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it all started when en una mañana pegajosa y húmeda en Miami, Benito adentra el cafe que trabajas con gafas de sol y un sonrisa amable. El comienza a ir allí para verte y escapar de los paparazzi.
warnings: fallinginlove!
word count: ~4.6
note: chicos, pido permiso para subir esto en español que al igual que ingles no es mi idioma nativo. sé que esta es una cuenta de fanfics de formula uno pero tambien soy muy fan de benito y estoy aprendiendo español y creo que escribir me ayudará a compreender las conjugaciones, vocabulario y gramatica. espero que a ustedes les encaten esta historia
El reloj encima de la máquina de espresso marcaba las 10:07. A las diez de la mañana solo entran ejecutivos apurados o alguna influencer buscando luz natural. Pero ese martes no había nadie.
Afuera, Miami estaba pegajosa, húmeda, con ese calor que se te mete en la piel aunque estés bajo aire acondicionado.
El café no estaba ubicado en cualquier esquina. Estaba en Brickell, en una de esas avenidas donde los edificios de vidrio reflejan el sol como si compitieran entre ellos, los autos caros pasaban despacio y gente bien vestida entraba y salía de oficinas silenciosas.
Yo había limpiado la barra dos veces, acomodado las servilletas y revisado el celular un montón de veces aunque no tenía notificaciones.
El aire acondicionado zumbaba constante. La música suave de fondo parecía repetirse en bucle. El aroma del café recién molido ya no me despertaba nada.
Apoyé los codos en el mostrador de mármol y miré la puerta de vidrio, viendo mi reflejo superpuesto con la calle soleada. Otro martes. Otra mañana lenta. Otra jornada contando monedas y minutos.
La campanita de la puerta sonó. Un sonido pequeño. Metálico. Aburrido.
Ajusté mi postura, pero no levanté la vista de inmediato.
"Buenos días, ¿qué te…?"
Primero vi las gafas de sol. Grandes. Oscuras. Cubriendo media cara. Después el cabello. Húmedo. Recién lavado. Escondido abajo del gorro. Algunos rizos cayendo sobre la frente.
Era él.
Sentí un golpe seco en el estómago. No dolor. Más bien como si alguien hubiera empujado el aire fuera de mis pulmones.
Porque estaba ahí. De pie frente a mí. Como si entrar a un café cualquiera en una mañana aburrida fuera lo más normal del mundo.
Mi primera reacción fue mirarlo demasiado. La segunda, fingir que no lo estaba mirando. Me enderecé despacio, intentando que mi expresión no cambiara.
Se quitó las gafas con calma. Y ahí estaba. Sus ojos recorrieron el lugar vacío, luego se detuvieron en mí.
"Buenos días" dijo.
Su voz era más baja de lo que imaginaba. Más cercana.
"Buenos días" respondí, sorprendida de que mi voz sonara estable "¿Qué te puedo ofrecer?"
Una pequeña sonrisa apareció en la comisura de sus labios.
"Un cold brew. Sin azúcar. Porfa"
"¿Para llevar?"
Negó con la cabeza.
"Para aquí."
Se acercó un poco más al mostrador mientras yo preparaba el café. Podía oler el perfume mezclado con el aroma fresco del shampoo. Algo limpio y cálido.
Tomé el vaso alto. El hielo chocó contra el plástico. El sonido fue exageradamente fuerte en el silencio. Podía sentir su mirada.
Vertí el café frío con cuidado. Demasiado cuidado. Giré apenas para colocar la tapa y mi codo rozó accidentalmente la varilla de vapor de la máquina, que aún estaba caliente.
El dolor fue inmediato.
"Ah!!"
El vaso se inclinó peligrosamente mientras mi mano reaccionaba por reflejo. Intenté sostenerlo, pero el café oscuro se derramó sobre la barra y parte salpicó mi muñeca ya enrojecida.
"¿Estás bien?" su voz cambió al instante.
Antes de que pudiera responder, ya estaba del otro lado del mostrador. Benito tomó mi muñeca con cuidado.
"Déjame ver."
"Estoy bien" mentí, no lo estaba.
La piel empezaba a ponerse roja, sensible, y el café frío mezclado con el calor del metal hacía que todo ardiera más. Abrió el grifo sin pedir permiso y colocó mi mano bajo el agua fría. Su mano seguía sosteniendo la mía.
"Eso necesita que lo revisen" dijo, observando la marca que comenzaba a formarse.
"No es para tanto." Levantó la mirada hacia mí. Y por primera vez sentí el peso directo de sus ojos sin gafas de por medio.
"No estoy preguntando."
El agua fría corría sobre mi muñeca, pero el ardor seguía pulsando debajo de la piel. Él no soltaba mi mano. La sostenía con firmeza, con el ceño ligeramente fruncido, como si estuviera evaluando algo más que una simple quemadura.
Silencio. Uno distinto. Calculado. Lo vi inhalar despacio.
Su mirada se movió hacia la puerta de vidrio. Luego hacia las ventanas. Después hacia la calle impecable de Brickell, donde todo era demasiado visible. Había algo detrás de sus ojos.
"¿Tienes coche?" preguntó finalmente.
Tardé un segundo en procesar la pregunta.
"Sí…" respondí "Está atrás..."
Asintió. Otra pausa.
"¿Puedes conducir así?" preguntó, bajando la mirada hacia mi muñeca.
Retiré la mano del agua, intentando restarle importancia.
"Claro." El ardor volvió con el aire.
Él frunció el ceño apenas.
"No."
"Benito, no es para tanto. De verdad puedo ir sola."
No reaccionaba impulsivamente. Calculaba todo.
Miró hacia el techo. Respiró hondo. Volvió a mirarme.
"Salimos por atrás."
"No tienes que involucrarte" insistí.
Silencio. Su mandíbula se tensó apenas.
Secó mi muñeca con servilletas limpias, con cuidado. Sus dedos eran firmes, pero delicados. Solto mi muñeca solo para buscar sus gafas de sol sobre el mostrador. Se las colocó con calma, ocultando su mirada otra vez.
Luego levantó la capucha del hoodie que llevaba, un gesto casi automático, precavido, ensayado mil veces. Coloqué el cartel de “vuelvo enseguida”, cerré con llave y salimos por la puerta trasera hacia el estacionamiento.
Él inclinó ligeramente la cabeza.
"Un Corolla." Pausa. "Respeto eso."
Parpadeé confusa.
"¿Respeta?"
Se acercó al coche.
"Ese carro nunca te abandona. Puede sobrevivir a un huracán, a una ruptura y a tres trabajos mal pagados."
Lo miré. Una sonrisa involuntaria se me escapó.
Abrió la puerta del copiloto y la sostuvo.
"Sube."
"Puedo manejar."
Se inclinó un poco, bajando la voz.
"No vas a manejar con la mano así, mami"
Le entregué las llaves.
Rodeó el coche y se sentó en el asiento del conductor. Ajustó el asiento manualmente, moviendo la palanca con una pequeña dificultad.
"Wow" murmuró "Esto es retro."
"Funciona."
Sonrió apenas.
"Eso es lo que importa"
Encendió el motor. El sonido fue modesto, familiar.
Se acomodó las gafas otra vez y miró por el retrovisor.
"Los paparazzi no conocen este Corolla, ¿verdad?"
Negué con la cabeza.
"Nadie lo conoce" contesté confusa
Salimos del estacionamiento con calma.
Silencio.
"Buen gusto" dijo de repente.
Lo miré.
"¿En coches?"
El sonrió.
Giró en el semáforo con suavidad. La clínica privada apareció a media cuadra. Estacionó frente a la entrada. El viaje duró menos de 10 minutos.
Apagó el motor. Se quedó un segundo con las manos en el volante. Miró el edificio. Después la calle. Después los espejos. Calculando.
"Gracias."
Él giró apenas hacia mí.
"Entra. Que te revisen eso ahora."
Esperé que bajara, pero no lo hizo.
"¿No vienes?"
Negó.
"Voy a llevar el carro."
"¿Qué?"
"Te lo devuelvo" añadió enseguida "Te lo prometo." Lo miré. Una pequeña sonrisa apareció en la esquina de su boca. "Confía en mí."
La palabra quedó flotando entre nosotros. Su tono se suavizó apenas.
"Te lo voy a devolver. No te voy a robar el Corolla legendario."
Eso arrancó una risa breve de mí.
"Más te vale."
"Ese carro merece respeto." Dijo con una seriedad fingida
Abrí la puerta. El aire cálido de Miami me envolvió al instante. Antes de cerrarla, lo miré una última vez. Capucha arriba. Gafas puestas. Las manos firmes en el volante de mi Corolla gris. No parecía una celebridad.
Y cuando las puertas de vidrio comenzaron a abrirse, escuché el motor arrancar detrás de mí. No miré de inmediato. No quería que el momento se rompiera. Pero cuando lo hice, el Corolla ya estaba incorporándose a la avenida brillante de Brickell.
Me quedé mirando hasta que el Corolla se perdió entre el tráfico.
Las puertas automáticas de la clínica se abrieron frente a mí con un sonido suave. El aire frío del interior escapó hacia la calle. Yo no me moví. Me quedé allí, justo en el umbral.
El contraste del aire acondicionado contra el calor de Miami me recorrió la piel, pero mi mente estaba en otro lugar.
¿Había sido real?
-----
El autobús frenó de golpe y alguien chocó contra mi hombro.
"Perdón" murmuró
Yo llevaba cuarenta minutos de bus hasta el cafe. Cuarenta. Minutos.
El aire acondicionado no funcionaba bien. El olor a perfume barato mezclado con sudor me estaba quitando años de vida. Miré por la ventana empañada.
Brickell pasaba lentamente afuera. Y mi Corolla no estaba ahí. Porque seguía sin aparecer. Dos días.
Dos días desde que "Benito" o "Bad Bunny" se llevó mi coche prometiendo devolverlo. La situación parece ridicula y irreal.
Mi muñeca ya no dolía tanto. Pero mi paciencia sí.
¿Por qué confié en él?
Me imaginé explicándole a la policía:
“Sí, oficial, le presté mi Corolla a un artista internacional porque parecía responsable.”
Genial.
Talvez debería denunciarlo por robo. Seguramente ganaría mucho dinero.
El autobús volvió a frenar bruscamente y finalmente mi parada. Bajé casi empujando a dos personas. Quince minutos tarde para abrir el cafe. Perfecto.
Caminé rápido por la acera hacia el café. Tacones golpeando el pavimento. Cabello recogido a medias porque el autobús había arruinado cualquier intento de dignidad. Doblé la esquina. Y me detuve en seco.
Apoyado contra la puerta del café, con gafas oscuras y hoodie ligero, estaba él. Como si no llevara dos días desaparecido con mi coche.
Benito levantó la cabeza al verme. Miró su muñeca como si tuviera reloj.
"Estás tarde, mami"
Parpadeé enojada.
"¿Perdón?"
Se enderezó, una sonrisa descarada dibujándose lentamente.
"Los clientes están empezando a quejarse." Señaló hacia la puerta cerrada. "Dicen que el café no abre solo."
Lo miré incrédula.
"¿Dónde está mi carro?"
Sin responder de inmediato, metió la mano en el bolsillo del hoodie y sacó mis llaves. Las hizo girar suavemente entre los dedos antes de extenderlas hacia mí.
"En el mismo lugar donde lo encontré." Pausa. "Limpio." Otra pausa. "Con el tanque lleno."
Me quedé mirándolo.
"¿Dos días?"
Él ladeó la cabeza.
"Tuve que asegurarme de que nadie supiera que lo conduje. No podía simplemente devolverlo y ya." Suspiró, pero esta vez no parecía calculando riesgos. "No quería meterte en un lío."
Tomé las llaves de su mano. Nuestros dedos rozaron apenas.
"Pensé que lo habías robado."
Una risa baja escapó de él.
"¿Tu Corolla? Jamás."
No pude evitar que una sonrisa se me escapara. Intenté contenerla.
Silencio.
"Entonces…" dijo él, retrocediendo un paso "¿Vas a abrir o los clientes van a tener que hacer su propio café?"
Lo miré.
"¿Clientes?"
Señaló detrás de mí con la barbilla. Me giré. Dos personas efectivamente estaban esperando a unos metros, mirando la puerta cerrada.
"Nos vemos, Y/N.
-
Despues de un dia longo en el café volvi a mi Corolla para tomar el camino de casa.
No lo noté al principio. Solo cuando llegué a casa y abrí la puerta trasera para sacar mi bolso, lo vi. Un bulto oscuro en el asiento de atrás. Un hoodie. Negro. Pesado. De buena calidad. Lo levanté. Adidas.
Solté una pequeña risa nasal. Claro.
Como si le fuera a importar perder un hoodie. Probablemente podría comprar todo el stock nacional de Adidas sin notar el cargo en su cuenta.
-
A la mañana siguiente, cuado aparqué el coche en el aparcamiento detrás del café. Lluvia intensa. Cielo gris. Viento que empujaba el agua en diagonal.
No encontraba mi paraguas en el carro. La app de pronóstico del tiempo decía que la tormenta duraría horas. Miré la silla. El hoodie.
Suspiré.
"Es solo ropa" murmuré para convencerme.
Me lo puse.
