Emmie

‘They’ve probably just forgotten to move something in ops. Let them know, they should be able to change in for you’ Bruno told him but the thought of having to talk to them this morning was the last thing Mason wanted to do. 

‘That means I gotta ring them though right? I think Carol thinks I’m a right twat after last week’ 

‘Can you blame her?’ Bruno laughed, knowing the exact reason why as Mason's cheeks burned at the memory. ‘Do the live chat then, it’s new on the app. They’ve hired someone else who takes care of that so you won’t need to speak to Carol at all’ 

Bruno quickly showed Mason where it was, and whilst he’d probably been told at the new system induction meeting they had a few months ago, it was hidden in a place he’d never thought to look. He quickly got to typing once it was all set up though as he didn’t know how long this would take and took a seat at his locker in hopes someone would get back to him soon. 

Mason #7: Hi, sorry to be a pain I think there’s been a mix up? I think my schedule’s wrong for this afternoon. It says I’ve got gym and media at two? 

y/f/i (Operations): Hi Mason, no worries! Your gym slot is correct, your media was moved to tomorrow at 3:30. Apologies, someone forgot to press save.  (Not naming names but it was definitely Ken)

Mason laughed at your response, not expecting your cheeky sense of humour to come through on the first message but he appreciated it nonetheless. Talking to the admin staff filled him with nerves half the time as he always felt like he was being needy and annoying but thankfully you’d put him at ease straight away. 

Mason #7: Poor Ken. Thanks for sorting, I thought I was going to have to clone myself!

y/f/i: If cloning players becomes part of my job description I think I might quit

Mason #7: Please don’t quit, I would definitely get more wrong than I already do without you lot

y/f/i: You say that like you didn’t turn up at the wrong training ground last week 

Mason laughed out loud this time, his cheeks flushing at the way you knew his silly secret he was trying so hard to hide but for some reason he didn’t mind that you knew. He knew nothing about you except the first letter of your name yet he liked you a lot already. You came across as warm and kind and a little bit silly and he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face even wider. 

Mason #7: That was one time. I see Carol's been talking about me

y/f/i: Of course, you’ve been a hot topic in the ops room this week and us girls love a gossip

Thank god she’s a girl he thought, his heart thumping in a weird way he couldn’t explain right now but he knew he wanted to keep the conversation going even though his problem was fixed. 

Mason #7: Google Maps betrayed me

y/f/i: Whatever you say, Mason

Mason #7: Okay, wow. I didn’t know the ops staff were allowed to tease players? How do you even know this about me I was told you were new

y/f/i: I’m allowed to tease the ones who forget their right from their left.  And I’m fairly new, yes, but I still know everything

Mason #7: Wow you’re ruthless

y/f/i: I prefer efficient

Mason #7: Whatever you say boss! Thanks though, honestly. You made all that way less stressful.

y/f/i: That’s my job. And you’re welcome

Mason #7: Right. I’ll leave you alone now Have a good rest of the day

y/f/i: You too. Try not to get lost on the way home

Mason #7: 😑

‘What are you laughing at?’ Mason suddenly heard, his eyes snapping up to Luke who’d just walked in and Mason tucked away his phone immediately like he didn’t want anyone to catch him doing anything he shouldn’t be. 

‘Nothing, just sorting something out’ he lied smoothly, standing up to open up his locker and try to think about anything other than the interaction he’d just had with you. 

He tried all day in fact to forget about you, yet you always crept into his thoughts whenever he was alone for more than five minutes. Not even sure what he was thinking as you could have been anyone but his mind was trying to piece together anything it could and imagine what you might be like. 

He carried you with him all day, even when he got home and was going through his usual routine he kept losing focus and drifting back to your conversation. Replaying every message in his head like a script he was trying his best to learn and each time he remembered your cheeky replies his cheeks would hurt from smiling. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were staff, someone he should’ve interacted with only when absolutely necessary but there was something about the way you messaged him, warm, thoughtful and slightly sarcastic that had lodged itself under his skin far too easily. He kept catching himself imagining your expression as you typed, whether your cheeks flushed just like his had or whether you’d smile when you teased him about getting lost. 

How do I message her again without looking desperate? He asked himself as he slipped into bed that night. You had only exchanged a few messages yet it felt like so much more to him. You felt different from anyone he had spoken to in a long time and you didn’t talk to him like he was some big deal, which he found weirdly refreshing.

He reached over to his bedside and pulled his phone out again, swiping into the chat before typing something but before he got carried away he deleted it instantly. Trying again a few moments later before he deleted it again and he groaned softly as he rubbed a hand over his face. Dropping his phone back on the side as he let his head fall back as he stared at the ceiling, wondering if you were still awake and if you were thinking about your conversation too or if he was reading too much into the way you spoke to him so easily. Telling himself to move on and to stop overthinking but even as he finally forced himself to get comfy and try to unwind, he already knew the truth. 

He was going to find a reason to talk to you  again tomorrow and he couldn’t wait.

Mason was in early the next morning. His hand on his phone like it was a loaded gun as he ran through his options about what to message you, but before he could think too long his fingers were flying across his keyboard. 

Mason #7: Morning y/f/i, sorry quick question. Is the training meeting at 10 still on? Or did I imagine that because I was half-asleep? It’s not in my schedule

y/f/i: Morning! 😂oh that’s weird, It’s definitely still on and you weren’t imagining it although I can’t promise you’ll be half asleep again by the end of it

Mason #7: No worries, and I’m sure I’ll survive, I like to think of them as thrilling 

y/f/i: Thrilling? You’re raising expectations dangerously high I think I hope the coffee’s strong enough to match and if you’re quick enough I’ve made sure there’s some biscuits 

Mason #7: Oh, it will be but I think it depends on what biscuits they are

y/f/i: Chocolate digestives 

Mason #7: A woman after my own heart. I’ll get there early just for those then Looks like the meeting is back in my diary, thanks for that!

y/f/i: That’s okay, though the system is telling me you deleted it yourself? 

Fuck he breathed. Outed by a computer and his brain scrambled to think of how to answer you without looking too silly. The last thing he wanted was for you to catch on to his silly little scheme as he had no idea if his feelings were one sided.

Mason #7: Must be those sausage fingers of mine, i’ll be more careful next time sorry! You’re too good at your job I think 

y/f/i: Well you’re too kind, I’ll try to keep it up!

Mason #7: I’m counting on it. Though I guess I shouldn’t get used to talking to you like this at 9am, right?

y/f/i: Why not? I don’t mind, I quite like it

Mason couldn’t wipe the silly smile off his face at your response. She likes talking to me too, I’m not imagining it he thought to himself and he wanted to let you know right away that he felt the same. Imaging your face lighting up with a smile just like his as he told you the same.  

Mason #7: Yeah me too 

y/f/i: Well then I’ll take full credit for starting your morning off well 😉

Mason #7: Full credit accepted, you’ll have to let me thank you properly one day 

y/f/i: We’ll see 

Mason wanted to reply with something silly, imagining your laugh and shy eyes at his words but he knew if he didn’t leave soon he’d be late and miss out on the biscuits so before he could think of anything he dashed off and thought of ways he could talk to you this afternoon. 

The training meeting may as well have been background noise to him. No matter how hard he tried his thoughts always drifted to you and what you might be doing right now and if you were thinking about him too. A million different scenarios running through his mind on how he would speak to you or maybe even see you and as soon as he was out of the meeting he was working on his master plan. 

Mason #7: y/f/i I’ve lost my water bottle The black one with the silver cap Please tell me it’s in the office?

y/f/i: Let me check

Mason sat with his heart thumping in his chest as you looked for it. He had left it until the next day to speak to you so as to not seem too suspicious and to give him some time to put his plan into action for this morning. Realising work stuff was safe and he’d made a list of things to ask about over the coming days but the only thought in his head right now was putting a face to your name. Not that he even had your name at this point but there was a need within him to know what you looked like and in his mind this was the perfect way of getting to hopefully see you. 

y/f/i: Found it It was in the laundry basket Do I want to know why?

Mason #7: I wish I knew Thank you 😅

y/f/i: No worries at all!

Mason #7: Can I come and pick it up from you later?

He sat with his heart in his mouth as he saw you type. Your little bubble popping and disappearing multiple times before eventually you sent something through that made his shoulders sink. 

y/f/i: That’s okay, I’ll get one of the kit boys to pick it up and drop it off to you

Mason #7: Am I not allowed to see your or something? 

y/f/i: Not really, the big boys want to keep me separate 

Mason #7: Really? Why is it such a big deal if we meet? It’s not like I’m going to cause chaos I literally just want my bottle

y/f/i: It’s not the bottle It’s… the anonymity thing

Mason #7: Anonymity?

y/f/i: Yes. My job works best when players don’t know exactly who’s behind every message, every schedule change, every annoying early-morning gym slot It stops things getting personal

Mason #7: So you’re saying you not having a name or a face is on purpose?

y/f/i: Pretty much, It’s how we keep everything smooth and professional. Then no one feels awkward complaining when they don’t know which admin they’re actually talking to

Mason #7: Okay but I’m not complaining about you

y/f/i: I know (I hope!) but rules are rules and I’d like to keep my job 😅

Mason #7: So if I turned up outside the office doors right now?

y/f/i: I would politely refuse to open them

Mason #7: What even for me?

y/f/i: Unfortunately. Just call me ‘dedicated to procedures’ 

Mason #7: Okay fine, but I want it noted somewhere in your files that I did try to meet you. For a perfectly innocent reason

y/f/i: Noted Officially Even though you’re very dramatic

Mason #7: Well you’re very mysterious

y/f/i: That’s the whole point

Mason #7: And I’m supposed to just wait until whenever they decide to let us meet?

y/f/i: Pretty much. Maybe if you behave we can work something out 

Mason #7: No promises I don’t like this at all I’ve met Ken and Carol and they’re both in your team right? 

y/f/i: That’s us, the fab three  They’ve been here a while though so that’s normal for you to have met them Don’t worry I won’t be hidden forever it’s just for now 

Mason #7: Better be or I’ll kick off 

To say Mason felt deflated was an understatement. He understood the rules and where you were coming from but the thought of not being able to see you or talk to you in person really put a dampener on things. 

He tried not to let it get to him too much though, you had admitted to him already you enjoyed talking to him so he held onto it and each day found something new to ask you about until one day you messaged first and he felt all the blood rush to his face as he scrambled to see what you wanted. 

y/f/i: Hi Mason, I hope your morning’s going good! I’ve just finished updating the training rota for next week. Want your times now, or should I let you enjoy the rest of your day first? 😇

Mason #7: That sounds like a warning Better give them to me now then, let’s rip the plaster off

y/f/i: Alright but don’t say I didn’t prepare you Monday: 7:00am gym session Wednesday: 9:30 tactical meeting Thursday: 6:30am conditioning Friday: 10am team review And before you say anything, I didn’t make the schedule. I’m just the messenger 😂

Mason #7: 6:30am on Thursday? That’s that’s evil

y/f/i: I know 🙈 I genuinely tried to see if I could move things around for you, but no luck On the bright side, you’ll be done early?

Mason #7: You have a unique ability to see the good in everything it seems 

y/f/i:It’s a gift 😌

Mason #7: You realise this means I’m going to show up looking half-asleep and grumpy, right?

y/f/i: I’m sure you’ll cope. You’re supposed to be resilient, right? Isn’t that what you tell the media all the time? 

Mason #7: Hey, I am resilient. But 6:30 is a test I wasn’t prepared for

y/f/i: I’ll bring extra chocolate biscuits on Thursday for your emotional wellbeing

Mason #7: Wait really?

y/f/i: If it helps stop you complaining then yes 😄

Mason #7: That actually does help And for the record, you’re very lucky you’re cute, otherwise I’d be filing a complaint

The word cute slipped out of nowhere, but it had been on the tip of his tongue for days and he couldn’t help it. You were cute, unbelievably so, and he could picture you now with your hands covering your smile as you blushed at his words.

y/f/i: You don’t know that 

Mason #7: I have a sixth sense

y/f/i: Stop it, I’m trying to work here

Mason #7: I’m just being honest

y/f/i: You’re trouble Mr Mount Anyway, that’s your schedule Try not to hate me too much for it

Mason #7:Impossible

As the days progressed, Mason was finding it harder and harder not to talk to you, often spending his nights reading back through what you'd spoken about that day in order to feel a little bit closer to you. This night was different though as he really needed your comfort and as he logged on he saw the little green dot next to your chat that let him know you were online too. Eventually taking the plunge and sending you a message in hopes you'd see and maybe want to talk to him too.

Mason #7:What are you doing online this late? 

y/f/i: Insomnia is my toxic trait.  I was almost asleep and I remembered something I hadn't done for tomorrow What about you?  Is everything okay? 

Mason #7: Not really Today was… rough

y/f/i: Want to talk about it?

Mason #7: Only if that’s okay

y/f/i:It’s okay

Mason #7: We lost again I missed a sitter, like a really fucking stupid one And I know everyone says ‘shake it off’ but it gets in your head Feels like I’m letting everyone down every time I play and i barely even get to do that anymore

y/f/i: You’re human, Mase, not a machine One mistake doesn’t erase everything you did right tonight 

Mason #7: Feels like it does

y/f/i: I don’t know if this helps but I hope it will You’re allowed a bad game and you’re allowed to be frustrated and disappointed But you also deserve to breathe and start fresh again tomorrow

Mason #7:Y ou’re good at this

y/f/i: At what?

Mason #7: Making things feel less heavy Even through a screen

y/f/i: Then I’m glad I can help. Because I’ve noticed you carry more weight than I think you realise. I know things have been hard lately, we’ve even felt it upstairs with all the changes so I cant imagine how you must be feeling 

Mason #7: I wish I could know who you were properly You know everything about me 

y/f/i It’s my job to know everything about you not the other way around 

I wanna make it my job to know about you Mason thought to himself, his body relaxing into his mattress as you evaporated the stress from his body.

Mason #7: fine, but I’m not happy about it

y/f/i: it’s okay, you’ll get over it  

Mason #7: I don’t think I will 

y/f/i: hmmm we’ll see  You should sleep, but we’ll speak tomorrow yeah?

Mason #7: You bet Thank you for tonight Sweet dreams, y/f/i

y/f/i Sweet dreams, Mase

Mason managed to go to sleep feeling a lot lighter and went into training the next day with a spring in his step. Most of the boys with their boots on already but Mason had stayed behind for a moment staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe when Bruno had noticed immediately. Jogging over with a towel around his neck before giving Mason a look that was equal parts captain and protective older brother. 

‘Alright, spill. Who’s got your head in the clouds?’ Bruno asked, folding his arms over his front as he looked down at him.

‘What? No one’

‘You’re not a very good liar, Mase. You’ve been grinning at your phone for days and you run faster to check your messages than you do during training’ he told him and even though Mason tried not to smile he couldn’t help it when he thought about you. 

‘It’s just someone I’m talking to, no biggie’ 

‘Talking to? What like someone from a dating app or do you know them?’ 

‘Neither’ Mason gulped, wondering if he should divulge and tell Bruno what was really going on as he could use an outside perspective but he wasn’t sure if he could take someone raining on his parade. ‘It’s um- it’s someone from the club’

Bruno’s eyebrows shot up so fast Mason almost laughed, his mouth hanging open in confusion like it was the last thing he was expecting him to say. 

‘Wait they’re from the club? Who? And how? And most importantly, why do you look so happy about it?’

Mason shrugged, but it was a helpless kind of shrug. Wondering if he should have kept his mouth shut but he was in too deep now. 

‘It’s that new girl in ops, I don’t know her name or anything but she helped me with my schedule the other week and we just… kept talking. She’s funny and smart and she really gets me, you know?’ Mason told him but he just gave him a long, suspicious stare in response. 

‘I don’t know man, I feel like this is how horror stories start’

‘Mate-‘

‘She could be anyone, like literally anyone.  A forty-year-old, she could be someone’s grandmother for all you know’ 

‘She’s not a grandmother-‘

‘You don’t know that, you know nothing about her. She could be married with three kids and a dog called Biscuit!’ He exclaimed and even though it made Mason laugh he realised straight away that wasn’t the intention. ‘You have no idea who you’re talking to. No face, no voice, not even a name and you’re already obsessed. It just feels a bit dangerous’ 

For the first time that morning the smile faded from Mason’s face and a flicker of doubt crept in. He couldn’t deny he’d thought these things once or twice before but every time he messaged you those doubts left his mind instantly but what if Bruno was right? What if he was being stupid?

‘She’s not like that at all I just… I feel like I know her already’ 

‘Those are famous last words, Mase’ he told him but Mason shook it off. Yes at first he wanted an outside perspective but now he was feeling protective of you and felt the need to stand up for you and whatever was going on between the pair of you. 

‘Listen whatever it is, whoever she is, I’ll deal with it cause whatever’s happening feels different and I’m not going to freak out over what ifs. I know what I’m doing mate, I promise’ he proclaimed and Bruno let out a long sigh as he realised one chat wouldn’t be enough to convince Mason what the pair of you were doing was crazy. 

‘Alright, If you say you’ve got this then I trust you, just please be smart’

‘I will, I promise’ Mason told him confidently as Bruno clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Good, now stop staring at your phone like it’s going to kiss you’

Mason laughed, shaking his head as they made their way outside but even though the semi reassurance stayed with him he couldn’t deny what Bruno had questioned him on had shaken him a little bit. 

In fact, Bruno’s voice followed Mason all the way home, his stupid comments about her maybe being 50 or married with kids was playing on his mind and even though he told him he’d been careful Mason knew he hadn't been. Not really.  

By the time Mason dropped onto his sofa, he realised he hadn’t stopped frowning since he’d this morning. He wanted to trust his instinct, to trust whatever was happening between you both but Bruno seemed to have planted a seed. 

In the end he unlocked his phone and stared at your chat, thinking if he should ask you a few things, just enough to feel like the pieces fit together and from why he could tell you were still online. Wondering if you were waiting for him to message and his heart melted at the image of you checking your phone for him. 

Mason #7: Hey, you still awake?

y/f/i: I am indeed. Is everything okay?

Mason #7: Yeah all good I just realised I don’t actually know much about you. I thought maybe we should fix that

y/f/i: Oh? What do you want to know? You know i said this wasnt allowed

Mason #7: Nothing scary, just normal stuff. You can still keep anonymous i promise

y/f/i: Normal stuff is okay I think 

Mason #7: Okay then let’s start easy. Morning person or night owl?

y/f/i: Night owl, 100%. Morning people scare me

Mason #7: Favourite song?

y/f/i: if I tell you then you can’t laugh at me 

Mason #7: I won’t I promise 

y/f/i: …I Can’t Help Falling in Love

Mason’s stomach dropped as soon as it sunk in. Oh God. That’s an old song, she must be old. Bruno was right in falling for a pensioner what am i gonna do

He tried to reply casually, not wanting to make a big deal out of her answer as a song by Elvis was the last thing he was expecting but he knew he was taking too long to reply and quickly typed the first thing he could think of. 

Mason #7: Classic

y/f/i: You’re laughing at me I can feel it though the screen 

Mason #7: I’m not! I promise, I just wasn’t expecting that 

y/f/i: Not the original, okay? I like 21 pilots version, it’s prettier 

Mason physically relaxed, head falling back against the sofa as he let out a deep death. Surely a grandma wouldn’t know who they are right?

Mason #7: Ah, right that makes more sense

y/f/i: What’s that supposed to mean?

Mason #7: Nothing I swear, it’s just not the most current song out there is it

y/f/i: Ah I see what you’re doing now

Mason #7: I’m innocent I swear 

y/f/i: Hmmm I’m not so sure And for your information I’m not 100 years old 

Mason #7: Good Because I wasn’t ready to meet your grandchildren

y/f/i: I can’t believe you Let move on, I think it’s my turn to ask you something now What’s your favourite place to be other than the pitch?

Mason #7: My kitchen late at night, when everything’s quiet

y/f/i:That’s very specific

Mason #7: That’s when I think the most

y/f/i: What do you think about? 

Mason #7: You mostly 

He knew it was bold and he wondered if he’d pushed too far, especially when no answer seemed to come from you instantly like they had been until exactly three minutes later your typing bubble appeared again. 

y/f/i: Mason… You shouldn’t say things like that when I’m trying to be sensible

Mason #7: Maybe I don’t want to be sensible

y/f/i: Well then you have your question answering rights taken away Ask me another question Something small

Mason #7:Okay… Favourite season?

y/f/i:Autumn

Mason #7: Why?

y/f/i: I love the cold and fluffy socks and being cozy. Plus that means Christmas is nearly here

Mason #7: That’s cute 

y/f/i: Mason…

Mason #7: Favourite co worker 

y/f/i: I like Carol but Ken always brings me biscuits so he just inches it

Mason #7: Got competition have I? 

y/f/i: Mason, he’s old enough to be my dad 

Mason #7: Just checkingWhat did you have for dinner?

y/f/i: …That’s your question?

