this is the moment that someone has found out about you and Max and you’re about to be canned.

“I don’t know how to really go about this, but I’m just going to come right out and say it. There was someone who got into contact with us and claimed to have pictures of you and Max engaging in less than professional activities after his win in Brazil.” 

You’re stunned for a moment and don’t know what to say, you’d been mentally preparing yourself for this moment, yet when you actually hear it you realize you didn’t actually believe that this was the reason you were being called in. You two had been so careful about maintaining professional boundaries while at work and out in public, but apparently not that weekend. 

“I can assure you that’s not the case with Max and I. Did they actually have the photos to back up their claims or is this all just hearsay?” You weren’t going to immediately give it up in case this was a test, but when she pulls out an envelope and slides it across the desk, you know it’s over. 

The envelope though it weighs virtually nothing – feels like the heaviest thing in the world.

When you finally work up the courage to open it you feel like you’re going to throw up. Your palms are sweaty, mouth is watering, and you feel light headed. There in your hands is the thing that is going to ruin your career– pictures of you and Max kissing outside his hotel room in Sao Paulo. How could you two have been so dumb? You aren’t sure if you want to cry or scream or throw up. 

“There’s no denying that it’s you in those photos, but I’m here to give you your options.” 

“Options?” Your eyes are still locked to the photos that are still being held in your shaky hand. 

“Listen. I admire what you’ve accomplished as a woman in a fully male dominated sport. I also know what happens to women who let things like this go public. Their hard work is diminished to becoming their partner's significant other or your hard work could only have been accomplished by selling your body in exchange for promotions. Luckily, I was the one who saw that email and I squashed it early enough to where we won’t have a scandal on our hands, but I need something from you in exchange.” 

You’re like a deer caught in headlights and there's so many things going through your brain that you can’t even communicate with her. 

“I get that this is overwhelming and the last thing you wanted to happen, but right now it’s only you, Max, and me that know about your relationship at Red Bull and we want it to stay that way. I also know that you’ve gotten offers from McLaren and Ferrari to work for them next year and you’ve ignored them.” How did she know about that? You hadn’t told a soul, not even your parents. You’d been mulling over it for some time. You didn’t want to leave Max and you had made a home at Red Bull, but McLaren especially had been so adamant about getting you to join the team. Your contract with Red Bull was only for a year, but you figured they’d resign you, now it doesn’t seem that way. “So, you’re only real option here if you want to continue to make a name for yourself in this world is to break things off with Max and accept one of those offers.” 

Your eyes snap up towards hers and you can feel your heart about ready to beat out of your chest. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but my higher ups will not want to deal with this scandal if you two continue to be careless. There will be no workplace romance, you will be gone and your hardwork will be for nothing. I followed your journey Y/N, you deserve to be out there racing with all of them, but life gave you lemons and you somehow made some damn good lemonade. Now don’t let them drink your lemonade.” 

She takes the photos and the envelope out of your hands and you hear her put them through the paper shredder. You feel like you’re frozen in time, like how you felt back in that meeting at Williams all those years ago. “I’m sure it’s nothing too serious between you two anyways. So this shouldn’t be a hard decision.” 

You’re brought back to reality and the words are slipping past your lips before you even realize it. “It’s not serious.” 

Yes it is. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The following days leading up to Vegas are a blur, you try to drown yourself in your work and Max can’t seem to leave you alone. It’s not that you don’t want to see him, it’s just that you’re waging a war in your mind right now and he’s at the root of it. 

You try to ignore the impending doom hanging over your head and actually enjoy this weekend. If Max finishes one place ahead of Lando this weekend he’s going to be a four time World’s Driver Champion. It’s the thing you guys have worked towards the whole season and to see it finally come together might be one of the highlights of your career. Vegas as always is a spectacle, the lights, the parties, the celebrities. It’s nothing like any of the European races or really any other race if you were being honest. 

When the sun sets and the track lights come on your mind only focuses on the task at hand and not the ultimate ultimatum you’ve been given. Qualifying goes somewhat to plan, Max didn’t manage to get pole but he does qualify ahead of Lando, which puts him in a great spot for tomorrow. He’s buzzing once he gets out of the car and when he finds you he can tell there’s something slightly off with you. Your energy isn’t necessarily what it usually is, but he figures maybe you’re cold and tired, so he doesn’t press the matter. 

You try to follow the script the following night, but the longer this thing festers in your brain the more you can’t keep on your poker face. 

“Twenty seconds till formation lap. Be smart and safe.” 

“Copy.” 

The race thankfully is pretty unremarkable. The main goal tonight was to just beat Lando, if you managed to score a win also that would be great, but the Championship was what you were going after tonight. 

And that’s just what Max does. 

The roars from the crowd and the team as Max crosses the finish line before Lando are deafening and you can feel the mixture of happy and sad tears streaming down your face. 

“Max! You’re a four time champion!” 

It’s nothing but pure glee back from him across the radio and you can’t help but laugh at the simply lovely through the tears. You managed to pull yourself together and accept the congrats from the rest of the pitwall and make your way through the crowd to see if you can find Max, but he’s already trying to find you. The crowd makes space for you to get to the barricade and when Max spots you there’s nothing but love in his eyes and it absolutely kills you. He pulls you up over the barricade and envelopes you in the most bone crushing hug you’ve ever experienced. There’s millions of cameras around so you have to be careful, but you savor the moment for as long as you can. “We did it!” Max exclaims and you can see the happy tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. 

“We did! I told you it was gonna happen, didn't I?” 

Seconds later you two get into a Rolls Royce with a cameraman that takes you along the track. You look over at him and he’s radiating with happiness and the ache in your chest only seems to grow. “I’m so proud of you Max.” That smile that you love so dearly beams back at you and you want to reach out and caress his cheek, but you know you can’t.  

“I couldn’t have done this without you. This championship is as much yours as it is mine. I hope you know that.” He goes to reach for your hand, but then remembers the cameraman and quickly snatches it away. Silence fills the luxurious car and you know Max is trying to take in being a four time back to back champion, while you’re coming to terms with the fact that not too long from now you’re going to not only break the man you love’s heart, but your own. 

That little girl with a dream is still inside of you, she’s with you every race weekend. You love Max more than you should, but you know if you continue on with this you’ll be the one losing your job and not him. It’s not fair, but you learned that life isn’t fair early on and you’ll be damned if you allow yourself to lose something else that you worked so hard to achieve. So if that means losing Max and moving teams then you guess that's how it has to be. Your Dad’s words replay in your head ‘it’ll pass’ and you know that nothing ever truly passes and that all you do is learn to live with it. The ache gets weaker over time, but it never truly goes away.

Even though you found a new dream to pursue you still have moments of truly missing racing. Like when you see the pure excitement and joy on Max’s face when he wins a race or when you see the adrenaline radiating off of him when he gets out of the car, you can’t ignore that ache in your chest. You can’t help but sometimes still think that should be you and you know you shouldn’t feel like that about the man you love, but you’ve never been able to live through him. He’s told you so many times that his wins and now this championship are as much yours as they are his because without you he wouldn’t be able to win. But those words do nothing to heal the teenage girl who got her dreams shattered just because she was a girl. You want to be able to have your dream and keep the man you love, but the career you chose doesn’t allow for you to have both. So for that little girl that still lives inside of you, you choose your dream. 

You attend all the team celebrations and end up getting soaked in champagne more times than you can count and you try to savor every last moment you have with Max and that includes going out and celebrating and coming back to his hotel room and celebrating some more. You savor it all fully knowing this is the last time you’re going to make love to him and kiss him and be held by him. And when he finally decides to fully bare his heart to you as you lay in his arms that night, you stick your knife right through it. 

“I love you.” 

You don’t answer him for a moment and you know this is how it’s got to happen. The longer you wait the harder it’s going to be. 

“It’ll pass.” 

Max isn’t sure he heard you right and he’s choking on his own words trying to form a coherent sentence. “What are you talking about schatje?” 

The tears are already falling down your cheeks and you know there is no coming back from this. “Please don’t call me that.” 

Max removes you from his grasp and sits up in bed. “Why not?” 

“It makes this harder than it needs to be.” 

He’s more than confused at the moment. His heart is racing and you’re crying and he doesn’t understand what is going on. He just won his fourth championship and finally told the woman of his dreams that he loves her and she replies with it’ll pass? “Y/N what the hell is going on? I love you and I know you love me back. I see it in your eyes when you talk to me or when you look at me. I hear it when you tell me to be safe as I line up on the grid. Am I a fool or something? Have I been blind this whole time?” 

“I love you more than you could imagine.” 

“Then why are you sobbing and telling me it’ll pass and asking me to not call you schatje?” In the back of his mind he knows, but he doesn’t want to come to terms with it. 

You just want to pull him back into your arms and kiss him and take back everything you’ve said so far, but you can’t and you wish this wasn’t your reality at the moment. “We can’t be together anymore Max.” 

He furrows his eyebrows at you, he really can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. “Are you being serious? Like are you being totally honest with me right now? Because we have something special here Y/N. I want to know why you’re throwing this away so easily.” 

You take a shaky deep breath and sit up next to him in the bed. “Someone got a picture of us kissing outside your hotel room in Brazil and Red Bull’s HR got wind of it. I got called in and she showed me the pictures. They squashed it before it got out, but Max, she basically told me that if we were to come out as a couple that I’d lose my job. I can’t afford to lose out another dream of mine Max. You don’t understand what it’s like.” 

He grabs your hand and the simple feeling of his skin on yours has more tears rolling down your cheeks. “Listen, I’d give away every championship every wi-” 

“You don’t mean that Max.” 

He’s up out of the bed at this point and you fear it’s only going to escalate from here.

“For fucks sake yes I do! I know we’ve made things a little complicated, but we can make it work. I mean I’m Max Ver-” 

“Exactly, you’re Max Verstappen. You won’t have to worry about losing your job over this. You’re F1’s golden boy, world famous Max Verstappen. It’ll be a little slap on the wrist for you, but for me in this boys club? It’ll be hell. I’ll be painted a whore, a girl whose only way to have gotten into this position was to have had sex with every guy I had to. You don’t know what it’s like to be one of the best drivers of your generation and not get to follow your childhood dreams simply because no one wants to take the chance on signing a female driver. I’ve had to give up one of my dreams and I’m not about to have to lose another one. So yes, I love you and it’s fucking killing me inside to do this, but sometimes we have to let go of the things we love. This horrible heart wrenching feel we are both experiencing will pass. I promise you. You deserve to be with someone who can give you their all.” 

He sits down at the end of the bed, your words finally sinking in and he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Like he's gone into the wall at full speed. “I don’t want anyone else but you Y/N.” You crawl to the end of the bed and wrap your arms around him and it’s at that moment you realize he’s crying too and the last little bit of your heart that’s intact finally breaks. “I’m not gonna be able to convince you to stay am I?” 

You press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder. “No.” You whisper. “I’m probably always gonna love you Max, but this is how it has to be.” 

His hand reaches up and grabs yours and a shaky breath escapes from him before he speaks. “Guess you finally made me cry didn’t you?” 

FIA Gala 2025 

The black gown you’ve chosen to wear tonight is stunning, but you’ve still not grown accustomed to wearing them. And you haven’t grown to like these fancy Galas either, but you’ve got to go to it though. You’re being honored for being the first female engineer to win back to back WDCs with two different drivers on two different teams . Your season with McLaren this year was nothing shy of spectacular and people actually started to recognize your talent.

You’ve been nursing this glass of champagne for some time now, listening to the team talk about the season while all you can think about is taking this dress off later. They get called over to a different table to talk with some sponsors and you take the alone time to scroll through your phone. You’re just about ready to go and see if there’s anything here other than champagne when you hear him speak from behind you and that all too familiar ache blooms in your chest.

oscar sighed, pressing the fob against the reader on the front door of his building. the same one you followed him to every tuesday and thursday afternoon after your shared class, a ritual that took place your second year. later on, you’d both hit the cafe on campus to study and do homework together, a nice little routine. the only routine that you really had in your otherwise chaotic, on campus life.