Era grande. Más grande de lo que esperaba. Las mangas me cubrían parte de las manos. El olor era tenue, limpio, con algo difícil de definir. No era perfume. Era él.
Sacudí la cabeza. Ridículo.
Salí bajo la lluvia con la capucha puesta.
El tejido grueso absorbía parte del agua. No toda. Pero suficiente para llegar sin empaparme por completo.
Caminé rápido las últimas cuadras hacia el café. La lluvia golpeaba el pavimento. Los autos salpicaban. El mundo parecía más pequeño bajo el sonido constante del agua.
Doblé la esquina. Y ahí estaba.
Apoyado bajo el pequeño techo que protegía la entrada del café.
Gafas oscuras. Gorra. Manos en los bolsillos. Esperando.
Él levantó la cabeza al verme. Y su mirada bajó directamente al hoodie.
Seguí caminando hasta quedar a unos pasos.
"Buenos días" dije, como si nada.
Él inclinó ligeramente la cabeza.
"Buenos."
Pausa.
Sus ojos volvieron al hoodie. Una ceja se levantó apenas.
"Bonito hoodie."
"Gracias."
Intenté pasar a su lado para abrir la puerta.
"¿Cómodo, no?" añadió, con una calma peligrosa.
Me detuve un segundo. Eso lo hizo sonreír. Lento.
"Me alegra que esté en buenas manos."
"Lo olvidaste" respondí rápido "Iba a devolvértelo."
"¿Ah, sí?"
Se enderezó un poco. La distancia entre nosotros se redujo apenas un paso.
"Podría olvidarlo más seguido entonces."
Yo seguía usando su hoodie.
Y él seguía mirándome como si la escena le perteneciera un poco.
Demasiado.
"¿Vas a abrir?" preguntó finalmente, con tono casi inocente.
Tardé medio segundo en reaccionar.
"Sí."
Busqué las llaves y abrí la puerta. Y mientras entrábamos al café, con el olor a lluvia todavía pegado a la tela que llevaba puesta, entendí algo peligroso: Talvez él no lo había olvidado.
Yo me moví detrás del mostrador, intentando actuar como si nada fuera extraño.
Como si no estuviera usando su hoodie.
Como si él no estuviera ahí mirándome.
Tomé una taza.
"¿Lo de siempre?" pregunté.
Él caminó lentamente hasta el mostrador.
Se quitó las gafas por un momento y las dejó sobre la madera.
"Sí."
Empecé a preparar el café, concentrándome demasiado en cada movimiento.
El sonido de la máquina de espresso rompía el silencio.
Sentía su mirada.
Cuando puse la taza frente a él, Benito levantó la vista… y luego volvió a mirar el hoodie.
"Creo que tengo que recuperar eso."
Bajé la mirada hacia las mangas demasiado largas.
"Sí, claro."
Me crucé de brazos, incómoda.
"Lo lavé."
Él soltó una risa corta.
"No hacía falta." Tomó un sorbo del café.
Luego apoyó los codos en el mostrador y dijo con total calma:
"Pero lo quiero de vuelta."
Asentí.
"Entonces tómalo." Hice el gesto de quitármelo.
"No tan fácil." Me detuve.
"¿Perdón?"
Una pequeña sonrisa apareció en su boca.
"Condición."
Suspiré.
"Claro. Tiene que haber una condición."
Él levantó un dedo.
"Café gratis."
"Eso ya lo tienes."
"No."
Negó suavemente con la cabeza.
"Quiero que tú te sientes a tomarlo conmigo."
Parpadeé.
"Estoy trabajando."
"Todavía no hay clientes."
Miré hacia las ventanas. La lluvia seguía cayendo fuerte. Las calles estaban casi vacías.
Volví a mirarlo.
"Cinco minutos" dijo "Y recupero mi hoodie."
Me crucé de brazos.
"Eso suena más a chantaje que a trato."
Él se encogió de hombros.
"Funciona."
Lo miré durante unos segundos. Luego rodé los ojos, derrotada.
"Cinco minutos."
Su sonrisa creció apenas.
Me quité el hoodie lentamente y lo dejé sobre el mostrador. Por un segundo, el aire frío del café me hizo estremecer.
Benito tomó el hoodie. Pero en vez de llevárselo, lo dejó doblado a su lado.
Luego empujó otra taza hacia mí.
"Siéntate."
Fruncí el ceño.
"Pensé que querías tu hoodie."
Tomó otro sorbo de café.
"Lo quiero." Pausa. "Pero no tengo prisa."
Al principio, todo fue contenido. Las palabras salían con cuidado, como si ambos estuviéramos tanteando el terreno sin querer romper algo que todavía no entendíamos. Pero, sin darme cuenta, empecé a notar cosas en él: la forma en que inclinaba la cabeza cuando escuchaba de verdad, cómo jugaba distraídamente con la taza entre los dedos, cómo sonreía apenas antes de decir algo, como si pensara un segundo más de lo necesario.
La conversación se fue soltando sola. Saltamos de un tema a otro con una facilidad extraña, encontrando coincidencias pequeñas en gustos que parecían insignificantes, pero que se sentían demasiado personales. Había algo en la manera en que reaccionaba —una risa baja, una mirada que se quedaba un segundo más— que hacía que todo se sintiera cercano, cómodo… casi como si no hubiera nada más fuera de ese momento.
Cuando me di cuenta, la luz había cambiado. La lluvia ya no golpeaba las ventanas y el café seguía casi vacío. Dos horas. Dos horas que no sentí pasar. El sonido de la campanita rompió el aire, y todo volvió de golpe: el espacio, el tiempo, la realidad. Él se levantó con esa misma calma de siempre, se despidió rápidamente como si nada hubiera sido extraordinario y salió por la puerta.
-
El viernes llegó sin avisar. Más movimiento que de costumbre, pero nada caótico. Suficiente gente como para mantenerme ocupada, no lo suficiente como para no pensar.
Y pensé.Mientras servía cafés. Mientras limpiaba la barra. Mientras escuchaba pedidos que olvidaba dos segundos después.
Ya había pasado una semana. Siete días desde la última vez que salió por esa puerta. Y no volvió.
Una noche, casi por impulso, lo busqué "Bad Bunny". Primero en Google, después Instagram y después en toda web. Esperaba ver algo. Un evento. Un concierto. Una foto en algún lugar que explicara su ausencia.
Pero nada. Como si simplemente… no estuviera. Como si hubiera salido de mi mundo y del suyo al mismo tiempo. Ridículo.
Seguí trabajando. Automático. Tal vez fue eso. Tal vez ese momento en el café no había sido nada. Un par de coincidencias que se sintieron más grandes de lo que eran.
Pero entonces, cada vez que pasaba por la esquina del mostrador, lo veía. El hoodie. Las gafas. Podría sentir tu olor.
El hoodie llevé pa mi casa. El lo había olvidado otra vez el último día que lo vi. Lo peor era que lo usaba. A veces por la mañana, cuando el aire estaba más frío. A veces por la noche, sin pensar demasiado.
Siempre con la misma excusa: es cómodo. es práctico. es solo ropa. Y eso me hacía sentir… un poco estúpida.
-
El final del turno llegó arrastrándose. A las siete en punto, el café ya estaba casi en silencio otra vez. Las luces más cálidas, el murmullo lejano de la calle, y ese cansancio que se acumula en los hombros después de un día entero de pie.
Estaba de espaldas a la puerta, limpiando la barra por última vez, repasando movimientos automáticos, cuando la campanita sonó.
Cerré los ojos un segundo. Respiré hondo. Un cliente más.
—Perdón, ya cerramos en cinco — empecé a decir, girándome.
Y me quedé en silencio.
Era él "Bad Bunny"
De pie en la entrada, como si el tiempo no hubiera pasado en absoluto.
Llevaba un hoodie puesto, la capucha arriba, pantalón cómodo, medias y chinelos. Como si hubiera salido de casa sin pensar demasiado. Como si acabara de despertarse… aunque ya fueran las siete de la tarde.
No dijo hola. Ni siquiera pareció sorprendido de verme. Solo dio un paso hacia adentro y dijo, con esa calma de siempre:
"Estaba por el barrio." Pausa.
Sus ojos se posaron en mí como si la semana no hubiera existido.
"Y pensé que tal vez querías una carona."
Como si no hubiera desaparecido.
"No, gracias" respondí, sin pensar demasiado "Tengo coche."
Él sonrió. No sorprendido. Casi… divertido.
"¿Sí?" dijo, ladeando la cabeza "¿Ya has andado en Bugatti?"
Parpadeé. Por reflejo, miré hacia afuera. Y ahí estaba. Bajo las luces de la calle, impecable, completamente fuera de lugar frente a un café que ya estaba por cerrar. Bajo, brillante, blanco, imposible de ignorar.
Volví a mirarlo.
"Prefiero el Corolla."
Me giré de nuevo hacia la barra, retomando lo que estaba haciendo como si la conversación hubiera terminado.
Silencio.
"Claro "murmuró él después de un segundo "El Corolla"
Había algo distinto en su tono ahora.
"Por lo menos aparece cuando lo necesito" solté, sin girarme.
Silencio otra vez. Más largo. Sentí su mirada en mi espalda.
"Bueno… no tanto cuando está contigo... Durante dos días..."
"Te dije que te lo iba a devolver y devolví"
"Sí" espondí, limpiando con más fuerza de la necesaria "Pero después de dos días y tuve que venir al trabajo en autobús. No todo el mundo tiene los lujos de un artista famoso."
"Tenía que hacerlo bien. ¿No lo entiendes?"
Solté una risa seca.
"¿Hacer qué? ¿Desaparecer?"
Eso lo hizo moverse. Lo sentí más cerca, aunque no lo miré.
"No desaparecí."
"¿Ah, no?" Me giré entonces. "Porque siete días sin decir nada se parecen bastante a eso."
Por primera vez, su expresión cambió.La mandíbula tensa.La mirada más fija.
"No te debía explicaciones." La frase cayó entre nosotros. Directa. Honesta.
Asentí lentamente y me sentí increíblemente estúpida, más una vez.
"Exacto." Volví a girarme, tomando otra taza solo para hacer algo con las manos. "Entonces no sé por qué estás aquí. Ya hemos cerrado"
Silencio.
"Yo quise venir verla"
Solté el paño sobre la barra. Lo miré otra vez. El silencio se alargó más de lo necesario. Tomé conciencia de lo exagerado que había sido todo, de repente.
Bajé la mirada un segundo, respirando hondo. Cuando volví a levantarla, él ya no estaba mirándome.
Su teléfono vibró. Lo sacó del bolsillo y contestó sin decir nada más, girándose ligeramente, dándome la espalda a medias.
"Sí… estoy aquí." Su voz volvió a ser otra.
Aproveché y volví a lo mío. Apagué las máquinas. Acomodé las tazas.
Revisé la caja.
Ninguno de los dos volvió a hablar. Solo se escuchaba su voz baja al teléfono y el sonido del café terminando de cerrarse.
Cuando terminé, tomé mis cosas y caminé hacia la salida. Él ya estaba afuera. Apoyado contra el coche.
La Bugatti blanca seguía ahí, imposible de ignorar bajo las luces de la calle.
Colgué el cartel de cerrado. Giré la llave. Salí. El aire de la noche estaba más fresco ahora.
Silencio otra vez. Un silencio más contenido.
De pronto, se separó del coche y caminó hacia la puerta del conductor. La abrió. Y dio un paso atrás.
"Me dejaste manejar tu carro por dos días." Pausa. Sus ojos se encontraron con los míos. "Creo que es justo que tú manejes el mío."
Miré la puerta abierta.Luego el coche. Luego a él.Seguía un poco molesta. Dudé un segundo. Pero siendo honesta…¿Cuándo iba a volver a tener la oportunidad de manejar un Bugatti?
Exhalé por la nariz. Rodeé el coche y me senté en el asiento del conductor.
El interior era completamente distinto a todo lo que conocía. Bajo. Preciso. Demasiado perfecto. Cerré la puerta.
Escuché la puerta del otro lado abrirse. Se sentó en el asiento del copiloto y, por primera vez desde que había llegado, pareció ligeramente alerta.
"Es sensible" empezó, acomodándose el cinturón "El acelerador responde rápido, y el freno..."
"Todos los coches tienen volante, pedales y ruedas" lo interrumpí, mirando al frente. Giré apenas la cabeza hacia él. "Voy a estar bien. ¿Confía en mí?"
Lo vi quedarse en silencio un segundo. Como si no estuviera acostumbrado a que lo interrumpieran. O a no tener el control de la situación.
Metí la llave. Encendí el motor. El sonido fue inmediato. Profundo. Potente. Vivo. Mis manos se ajustaron al volante. Y, sin pensarlo demasiado... Aceleré.
El coche respondió al instante, avanzando con una fuerza que me empujó contra el asiento.
Giré con suavidad hacia la calle, pero manteniendo la velocidad más alta de lo necesario.
Sentí su mirada en mí.
"Tranquila" dijo, esta vez sí un poco tenso
Sonreí apenas. Sin mirarlo.
El motor rugía bajo nosotros. Las luces de Brickell pasaban más rápido de lo habitual. Y cuando finalmente lo miré de reojo. Lo vi sorpreso. Solté una pequeña risa.