Mason #7: of course 

y/f/i:Why?

Mason #7: I need to know if you’re the type of person who can cook or if you survive purely on takeaways

y/f/i: Pasta And no, not from a jar From scratch

Mason #7: Okay, that’s impressive So… you cooked enough for one? Or are you secretly feeding five children?

y/f/i:One Just one

Mason #7: Okay… last question And I promise it’s harmless

y/f/i:Hmm Go on then

Mason #7: When you’re having a bad day, like a really bad one, who’s the first person you usually talk to?

y/f/i: My best friend, or sometimes my mum but mostly my friend

Mason #7: No boyfriend then?

He regretted it the second he hit sent it, he was being too direct and he knew it but he was done beating around the bush and he needed to know if there was any chance of this maybe working out. 

y/f/i: No No boyfriendWhy? Would that change anything?

Mason’s heart did a full somersault, a huge grin breaking out on his face as this changed everything. Mason was no home wrecker and whilst he would have still wanted you in his life even if you did have a boyfriend, knowing you were single was exactly what he wanted to hear. A hopeful flutter erupted in his chest at the relief and excitement he was feeling and he couldn't help but laugh at his phone.

Mason: I just want to make sure I’m not texting someone’s girlfriend at midnight 

y/f/i: Well then Good thing I’m not anyone's girlfriend Or anyone’s anything 

Mason #7: That makes two of us then

‘Is the live chat down?’ Mason asked as Luke sat himself beside him the next morning. He knew it was, he hadn't been able to message you for hours and whilst normally he would have waited he had an actual issue this morning with his schedule he needed fixing. 

‘Yeah I think I heard something about maintenance? You’ll have to call’ Luke told him yet this was the last thing he wanted to hear. Calling meant talking to Carol as she manned the phone and whilst she was perfectly fine, she wasn't you. She also loved to make jokes and after Masons mix up at training a little while ago he knew she would be itching to say something  

‘Carol’s gonna rip me a new one’ he sighed, hitting the call button so he could get this as quickly as he could and thankfully the phone was answered in just two rings.

‘Operations speaking, how can I help?’

‘y/f/i?’ Mason questioned, his heart in his throat as he knew this wasn't Carol's voice and it definitely wasn't Ken. A small gasp on the other end of the line making his breath catch and he knew right then it was you

‘M-mason?’ you stuttered, your voice soft and shy and he felt his whole chest swell at the sound

‘Yeah’ he laughed softly. ‘Hi. I, uh… didn’t expect you to answer’

‘I-I don’t usually, but Carol's on break’ you stuttered and his heart skipped at how nervous you seemed. ‘What’s up?’

‘Oh uh- I think my schedule did that thing again where it tries to ruin my life. I didn't do it myself this time though. I would have messaged but the chats down’

‘What’s wrong with it this time?’ You laughed quietly and he swore it was the most perfect sound he’d ever heard. Thinking of things he could say to get you to laugh again but he was so nervous himself at hearing you talk his mind went blank. 

‘I’m apparently in two places at once again tomorrow. Gym session and a sponsor meeting at 1pm’

‘Okay, hold on one sec’ you said, typing away quickly as his heart raced in his ears, still not quite believing you were on the other end of the line. ‘You’re only in the sponsor meeting. The gym is moved to tomorrow morning’

‘So I don’t need to be a superhero? Great news’ he sighed and once again your musical laughter filtered through. ‘Thanks, y/f/i’ he whispered ‘Sorry for calling out of nowhere’

‘It’s fine, really’

‘I, uh… it’s nice to hear your voice’ he admitted quietly and he knew you were flustered on the other end of the line as you giggled. 

‘O-oh’ you stammered. ‘T-thanks, yours too’

‘You sound shy, where’s my favourite human embodiment of sarcasm?’ he asked, a small amount of courage building up inside of him as he knew he had to try anything to keep you on the line for just a little bit longer.

‘She’s still here just … hiding’ you whispered but he could hear the smile in your voice and melted him. ‘It’s easier to message, I’ve got time to think about what I want to say and I can’t hear your voice talking back to me’

‘Well just know every message you send me now I’ll hear your voice in my head’ he told you and he could have sworn he heard you gasp a little. He thought it was adorable how nervous and sweet you were and he knew his cheeks were flushed just like yours probably were. ‘Okay well, I’ll let you get back to saving the world in there’

‘Have a good day, Mason’

‘You too, y/f/i’

Mason couldn't wipe the smile from his face as he took the phone away from his ear and popped it in his locker. Thanking his lucky stars no one else seemed to have noticed his little interaction before he caught himself grinning like a fool as his face grew warm.

Damn, she's got me good he thought to himself. Not even caring what this meant right now as all he could focus on was the warmth in his chest and the lightness in his shoulders that you seemed to have made him feel with a silly conversation about a schedule.

He had to focus though, training was about to start and he didn't need a reason for anyone to start on him so he grabbed his boots and tried to ignore the little flutter in his tummy as he remembered your voice on the other end of the line. 

Training went well, the team and his coaches asking what he’d had for breakfast that morning to put him in such a good mood but he knew it was nothing he had eaten. Running in as soon as practice was over so he could check to see if he could message you again and lucky enough for him everything seemed to be back up and running.

Mason #7: You know, your voice is not at all what I imagined, but at the same time it is 

y/f/i: Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Mason #7: A really good thing, like annoyingly good

y/f/i: Annoyingly?

Mason #7: Yeah Because now I can’t read your messages without hearing it

y/f/i: That sounds like a you problem

Mason #7: It absolutely is and I’m suffering big time 

y/f/i:Stop being dramatic

Mason #7: I’m not You have a really… warm voice Kind of soft and very cute

y/f/i: Mason

Mason #7:What? It’s true

y/f/i: We’re supposed to be professional

Mason #7: Right Professional AbsolutelyBut if I wasn’t being professional, I’d say your voice is my new favourite sound

y/f/i: I could say the same about yours, except I’ve been reading your messages in your voice this whole time

Mason #7: Oh yeah?  And how would you describe my voice? 

y/f/i: Southern 

Mason laughed at your attempt at humour, knowing you were feeling a little awkward from all the fact he finally knew what you sounded like and all the compliments Mason was sending your way.

y/f/i: I’m kidding (sort of) Yours is warm too And calming 

‘You look even more in love than yesterday, what’s happened?’ Mason suddenly heard, looking up to see Bruno looking over him with his hands on his hips and a curious scowl on his face.

‘We spoke on the phone this morning. It was just to sort my schedule out but she’s… yeah she’s something else’ Mason laughed, reaching for his boots so he could undo his laces as Bruno sat down next to him with a thump.

‘Define something else’ Bruno squinted. ‘Was I right? Is she forty? Elderly? Married?’ He reeled off but Mason just laughed as he shook his head. 

‘None of that, no. Her voice sounded young like my age. And she’s funny and nervous and I could listen to her talk for hours’

‘So not a grandmother?’

‘No, mate. Definitely not’ he told him with a laugh and Bruno let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief. ‘I actually messaged her last night and tried to ask things without actually asking. But I found out she lives on her own, and she’s single and she’s nowhere near old enough to be a grandma’

‘Alright fine I can work with not a grandmother but you still don’t know what she looks like’ 

‘I don’t care’ he answered instantly and really hit him then that it didn’t matter to him what you looked like. ‘Not right now at least. I like her voice, I like how she thinks I like… her. What she looks like is the last thing on my mind right now’

Bruno studied him like he was analysing his own performance after a game but soon enough his concerned frown turned into a smile and Mason felt himself relax. 

‘You’re in deep’

‘Yeah probably but I don’t mind’

‘Just don’t do anything stupid’ he told him, tapping his chest before he stood up. ‘And if this goes wrong, I’ll pretend I never approved of it’

‘You never have approved’

‘I guess not’ he laughed but before he left he gave Mason one last look of concern. ‘Can I give you one more bit of advice?’

‘If you must’ 

‘If things are… progressing, you might wanna stop talking on an internal platform. If they think something's up they’ll be able to see it all’ Bruno told him carefully and Mason's ears pricked up. He'd been so caught up with the need to talk to you that he hadn't thought about the consequences and thought of either of you getting into trouble for his feelings made his stomach twist uncomfortably. 

‘That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said to me in days’ he huffed, already planning how he was going to broach this topic with you when he was back from training.

Mason #7: Hey, you free to talk?

y/f/i: Of course, everything okay?

Mason #7: Yeah just wanted to say hi

y/f/i: Hi 😊 You sure that’s all?

Mason #7: Well no actually, I wanted to talk to you about something Something was said to me today and it stuck 

y/f/i: Oh, that sounds serious 😅 What’s going on?

Mason #7: I’ve just been thinking

y/f/i: About?

Mason #7:Us Talking on here

y/f/i: Oh okay

Mason #7: I just think maybe it’s not the best idea to keep messaging like this on an internal system. I’d hate for you to get into trouble 

y/f/i: No you’re absolutely right Sorry if I’ve caused any issues I just got carried away I think. It feels normal talking to you but you're right 

Mason #7: No you didn’t cause anything I promise 

y/f/i: It’s fine, I get it I promise. If you need anything I’ll still be here but I guess I’ll see you around? (Or not 😉)

Mason #7: Wait no, I don’t want us to stop talking That's not what I meant

y/f/i: What did you mean?

Mason #7: I meant that this isn’t the right place to keep talking 

y/f/i: Right Yeah Of course

Mason #7:y/f/i

y/f/i: Yes?

Mason #7: If you still want to talk to me you can

y/f/i: How?

Mason #7: My number’s in my file Feel free to take it and text me

y/f/i: Are you sure?

Mason #7: More than sure

y/f/i: Okay I will

Mason #7: Good Because I wasn’t ready to stop talking to you

y/f/i: Me either 

Mason #7: Send me a message later I’ll be waiting for it

y/f/i: I will Promise

Mason #7: Good

Mason's heart was hammering when he sent the last message. Locking his phone and popping it away as he got ready to leave but he couldn't help but feel a little deflated. What if you forgot to text him? What if you were just being polite and had no intentions of talking to him anymore? You'd grown to become part of his day, his favourite part, and he'd left it all in your hands as the weather the pair of you spoke going forward which was terrifying.

He let it go though, jumping in his car and making his way home for another night with you on his mind and for the first time in a while he didn't want to look at his phone and feel disappointed just in case you hadn't messaged him yet. 

He gave it an hour, picking it up out of habit in the end but the text from an unknown number from two hours ago caught his attention immediately.

Unknown Number: Hi, it’s me. y/f/i From ops I hope this is okay Sorry i’m not sure what to say 😅

Mason froze, reading your messages three times before he was grinning like a fool. He was hoping you'd text him as soon as possible and it looked as though you didn't want to be without talking to him either so quickly changed your contact from an unknown number to the only piece of information he knew about you with a silly emoji.

Mason: y/f/i? As in my y/f/i?

y/f/i 🙈: Well I’m not your anything I just meant Sorry This is going terribly

He laughed out loud, shaking his head. He loved it when you were flustered and loved it even more when it was him that made you that way. You came across so cool sometimes when he tried to be a little bit flirty but this felt different. Like all bets were off and he couldn't wait.

Mason: Relax I’m just teasing you I’m really glad you texted

y/f/i 🙈: Really?

Mason: Really Texting you here feels… Different Better

y/f/i 🙈: Me too It feels… closer? Which is scary but also… Nice

Mason: It is closer You feel closer I like it

y/f/i 🙈: Me too

Mason: Okay, important question Are you planning to stay mysterious forever? I still don't have a name to put in my contacts and I've just seen your picture is a dog 

y/f/i 🙈: I… don’t know Maybe? I get shy

Mason: Shy? You’re the bravest person I know You almost risked your job just to talk to little old me

y/f/i 🙈: Yeah im starting to question if that was the right choice You're giving chaotic 

Mason: Wow Attack me more I like it And don’t think you can distract me. Why the secrecy? Are you a spy? A secret agent? Princess of a small European country?

y/f/i 🙈: STOP I am literally just a normal person

Mason: Mm… A normal person wouldn’t hide their face and name like you do

y/f/i 🙈: I’m shy, Mase I don’t want to disappoint you I don't get why you want to see me so bad anyway

Mason: y/f/i Look at me Well, metaphorically You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried And I want to see you because I like you I don’t know if I've made it that obvious

y/f/i 🙈: Okay… Well that’s very nice… Please stop being nice I’m going to combust

Mason: Sorry I can’t help it I like talking to you too much

y/f/i 🙈: …Mase?

Mason: Yes, love?

y/f/i 🙈: Thank you for trusting me 

Mason: You don't need to thank me, i like this Finally feels like we’re talking for real Like you’re actually here

y/f/i 🙈: I’m here As long as you want me to be. And for the record, i like you too

The pair of you were up into the early hours messaging. Both tired but both not wanting to leave each other alone as you spoke about everything and nothing. He noticed you opened up a bit but still kept things to yourself. He learnt about your family and your favourite foods yet he still didn't know the important bits and he could tell you wouldn't be giving them up easily as you always deflected away with a joke.

You began to learn the typical rhythms of each other's days, knowing when you could and couldn't talk more freely and knowing when you had to wait longer for replies. You were both busy during large chunks of the day and it was like you knew each other's schedules better than the other at some points.

He looked for you constantly, his eyes on the main building whenever he pulled into the carpark to see if he noticed anyone different but he never did. Teasing you constantly that you must be ai or they were keeping you locked in the basement but when you sent him a message to say you'd caught a bit of training from your window and seen his goal he was ready to kick things up a notch.

Mason: Did I just walk past you?

y/f/i 🙈: Why do you ask?

Mason: Because I've worked out what window is yours and I saw your head move as I walked back in

y/f/i 🙈: Coincidence

Mason: Hmm Something feels suspicious here

y/f/i 🙈: You didn't  Hate to disappoint but I haven’t been over to the window all morning It was probably one of the finance girls, there’s some big meeting and they popped in for something 

Mason: Now I’m DEFINITELY suspicious

y/f/i 🙈: Mason i’m serious You didn’t see me

Mason: I didn’t say I did

y/f/i 🙈: Then why ask?!

Mason: Cause I hoped it was you I want to see you 

y/f/i 🙈: I hate you

Mason: No you don’t And relax, I still don’t know who you are Promise

y/f/i 🙈: Good

Mason: But now I’m going to be looking 👀 Just saying

y/f/i 🙈: Don’t you dare

Mason: Too late Challenge accepted

Now the pair of you were messaging more frequently, Mason learnt that his text-self was even more of a tease that message app Mason as he finally let you see him fully. Not in a bad way, he was still respectful and charming but he wanted you to like him so he made sure he kept things silly and fun whilst being not afraid of telling you how he felt at all. That he liked you and was desperate to see you when he was allowed to but little did he know it could be sooner than he thought. 

The Valentine’s gala was something new that the club would be hosting this year, and when he found the invitation taped to his locker he wondered if you’d placed it there yourself. His eyes glancing quickly over the words as his cheeks burned at the thought.  

He saw the words under his name, the plus one insignificant to him as the only person he wanted on his arm was you and this time he was determined to get his own way. 

Mason: You’re going to the charity night on Saturday, right?

y/f/i 🙈: I’ll be there… technically I’m helping organise it, so I’ll be running around most of the night

Mason: That still counts I’ll take it

y/f/i 🙈: Take what?

Mason: I don’t care what you say about keeping anonymous anymore and I’m going to find you I’m getting desperate now This is starting to feel like you’re torturing me for fun

y/f/i 🙈: I promise I’m not I’m also definitely not going to walk up to you and confess who I am 

Mason: Then I’ll find you

y/f/i 🙈: You don’t even know what I look like

Mason: Minor detail I’ll talk to every girl in the room until one of them gets flustered enough to be you

y/f/i 🙈: That’s a terrible strategy

Mason: Why?

y/f/i 🙈: Because I get flustered very easily

Mason: Okay Now I really want to see you

y/f/i 🙈:Mason

Mason: No i’m serious I want to know the face behind all the late-night messages The laugh I swear I can hear even when you type The girl who makes my entire day better without even trying If you don’t want to see me then just tell me but I really want to see you, okay?

y/f/i 🙈: You’re going to be disappointed

Mason: You need to let me work that out for myself  And I really don’t think I will be

y/f/i 🙈: You don’t know that

Mason: I know you That feels like enough

y/f/i 🙈: I take it you got your invite today then, I designed them all last week

Mason: I did indeed. I wondered why there were extra hearts on mine

y/f/i 🙈: I can’t with you Anyway, it's Valentine’s and I don’t know if you saw but you’ll need a plus one

Mason: Is that you asking?

y/f/i 🙈: No I’m asking who you’re bringing

Mason: I wasn’t planning on bringing anyone The only person I want with me is organising it. Unless you fancy sitting yourself next to me on the seating plan 

y/f/i 🙈: You can’t turn up alone It’s literally a Valentine’s charity dinner

Mason: Then maybe I’m hoping the right person finds me If we can’t go together this year then what about next year?

y/f/i 🙈: Next year huh? 

Mason:Definitely 

y/f/i 🙈: You’re going to be busy at the event, you probably won’t even remember I’m there 

Mason: You’re silly Very cute But very silly 

y/f/i 🙈: I’ll be busy most of the night, I don't know when I'll be able see you it might be late

Mason: That’s okay I’ll wait

y/f/i 🙈: We’ll see

Mason: That sounds like a yes

y/f/i 🙈: It sounds like a maybe If youre lucky then maybe i’ll save you the last dance too

Mason: Lucky's my middle name I’ll take that And when I find you, I hope you let me be happy to see you

y/f/i 🙈: I’ll try

Mason: Then I can’t wait for Saturday to see you

Mason couldn’t deny he was excited about the prospect of seeing you, this feeling like the occasion it could happen the most as you hadn't shot him down and he’d been walking on air all day until later that night when you messaged him after a few hours of silence. 

y/f/i 🙈: Can I be honest with you about something?

Mason:Always

y/f/i 🙈: I think I’m scared that the version of me you’ve built in your head Isn’t really me

Mason: Scared how?

y/f/i 🙈: That you’ll meet me and think That’s not what I imagined

Mason: I need you to know something too then I’m nervous too Properly nervous

y/f/i 🙈: You?

Mason: Yeah. Me. Because I don’t want to mess this up And because I know the second I see you I’m going to care even more than I already do I haven’t made you into some perfect idea i promise I’ve just gotten attached to the way you are and I've been having the same thoughts like what if I’m the letdown? What if you meet me and realise I sound better through a screen?

y/f/i 🙈: I don’t think that’s possible

Mason: See? We’re both scared of the same thing But I don’t want the idea of you I want the girl who gets shy mid-sentence and says cheeky things when she’s comfortable and worries too much about disappointing people

y/f/i 🙈: Okay That makes it feel less lonely

Mason: Good Then we’ll be nervous together And I think that’s kinda perfect

The days all rolled into one until the night of the gala. Everyone getting to leave a bit early to go home and get ready but unfortunately Mason hadn’t heard from you for most of the day. Wondering if you were just busy trying to sort everything as you had been all week but around 5pm your name popped up on his screen and he couldn't help but open it straight away. 

y/f/i 🙈: Sorry ive not messaged all day I’ve had to deal with three players wanting their schedules changed One of them kept flirting with me to get his way 🙄

Mason: Which one

y/f/i 🙈: Why do you want to know? 

Mason: Who was it?

y/f/i 🙈: Not telling you 😂 It doesn’t matter

Mason: It does if he was flirting with you

y/f/i 🙈: What, are you going to fight him?

Mason: Depends who it is

y/f/i 🙈: Oh my god 😂 You’re jealous?

Mason: I’m not jealous I just don’t like imagining someone else trying to make you smile

y/f/i 🙈: That’s literally jealousy

Mason: Fine Maybe i am a little

y/f/i 🙈:Why?

Mason: Because I want to be the one you talk to like that Not some idiot trying his luck for a better time slot

y/f/i 🙈: Mason… You can’t say things like that

Mason: Why not? I’m allowed to feel things And i dont like this, you’re mine 

y/f/i 🙈: I didn’t mean to make you mad

Mason: You didn’t They did

y/f/i 🙈: You’re ridiculous. But in a weirdly sweet way

Mason: Just don’t let him flirt with you again

y/f/i 🙈: I didn’t let him the first time

Mason: Good Because you’re mine to talk to

y/f/i 🙈: If you say so 🤣 Now… very important question

Mason: I’m listening I feel like I should be sitting down for this

y/f/i 🙈: What do I wear tonight?