“i really wish i could, but i seriously can’t,” he said, holding the door open for you before you practically ran inside for warmth. winter was slowly approaching, and the cold settling in the air was its first sign of dominance.

“i’ll literally pay you.” you said, pressing the button for the third floor. the doors closed as oscar shook his head.

“i don’t want your money,” he let out a soft chuckle before the doors opened up to his floor, “like i said earlier, professor johnson is giving us projects and tests damn near every week. my econ professor just assigned us a group project that i have to get done in two weeks, on top of all of that, i have so much other work for my classes. i just seriously don’t have the time.”

the keys jingled into the lock to his on campus apartment, the door pushing open. you stepped inside the apartment that hadn’t changed much over the last 3 years you’ve known him. a very simple, boyish decor that was somehow still kept clean. you couldn’t recall a time where the apartment looked like it actually belonged to two college boys.

“but everyone else has said no already. you were my last hope,” you sighed, putting your bag down before flopping onto the couch.

“last hope for what? getting a guy to take you out? if so, that’s really, really sad.”

the british voice echoed through the room and instantly made you roll your eyes. lando norris, oscar’s incredibly obnoxious roommate. you had questioned oscar often on why he was friends with someone as annoying and so full of himself as lando, but whenever he was asked, oscar would simply just say ‘he’s not that bad’ and leave it at that.

however, you liked to disagree.

“what’re you doing here?”

“i live here,” he replied back, “shouldn’t i be asking you that question?”

“it’s tuesday,” you replied, and it looks could kill, he’d be dead in the kitchen instead of making whatever concoction you’re sure he’d try to convince you was good if you asked what it was.

“oh yeah, your little play date,” he said, mixing around the mystery contents in the bowl in his hand, “whatever it is, glad i’m out of it.”

“no one asked you to join us anyway.”

“it hasn’t even been five minutes,” oscar sighed, “both of you, just shut up.”

lando smirked at the expression on your face. one of complete dislike and pure hatred. you eyed him as he ate the granola and… is that an egg?

“i’m going to my room, you kids have fun with your... whatever it is you two do.”

you groaned once the brit was out of the room, “how do you live with him? genuinely asking.”

oscar shook his head, “maybe if you two tried to get along, you would see that he really isn’t that bad.”

“i think pigs would start flying if we ever got along.”

“a man can dream,” he sighed, “you ready? i’m in desperate need of caffeine, and maybe a cheese danish.”

“but i’m so comfortable right now,”

“i’ll buy your coffee if you get up.”

you grabbed your bag off the floor, springing up from the couch before making your way towards the front door, “okay, let’s go,”

“yeah, that’s what i thought.”

the sun had set by the time you made your way back to your own apartment. the warm shower you had took put your body at ease, relaxing your muscles after the long day that you had. you threw your towel into the laundry basket in the corner of the room as your phone lit up with a text message.

8889991034 heard you need help with a final project, and lucky for you, i have some free time on my hands 😌

you furrowed your eyebrows reading the text, typing back a response.

sorry, do i know you?

you don't have my number saved? honestly, not surprised, but damn.. i think we've hit a new low it's lando

yeah, absolutely NOT do me a favor, kiss my ass and lose my number 🙂

fine, i won’t help you then 🤷🏻‍♂️

first of all, jokes on you, i don't need your help. i've found someone else. second of all, don't act like you're trying to do me a solid. clearly there's something in it for you

you were lying. you hadn't found someone else, but the idea of having to spend time with lando was uninteresting in the slightest. you were almost positive that eating glass was more tempting then spending even just a minute with him.

i mean, yeah, the whole 'you scratch my back, i scratch yours' kinda thing look, i didn't want to go to oscar since he has enough on his plate, but i'm failing econ. i was hoping, since you're like a bookworm or whatever, you'd help tutor me if i helped you with your final project i mean, plus, who wouldn't want to paint this gorgeous face? 😏

you rolled your eyes, swiping from the text messages with lando before clicking on oscar's name on your screen. your fingers were moving a mile a minute, shaking your head as you pressed send.

sleep with one eye open, piastri.

your best friend was quick to read the message, sending back a reply that made you groan.

okay, but do you mind telling me what i did?

YOU GAVE LANDO MY NUMBER?!

uhm... 😅 coffee on me thursday?

"Fuck!!", you yelled for the third time, flopping your head down on your arms that laid on the bathroom counter.

You had no idea how this could happen, you were careful all the freaking time. You were on the pill, he wore condoms (most of the time anyway) but you always had at least one layer of protection to avoid this situation.

Your phone buzzed next to you and you lifted your head to check the message.

Lando: I’m done at work, I can be there in 20

You sunk your head back down and sighed.

Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang. You had hidden the pregnancy test behind your books, some place you were sure Lando would never look, and opened the door with your best impression of a smile.

"Hi", his smile brightened and he immediately reached his hands out for you, pulling you into a hot kiss, while throwing the door close behind him.

"How was work?", you tried to get some words between his kisses. "Mmh", he only muttered, clearly not being in the mood to talk when he came here for one thing only. You buried your finger in his curls. "Everything ready for the final triple header?", you asked as he moved his kisses down your neck. "Y/n?", he asked pulling back shortly, putting his index finger over your mouth. "Shh!"

Then he went back to sucking the delicate skin on your neck, pushing you backwards into your bedroom.

Lando pulled his own shirt over his head, making your hands instinctively wander from his curls to his broad tan shoulders. He shivered when he felt the touch of your cold fingers, hoisting you up in his arms to lay you down on the covers. His hands wandering under your oversized shirt, up to your breasts, tugging at it to signal you to lift your back so he could pull it over your head. And you let him.

"Am I imagining things or have they grown?", Lando giggled, sucking your right nipple while massaging your other breast.

Your heartbeat quickend for a hot second, hot blood shooting through your veins and up to your head but you managed to chuckle.

"C’mon, let’s get these off, I need to be inside of you", Lando muttered, tugging on your panties. You lifted your hips obediently, allowing him to strip the piece of clothing off you. His pointer finger running through your already wet folds, making you squirm.

"You’re so quiet tonight, love", he whispered, kissing over your breasts and stomach, down to your clit. A light poke of his tongue on your most sensitive part had you hissing. "Mmh, tell me, what’s on your pretty little mind", he hummed, taking lazy licks over your pussy, never dipping in tho.

I think I’m pregnant with your child, which will either ruin this arrangement or your career, didn’t seem like the most sensitive thing to say in this situation. So you settled for a headshake. "Nothing, just a bit tired."

"Maybe this will wake you up", he grinned, dipping his tongue between your folds. Your hands tugged at his curls, enjoying the feeling of his mouth basically sending you to heaven. It truly wasn’t fair HOW good this man was with his mouth. And hands. And dick.

He pulled your folds apart with two fingers, giving him a perfect view of your hole. "So perfect", he purred, collecting a little bit of spit, and spitting right into your opening. You moaned while your eyes rolled back.

Damn him for knowing your biggest weak spot.

Lando watched as your hole tightened around nothing. "Want my fingers, love?", he hummed between kisses on your inner thigh and you nodded frantically, slowly getting impatient with need.

"Words, my love, words", his deep voice sounded from between your thighs. "Yes, Lan, please!", you obeyed his request. "Already begging, I like it", Lando chuckled, inserting two fingers into your tight hole. You gasped at the stretch, not expecting him to go in with two. He felt you squeeze around him as he explored your insides, slowly hitting deeper.

"Lando", you squirmed, impatiently asking him to finally give you all of him. "Shhhh", he soothed you, beginning to scissor his fingers inside of you, causing you to let out a few high pitched moans.

"Lan, please, I need you!", you managed to gasp between moans. "You have me, baby", he pretended to not now what you were asking. "All of you- need all of you… need your dick inside", you begged, knowing yourself how pathetically you sounded as you said it but not caring in the slightest.

Lando chuckled and pushed his own pants down, his hard dick springing free and slapping against his stomach. You whined when he pulled his fingers out of you.

He grabbed his length and brought it down to your dripping cunt, sliding the tip through your folds before slowly dipping in.

The stretch hurt in the best way possible and you had to close your eyes while adjusting to the feeling of him pushing deeper into you.

"You good?", Lando groaned, holding himself back not to just push himself as deep as he can. You nodded, eyes still closed. "Keep going", you panted, feeling him slip into you completely, hitting your g-spot.

Both of you stayed still and breathed for a few seconds until you nodded. "Move, please", you whispered. Lando groaned starting to move his hips, pulling out a little only to thrust hard and deep into you.

Your hands clamped over his back as Lando kept slamming into you at a brutal pace. Your body rocked over your sheets, your legs wrapping around his hips.

He moved his hand between your bodies, circling his fingers over your clit to stimulate you even more.

Lando’s hand moved up to your lower stomach. "Can you feel how deep I am?", he muttered im your ear, pressing down on your stomach.

This pulled you back into reality. You pushed him back, panicking slightly over the fact of having his hand that close to where you were carrying a tiny part of him.

Lando stilled inside of you and pushed himself up on his arms. "You okay?", he asked with a frown.

You nodded hastily, trying to hide your expression. "Yeah, yeah, keep going please", you panted. "Just been having a few cramps lately, I think I’m getting my period."

You were in fact having cramps lately, tho it hadn’t been because of your period…

Lando scanned your face, sensing that you were hiding something.

But it wasn’t his place to ask. You were fuck buddies, nothing more. Meaningless sex, nothing more.

Still, he continued to thrust his hips, feeling you squeeze around him. Your moans got louder as you felt the knot in your lower stomach tightening. He could feel you were close, he knew your body better than his own, but he held himself back, wanting to make you finish before him.

His hand went back to rub circles on your clit, this being the added sensation you needed to push you over the edge. Your pussy tightened around him as you came, his name spilling in moans from your lips.

Lando continue to slam into you at a brutal pace, the overstimulation hitting you like a brick. A few more thrust before Lando pulled out and finished on your lower stomach, a deep moan leaving his lips.

He saw you eying his cum on your stomach, grinning at your expression. "What? We wouldn’t want a Max and Kelly situation, right?", he laughed, referring to the fact the couple had told Lando that they were pregnant last week.

You swallowed hard at his words, allowing him to grab some tissue and cleaning you up before you turned your back to him.

Lando was more confused than ever. He felt your mind wasn’t here, he felt when your mind was drifting off while he was hitting your deepest spots and now you turned away without a word. He couldn’t help but feel like she was mad at him, like he had said something he shouldn’t have.

"You okay?", he dared to ask, putting a comforting hand on your bare shoulder. "Yeah", you muttered. "But I think it’s best if you leave now."

That hit him like a brick.

Yes, this wasn’t anything serious, just a simple friends either benefits situation but still, you always at least stayed the night, especially in the recent months.

"Oh. Uh, sure. I gotta head back to Monaco to pack before Vegas", he made up a lie, trying to play it cool, trying to hide the hurt in his voice but you noticed nonetheless. Your heart stung as you nodded.

"I’ll text you tomorrow", Lando whispered. "Bye."

{~}

You couldn’t close one eye last night. The way Lando had sounded so hurt after you told him to leave, keeping you up the whole night. Oh, and then there obviously was that other thing.

At around 9am you had managed to pull yourself out of bed, deciding the best thing would be to go to a doctor to get clarity of the situation, maybe you were worrying without a reason to.

But sitting in the office of your doctor, you were sure. The ultrasound confirming your feeling.

"Congratulations, Miss", she smiled. "As far as I can see, you are 8 weeks along." You nodded numb, silently calculating back about eight weeks and landing on one specific weekend at the end of September, on one specific hot and sweaty night after the Singapore Grand Prix.

"I- can I ask a question?", you stuttered, the woman giving you a heartfelt smile. "Of course!" "I’m on the pill, and have been taking it without exception, every day at the same hour, so- I’m just- I am wondering how this-", you gestured around the room.