"¿Qué pasó? ¿No confías en mí "Bad Bunny"?
Él exhaló, apoyando la cabeza un segundo contra el asiento.
"Confío."
Eso solo hizo que presionara un poco más el acelerador.
-
Al principio, él seguía tenso. Se notaba en la forma en que miraba la calle, en cómo sus manos descansaban rígidas sobre sus piernas, como si aún estuviera listo para reaccionar en cualquier momento.
Pero poco a poco se fue soltando. Hasta que, sin darse cuenta, ya estaba señalando el panel, cambiando la música, subiendo el volumen.
"Acelera mami" dijo en un momento, con una sonrisa que no había visto antes "Quiero escuchar cómo suena."
Lo miré de reojo. Presioné el acelerador. El motor respondió de inmediato, más fuerte, más vivo.
Se rió. Una risa baja, genuina, que llenó el espacio mucho más que la música y ahí fue cuando todo terminó de cambiar.
Pasamos por un drive thru. Comida rápida, servilletas mal dobladas, bebidas apoyadas de cualquier forma entre nosotros. Nada elegante.
Nada perfecto.
Seguimos manejando.
Y sin decirle mucho, tomé una salida diferente. Menos luces.
Menos tráfico. Más oscuro. Lo sentí notarlo.
"¿A dónde vamos?" preguntó, bajando un poco el volumen.
Había una leve cautela en su voz otra vez.
"Confía papi" dije, repitiendo su propia palabra sin mirarlo. "Es un buen lugar."
No insistió. Solo se recostó un poco en el asiento, observando el camino.
Después de unos minutos, giré por un camino que subía ligeramente. Y entonces paré. El motor quedó en un murmullo bajo.
Frente a nosotros, la ciudad entera se extendía. Miami iluminada, vibrante, distante. Desde ahí arriba, todo se veía distinto. Más pequeño. Más silencioso.
Apagué el motor. El silencio volvió. Pero no como antes. Ahora ya era cómodo.
Lo miré de reojo.
"Te dije que era un buen lugar" murmuré.
Y por primera vez desde que todo empezó, no parecía que estuviera en dos mundos distintos.
Se quedó mirando la ciudad por unos segundos. Las luces reflejadas en el parabrisas dibujaban destellos suaves en su rostro.
Apoyó la cabeza contra el asiento, soltando el aire despacio.
"No vengo a lugares así." Pausa. Giró un poco el rostro hacia mí. "No así." Había algo distinto en su tono. "Contigo es fácil"
Antes de que pudiera responder, soltó una pequeña risa.
"Aunque mañana probablemente tenga como un millón de multas." Negó con la cabeza. "La prensa va a decir que perdí la cabeza."
Eso me hizo sonreír.
"La perdiste un poco."
"Puede ser."
Silencio.
Cuando lo miré, él ya me estaba mirando. El aire cambió. Se volvió más denso.
Y fue ahí cuando me aparté primero.
"Estoy cansada" murmuré, rompiendo el momento.
Asintió. Sin discutir. Sin insistir. Solo abrió la puerta y salió del coche.
Rodeé el coche unos segundos después. El aire nocturno se sintió más frío al salir. Cerré la puerta detrás de mí. Y apenas tuve tiempo de girarme cuando sentí su mano.
Me empujó suavemente contra el coche. El metal frío contra mi espalda. El contraste con su cercanía.
Y entonces me besó. Sin aviso. Directo. Intenso.
El beso se volvió más profundo, pero sin perder esa sensación de cuidado. El frío del coche desapareció rápido, reemplazado por el calor de su respiración cerca de la mía, cada vez menos controlada.
Las luces de la ciudad se volvieron borrosas, el mundo quedó reducido a ese instante, a la forma en que sus manos se ajustaban mejor, a cómo el beso cambiaba de ritmo sin aviso.
Mis dedos se aferraron a su hoodie sin pensar, manteniéndolo cerca, como si soltarlo fuera romper algo que apenas estaba empezando.
it all started when you are invited out of obligation to a luxury ski resort in St. Moritz, to celebrate your distant second cousin Alex's birthday and you meet her boyfriend, Charles.
warnings: cheating! smut!
word count: 6.3k
note: guys, this is not a diss to alex, is literally fiction. I love her btw, and hope she never reads it, as for you, i hope you enjoy :)
The road disappeared beneath layers of snow as the car climbed higher into the mountains. Everything outside the window looked untouched, immaculate, white stretching endlessly, broken only by dark pine trees and the occasional wooden cabins.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself, watching my breath fog the glass for a brief second before fading away. St. Moritz was beautiful. Everyone said that. They just never mentioned how aggressive the cold could feel.
The resort revealed itself slowly, as if carved directly into the mountain. Glass, stone, warm wood glowing softly against the snow. Lights spilled from inside, golden and deliberate.
The doors slid open and heat wrapped around me instantly. The lobby smelled of burning wood, leather, and something faintly sweet. Everything was hushed, controlled, curated. Conversations stayed low, laughter measured.
— Wlsome miss y/n. You’ll be staying with us for the next seven nights, — the receptionist said smoothly handing me the key to the room.
Alex was my second cousin. Barely that. The kind of relative you only remembered existed when weddings or birthdays demanded politeness.
The birthday invitation had come wrapped in warmth that felt rehearsed “It would mean so much if you came” and I’d read the obligation between every line. My mom insisted for me to come, and now here I’m, for 7 days.
The elevator rose in silence, glass walls exposing the mountains in their intimidating scale. I pressed my fingers together, already missing warmth that came naturally from the sun, not through fireplaces and thick walls.
My room was excessive in the quietest way possible: soft lighting, clean lines, neutral colors, an untouched perfect bed, a fireplace already lit. Everything seemed rather pale and bland.
The balcony opened onto a view so surreal it almost seemed staged. I stepped closer to the window. The mountains stood still, indifferent, eternal. Beautiful, but so distant.
On the table, a botle of white wine, chocolates, and a folded card:
“Welcome to our resort MIss y/n!
We invite you to join us this afternoon for the après-ski at the main lounge, starting at 2 PM.”
I changed slowly, dressing for a version of myself that would match here. light trousers, white boots, a light sweater and last but not least the dramatic, impractical, but warm light fur coat.
-
The après-ski lounge was already alive when I arrived. House music pulsed through the space, louder than expected. Glasses clinked, champagne popped. Heat from tall heaters mixed with the scent of alcohol and perfume. It was kinda nice. Maybe I could get used to it.
People filled every corner of the salon. I hovered near the entrance for a moment, feeling invisible and exposed all at once. I belonged to bare feet and salt air. To sunburns and loud dinners. Here, everything felt intentional. Measured.
I straightened my posture and walked toward the bar. If I was going to endure the obligation of being here, I would do it with a drink in my hand.
“A Negroni, please.”
While I waited, my gaze drifted across the lounge. Clusters of people leaned into one another, laughing loudly, flushed from the cold and the alcohol. I searched instinctively for a familiar face: Alex.
Not because I was eager to find her. But it would be polite. Proof that I’d arrived, that I was present.
I didn’t spot her anywhere, and a small relief settled in my chest. I wrapped my fingers around the glass and turned away from the bar, weaving carefully through the crowd.
The lounge was even fuller now. People clustered in small groups, boots scraping against stone, laughter spilling into the air. Someone brushed past me, another laughed too loudly behind my shoulder. I adjusted my grip on the Negroni, steadying myself.
I took two steps. And then everything collided. Not violently, but suddenly. Awkwardly. A shoulder hit mine from the side, enough to knock the breath out of me for half a second.
“Oh… I’m so sorry, I…”
I looked down just in time to see red wine spill in an uncontrolled arc, soaking into the pale fur of my coat. The color spread instantly, deep and unmistakable, staining the light color of the coat.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I was…”
He stood there, clearly overwhelmed, holding ski poles tucked awkwardly under one arm, skis balanced against his side like he hadn’t quite decided what to do with them. In his other hand, a wine glass tilted dangerously, a few remaining drops clinging to the rim. He looked out of place.
Dark sweater, hair slightly messy, cheeks faintly flushed from the cold. His green eyes were wide, as if he’d just committed a crime.
“I shouldn’t have been carrying all of this,” he continued quickly.
For a second, I just stared at him. He blinked.
“I ruined your coat.”
“It's OK.” I murmured
His shoulders dropped slightly, relief washing over his face.
“Thank you for not yelling at me.” He smiles
“I’m considering it” I said also smiling.
That earned a breath of a laugh from him. Soft. Unplanned.
“Let me fix this” he said. “Cleaning, replacement, whatever it takes. I insist."
The way he held himself, tense but polite. The way his attention stayed fully on me, like nothing else in the room mattered anymore.
“Okay” I said finally. “But only if you stop apologizing”
He smiled, small and sincere.
We stepped slightly aside, closer to one of the fire pits. The warmth kissed my skin, melting the sharp edge of the moment.
“I’m Y/N by the way”
“Charles, so nice to meet you”
He shifted the skis awkwardly, clearly unsure where to put them.
“You really carried those in here?” I said pointing to the skis
“Not the best idea” he admitted. “I just came off the slopes and thought I’d grab a drink before going back to my room.”
“Smart”
“Doesn't seems like it” he confirmed. I laughed.
Our eyes lingered a fraction longer than necessary. The music seemed to fade into the background.
I became aware of how close he was. Of the warmth radiating from him. Of the way his gaze dipped briefly, then returned to my face.
Suddenly I heard a familiar voice cut through the air behind me.
“Charles?”
I felt the way his shoulders straightened, the way his attention fractured for the first time since we’d collided.
Slowly, he turned and I followed his gaze.
She was just a few steps away, framed by warm lights and glass walls, the snow outside making her white coat gleam in an almost magical way, unlike mine, which seemed like a battered version of the same coat.
She was tall, elegant, beautiful in a way that seemed rehearsed, yet natural. Her hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, her smile already forming, familiar and confident.
“There you are” she said, relief lacing her voice. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
She crossed the distance between us with ease, slipping naturally into his space. Her hand found his arm as if it had done so a thousand times before.
“You disappeared” she continued lightly, then glanced at me for the first time.
Her smile didn’t fade.
“Oh” she said. “Hi y/n. I'm so glad you made it”
“Hi Alex, so nice to see you” I replied with a shy and polite smile.
Before we could say anything her eyes flicked briefly to my coat.
“What happened?”
I opened my mouth, but Charles spoke first.
“I did” he said immediately. “It was an accident. Completely my fault.”
Her gaze snapped back to him, surprise flashing across her face before softening.
“Oh my god, Charles, how clumsy you are!” she said fondly. Then, without hesitation, she smiled wider. “This is my boyfriend Charles”
Boyfriend. The word landed hard. Heavy.
“This is Y/N my second cousin.” she added, squeezing his arm
Charles looked between us, something unreadable crossing his face. Regret, maybe. Or realization. Or both.
“She came for my birthday. Isn’t that sweet?”
Sweet. She leaned into him then, resting her head briefly against his shoulder. The gesture was intimate, unconscious, a claim made without effort.
“Well, its lovely to finally meet you guys… I think, I should…” I gestured vaguely at my coat. “See if there’s anything that can be done about this.”
Charles turned to me immediately.
“I’ll come with you” he said.
“No.. It’s okay” I said before he could make any move. “Really. It was nice meeting you.”
I met his eyes one last time.
Something unspoken passed between us
“I’m sorry” he said quietly.
I smiled. ”Me too.”
I turned away before either of them could speak again, slipping back toward the bar, into the noise, into the safety of the crowd. Back to the version of myself that existed before red wine and Charles green eyes.
-
The room door closed softly behind me.
My room felt too quiet, too perfect. The fireplace crackled gently, flames moving with lazy indifference. Outside, the mountains stood frozen, unchanged as always.
I stood there for a moment, taking off the coat, the fur slid off my shoulders slowly, heavier than it should have been. I laid it carefully over the back of the chair, my eyes fixed on the stain.
Red. It had dried unevenly, soaking deep into the pale fibers. Perhaps permanent.
I stared at it longer than necessary. The accident replayed in my mind in fragmentsm: The impact, his apology, the skis by his side. The way his attention had locked onto mine like the rest of the room had ceased to exist.
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. It had meant nothing. It should have meant nothing. We were strangers. A brief interaction. A coincidence. And yet, my chest felt tight in a way that suggested otherwise. Shit.
I turned away from the coat and started unpacking. I opened my suitcase, methodically placing clothes into drawers. Knitwear folded neatly. Dresses hung carefully in the closet.
My phone buzzed on the bed. I hesitated before picking it up.
“Alex: A few of us are getting together for dinner tonight. You should come.”
“Me: Yes, I’ll come.”
“Alex: Perfect! 8 PM at the main restaurant 😉”
I walked toward the wardrobe, fingers brushing over fabric until they landed on something simple but intentional. Dark this time. A little back dress elegant and classic
In the bathroom, warm light softened my reflection. I straightened my posture, applied a touch of makeup, smoothed my hair back into place and chose earrings carefully.
When the knock came. I walked to the door slowly. When I opened it, Charles stood in the hallway.
He looked different without the noise of the lounge around him. Calmer. His hair was still slightly damp, like he’d just showered, and he wore a clean shirt now, white and simple. In his hand, he held an envelope.