Mason: Finally I’ve been wondering when we’d get to this part

y/f/i 🙈: Don’t get excited I’m panicking, not flirting

Mason: Those two things are not mutually exclusive

y/f/i 🙈: Option one or option two? Be honest

Mason: You’re asking the wrong question

y/f/i 🙈:Oh no

Mason: The real question is why I’m being shown photos from a website

y/f/i 🙈: What do you mean?

Mason: Unfortunately, I’m now going to be very unhelpful

y/f/i 🙈: Mason please

Mason: I need to see you in them

y/f/i 🙈: Absolutely not

Mason: Worth a shot

y/f/i 🙈: I barely let anyone see me in photos You’re not getting a private fashion show

Mason: I’m wounded I was going to give my very professional opinion

y/f/i 🙈: You’d tease me

Mason: Probably But only because you’d be adorable about it I really can’t wait to see you in either of them But i think my favourite is the black one 

y/f/i 🙈: Thank you I guess I'll see you later on then?  Unless i run away

Mason: I’ll be running straight after you

It felt like if you let yourself stop moving, you knew you’d panic. So you didn’t.

You checked seating plans for the third time, making sure Mason was somewhere far away from you and in the middle of the chaos so he couldn’t work out who you were from all the staff running around. You straightened place cards that were already perfectly aligned and double-checked the running order so many times you could have recited from memory. Anything to quiet the noise in the back of your mind.

Busy was safe, busy meant you didn’t have to think about him or the fact that in less than an hour you’d finally be standing in the same room as the man you’d only ever really known through words on a screen.

You still didn’t quite understand how it had happened. It had started so professionally, a message to admin about a schedule change and a lost water bottle. Normal and harmless but somewhere between teasing replies and late-night conversations that felt too easy, Mason had stopped being just a name attached to a profile.

He listened and he remembered things. He made you laugh on days when you hadn’t realised how much you needed it and he made you feel like you got to see a side of him that no one else didn’t 

You knew you liked him a lot, even before you’d ever spoken you’d thought he was cute but you’d never expected him to want anything to do with you like he did and you still couldn't believe any of it. 

Yes you could be funny and cheeky with him, but behind the scenes you felt invisible. You were the one who organised, fixed and smoothed things over, never the one anyone noticed twice and the quiet voice in your head that kept asking why he’d chosen to keep talking to you at all wouldn’t seem to shut up tonight.

You adjusted the table names again, hands steady despite the flutter in your chest as you caught sight of his name. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be about any of this, it was a charity event with a room full of donors and players and polished conversations not a potential game of hide and seek with the boy you shouldn’t be talking to but you wanted more than anything else. 

You knew you could do this, you were good at this but yet you could barely concentrate and your phone felt heavier in your pocket than it ever had.

You hadn’t told him exactly where you were going to be, keeping your messages light and reassuring him that you were fine and that everything was under control. You didn’t want him to hear how nervous you were, didn’t want to risk him realising how much tonight meant to you as meeting him wasn’t just a reveal.

It was a risk, but it was one you were definitely willing to take. 

Yes it was scary, and yes it didn’t make sense to you but you were tired of pretending like you didn’t want more from this no matter the cost. 

You took a breath, smoothing your dress once more, the one he’d picked for you, and forced your shoulders back.

Just get through the set-up, you told yourself. One step at a time.

People had started arriving whilst you were directing sponsors toward the auction table, but you did your best to focus. Not looking for whoever it was coming in or if it was Mason or not and when you finally had a second to yourself you felt your phone vibrate in your hand.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Mason: You alive? Or have they worked you to death already?

You smiled despite yourself, feeling like you were fully out of the frying pan and into the fire yet the sight of his name made you grin. Your thumbs hovering over the keyboard before you typed.

y/f/i 🙈: Still alive. Just about. I’m sorry if I’m quiet, it’s because I’m running around, not because I’ve vanished

Mason: I figured You’ve got that I’m pretending I’m calm but I’m actually doing ten things at once vibe tonight

Your chest tightened, heart hammering at the way he always seemed to see through you, even like this when you were trying so hard to hold it together. 

y/f/i 🙈: Is that so obvious?

Mason: Only to me

You swallowed, taking a peek around the corner you were hiding in and glancing around the room. Everything looked perfect even though you felt anything but however you didn’t seem to see the one person you were looking for.

y/f/i 🙈: You here yet?

Mason: Just pulled up No pressure, I know you’re busy. I just wanted to check you were okay

y/f/i 🙈: I’m fine. Honestly Just… a lot of people

Mason: Then we take it slow We do this your way

Your throat burned at how sweet he was being. Wanting him to burst through the doors so you could throw yourself in his arms but you held back and took a calming breath.

y/f/i 🙈: Thank you

Mason: Anytime I’m not going anywhere

You locked your phone, heart racing not from nerves now, but from how real it was starting to feel. He was really about to be in the same room as you and you couldn’t figure out how to feel about anything, your hands constantly smoothing over your dress with a slight tremor as your shoulders tensed but before you could think any further Carol was rushing over to you in a panic. 

Your phone had been buzzing in your pocket off and on again for around half an hour and you knew exactly who it was. Only just now managing to get five minutes peace so you could check on him and you felt a wave of guilt wash over you. 

Mason: I’ve got a feeling you’re not as okay as you’re saying you are

You swallowed, almost laughing at how well he could read you when you’d hadn’t spoken to him since he’d arrived but it wasn’t because you were scared or nervous this time it was because you’d only just had a second to breathe.

y/f/i 🙈: I’m fine i promise, there’s just been a slight change of plan and they’ve stuck me out the back running the food service. The head kitchen manager is sick and they thought I’d could do it so I’m just making sure everything gets out on time but it feels like a lot of pressure 

Mason: Hey Take a breath for a second, okay? They wouldn’t have put you there if you weren’t capable You’re good at this and I know you can make it work

y/f/i 🙈: Thank you, just feels like a lot all at once

Mason: I get that But I also know you’ll be incredible, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now And when you're done, I’ll be right here waiting for you 

y/f/i 🙈: That actually helps Thank you

Mason: Anytime You’ve got this   And soon I’ll have you

y/f/i 🙈:  😘

You tried to focus on what Mason had said but the kitchen was relentless.

Plates were being stacked faster than they were cleared, voices overlapping and the heat clung to your skin no matter how many times you stepped out to breathe. 

After a while it felt like you were moving on instinct, calling times, checking tickets and smoothing over small disasters before they turned into big ones like you’d worked here 100 times before. You didn’t have time to think about anything else, especially not the way your phone buzzed untouched in your pocket.

Your shoulders ached and your dress clung uncomfortably to your back, catching your reflection in the stainless steel of the pass every few minutes and now you barely recognised yourself. Your hair no longer perfect, cheeks flushed and mascara smudged under your eyes. The thought of walking into that room looking like this, of seeing Mason for the first time when you felt anything but composed made your chest tighten. You were exhausted and overwhelmed and not the version of yourself you wanted him to meet.  

You stepped out of the kitchen as the final set of plates left the kitchen and into the quiet corridor. Pressing your back to the wall so you could take a deep breath and have five seconds of peace but before you knew it your phone vibrated again and this time it was a call.

Mason.

Your first instinct was to decline it. You’d only ever spoken on the phone that one time when he called the ops hotline but you knew the sound of his voice would calm you so you answered before you could overthink it. Not caring he was only in the other room and this felt quite intimate as all you wanted was to feel close to him. 

‘Hi’ you whispered softly. You heart in your throat as you waited for him to reply and you felt your eyes well up at the sound of his voice. 

‘Hey’ he replied, voice instantly gentler and you could tell how worried he seemed about you. ‘Talk to me, where are you?’

‘I’m still out the back’ you sighed as you closed your eyes, your voice faltering slightly as you tried to hold in your tears. ‘It’s just louder than I expected and there’s so much going on and I look like a right mess now like I’m all sweaty and hot and I’ve barely had time to breathe-’

‘Hey, hey it’s okay’ he whispered, cutting you off to stop you from spirilling. ‘It’s okay’ he said calmly. ‘We can stop’

‘Stop?’ You frowned, not sure what he meant by that but you could feel the tears blooming in your eyes again.

‘We stop trying to meet tonight if it’s too much’ he told you quietly. ‘No pressure, no disappointment. I’d rather you be okay than force something if you’re not feeling it. I can hear it in your voice, you’re overwhelmed, love’

‘I wanted to be brave’ you whispered, a few tears spilling over from your eyes but you tried your best to keep your voice steady. ‘I wanted to get through tonight and prove to you I could do it, I just… don’t think it’s the right time’

‘That’s okay’ he replied instantly. No hesitation and no disappointment which made you feel better instantly. ‘It doesn’t mean anything bad’

‘I don’t want you thinking I don’t want to see you’

‘Hey, it’s okay. I know you do’ he said gently. ‘And I want to see you too but not like this. Not when you’re pushing yourself and you’re not comfortable’

You leaned your head back against the cool wall and you felt all the pressure leave your body. The thought of meeting Mason tonight had scared you but now you knew it wouldn't be happening you felt a tiny wave of disappointment roll through you. 

‘I feel like I’ve let you down’

‘You haven’t’ he said firmly. ‘You’ve trusted me enough to be honest with how you’re feeling and that matters more to me’

‘So maybe another day? When I look less like a hot mess?’ You asked hopefully, patting your eyes dry and it was almost as if you could hear him smile down the phone. 

‘Yeah, definitely’ he agreed softly. ‘Another day. Somewhere quieter, just us’

‘I’d like that’ you smiled, the knot in your chest easing just a little. ‘Are you really sure you don’t mind’ 

‘I’d mind if you were pretending you were fine just for me’ he replied. ‘That’s not what this is, I know this is a rough night for you’

‘Thank you’ you just about got out. Looking down at yourself and wishing you had worn something different now you knew Mason wouldn't be seeing you in it. ‘I feel like I got all dressed up for nothing though’ 

‘You wearing that dress I liked?’ He asked, his voice suddenly low and a little bit sexy which in turn made your cheeks redden. 

‘Yes, not that anyone’s even seen me in it apart from the chefs’ 

‘Lucky them’ he laughed. ‘Well in my imagination you look beautiful tonight, okay?’

‘Thank you’ you giggled, almost forgetting everything the pair of you had just said and running into the main room to find him but you couldn’t. Your name suddenly being called from the kitchen again and you straightened up with a huff. 

‘Anytime’ he said. ‘I’m hanging around for a bit but no expectations, yeah?’

‘Okay’ you whispered. ‘I have to get going again but just text me, yeah?’ 

‘I will. Happy Valentines, y/f/i’

‘Happy valentines, Mase’

You both ended the call gently, a little disappointed but comforted too at the way he’d reassured you and handled everything. You wanted to meet him when you were less sweaty and wound up and could enjoy the moment with him. 

Mason couldn’t stop checking his phone. He wanted to text you, to send you something else reassuring to let you know he really was okay with seeing you some other time but he couldn’t deny he was disappointed. 

The night had blurred into polite conversations and half-heard laughter and maybe he should have paid more attention to what was going on but he was so aware of your presence the entire time it was difficult. Somewhere in the building you were there. Close enough that he could feel you get far enough away that it made his chest ache. 

It had been killing him and whilst he now knew tonight probably wouldn’t be the best time he couldn’t get the thought of you in that dress out of his head. 

Most of the people he knew had left or were gathered in conversations. Mason himself knew he should have gone rather than sit and wait for something that wasn't happening but he was nursing a drink near the edge of the room when he saw Ken. 

‘Mason? I thought you’d gone already’

‘Was about to’ Mason admitted. ‘Long night’

‘Tell me about it’ he laughed. ‘They’ve had us run ragged, I’m surprised Carol's still standing. You got time for one more?’

Mason hesitated, then nodded. One drink before he headed off would do him no harm so he followed Ken back toward the bar, still painfully aware of the absence beside him. The person he’d spent the entire night half-expecting to appear was nowhere to be seen but he didn’t want to be a grump so he plastered on a smile and popped himself on a stool.

He liked Ken a lot, he'd really made him feel welcome when he first joined the club and from what he could tell he'd done the same for you. Wondering if he could try and pick his brain about you a little bit without being caught but their drinks had only just been placed down in front of them when Mason heard a soft voice coming from the other side of Ken. Mason trying not to pry as he had no idea who had come to speak to him but it looked serious.  

‘There you are, sorry Ken, they're asking for you near the prize table. Said it shouldn’t take too long’ 

‘Of course they are’ Ken groaned, turning back to Mason quickly to apologise with a sorry smile. ‘Sorry mate’ Ken huffed before jumping down and bringing the girl he’d just spoken to into view. ‘Mason, this is y/n by the way. She works with me on my team, absolute lifesaver. Y/n, this is Mason.’

The world tilted in that one moment.

Mason’s breath caught so sharply it felt like a punch to the chest. For half a second, neither of you moved as your eyes flicked to his. Recognition slamming into place so hard your heart stuttered.

Mason.

‘Oh’ you breathed, barely audible as Mason stared at you. His glass forgotten in his hand as he looked back at you in shock.

It was you.

He knew it instantly, not because of how you looked in the dress he’d chosen, but because of the way his chest tightened and how the noise of the room faded into nothing.

‘Hi’ he said quietly, carefully. ‘Y/n’

You knew Ken sensed something as he glanced between you both, wondering what he’d walked into here but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you took Mason in. 

‘Do you… know each other?’ he asked and it was you who found your voice first as you felt your cheeks warm.

‘We’ve… spoken’ Mason smiled, his grin growing as he looked at you and he knew then and there he was done for

‘Small world, eh?’ Ken laughed, trying to ease the tension slightly. ‘I’ll let you two catch up’ he told you before he finally wandered off, blissfully unaware of what he’d just set in motion.

Silence fell between you both again. Thick and charged but not uncomfortable but you felt your eyes fall to the floor as your nerves took over. He was so much more beautiful in person, his smile bright and wide and it disarmed you immediately. 

‘So’ Mason said finally, voice low. ‘This is you, and you have a name’

‘This is me’ you nodded, nerves fluttering in your tummy as you tried your hardest to act normal. ‘And yeah I guess the secrets out now’

‘I love it, it suits you, y/n’ he told you, your name sounding like something precious when he said it. ‘I’m really glad I didn’t leave now’ he said and you finally met his gaze. Your heart steady even though it was thumping hard.

‘I’m so sorry’ you said quickly. ‘I- I didn’t mean to make it awkward. I was just- Carol asked me to pass something on and I-’ you stopped, your breath hitching as you realised you were rambling but Mason didn’t interrupt. He just watched you like he was afraid if he spoke you might disappear. ‘You probably expected… I don’t know. Someone different’

Your words came out small, fragile and you hated that he could probably hear the fear in them. Your eyes flickering over him and searching his face for any disappointment, for even the slightest shift that might confirm the doubt you had been carrying for weeks but even if he did he was hiding it well. 

‘This is me’ you added quietly. ‘I know I’m not-‘

‘y/n’

He said your name so softly yet firmly that it stopped you mid sentence. Looking up to find his expression wasn’t uncertain or assessing or polite but like he'd been lit up from the inside. Taking a small and careful step closer towards you like he was still giving you space even as he closed the distance between you.

‘Please don’t do that’ he said gently. ‘Don’t talk yourself down before I even get the chance to say anything’

‘I was terrified you’d see me and think…’ you shook your head. ‘That I wasn’t who you thought I was’

‘I see you’ he whispered, taking another step towards you as he smiled warmly. ‘And you’re exactly who I thought you were’

Your breath caught in your throat instantly, the smile on his face making the butterflies in your tummy erupt even more than they already had been and you couldn't help but smile back at him.

‘I’ve been walking around all night trying not to imagine this moment’ he continued, voice low. ‘Trying not to build it up too much in my head just in case reality couldn’t compete but as it turns out, I was wrong’ he laughed softly, shaking his head as his kind eyes bore into yours. 

‘You’re not disappointed?’ You asked, confusion in your tone but he seemed stunned by your question as he took another cautious step towards you.

‘Disappointed?’ he repeated quietly. ‘y/n, I’m trying very hard to keep it together right now. You’re so beautiful’ he told you quietly, almost as if he didn't mean for the words to come out but you could tell he was being earnest and unguarded. feeling your shoulders sag a little as the tension eased in your body. 

‘I’m really bad at this’ you admitted, your hands coming up to cover your face as you giggled out of awkwardness. ‘I was so sure I’d mess it up’

‘You haven’t at all yeah? I promise’ Mason said immediately. ‘Look we don’t have to rush anything, we can just stand here for a minute if you want until you’re comfortable. I’m not going anywhere’ he told you but from the corner of your eye you could see him extend his hand towards you.

For a moment you just looked at it, It felt like an impossibly intimate gesture but one you couldn't pass by. Your fingers trembling slightly as you placed your hand in his and the contact sent a quiet jolt through your body. His hand was warm and strong as his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles as if he was checking you were real.

‘Okay?’ he asked softly but all you could do was nod. Unable to trust your voice with his skin on yours but you noticed he didn't pull you towards him. He just stood there with you, hands joined in the middle of the noise and lights but you noticed how quickly the room faded when you focused on him and the gentleness in his grip.

‘Come sit with me?’ he said after a moment. ‘Before someone steals you away again’

You smiled, nodding again before you felt him pull you towards the mostly empty tables. Sitting down at one tucked slightly away from the dance floor but still close enough to hear the music and far enough that it felt like their own pocket of space. 

At first the conversation was careful, familiar topics like tonight and the chaos of organising and running it. The endless scheduling that all seemed to go up in the air as you told him about the last-minute seating changes and the panic when the florist delivered the wrong centrepieces. 

‘I wish I could have seen your face when I called you’ he said smiling. ‘I could hear you trying not to lose your mind’

‘I absolutely was losing my mind’ you admitted. ‘I just didn’t want you to think I couldn't cope’

‘I always knew you could cope’

As the night stretched on, the nerves eased. Your shoulders brushed and ended up staying that way. Mason eventually angling his chair slightly toward yours without realising as his knee knocked gently against yours beneath the table but neither of you moved away.

You laughed more freely now, head tipping toward him when you spoke and he found himself watching the way your eyes lit up when you teased him and also the way you tucked your hair behind her ear when you got shy again.

‘So’ you said casually ‘I didn't expect you in such a nice suit, thought you might get that brown monstrosity out again’

Mason blinked as he looked at you in shock before he laughed, the sound warm and surprised as he leaned into you further.

‘Oh okay’ he laughed, nudging your shoulder playfully. ‘There she is’

‘Who?’

‘That version of you that sends me messages at midnight and pretends she’s confident’ he teased. ‘I was wondering when she’d make an appearance’

‘I am not confident, especially when it comes to you’

‘You once told me to ‘cope’ because I forgot my headphones’

‘That was practical advice’

‘That was sass’ he corrected, smiling. ‘Text-y/n has opinions’

‘Text-y/n doesn’t have to look you in the eye’ you laughed, ducking your head as your cheeks warmed but you could feel him leaning in with his lips dangerously close to your ear.

‘I like both versions’

‘Even the cheeky one?’

‘Especially the cheeky one’ he said. ‘She’s the reason I stayed up way too late talking to a stranger I wasn’t supposed to know’ he winked. ‘You know’ he said quietly a few moments after ‘I kept thinking I’d recognise you straight away’

‘Did you?’

‘No, but the second Ken said your name… everything clicked’

‘Yeah?’ you asked, your heart skipping a beat as he smiled at you sweetly. 

‘Yeah’ he nodded. ‘It was like my brain finally caught up with everything else’ Mason told you as he rested his forearm on the table, close enough that his little finger brushed yours and when you didn’t pull back, he let it stay.

By the time the room dimmed and someone announced the last dance, you realised you were leaning into him fully now, shoulder against his arm and your voices lower and more private.

‘I can’t believe we’re finally here’ you murmured.

‘It’s been killing me, you know’ he laughed as he turned toward you with his face still close. ‘Knowing you were right there around the corner and I couldn’t see you’

‘Yeah, me too’ you admitted as his thumb brushed the back of your hand, slow and careful. Your heart in your throat as he was treating you so carefully and gently.