The doctor smiled. "No contraception is 100% effective. Different reasons for the pill maybe not working could be the temperature. You should always have the pills at about room temperature, anything above that might cancel out their effect", she explained.

Great, so now you’re telling me I’m pregnant because of the temperatures in Singapore…

You nodded and thanked the woman who gave you your next check up date at the reception.

Back outside you took a deep breath.

How on earth are you going to tell Lando about this?

{~}

"No, Max, I’m just saying she acted weird", Lando groaned, dropping his head on Max’s table. "I don’t know what to tell you, brother. Maybe it’s that time of the month", Max called out, saying the first phrase for the at least fifth time today.

Lando lifted his head, unimpressed with the last sentence. "Don’t you think I would’ve notice that?", he asked, rolling his eyes.

Max shrugged. "Maybe that whole friends with benefits situation isn’t how you should keep going", Lando’s best friend said, causing a deep silence between the pair. He met Lando’s eyes and could tell he was in deep thoughts about that statement.

"Maybe you need to figure out if this is anything more or not, and if not you should end it soon, because you cannot keep going on like this for the rest of your life. I’m sure it was fun, but these situations are never meant for over three months. And it’s been almost six", Max spoke into the silence.

Lando’s head hurt at his words. But deep down he knew Max was right. But the thing is, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want this to end, he didn’t want to let her go but at the same time he wasn’t sure if he was ready for a relationship.

His phone buzzed on the table next to him.

Y/n: We need to talk. Are you still in London?

A cold shower went down his back. Nothing ever good started with those words.

We need to talk.

He quickly grabbed his phone and texted you back.

"I’ll go over to hers, she wants to talk", he revealed to his best friend. Max’s eyes widden for a second but he tried to hide it behind a quick nod. "Uhm, okay. I’ll head to the airport, text me when you’re done."

Lando nodded, silently cursing the fact he actually had no time for this as his plane to Vegas was leaving in a few hours. He grabbed his car keys and closed the door behind him. The whole ride he kept thinking about your message.

We need to talk.

You were going to end this arrangement, he was sure of it. What he wasn’t sure of was if he wanted to end it as well.

Standing in front of your apartment door now, the nerves were running strong. He pressed the bell, waiting for a few seconds before she opened the door.

"Hi", you said. Lando’s heart dropped when there wasn’t your usual greeting smile. He cleared his throat. "Uh, hi."

"Thanks for coming over", you said, nodding over to the couch, gesturing him to sit down. "No problem, I was staying at Max’s", Lando replied. The air thick with tension. You sat down next to him, crossing your legs.

"Sooo, what did you want to talk about?", he dared to ask, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. You cleared your throat. "Uhm, so- I… I wanna start by saying, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan for this to happen and you have to believe that", you spoke.

Lando frowned, not quite knowing where you were going with this. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap. "I’m sure you’re not even ready for this, hell I don’t even know if I’m ready for this. But it happened and like I already said, I’m sorry."

"Y/n, what’s going on?", he asked, still confused. You leaned forward to the glass table. He only now noticed the small box on it. It was a simple white box, which you handed to him.

Carefully he pulled the lid off, his eyes going wide as he started taking in the content of the box. "I’m so sorry, Lando", you muttered, as he pulled out a copy of the ultrasound.

If the two red lines on the pregnancy test inside the box didn’t give it away, this sure did.

You sat in defeating silence, tension running high. The longer he didn’t say anything, the more you started to worry.

"Lan-", you whispered but he interrupted you, standing up hastily. "I’m sorry, Y/n!", he muttered, backing up a few steps.

Hurt shot through your body and tears started to form when he turned around without another word and hurried out of your apartment.

Looking for a safe place he shut the door to his car, sinking back into the leather seat and trying to control his breathing.

He quickly turned on the engine and drove out onto the street. He had to get to Max. He had to tell his best friend.

Looking back, he probably shouldn’t have been driving in that state of mind but apart from almost running a red light, he got through safely.

He slammed the car door and hurried inside the airport. His breathing slowly calming down but his pulse staying high all through security. Thank God, Max had already taken care of his baggage.

He hurried through the private part of the airport, catching the security guard at the glass door that led out to the planes.

"Sorry I’m late", he apologized to him who only nodded and led him towards his ride.

His best friend looked up from his seat, when Lando entered the plane, immediately catching on to the disturbed state he was in. "What hap-"

"Y/n is pregnant!"

Max quickly sat up straight. "She’s what?", he called, shock laced his voice. Lando nodded, handing him the ultrasound picture he had taken with him.

While Max inspected the blurry picture, Lando paced around the small space, hands in his hair, breathing quickening.

"O-okay, calm down a little first", Max tried to sooth his best friend who only started laughing hysterically. "Calm down?? How? Max, how am I supposed to be calm right now?", he called. "Y/n is pregnant, the woman I’ve been casually screwing around with is carrying my child. I have no idea if she even wants this baby, if this is going to ruin her chances of a career. If the story gets out, Zak will burn me alive. We’re not even in a relationship. I don’t even know her parents. God, what will they say? What will my parents say? What-" "Have you talked to her?", Max interrupted Lando’s rant.

His head shot up and he slowly shook it. He could tell Max was waiting for an explanation of what exactly happened so he sighed and started talking.

"We sat down on the couch, she started talking about how sorry she is, I had no clue what she was on about. Then she handed me this small box with the test and the picture." Max nodded. "Then?"

"I got up and ran out", Lando confessed, groaning at his own actions. "You got up and left? Lando, damn it! She’s probably racked with guilt right now. The father of her baby ran out on her after she told him she was pregnant. Lando, she isn’t only the woman you’ve been ‘casually screwing around with’ and we both know that. Especially recently or do you want to tell me, her dropping everything and coming to South America immediately after you asked her to, is casual? Or how you’ve spent more nights at hers than here whenever you are in England. Or how you smile whenever she is around, whenever you spot her in the crowd under the podium? And don’t deny that, I know that you do", he added the last part after seeing how Lando wanted to deny it.

He hung his head like a scolded puppy and nodded.

"What do I do now?", he whispered.

{~}

You sat on your couch. Frozen. He really got up and left. You felt numb, your hands instinctively going towards your stomach, placing them above the skin.

You felt helpless. Twenty-two, graduating in two months, no real life plan and pregnant while the father of your baby is a multimillion dollar celebrity who drives fast cars for a living and ran out on you almost as quickly.

Almost nine hours passed, which you had spent sitting on your couch and binge watching your favorite show until your phone buzzed.

Lando: I’m sorry. Just landed in Vegas, there are flight tickets attached. Please come.

You checked the times on the tickets. 9am tomorrow. You didn’t reply to his message, leaving him on read while standing up and grabbing a glass of water.

Part of you wanted to pack up and get enough sleep before the long flight, but another part of you was scared. What if he only wanted you to come to end it? Then again, the way he left earlier probably would’ve been the way he ended it. But then he texted. It gave your stupid heart a tiny bit of hope.

You let out a groan.

Approximately 18 hours later, you let out another groan as you pulled down your cabin bag and left the airplane. You knew Lando was most likely staying at the Hilton, closest to the track, so you called a taxi to take you there. Standing in the lobby, you wanted to slap yourself.

What were you doing here? You had no idea which room Lando was in, and the receptionist would sure as hell not give it up.

Your right hand went over your stomach, a habit you have been quickly developing since yesterday. There was no other option than to just wait here until a familiar face entered the building so you sat down on one of the cozy couches.

Forty minutes later you heard cheers outside the door and a few spots of papaya shirts glistening through the mass of people. A few team members you didn’t know passed through the lobby until you spotted Oscar. You jumped up.

"Oscar!", you called, hurrying over to him. The security guard took a step in front of the Mclaren driver, blocking you from getting to him. "Y/n? What are you doing here?", Oscar called confused, signaling the guard that it was okay. "I know her."

"Thanks. I gotta talk to Lando", you quickly told him. "He’ll be here in about five minutes, he’s probably still signing some stuff", the boy told you. You nodded

Oscar put his hand on your upper arm. "You okay?", he questioned, worry lacing his expression after taking in your state. "Y/n?", a voice, you knew all too well, asked behind you. You whipped around, spotting Lando a few meters behind you.

"Thanks, Oscar", you muttered towards the Australian again as Lando came closer. "You came. I didn’t know if you are going to. You didn’t reply to my message", Lando spoke carefully.

Oscar sensed that this was a conversation, he shouldn’t be part of, so he nodded. "I’ll see you guys tomorrow", he bid his goodbye.

"We should head upstairs", Lando said, nodding towards the crowd outside the glass doors. You nodded and turned around, feeling Lando’s hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the elevator. His other hand grabbed your small suitcase.

He opened the door to his suite, letting you in first. If you hadn’t spent a good amount of time in these suites it would’e taken your breath away. Huge king sized bed, a glass front with view over the city, a giant TV and a big balcony. Nevertheless the hot tub in the bathroom.

"Thanks for coming", he spoke, unsure what to say and gesture towards the bed. You sat down in silence, noticing the ultrasound picture lying on his nightstand. "I- uh-" "If you wanted to end it, you didn’t need to get me to Vegas to do that", you interrupted him. Shock spread on his face.

"No!", he quickly called. "No, I don’t. I wanted to say, I’m sorry for running out like that. I shouldn’t have."

He awaited your reaction but your face stayed neutral. "I should’ve stayed to talk to you about it. It’s not your fault, it always takes two. I don’t want to excuse my actions with what I am about to say but I feel like I need you to hear it. I was scared as shit, still am to be honest. A million things ran through my head, like what about your degree and career, what about the team, the media, our parents. What about us? And I didn’t handle it right, I know that and I’m sorry. Max… knocked some sense into me. Anyway, I want you to know, that if you want this baby and me, I’m all in. Or if you only want the baby and not me, I’m still going to be there for the two of you", Lando took a deep breath after he finished talking.

"I felt so scared and helpless when you ran out", you dared to speak for the first time. Lando slowly reached out to touch your thigh, relaxing little when you didn’t pull back. "I am so sorry for how I reacted", he whispered.

"I want this baby, Lando. I was so scared when I held that stupid positive test but when I saw her on the screen at the doctor’s office, I knew I wanted her. Your reaction scared me because I have no idea what I would do with my life with a baby in it while on my own", you told him. "I’m scared, too, Lando. Scared about my parents reaction and your world, but I know I would rather go through it with you by my side."

Lando cracked a smile. "And you will. I’m not letting go of you, or little us", he said, nodding towards your stomach. A small smile crept its way on your face and Lando closed the gap between you, taking you into his arms. He pressed a delicate kiss to the side of your head.

"Her?", he asked, referring to the fact you had talked about the baby as if it was a girl. "I have a feeling it’s going to be a girl", you chuckled.

Both of you giggled and you had a warmth spread around your body that told you, you were going to be okay.

The frost clung to the edges of your breath as you stepped out of your car, staring at the warm glow spilling from the windows of the house, sitting amongst the backdrop of a familiar city. Despite a new sense of distance, there was something comforting about being back here, among friends, with the garlands and wreaths hanging just as they had every December before you left.

Back then, everything felt simpler. Or maybe it was just the illusion of simplicity, the way the lights blurred the edges of things when the snow fell thick and heavy. That was before the break-up — the one that fractured your world and sent you spiraling into an impulsive decision. England had felt like a lifeline, a clean slate, though the flight across the Atlantic had been more of a desperate escape than a planned move.

Long Island held too many memories: the late-night drives down the shore, the coffee shop where you had your first date, and the little bookstore you stumbled into during a summer rainstorm. It wasn’t just the places; it was the people. Friends who knew too much. Strangers who seemed to know enough. It was suffocating, the way they all looked at you with pity when they thought you weren’t watching.

Being with Mat, Long Islands hockey star, meant living in a world where your private life was never truly private. Nearly four years together had built a life intertwined with his, marked by team gatherings, charity events, and being an active member of the Islanders community, where media and fans alike knew your name. Four years as Mat’s girlfriend had turned you into more than just yourself — you were part of a narrative. A love story people loved to romanticize, right up until it unraveled.