“I hope this isn’t inappropriate” he said quietly. “I asked the front desk for your room number. I wanted to apologize properly.”
My fingers tightened around the door.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know. But I want to.”
He held out the envelope.
“For the coat. Please. At least let me replace it.”
I hesitated, then opened it just enough to see the check inside. I looked back up at him.
“Charles”
“It’s the least I can do” he interrupted gently
“Come in” I said before I could even reconsider.
The room felt smaller instantly. Warmer. The fireplace crackled, casting light across his face as he took in the space, careful not to touch anything.
I placed the envelope on the table.
“You really didn’t have to.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Alex told me you are her cousin” he said finally. I leaned against the dresser, crossing my arms loosely.
“Second cousin. We don’t really talk much. But she’s very nice”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“You don’t look like someone excited to be here” he admitted.
I smiled faintly.
“Not used to the cold” I looked away.
One more moment of silence
“I’m sorry if I made things uncomfortable for you earlier.”
“You didn’t” I said honestly. “It’s fine, really”
Another pause. He took a step closer, then stopped himself.
“You’re very easy to talk to” he said.
“You’re very bad at carrying skis and wine at the same time.”
That earned a soft laugh. The silence returned, thicker now. Charged.
“I should go” he said finally “See youa te dinner?”
“Of corse. I’m almost ready”
He moved toward the door, hand hovering over the handle.
“See you soon” he said one last time, meeting my eyes.
I nodded. He left quietly, the door closing with a final click. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the space he’d occupied. Then I picked up the envelope and placed it carefully in my bag.
-
Day 2
The morning light in St. Moritz felt deliberate and soft, almost reverent, spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the breakfast room.
I arrived early to the hotel restaurant. Not because I was particularly hungry, but because solitude felt safer. The room smelled like fresh coffee, warm bread, and something sweet I couldn’t identify.
I had just poured myself coffee when I saw them. Alex was sat at a table near the windows, sunlight catching in her shiny hair beautifully. Charles sat across from her, jacket slung casually over the back of his chair.
They made sense together, they look beautiful.
Alex spotted me and waved.
“Y/N! Come sit with us!”
I walked over, suddenly hyper-aware of every step, like everybody in the room was watching me. Charles stood politely as I approached, his gaze meeting mine for only a second before shifting away.
“Good morning” he said.
“Morning” I replied.
“Did you sleep well? The beds here are insane here.” Alex started to strike up conversation
“Slept like a baby” I said smoothly.
Breakfast passed in soft clinks of cutlery and polite conversation. We talked about the weather, the view, how perfect the snow conditions were.
Then Alex turned to me, eyes bright.
“So” she said “Are you going to ski today?”
I frozed slightly.
“I don’t know… I was thinking about it.... Thinking about watching from a distance, perhaps.” I said attempting to seem casual
“It’s your first time?” she asked.
“Yes… kinda” I look a sip of my hot coffe
Alex 's face lit up.
“That 's perfect! Charles is a amazing skier. He can help you.”
The words landed heavier than they should have. I glanced at him instinctively.
He looked up at the same time, expression unreadable.
“Nevermind… I don’t want to be a burden” I said quickly.
“Oh, you won’t be” Alex waved it off. “He’s very good. He’s taught half our friends.”
Charles cleared his throat. And took a sip of his coffee
“I mean… If you want” he said carefully. “I would be happy to teach you too”
The way he said it made it clear he meant exactly that.
“If it won’t bother… I’d appreciate it” I replied
Alex smiled, satisfied.
“Perfect! We’ll all go together.”
Charles reached for his coffee, eyes dropping to the table.
-
The ski rental shop was warmer than I expected. Racks of boots and skis, the low murmur of people laughing nervously, clearly on their first day like me.
Charles walked beside me, hands in his pockets.
“First rule” he said lightly “ the boots are going to feel awful”.
“They are not very fashionable” I replied.
He smiled.
The attendant handed me a pair of boots. I struggled to put htem on, bending awkwardly, already regretting every life choice that had brought me to snow.
“Here” Charles said softly.
He crouched in front of me before I could protest.
His hands were firm but careful as he adjusted the buckles, fingers brushing my ankle by accident.
I held my breath.
“Too tight?” he asked.
“I almost lost circulation” I smiled.
He laughed quietly.
“It's supposed to be a little bit tight. Unfortunately.”
When I stood up, I wobbled immediately. His hand shot out, gripping my forearm.
“Got you.”
He didn’t let go.
“Thank you” I said, steadying myself.
Outside, the air hit my face sharply, bright and cold. The mountains felt closer now, more imposing.
Alex waved from a distance.
“We’ll meet you guys at the lift!“ she called. “I need to grab something first.”
And just like that, we were alone.
-
The beginner slope was quiet, forgiving. Or at least that’s what Charles claimed.
“Okay” he said, standing in front of me. “Bend your knees slightly. Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You are clearly not”
He moved behind me without warning.
“I’m just going to show you the position” His hands hovered near my hips. ‘Tell me if this is uncomfortable” he said.
His palms rested lightly at my waist, guiding my stance. The contact was brief. Professional.
My pulse disagreed.
“Weight forward” he murmured near my ear.
I nodded, focused on not thinking about how close he was.
“Now push off gently.”
I did. And immediately lost control. His arms wrapped around me instinctively, stopping my fall. My back pressed against his chest, his breath warm against my neck despite the cold.
We froze like that. Too close for too long.
“You’re okay, I’m here” he said quietly.
When he finally stepped back, there was something careful in his expression. Like he was recalculating.
“Let’s try again” he said. “Slower this time.”
We practiced in silence after that. Him skating backward in front of me, hands ready but not touching. Me hyper-aware of every glance, every almost-fall.
At one point, I reached out instinctively and grabbed his jacket. He looked down at my hand. Then back at my face.
“You’re getting confident now” Charles said, gliding backward, effortless. “That’s usually when people fall.”
“Is that supposed to calm me down?”
“Depends. I find kinda charming.”
I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself.
The snow shifted under my skis without warning. One second I was upright, the next I was very much not.
“Charles”
I lunged forward. He tried to caught me.
Our skis tangled, working against us, and suddenly we were both going down, laughing as we fell into the soft snow off the side of the piste.
We landed hard enough to knock the air out of me. But not hard enough to hurt.
I was vaguely aware that I was half on top of him, one knee pressed into the snow beside his thigh, my hands braced against his chest. His hands were on my waist. Firm. Unapologetic.
Neither of us moved. The laughter faded into something slower, heavier. His thumbs rested just above my hips, barely moving, like he’d forgotten they were there or like he hadn’t.
“You okay?” he asked, softer now.
“Yeah. You?”
“I am ok”
The mountains loomed around us, silent witnesses. Snowflakes clung to his lashes. His face was close enough that I could see the faint line at the corner of his mouth when he smiled.
His gaze dropped to my lips.Stayed there.
“We should get up” I said, weakly.
“We should.”
Still, he didn’t move.
“But just to be clear” he added “I will catch you again… I mean.. If you fall”
“Hope that won’t be necessary”
He smiled, slow and dangerous.
I shifted, trying to stand, and immediately slipped again. This time, he was ready, arms wrapping around me easily, pulling me against him.
“Careful” he murmured, mouth close to my ear
-
Day 3
I woke up before my alarm. The light outside was pale and cold, filtering through the sheer curtains like it didn’t want to intrude. Snow covered everything again, untouched, perfect, the kind of beauty that felt almost cruel.
I stayed in bed longer than necessary. Instead of getting dressed and facing people, I picked up the phone and ordered room service. Coffee. Fresh fruit. Pastries.
When the tray arrived, I carried it to the small table by the window. The view was unreal. Mountains rising sharply against the sky, endless white broken only by dark trees and distant ski tracks. It should have made me feel lucky.
But then, It huts me Charles’s laugh. His hands on my waist. The way he looked at me for half a second too long. This was exactly the kind of situation I wanted to avoid.
I didn’t come here for this. I came for Alex’s birthday, out of family politeness, out of the expectation that I should show up. Alex wasn’t a close friend, she was family. And she was his girlfriend. The realization felt sharper in the quiet of the room. Whatever tension existed between Charles and me, it crossed a line simply by existing.
I took a sip of coffee, grimacing slightly. Too strong.
Today was about Alex, her birthday, her party. her friends. her relationship.
No lingering conversations. No private moments. No more “accidental” closeness. I would be polite. Distant. Appropriate.
My phone buzzed on the table.
A message from Alex.
“Can’t wait to see you tonight 🤍”
I stared at the screen for a moment, then typed back a cheerful response that felt practiced.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Happy birthday!”
-
Whrn night finally came, warm light spilled from crystal chandeliers, reflecting off polished floors and glass walls. Everyone was dressed beautifully, tailored suits, long coats, silk dresses and high heels.
I stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary before leaving my room. Red dress. Simple, fitted, warm enough to justify itself. Hair loose. Makeup deliberate, sharper than usual.
When I entered the restaurant, Alex spotted me immediately.
“You look incredible!” she said, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Happy birthday!” I smiled, meaning it. She’s been so nice after all
And then, like gravity, I felt him.
Charles stood near the bar, dark suit, no tie, jacket open. He looked up just as I looked at him. Our eyes met, he looked at me head to toe. I broke the gaze first and went straight to the bar.
“A Negroni” the usual.
One turned into two. Then three.
“Y/N” Charles approched at one point, stepping closer. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet all night.”
“Just tired.” I said “Have you seen Alex?”
“She’s over there”
Every answer was brief. Clean. Closed.
I watched his confusion shift slowly into frustration.
By the time the music grew louder and the room warmer, the alcohol had softened the edges of my resolve. I laughed more easily. I moved closer to people. I let myself be seen. It was starting to have fun.
That’s when Matteo appeared. A friend of Alex’s. Italian. Easy smile. Dark curls. Familiar enough to feel safe.
“You don’t look like you belong here Bella” he said lightly.
We talked. We drank. He leaned in when the music grew louder, his hand brushing my arm. I didn’t pull away. Matteo was fun, handsome, and most importantly, he made me forgot about Charles for a moment.
But at some point I felt Charles gaze upon me.
When the cake arrived and everyone gathered for Happy Birthday, I was already tipsy enough to sway slightly. Matteo’s hand rested at my lower back. I laughed when he whispered something ridiculous in my ear.
I didn’t look at Charles for the rest of the night.
-
The hallway outside the restaurant was quiet, dimly lit, carpet swallowing the sound of my steps. I kicked off my heels halfway down, carrying them in one hand, coat slung over my arm.
That’s when I saw him. Charles leaned against the wall near the elevators, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up. His expression was tight.
“You’re avoiding me” he said.
I stopped.
“I’m just tired.”
“That’s not what this is.”
I turned to face him fully.
“You have a girlfriend. Charles. Alex, my cousin, remember her? Is her birthday today”
His jaw clenched.
“And now you apparently have a boyfriend as well… you were flirting with Matteo.”
“ Yes, and I was having a good time, until I saw you...”
“You were doing it on purpose.” he interrupted me
Silence stretched between us.
“You don’t get to be jealous Charles, doesn't even make sense” I said quietly.
He stepped closer.
“You don’t get to pretend nothing is happening.”
My heart pounded.
“This is Alex’s night. Don’t ruin it” I said and went straight to my room.
-
Day 4
The SPA day with Alex girlfriends was fun, relaxed, and glowing. For a few hours, it was easy to forget everything else.
By the time we reached the après-ski bar. Music was very loud. People still wore ski clothes, cheeks flushed from the cold, drinks in hand.
I felt him before I saw him. Charles stood near the edge of the crowd, jacket open, drink in hands. His gaze found me almost instantly. And didn’t leave.
I tried to ignore it. I laughed when someone said something funny, nodded along to conversations I barely followed. But every time I shifted, every time I moved, I felt his eyes on me steady, insistent.
My chest tightened. I leaned toward Alex.
“I think I’m done for the day” I said. “I’m exhausted.”
She frowned slightly.
“Already?”
“SPA exhaustion is real. I’m so relaxed I just want to take a nap”
She smiled, distracted again almost immediately.
“Get some rest. We’ll see you at dinner.”
I hugged her, waved goodbye to the others, and slipped out before I could change my mind. The music faded as I stepped into the hallway. The quiet hit me instantly, sharp after hours of noise. My boots echoed softly against the floor as I walked toward the elevators.
I didn’t make it far.
“Y/N.”
His voice stopped me cold. I turned.
Charles stood a few steps behind me, breathing a little harder than usual, like he’d followed faster than he meant to.
“You shouldn’t have followed me” I said.
“You shouldn’t have left”
“I was uncomfortable.”
The silence between us felt heavier than before.
“You’ve been staring at me since I got here” I added quietly.
“Because you keep pretending I don’t exist.”
“Because I’m trying to do the right thing.”
He stepped closer.
“And how’s that working for you?”
My pulse raced.
“This isn’t fair Charles” I said. “Not to Alex.”
His jaw tightened at her name.
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
“I tried.”
His voice dropped.
“I tried yesterday. And today. And I failed every time I looked at you.”
I swallowed.
“We shouldn’t be here.”
He took a step closer and kissed me. It wasn’t sudden, it was inevitable.