‘But’ he smiled ‘I think I’d wait through all of it again if it meant we got to meet like this. I know we weren't meant to but I think I needed to see you tonight. And at least this way you can say you didn’t get dressed up for nothing now’ he chuckled. ‘You look beautiful, y/n. I knew you would’ 

‘How did you know?’

‘You look like you did in my head’ he told you seriously and you knew at that moment you were glad you’d finally seen him tonight.

‘The last dance is coming up,’ you said casually, trying to change the subject a little and make out like your heart wasn’t thudding.

‘Is that so?’ He tilted his head playfully. 

‘I might’ve promised someone I’d save it for them’ you told him cheekily and his eyebrows lifted amused.

‘Oh? And who’s the lucky person?’

‘You’

‘Well lucky for you, I will absolutely hold you to that’ he chuckled as the lights dimmed slightly and the chatter softened. A familiar, slow song began to play, the kind everyone recognised within the first few notes and Mason held out his hand immediately.

‘Come on, you promised’ he told you, letting you slip your hand into his, fingers fitting like they already knew where to go and the sight made you grin. 

You moved onto the floor together, not in the centre, but close enough to feel part of it as he placed one hand at your waist, the other still holding yours as he pulled you close. 

‘Is this okay?’ he asked quietly but all you could do was nod. Your words failing you as you were now so close to him and his scent filled your senses. ‘I should warn you,’ he murmured after a few seconds ‘I’m not great at slow dances. Probably not great at quick ones either’

‘That makes two of us’ you laughed, your nerves easing ever so slightly but they were soon ramping up again as he rested his head on top of yours with his lips by your ear. 

‘I can’t believe this is how we met’ he murmured. ‘After all that build-up, now we’re here’

‘You promise you're not disappointed?’ You asked, tilting your head up to look at him but he shook his head, smiling softly.

‘Not even a little’

‘I was really scared tonight’ you admitted. ‘I thought I’d ruined it’

‘I promise you didn’t, I really would have waited’

‘You would have been okay with that?’

‘Yeah’ he said without hesitation. ‘Because I’d rather wait than push you into something that scared you’ he told you and your chest ached at the sincerity in his voice.

‘I don’t understand how you can be like this’ you whispered. ‘How you can… feel this way about me’ you questioned, causing him to stop swaying for a second and force you to meet his eyes.

‘You really don’t get how I feel about you, do you?’

‘I don’t’ you gulped as Mason exhaled, something vulnerable passing across his face but his voice was low when he replied.

‘I wake up thinking about you’ he said quietly. ‘I read your messages like they’re something I’ve been missing my whole life. You make me calm and wired at the same time and I don’t even know how that’s possible’ he laughed, his words making your eyes fill with unshed tears instantly. ‘I didn’t care who you were’ he continued. ‘What you looked like or how you might fit into my world. I just cared that it was you’

The music swelled around the pair of you, the room dissolving until it felt like you were standing in a quiet pocket of your own as you held each other's eye contact before his flashed to your lips. 

‘Can I-’ he began, then stopped himself. ‘Is it okay if I-’

You didn’t let him finish, rising in your heels just a touch so you could place your lips on his before you talked yourself out of it. 

It was soft and tentative at first, like you were both afraid to break the moment. Mason froze for half a heartbeat, not expecting you to make the first move but then he was kissing you back just as gently. His hand sliding from your waist to your back to steady you and when you eventually pulled apart your foreheads touched as you struggled to get your breath back. 

‘Hi’ he murmured, a giant cheesy grin on his face and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him. 

‘Hi’

The pair of you stayed like that until the song ended, neither of you quite ready to let go but eventually the lights brightened and the room stirred back to life. Your eyes catching onto someone else’s across the room and it was almost as if they were more happy than you were at this moment. 

‘Why is Bruno looking at us like that?’

‘Long story’ Mason laughed, pulling you back to your table where you still sat as close as possible. Knees touching and fingers occasionally brushing as if by accident as you talked about everything and nothing. Childhood stories, Mason's dog Ace, the worst jobs you’d ever had. Mason listened like he always had, only now he could see your expressions and the way you eyes crinkled when you smiled.

When the night finally began to wind down and people drifted toward the exits, Mason stayed close almost as if he was afraid that the moment might slip away if he didn’t. He walked you toward the doors, fingers brushing your wrist now and then until you stepped outside and the cool night air kissed your flushed skin.

‘I don’t want this to end’ you told him as you stepped out, another pout playfully attached to your lips but he just smiled at you widely as you carried on walking into the carpark. 

‘It doesn’t have to end here’ he said gently. ‘I can drop you home if you want?’

‘It’s okay, I can walk it’s not that far’

Something in his expression softened even more, fond and a little protective and without saying anything else, he took your hand and guided you toward his car anyway and stopped beside the passenger door. He didn’t open it. Instead he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him in the cool air and your tummy flipped at how close he was again.

‘This’ he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek softly ‘still doesn’t have to be the end’

Before you could reply, his hand slid to your waist and he gently but firmly guided you back until you felt the solid metal of the passenger door behind you. He leaned in, one arm braced beside you whilst the other pulled you close. Nothing felt rushed or urgent, it felt just like he wanted to hold you there and make sure you were real.

The kiss came slower this time, Mason kissing you like he meant it, like he’d been waiting far too long and didn’t want to let go now that he finally could. You melted into him, fingers curling into his jacket and heart pounding with the certainty that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

'I didn’t think you would want to kiss me tonight' you admitted quietly, almost shy now as the words slipped out before you could stop them.

He frowned just slightly, not confused but more thoughtful but then he smiled that gentle, knowing smile that always made your chest ache and lifted your hand over his heart.

'I already know you in here' he said simply. 'So to me this doesn’t feel new, It just feels normal. We might’ve only just met but I’ve known you for a long time. This was always going to happen' he added softly, thumb brushing your jaw. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, love' he murmured against your lips and this time it felt like it meant something deeper now.

Dating Nathan had taught you that he noticed more than people gave him credit for.

He noticed when a teammate’s skating was half a second slower than usual. He noticed when someone was forcing a smile after a bad game. He noticed when you changed shampoos, when you were cold but refused to admit it, and when you pretended to understand whatever complicated play he was drawing on the back of a napkin.

Unfortunately, he also noticed when you started pulling away.

It didn’t happen all at once.

At first, you simply stopped suggesting restaurants for date night.

You told him you were tired of eating out and would rather stay in, which Nathan accepted easily. He liked quiet evenings with you—takeout containers spread across the coffee table, your legs resting over his lap while he watched game footage and you complained about whichever legal drama had recently offended you with its inaccuracies.

Then you stopped ordering takeout too. You insisted on cooking, even when your cupboards were nearly empty and dinner consisted of pasta, butter, and the last bit of grated cheese in your refrigerator.

Nathan ate two bowls without complaining.

Then you started declining invitations. Team dinners became overwhelming. Weekend trips were impossible because you had applications to finish. Even grabbing coffee before Nathan left for practice came with an excuse.

“I already made some at home.”

“I’m running late.”

“I’m not really in the mood.”

Each explanation sounded reasonable on its own. Together, they formed a pattern. Nathan noticed patterns.

You had been together for almost a year, but there were still parts of your life you kept carefully separated from his.

Nathan knew you had recently graduated from law school at the University of Denver. He knew you had spent years working toward the degree and that you had been proud—almost painfully proud—when a small Denver firm hired you shortly after graduation.

He had been there when you received the call.

You had thrown your arms around his neck and nearly knocked him backward, crying into his shoulder while repeating that you had done it.

Nathan had taken you to dinner that evening, even though you spent most of the meal talking about student loans, bar fees, and how you were finally going to be able to breathe.

For a little while, you had, then the firm began cutting junior staff. You were one of the first to go.

Nathan knew you had lost the job. What he didn’t know was how quickly everything had fallen apart afterward.

Your severance barely covered a month of expenses. Your student loan payment was withdrawn two days before your final paycheck cleared, leaving your checking account dangerously close to zero. You had paid only part of your electricity bill the previous month, which meant the new statement included the remaining balance, a late fee, and a warning printed in bold red letters.

Your credit card balance climbed each time you used it for groceries, then your landlord slid a notice beneath your door. Your rent would be increasing when your lease renewed. You read it three times while sitting on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by unopened envelopes and a laptop displaying another rejection email.

It felt as though every decision you had made was returning to punish you.

You had gone to school because you wanted stability. You wanted a career that mattered. You wanted to be able to support yourself without relying on anyone else. Instead, you were unemployed, drowning in student debt, and calculating whether a box of cereal could reasonably count as dinner for four nights.

And your boyfriend was Nathan MacKinnon.

Nathan, who could pay your yearly rent without noticing the money had left his account. Nathan, whose idea of treating you was booking flights without checking the price and replacing your winter coat because he had decided the old one wasn’t warm enough.

You loved him.

That was precisely why you couldn’t tell him. You didn’t want him wondering whether you had stayed because of what he could provide. You didn’t want money to become something uneven and ugly between you. You didn’t want him to feel responsible for fixing a life that had been complicated long before he entered it.

Most of all, you didn’t want to become another person who needed something from him.

Nathan already carried enough. The expectations. The team. The city. The constant pressure to be better than he had been the day before.

You refused to add yourself to that list. So you hid it. You smiled whenever he asked how the job search was going, you changed the subject whenever he asked about your apartment. You told him your phone had been on silent when you missed his calls, even though you had watched his name illuminate the screen and hadn’t answered because you were crying too hard to sound normal.

You began wearing oversized sweaters whenever you saw him, you blamed your exhaustion on applications, you blamed your headaches on staring at your laptop. You blamed the way your jeans had started hanging more loosely from your hips on stress.

You thought you were protecting the relationship and Nathan felt like he was losing you.

—

“You coming over tonight?”

You held your phone against your ear with your shoulder while opening the refrigerator. A carton of eggs, half a bottle of ketchup and a container of leftovers you no longer trusted “I don’t think so.”

There was a pause on the other end.

Nathan had called after practice, his voice still slightly breathless, as though he had barely stepped out of the locker room before reaching for his phone “Why not?”

“I have applications to finish.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I had applications yesterday too.” Your tone came out sharper than intended, Nathan went silent. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against the refrigerator door “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m just stressed.”

“I know.” The softness in his voice somehow made it worse.

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

“YN—”

“I really need to finish this.” You hung up before he could respond. For several seconds, you stood motionless in the kitchen, staring at your dark reflection in the refrigerator door.

Then someone knocked.

You frowned. You weren’t expecting anyone, and your building’s security system usually required visitors to be buzzed inside. You walked toward the door cautiously and glanced through the peephole.

Nathan stood in the hallway. Your stomach dropped, you opened the door only wide enough to look at him “What are you doing here?”

His eyebrows pulled together “Nice to see you too.”

“I thought you were still at the arena.”

“I was. Now I’m here.” His hair was damp from a shower, and an Avalanche hoodie was pulled over a plain black T-shirt. He held a paper grocery bag against his chest.

You stared at it “What’s that?”

“Dinner.”

“I told you I had work.”

“And I told you I’d call when I was done with practice.” His gaze moved over your face. “You didn’t answer, so I came here.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just show up.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Nathan’s expression changed, not anger.

Hurt.

It was worse “I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it?” You tightened your grip on the door. His eyes moved past you into the apartment. The living room lights were off despite the sun having disappeared nearly an hour earlier “Can I come in?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell him you were exhausted and promise to see him tomorrow, when you had cleaned the apartment and hidden the envelopes scattered across your table. But Nathan was already looking at you as though he knew something was wrong.

You stepped aside, he entered without another word and placed the grocery bag on the counter. You folded your arms across your stomach, suddenly conscious of the oversized sweatshirt hanging from your frame. Nathan looked at you for too long.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The answer came too quickly.

You frowned “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His eyes moved down your body before returning to your face “You’ve lost weight.”

Your stomach twisted “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not.” Nathan stepped closer, studying you with a concern that made you want to disappear inside the sweatshirt.

The last time he had seen you properly had been nearly a week earlier. You had spent most of that evening wrapped in a blanket on his couch. Before that, you had worn loose clothes, blamed your exhaustion on job applications, and avoided changing in front of him.

You hadn’t thought the difference was noticeable. Nathan noticed everything “It’s probably stress,” you muttered.

“How much have you been eating?”

“I eat.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

You turned toward the counter “Can we not do this?”

Nathan didn’t answer immediately. Then you heard the quiet rustle of paper behind you. Your entire body went still. The grocery bag had been placed beside a stack of envelopes you had forgotten to move. When Nathan set it down, several letters had slipped onto the floor.

You turned around.

He was holding one of them. The electricity company’s logo was printed in the corner. A red FINAL NOTICE was visible through the plastic window.

“Nate.”

He looked at the envelope, then at you “What is this?”

“Give it to me.” You stepped forward, but he picked up another letter before you could reach him.A late notice from your student loan provider. Then the rent increase.

His expression changed with every page. Concern hardened into disbelief. Disbelief became anger—not explosive, but sharp and controlled “How long has this been going on?”

You reached for the letters, Nathan held them away from you “Give them back.”

“How long?”

“They’re addressed to me.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Because it’s none of your business.” The moment you said it, you knew it was the wrong thing.

Nathan stared at you “None of my business?”

“They’re my bills.”

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“That doesn’t give you permission to go through my mail.”

“I didn’t go through it. It fell on the floor beside a bag of food I brought because I suspected you weren’t eating.”

Your face burned “Lower your voice.”

“I’m not yelling.” He wasn’t, that somehow made it more intense. Nathan placed the letters on the counter, spreading them out as though he needed to see all the evidence at once.

A missed utility payment. An overdue loan installment. A credit card statement. The notice explaining that your rent would rise at the end of your lease. He tapped one of the envelopes “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Stop saying that.” His voice cracked through the apartment. You flinched, Nathan saw it and closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to calm down.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less firm. “You’ve lost weight. Your fridge is empty. You haven’t wanted to go anywhere for weeks, and now I find final notices all over your apartment.” He looked directly at you. “So don’t stand there and tell me nothing is going on.”

You looked away.

The refrigerator suddenly sounded impossibly loud in the silence, Nathan walked toward it and opened the door. You didn’t try to stop him this time.

He stared at the nearly empty shelves, the carton of eggs, the box of the old leftovers, the almost empty bottle of ketchup and the bottle of water. He shut the door harder than necessary. “When did you last buy groceries?”

“I don’t remember.”

“When did you last eat?”

“I ate today.”

“What?” You said nothing, Nathan’s jaw clenched “What did you eat, YN?”

“Toast.”

He stared at you.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t swear at me.”

“I’m not swearing at you.” His hand dragged through his damp hair. “I’m trying to understand why you’re starving yourself while pretending everything’s fine.”

“I’m not starving myself.”

“You’re thinner.”

“I’ve been stressed.”

“You’re skipping meals because you can’t afford them.”

The words struck with enough force to make your eyes burn. You folded your arms tighter around your body “You don’t know that.”

“I can see it.”

“That doesn’t mean you understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation for every problem in my life.”

“No, but I think I deserve one when you’ve been lying to my face for weeks.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“You told me you were fine.”

“What was I supposed to say?” you snapped. “That I couldn’t afford coffee? That I was avoiding team dinners because I couldn’t keep letting you pay for me? That I stopped coming over because every time you suggested ordering food, I felt like a charity case?”

Nathan recoiled slightly “You think that’s how I see you?”

“I don’t know!” Your voice broke, you turned away from him, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. Everything you had worked so hard to hide was sitting between you now, laid across the kitchen counter in white envelopes and red lettering.

Nathan knew, there was no pretending anymore “I didn’t want you to find out like this,” you whispered.

“How did you want me to find out?”

“I didn’t.” The admission filled the room, Nathan became still, you stared at the floor “I was going to handle it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not handling it.”

“I was applying for jobs.”

“And while you waited, what?” His voice sharpened again. “You were going to stop eating? Let them shut off your electricity?”

“I would’ve figured something out.”

“You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s nothing you can do without making it weird!” Nathan blinked. You immediately wished you could take the words back, but everything was spilling out now. “You don’t understand what this feels like,” you said. “You don’t understand checking your account before buying groceries or deciding which bill can be late. You don’t know what it’s like to owe more money than you’ve ever seen because you thought getting an education would guarantee you could support yourself.”

“You’re right.” His answer stopped you, Nathan didn’t move closer, he didn’t argue “You’re right,” he repeated. “I don’t know what that feels like.” Your eyes started burning “That doesn’t mean you get to hide it from me until you’re making yourself sick.”

“I’m not sick.”

“You’re barely eating.”

“I ate enough.”

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Stop saying that!” Your voice echoed across the apartment. Nathan’s expression softened, but he didn’t take the words back. He looked at you with the same focus he carried onto the ice, except now there was fear beneath it.

“I noticed it as soon as you opened the door,” he said quietly. “Your face is thinner. That sweatshirt used to fit you differently.”

You wrapped your arms around your stomach “You weren’t supposed to notice.”

The confession came out so quietly that Nathan nearly missed it, His entire face changed “YN.”

You shook your head, wiping angrily at your cheeks “I did everything I was supposed to do,” you continued. “I studied. I worked throughout school. I took internships that barely paid me because everyone said the experience would be worth it. Then I graduated and got a job, and I thought I was safe.”

Your voice trembled “And now I can’t even afford this apartment. I’ve applied everywhere, Nate. Firms, nonprofits, assistant positions—jobs that don’t even require a law degree. Half of them never respond, and the other half tell me they went with someone more experienced.”

Nathan took a careful step toward you.

You shook your head. “My loans keep coming out. My bills are higher because I couldn’t make the full payments last month. My landlord is raising the rent, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t ask my parents. They already helped me through school. I can’t ask my friends because they’re struggling too.”

“You can ask me.”

“That’s exactly what I didn’t want.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be your responsibility!” The apartment fell silent.

Nathan stared at you, pain flashing across his face. “You think that’s what you are?” You couldn’t answer. “Do you think every time you have a problem, I see you as something I have to deal with?”

“No, but we’ve only been together a year.”

“Only?”

“It’s not long enough for you to take on all of this.”

“I’m not asking to take over your life.”

“You’d try.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Probably. Because I love you.” Your breath caught, Nathan had told you he loved you before, but never like this. Never with frustration in his voice and his heart completely exposed. He moved closer until only a few inches separated you. “But helping you doesn’t mean I think you’re incapable,” he said. “And you telling me you’re scared doesn’t make you a burden. It makes you my partner.”

“I don’t want you paying my debts.”

“Okay.”

You searched his face through tear-blurred eyes “Okay?”

“I heard you.” His answer was immediate, but something about it felt deliberately careful.

You were too exhausted to question it. Some of the tension left your shoulders. Nathan reached for you, his hands settling gently around your arms. “But I’m also not going to pretend it’s fine that you’re losing weight because you’re too scared to let me buy you dinner.”

“It isn’t your responsibility to feed me.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It sounds like it.”

“I’m saying I love you.” His voice softened. “And watching you make yourself smaller so nobody has to worry about you isn’t something I can ignore.” your lower lip trembled, Nathan glanced toward the grocery bag “I brought enough food to last you more than one dinner.”

“You knew?”

“I suspected.”

“Because I lost weight?”

“That and every time we ate together, you barely touched anything unless I put it directly in front of you.”

You hadn’t realized he had noticed that too, Nathan noticed everything.

“I didn’t want you thinking I expected this from you,” you whispered. “The food. Money. Any of it.”

“Did I ever make you feel like you had to prove you weren’t with me for money?”

You looked down “No.”

“Then stop deciding what I’m going to think before giving me a chance.”

“Because it’s humiliating.” The confession escaped in a broken whisper. All the remaining anger disappeared from Nathan’s face. He moved closer and cupped your cheeks “I’m not humiliated by you.”

“You should be.”

“No.”

“I’m a lawyer who can’t pay her electricity bill.”

“You’re a lawyer who lost her job.”

“I should’ve saved more.”

“You did what you could.”

“I should’ve found another job by now.”

“That isn’t how it works.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I know you. You work harder than anyone I’ve met. You’re not lazy, and you’re not waiting for someone to rescue you.”

You swallowed “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Then we make a plan.”

“I don’t want you fixing everything.”

“Then we’ll figure it out without me fixing everything.”

“How?”

“We go through the bills together. You tell me what kind of help you’re comfortable with, and I respect it.”

“You make that sound easy.”

“It won’t be.” His expression softened. “But it’ll be easier than you doing it alone.”

You hesitated before glancing at the rent notice “I might have to move.”

Nathan was quiet for several seconds, then he said, “Move in with me.”mYour head snapped toward him “What?”

“Move in with me.”

“Nathan.”

“I’m serious.”

“We’ve never even talked about living together.”