You’d known early on what you wanted — marriage, a family, a partner who shared your vision of the future. Mat loved you deeply, but when it came to tying the knot, he was hesitant. He didn’t know if he wanted to get married so soon, let alone at all. The conversations had been difficult. What started as tentative questions turned into heated arguments, and eventually, into something far heavier: the realization that this might be something the both of you couldn’t work past.

The break was supposed to be temporary, a chance to clear your heads and figure out if you could reconcile your hopes. But time apart didn’t bring clarity — it brought distance. Weeks turned into months, spent away from each other. You’d waited for a sign that Mat had changed his mind, that he’d decided your love was worth the risk of stepping into a future he couldn’t fully envision. But that moment never came.

Instead, you found yourself drifting further away, until one day, it hit you: you weren’t waiting anymore. Not for Mat. Not for the life you’d imagined together. The realization came with a sharp finality, one that sent you packing for England on a whim. Across the ocean, there was no history, no lingering reminders of what might’ve been — just a fresh start.

Yet, Long Island still had its pull. It wasn’t the lights or the traditions of the holidays that had rolled around, though they held their charm. It was your family, their persistent calls, their unspoken hope that a few weeks at home might be good for you. You told yourself it was just temporary, a chance to reconnect and recharge before returning to the quiet anonymity of England. But stepping off the plane, you felt the weight of nostalgia settling on your chest.

Your childhood home smelled of pine and cinnamon, the same way it always did this time of year. Your parents, ever nostalgic and sentimental, kept your bedroom a time capsule of your teen years, down to the posters peeling slightly at the corners and the worn-out bookshelf crammed with novels. It was strange, being back in this space as someone who had grown beyond it. The familiarity was both comforting and unsettling, like putting on a sweater that didn’t quite fit anymore.

A day after your arrival came the call from Sydney. Word had gotten around that you were back — you blamed your mother for that. Her voice had been warm, tinged with excitement, but she’d tread carefully, as if wary of unearthing old wounds.

“You have to come,” she’d said, the invitation carrying the same enthusiastic charm you remembered from the years you’d spent as her friend. “It’s a small thing, just a bunch of us catching up before the chaos of Christmas really hits.”

You’d hesitated, your instinct to protect the delicate emotional state you’d cobbled together over the past year. But Sydney had always had a way of wearing you down. “It won’t be weird,” she promised. “Mat was invited, but he didn’t RSVP. He’s so bad at answering invites, but honestly, he’s been MIA lately. He probably won’t show.”

Her words were meant to be reassuring, and at the time, they had been. But now, standing in front of their decorated idyllic Long Island mansion, with the weight of familiarity pressing in on you, you weren’t sure if you were ready for the possibility of seeing him. Sydney and Matt’s party had been a staple during the holidays when you and Mat were together, a gathering of friends, teammates, and their significant others. Coming here meant stepping back into a world that had once felt like home but now felt foreign.

You inhaled deeply, the crisp air stinging your lungs as you smoothed down your coat. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you approached the door, and the muffled hum of music and laughter grew louder. Sydney greeted you the moment you stepped inside, her arms pulling you into a warm hug.

“Look at you! You look amazing!” she exclaimed, stepping back to take you in. Her radiant smile was genuine, and for a moment, you let yourself relax. “I’m so glad you came.”

The house was just as you remembered it: garlands draped along the staircase, twinkling lights wound through every corner, and the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air. Familiar faces turned toward you, some smiling, others with expressions of surprise. There were hugs, quick exchanges of “it’s been too long,” and the inevitable question, “How’s England?”

You answered politely, sharing anecdotes about your new life while carefully steering clear of the topic everyone probably wanted to ask about: Mat. You didn’t need to look around the room to know he wasn’t there. You would’ve felt it — the almost magnetic pull he seemed to have, even when you tried to ignore it.

The night unfolded like a nostalgic montage, full of laughter and rekindled friendships. As you caught up with familiar faces, it felt like no time had passed, like no distance had been shoved between everything you once knew. Sydney was an impeccable hostess, darting between guests but always circling back to you, her voice brimming with excitement over every little update you shared. It was easy to forget, for a time, the reasons you’d hesitated to come. You caught up with old friends, indulged in festive treats, and even found yourself laughing at stories you hadn’t thought of in years.

Matt, Sydney’s husband and Mat’s teammate, joined you two in the living room, his hearty laugh filling the room as he recalled an embarrassing moment from a long-ago road trip. It felt good, almost normal. For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe you could exist in this space again, untethered from the weight of your shared history with Mat.

But then, a commotion from the front hall shattered the fragile peace.

Voices rose in unison, cheers and exclamations ringing out. “He’s here!” someone shouted, followed by a ripple of excitement that surged through the crowd. Your stomach tightened as the energy in the room shifted. Sydney exchanged a quick glance with you, her lips parting as if to say something, but before she could, you caught sight of him.

He stepped into view, his face unmistakable even amidst the crush of people greeting him. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others. His jawline was softer and less defined, the faintest trace of scruff along his chin. His hair, still dark and unruly, was shorter than he ever had it when you were together. And his eyes — those deep, expressive eyes — swept the room in a way that made your breath catch.

But he wasn’t alone.

A tall, striking blonde was tucked against his side, her arm looped through his. She was stunning, her lipstick a bold red that stood out against her crisp white trench coat. She leaned into him, smiling warmly at the people around them, and you didn’t need to hear the introductions to know who she was.

“Cindy,” Sydney whispered, confirming your silent dread. “They’ve been seeing each other for a while. She’s… nice.”

Nice. The word hit like a dull thud. You barely managed a nod, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. The warmth you’d felt earlier seemed to evaporate, replaced by a cold, sinking sensation in your chest.

“I need to get out of here,” you murmured, your voice tight as you turned toward Sydney.

She caught your arm gently, her grip firm but understanding. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Please, just stay. You don’t have to talk to him. Avoid him if you need to. But I’ve missed you so much, and the team’s not the same without you. You said we’d catch up, remember?”

Her words tugged at your determination. You couldn’t deny how much you’d missed Sydney, how much you’d missed being part of this circle that had once felt like family. And yet, staying felt like stepping on a live wire, every moment charged with the potential for pain.

You nodded, the weight of Sydney’s words pressing against your reluctance. You’d promised her you’d stay, and part of you knew leaving now would only make everything harder. Still, you resolved to avoid Mat at all costs, to slip through the cracks of the party like a ghost.

The first hour wasn’t difficult. The house was large, full of nooks to retreat to and people to talk to. Every time you felt Mat's presence encroaching into the room, you quietly slipped away. When he moved to the kitchen, you migrated to the living room. When he lingered by the staircase, you found solace near the fireplace.

You clung to the edges of the room, weaving in and out of conversations just enough to seem engaged, but always slipping away before he got too close. Each time you caught a glimpse of him, your stomach twisted. He looked good — better than you remembered. It was unfair, the way time had seemed to sharpen his features, like it had been kinder to him than it had to you.

And then there was Cindy. She wasn’t just stunning — she was confident, poised, with a natural ease that made her the center of attention without trying. Watching her was like witnessing a carefully crafted version of the life you’d once lived, a life that had moved on without you.

You couldn’t stay in one place for too long. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too warm and stifling despite the winter chill outside. You moved from room to room, dodging conversations that veered too close to the past, smiling politely but never letting your guard down.

But then, the spaces began to run out. The house wasn’t as big as it felt at first, and the guests were everywhere. You’d exhausted the kitchen, the den, and even the hallway by the coat rack. Finally, with nowhere else to go, you found yourself slipping out onto the porch, the cold biting into your skin through the thick knit sweater you wore.

The porch was quiet, the muffled sounds of the party fading behind the door. Snow was falling softly now, delicate flakes catching in your hair and melting against your skin. You leaned against the railing, your breath forming little clouds in the air, and tried to focus on the stillness of the night. The cold seeped into your bones, but it was a welcome contrast to the heat and tension inside.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring out at the blanket of snow covering the lawn. Long enough for your fingers to go numb and your cheeks to sting. The quiet was a balm, but it wasn’t enough to dull the ache inside you.

The sound of the door sliding open softly pulled you from the brief daydream that consumed you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The hesitant shuffle of shoes against snow got closer, then his voice cut through the silence, quieter than usual.

“Hey.” Mat spoke.

You froze at the sound of his voice, the word hanging in the air like a weight you couldn’t quite lift. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your chest. You didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to face him yet, but your body betrayed you, slowly pivoting to see him standing just a few steps away.

Up close, the changes in Mat’s appearance became much more noticeable. You could see just how different he looked — older, in a way. The sharp edges of his jaw had softened, and his hair, though shorter, still had that messy quality that made you want to run your fingers through it. But what hit you hardest was the look on his face — uncertainty, maybe guilt, but there was something else there too, something you couldn’t place.

He stood there for a moment, unsure whether to close the distance or wait for you to speak. You felt the awkward tension between you both, thick enough to cut. He didn’t know what to say to you. You didn’t know what to say to him.

“Hi,” you finally said, the word tasting strange on your tongue. It felt like you were saying it to someone you barely knew anymore. The woman he’d left behind was still standing there, but the version of her that had once known him inside and out was now a stranger to herself, too.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting away from yours, as though he didn’t want to intrude on your space, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave.

You nodded, your throat tightening. “It’s fine. Just needed some air,” you replied, your voice calm, though you were sure it didn’t match the chaos spinning inside you.

Another long pause passed, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. He shifted on his feet, as if trying to find the right words. He didn’t speak again, and you weren’t sure what you were waiting for — for him to apologize? For him to explain? For him to say something that would make sense of all the things that had happened?

Then, just as you thought the silence was becoming unbearable, the door opened again. Cindy slipped out onto the porch, her arms wrapping around her torso tightly. “Hey, there you are.” she said, her voice warm and sweet.

Mat’s face shifted, a moment of hesitation passing through his eyes. He turned to Cindy, who was standing there with a bright, welcoming smile, unaware of the tension that had already settled in. Mat hesitated for a beat, as if he was trying to find the right words to introduce you, the person who had once meant everything to him, to the woman who now filled that space.

“Cindy, this is y/n,” he said, his voice tight, “y/n… this is Cindy, my…”

Mat’s voice trailed off as his gaze got stuck on you. You could see the thoughts rushing through his mind as the words got trapped in his throat. Cindy stepped forward, finishing his sentence for him with a laugh, her tone light and playful. “His fiancée!” she said, her smile gleaming bright in the porch lights. “I think Mat is still getting used to the title!”

Fiancée… Fiancée… Fiancée.

The word fiancée echoed in your mind, drowning out everything else. It was like a punch to the gut, a slap of cold reality that stung with more force than the night air ever could. The way Cindy smiled, the way Mat looked at her — there was no mistaking it. This was real. He was engaged. To her.

You tried to breathe, but the air felt heavier now, thick with a weight that pressed against your chest. You’d never imagined him moving on so quickly, not after everything that had happened, not after the promises and hopes you’d once shared. You had walked away, yes, but you had done so believing, in some quiet part of yourself, that maybe, just maybe, the door wasn’t completely closed. Maybe Mat would change his mind, maybe time apart would make him see things differently. But standing here, in front of him, in front of Cindy, it all came crashing down.

The confusion tangled with something else, something darker. Anger. It flared up inside you, hot and sharp, burning through the numbness you’d carefully cultivated. Mat had told you he didn’t want to get married. He had said it over and over again — he wasn’t ready, and didn’t think he ever would be, not seeing marriage in the future he’d envisioned. And you had believed him. You had let go of a future with him, moved halfway across the world to escape it, to build something new. But now here he was, with a woman he was so obviously ready to commit to, ready to marry.

How could he?