His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing my jaw as if grounding himself. The kiss was deep, urgent, everything we’d been holding back poured into that single moment. I gasped softly against his mouth, fingers curling into his jacket. The world narrowed.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, breath uneven.
“You shouldn’t have done that” I murmured.
Neither of us moved.
“This is not fair Charles” I whispered.
“I know.”
His eyes searched mine, conflicted and honest in a way that scared me.
I stepped away first.
“Goodnight, Charles.”
This time, he didn’t stop me.
But I felt the weight of that kiss follow me all the way to my room, heavy, irreversible, impossible to forget.
I didn’t show up at dinner that night
-
Day 5
Alex invited me to go shopping with her. We spent the morning wandering through the small luxury shops near the resort. Alex tried on scarves she didn’t need, I tried purses I didn't need and we tasted every variation of chocolate the place had to offer.
I smiled easily. It wasn’t forced. Being with her reminded me one more time why all the situation with Charles felt so wrong.
She was warm in a way that didn’t demand attention. Thoughtful. Uncomplicated. The kind of person who assumed the best in people without question.
At one point, while we sat by a window with steaming cups of coffee between us, she stirred her drink slowly and said, almost absently:
"Charles has been a bit strange lately."
My hand tightened around the porcelain.
"Strange how?..." I asked, carefully.
She shrugged.
"Quieter, I guess. Distracted. He’s been staring off into space like his mind is somewhere else."
I nodded, eyes on my cup. The comment lingered between us, heavier than it should have been. I wondered if she felt it too, that subtle shift, that instinct that something was slightly off, even if she couldn’t name it.
We didn’t talk about him again.
-
Later we had our arms full of shopping bags.
"Could you help me take these upstairs?" Alex asked
"Of course."
The hallway outside her room was quiet, carpet muffling our steps. I was relaxed until the door opened. Charles was inside.
He stood near the window, white shirt on, phone in his hand. When he looked up and saw us, something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe, before it disappeared behind polite composure.
"Hey" he said.
"Hey" I replied, just as neutral.
Alex stepped inside first, completely unaware of the way the air had changed.
" Hi baby! You’re still here? I thought you were meeting the guys."
"Plans have changed. You and I are having dinner at Balzk tonight, I finally managed to get a reservation for two," He said, holding her sweetly.
His eyes found mine for half a second too long, then moved away. It broke me without any explanations.
"Oh my God! You'd been trying to get us in for ages" Alex was glowing
I placed the bags on the bench at the foot of the bed. It was impressive, how normal he looked.
I stood slightly apart, hands folded in front of me, suddenly hyper-aware of my own body. When Alex turned to hang a coat in the closet, Charles cleared his throat.
"How was the day?" he asked me.
"Nice" I said sharped
Our eyes met briefly.
Then Alex turned back around, and the moment vanished.
"I should go" I said quickly, already stepping back toward the door. "Have a great dinner"
Alex hugged me without hesitation.
"Thank you for today."
"Anytime." I smiled, hiding my discomfort.
As I reached for the door handle, I felt his gaze on my back. I didn’t turn around.
I walked down the hallway with my heart pounding far harder than the moment deserved. The damage was already done.
-
Day 6
The last dinner in the resort felt heavier than the others. One more night before suitcases closed and people returned to their real lives. May I say Thank God.
Low lights, candles flickering against dark wood, music slower this time. Everyone looked deliberate in their elegance as always.
I arrived with Alex this time. She insisted on picking me up in my room. She looped her arm through mine, chatting about nothing in particular, the food, the weather, how fast the week had gone.
She looked radiant, effortless in a long silk dress that moved like it belonged to her.
WHen we made it to the restaurant, Charles joined us moments later. He kissed her cheek, polite, brief, his hand rested at her lower back.
He greeted me with a nod. A smile that didn’t quite stay.
We found a table near the windows. Snow drifted outside, slow and constant. Conversations flowed. Alex talked. I listened. Charles answered when spoken to, eyes often wandering to the room, to the bar, to anywhere but her.
When he laughed, it came half a second late, like he’d missed the punchline and filled it in anyway.
At dinner, Alex reached for his hand. He took it, but his fingers stayed loose in hers. No squeeze. No thumb brushing over skin. She didn’t pull away. She just continued talking.
Later, when she stood to greet someone across the room, she leaned down instinctively, aiming for his cheek. He turned his head just enough that the kiss landed closer to the corner of his mouth. Awkward. Unintended.
I felt the tension and stepped toward the terrace, needing air. The cold hit my skin sharply, grounding.
"Not having fun?"
His voice came from behind me. Charles stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, posture careful. He didn’t cross the distance between us.
"I like quiet" I said.
"I know."
We stood side by side, facing the mountains. The silence between us felt practiced now.
"You know... You look beautiful tonight" he said finally.
It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t flirtation. It sounded like truth slipping out before he could stop it.
"You shouldn’t say that" I replied.
Inside, laughter erupted. Someone clinked a glass. Life continued.He nodded, jaw tightening slightly. We stood there for a moment, facing the mountains.
"Goodnight, Y/N."
"Goodnight, Charles."
He left first.
Back inside, Alex found me near the bar.
"You okay?" she asked lightly.
"Yeah... Just cold, I was outside.."
She hesitated, then shrugged.
" I'm so glac you came, but so happy we're leaving tomorrow. Charles has been strange all day" she said, almost casually. "He's probably stressed."
I nodded.
"It happens."
-
Far past midnight I heard the knock. When I opened the door, he stood there: jacket gone, shirt slightly wrinkled, blushed from the cold ou the alcohol.
"Why are you here?" I asked quietly.
He exhaled, a tired sound.
"I told her" he said.
For a moment, everything went cold. My fingers tightened against the doorframe. My stomach dropped, sharp and sudden, like I’d missed a step.
"WHAT? Are you insane? Come in"
The door closed behind him.
He stood there, not touching anything, not touching me. Like he was afraid movement might push him too far.
"You told Alex about us? Are you fuckinh stupid, Charles?" I whispered.
He shook his head quickly.
"No. God, no. Not that. Are you insane?"
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
"Then what?" I asked.
He stepped closer, stopping just short of the threshold.
"I told her the truth."
Silence stretched.
"I told her I wasn’t in love with her. I never was"
The words settled slowly, heavily.
"We talked after dinner yesterday" he continued, voice low. "She felt it. The distance. The way I’ve been pulling away for months. Tonight she asked me directly if I was still in this."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, tired.
"And I couldn’t lie anymore."
My chest tightened.
I looked away, the weight of it pressing into me.I let out a shaky breath.
"That doesn’t make it better."
He finally stepped inside. The door closed softly behind him. The room felt smaller again. Warmer. Dangerous.
"That’s why I’m here" he said. "Because tonight felt like the end of pretending. And I didn’t want to leave without telling you this"
I crossed my arms, grounding myself. Silence fell again, heavy with everything we weren’t fixing.
"I don’t trust myself around you" he said softly.
My breath caught.
"Then you should leave."
He hesitated.
"Tell me to go away."
I stood there, helpless. Weak to say anything
His approached with a careful touch. As if he knew this wasn’t about urgency. He kissed my neck slowly. letting the strap of my sweater fall over my arms. Over my body aesily, letting me naked.
He continued the kisses along my hole back. Turned me to face him and finally kissed me. Slow. Deep. Heavy. I crossed my arms over my shoulders. I was gone.
He guided me to the bed and continued kissing my hole body until his lips reached between my legs. Charles did everything slowly, which made it all the more intense. When I felt his lips perfectly positioned on my clitoris, I couldn't contain the moan.
Charles smiled between my legs.
"I've wanted this ever since I first laid eyes on you."
He kept going. Head betwwen my legs. One hard firm in my waist. The other one in me breast. It was coldoutside, but my body was boiling. At this point my moans were louder and Charles was enjoying himself.
He went back to kissing running his hands all over my body.
"Beg me" He said looking deeply yo my eyes
"Charles..."
" I want to hear you say it"
"Please... Charles... I need you..." I said between moans, not even knowing my own name anymore.
He went straight to it. Deep. Hard. Desperate. He kept the movements slow, but intense while he kissed me softly. His hards were in my neck. We were both moaning quietly between kisses.
Our lips were hot and wet and sometimes Charles would bite my lips and my neck.
The movement started to get fast and we were both sweaty and intertwined pressing our bodies violently against each other. I had goosebumps and felt like cumming.
"Don't stop Charles" I murmured with my eyes closed
"Fuck... " He kept going even more intense and my whole body contracted.
I finally came, and Charles did too, right after. We stood there for a moment, breathing deep.
Charles kissed me warmly and smiled.
"You should go" I said.
"I know, Don't bother to get out of bed beautiful"
He kissed my forehead and my body was so relax, that this was the last thing I remember before sleeping.
-
Day 7
The next morning I woke up to the sun invading the room. The hole bed was a mess, and the last night hit me. I smiled remembering the forehead kiss.
On the bedside table was a note:
"Don't rush, I know it's complicated.
But I'll be waiting for your call, beautiful
And I'll pick you up wherever you are.
We can go somewhere as warm as you.
A kiss on your forehead and another on your lips."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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it all started when, back in Monaco, you runs into charles during a event after years without seeing each other. you have a late-night drive full of old feelings and "what ifs". it turns out, some connections are just impossible to outrun.
warnings: a little smut!, teenager hot memories!, drink and drive!
word count: ~3k
note: this was the first thing that i wrote. i really like the ambiance, but i don't really know how to write smut scenes so this was physical pain. hope u enjoy it <3
The chandeliers glowed like ghosts over the marble floor. I hadn't returned to Monte Carlo in almost a decade. Everything looked the same. Untouchable. Golden. Suspended in time.
My footsteps echoed softly through the hall. The event was taking place in the Belle Époque Room of the Casino de Monte-Carl. The space had been transformed for the Annual Gala of the Fondation du Motorsport, a traditional charity ball that brought together drivers, former champions, businessmen, and bilionaries Monegasque families, all dressed in black tie to raise funds for social programs linked to motorsport.
My eyes danced between the elements of the room. This time, they met Charles standing near the balcony, surrounded by a few people, with a polite smile on his face. The black suit, the serene gaze, just like I remembered.
I stared at him for too long, without realizing it.
And then, as if he had felt the weight of my gaze, he turned his head and came toward me.
— Y/N? — The voice was lower and deeper than I remembered.
Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc. The boy from Monaco, now a man, a Ferrari driver. Time seemed to have made him more handsome, perhaps more distant.
— Charles... — I murmured, smiling.
The vibration of his voice brought back memories of laughter at the marina, endless summers, promise he had made me one day: "When I win my first race, I'm going to dance with you right here."
— Do you still come to these events? — he asked.
— Rarely. I think I forgot how to be a part of all this — I smiled
— How many years has it been?
— Seven — I replied. — Seven... — I repeated, almost to myself.
For a moment, we just looked at each other. The room remained alive around us.
— Remember that summer in Portofino? — he asked, with a half-smile.
— How could I forget? Your father let me drive the F50. He must have been very drunk, I was only 14 and, unlike you, I wasn't out karting every day.
— That's true — He let out a sincere laugh. — I think we were too young to understand.
There was a pause. One of those that aren't uncomfortable, but heavy with memory.
— What have you been up to, Y/N? I've been so busy this past season that I can't think of anything besides all this nonsense of engines, tracks, and cameras — he said with a certain regret, taking a sip of wine.
I took a second to respond.
— Around. Working, traveling... I'm spending a season in New York, I think you might remember it's my city... — he cut me off.
— Your favorite city in the world — he murmured. We laughed together.
I wanted to say something, but the words didn't come.
From the window side, you could hear the sea hitting the rocks of the harbor, and suddenly, everything came back: the blue hydrangeas blooming in the villa's windows, the cashmere jacket Charles wore on cold nights, the sweet perfume mixed with the sea salt, the warm air of summer mornings, the sun illuminating every detail of his face, the red car roaring down the dirt road, and Charles's laughter echoing as we accelerated to 200 km/h in the dusty road of Portofino.
— The F50 is outside, maybe we could take a drive…— Charles proposed with the same daring look as when we had to steal the vehicle keys in secret, but we were adults now. — I mean in his honor
— In that case... — I replied, and he offered me his arm, we headed to the parking lot.
Charles discreetly grabbed a bottle of sparkling wine from the main table, and we left the hall, the sound of the event fading behind us.
In the parking lot, my eyes fell upon the F50, which I recognized from afar, parked discreetly under the yellowish light of a lamp.
The same red of the car seemed as vibrant as it had seven years ago, taking me back to the dirt road, the sound of the engine's roar, the wind messing up my hair.
He approached slowly, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the car. Like telepathy, I could feel Charles's thoughts remembering Hervé.
— Do you still look at it the same way? — he asked, trying to sound casual.
— I don't know... — I replied, looking away. — Everything has changed, except the color.
He laughed softly.
— Red has always been my favorite color. — He opened the bottle with care and delicacy, very different from the podium celebrations I saw on TV. — Shall we take a drive? — he asked, with that smirk I knew all too well, took a sip from the bottle, and then handed it to me.
I didn't need to answer, just got into the car, feeling the cold leather of the seat against my thighs. My dress was short and left a bit more skin exposed. I propped the bottle between my legs. Charles got in from the other side, and in a matter of seconds, the sound of the engine waking up could be heard.