“We’re talking about it now.”

“I’m not moving into your house because I can’t afford mine.”

“Then don’t move in because of that.”

“What other reason would there be?”

“Because we’ve been together for almost a year, you already spend half your time there, and I hate waking up when you’re not beside me.” The anger inside you faltered, Nathan continued before you could respond “Move in because you steal all the blankets. Move in because your shampoo has been in my shower for six months. Move in because you keep pretending those clothes in my closet aren’t yours.”

“They aren’t mine.”

“There are three dresses in there.”

“They’re emergency dresses.”

“What kind of emergency requires three dresses?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

His mouth twitched, but his eyes remained serious “Move in because I love you.”

You shook your head “I can’t make that decision tonight.”

“Then don’t.”

“You’re not going to keep asking?”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to keep asking.”

“Nate.”

“But you don’t have to answer tonight.” He kissed your forehead, “Tonight, you’re going to eat. Tomorrow, we deal with the bills.”

“You mean we look at them.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you said deal with them. That sounds suspicious.” Nathan glanced away, You narrowed your eyes “Nathan.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m actually very good at it.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I convinced you the chicken pan was defective.”

“You burned the chicken.”

“Allegedly.” Despite yourself, you laughed. Nathan’s shoulders relaxed at the sound. He pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly enough that you could feel his heartbeat through the hoodie “You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore.”

Your heart dropped.

“Nate.”

“You stopped coming over. You barely answered me. You wouldn’t let me see you.” His arms tightened. “And the whole time, you were dealing with this alone.”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, that worked out great.” You let out a watery laugh, he pressed his lips to your hair “Promise me you’ll tell me next time.”

“I’ll try.”

“No.”

You pulled back “No?”

“Don’t give me ‘I’ll try.’”

“You can’t order me to communicate.”

“I’m not ordering you.”

“You’re using your captain voice.”

“I don’t have a captain voice.”

“You absolutely do.”

He sighed, lowering his forehead to yours “Please tell me next time.”

The quiet plea broke through the last of your resistance “I promise.”

“And you’re eating dinner.”

“Nathan.”

“That one is an order.”

—

You moved into Nathan’s house three weeks later, Not because your landlord had raised the rent. At least, that was what you repeatedly told yourself.

You moved in because Nathan asked you every morning, every evening, and nearly every time he found you staring anxiously at an apartment listing, sometimes he asked seriously, sometimes he slipped it casually into conversation.

“Do we need milk?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to move in and check.”

“Have you seen my black hoodie?”

“Probably packed with the rest of your things for when you move in.”

“Where should we eat tonight?”

“My house. Which could also be your house.”

“You’re very subtle.”

“I’ve never claimed to be subtle.”

At first, you resisted. You didn’t want moving in with Nathan to feel like another form of rescue. You didn’t want to wake up one morning and realize the relationship had accelerated only because you had nowhere else to go.

Nathan listened to every objection, then he countered every one.

He reminded you that you already spent most weekends with him. That half your toiletries lived in his bathroom. That he had bought your favorite tea months before because he was tired of you bringing it back and forth in your purse “I don’t want you moving in because you’re broke,” he told you one night. “I want you moving in because I want you here.”

The distinction mattered, eventually, you gave in. Your name remained on none of the paperwork, and Nathan refused to let you call it his house after the first box crossed the doorway “It’s ours.”

“I don’t own any of it.”

“Neither do i, the bank does, technically.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

He gave you space in every room.

Half the closet became yours. Your law books appeared beside his collection of hockey memorabilia. The spare bedroom became an office where you could complete applications and prepare for interviews.

Nathan even cleared an entire kitchen cabinet for your tea, although he complained that you owned too many kinds that all tasted exactly the same.

For the first time since losing your job, you could breathe.

You still had loan payments. You still carried a balance on your credit card. You insisted on contributing what you could toward groceries and utilities, although Nathan argued with you every time money left your account.

But you were eating again, you were sleeping, your face slowly regained its softness. Nathan never commented directly on the weight returning, but you caught him watching you whenever you finished a full meal.

He tried to hide the relief, he was terrible at it.

You began attending team dinners again. You stopped pretending you weren’t hungry. When you had a bad day, you sat beside him on the couch instead of crying alone in the bathroom.

Not every day was easy, some mornings, a rejection email still ruined your entire mood, some nights, you woke at three in the morning convinced you had made a catastrophic mistake by allowing yourself to depend on him.

Nathan would wake whenever you shifted too much beneath the blankets “You okay?”

“Go back to sleep.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

You hated his ability to use your own words against you. Eventually, you would tell him. Sometimes you needed him to hold you. Sometimes you only needed him to listen.

He was learning the difference, so were you.

Then, two months after moving in, you logged into your student loan account. The balance read zero.

For several seconds, you assumed the website had failed to load, you refreshed the page.

Zero.

You checked the payment history, a single payment had been made four days earlier. The entire remaining balance. Your stomach dropped, you opened your credit card account next.

Zero.

The overdue utility balance from your old apartment had also been cleared. So had the small private loan you had taken during your final year of law school. Every debt Nathan had seen in those letters was gone.

You sat frozen at the desk, then you heard the front door open downstairs “Nate!”

There must have been something in your voice because his footsteps stopped. A moment later, they started again, quicker this time, Nathan appeared in the doorway of the office, still wearing his practice clothes “What happened?”

You turned the laptop toward him, his eyes flickered toward the screen. That was all you needed to see “You did this.”

Nathan exhaled “YN—”

“You paid them.”

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him “We can talk about it.”

“You told me you wouldn’t.”

“I said I heard you.”

“You said okay!”

“I didn’t technically say I wouldn’t.”

Your mouth fell open “That’s your defense?”

“It’s not a great one.”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You deliberately let me believe you were going to respect what I asked.”

“I did respect it for two months.”

“That doesn’t make this better!”

Nathan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck “I knew you’d be mad.”

“So you did it behind my back?”

“I knew you wouldn’t let me do it otherwise.”

“Exactly!” You stood so quickly that the chair rolled backward “You had no right.”

“I know.” The immediate admission threw you off for half a second, then the anger returned “No, you clearly don’t know, because you did it anyway.” Nathan remained near the doorway, watching you pace

“I told you that I didn’t want your money.”

“I know.”

“I told you I didn’t want you fixing everything.”

“I know.”

“I trusted you.”

“I know.”

“Stop saying that!” Your voice cracked, Nathan flinched. You hated that his expression made you want to comfort him when you were furious with him “You can’t make decisions about my life simply because you have the money to do it,” you continued. “Those were my debts. My responsibility.”

“They were destroying you.”

“That still didn’t make them yours.”

“They became mine the second they made you think you had to starve yourself.”

Your eyes burned “That isn’t fair.”

“No, none of this was fair.” Nathan finally moved closer “You worked for years. You graduated. You got the job. Then someone else decided to cut positions, and suddenly you were drowning.”

“That happens to people every day.”

“And if they have someone who can help, I hope that person helps them.”

“It wasn’t your decision.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because I could.”

“That isn’t enough.”

“It is to me.” You stared at him, Nathan’s voice became quieter “I could make those numbers disappear without it changing my life. For you, they were changing everything.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted them to disappear like this.”

“You weren’t sleeping.”

“I was getting better.”

“You still checked your bank account every morning.”

“That was none of your business.”

“You were having panic attacks in the bathroom because you thought I couldn’t hear you.” Your breath caught, Nathan’s jaw tightened “I heard you every time.”

You looked away “I was trying to find another job.”

“And you will.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t.”

You stared at him in disbelief “That’s easy for you to say.”

“I don’t mean you stop trying.” He stepped closer. “I mean your value doesn’t disappear if it takes longer than you expected.”

“That still doesn’t justify what you did.”

“No.” the word was quiet, Nathan stopped in front of you “I know it doesn’t.”

“Then apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“I’m sorry I broke your trust.”

“But not for paying them.”

“No.”

You let out an incredulous laugh “You are unbelievable.”

“I know.”

“You’re controlling.”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“You don’t get to joke right now.”

“I’m not joking.”

You turned away from him “I need space.”

“No.”

Your head snapped back toward him “No?”

“I’m not letting you walk away thinking I did this because I believe you’re incapable.”

“I don’t care why you did it right now.”

“I do.”

“Nathan—”

“I paid them because I’m going to marry you.” The room went silent, you stared at him. He stared back. Your anger momentarily disappeared beneath complete confusion “What?”

Nathan seemed to realize what had just left his mouth. His eyes widened slightly, then he looked toward the ceiling and muttered something under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You said you were going to marry me.”

“I’m aware.”

“You can’t just say that in the middle of an argument.”

“Apparently I can.”

“Nathan.”

He dragged a hand over his face “This wasn’t how I planned it.”

“Planned what?” Nathan didn’t answer, instead, he walked past you toward the closet in the office. You watched as he reached onto the top shelf and pulled down a small black box. Every coherent thought disappeared from your mind “Nate.”

“I’ve had this for three weeks.”

You stared at the box “You bought a ring?”

“I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. A good night. Somewhere nice.” He looked toward the laptop displaying the zero balance. “Definitely not this.”

“You are not proposing to me because I’m mad at you.”

“I’m not.”

“It looks like you are.”

“I was already going to propose.”

“You just happen to have the ring in this room?”

“I moved it after you almost found it in my nightstand.”

“When did I almost find it?”

“When you were looking for a charger.”

“You acted like I was going to find something embarrassing.”

“I panicked.”

“You told me there were vitamins in there.”

“There were vitamins.”

“And an engagement ring.”

“Yeah.”

You stared at him, Nathan looked down at the box in his hand. “This is a disaster.”

“You paid all my debts without permission.”

“I know.”

“You broke your promise.”

“Technically—”

“Do not say technically.”

His mouth closed “You’re still angry,” he observed.

“Very.”

“Should I wait?”

You folded your arms “That would probably be the sensible thing.” Nathan nodded, then he lowered himself onto one knee. Your mouth fell open “Nathan!”

“I’ve never been especially sensible.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.”

“You’re proposing while I’m furious with you.”

“I’d rather know you’ll still say yes when you’re furious.”

“That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I’ve said worse.” He opened the box, the ring inside was simple and beautiful, exactly the kind you would have chosen for yourself. Your eyes immediately filled with tears “That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You know I love you.”

“I’m hoping that helps.”

“Nate.”

His expression softened “YN, I know we haven’t been together as long as some people think we should be before doing this.”

“It’s been a little over a year.”

“I know.”

“You paid my debts behind my back.”

“I know.”

“I’m still mad.”

“I know that too.”

“You need another sentence.”

A nervous laugh escaped him, he looked more frightened than you had ever seen him before a game “I love you,” Nathan said. “And I don’t love you because you need me. Half the time, you refuse to need anybody.”

You attempted to glare at him through your tears, he continued “I love you because you’re stubborn and brilliant, and because you make fun of every legal show we watch. I love you because you argue with me when I’m wrong, even when I don’t realize I’m wrong yet.”

“That happens a lot.”

“I’m proposing. Be nice.”

“No.”

His smile appeared briefly before his expression became serious again “I love coming home to you. I love that your things are everywhere now. I love that my house finally feels like somewhere I actually want to be because you’re in it.”

Your lower lip trembled “I paid those debts because I couldn’t stand watching them hurt you when I had the ability to stop it. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve found a way to help that didn’t make you feel like I was taking away your choices.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I’m sorry.” You believed him that time, Nathan took a breath “But I’m not sorry that you are going to wake up without that weight on you.”

Your eyes closed briefly.

“I want to be the person you tell when you’re scared,” he continued. “I want to be there when things are good, when they’re terrible, and when you’re yelling at me because I did something stupid.”

“You did something very stupid.”

“I know.”

“And expensive.”

“That part isn’t important.”

“It is to me.”

“We can keep arguing about it for the rest of our lives.” your eyes opened, Nathan held the ring between his fingers “So marry me, and we’ll have plenty of time.”

A laugh broke through your tears “That’s your proposal?”

“I had a better speech planned.”

“What happened to it?”

“You started yelling at me.”

“You deserved it.”

“I did.”

You studied him. The man kneeling in front of you was infuriating, he had ignored your wishes. He had made a major decision without you, convinced that love made it acceptable.

You would not let him forget that.

You would make him sit with you and establish boundaries. You would insist on repaying at least some of the money, even if Nathan argued until both of you were exhausted. You would make sure he understood that being partners meant making decisions together, not protecting each other through secrecy.

But he was also the man who had noticed you disappearing before anyone else did. The man who had filled your empty refrigerator without making you ask.

The man who had given you space in every part of his life long before he placed a ring in front of you. The man you loved.

“Yes.”

Nathan froze “Yes?”

“I’m still angry with you.”

“I understand.”

“And this doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

“Completely understood.”

“And we are having a very serious conversation about boundaries.”

“As many as you want.”

“And I’m paying you back.”

“We’ll discuss that.”

“Nathan.”

“Fine. We’ll discuss discussing it.”

You narrowed your eyes, he smiled “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” The word barely left your mouth before Nathan surged to his feet. He slid the ring onto your finger with shaking hands and pulled you against him, you laughed through your tears as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist “You’re insane,” you whispered against his neck.

“You’re marrying me.”

“I might reconsider.”

“You already said yes.”

“Engagements can be broken.”

“Don’t joke about that.” The sudden seriousness in his voice softened you, you pulled back and placed both hands against his face “I’m not going anywhere.”

Nathan kissed you. It wasn’t a careful kiss.

It carried all the fear from the night he had found the letters, all the frustration of the argument, and all the relief of finally having the future he had apparently been planning without telling you. When you separated, you looked down at the ring “You really had this for three weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“When were you planning to ask?”

Nathan hesitated “I made a reservation for next weekend.”

“Where?”

“I’m not telling you now.”

“Why?”

“We can still go.”

“As an engaged couple?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled faintly, then you remembered why the argument had started. Your smile disappeared “I’m still mad about the debts.”

“I know.”

“You’re sleeping in the guest room.”

Nathan’s head snapped toward you “The guest room?”

“Yes.”

“After we got engaged?”

“Yes.”

He stared at you as though you had suggested he sleep outside in the snow. Then he gestured helplessly between the two of you “Baby, we i thought that we would fuck tonight.”

You blinked, Nathan appeared completely serious “You did not just say that.”

“I did.”

“You literally proposed to me in the middle of an argument, and now you think that means you’re entitled to engagement sex?”

“I didn’t say entitled.”

“You said we should.”

“Because we should.”

“Nathan.”

“We just got engaged.”

“Because you panicked.”

“I had a ring.”

“That does not make the timing less insane.”

His eyes dropped briefly to the ring now resting on your finger “You said yes.”

“I did.”

“So we should celebrate.”

“We are celebrating.”

“By sending me to the guest room?”

“You should’ve thought about that before paying all my debts behind my back.”

Nathan groaned and dragged both hands over his face “Baby.”

“No.”

“What if I apologize again?”

“You already did.”

“What if I make dinner?”

“You burn chicken.”

“I’ll order dinner.”

“With the money you apparently enjoy spending without permission?”

He pointed a finger at you “That was a low blow.”

“You earned it.”

Nathan pressed his lips together, visibly fighting a smile “I cannot believe I’m engaged and being sentenced to the guest room on the same day.”

“You’re lucky I’m only sentencing you to one night.”

“One night?”

“Keep arguing and I’ll make it two.”

His expression became genuinely offended “That’s cruel.”

“You paid off my entire student loan without telling me.”

“I was trying to help.”

“You were being controlling.”

“I can be helpful and controlling at the same time.”

“That isn’t the defense you think it is.”

He sighed “Can I at least kiss my fiancée before my exile?” You tried to keep your expression serious “One kiss.”

His grin returned instantly “One very long kiss?”

“Nathan.”

“Worth asking.” He stepped forward anyway, cupping your face before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It began gently. Then his hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened.

For several seconds, you forgot you were supposed to be angry.

Nathan seemed to notice, he smiled against your mouth. You immediately pushed a hand against his chest “No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

“That’s fair.”

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours “I still don’t regret proposing.”

“I know.”

“I do regret paying the debts without talking to you first.”

You studied him for a moment before nodding “Good.”

“But,” he added, lowering his voice, “I’m still hoping my fiancée changes her mind about the guest room.”

You smiled sweetly “Goodnight, Nathan.”

“You’re really making me sleep there?”

“Yes.”

“After we got engaged?”

“You already used that argument.”

“It’s a good argument.”

“It isn’t.”

“What about the other thing I said?” You stared at him, Nathan’s mouth twitched “Guest room,” you repeated.

He sighed dramatically “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

—

The engagement announcement did not happen that night. Neither did the celebration Nathan had so bluntly suggested. Instead, the two of you spent nearly three hours at the kitchen table with your laptop open between you.

Nathan produced the payment confirmations reluctantly. You wrote down every amount, he complained whenever you added another figure to the spreadsheet.

“You’re not paying me back.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“That isn’t your decision.”

“You’re unemployed.”

“Temporarily.”

“You don’t know when you’ll find another job.”

“That doesn’t mean the debt disappears.”

“It literally did.”

You glared at him “That isn’t funny.”

“It was a little funny.”

“It was not.”

Nathan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms “You’re not paying me back for helping you.”

“You didn’t help me. You ambushed my bank accounts.”

“I didn’t touch your bank account.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I paid creditors.”

“That sounds even worse when you say it like that.”

He reached across the table and rested his hand over yours “YN.” You tried to pull away, he held on “Listen to me.”

“I’ve been listening to you all evening.”

“No, you’ve been preparing your next argument while I’m talking.”

“That’s called being a lawyer.”

“That’s called being impossible.”

“You proposed to me.”

“Yeah. That was probably my first mistake.” You stared at him, Nathan’s face changed immediately “I’m kidding.”

“You’d better be.”

“I am.” He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles, his lips brushing against the new ring “I don’t regret this.” your anger softened despite your best efforts. Nathan continued “I understand why you’re upset. I do.”

“You don’t get to make financial decisions for me.”

“I know.”

“Even when you think you’re helping.”

“I know.”

“Even if the amount means nothing to you.”

“I know.”

“You need to stop saying that and actually listen.”

“I am listening.” You watched him carefully.

Nathan wasn’t good at surrendering control. He wasn’t good at accepting that determination couldn’t solve every problem. Most of his life had taught him that if he worked harder, pushed longer, and refused to stop, he could eventually force things into place.

Relationships weren’t hockey.

You couldn’t overpower every obstacle “You made me feel like I had no choice,” you said quietly. “That’s what hurt.”

Nathan’s expression fell “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I just wanted it gone.”

“I know.”

His fingers tightened around yours “I saw those letters and then I saw you standing there in that sweatshirt.” His voice roughened. “You looked so small.”

Your eyes dropped.

“I kept thinking about how long it had been happening while I didn’t know.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve noticed sooner.”

“You did notice.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Nate.”

“I could’ve helped before you stopped eating.”

“You couldn’t help with something I refused to tell you.”

“Exactly.”

You looked back at him “That’s why you can’t solve things by hiding them from me either.”

The realization settled between you. Nathan looked toward the payment confirmations “You’re right.” You waited, he exhaled “I should’ve told you what I wanted to do. I should’ve let you say no.”

“Yes.”

“And then I probably would’ve spent the next month trying to convince you.”

“That would have been annoying.”

“But better.”

“Much better.”

He nodded “I’m sorry.”

This time, the apology felt complete, You squeezed his hand “I’m still making a repayment plan.”

“No.”

“Nathan.”

“What if we compromise?”

You narrowed your eyes “What kind of compromise?”

“When you get another job, you put whatever you planned to repay me into savings.”

“My savings?”

“Our savings.”

Your gaze moved toward the ring “You’re moving very quickly.”

“You moved into my house.”

“Our house,” you corrected automatically. Nathan smiled “Exactly.”

You hated when he used your own words against you “What would the savings be for?” you asked.

“A wedding. A future house if you decide you hate this one. Emergencies, our kids college founds.” His thumb brushed over your ring. “Whatever we decide together.”

Together, the word mattered. You looked down at the spreadsheet “I’m still going to struggle with this.”

“I know.”

“I might feel guilty every time I look at the balance.”

“There is no balance.” You glared “Sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“A little.”

You sighed, Nathan tugged gently on your hand until you stood from your chair. He guided you around the table and pulled you between his knees “You’re not a burden,” he said.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

You hesitated “I’m trying to.”

His hands settled on your hips “That’s enough.”

You rested your hands on his shoulders “For now.”

“For now,” he agreed.