You could feel the bitterness crawling up your throat, but you swallowed it back, offering a tight smile to Cindy as she stepped closer, oblivious to the storm raging inside you. Mat’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his unease palpable. You wondered if he saw it — the hurt — but didn’t know how to address it.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, your voice steady but strained. The words tasted like ash, each syllable carrying the weight of everything unspoken, everything that had been left behind. “And, uh, congratulations.”

Cindy beamed, clearly unaware of the complex undercurrents swirling between you and Mat. “Thank you! It’s been a whirlwind, but in the best way.” Her fingers brushed against Mat’s arm, the small gesture so natural and intimate it made your stomach churn.

“I can imagine,” you managed to say, gripping the railing a little tighter. The air around you felt suffocating now, despite the cold. You needed an exit, a reason to leave before the fragile façade you’d constructed cracked.

Cindy pressed on as she mistook your smile for interest. “Yeah, who would’ve thought that a girl from Arizona would wind up getting married to a hockey player!” she laughed, her arm hooking around Mat’s. “I mean, it was such a funny coincidence — I was out with some friends, and Mat was there on a road trip with the team. We just hit it off right away.” She laughed lightly, oblivious to the way your grip on the railing tightened. “It’s crazy to think that was just two years ago now. Time flies, doesn’t it?”

The words hit you like a sucker punch. Two years ago? You did the mental math, your mind immediately circling back to the timeline. Arizona. A road trip with the team. Two years ago. It aligned too perfectly with the so-called “break” you and Mat had taken — the time you were supposed to spend figuring things out, deciding if your future together was salvageable.

Your heart pounded as the pieces clicked into place. He hadn’t just moved on; he’d started over with Cindy while you were still clinging to the hope of reconciliation. The realization stung, bitter and raw. While you had agonized over every phone call he didn’t make, every moment of silence that stretched too long, he’d been out meeting someone new.

Mat’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression tight, as if he knew exactly what you were piecing together. For the first time, Cindy’s presence didn’t seem to ground him. Instead, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

“That’s… great,” you said, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. Your voice felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. “I’m glad you two found each other.”

Cindy beamed again, utterly unaware of the turmoil behind your words. “Thanks! I mean, it’s wild, right? Sometimes things just fall into place when you least expect them to.” She leaned into Mat, who gave her a small, absent smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Cindy tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, how do you two know each other? I thought I knew all of Mat’s friends, but then again he knows so many people.”

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing would come out. What should you even say? Tell the truth and say you and Mat used to date? Tell her that you were so head over heels for him, that you wanted to marry him, before he broke your heart and drove you from the country? Or should you lie, and just tell her you two don’t really know each other at all? After all, that wouldn’t be so far from the truth. You weren’t sure you really knew him at all.

But before you could come up with something to say, whether it was a lie or the truth, Mat spoke up, his voice tight but composed. “Y/n’s an old friend.”

Old friend. The phrase hung in the air, feeling both false and insulting. Once, you’d been everything to him, and now you were reduced to a generic label that erased the depth of your shared history. You bit back a sharp retort, unwilling to unravel in front of Cindy, who smiled, oblivious to the tension.

“That’s lovely!” Cindy said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s always nice to meet those who knew Mat before I did.”

You offered a faint smile, trying not to let her words sting. She wasn’t at fault. She was simply living in a story that had once been yours.

Mat shifted uncomfortably beside her, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. His eyes flickered toward you again, but you refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on Cindy’s eager expression.

“Well,” Cindy said after a beat, sensing the awkward tension but clearly unsure of its source. “I should probably get back inside before I freeze out here.” Cindy offered you another warm smile before turning back to Mat. “Come on, babe,” she said softly, tugging at his arm.

“I’ll be in soon,” Mat said, his voice quieter now. Cindy hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him, before nodding.

“It was really nice meeting you, y/n.” She smiled warmly, then leaned up to press a quick kiss to Mat’s cheek before disappearing back into the house, leaving the two of you alone on the porch.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of music and laughter drifting through the closed door. Mat stayed where he was, a few steps away, his hands still shoved in his pockets as he stared at the ground. You didn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for him to speak.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, surprise.”

Mat flinched at your tone, his jaw clenching as he looked up at you. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

“Like what?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “Awkward? Painful? Completely humiliating? Which part, Mat?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan on this happening tonight. I—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

You folded your arms across your chest, trying to shield yourself from the biting cold — or maybe from him. “Didn’t know how to tell me what, Mat? That you’re engaged? That you’ve managed to figure out what you want after telling me for years that you didn’t want marriage? Or is it just that you didn’t want it with me?”

His face tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, but no words came. The silence between you stretched unbearably.

“You could’ve told me,” you pressed, the anger bubbling beneath your skin now impossible to hold back. “You could’ve been honest. About her. About what you wanted. But instead, you let me walk away thinking…” You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. “Thinking it was me. That I was asking for too much. That I didn’t matter enough for you to even try.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mat said finally, his voice low. “I didn’t know what I wanted back then. I was confused.”

“Confused?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly as you turned to fully face him. “You told me — over and over — that marriage wasn’t something you ever wanted. You were so certain, Mat. I believed you. I left because I thought I was respecting what you needed, and now…” You gestured toward the house, toward the life he’d built without you. “Now you’re engaged to someone else.”

Mat rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “Things… changed,” he muttered, almost apologetically.

You let out a hollow laugh, blinking back the sting of tears. “Changed? Just like that? Or was it never about marriage? Was it just that you didn’t want to marry me?”

The question hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, cutting through the tension like a blade. Mat’s head shot up at your words, his eyes wide with something like guilt — or was it regret? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his silence more damning than anything he could have said.

“That’s what I thought,” you said softly, the weight of his non-answer crushing you. You turned back toward the railing, gripping it tightly as you fought to steady your breathing.

“It wasn’t about you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I loved you — God, I loved you so much. But back then, I didn’t know if I could be the person you needed me to be. I didn’t know if I could… give you everything you wanted.”

You swallowed hard, your breath fogging in the cold night air as you turned back to face him. “But you figured it out for her,” you said quietly, the words cutting both ways. “You found a way to be that person for Cindy.”

Mat didn’t respond, and the silence that followed felt like the final nail in the coffin. You nodded to yourself, the last flicker of hope extinguishing in your chest.

“I need to leave,” you said abruptly, stepping away from the railing.

“Wait,” Mat said quickly, reaching out as if to stop you, but you took a step back, keeping the distance between you.

“I’m happy for you, Mat,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Really, I am. You and Cindy… you deserve to be happy.” You took a shaky breath, your lips trembling as you forced a small, sad smile. “But I can’t do this. I can’t stand here and pretend this doesn’t hurt. Because it does. It hurts like hell.”

Mat’s hand dropped back to his side, his face a mix of regret and helplessness. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said softly.

“I know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you did.”

You turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. As you reached the door, you paused for a moment, glancing back over your shoulder. Mat was still standing there, his shoulders slumped, his breath visible in the cold air. For a brief moment, you thought he might say something — anything — to stop you. But he didn’t.

With a final, resolute step, you slipped back into the warmth of the house, the sound of laughter and music washing over you like a distant echo. You grabbed your coat, said a quick goodbye to Sydney, and left before anyone could stop you.

Outside, the snow had started to fall more heavily, covering the world in a soft, quiet blanket. You stood by your car for a moment, staring up at the dark sky, the cold air stinging your cheeks. It was over.

"Another glass?" he offered you, getting up to fill your glass of wine.

"I don't know if I should," you replied, laughing softly, but you accepted anyway.

The conversation became more intimate, the topics more personal. They talked about the moments they had shared, how they had changed on time. At some point, Max leaned towards you, his expression more serious than usual.

"Have you ever wondered...?" he began, but left the phrase in the air.

"What?" you asked, feeling how your heart was racing.

He shook his head, as if he had decided not to say it. But his eyes told you something he couldn't put into words. Then it happened. A moment of courage - or madness - led you to close the distance between the two. The kiss was unexpected, intense, full of years of repressed feelings that finally found a way out.

The night continued between caresses and whispers, the outside world disappearing completely. For a few hours, everything felt like it was fine, as if this was what both had been waiting for without knowing it.

But the next morning, reality struck like a bucket of cold water. Max was in the kitchen when you woke up, his movements tense, avoiding your gaze. They barely spoke, an uncomfortable silence that looked nothing like the dynamics they had had for years.

"Last night..." he began, scratching the back of his neck, "it was... unexpected.

"Yes, it was," you admitted, pretending to feel a tranquility that you didn't feel.

They both knew that something had changed, something they couldn't ignore, but they didn't know how to handle it either. So, slowly, they began to move away. Messages that were previously constant became sporadic, and then non-existent. The calls stopped. His absence hurt, but you didn't know what to do about it.

Weeks later, while trying to move on with your life, you realized that something was not right. Morning sickness, constant fatigue, and the absence of your period led you to buy a pregnancy test at the pharmacy, your hands shaking while you waited for the result.

Two lines. Positive.

Your mind was filled with questions, fears and doubts, but one thing was clear: the baby was Max's. And although your first instinct was to call him, reason prevailed. Max had been in a serious relationship with Kelly for a while, a woman who had a little daughter whom he had accepted as his own. You knew he was committed to that life, and you couldn't ruin it all.

You decided to keep quiet. You would raise your baby alone, without complicating anyone else's life. But deep down, you knew that this secret would not be easy to carry. The life you had shared with Max felt like a distant memory, a "and if" that would never have a response.

You refused to think too much about what it implied. The more you thought about it, the more you sank into a whirlwind of contradictory emotions: fear, sadness, pride, and a kind of determination that you didn't know you had. You knew that your life would change drastically, but you also knew that you didn't want Max to be part of this new chapter. Not because you didn't trust him, but because his life was already defined, and you didn't want to be the person who broke it to pieces.

The decision was clear to you: you needed space, distance, something that would help you start again without Max's shadow and his responsibilities. So, little by little, you began to prepare your escape.

First, you stopped frequenting the places where you knew you might meet him. You changed your phone number, blocked almost all mutual friends on your social networks and pretended that you needed "time for yourself" when someone asked about your disappearance. Weeks passed, and your pregnancy began to be harder to hide. You looked in the mirror every morning, noticing the changes in your body and reminding yourself why you were doing it.

One day, after a visit to the doctor, you sat in your car and made the final decision. You looked at the familiar streets around you, the places that had always been your home, and you knew it was time to leave them behind.

London. You had always wanted to live there, and now it seemed like the perfect opportunity to start over. Without telling anyone but your boss, you submitted your resignation, packed your things and booked a plane ticket. The plan was simple: you would settle in an apartment, work in your family's company as they had wanted so long, and raise your baby away from any possibility of Max discovering the truth.

When you arrived in London, the city greeted you with a cold and humid air, typical of early autumn. You moved to an apartment in a quiet area, with enough cafes and parks nearby to keep you busy.

Then you had disappeared from the digital radar for months. Your social networks, which used to be full of spontaneous photos, updates and everyday moments, had been left in absolute silence. You hadn't posted anything for a long time, and although you kept looking from time to time, reviewing the stories and publications of others, you made sure not to leave any traces of your presence. It was as if you had become a ghost that I watched from a distance.

People began to notice your absence. You knew it because, when reviewing your old posts, you found endless comments asking you where you were. "Everything okay?", "We miss you", "Why haven't you uploaded anything?" some said. Others simply left emojis, hearts, or words of support. But even when nostalgia for your previous life invaded you, you still didn't respond.

It wasn't exactly fear, but a feeling of wanting to protect this very personal stage. The pregnancy had been a roller coaster of emotions: illusion, uncertainty, and moments of loneliness that you fought remembering why you were doing this. Your little world in London had become your refuge, and sharing it with the rest of the world still didn't seem necessary to you.

But everything changed when the month came in which you decided to know the gender of your baby. The doctor's appointment was marked on your calendar, and you couldn't deny that you were excited and a little nervous. It was a strange feeling, as if knowing the gender made everything even more real, as if the baby that grew inside you began to take the form of a person you would soon meet.