When he pulled out of the parking lot, accelerating through the empty streets of Monaco, the city became a sequence of red and golden lights reflecting off the windows at high speed. I laughed without thinking, a laugh I hadn't heard in myself for years.
He looked sideways, satisfied, and whispered.
— You still laugh the same way — he turned his eyes back to the road.
The wind messed up my hair and brought the scent of the sea. The curves of the coast were the same, but now everything seemed quieter. It was a relatively calm Thursday night in Monaco, and we seemed to be the only ones on the street.
I took a long sip of sparkling wine. My muscle memory or a nostalgic impulse took hold of me, and I unbuckled my seatbelt, leaning my torso out of the car.
He laughed softly, gripping the steering wheel and accelerating even more, which from the outside must have passed like a red blur. The engine roared louder as we entered the tunnel. The lights passed too quickly, and with them, flashes of memory: the blue hydrangeas, the sea, the wine, the warm sensation of Charles's lips when we kissed for the first time late in the afternoon on San Fruttuoso beach.
Upon reaching the harbor, he slowed down. The car stopped at a remote spot in the port. The engine still vibrated low, filling the air with that sound that seemed to come straight from another era.
Charles turned off the ignition, and the silence that settled in was so deep that I could hear the sea outside. We sat there, inside the car for a moment.
I fixed my gaze on the sea, but I could sense Charles's steady gaze in my direction. I took another sip of the sparkling wine. A strange anxiety gradually took over my body.
— Do you miss this? — Charles asked calmly.
— Racing like this? — I replied, a bit confused by the question and also anxious.
— No — he answered. — Feeling... light.
He leaned in a little, almost unintentionally, and I could smell his perfume. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, before the moment could become what it might be, I brought the bottle to my lips, took another long sip, and offered the bottle to Charles.
— You're still terrible at letting things happen — he murmured, smiling and bringing the bottle to his lips.
— Or great at knowing when not to let them — I replied, with a small but firm smile, opening the car door and stepping outside.
The walk to the harbor was slow. The night wind was cool. From the harbor, you could see the main avenue of Monte Carlo. In the buildings, some lights were still on, and Charles and I walked in silence, analyzing the windows.
— Do you remember the first time we came here? — Charles asked, his gaze lost on the horizon taken by the sea.
— We were what... fifteen? — I replied, laughing softly feeling the sparkling wine effect
— I think so, we also had the most terrible ideas at the time
— Stealing a bottle of wine from the adults didn't seem that terrible at the time — I shrugged. — You thought we were invincible. Plus, we never got caught.
Charles laughed, but the sound came out muffled, almost melancholy.
— There was no way it could go wrong. It was the perfect plan — he began to explain, gesturing with his hands. — It was: waiting for them to get drunk enough, go to the yacht deck, we'd steal a bottle and come drink at the harbor — He paused for a moment. — And it worked, when we got back, everyone was passed out right there.
For an instant, the silence between us was heavier than the air. We didn't need to mention what else had happened that night.
He took a long sip from the bottle and offered it to me.
— I still have that watch — he said, changing his tone. — The one you tried to adjust and dropped into the sea.
I laughed, easing the knot that was starting to form in my throat with another equally long sip.
We stopped in front of Charles's yacht, which swayed gently under the reflection of the city lights. The white hull gleamed, and the red of the lanterns reflected in the sea. The same color that seems to have been following us for years.
— Red again... — I murmured, almost to myself.
Charles gazed me in silence.
— It was always our color.
— No — I fixed my gaze on the ocean. — It was always your color.
And for an instant, time seemed to turn back, the sound of the wine being opened, the cork rolling across the wooden floor, his laughter muffled, trying not to draw attention, the taste too sweet in the mouth, mixed with the sea salt coming from the wind. Bare feet running along the pier, trying not to make noise. Vision blurring and body temperature rising.
Charles broke the silence with a gentle gesture, offering his hand.
— Come — he said simply. — I want to show you something.
We climbed the small metal ladder to the yacht's deck. Inside, the boat was a discreet reflection of him: elegant, but effortless. The white walls, the gleam of steel, the distant sound of instrumental music coming from some room. He quickly showed the cabins, the small bar, the lounge with wide windows that opened to the sea.
— And here is the best place — he said, pushing a glass door to the back deck.
The night wind hit us immediately. The horizon stretched before our eyes, a dark carpet of waves dotted by the silvery light of the moon. The waters lapped gently against the hull in an almost hypnotic rhythm. We stood there for a few minutes.
— You know what's funny? — he began. — When I was a child, I thought racing would be the end of all my dreams. After that, everything would make sense.
I turned my eyes to him and watched every word come out of his mouth, as if he were speaking in slow motion; at this point, the sparkling wine had definitely gone to my head.
He let out a low, humorless laugh.
— In the beginning, everything seemed to work. The car was fast, being on the podium was enough, and everything had a certain magic. But now it's different — He took a deep breath and continued speaking like a confession. — When the car breaks, when you make a mistake, when you can't sleep because all you hear is the sound of the engine failing, suddenly, that boy who dreamed of winning starts to miss things he didn't even know he had left behind. You know?
He turned his face toward me and looked into my eyes with a terrifying intensity.
— Like nights like this — He smiled, but his gaze was distant. — Simple, without a stopwatch, without a goal, without cameras. Just... being.
I smiled with a knot in my throat; at this point, the bottle was already empty, and I had to swallow hard. The same anxiety from 7 years ago began to sprout under my skin again.
— You always wanted to go far, Charles.
— Everything went by so fast... and I kept running. But when I look back, all I see is you y/n, with me and all the summers we spent together...
I lost my breath for a moment, not knowing what to say. The way he said my name was different, a mixture of memory and desire, as if he were saying something he shouldn't.
Charles took a step forward. The distance between us slowly dissolved.
— I missed you, y/n — he said, finally. His voice sounded low but heavy. — More than I should — I remained motionless for a few seconds.
— Don't do this, Charles. — I pulled away, turning my face and breaking our eye contact.
— What? — He froze, confused.
— This... Pretending that time hasn't passed. That we're still the same as before. — I still wasn't looking at him.
Charles ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath.
— I just...
— Just what? — I interrupted, feeling my blood heat up. — Are you going to tell me you miss me? That you regret it? That you wish it had been different?
He remained silent, and that silence said everything.
— I waited a long time for those words to come out of your mouth, now it's too late, Charles. — I started walking toward the exit.
When Charles finally got the seat in Formula 1, I remember the pride we all felt. We knew it was Charles's dream and that he had promised it to his father, who had died shortly before.
In the beginning, it seemed like we were still the same. He included me in parties, in small celebrations. But slowly, I realized that while I was still waiting for something that was just ours, he let himself be carried away by the flashes, the glamour of F1, and the other girls who laughed with him in the lounges and tracks.
— I had just entered Formula 1. Everyone wanted to be close... I thought I had to fit into that world, the parties, the people, the flashes.
— And I became the girl who would wait for you? — I finished.
He turned to me with eyes full of something between regret and helplessness.
— No, you were the only thing that was real... and I let you go.
The wind blew harder, making my hair scatter across my face.
— Too late, Charles.
Charles took half a step forward and held my arm gently, preventing me from continuing toward the exit.
— I still think about that summer.
— Me too. But thinking doesn't change anything.
Charles approaches, and again the distance between the two of us decreases considerably. He looks deep into my eyes, I can feel his breath on my face and the warmth of his hand on my cheek.
— I know you think about that summer as much as I do — He was breathless, as if he were nervous. — I always found myself thinking about you... Our connection was different that night, and I've never felt anything like that with anyone else.
Finally, the distance between us became non-existent, and I felt his wet lips touch mine and his warm breath invade my breathing. The sensation was the same as 7 years ago, my heart beat fast, Charles's scent filled my lungs, and every touch hit me violently.
The rhythm increased, and so did the temperature, at this point, I couldn't think of anything else, it seemed impossible for my body to reject Charles's touches, on the contrary, I wanted more.
Charles' hands roamed over my body until they found the strap of my dress. He slowly slid them down, placing kisses on my neck. My body was limp, and at that point he had complete control.
— Your smell... I missed it so much — he whispered in my ear.
Charles squeezed my waist tighter and quickly his hands found the zipper of my dress. He unzippered it slowly and finally took my dress off. My nipples were hrad, after all, we were on the back deck of the yacht and it was possible to feel the cold breeze.
— You look even more beautiful than I remember — He smiled.
Charles supported me against the deck railing and began to slowly run his fingers over my body while staring at me. First over my shoulders, then my chest, between my breasts, my stomach, and finally placing his fingers down there.
I was already soaked and couln't contain a quiet moan.
— You are so wet... — He sank two fingers in and I couldn't help but let out a louder moan. He smiled and continued the movements while looking into my eyes. — You look so beautiful darling.
He kissed me intensely again, and I immediately took off his jacket and shirt. While he helped me unbutton them, he kissed my neck and let out desperate moans. When I finally reached his pants, I could feel it. I quickly unbuttoned my pants as well.
Before putting it in, he looked at me with unimaginable intensity. It was as if I saw the Charles of 7 years ago, desperate for it, but also nervous and passionate.
He thrust deep and hard, but with slow movements that gradually gained speed. It was noticeable that he had gained experience in recent years. It felt so good.
— You so tight — He kissed me
— It's so good Charles — I murmured between moans and kisses.
Charles positioned me with my back to him, and now I was facing the sea, illuminated by the red headlights of the yacht. He brought me close to him. One of his arms was around my shoulders, and the other arm guided his hand to my clitoris.
— Charles...
— I makes me crazy when you say my name. Say it again! — he ordered putting it even harder and faster with wise hand movement
— I love you Charles!
— Oh.. I fucking love you too..
We finished together, so hard, that amost felt like we were one.
It all started when you, a frond-end developer joined a chaotic startup house and starts to share a desk with a brilliant, nerdy, a little cocky, but genuinely kind senior engineer.
word count: ~2k
inspirations: a dream that i had; the tv show silicon valley; and my actual job
note: happy new year beautiful people! here is the part 2. this is lando's pov hope u enjoy it :) . hopefully the part 3 will be the final one.
p.s. i dont know how to write smuts, so we would be havin it, just some slightly hot scene. lov u <3
(end of part1) The clock is 3:30 AM now and we are far from sleep due to all the coffee we drunk in the last 5 hours.
-
pov lando;
When our final push returns Green, we finally can have a little bit of rest. We sit in silence for some minutes and the blackout day memory invades the room.
The blackout night comes to my head again, It's been haunting me for days. An uninvited memory that hits me every time our bodies move slightly closer than usual or the silece turns a little bit longer. Almost like I could feel again, the dark, the silence, the heat. How close we were on that stupid, sagging sofa. The way everything felt suspended for a moment.
I remember the exact distance between us because I measured it afterward, replayed it in my head more times than I should admit. We were close enough to ruin things.
“Think I’ll take a shower to calm down, think we are done here for now,” she says.
“Sure,” I reply, eyes still on the screen. “I’ll just finish running the repositories.”
She disappears upstairs. I stay where I am, fingers hovering over the keyboard, the sound of her steps fading above me. I don’t go back to typing right away. And then I remember: "it’s because we’re good together." What a stupid thing to say.
Since the blackout night. It’s never just one argument with her. Every move she makes is reckless. Push now, adjust later. She really trust her instincts over structure. And most of the time, it works, which somehow makes it worse for me.
What gets under my skin isn’t even that she ignores my warnings, it’s how easily she moves past them. Like my voice turns into background noise the moment she’s made up her mind. Like I’m just another constraint she plans to override.
And it came to a point where I anticipate her choices before she makes them. I know exactly when she’s about to break something. Sometimes even before she does. That’s the part I hate acknowledging.
I finally force my hands back onto the keyboard, pretending the tension in my chest has nothing to do with her. But a few minutes pass and I nearly jump out of my skin with her calling me.
“Lando!..”
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. What?” I shout back from the living room.
“Can you help me here?”
Silence stretches for a second.
I stare at the ceiling and for 5 seconds think if I have any other option. I don’t. Then I finally reply.
“Coming.”
I take the stairs two at a time. When I reach the second floor, I stop short.
She’s standing half-hidden by the bathroom door, wrapped in a white towel. Just her head and one shoulder visible, but it’s enough. The blackout night plays in my head in 2x as flashback. I try to pull myself together.
“Did you forget how to brush your teeth or what?” I say, forcing a tone that sounds casual.
She smiles. Of course she does.
“No… I know this is weird and embarrassing… but I can’t open the faucet.”
“You’re able to stabilize the front-end system in one night but can’t handle a faucet?” I smirk. “Come on. Excuse me.”
I step into the bathroom, and can feel any fiber of my body regretting it. The towel. The steam in the air. The fact that she’s way too close for a space this small.
My expression changes before I can stop it. I look away.
“Don’t worry,” I say quickly. “I won’t look.”
I step into the shower box and grab the faucet, twisting it hard in both sides. Nothing. Harder. Still nothing.
“And?” she asks from outside.
“Hm…” I mutter.
This is ridiculous. I build systems that scale. I debug impossible shit at 2 AM. And I can’t open a stupid faucet with her standing right there. This is stupid. I manage entire infrastructures. I don’t lose to plumbing.
“Do you need help?.. I’m entering.”