Nathan leaned forward and pressed his face against your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist. The position was oddly vulnerable for him. You stroked your fingers through his hair “You’re still sleeping in the guest room.”

His head lifted immediately “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“We just had emotional growth.”

“You still paid my debts behind my back.”

“I apologized.”

“And I accepted your apology.”

“Then why am I still being punished?”

“Consequences.”

Nathan groaned against your stomach “Baby.”

“No.”

“We should fuck tonight.”

You covered your face with one hand “You already said that.”

“And it’s still true.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“You said yes to marrying me.”

“I’m reconsidering every time you open your mouth.” His arms tightened around your waist “No, you’re not.” The confidence in his voice made you smile despite yourself “No,” you admitted. “I’m not.”

—

Nathan lasted twelve minutes in the guest room.

You were lying in bed, staring at the engagement ring beneath the glow of the bedside lamp, when the bedroom door slowly opened. Nathan stood in the doorway holding his pillow.

You raised an eyebrow “What are you doing?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You haven’t tried.”

“I know I can’t.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

He stepped inside “I won’t touch you.”

“You said you should be having sex with me twenty minutes ago.”

“I’ve adjusted my expectations.”

“How mature.”

“I just want to sleep beside my fiancée.” The word made warmth spread through your chest, you tried not to show it. Nathan noticed anyway, he always noticed “You smiled.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“Go back to the guest room.”

“No.”

“Nathan.”

“I’ll sleep on top of the covers.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I’m showing restraint.”

“You’ve never shown restraint in your life.”

“Exactly. This is a big moment for me.”

You stared at him for several seconds, then you lifted the edge of the blanket. Nathan crossed the room so quickly that you almost laughed.

“On your side,” you warned.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And no touching.”

“Understood.”

Nathan climbed into bed and settled flat on his back, both hands folded dramatically over his stomach. You turned off the lamp. Silence filled the room.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then his hand brushed against yours beneath the blanket “Nathan.”

“Accident.”

Another few seconds, his little finger hooked around yours. You turned your head, in the darkness, you could barely make out his profile “You’re terrible at following instructions.”

“I’m trying.”

“You aren’t.”

He turned toward you “Can I hold your hand?” You sighed, but didn’t pull away “Yes.” His fingers threaded through yours, a minute later, he spoke again “Can I kiss you?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Another pause “Can I tell you I love you?”

“You don’t need permission for that.”

“I love you.”

You turned toward him “I love you too.”

Nathan smiled in the dark “Can we—”

“No.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“You were.”

“I was going to ask if we could cuddle.”

You considered it “Cuddling only.”

“I can do that.”

“You’d better.”

Nathan moved closer, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you gently against his chest. He remained perfectly still for approximately forty seconds.

Then his lips brushed the back of your neck “Nate.”

“That was affectionate.”

“It was suspicious.”

“Everything I do is suspicious to you now.”

“You earned that.”

“Fair.”

Despite your warning, you relaxed against him, Nathan pressed one final kiss to your shoulder “I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

“I’m also really happy you said yes.”

Your fingers brushed over the ring “So am I.” His arm tightened “You’re still not getting engagement sex.”

Tropes:

Neurodiverget!OC,

Celebrity!OC (Adam Levine & Behati Prinsloo daughter; adopted)

Athlete!OC

Driver!OC

Slow burn (2025 arc)

Falling in Love

First Relationship/ inexperienced oc

Fluff

Neighbors

Emotional Development

BDSM

Smut

Dark themes, mentioned (death of family, traumatic past)

Secret not Private

Established relationship (2026 - onwards)

About the fic:

Chapters are organized in timeline form 'roughly' week by week. Interludes are shorter bits that don't fit the timeline 'perfectly' but show little moments of Lando and Louise's development

AO3 (updated every sunday)

About Louise

Prologue

2025

2026

2027

✶ date ──── Jul. 1, 2026

✶ a/n ──── This was originally requested by @biancathecool in December of last year, but by the time I finished writing it (what a ride, I’ll tell you that much), it had sunk somewhere towards the bottom of my inbox. Lovey, I am sooo sorry, hope this was worth the wait. For everybody else, enjoy the tragedy 🩵

📍 Monaco, April 2026

LANDO MADE SURE to disappear before any of his friends noticed.

Downstairs, some of them are singing terribly over the music, causing an eruption of laughter. A glass breaks somewhere near the kitchen and it’s followed by more laughing that only rich, very drunk young people seem capable of producing. In this world, carelessness isn’t followed by consequence because everything can be replaced.

Anyone can be replaced, if anything.

The cigarette trembles faintly between his fingers as he pushes through the balcony door upstairs. Not from the cold, since April has been kind with the weather so far, but from the exhaustion of pretending not to look over his shoulder every few minutes. He had come to the party with every intention of forgetting himself for a few hours. To drink, maybe, to have a good time with his friends, and to finally shake off the pressure that had been clinging to him for months now.

Seeing her there had not been part of the plan, but luckily, she hadn’t noticed him, which gave Lando enough time to swallow the immediate pull of old feelings before they surfaced too obviously on his face. Unfortunately, the fragile balance he’d manage to build up until then, cracked like eggshells the moment he realized she hadn’t arrived alone. Standing beside her, all lean and far too comfortable in her orbit, was his teammate, of all people.

That way, the very mood he’d come here to escape settled back over him, twice as heavy.

His teammate, of all people.

Looking somewhere far in the distance, he presses his forearms against the iron railing and inhales deeply, until the smoke scratches the back of his throat. It feels like punishment, as it should. He’s aware it is a disgusting habit and he keeps meaning to quit, but in the months since December, he has found himself collecting various, ugly little addictions: the occasional nicotine, insomnia, memories.

So many memories.

The balcony door remains slightly cracked open behind him, letting the noise spill out in tiny fragments; the bass is vibrating through the walls, there’s too much shouting, then someone calling for tequila.

He realizes it’s a terrible idea to close his eyes only when her image materializes underneath his eyelids. For the life of him, Lando can’t think of how she was at the end, sad and exhausted, with mascara smudged under her furious eyes. That’d still hurt, but it would be a favor to him, and his mind is crueler than that. It offers him the good versions instead, the ones that he should’ve hold on to more when he stormed out of the conference room, without looking back.

Her, asleep on his chest during a flight to Singapore.

Her hands fixing his crooked collar before every boring event.

Her laugh echoing through hotel hallways at two in the morning.

He takes a couple more absent drags from his cigarette, mostly habit than intention, the smoke dissolving into nothingness in the night air. The same thoughts pull him under too quickly, spiraling in places he’d rather be, until the sting of heat against his fingers jolts him back to reality. He looks down blankly at how it burned nearly to the filter but then, as he decides to go back inside, the door to the room swings open hard enough to rattle in its frame.

Someone stumbles through it in a mess of laughter and half-whispered giggles, their voices disturbing the semi-quiet he’s harvested in the past few minutes.

“Are you sure?” asks the first voice, causing Lando’s entire body to react to the Australian accent he grew to know so well.

His heart starts slamming inside his ribcage, breath caught midway in his lungs. Fuck, no.

“Yes,” her unmistakable voice answers right away. “What, are you afraid?”

“No. Should I be?” Oscar shoots back.

The corner beside the balcony wall is dark enough to hide him as long as neither of them looks too carefully. Which turns to be his only salvation since he cannot move. Although he tells himself he should just walk back in, force the door open wider or make enough noise for them to notice they’re not alone, he simply can’t move. So he stays still, while the hushed sounds land one after another like premeditated blows.

Every kiss and every murmur makes her giggle all over again. It is torturous the way Lando remembers those sounds, but how can he not, considering they once belonged to him?

A rustle of fabric, then the sound of lips meeting fills the silence that follows. Lando presses his back against the nearest wall, thinking that even now, it is still not too late to save himself. He could clear his throat and let them see him. He could step out now.

Right now.

Now!

The door is still ajar, they haven’t looked out yet, and his legs won’t. Fucking. Move.

“There’s no one else I would trust,” she tells Oscar.

Sick to his stomach, Lando stops breathing.

The confession warns him of what is to come; there is another kiss, deeper than the last, that leaves her breathless and forces him to press the heel of his palms against his eyes. Mortified, he knows that now it’s too late and there will be no version of this in which he keeps his dignity. They will look at him in horror, then pity, and that would kill him faster than anything else ever could.

Punished by timing, he remains in the shadows and, behind him, the girl he once saw spending the rest of his life with, moans softly his teammate’s name.

OSCAR INHALES HER breath like he’s a sick man and it has healing properties. He feels her lips curl against his mouth, all the desire inside him snapping loose at once. He’s already used to the soft contours of her face, the way she looks up at him, right before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. It’s a silly thought, ridiculous even, but he’s convinced that he would recognize her among billions of stars. All she has to do is stand there, just as she is, and Oscar would still be able to point at the night sky in her direction. Blindfolded.

His hands tighten around her waist as he walks her backward toward the bed, stumbling together in fits of laughter and half-finished kisses until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She falls onto it with a breathless sound, consumed by his sole presence, and he follows right away, bracing himself above.

“Are you sure?” asks Oscar.

The girl nods. “Yes,” she replies, “What, are you afraid?”

He lets out a strained chuckle, his back stiffening in anticipation at the thought. “No. Should I be?” it comes out like a joke meant to lighten the mood, but it still sounds like he’s at least somewhat concerned.

She nods again, then laughs at the way his eyes widen, his pupils so dilated that the ring of his brown irises is barely visible around them anymore.

There is a strange freedom in the way everything panned out for them. It wasn’t out of hatred, revenge, defiance, or even carelessness. The night that brought them close was a different kind of honesty that none of them knew how to handle at the time. It was stripped clean of any trace of hesitation because, for her, there was nothing left to lose. And Oscar didn’t believe there was anything to gain from it either.

After that, they have spent weeks of circling one another carefully. Restrained by timing, encouraged by a new-found friendship and oblivious to the consequences that might catch up with them, they managed to build their own rhythm.

“There’s no one else I would trust,” her words come out quietly, a little heavier than she initially expected.

With Lando in the back of her mind, she’s aware that Oscar would never risk the fracture that a reckless fling could cause, so it has to go deeper than that. It has to. Plus, it’s not in his blood to gamble people’s trust in such way.

In turn, Oscar hears it for what it is: more honesty. And acknowledgement that whatever this is, it already exists on borrowed time. At some point, they will have to speak up. Despite that, neither gives it language but the truth lingers there, always present, and even though no one dares, they both know the fall is inevitable. Tragic in its context, but beautiful in the way it feels in the moment.

With his heart racing, Oscar lowers his head, kissing slowly beneath her jawline while she tangles her fingers in the soft waves at the nape of his neck. It’s different from anything she’s ever known, but finding out how quiet he gets when he wants someone warms every cell in her already heated body. The silence that settles over him doesn’t come from uncertainty, though. It’s too intense for that. It’s rather concentration, every thought focused toward touch.

And gods, his hands.

They move over her in a brush so gentle, as if he had suddenly gone blind and now he must learn a new language through memory alone. His fingers start skimming the line of her neck, thumb caressing the rapid pulse underneath. Pushed by instinct, they curl around it just to make her breath catch, and the muffled sound she lets out through her parted lips is enough to rouse the last of his dormant senses.

“Oscar…” she breathes hot over his cheek, the name surrounded by longing from all directions.

With his hand around her neck, he hums in response but doesn’t give her more, which forces her to melt beneath him with embarrassing ease.

She catches him before his mouth drifts lower, impatient to get rid of his shirt. Quick with the buttons, Oscar shrugs it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. His chest is lean, carved from hours in the gym and the constant stress of forces that aims a driver’s core; she can’t help but run her hands over his skin, his collarbones, down to the dip of his waist.

The moment he kisses her again, minds go quiet. She reciprocates it with a whimper that only deepens the desire. His tongue slides against hers, tasting the last remnants of a classic Shirley Temple and her cherry lip balm. One of his hands moves back to her neck, forcing a gasp from her mouth, then right into his. The other one finds her blouse and the incredibly tiny buttons decide to test his patience, but Oscar allows himself to pull at it a little harder, his knuckles grazing her sternum with each attempt.

It makes her shiver because for one fleeting second, she catches another trace of his being. A sharper side, hidden right under the surface. Although it’s not supposed to be violent in any way, what makes it exciting is the fact that the danger comes from keeping that edge under control at all times. So, he must be aware of it.

Without meaning to, Oscar reveals himself to her over and over again, and she’s able to understand that if someone pushed him far enough, wherever that line truly lives, he could be aggressive with the same terrifying precision he applies to everything else. And somehow, she thinks, that might just be the most intoxicating thing about him.

The air is cool on her skin while he finally parts the fabric, exposing the white lace of her bra. Instead of removing it as she expects him to, Oscar pushes the cups aside with his thumbs, only to tease. Next thing she knows, he kisses a trail across her chest, then lower.

When his mouth closes around her nipple, her fingers go back to threading through his hair, slightly arching her back to push herself more into him. His mouth is warm and wet and sucks just as gently as his touches, tongue circling the peak until it’s tight and aching. His right hand mirrors the motion on her other breast, squeezing and rolling the sensitive flesh between his thumb and index finger. The sensation drivers her right up, lifting on her elbows in order to see what he’s doing to her.

Worship, that’s what it is. His eyes are darker than usual, heavy-lidded and secured entirely on her; she stops breathing just to observe. The defined line of his jaw is still noticeable in the poor light that comes from the balcony windows. It’s the way his shadow almost looks like it’s moving in slow motion that leaves her transfixed, and the fact that Oscar possesses the kind of beauty that is so devastatingly painful, solely because he never seems aware of it.

“What are you staring at?” he asks, studying her. His cheekbones are sprinkled with a pale shade of pink that spreads quickly up to the tip of his ears and down his neck.

She smiles, and Oscar can swear the room just got a little brighter.

“You’re very pretty like this,” the girl admits.

He makes a small noise that sounds like a laugh, but not quite. “Shut up,” he mumbles before adding a in a silky voice, “Please.”

She chuckles when she feels a palm suddenly plastered on her stomach, pushing her back onto the bed. She obeys him with no protest, letting herself fall into the mattress, the skirt she wears bunching around her hips. Oscar follows, crawling over her with an unexpected familiarity, as though he had done it a thousand times before and this is just muscle memory to him.

His body is complete heat and has a foreign weight to it. It’s heavy enough to make her aware of him, to grow attached to the comfort of being held down so effortlessly. When her eyes close shut, somewhere behind her eyelids, the unavoidable thought that she will miss it the moment it’s gone appears in a flash that forces her to open them back up immediately. Just to witness him.

Far too patient, Oscar kisses her neck, her jaw, the hollow behind her ear. At this rate, there won’t be a single inch of skin left that his mouth hasn’t touched. The thought gives her goosebumps that only intensify once his hand slides down her side, over the curve of her hip, then under the skirt.

He grips her waist and lifts her exactly how he needs in order to position himself where she wants him.

Her hands fly to the button of his jeans with a reaction that surprises Oscar. She manages to work it open, pull down the zipper and slide her hand inside in record time, finding him warmer there, semi-hard and heavy against her palm. He hisses once she wraps her fingers around his cock, letting a sharp intake of breath breaking against her neck.

It’s easy for her to learn the shape of him, allowing herself to take in the rigid length and the way he twitches when she squeezes. She does it just as patient as he kissed her earlier, finally understanding Oscar’s need to take his time. Why every touch from him feels unbearably calculated. Now, she gets to watch it happen in reverse; she sees the subtle change in his expression, notices the tension gathering along his jaw and the way pleasure begins to reshape the composure he wears so smoothly. Being at the receiving end of it only leaves her wanting more. And once she starts building a rhythm, his hips roll into her hand like they have a mind of their own.

“Fu…ck,” he sighs, the word half-swallowed at the way she runs her thumb over the head, pressing into the slit to feel the tremor that travels through his entire body.

He buries his mouth further into the crook of her neck and, next time Oscar groans, it comes out on the verge of desperation, which encourages her to do it again, sliding her thumb over the slick tip. He can’t stay passive for long, though. His hand moves between her legs to push her panties aside and, sliding his middle and ring finger through her folds, he finds her already soaked.

The girl gasps, the rhythm faltering once her senses are invaded by a new force. Luckily, Oscar pushes her hands away in order to take the lead. Unable to look away, he fucks his fist once, two times, then three, his eyes glued to hers in a moment of pure connection as he’s gently guiding himself to her entrance.

They both hold their breath while he teases her hole, letting her adjust to the pressure first. But it’s not what she needs, so she bucks her hips in instant reaction, trying to take him in.

A smirk ghosts across his lips. “Tell me,” he begins slowly, “You’re always this eager or just for me?”

Her voice cracks on his name, the only word she seems to have left in her once vast vocabulary, now reduced to just that, plus a small collection of onomatopoeic sounds.

Oscar pushes in on her next inhale, just the head to stretch her. She writhes in his arms with a silent cry caught in her throat that makes him pause. At that, he gives her body a few moments to fine-tune to him then sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s buried inside all the way.

From there on, pure bliss.

His patience starts slipping away in quiet increments once he’s finally feeling her properly around his length. She’s also aware, noticing it in the way Oscar exhales deeply, in the loss of that measured control and, ultimately, the way she feels him throb inside her, without ever moving. But even with want steadily overtaking him, he’s still able to observe a tiny shiver that runs through her.

“You’re shaking.”

“So are you,” she whispers back, snaking her arms around his neck.

Oscar smiles, then leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. A kiss so small and airy that she barely has time to feel, let alone to process. Instead, she sighs in a failed attempt to say more, the noise able to weaken the knees of the strongest of men.

“All this time…” his voice is huskier when he speaks again. There’s a hesitation in it too, as though he’s weighing the exact moment to admit something he’s already decided. A while ago, actually. “I couldn’t help but wonder how you’d sound like if you were full of me. I thought about it every time I saw your face. And every time I closed my eyes. When I was trying to sleep.”

A shaky laugh escapes through her lips. “That’s a lot of thinking.”

“Right?” he agrees, dipping his head to place more kisses all over her shoulder. She moans in return, her fingers tangling back in the hair at the back of his head. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

Slowly, he begins to retreat, the head of his cock touching tiny euphoric mines inside her on its way out. The stretch is maddening, a fullness that steals her breath when she moves with it. Halfway through, she can still feel him pulsing, a solid presence that makes every cell in her body cry out for more. The slick embrace of her channel tries to cling to him, but the moment it slides out catches them both whimpering at the loss.

Oscar doesn’t waste a second after that. His hand slips down between them to tug at the lace of her panties, working them down her thighs while being careful to steal more not-so-accidental touches on the way. She lifts her hips without being asked, then in the same manner, her legs wrap around his waist, hooking at the ankles to yank him closer.

“Easy there,” he breaths deeply, followed by a satisfied chuckle.

Taking her in, he can’t help but go still: the glistening sheen of her pussy, then the way her body invites him in, promising that it’s ready. His eyes move up to search for hers, needing further reassurance that she wants this and him, specifically him. She can practically see the thoughts moving behind his gaze in real time, she can feel the restraint he’s carried for weeks cracking under relief, the disbelief that this is finally happening.

She can’t name the feeling she catches on his face, but understands how tender it is. Without breaking eye contact, Oscar grips her hip with one hand, the other guiding himself back to her opening. His lips part, a sign of absolute focus, then he drags the tip through her folds to tease her.

She whimpers, impatient to let him fill the void.

“What do you need?” he asks before moving another inch.

“This… you.”

Oscar’s eyebrows arch in a challenging manner. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Need is a curious thing. In their case, it pulls at everything that could complicate their lives, everything Oscar is trying not to acknowledge, especially the shadow of her with a particular curly-haired teammate.

“Then I need your eyes on me the entire time,” his gaze holds hers with intensity. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” she repeats, just as eager.

“Of course you can,” he nods, the hand on her thigh squeezing lightly, knowing that if he can anchor her attention for long enough, nothing else will exist in this room but the two of them.

He pushes forward in one thrust, sinking back into her welcoming heat. The tension she’s carrying is blinding, his girth stretching her as he goes, meeting new spots deep within. The girl lets out a broken whine that’s half pleasure, half relief, legs shaking around Oscar’s waist while struggling to pull him even deeper.

“That’s it,” he praises in a rich accent. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he adds more quietly, stilling for a beat.

Her brain turns to mush at his words and all she can do is clutch at him, nails raking across his back, her breath coming in short gasps. “Please, move,” she barely manages.