The doctor's room was lit with a warm light, and the constant sound of the monitor filled the air. You lay back on the stretcher, taking a deep breath while the doctor applied the cold gel to your belly. The screen in front of you showed the blurred silhouette of your baby, and you felt that knot in your chest that always invaded you when you saw it.

"Do you want to know the gender?" the doctor asked, with a smile.

"Yes, please," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

The moment they told you was unforgettable. A child. A child who would soon become the center of your world. You smiled as tears accumulated in your eyes. For an instant, all the doubts, fears and difficult decisions vanished, replaced by pure and simple happiness.

That same afternoon, while you were walking back to your apartment, you decided it was time. For the first time in months, you felt the impulse to share this part of your life with others. It wasn't out of pressure, or to please anyone, but because you wanted to celebrate this little miracle you were waiting for.

You took a couple of pictures, wearing a white dress that highlighted your belly. The brightness of your skin, the pride in your eyes and the shy smile on your face were more than evident. You weren't the type to plan great revelations, but you knew you wanted to do something special.

You sat on the edge of your bed, carefully selecting the images and writing a description that reflected how you felt:

"After months of silence, I finally want to share the reason why my world changed. I'm expecting a beautiful baby, a boy who will arrive soon to light up my life. I can't explain in words the joy and love I feel knowing that I will be a mom. Thank you to everyone who has been asking about me and worrying in silence. I'm fine, better than I've been in a long time. 💙”

You took a breath before publishing it, hesitating for a moment. What would happen if this reached Max's ears? You knew I would do it but you pushed those thoughts away from your mind and pressed the publish button.

Within minutes, notifications began to flood your phone. Comments of surprise, love and congratulations appeared one after another. "Congratulations!", "You're going to be an amazing mom!", "A child? What a thrill!". The answer was overwhelming, and as you read them, you felt a warmth that enveloped you.

You allowed yoursellelless to smile again. For the first time in a long time, you let the world know a part of your new reality.

You didn't expect all that to go so far. After posting the news on your social networks, you felt a mixture of relief and vulnerability. You had shared your truth with the world, but you couldn't control who could see it, how they would react or what they would say behind your back.

Then Max's message arrived.

It was almost ten o'clock at night and you were on your couch, with your legs crossed and a bowl of ice cream in your hands, responding to the hundreds of comments that kept coming. Your phone vibrated, and when you looked at the notification, you felt how the air left your lungs.

It was a message from Max.

"Congratulations to you and the baby's father. I hope you are well. Really, I'm glad to know that you're happy."

You were frozen, reading and rereading the message as if you were unable to process it. How did he get your number? Who had told him? Why had I decided to write to you after so long? All these questions crowded into your mind, but none had an immediate answer.

You didn't know what to do. The most instinctive part of you wanted to ignore it, as if you had never seen the message. But another part, more emotional, I knew that would not be fair. He had been kind, had respected the distance, and had not hinted at anything that could complicate things.

You put the phone aside, squeezing your eyes as you took a deep breath. You had to answer, but what to say? You couldn't reveal the truth, that was clear. But you didn't want to sound cold or distant either. So you took your time, thinking about every word, every semicomon, before writing:

"Thank you, Max. I'm fine and so is the baby. I'm glad to hear from you."

You hit "send" before you could regret it, your heart beating hard while you waited, not knowing if he would answer. Every vibration of your phone made you jump, but the minutes passed, then the hours, and nothing else arrived.

Silence was a relief and torture at the same time. On the one hand, you were grateful that he didn't insist, that he didn't ask questions that you couldn't or didn't want to answer. But on the other hand, you wondered what he would be thinking, if he had really believed your version.

That night, before going to sleep, you thought about his message over and over again. It was so typical of Max: courteous, respectful, but letting out that closeness that had always existed between you. You knew him well enough to know that he must be curious, even if he didn't say it.

Max didn't write to you again. There were no more messages, calls or contact attempts. And although one part of you hoped it wasn't like that, another, more practical, deeply thanked him. The conversation had been at a neutral point, without complications or confrontations, exactly as you wanted.

The days passed with a strange tranquility. Since Max's message, you had not heard from him again, and life in London was on course. Your daily routines had become a kind of comfort: working from home, walking through nearby parks and mentally preparing for the arrival of your baby. But that calm was suddenly broken when your family called you with news that you did not expect.

You were lying on the couch, reviewing a list of things for the baby, when your mother called you. Her voice sounded excited, almost as if she was holding herst out so as not to scream with joy.

"We have something to tell you," he said, without even saying hello first.

"What happened?" you asked, anticipating that something important was coming.

“Your father and I have decided to go back to Monaco. The company is doing better than ever, and we believe it is the perfect time to return home. We've been away too long.”

The news hit you like a gust of cold air. Monaco Your lifelong home, the place where you had grown up, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you. But also the place you had left behind when you moved to London, in search of a new beginning.

"When do you plan to move?" you asked, trying to sound calmer than you felt.

"In a few weeks." We want you to come with us, of course. It's time for us to get back together, especially now that you're expecting a baby.

The proposal left you silent. You knew that your mother didn't say it with bad intentions; she was excited about the idea of having her first grandson around. But for you, the decision was not so simple. London had become your refuge, the place where you had managed to rebuild your life away from everything that tied you to your past. Returning would mean facing everything you had been avoiding, starting with Max.

Monaco was not a place where you could easily hide. Your family was well known, with important connections in the business and social circles of the city. If you came back, everyone would be behind you with questions. And even worse, there was a high probability that you would cross paths with Max during the Formula 1 break.

The following days were a storm of thoughts and emotions. On the one hand, the idea of being alone in London terrified you. With the baby on the way, you knew you would need support, and your family had always been by your side in important moments. But on the other hand, returning to Monaco meant opening a door that you had closed with so much effort.

You sat in front of the window of your small apartment one night, looking at the city lights while reflecting. You were mature enough not to worry about what people would say, but facing Max was something else. You knew each other, and you knew that his presence had an effect on you that you had never been able to fully control.

Finally, after days of thinking and rethinking, you made a decision.

You would return to Monaco.

It wouldn't be easy, but you were tired of living in fear. You didn't want your child to be born in a place where you felt isolated and vulnerable. Your family was important to you, and you knew you could trust them to support you, even if they didn't fully understand why you had made certain decisions.

The next day, you called your mother to give her the news.

"I'm going back with you," you said, your voice firm but with a touch of nervousness.

She couldn't hide her joy. He started talking about the plans for the trip, how they would organize everything so that you were comfortable. His enthusiasm made you smile, although a part of you was still restless.

The weeks passed in the blink of an eye. You packed your things, silently saying goodbye to London and the small shelter you had built there. When the day of your departure came, you looked for the last time at the streets that had become your temporary home, promising yourself that, whatever happens in Monaco, you would be strong.

The plane landed in Monaco at sunset, and the view of the city filled you with a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness. It was as if a part of you had never really left. But you knew the real test was yet to come. Max was there, somewhere, and sooner or later, you would have to face him.

It didn't take long for that, "The event" as your family used to say was something typical: a great meeting in one of the most exclusive lounges in Monaco, where the closest families could live together. Your parents had organized it as a kind of welcome to resume old connections after returning to the city. From the invitation, you knew that it would be inevitable to cross paths with people from the past, but you didn't think too much about who might be. There were so many names, so many familiar faces, that you assumed you could stay on the sidelines without drawing too much attention.

You dressed up with care that night, choosing a simple white dress that enhanced your figure. The fabric flowed gently over your growing belly, marking it delicately without being too flashy. You left your hair loose, with natural waves, and applied light makeup. You wanted to see yourself well, but without trying too hard.

When we arrived at the event, the room was already full. Laughter and conversations filled the air, and the children ran back and forth while the adults met in small groups. There was something familiar in the atmosphere, something that transported you to the years when you had also been a girl in those meetings. It was at one of these parties where you met Max.

Years ago...

You were a restless girl, full of curiosity and not afraid to talk to anyone, even if they were older than you. Max, on the other hand, was more reserved, even a little grumpy for his age. However, somehow, you found a way to break his serious facade. With your energetic personality, you managed to let my guard down. To everyone's surprise, he, who always seemed uncomfortable in these meetings, got along with you from the beginning. In those days, both became inseparable, exploring together every corner of these events while the adults chatted.

Returning to the present...

That memory made you smile a little, but it also made you feel a knot in your stomach. You tried to shake the nostalgia and focus on the night. You walked among the guests, chatting with those who approached you, most of them congratulating you on the pregnancy. Although you felt out of place, you tried to stay calm.

That's when you saw it.

Max was standing near one of the tables, dressed in a dark suit that sat him spotlessly. He was accompanied by Kelly, and her little daughter. The air seemed to disappear from your lungs instantly.

He also saw you.

For a second, your eyes met, and his expression changed. He seemed surprised, maybe even uncomfortable, but he immediately regained his composure. You, on the other hand, felt that your heart was beating so hard that it was hard for you to breathe. Instinctively, you turned on your heels, looking for a way out. You weren't ready to face him, even less with Kelly by his side.

But Max was faster.

Before you could disappear into the crowd, he and Kelly approached you. His every step made the panic inside you increase. You wanted to run, excuse yourself, anything to avoid that moment, but there was no escape.

"Hey!" Max said, with a smile that seemed contained, as if he was also dealing with something internal. His voice was warm, as if the months of silence between you had not existed. He pointed at Kelly and said—: “This is Kelly, my girlfriend.”

Kelly smiled politely and held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said. Max has told me that you two have been friends since you were little.

Your mind was going a thousand per hour, but you managed to force a smile and shake his hand.

"Yes, that's right. For... many years” you replied, striving to keep your voice stable.

Max, as if he wanted to relieve the tension, added with a more relaxed smile:

"It's amazing to see you here, and congratulations again, both for you and for the baby's father.”

The words "baby's father" echoed in your mind like an echo. Kelly also congratulated you, and although there was nothing in his words that sounded malicious, you felt that your whole body tensed up.

"Thank you," you managed to say, nodding with a shy smile.

You couldn't take it anymore. You made up the first excuse you could think of.

"Excuse me, I need to go get something to drink." It has been a pleasure to see you.

Before they could say anything else, you walked away with quick steps, feeling the eyes of both of them fixed on your back. You didn't stop until you were far away, in a corner of the living room where you could catch your breath.

Your heart kept beating hard, and your hands were shaking. You had managed to get out of that conversation, but the meeting had removed all the emotions you had tried to bury. Max was there, and although you hadn't admitted it out loud, seeing him had made everything feel real again.

The night continued as a blur of superficial conversations and forced laughter. Every time Max and his little family appeared in your line of sight, you found a way to dodge them, pretending that someone else required your attention. You kept busy talking to acquaintances, checking your phone and serving yourself lemon water in an attempt to distract yourself. All in vain. His presence weighed like a cloud on you, a constant that you could not ignore even if you tried.

As soon as you finished pretending to be interested in a business conversation, you decided you needed a break. The bustle of the living room began to suffocate you, and the fresh air outside seemed like the perfect solution. You walked towards the gardens, feeling the relief of the silence as you left the music and laughter behind.

The sky of Monaco was clear, and the city lights were reflected in the nearby water. You recharged against a railing, closing your eyes and letting the breeze caress your face. For a moment, the world seemed calmer, less complicated.

Until you heard his voice behind you.

"It's not very typical of you to escape from the party."

You turned quickly, with your heart racing. Max was there, with his hands in his pockets and an expression that you didn't know how to interpret. He seemed relaxed, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel that he had come with a purpose.

"I didn't escape. I just needed a little air” you replied, trying to sound casual while your hands fiddled with the railing.

Max approached, leaving enough space between you, but enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.

"It was nice to see you today. I didn't expect to find you here," he said, his words loaded with something you couldn't define.

"I say the same," you replied, looking at the horizon instead of him.

There was an awkward silence before he spoke again.

"Your family must be excited about the baby and his father too. I'm sure they're spoiling you a lot.”