Before I can answer, she steps inside the shower enclosure. The shift is immediate. The air feels thicker. Charged.
“Its probably stuck,” she says. “Let me try again.”
She puts her hands on the faucet, but I don’t move mine. Her fingers brush mine. Our hands overlap. Warm. Close. Familiar in a way that makes no sense. I look up at her without meaning to.
She’s close. We lock eyes. Her face flushes. I feel my own heat rise, my chest tightening for reasons I refuse to name. We are close enough that control becomes something abstract, theoretical.
“Let me just—” I say.
“I can just—” she says at the same time.
We both push. The faucet bursts open violently and freezing water shoots out everywhere.
“Shit!” I curse as my white shirt is instantly soaked
She bursts out laughing.
For a second, irritation flares, then it dissolves into something else, and I’m laughing too, breathless, because of course this is how it goes with her. Because this is what happens around her: chaos, mistakes, things spiraling out of control. Always.
And I hate it, but somehow, I like it.
We stand there for a moment, both wet, cold, laughing, breathing too fast.
“This is a mess,” I say finally.
“Kinda,” she replies.
The laughter fades, but the closeness doesn’t. Water drips from my hair, from my sleeves, from the edge of her towel, that I shouldn’t be looking, but I am. My eyes drop to her mouth before I can stop myself.
I look at her and suddenly I feel llike the blackout night again. She never mentioned that night, neither did I. But it is present.
We both reach for the faucet again, trying to adjust it. Our bodies shift. Her arm brushes my chest. My hand slides slightly over hers. My pulse spikes. We manage to twist the faucet again, this time slower, more deliberate. The water pressure weakens, then finally dies down to a quiet drip.
Silence crashes in all at once. The sudden lack of noise makes everything else louder, our breathing, the way my heart is hammering against my ribs, the faint sound of water sliding down the tiles.
Her hands are still on the faucet. Mine are still over hers. Our fingers are loosely intertwined now, no longer pretending it’s accidental. Her skin is warm despite the cold water, and the contact sends something sharp straight through my chest.
The space between us shrinks without either of us fully moving. It’s instinctive, kinda magnetic. Her breath brushes my mouth, shallow and unsteady. I can feel it on my lips, feel the tension in the way she holds herself, like she’s bracing for impact.
My gaze drops to her mouth again. This time, I don’t look away.
“Lando…” she starts, barely a sound.
That’s enough. I lean in and kiss her.
It’s not gentle. Not hesitant. It’s controlled only in the way something restrained too long finally breaks free. My mouth claims hers with intention, heat flooding in instantly. She responds without pause, lips parting, meeting me with the same intensity.
Her hands leave the faucet and grab onto my shirt, fingers curling into the wet fabric. I slide one hand in her hair, steadying her against the tiled wall, feeling her body press into mine without thinking twice about it.
The kiss deepens, slower now, heavier. Still hot, but deliberate. Like we’re both aware this is dangerous and doing it anyway. Her breath catches when I tilt my head, and the sound sends a pulse straight through me.
For a split second, everything else disappears. The house. The rules. The reasons I shouldn’t be doing this.
There’s only her mouth, warm and demanding, and the way my control finally snaps under the weight of wanting her.
Then she laughs softly against my mouth, and in that tiny shift of movement, the towel slips.
I completely lose control and press her against the glass that is already fogged.
And the were us 4 a.m. of a Saturday in the shower together, bodies intertwined
-
It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Morning light slips through half-closed curtains, soft and pale, painting the room in shadows. Everything feels still. Too still. Too warm. Too quiet.
Then I move to the side. And I remember.
Not in clear images. Not in details. It comes as a delayed impact instead, a weight settling in my chest the moment I’m fully awake. Last night exists everywhere in my body, even if I refuse to line it up into thoughts. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I’m in her room. I turn my head slowly and see her sleeping beside me. Her face is relaxed, peaceful, like nothing in the world is out of place. The contrast hits harder than I expect. She looks calm.
I don’t feel anything close to that. Because it doesn’t really feel like a mistake. But it is.
I watch her for longer than I should. There’s something dangerously tender about the moment, something I don’t want to name. I reach out only to pull the sheet up a little higher over her shoulder. And for a moment I wish this lasts forever.
I think about work. About the house. I’ve always trusted structure, control, and predictability. I’ve built my entire life around it. And now I’m standing in the aftermath of crossing the one line I knew I shouldn’t.
I decide and carefully, I sit up. The mattress shifts slightly, but she doesn’t move. Good, I don’t want her to wake up, I don't want to deal with it right now. I start getting dressed quietly, gathering my things like I might be able to erase myself if I’m careful enough.
When I reach the door, my hand already on the handle, I stop and take a slow breath. Once. Twice. I tell myself I’ll deal with this later. That I can organize it, define it, contain it.
Then I hear her voice soft, still heavy with sleep.
“Lando?”
My entire body freezes and I turn slowly, heart beating too fast for a normal morning. She’s awake now, watching me from the bed.
I speak before she can say anything else.
“I wasn’t going to disappear,” I say quietly. The words sound thin even to me. What happened to “Good Morning”?
She doesn’t answer right away. Just watch me, propped up on one elbow, hair messy, eyes still soft with sleep. It makes everything harder. Last night feels closer like this, hovering in the space between us.
“I didn’t plan for this…” I continue, because silence feels dangerous.
I shift my weight and lean on the door, suddenly aware of how exposed I am, standing there half-dressed, pretending I still have control over the situation.
“We crossed a line,” I say.
She nods slowly.
“Yeah,” she says. “You’re right.” The word hits harder than if she’d argued.
“We did cross a line,” she continues, calm in a way that makes my chest tighten. “And pretending otherwise would be stupid.”
I wasn’t prepared for that. She sits up a little more, pulling the sheet around herself, grounding the moment instead of escalating it. The room feels quieter somehow.
“If this changes things,” she says, meeting my eyes steadily, “then we deal with that later”
I swallow. Waiting for her to ask me to stay. She doesn't. Waiting for her to ask to go. She doesn't, leaving the decision with me. And that terrifies me more than any argument would have.
“Last night doesn’t turn us into something we can’t handle,” she finishes quietly.
I nod once, because it’s the only movement I trust myself with.
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NP: An incredible memory is of course Jules getting the [Marussia] team's first point here on these streets of Monaco, something that we all treasure. I mean I'm sure for you as well looking back and racing here and being here reminds you of those great times.
CL: I can remember obviously at the time my father and also his father called on the night, and my father was with me, so we spoke all together on the phone and it was a great, great memories.
NP: Off-camera you said that lots of people do confuse you with Jules because you are very similar. I mean in mannerisms you're almost like brothers. Is that something that, I don't know, comforts you in a way or do you find it hard?
CL: No, I don't find it hard. I mean, any time someone calls me 'Jules' it gives me a fat smile on my face. I don't see it as a bad thing. He was a great person, we were very close, but on the other hand any time someone remembers of him it makes me smile because he needs to be remembered in this sport. He was a great driver but also a great person and if I can make the people remember of him then I am very happy about this.
NP: And do you feel a sense of responsibility sort of taking on the baton for him and fulfilling his potential at Ferrari?
CL: Well, of course, I believe there are two persons for which I am... more than me, obviously, I am also doing all of this for me because it's the way I like living and I love my job and I love doing what I'm doing, but I also have my father and Jules that has helped me massively to get there. And I'll give absolutely everything to make them proud from up there and to thank them in the best way possible for all the things they have helped me for.
It all started when you, a frond-end developer joined a chaotic startup house and starts to share a desk with a brilliant, nerdy, a little cocky, but genuinely kind senior engineer.
word count: ~4k
inspirations: a dream that i had; the tv show silicon valley; and my actual job
note: this is not the first fanfic i wrote, but is the first one i had the guts to post. also, english is not my first language so please be kind :) . still dont know how many parts we'll be having for this one, but we'll have y/n pov and lando's pov as well. enjoy <3
The front door is already half open when I arrive, and for a second I wonder if I’ve got the wrong address.
Sparkbyte was the fancy name to the house the startup had rented to function as an office, dormitory, and chaos zone all at once for their next APP project. It has already become a trendy habit among Silicon Valley startups to fuction in this dynamic.
I step inside quietly, backpack slung over my shoulder, and get greeted by the typical scene of developers living in community. The smell of strong coffee. Screens blinking everywhere. Whiteboards covered in calculations, flows, and inside jokes. And, of course, a sink full of dishes no one has claimed responsibility for.
That will be my home for the next 3 months
But nothing catches my attention more than him. Stretched out on the sofa like he owns the place, there’s Lando. Senior developer. It was the first time we’d be working together. I've heard of him before, he's very "famous" in the company. People say he's smart but can be a little cocky sometimes. I'd never met him in person.
He’s sunk deep into the sofa, legs sprawled, laptop open on his lap, oversized headphones covering half his head, and a black hoodie far too big for any reasonably healthy person. His hair is a mess in a way that clearly says he didn’t sleep today probably not had slept all week.
When the door shuts behind me, he lifts his gaze slowly, as if being pulled out of a deep coding trance.
"You the new one?" he asks, sliding one earcup off.
"The new front-end developer, Y/N, yes" I reply, trying to keep my professional composure intact.
He blinks slowly, as if processing the information in 4K, then, surprisingly, closes the laptop and stands.
"Right" he says simply. "I’ll show you around."
And without giving me time to answer, he’s already walking through the house with determined steps, forcing me to follow.
He gestures towards the main room.
"This is HQ. Don’t mind the mess…" he hesitates "actually, do mind it, because you’ll end up contributing to it."
He continues showing me around the house, as if he were presenting something extremely important. I find it quite funny and try to suppress a smile.
"Front-end people over there. Back-end over there. We fight all the time"
He speaks quickly, confidently, like someone who fully owns the space and knows exactly how good he is at what he does. But every now and then, he smiles slightly, as if trying to soften the impact of his own intense personality.
He introduces me to every corner of the house, and eventually we return to the main room, where the desks are arranged so chaotic it looks like someone played Tetris in real life.
Lando points to a spot next to the sofa where he’d been earlier.
"This is your desk."
I look at the setup: a simple table, two monitors, neatly arranged cables: the basics to get started.
"We’ll be desk mates" he announces practically. "If you need anything… explanations, code, whatever… just ask."
-
Adapting was easier than I’d imagined.
In the first few mornings, I found strange all the mess, the noise, the chaotic flow of people coming and going. But soon enough, I realised the place was alive and oddly inspiring.
Over time, I learned that Noah (our CTO) only functions on coffee and jump scares, and Maya, the PMO, talks while she types, as if narrating her own thought process.
And that Lando… well. Half the time he seems to know exactly what he’s doing. The other half, he's bragging about it.
Despite his rough, know-it-all nerd attitude, Lando was the person who helped me the most during my first few weeks. Always with blunt, brutally honest comments.
It took just two weeks for us to start clashing.
I’d just finished my first task of the day: styling the app’s onboarding page. A simple, modern, elegant design for a first version. Everything was ready for backend integration. I took a deep breath, adjusted the code, and pushed it.
Three seconds of absolute silence.
Then a dramatic sigh.
Lando brutally spins his chair towards me as if he's just witnessed a digital crime.
"I CAN´T BELIEVE THIS!" he basically screams, despite sitting right next to me.
I stopped typing.
"What now?"
He turns his monitor towards me.
"Your push broke three backend routes!"
"Impossible!"
"It’s literally right here" he points to the red error lines messages pulsing on the screen "The backend’s crying and so am I" He removes his glasses and rubs his face.
I roll my chair closer, ignoring the jungle of cables separating our desks. Our shoulders almost touch. Almost.
I scan the code for a moment. Then I found it.
"Oh!" I say, satisfied. "See? It wasn’t my push. Your endpoint returned null. The page just displayed the error."
"So you’re saying the problem is in my code?"
"Yes. Because it is, look!"
"Impossible!" He folds his arms and lean back. "The backend never fails."
"You should definitely sleep more Lando" I start to raise my voice
"Wow. Now you’re attacking me personally. Very professional"
"Lando!" I take a deep breath "the endpoint is broken, not my fault"
"YOUR front-end isn’t prepared to handle errors!"
"YOUR backend shouldn’t be sending errors!"
"Maybe YOU don’t know how to handle exceptions!"
"Maybe YOU don’t know how to avoid them!"
We continue the technical argument until Noah appears, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of coffee and an impatient look.
"For the love of God" he says "Amazon charged us eight hundred dollars because we left a cluster open last month. That’s something worth fighting over. The rest is noise. You two, shut up and go back to work."
Lando and I stare at each other and reply at the same time
"It was HER!"
"It was HIM!"
"You two sound like a couple" Noah mutters, rolling his eyes as he walks away.
Silence follows. I feel my face heat up.
"I’ll fix the endpoint. Not that it was wrong. But… yeah. I will" he says, putting his glasses back on and turning to his screen.
-
Night falls slowly, and one by one the team abandons their setups and retreats to their rooms.
Noah leaves saying he has a date “with someone who doesn’t use GitHub,” and the other two devs announce they’re going to “breathe some fresh air.”
A couple of hours of deep hyperfocus pass, and when I finally look around, it’s just the two of us left. Me and Lando.