Oscar grunts at her sweet demand, then begins to move. Initially, his thrusts are meaning to collect as much information as possible. He uses slow strokes that grind against her walls at the same time he’s studying her face like it’s scripture, registering every reaction: her eyes rolling back when he reaches a certain angle, her mouth falling open when he picks up the pace, her hands squeezing at his shoulders when he circles his hips. Like that, he’s able to learn her body as he goes, making sure to check in with her after every change in movement.

“Right there?” he asks, hitting a spot that makes her whole body arch off the bed.

“Yes, there. Don’t stop,” she begs, bringing one of her hands to cup his cheek.

Leaning into her touch, Oscar fucks her with more life he’s ever felt. The sound of their bodies meeting is wet yet able to keep alive the flames that are threatening to swallow them both as the bedsprings creak in protest. He’s on another level aware of how far he’s sinking into her, how his entire cock disappears into her heat with each thrust, how she sucks him in, deeper with every clench of her inner muscles. She feels too good, so perfect that he knows he won’t last much longer.

But she isn’t far behind either. Her hand clenches somewhere where his jawline meets the carefully sculpted muscles of his neck, breath catching every time he drives inside. Each time with more force than before. It’s so good that she has to bite her lip to keep from screaming at him to fuck her harder.

She closes her eyes instead, so that all she feels is him.

“Stay with me,” Oscar whines, snaking a hand between them, thumb finding her clit to rub tight circles that match his thrusts. “Please,” he breaths, “Eyes on me.”

“Holy shit, Oscar…”

He shifts onto his knees, pulling her with him, and the new angle drives him deeper. In response, her orgasm builds like a wave, cresting and crashing under his relentless touch.

She shatters with a cry, body shuddering through the convulsions. Oscar watches the ecstasy twist her features, urging himself to memorize every second of it in the time that he follows her over the edge. The sensation makes him grunt, derailing his rhythm as he fills her in hot pulses.

He stays inside, collapsing on top and unwilling to break the connection until she pushes him away, if that’s what she needs. Apparently not. His lips brush her temple in a kiss that gives them more time to come back from the high. But after he finally pulls out, she turns her head, a big smile decorating her face. It’s the image of him that causes it. His skin is flushed, changing color from the exertion, from the pleasure. From the peace. She loves how open he looks, how undone and how… relieved.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” she speaks quietly. “I needed to get out of my head for a sec,” the girl explains, reaching out to trace the line of his jaw.

Oscar catches her hand, pressing his lips to her palm, just to keep them there for a moment. “Did you?”

She laughs. “I’m still out, yeah.” She shifts closer to place one last kiss to his lips before she gets up; this one’s tamed, with no urgency left in it.

The absence she leaves behind in his space is immediate, making the bed feel larger without her weight beside him. Looking around, she leans over to gather her panties and Oscar’s shirt from the floor, throwing the latter lightly at his chest.

“Gotta clean up,” she informs him, smoothing her skirt back into place. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Oscar is still in a trance, a half-dazed expression still lingering in his sharp features. When he smiles, it softens his whole face. “Okay,” he says.

Her heart grows a little in size at the sight of it and how easy it is for him to simply exist like this, with messy hair falling into his eyes, resting his broad frame on the mattress, half-naked and pants still undone.

He stays seated for a moment, looking down at his shirt as his ears pick up on the sound of her steps fading down the corridor. Only then does he move, pulling the fabric over his shoulders, threading himself back into order, piece by piece. It feels a bit strange, like he has to come back to his body, returning to a version of himself that doesn’t quite fit this world anymore. There is a particularly noticeable before and after her in the air now.

Halfway through buttoning his shirt, Oscar pauses at the sound of someone sneezing outside. The noise is dull enough that he almost dismisses it entirely, until he turns on instinct and sees that the balcony door is slightly ajar. A thin slice of crisp air and lingering smoke is cutting through the room, moving the curtains back and forth.

It is almost absurd how quickly it happens, how the warmth still clinging to his skin seems to evaporate once the instant cold air meets him. It’s just posture at first, but he senses stillness where there should not be stillness. Then, the recognition comes in pieces, the outline of a man he knows too well taking shape right before his eyes.

Oscar’s mouth goes dry at the memory of what he just walked away from.

“Bless you,” he says unsure, the words coming out too polite. And wrong, in every possible way, which is why his jaw clenches at the sound of it.

Lando doesn’t answer. If anything, he looks like he doesn’t want to acknowledge his teammate’s presence yet. Awkwardly, the Aussie positions himself a few paces away, mirroring the posture unconsciously, with forearms resting on the railing, fixing his gaze on the dark horizon as though the void of the night has suddenly become the most interesting thing in existence.

“Looks like I’ve missed quite the chapter,” he finally hears Lando speaking. “Is that normal occurrence now or?”

“It’s not… like that,” replies Oscar, carefully sorting through his brain, yet no matter how hard he tries, what explanation would be appropriate in this situation?

“Aha,” the Brit seems lost in thought, “Piece of advice,” adds Lando, continuing to avoid looking anywhere near his teammate, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Oscar frowns, turning to look at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know how fucking good it gets with her,” Lando admits. “You think you won’t ever need anything else. But the second it gets bad…” he trails off, but doesn’t finish his sentence. On purpose. Instead, he insists, “Because it will. Get bad, I mean.”

The Aussie listens in silence while Lando talks with infuriating certainty. Behind the warning, he believes history alone gives him permanent insight into the way she loves, breaks, then leaves. A cycle that she’s endlessly repeating, according to his insinuation.

Oscar knows they had years together. He knows their relationship started not long after he and Lando became teammates, therefore long enough for habits and scars and intimate knowledge to root deep into both of them. He understands all of that. But on the other side of the spectrum, he doesn’t think it’s fair to simply assume that whatever he has with her now is somehow lesser, simply because it’s newer.

Lando is only speaking about it like some kind of prophecy, firing his experience like it’s a loaded gun just because he once knew how to survive her worst days. Despite that, Oscar remembers what the last few months with her have looked like, especially the past few weeks. He knows about the softness that she hides from people, the trust she places carefully into his hands, and he definitely feels the way she reaches for him like she means it. And maybe he’s an idiot for believing that matters, but he refuses to let Lando reduce her to a disaster waiting to happen, only because he can’t imagine his ex becoming something entirely different with someone else.

“But maybe you’ll succeed where I failed, who fuckin’ knows, mate,” Lando shrugs, tilting his head and extending his arm to pass Oscar what seems to be a third cigarette, judging by the bits scattered on the ground.

Oscar shakes his head, politely disregarding him. “Yeah, well. She’s not a fucking mission on a video game, mate,” he makes sure to accentuate the last word, which catches Lando’s attention for a brief second. Careful, is what Oscar means with it.

“She’s not,” Lando’s jaw works as he thinks, then continues, “When you fuck up in a video game, they tell you exactly what you did wrong. You get feedback and you can adjust. With her, I was constantly supposed to guess.”

Oscar’s hand curls around the railing, an involuntary gesture he only notices when his knuckles start hurting. “What, you mean she played you?”

Lando’s expression turns shallow, the exhaustion clearly visible behind his eyes. “I’m saying, if she decided that we were going to fight, that’s what we did. She didn’t even need a reason most of the times. Not one worth sharing, at least.”

“Well, I’m not you,” says Oscar almost as if he has to remind himself that.

“Exactly,” Lando points out. “I vividly remember you saying she wasn’t your type.”

“She wasn’t,” the Aussie agrees, half-nodding. He swallows a small lump in his throat, turning his gaze back on the horizon.

Lando laughs, but there’s no amusement behind the noise that comes out. “What changed?”

A good question, that takes Oscar by surprise. He realizes he never actually stopped to ask himself that. It hadn’t feel like a single moment nor a conscious decision. It was simply a slow, apparently irreversible shift that happened while he wasn’t paying attention, until she had become threaded into his routines and thoughts.

Oscar opens his mouth to answer, but finds nothing clean enough to explain it. You fucked up, he thinks to himself.

📍England, December 2025

“DON’T BE FUCKING selfish,” Lando grunts while keeps driving into her, hips snapping forward without pause even as her walls clamp down around his cock in the aftermath of her second orgasm. “So close, come on,” he breathes roughly, tightening his jaw at the way she squeezes him.

Before hands start sliding lower, he grips her waist a little harder from behind and the simple gesture steals the air from his lungs. His wide palms settle against the curve of her hips as though they were made for that exact purpose, making him painfully aware of how naturally she fits there, full of him; the simple visual sends his heart ricing in a wild beat beneath his ribs.

His, his, his.

The girl moans into the pillows, any rational thought long gone, at the same time her body jerks with every brutal push. Her thighs started trembling minutes ago and haven’t stopped yet, overstimulation sparking in quick electric vibrations through her core. She chokes on a gasp when he reaches down to slide two fingers through the mess between her legs, then circles her swollen clit only to see if she’s got one more for him. The sensation is too much, forcing her to twist away even though her body craves that exact touch.

With a restrained whimper and enough force in one hand, Lando manages to hold her steady; it’s the familiar possessiveness that has her voicing his name, the sound breaking in breathless fragments.

“Stay right there,” he orders calm yet commanding, a tone that she could recognize anywhere. “You can take it, see?” he continues rubbing, faster, every new thrust sending a fresh gush of arousal down her thighs that manages to struck her endlessly. 

She finds comfort in being known so thoroughly because, in time, Lando has learned how to read her reactions before she fully understands them herself. With that, the same feeling starts building inside once again.

Behind her, Lando’s breathing turns heavier, grumbles punching out of his chest with each drive of his hips. Lately, he’s noticed that it takes more out of him to reach that blissful release, as though his mind insists on holding onto every thought until the very last second. He can’t tell whether he’s prolonging the moment out of greed for a few more beats of it, or whether the destination itself has drifted away because she did.

Questioning himself like that only leaves Lando exhausted in ways he can’t quite explain, wringing him out completely before finally letting him to rest.

The aftermath is worse: he spends long minutes staring at the ceiling, limbs heavy and uncooperative, while a restless energy continues to hum beneath his skin. The perception alone has him suspended somewhere between satisfaction and longing, too drain to move but too awake to truly settle.

“Come on, fuck,” he says out loud, urging himself.

He shifts his angle, dragging the head of his cock over her sensitive spots on every stroke.

“Lan…do,” she pants, voice keep breaking several times more on his name.

He leans over her back to press his lips on the curve of her shoulder. “Gonna come again?” asks Lando, punctuating the words with three hard thrusts in a row. His free hand slides up her body to palm her breast, while the other keeps teasing her clit, never letting the pressure ease.

A third orgasm erupts quickly under the assault, walls fluttering tighter this time.

“Yeah, that’s it. Show me how greedy I’ve made you.”

Lando changes the angle again, keeping her exactly where he wants her, tilting her hips so his cock drags against her front wall with every stroke. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, grinding deep before repeating the motion, each one forcing another sweet cry from her throat. He manhandles her easily, one hand pressing between her shoulder blades as her body shakes under him, overstimulated and dripping.

“Touch yourself,” his words are followed by panting, and she obeys.

Together they work the swollen nub, and the combined pressure makes her vision blur with tears.

Lando’s thrusts get shorter, harder, more desperate once he nears the edge.

“Baby, please,” she whines in a hoarse voice, her weeping plea enough to make his pace falter.

He drives in deep one more time and stays there, cock throbbing as he spills thick inside her. His final groan is loud and long, hips twitching with each spurt.

When the last wave subsides, he stays buried, tickling the skin of her back with his sharp exhales. Now that he’s taken what he needed, one hand strokes slowly down her spine, then presses a wet kiss between her shoulder blades.

“Lan?” she calls out in a whisper, turning her head slightly.

Lando lets out a heavy sigh that seems to pull from the depths of his chest while his eyes close briefly. “Yeah, baby. Just a bit tired,” he replies, the worn-down cadence of his voice sounding more like he speaks from reflex rather than genuine reflection.

He shifts his weight off her, pulling out in a slow drag that makes her breath catch in her throat one final time. He slips free, half-softened and slick with the evidence of their release, and lets it rest above the curve of her ass before he slaps it against her skin, the wet sound ricocheting against the bedroom walls. A playful smack follows, the flat of his palm connecting with the swell of her ass cheek. It’s a gesture that might have once felt charged with mischief, an invitation for more, but tonight it lands in a strange space between habit and afterthought.

Without another word, Lando swings his legs over the side of the bed, the mattress moving in time with his weight. He doesn’t look at her as he reaches for the bunched-up covers, pulling them back in order to slide underneath. The sheets rustle as he settles, his back pressing against the headboard, his arm already reaching toward the nightstand.

Blindly, his fingers find his phone and the screen blazes to life in a cold glow that cuts through the obscure room like a scalpel. She watches him patiently, her gaze tracing the familiar lines of his profile as the light from the screen paints purposeful shadows across his features. His jaw is tight, the muscle there ticking faintly as he scrolls, his thumb moving in a mechanical swipe-swipe-swipe.

Entranced by his figure, the girl pulls the covers over her chest and rolls onto her side to face him better.

The small light catches on the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone and the stubborn lock of hair that keeps falling into his eyes no matter how many times he pushes it back. That always happens after he showers, when his curls are much softer than when they’re loaded with hair product. 

In the silence, she notices, she can find it deeply unfair of how fond she used to be of these quiet moments. But tonight, more than anything, she wishes he would simply give in to sleep. After all, Lando said he was tired. She can easily imagine him abandoning whatever has captured his attention, setting the phone aside with a sigh before shifting closer until his head comes to rest on her stomach. She would thread her fingers through his curls, slowly untangling it one strand at a time, feeling him grow heavier beneath her touch as exhaustion finally claimed him. It is such a small thing to think of, yet it fills her with a strange nostalgia. 

A lump forms in her throat when she realizes she actually misses him, even though Lando is sitting only a few centimeters away from her.

What happened to them?

He has never stopped calling, never stopped reaching for her hand in crowded rooms, never stopped looking for her first after a race. However, she can feel a tiny shift in the tides, almost as if the moon had moved one millimeter farther away and, over time, the distance had grown large enough to violently stir the waters. 

Lando used to orbit her naturally, bringing every single one of his thoughts, every frustration, every victory and loss back to her as though she were his true north. Now, there are moments like this when she catches him retreating in places she can’t follow, simply because he won’t invite her there.

The strange thing is that none of it feels like a lack of love or negligence. If anything, those parts remain painfully unchanged. He still looks at her with the exact same expression he wore the first time they met. The same look from the first trembling I love you. Whatever is changing between them, it is not that. She knows it with the same certainty she knows that the sky is blue. So maybe, after almost four years together, the routine of being with each other has finally caught up and this is how it looks like.

Or maybe it’s all in her head.

Lando acknowledges her again the moment the screen finally goes dark, the harsh light replaced by the softer amber glow of the streetlamp filtering shyly through the curtains. He places the phone back on the nightstand, then turns toward her with a tired smile. His hand hovers in the space between them, leaning in to lightly press his lips to her forehead — a perfunctory touch that lands and lifts in the span of a heartbeat; a goodnight kiss; a sacred ritual reduced to muscle memory — then he rolls away, settling on his stomach.

Don’t be fucking selfish, she wants to say, the memory from minutes ago invading her mind. Quietly, she moves closer instead, sliding an arm around his waist to remind herself he is there.

SHE WAKES UP to an empty bed the next day. Vaguely, she remembers that last night Lando had told her there was something he needed to take care of, but promised he’d be back in plenty of time for the Christmas party at the MTC. That’s why she doesn’t think much of it. Still, she instinctively reaches across the sheets anyway, fingertips brushing the cool fabric where his warmth should have been.

With a sleepy sigh, she rolls onto her back to stare at the ceiling for what it feels like a small eternity.

The morning stretches into afternoon, and the afternoon slips quietly toward evening. Much to her growing irritation, the apartment remains empty in the meantime. Each passing hour leaves behind a strange residue of unease she can’t and doesn’t want to justify yet. Her stubbornness had often disguised itself as faith whenever it came to Lando. If he’s running late, she’s convinced he has a good reason for it.

It doesn’t make the wait easier, though.

She’s standing in front of the mirror, fastening earrings with increasingly impatient fingers when he finally replies to her texts.

Even though she would have so much more to say, she eventually stops replying. Especially after noticing how her phone screen lights up every few seconds, taunting her, announcing more messages crowding her notifications. 

The temptation is there, but the quiet dissonance that settled inside her acts like a STOP sign, preventing her to potentially make things worse when, maybe, it’s not the case.

With every little misunderstanding that accumulated lately, she knows she’s prone to no longer react to the actual situation but to weeks of bottled discomfort. And resentment, she believes, is far more dangerous than anger. At least that burns fast, but resentment roots itself in spaces where love is supposed to live and, without noticing, it could poison them from the inside out. That’s why, despite the growing sense that something has drastically changed right under their noses, the last thing she wants is to become someone who looks at Lando and sees a collection of grievances instead of the man she fell for.

When he finally makes it back home, he doesn’t come in with excuses or explanations ready. He simply stands by the window, waiting, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Under different circumstances, he would have smiled and told her how beautiful she looked. Would have teased her for spending too long getting ready and would have crossed the room just to steal a kiss before they left. 

Tonight, the compliments die before they manage to reach his lips, deciding at the last moment to keep them locked in the mental drawers of his brain. On the other side, she’s just as quiet, letting the silence stretch between them, expecting Lando to break it first. 

“Can you stop being so difficult?” he asks at last, but it’s not at all the sound of regret she expected to hear from him. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise. “Oh? I’m difficult?”

“Yes, you are. I said I was sorry, alright? Can’t you just believe me? We won’t be too late if we leave now, so let’s just get this over with.”

The girl shakes her head in disbelief and, with a frustrated exhale, she pushes herself off the bed to turn toward the door, concluding that maybe the distance between them is now a blessing and it’s better than letting the discomfort break into actual anger on both sides.

She barely makes it two steps and Lando’s right there, blocking her path in a heartbeat, close enough that she has to stop. 

Letting another breath out, she chews on the inside of her cheek before lifting her gaze to his face. It’s the only way she was always able to find answers. This time is no different: his eyes are slightly unfocused in the same cloudy look he gets after a few drinks. The realization unsettles her more that anger would have because it means that, whatever that foreign feeling might be, he is aware of it too, and at least at some subconscious level, he tries to suppress it because it is just as uncomfortable.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No…” he closes his eyes, then rectifies, “Just a couple of shots, I’m fine. Stay,” Lando insists.

A humorless laugh escapes through her lips. “You’re gone the entire day, you come back late, drunk, then you expect me not to be difficult?”

“I’m not drunk. And I said I was sorry,” he repeats and, before he can continue, she cuts in.

“I genuinely don’t have to put up with any of this,” the girl scoffs, her voice growing louder, “But I’m trying to be here for you, so how about help me a little!”

“Don’t fucking yell at me,” he raises his voice in return. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

She rolls her eyes at how ridiculous the situation is, then instead of shooting more remarks, she walks back into the room with a determination that’s more instinct than a decision per se. She grabs her bag from the chair and starts throwing things inside without any real order. Realistically, she knows that finding a flight this close to Christmas will be nearly impossible, that the airport will be packed and every reasonable option has probably disappeared hours ago. When she was waiting for him.

Suddenly, the thought of staying for another night feels unbearable. 

What happened to them?

“I feel so stupid,” she murmurs to herself.

“You’re not, don’t talk like that,” he steps toward her, closing the tiny gap once again. “What are you doing?”

“Going home,” she replies simply, as if ‘home’ is right next door and not over a thousand kilometers away.

Lando’s jaw clenches. “Come on, you’re not serious.”

“I’m afraid I am,” she counters. “I really don’t have the energy to deal with this.”

“Right, me neither,” he agrees. “It’s fine if you don’t want to go, I’ll make something up. But quit this shit, alright? I’m sorry that I wasn’t back sooner. If it were the other way around, I’d be mad too. I’m sorry, baby.”

Against her better judgment, she feels herself soften. In the end, meeting Lando halfway when every instinct tells her to run has kept her exactly where she is now. Loving him has taught her that grace comes easy if it’s the right person. It is second nature to make excuses for him, to extend patience long after it has stopped being returned in equal measure. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like middle ground but compromise.

He takes the opportunity immediately, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “I’m sorry,” he repeats quieter, understanding that this isn’t about being late or unanswered calls but all the little moments that led them here. “I’ll do better. Let’s just go, please.”

She turns to look up at him then, frustration becoming harder to hold onto. There is so much familiarity in his face that holds her back from staying mad for too long. At the same time, she can’t bring herself to look away. Ultimately, the same person that argues with her is also the person who still looks at her like she’s the most precious thing, even when they are falling apart.

Eyes don’t lie.