You smiled slightly, although his tone made you feel a pang in your chest. You decided it was better to be honest before he continued to assume things.

"They are happy, yes. But my baby doesn't have a father.”

Max seemed to stop in his tracks. His expression changed, and for a moment he seemed to be looking for the right words.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know."

You looked at him then, meeting his look that seemed sincerely hurt.

"Don't do it," you told him, your tone firm but without hardness. “Don't be regretted. I'm happy, Max. My family is happy. I can't ask for more. This child will be surrounded by love, and that's all that matters.”

Max nodded slowly, but his eyes continued to reflect something else, something he didn't say out loud.

"I always thought you would be an incredible mom," he said after a moment, with a small smile.

You forced yourself to smile too, although his comment stirred you inside. You wanted to change the subject, prevent the conversation from taking a more emotional turn, but Max was the one who spoke first.

"I want to be in your life again."

His words were like a direct blow to the chest. You looked at him, stunned, trying to understand exactly what he meant.

"Max..." you started, but he raised a hand, interrupting you.

"I'm not saying that I'm going to get into something that doesn't belong to me. I just... I want to be part of your life again, as we were before. I could be a good uncle for that little one," he added, with a smile that seemed sincere, although also somewhat sad.

That was too much for you. His words, his tone, the way he seemed so sure of wanting to be close but at the same time setting limits... It was a reminder of what had been and what it could not be. You felt your heart tighten, as if the air became denser.

"I would love to have you back in my life, Max. You've always been a good friend” you managed to say, although it was hard for you to keep your voice stable.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours for an eternal second. Then he looked towards the house, as if something was calling him back.

"I'm glad to hear it. See you inside," he said softly, before turning around and walking towards the living room.

You stayed there, watching how his figure disappeared between the lights of the party. You felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn't fully decipher. There was something reassuring in knowing that he wanted to be in your life, but also something deeply painful in hearing the words "good friend" come out of his lips.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lump in your throat. You knew that the best thing was to return too, but before you needed a few more minutes to pull yourself together.

When the night finally came to an end, and while you were helping your mother say goodbye to the last guests, you felt the exhaustion creep into every fiber of your body. Between smiles, short conversations and the unexpected meeting with Max, everything had been a whirlwind of emotions. You went up to your room, closing the door behind you and letting out a long sigh. You had succeeded. You had survived that night without collapsing, although the cracks in your facade were deeper than you wanted to admit.

You took off your dress carefully, letting the fresh air ease your skin. You put on a comfortable nightgown and got rid of the makeup with slow movements. Every step of your nightly routine was an attempt to distract you from the only thing that really occupied your mind: Max. The conversation outside, his insistence on wanting to be back in your life, his words loaded with a meaning that you refused to interpret... Everything kept spinning in your head.

When you got into bed, you took your phone out of habit, checking notifications and messages before going to sleep. That's when you saw it. A message from Max.

Max: "Good night. I liked seeing you tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat when you read it. You didn't expect me to write to you, not after what they had talked about. You thought about ignoring him, but you knew you couldn't. Something inside you drove you to respond.

You: "Simely. It was nice to see you."

You sent the message before your mind could stop you, and just a few seconds later his answer came.

Max: "I don't know if this sounds weird, but I feel like I've missed you more than I thought."

You bit your lip, your fingers floating on the screen as you decided what to say. Finally you wrote:

You: "It doesn't sound weird. I've missed you too."

The conversation flowed with a naturalness that baffled you. Talking to him was like returning to something comfortable and familiar, as if the months of distance had not existed. They talked about trivial things at the beginning: how he was, how you were, small anecdotes of the event that had occurred while you were escaping to the garden. But then he wrote something that made you stop.

Max: "We should have a coffee or something. Really catch up."

Your first reaction was to doubt. You knew it wasn't a good idea. Seeing him was to risk letting your guard down, saying something you shouldn't have, opening doors that you had closed for a reason. But, at the same time, the idea excited you. You wanted to see it. I wanted to see it.

"I'd love to," you finally wrote, almost with fear.

Almost instantly came his answer:

Max: "Tomorrow? I have something in the afternoon, but I'm free at night."

You bit the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You knew you shouldn't accept, but your fingers were already writing.

You: "It's okay. Tomorrow night."

They quickly confirmed it, deciding the place and time, and after a few more messages, he wrote:

Max: "Sleep well. See you tomorrow."

"You too," you replied, even though you knew that sleeping was the last thing you would do. You put the phone aside, but your mind was still at full speed.

As you settled in bed, you looked at the ceiling with a sigh. You had done something you knew you shouldn't have done, and the anxiety of what could happen consumed you. But, at the same time, a small spark of emotion lit up inside you.

The idea of seeing him, of talking to him face to face after all, made you feel like you were playing with fire. And yet, you found yourself counting the hours for the next day.

The next morning the day began in a rather routine way, although you felt a slight tingling in your stomach when you remembered your plan for later. After a light breakfast, you made sure to review your to-do list, and among them was the doctor's appointment. Although all the previous reviews had gone well, it always gave you a little anxiety to attend. You wanted to make sure that your baby was perfect, that everything went as it should.

You put on a loose and comfortable dress, choosing a pastel shade that highlighted the shine that lately your pregnancy had given to your skin. You looked in the mirror quickly before leaving, noticing your already noticeably rounded belly. You had reached that point in pregnancy where it was impossible to hide it, and although you felt proud, there were times when that reality made you think about everything that was to come.

The clinic was calm when you arrived. After signing some papers and waiting a few minutes in the room, they called you to go to the doctor. She was a kind woman, someone you fully trusted and with whom you had developed a good relationship since you arrived in Monaco.

You lay down on the stretcher while they did the routine ultrasound. The screen lit up with the image of your baby, and as always, your eyes filled with tears of pure emotion when you saw it.

"Everything looks perfect," said the doctor, smiling as she checked the measurements and heartbeat of the little one. “He is growing well and has a lot of energy, as always. Have you felt good?”

You nodded.

"Yes, although he's been a little restless today. I don't know if it's me or him.”

The doctor laughed softly.

"Probably a little bit of both. They feel our emotions, did you know? If you're anxious or nervous, he feels it too.”

You were thoughtful with that comment. It was true that you had been nervous since you woke up. The idea of seeing Max again, of sitting in front of him after so long, had you in a constant state of anticipation.

"I guess he's right. Today I have... an important day.”

You didn't go into details, but she gave you an understanding look.

"Well, try to relax." He's fine, you're fine. Enjoy your day and make sure you rest.

When you left the clinic, the mid-morning sun greeted you warmly, but you still felt some restlessness in your chest. You knew there was no reason to worry about the baby, but the conversation with the doctor left you thinking. Your little one was connected to you in a way that no one else could be, and his well-being was completely up to you.

The rest of the day was spent in a blur of domestic activities and small errands, but your mind always returned to Max. You wondered what it would be like to see him again, this time in a more intimate environment. Would he be nervous like you? Would it still be as easy to talk to him as it had been last night?

As the afternoon progressed, you noticed that your baby kept moving. Every time you tried to sit down for a moment to breathe, he kicked or settled down, as if trying to get your attention.

"What's wrong, little one?" you murmured, placing a hand on your belly. “Are you also nervous about tonight?”

The thought made you smile, although you felt a knot in your stomach. You caressed your belly with gentle movements, trying to calm it down and calm yourself down in the process.

You sighed as you looked at the clock. Every minute that passed brought you closer to the meeting, and although you were nervous, a part of you couldn't wait.

The afternoon was sliding into the night, and with each passing minute, you felt how anxiety was taking over you. You repeated to yourself over and over again that everything would be fine, that there was nothing to fear, that it was only Max. Max, your lifelong friend. Max, who was now much more complicated than you had ever imagined.

When it was time to get ready, you went into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. There was something different about you, a mixture of emotion and tension that made you feel like you were about to cross an invisible line. The dress you chose was simple but elegant, a dark blue tone that highlighted your skin and concealed your belly. You left your hair loose, falling in soft waves on your shoulders. The makeup, just enough to give a touch of color to your cheeks and highlight your eyes. You wanted to look good, but without looking like you had tried too hard.

While you were putting on the last touches, your phone vibrated on the table. You took it with slightly trembling hands and read the message.

"I'm outside. I'll wait for you."

You toom a deep breath before answering.

"Ok."

You picked up your bag, taking one last look at your reflection before leaving the room. You went down the stairs calmly, although your heart was beating hard in your chest. When he opened the front door, there he was. Max Verstappen, waiting for you next to his car with a smile that, despite all the time that had passed, was still the same you remembered.

"Hello," he said softly, his eyes running over you for a moment before returning to your face. “You look... good.”

You smiled a little shyly.

"Thank you. You too”

Max was dressed casually but flawlessly, a dark shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly. I had always had that ability to look good without much effort. He opened the car door for you and, once you were inside, he circled the car and sat behind the wheel.

The journey was comfortable, although full of silences that spoke more than words. Through the reflection in the window, you watched him sideways. His firm hands on the steering wheel, the way he concentrated on the road, everything was so familiar and at the same time so distant.

Finally, they arrived at a small secluded, discreet and cozy restaurant, a place that Max had chosen carefully to avoid curious glances. Upon entering, you were greeted by a warm atmosphere, dim lights and tables separated enough to ensure privacy.

"It's a quiet place," he said while helping you sit down. “I thought we would be more comfortable here.”

You nodded, grateful for your consideration.

"It's perfect."

You both asked for dinner, and for a few minutes, the sound of the cutlery and the soft background music filled the space. But soon, the conversation began to flow.

"So..." you said, breaking the ice. “How is everything? Life, the team, your relationship?”

Max took a sip from his glass before answering.

"Life... is fine. Busy, as always. The team is doing well, although this year has been more complicated than I expected. And Kelly...” he paused briefly. “We're fine. Things are stable, which is good for me, for P.”

He mentioned his girlfriend and stepdaughter naturally, but you couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. You forced yoursellsel on your smile.

"I'm glad to hear that. You know I've always wanted you to be happy.”

Max looked at you with an expression that seemed to contain more than he was willing to say.

"And you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. “Why did you disappear like that? One day you were here, and the next, you were gone. Without a word.”

You tensed up a little in your chair, fiddling with the edge of your glass. You had known that question would come, but you were not completely prepared to answer it.

"It was something... I needed to do," you finally said, choosing your words carefully. “London was an opportunity to start again. And... I didn't want to complicate anyone's life.”

Max frowned slightly, his eyes looking for yours.

"Complicate life for whom? To me?”

The air seemed to become denser between you. You avoided his gaze, concentrating on the napkin that you now held between your fingers.

"You already had many things in your life. You didn't need... more complications.”

Max was silent for a moment, but his eyes didn't turn away from you.

"We were always friends, remember? No matter what happened... that doesn't change.”

The sincerity in his voice disarmed you, and for a moment, you felt that the weight of the last few months was about to collapse on you. But you stood firm, smiling softly.

"I know. And I'm glad we can talk like this, like before.”

The conversation continued, returning to lighter topics: childhood memories, career anecdotes, moments they shared before everything got complicated. But, deep down, they both knew that there were things that remained unsaid.

When dinner ended, they both left the restaurant, the night in Monaco unfolded calm and cool, with a gentle breeze that caressed your skin. You felt strangely light, despite everything that dinner had moved in you. You thought the night had come to an end, but Max, standing next to you in front of the car, seemed to hesitate before saying goodbye.

"Are you tired?" he asked, with a look that contained more than what his words said. “Because... if you're not, we could go for a walk.”

You were surprised by the invitation, but a part of you, the one that was still looking for any excuse to prolong the moment, did not hesitate to answer.

"No, I'm not tired. I would love to walk a little.”

Max smiled, a soft smile that lit up his face for a moment. He walked by your side, and soon they both left the restaurant behind and went into the quietest streets of the city. The night in Monaco was a spectacle in itself, with the lights reflected in the sea, the distant sound of laughter and music, and the constant murmur of the nightlife that unfolded around it. But at that moment, nothing seemed to matter more than the presence of the other.