He’s wearing headphones, completely immersed on his work, his face illuminated by the blue glow of the screen. His black hoodie is draped over the chair as if it had been ripped off in a moment of impulse, and the white T-shirt he's wearing reveals the tired posture of someone who’s been coding for hours. For a moment I ask myself if his muscles came from all the typing he does. His hair is messy from dragging his fingers through it in frustration, or exhaustion, or both.
He has an obsessive concentration expression that feels kinda magnetic.
I try to focus on my code, but the constant clicking of his mouse pulls me back.
"You’re not going upstairs?" I ask
He removes one earcup and answers without looking at me.
"Not until this server comes back up."
"And will it come back up today?" I tease.
"f I threaten it enough… maybe."
I laugh softly, and he finally turns to look at me. The computer light makes his eyes look even lighter.
"And you? Why are you still here?"
"Because the front-end depends on that server" I nod towards it. "And also… I like working when the house is empty and quiet."
Lando smiles faintly.
"You know, it’s funny" I say. "I thought working at a startup would mean more… movement. Not being stuck here with you."
"Stuck?' he corrects me, amused.
I roll my eyes.
"I said stuck, not sentenced."
I stand up to get a glass of water when the whole house makes a sharp crack, and then everything goes dark.
"Okay… that definitely wasn’t me" Lando says, I can tell his hands are raised in the air, even though I can’t see him.
The house falls silent.
"Power cut?" I ask.
"Looks like it, isn't the first time" he replies, taking a few steps towards me.
I fumble for my phone, but it’s charging somewhere else. Lando switches on his torch, illuminating part of the room.
The light hits his face directly, highlighting his messy hair and slightly surprised expression.
"Come on. Let’s check the breaker. I might be able to fix it" he says, lifting the torch towards the hallway.
When I pass him, our shoulders brush, and neither of us moves away immediately.
"Breaker" I mutter, pretending to focus.
"Breaker" he repeats.
We head down the hallway, the light flickering. He walks ahead, and I try not to notice how his white T-shirt moves with his body as he walks.
We reach the fuse box. He opens it. Everything looks perfectly normal.
"It'n not the breaker" Lando sighs. "Probably a street outage"
"And how long does that last?"
He closes the panel.
"Best to wait."
We return to the living room. His phone torch casts soft halos on the walls. Everything feels quiet, too quiet, so different from the usual chaos.
He sinks into the sagging sofa and looks at me.
I sit down next to him. Not on the opposite end like a normal person would do. Without realizing it, I sat much closer.
Lando notices before I do, and takes a deep breath, like he’s holding something back.
"Y/N?" he says softly.
"Hm?"
"You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?"
I laugh.
"No. Are you?"
"Me?" He presses a hand to his chest. "I’m a fully functional adult."
"Lando, you drink energy drinks like water."
"And?"
I smile.
"Just an observation."
He smiles. But it slowly fades as he seems distracted, looking at me. The torchlight softens our faces. He hesitates, and we sit there on the sagging sofa, in the dark, alone.
The light illuminated Lando’s face in a way that made it possible to notice his more delicate features. The way his nose formed a perfect triangle in profile, the freckles scattered across his skin, trailing from his forehead down to near his lips. Details far too small for someone to notice at first glance. Details I definitely shouldn’t be noticing right now.
My gaze lingered on him without hurry, as if time itself had slowed just for this. As if sensing the weight of my stare, Lando slowly turned towards me. The movement was minimal, but enough to shorten the distance between us.
The sofa sank further when he shifted. The space between us closed without any clear intention. I felt his knee brush lightly against mine. It was a tiny touch, almost nothing.
He cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said too quickly.
I replied just as fast. “It’s fine.”
We fell silent again. A nervous silence. I toyed with the hem of my shirt between my fingers. He kept running his thumb along the edge of his phone, over and over.
“We should…” he started, then stopped halfway through the sentence.
“Should what?” I asked softly.
He took a deep breath before answering.
“Nothing. Forget it.”
His eyes dropped to my lips for a second, too quick to be a coincidence. When he realised, he immediately looked away, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.
The silence wedged itself between us more and more, lingering for a few seconds. Until Lando brought up the subject that had died earlier that morning.
“Why you touched the deploy without telling me?” he said, as if trying to make conversation. I turned my face towards him, even knowing I could barely see him.
“What? I told you,” I replied. “You just didn’t anticipate the possible failures.”
“It wasn’t the right moment, you should know that...” he shot back. “With the server that unstable…”
“Nothing here seems stable, since you are the one in charge” I interrupted kinda angry.
“What?” he said.
“You always want to control everything, and when something goes off, you lose it. Like today earlier”
He let out a short, humourless laugh.
“I lose it? Look at you right now”
“Yes, YOU lose it everytime” I replied
This time, the silence fell heavily.
“You just got here,” he said after a few seconds, “and you’ve already turned everything upside down. You broke half my backend this morning.”
“You’re being dramatic,” I replied.
“You don't admit when you’re wrong. This is so annoying.”
“Annoying?” I asked, turning my body more towards him. “Fuck off”
He didn’t answer straight away. The sofa dipped slightly as he moved. I felt his knee touch mine again. It wasn’t an accident. The darkness seemed to push us towards each other. I could feel his breathing now warm, uneven.
“You don’t have to turn everything into an argument,” he said. “You have no idea how much this throws me off.”
“Then stop looking at me like that,” I snapped back, even knowing he couldn’t see me properly.
“I’m not looking at you" he replied.
“You are” I insisted.
The space between us disappeared gradually as we argued. There was no clear decision, just closeness. Shoulders brushed. Arms almost touched. His lips brushed against mine clumsy, too light to be considered a kiss. We both held our breath at the same time.
“Sorry,” he whispered, but he didn’t pull away.
“It’s okay,” I replied, staying exactly where I was.
We were too close to ignore what had happened. Then Lando pulled me in again, and this time he claimed my lips with a little more intensity and accuracy. And my heart went fast.
Slowly, the kiss that had begun gentle started to quicken without losing its heat. There was no space left between us, and Lando’s hands began to roam over my body. I wasn't thinking straight, but was still hot from the angry of him bringing up the event in the morning.
Suddenly, Lando stopped kissing me and looked me straight in the eyes, intimidating, like someone ready to enjoy any confused reaction I might show. He threaded his fingers into my hair.
“You think you can just come in and mess with my code?” he said.
“I don’t think I’m messing with just codes here” I replied bravelly, meeting his gaze. His reaction was surprise, but the good kind. He smiled
The kisses stayed hot as Lando pressed my body harder against his, and I lost all sense of the fact that we were literally in our work living room. Our breathing and soft moans were already clearly audible, even if still quiet, and just as I felt the hardness of him between my legs through the fabric of our trousers, we heard the sound of the front door lock.
We pulled apart immediately and fast in a way that would have looked very suspicious if the room had been lit.
Noah’s silhouette appeared in the room.
“No power again?” he said. “That’s the third time this week.”
“Yeah… If this keeps up, we’re… we’re going to have to install a generator.”
“Definitely,” he replied. “That’s a good idea.”
-
A few days have passed since the night of the blackout. After the rather unexpected events of that night, Lando and I each went to our own rooms without exchanging a single word, and it’s been like that ever since.
Except for the code fights, which have continued as routinely as ever. But now Lando stopped asking for my input out loud. Instead, he leaves comments directly on my pull requests, longer than necessary, painfully detailed, and always ending with something like “Not ideal, but it works.”
I respond with fixes that are flawless. Clean. Impossible to criticize.
And I can tell he hates that.
During stand-ups meetings, he never looks at me when he talks about front-end dependencies. He stares at the whiteboard, jaw tight, voice calm in a way that feels forced.
“Changes to the interface could introduce new edge cases,” he said one morning.
I didn’t even look up from my laptop.
“Only if the server can’t handle basic errors,” I replied professionally. Some people chuckled softly.
Every time our hands accidentally brush when we reach for the same cable, or when he leans too close to explain something on my screen, my body remembers exactly how close “too close” felt that night.
Later that same day, when he came to explain something to me, he rolled his chair closer than necessary. Too close to be accidental. Not close enough to be obvious.
“You’ll want to refactor this,” he murmurs, pointing at my screen. His arm brushes mine as he leans in. He doesn’t apologize this time.
I don’t move away.
“You said the same thing last week.” I replied impatiently
“And you ignored me.”
“And it still worked.”
His eyes flick to my face then. Not angry. Something sharper.
We lock gazes for a fraction of a second too long. Long enough for my pulse to kick up. Long enough for him to notice.
He straightens abruptly.
“Come here” he says, already standing up.
I followed him and we end up in the garden right in front of the the glass door. Everyone could technically see us, but no one’s paying attention.
“You’re pushing too aggressively,” he says.
“You didn’t complain when it shipped on time,” I reply.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
He takes a step closer. Just one. The room suddenly feels smaller.
“You never listen,” he says quietly.
“You are the one trying do things only your way”
His eyes drop for half a second. To my mouth.
“You should be more careful” he mutters.
“With what?”
“With pretending you know what you’re doing.”
My pulse spikes for a moment.
“And what do you think I’m doing, Lando?”
He exhales sharply through his nose
“Pushing buttons,” he says.
“That's your job" I reply, stepping closer too.
For a moment, we’re standing too close for a work conversation. Close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. Close enough that the tension feels physical.
Someone laughs loudly in the main room. The spell cracks.
Lando steps back abruptly, runs a hand through his hair.
“Fix the edge case,” he says, voice suddenly neutral. “And next time—”
He stops himself. Looks at me again.
“—tell me before you deploy. I'm the one in charge of the project There are some lines that can' t be crossed."
-
On late Friday afternoon Noah appears slipping into the room with bad news. He appears near the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, scrolling through his phone with a frown that immediately pulls everyone’s attention.
“We’ve got a demo meeting with investors on Monday,” he says. “The APP needs to be stable by tomorrow morning. Backend and front-end need to close together,” he continues, unfazed. “No broken builds. No last-minute surprises.”
His gaze travels slowly across the room, lingering just long enough on each person to make them uncomfortable until it stops. On me. On Lando.
“Need you two to handle it.”
The sentence lands heavier than it should.
Lando doesn’t react. He keeps his eyes on his screen, jaw tight, fingers hovering over the keyboard as if he’s resisting the urge to argue. I don’t say anything either, but something twists in my stomach anyway.
“If this breaks,” Noah adds, already stepping back, “it breaks in front of people who write checks. So please, make me proud ”
And then he’s gone, likes it's nothing.
The house empties gradually, the way it always does when things get serious. One by one, people pack their bags, promise to be back, swear they’ll help tomorrow morning. Someone mentions food. Someone else mentions sleep.
By midnight, no one had returned.
The startup shrinks to two desks, two glowing screens.
I’m halfway through refactoring a component when I feel his presence too close behind me. Lando is standing just over my shoulder, arms crossed, eyes fixed on my screen. Coffe in hands.
“That’s going to break on fallback,” he says.
“It won’t,” I reply, not looking at him. “I already handled the error state.”
“You think you handled it.”
That tone calm, certain, dismissive makes my fingers still. I stop typing and slowly turn my chair, just enough to look up at him.
“You always say things like that,” I tell him. “Like I’m guessing instead of building.”
“You work on the edge,” he replies immediately. “You push things too far. Told you”
“And you hate that,” I say, “just because you can’t control it.”
The words hang between us, heavier than the code ever was.
For a moment, I think he might laugh. Instead, his expression hardens, then softens again, like he’s fighting himself.
“Let’s just… run the build together,” he says.
Not a suggestion. Not an invitation. Time loses its shape after that.
The coffee sits untouched, cold and forgotten. No one puts music on. Neither of us suggests a break, as if acknowledging fatigue might give it permission to win.
We end up sitting side by side. Closer than before. Close enough that our knees almost touch, close enough that every shift of weight feels deliberate even when it isn’t.
The clock on my screen reads 03:17 a.m.
The APP crashes.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Shit” Lando says at the same time.
We both reach for the keyboard. Our fingers brush, a brief accidental contact that lingers longer than it should.
Neither of us pulls away.
“Let me,” he says, voice lower now.
“I know where it is...” I reply.
He looks at me, really looks at me.
“I know, Just trust me this time ok?"
I hesitate, then lean back, giving him space. He takes it and then some. He leans in close, too close, his shoulder brushing mine, his presence filling the narrow gap between us.
I can smell coffee on his breath. Exhaustion. Something familiar enough to be unsettling.
“There,” he murmurs, pointing. “That condition isn’t catching the timeout.”
“You really enjoy correcting me.”
“No,” he answers quickly. “I enjoy when you push back.”
The moment he realises what he’s said, he freezes.
“Lando—”
“Forget it,” he mutters, already turning his attention back to the screen. “We’re tired.”
But he doesn’t move away. The build runs. Seconds stretch. Then minutes. Green.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. We just sit there, shoulders almost touching, breathing slow and heavy, the tension still humming quietly beneath everything else.
“If this works tomorrow,” he say softly, “it’s because we’re good together.”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye.
“Despite everything?”
“Because of it.”
That finally earns a smile, not arrogant, not teasing. And for the first time since the blackout, neither of us tries to turn the moment into a argument.
The clock is 3:30 AM now and we are far from sleep due to all the coffee we drunk in the last 5 hours.
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