The silence between you was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt almost like a conversation in itself, a pause that allowed both of them to think about everything that had been left unsaid for so long. They walked at the same pace, their steps synchronized, and from time to time your fingers brushed his, which caused a small chill that ran through your body.

Finally, it was Max who broke the silence. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if he feared to alter the stillness of the night.

"I like walking with you at night," he said, with a sincerity that took you by surprise. His eyes looked at you sideways, looking for your reaction.

Your heart turned upside down, and you bit your lip before answering, allowing a soft smile to form on your lips.

"I like it too. I enjoy it.”

And you meant it. There was something intimate at that moment, a connection that didn't need words. The world seemed to have reduced to you two, walking together under the dim lights of Monaco. The breeze was fiddling with your hair, and Max noticed it, because his eyes stopped a second longer on you, before looking away.

Both continued walking in silence for a few more minutes, until both of you reached a small viewpoint that overlooked the port. The lights of the yachts and the soft waves of the water created an almost magical atmosphere. You leaned on the railing, contemplating the landscape, but aware that Max had come closer, until he was a few centimeters from you.

"It's beautiful," you commented, trying to stay calm, although your heart was beating hard.

"It is..." he replied, but when you looked up, you realized that he was not looking at the landscape. He was looking at you.

The atmosphere became denser, loaded with electricity that seemed to envelop them. You felt trapped between the desire to maintain that closeness and the need to step back, to protect yourself from what that moment could mean. But you didn't move.

Max leaned slightly forward, resting his arms on the railing next to yours. His fingers brushed yours, and this time he didn't move away. Neither do you.

"I missed this," he murmured, with a voice so low that you barely heard him. “I missed being with you.”

His words disarmed you. You felt a lump in your throat, but you tried to stay calm.

"Me too..." you admitted, almost in a whisper. I missed this, you.

Both stayed like this, in silence, letting the moment last, feeling the closeness of the other. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had saved for months, but you held in. You didn't want to ruin it. Not yet.

Max turned his face towards you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His blue eyes, intense and full of contained emotions, met yours. The world around him disappeared, and all that existed was that look, that instant in which the past, the present and the future seemed to collide.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, with a softness that almost made you lose your balance.

Your breathing quickened slightly, and without looking away, you replied:

"To me too."

The silence that followed was different. It wasn't uncomfortable or empty.

But before either of them could do or say anything else, Max took a step back, breaking the spell.

"We should go back," he said, his voice a little more controlled. “I don't want you to get too tired.”

You nodded, grateful and at the same time disappointed. Both began to walk back, this time more slowly, as if prolonging that walk could change something.

When both got to the car, Max stopped before opening the door for you. For a moment, he seemed to doubt, as if he was about to say something important. But instead, he just smiled.

"Thank you for tonight. I needed.”

"Yeah. Me too..." you murmured. “Thank u.”

He leaned slightly, as if he was going to say goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, but he stopped halfway. Instead, his fingers gently brushed your hand before opening the door. You got into the car, still feeling the warmth of his touch, and when he left you at home, they both said goodbye with a smile that said more than words could express.

↳ alexandrasaintmleux Exactly 🤩

↳ username1 LOVE THEM

username3 “but who’s surprised” 😭

username4 jimmy and sassy are jealous right now

scuderiaferrari We all love Leo Leclerc ❤️

↳ redbullracing Ariana what are you doing here?

↳ username2 THAT ADMINS ARE ON CRACK HELP

danielricciardo Be ready for your girl to beg for a puppy @/maxverstappen1

↳ username2 HEEEELP

maxverstappen1 New love of my life?

↳ yourinstagram im sorry baby he has charmed me now i need a dog

↳ maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy (our kids) are patiently waiting for us at home thank you

↳ username4 MAX VERSTAPPEN GET YOUR GF A DOG

liked by danielricciardo, yourinstagram and 733,625 others

maxverstappen1 Triple header done ✅ Time to rest and get ready for the last races of the season before the summer #KeepPushing

view all 6,378 comments

username1 CHAMPPPPP

username2 he’s so pretty istg

landonorris The friendship made it out of the triple header after all

↳ username2 LANDO PLASE 😭😭

danielricciardo Can you take me with you to St. Tropez?

↳ yourinstagram NO

↳ username3 yn must be tired of daniel always thirdwheeling

yourinstagram pretty boy. a champion. the goat. the world champion forever. most handsome man to grace this earth. the best to ever do it

↳ maxverstappen1 Flattery will get you nowhere

↳ yourinstagram I JUST WANT A PUPPY 😩

↳ username4 his cat person ass will never poor yn

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, maxverstappen1 and 188,254 others

yourinstagram our happy place forever 🫶 expect a very sunburnt maxie for the next gp

view all 2,511 comments

username1 they own saint tropez

username2 BOYFRIEND MAXXXXX

lilyhme stunning 😍😍

username3 IS THAT JIMMY OR SASSY IN THE LAST PIC ??? AND MAX’S SHIRT I CANT

↳ username1 cat dad forever

alex_albon Team cats rule

↳ yourinstagram don’t do this i’m trying to convince him to get me a dog

↳ danielricciardo And I don’t think that’s working

↳ yourinstagram STFU 😭😭

username4 yn is stunning can max fight ??

↳ yourinstagram he can’t

maxverstappen1 1. I can fight

2. You’re the most beautiful girl ever

3. Why would you want a dog when we have Jimmy looking that adorable

↳ yourinstagram 1. you can’t 2. ilysm 3. JUST GET ME A DOG

↳ landonorris 1. i can confirm he can’t 2. you’re disgustingly cute 3. max don’t be a bitch get her a dog

↳ yourinstagram THANK YOU LANDINHO

↳ maxverstappen1 Nope

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,022,735 others

maxverstappen1 My 🤍

view all 10,635 comments

username1 AWE

username2 SIMP MAX MY HEART

redbullracing We love love ❤️

↳ yourinstagram ily too redbull admin

username3 max verstappen three time world champion uses instagram as a fanpage for his girlfriend

↳ username1 as he should

landonorris SIMP

↳ maxverstappen1 Don’t be jealous Lando

↳ yourinstagram you’ll never have him 😤

danielricciardo How’s the dog searching going?

↳ yourinstagram your bff is being such a bad boyfriend right now

↳ maxverstappen1 I’m never a bad boyfriend :(

↳ yourinstagram get me a dog and you’ll be the best boyfriend ever

↳ username2 THIS IS SO 😭😭 just get yn a dog

yourinstagram love youuuu cat dad soon to be dog dad

↳ maxverstappen1 Never

↳ yourinstagram MAXIE PLEASE 😭😭

liked by maxverstappen1, francisca.cgomes and 196,536 others

yourinstagram he could be boyfriend of the year but he refuses to get me a dog

tagged: maxverstappen1

view all 2,399 comments

username1 HEEEELP

username2 max verstappen the cat dad that you are

alex_albon 😂😂😂 Cat dads unite

username3 MAX LOOKS SO PRETTY I CANTTTT

victoriaverstappen I’m going to have a serious chat with him

↳ yourinstagram please do but bring the kids with you bc i miss them 🥲

charles_leclerc I hope Alex thinks I’m boyfriend of the year then

↳ alexandrasaintmleux Maybe 🥰

↳ yourinstagram ugh

username4 justice for jimmy and sassy

↳ yourinstagram they’re my kids and i love them i just want them to have a dog sibling

danielricciardo You boyfriend is a die hard cat person I don’t think that’s happening.

↳ yourinstagram did i ask? mind your business

↳ username1 HEEELP 😭

maxverstappen1 I could get you ten new cats if you wanted

↳ yourinstagram but i want a DOG

liked by yourinstagram, pierregasly and 1,026,337 others

maxverstappen1 Happy family

view all 10,266 comments

username1 IMMM THIS IS TOO CUTE

username2 JIMMY AND SASSYYYYY

redbullracing Cat mom and dad 💙

↳ yourinstagram redbull admin i thought you were on my side..

username3 help he said we’re NAWT getting a dog

username4 yn is literally so pretty

landonorris Just get her the puppy man…

↳ maxverstappen1 There’s no need, we’re a happy family like this

↳ yourinstagram you’re so MEAN

victoriaverstappen You won’t be boyfriend of the year like this

↳ maxverstappen1 I know I will be anyways 🥰

↳ yourinstagram don’t get to confident dude

yourinstagram jimmy and sassy are my kids and i love them but we would be an even happier family with a puppy too

↳ username1 she’s not giving up

↳ username2 max verstappen get your girlfriend a dog

↳ maxverstappen1 I don’t think so ❤️

liked by username1, username2 and 34,735 others

f1updates “Yeah, my girlfriend has serious dog fever right now. Several guys have dogs but we’ve got cats. She keeps bringing up Pierre and his girlfriend recently getting a puppy too, an it’s definitely not helping my case as a cat dad.” -Max in the press conference today 😭

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username1 HELP ME

username2 he just REFUSES to get a dog

username3 he’s so annoying

username4 I LOVE CAT DAD MAX SO BAD UGH

username5 poor yn 😭

yourinstagram JUST GET ME A DOG PLEASE @/maxverstappen1

↳ username1 MAX JUST LISTEN TO YOUR WOMAN

↳ username2 cat dad forever

liked by maxverstappen1, francisca.cgomes and 197,637 others

yourinstagram airport looks, mad max and simba gasly who now has my heart 😩 my dog fever is through the roof idc

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username1 PRETTYYYYYT

username2 broooo mad max was mad maxing this weekend

username3 JUST GET YOUR GIRL A DOG @/maxverstappen

pierregasly My kid ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux Leo is sad right now

↳ yourinstagram MY BABY LEO i miss him so much

username4 jimmy and sassy feel betrayed

landonorris Just get the damn dog @/maxverstappen1

↳ yourinstagram THANK YOU

↳ maxverstappen1 Here we go…

username5 #maxgetyourgirlfriendadog

alex_albon I’m team Jimmy and Sassy

↳ yourinstagram ffs what part of they could be siblings do y’all not understand

username6 dog talk aside, yn is soooo pretty

maxverstappen1 I thought I had your heart

↳ yourinstagram you don’t have my heart right now because you won’t get me a dog

↳ username2 GOTCHA

↳ danielricciardo 😂😂😂😂

liked by username1, username2 and 27,936 others

maxupdates Happy Max with his Cat Dad bracelet !

view all 1,386 comments

username1 AHHHH BABY

username2 CAT DAD FOREVER

username3 not when his gf wants a dog 😭

danielricciardo This is the spirit you’re trying to break @/yourinstagram

↳ username1 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

↳ username2 DANIEL WTF 😭😭

↳ yourinstagram 1. why do you follow fanpages of my boyfriend? 2. HE CAN BE A CAT DAD AND A DOG DAD

↳ username3 this is good

↳ maxverstappen1 Cat dad only

↳ username4 MAX 😭😭😭😭

↳ yourinstagram MAXIE IM BEGGING

liked by username1, username2 and 43,725 others

f1updates Max Verstappen was seen outside of a dog shelter with his girlfriend today!

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username1 OMFGGGGG

username2 HIS FACE I CANT 😭

username3 AHHH THEY’RE GETTING A DOG

username4 yn finally won

username5 DOG DAD MAX INCOMING

username6 he’s clearly happy about it

username7 team dog dad forever

liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 202,322 comments

yourinstagram IM IN HEAVEN ❤️🥹🥹🥹

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username1 FINALLYYYY

username2 ahhh i bet they adopted one of them i could cry

francisca.cgomes 🤍🤍🤍

username3 ARE YOU DOG PARENTS ALREADY???

↳ yourinstagram not yet but really sooooon maxie absolutely loved them 🥲

↳ username1 i knew there was a dog person deep inside of him

redbullracing We love to see it

↳ yourinstagram can christian horner be the godfather ?

↳ username1 HEEEELP