Glaring back at her, she understands with painful clarity that Lando Norris is, and perhaps will always be the one weakness capable of undoing every defense she has ever built. The one person she has never learned how to protect herself from. What frightens her most is the realization that the foreign, burning feeling that lives now in the pit of her stomach is not temporary. It will not disappear with time or sleep or another difficult conversation. The one person able to put an end to it it’s him. For all her pride, stubbornness and all the promises she makes to herself in moments of anger, she knows she’s not strong enough to walk away from him first. If they were ever to end, the final page will have to be written by Lando himself. 

Hesitantly, she closes the remaining space until she’s pressed against him. The girl rises enough to reach him properly, leaving a kiss on his lips. Lando melts into it, his arms tightening around her small frame, but she pulls away before he can chase after more, since there’s no time.

“This isn’t over,” her voice sounds weird in her own ears. “Now go wash your face to sober up.”

“You sobered me up,” he shoots back, the corners of his mouth curling into a boyish smirk.

At last, they manage to leave, but not before snapping some pictures first.

In one of them, Lando stands behind her, his body close enough that she can feel his warmth. The height difference between them is comically obvious as he looks down at her while she tries to keep a straight face.

The second one is a little softer, his hand finding its way around her neck, fingers resting there naturally. She looks up at him this time, smiling.

He’s on his knees in the third one, with arms around her waist while resting his head against her hip. She catches it mid-laugh, capturing a piece of happiness to which she’ll find herself returning to, times and times again in the upcoming weeks.

She takes the last picture outside, while they wait for their car to arrive. Snow has started falling around them. Standing beneath the streetlights, little flakes catch in their hair, melting against their skin.

Everything in the near vicinity feels impossibly quiet despite the endless thoughts that are running at 300kph in her mind.

We’re fine, she tells herself as she captures the two of them kissing, then turns around to wipe the gloss that transferred to his lower lip.

Would they have held on a little longer to that kiss if they had known it was their last?

BY THE TIME they arrive at the MTC, the party is already in full swing, exactly as she expected. The enormous glass-fronted building glows like a star against the darkness outside, every floor illuminated with strings of Christmas lights reflected in the polished surfaces. 

She can already hear the hum of conversations from the door, each punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional clink of glasses. Employees from every department are crowding the space, from engineers, mechanics and marketing staff to factory workers and executives. Role is not as important inside a team like McLaren because, at the end of each year, they either mourn or celebrate together. Always together.

Lando slips away the moment they step inside. He’s one of the main characters in pretty much every room he enters and here, more than anywhere else, it’s impossible to keep him glued to one spot; people are greeting him from all directions, lifting their hands in recognition and calling out for him.

Leaning over, he squeezes her hand briefly. “I’ll go say hello to everyone. Stay close, yeah?” he instructs her before he gets trapped in dialogues elsewhere.

She nods and, within seconds, Lando is swallowed by the crowd, disappearing into a cluster of bodies eager to congratulate him for the season he’s had, joke with him, or simply claim a moment of his attention. How she’d love that for herself, too.

Left to her own devices, the girl drifts toward the buffet tables lining on one side of the room, grateful she has an excuse to occupy herself. The spread looks extravagant, laden with festive desserts, canapés and enough alcohol to ensure nobody remembers the end of the night. She picks up a drink, then adds a few snacks to a plate, determined to at least enjoy the food, since she skipped dinner. 

For a long while, she simply watches the room around her, taking in the sea of semi-familiar faces. Then, just as she’s reaching for another canapé, a voice she knows well enough to make her turn appears right beside.

“They actually outdid themselves with the food this year.”

“Yeah, they did,” she agrees.

Oscar’s mouth is already curved into a smile when she looks up. Somehow, despite the hundreds of people surrounding them, he manages to make the crowd feel a little less overwhelming with his sole presence.

“Why are you alone? Where’s Lando?” he asks, more conversational than actual interest.

She returns the smile, abandoning her plate on the table, pushing it into a corner. “He’s…” she trails off, looking around to see if she can spot her boyfriend, “Somewhere.”

The Aussie nods, understanding all too well how easily a room like this can consume someone. Being one of the main faces of the team means that a simple greeting rarely remains just that. People will always pull them from one conversation to the next, eager to share a story, to ask questions or reminisce about a particular race weekend. Before they realize, hours can pass. Still, part of him thinks it’s unfair to leave her alone at a party. In this case, the distinction between responsibility and intentionally forgetting is small, perhaps insignificant to her at the moment, but it’s enough to keep Oscar from judging his teammate too harshly.

They exchange a few words after that, falling into an effortless banter, joking and commenting about sports, until he eventually notices the way she keeps glancing around. 

“Alright,” he says, stepping back, “I’ll let you enjoy the night. Don’t want to steal you away.”

“You’re not,” she assures him, making room for him to pass. “But thanks for the company.”

Collecting a full glass from the table, Oscar lifts it in her direction. “I’ll see you around, then. And if Lando’s still lost in half an hour, maybe put him on a leash.”

She laughs, nodding. “I’m considering it.”

Later in the night, after wandering around, she finally finds Lando upstairs, tucked away in one of the quieter rooms where the noise isn’t that disturbing. He is surrounded by a small group of work friends and a couple of girls she vaguely recognizes from previous events. They’re all gathered around a table with cards spread between them, completely absorbed in their own small papaya world, arguing over rules, accusing each other of cheating and jumping from debates about golf to cars to video games.

He made space for her in the meantime, and now they’re close enough that their shoulders touch every time he shifts next to her. Somehow, though, she feels further away than she has all night. Lando laughs at something someone says, his unmistakable giggle making it impossible for her not to notice how his attention moves around the room, never quite settling on her. 

It makes her wonder: if she quietly disappeared downstairs, would the game continue?

Her mind answers that too fast for her liking, but it’s the way Lando reaches across the table to take the deck of cards, and his hand lingers for a second too long above one of the girls’ fingers that pushes her over the edge of her patience. She’s aware that it’s barely even a moment. However, she tried to overlook everything he did in the past twenty-four hours, maybe even past month, and this is simply the final thread snapping.

“I want to go, I don’t feel well,” she leans closer, lowering her voice so only he can hear.

Lando turns to face her, surprise flickering across his face. “Now?” he asks; there is no accusation in his voice, but he sounds hesitant. She already knows. “We’re in the middle of the game.”

Exactly.

She looks at him for a few seconds, waiting for something she isn’t even sure Lando can give her right now. A sign that he understands. That he notices her, and she’s not helplessly blending somewhere in the background of his busy life. 

“I want to go,” she insists.

“Baby, come on…”

Shaking her head and without stopping to explain herself, she gets up and steps away, leaving the room just as she entered it: alone. The door closes behind her, taking with it the last bit of patience she had left. But the peace doesn’t last long enough for her to gather her thoughts. A few moments later, Lando’s footsteps catch up.

The man who appears beside her is nothing like the one who had been laughing earlier, leaning back in his chair and throwing words around like it he had no worries. The warmth has vanished, his expression is tense, with jaw tight and irritation already plaguing his stance.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

His question makes her stop abruptly. “Excuse me?”

Lando exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve been in a mood all day. You barely talk to me and now you leave without saying anything.”

“First of all, you were away all day, so it’s impossible for you to know how my mood has been,” she reminds him, then copies his tone, barely holding it together, “And without saying anything? Lando, I said I wanted to go.”

“Yeah, after sitting there looking miserable for like an hour.”

She scoffs. “So you do notice me, after all. Yes, I am miserable.”

Her affirmation makes the corridor suddenly feel too public for the conversation Lando knows they’re going to have in the next few minutes. 

“Can you blame me? I’ve been constantly waiting for you,” she tells him, voice shaking a little despite her effort to keep it steady. “I had to wait for you to come home, wait for you to come find me here, wait for you to finish your stupid card game!”

Lando’s eyes sparkle with disbelief. “Don’t put in on my back like that,” he says, tensing his shoulders. “I told you I could have solved this with a phone call. You insisted we come.”

She glances up at the ceiling with a sigh, avoiding to look at him. “Because I didn’t want to ruin your night, and I don’t want to fight with you either. But you’re making it really, really difficult for me right now.”

The silence that follows isn’t as easy to read as it used to be. Lando cannot understand it in a glance, and she’s just too caught up in her side of the story to explain it to him better. Arguing is the last thing he wants to be doing, but from his perspective, every word she throws at him seems to gather every disappointment from the past few weeks and lay it at his feet. As if he alone is responsible for the growing distance neither of them has been brave enough to acknowledge yet.

Perhaps that is what frightens him most: the realization that they are no longer fighting about their current situation but something much larger.

For a heartbeat, Lando looks like he might make it all better — he always do, when he tries to —, but then he steps closer so his voice won’t echo against the walls. “Can we not do this here?”

She shrugs, pressing a hand to her chest. “Why? Because your friends or bosses might hear?”

Deliberately ignoring her question, Lando’s hand reaches out, gently catching her by the elbow. “Come on,” he says.

Her eyes fall straight on the spot where they’re making contact, then back at him. It feels more like a warning, and Lando seems to decipher the message, loosening his grip.

“Please,” he gestures toward the nearby conference room.

It’s not like she has a choice but to do as he says, letting him guiding her inside. 

After closing the door behind him, Lando leans against the sleek glass table, his jaw clenched, eyes searching her with a mixture of his earlier frustration and now concern. 

“Tell me what this really is about,” he demands, massaging the back of his neck.

There is a bitter smile curling at her lips when she replies, “You’re a smart boy. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Even though her voice drips with sarcasm, her eyes are weary, shadowed with exhaustion.

“Humor me,” argues Lando, exhaling through his nose. “Just… talk. Please, talk to me.”

Her shoulders drop. “Alright, you want the whole list?” the girl asks rhetorically before adding, “You barely look at me anymore unless you’re horny. Last night you came home, fucked me into oblivion, then went straight to your phone like I wasn’t even there. The week before, you canceled dinner twice because ‘work ran late’, but I know what work means to you when you’re with those guys. Plus, last time I checked, you were supposed to be on a break, but what the fuck do I know, right?”

Lando winces, his face draining of color. “You think I’m avoiding you on purpose?”

“I’m not done,” she talks back. “Turns out, you can find time to attend all these superficial events, but I have to beg for your attention. I mean, yeah,” she lets out a laugh, “You’re there, but not really there.”

“You’re so fucking unfair, you know I’ve been drowning in work ever since the season ended,” he explains. “I’ve got millions of deadlines stacking up, a business to run, meetings, then racing, which you know damn well it’s a nonnegotiable to me. Sometimes I’m exhausted, but I still come home to you every night. And every night I still consciously want you. It’s not like we haven’t been through all this already. You know how the pressure gets, so what exactly bothers you so much this time?”

“Pressure,” she parrots, her voice rising an octave. “Is it really pressure or is it just you getting bored? Because I see you don’t even bother lately. I orbit around you to fill a space and that’s about it. You used to text me stupid shit in the middle of the day when I knew you were busy, but you were making an effort because you wanted to. The only time you initiate anything now is when your dick’s hard, and I’m tired of pretending it’s all just in my head. Do you even remember what it’s like to be with me?”

Lando’s eyes darken, hurt flashing through his expression. “Yes, I do. But you’re not the same either. This used to be fun before you started turning every conversation into a fucking interrogation. That when you want to talk, of course. Otherwise, you shut down the second I walk through the door. How the fuck am I supposed to try to fix anything when you already decided I’m the villain?”

“I didn’t say you’re the villain.”

“Well, I’m not the hero, so I’m just assuming, yeah? If you weren’t so distant, I wouldn’t feel like I’m losing you.”

Her eyes flash with surprise. “Losing me? Why would you even go there?”

“You send me there,” Lando accuses her. 

She shakes her head, pointing a finger at him. “No, you send yourself there because you feel it too,” her voice is trembling with tears she refuses to shed. “This is not… I love you, but this is not what I want. I don’t like us anymore. Not like this.”

Her admission is enough to silence the argument entirely. 

Lando stares at her, anger dissolving into a softer feeling. He never doubted her love, but hearing it now doesn’t feel like reassurance. His mind races through late-night calls, plans cancelled at the last second, conversations spent discussing logistics and how can they make it better without compromising what they have.

But what do they have, really? 

He thinks about how often he misses her and how that missing has slowly but surely become the foundation of their relationship. Sure, they knew the costs from the beginning, but loving each other was effortless, therefore inevitable. 

Was.

Across from him, she feels the weight of her own words settle like a mountain on top of her chest. It sounds cruel when spoken out loud, but she’s not sure she wants to take it back.

Lando’s breath catches, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions, feeling as though something inside him just fractured. “So… what? You want me to drop everything for you all of a sudden, just so you feel like you have a boyfriend?”

No.

“Yes,” she ends up saying with a frown, “That’s exactly what I want. I want your life to revolve around me.”

The sarcasm is very evident in her voice, yet hearing Lando reduce her feelings to something so simple and selfish forces her to dive in, head first. It hurts that, after all the years they’ve had together, he could look at their relationship and think that poorly of her.

“Tough one there, then,” he replies quickly. “You know exactly what I can and can’t do for you. And every time I feel like I’m doing enough, it turns out I’m not,” his voice looses some of its sharpness. “No matter what, I’m the bad guy. I miss a call, I don’t prioritize you. I’m exhausted after a twelve-hour day, I’m selfish.”

Her jaw tightens in frustration, not understanding how is it possible for them to keep circling around the same point without actually touching it.

“Stop making it about whether you’re a bad person,” she says. “I’m not saying you are, Lando.”

“Then what are you saying?”

She pauses for a heartbeat, then glares at him with teary eyes. “I’m saying I miss you when you’re right next to me. How fucked up is that?”

Lando stays quiet, watching her carefully. Suddenly, he can’t figure out where the line is anymore. Whenever he thinks he has finally understood what she needs, whether it’s space, reassurance, patience or simply showing up, the ground shifts beneath his feet, leaving him uncertain all over again. He isn’t sure if they are changing or if he’s only now beginning to notice all the ways he stopped paying attention. 

“I genuinely don’t know what you want from me,” he admits, his eyes dropping to his shoes. “Whatever this bullshit is,” says Lando, vaguely gesticulating at the space that separates them, “It feels like you’re just looking for reasons.”

“Reasons?” she echoes. “You think I want to break up?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, you just don’t know how to ask for it. And you won’t do it because you don’t want to hurt me. So, I guess I have to be the bad guy one last time.”

She takes a small step toward him, voice filling with panic. “Don’t do this, Lando.”

He pushes himself off the table, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

Her face falls, a single tear finally slipping down her cheek.

“Lando,” she calls out, but he’s already at the door, closing it behind him with a force that neither of them expects.

The slam echoes through, her whole body reacting even though she cannot move. She just stares at the door, heart racing, hoping, waiting for him to walk in. In all those instances one of them has left angry before, they always found each other, in the end. But seconds turn into minutes, the hallway remains silent, and it is only then that she understands Lando isn’t coming back this time.

She exhales shakily, then presses the heels of her hands over her eyes, wiping away the tears. Turning her head, she checks herself in the darkened conference room window, pinching the skin beneath her eyes, willing the redness to fade before anyone notices.

She barely reaches the staircase when she nearly walks straight into Oscar. He slows immediately, his expression changing the moment he takes in her features.

“You alright?” he asks, a little hesitant.

Her voice isn’t as convincing when she replies, “Yeah.”

“I just saw Lando… if you’re still looking for him?”

“No, I found him,” she says, letting the words hang between them.

“Oh, okay. I thought he looked…” Oscar searches for the right one before settling on, “Upset.”

The girl forces a smile, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “We had a disagreement, it’s nothing.”

Oscar studies her as she walks past him. He has never been particularly intrusive, but he has always been observant and insanely good at noticing things people hope will go unseen. Like the slight tremble in her voice, the shine in her eyes and the way she keeps blinking rapidly, as if trying to push something back.

Instead of insisting that she tells him what’s wrong, he tilts his head toward the stairs leading back downstairs.

“My mother sent me some homemade Christmas cookies,” slightly croaky and uneven, Oscar’s voice catches her off guard.

She turns around reluctantly, finding him standing in the same spot with an expression that she would rather ignore. She considers pretending she didn’t hear, but he holds her gaze. There is no pressure in it, no expectation for her to explain herself or open up or talk about it. 

He isn’t trying to pry into a situation that clearly isn’t his to fix, but is simply giving her an option. 

Caught between wanting to disappear and a strange relief of not having to be alone, she ends up nodding. “Okay.”

Oscar offers her a quiet smile before falling into step beside her, saying nothing else as they descend the stairs together. 

Sometimes, he has learned, silence is far kinder when it is shared. Also, the cookies taste better that way too.

📍 Miami, May 2026

DROPLETS OF WATER are still tracing paths down Oscar’s chest and arms after he steps out of the steaming bathroom with a white towel slung low around his hips. His hotel room carries the scent of his body wash mixed with the evening breeze drifting through the half-open balcony door. The noise coming in is much louder than at home, but it won’t be a problem for him to fall asleep, considering what a busy Sunday he had.

He settles onto the edge of the bed with a sigh and props his phone against a pillow, waiting for the FaceTime call to connect. A couple of beeps later, her face fills the screen, all sleepy yet happy to see him.

“Hey, you,” says Oscar, reciprocating the smile. “I’m sorry it’s late, just got out of the shower. Were you asleep?”

“No,” she replies with a yawn, leaning closer to her own screen. “I was waiting for you to call. Congrats on the podium!”

He chuckles quietly, rubbing a hand over his damp hair. “Thanks, very nice to be up there after the quali I’ve had.”

“Then what are you doing inside? Podium in Miami and you’re choosing room service instead of celebrating?”

Oscar shrugs, shifting to lie back against the headboard. The towel slips a little lower, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. “I’d rather be talking to you, I’m too tired anyway.”

He hears her hum on the other end, the sound landing right between his lungs, stealing the air from his chest.

They talk about anything but racing after that, asking what she ate for lunch and whether her meeting ran late. The screen shows her looking slightly off to the side, fingers tracing the edge of her phone.

He watches her for a long moment, unsure, then clears his throat to ask: “Was I wrong to tell you about it?” Her eyes flick back to the camera once Oscar continues, reluctant but determined to get to the bottom of it. “You’ve seemed a bit in your head when I left and if it’s me, I’d rather know.”

“No, Oscar,” she closes her eyes for a moment, “It’s not you. It’s…”

It’s Lando. Around everyone else, she knows where her boundaries begin and end. She knows when to walk away, when to protect her peace and when to choose reason over emotion — that’s exactly what she did with Oscar all this time. Of course, he told her about the conversation he had with his teammate on the balcony, two weekends ago. About the warning that Lando had fired at him about her.

He was quick to brush it aside, assuring her that nothing about it changes the way he sees her. That she has done nothing to diminish his respect for her. Still, Oscar recognizes the gray cloud that settled above her head, draining the light from moments that should be theirs. He recognizes it because he has seen it before: the same distant look, the same careful smiles that never quite reach her eyes, the same invisible weight pressing on her shoulders. She wore it for weeks after the Christmas party, convinced that if she ignored it long enough, it might eventually go away. But it never truly did.

“I know,” says Oscar at last. “I wish you found me when you weren’t still waiting for him. Would’ve been easier.”

The screen goes black without warning, the call still active, but the video feed cut. Oscar hears the muffled rustle of sheets as she sets the phone face-down on her pillow, so he stays silent for a while, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing.

Placing a palm over her chest, she can’t help but feel the shift inside.

Oscar has never asked her to sail toward him. Just like a lighthouse, he stayed in one place, casting light without demanding that she follow it. He didn’t rescue her from the sea but reminded her that there is still shore beyond it. For a short while, she was lost. Perhaps that is why she was so drawn to him in the first place. But a lighthouse doesn’t chase ships through violent waters, nor does it promise calm seas. Its purpose is not to save, but to guide. 

“I’m so sorry,” it’s all she says, picking the phone up again. 

Oscar exhales, shoulders loosening for a fraction. “Are you okay? I hate that I can’t be there.”

“I just… I wonder if I’m dragging you into something you don’t deserve.”

“This isn’t about protecting me, you know that,” he says, voice going up just a notch. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

She shifts on the bed, the camera tilting with her. 

There is nothing to dispute about that. They are both adults. She and Lando have been over for months and no lines were crossed. But it would be foolish of them to believe their lives could remain untouched forever. They do not exist in a world where relationships stay private for long and, the moment it goes public, they will become a headline.

“Maybe not, but I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” she whispers.

Oscar doesn’t rush to fill the silence after her confession. He knows she needs him to simply exist with her in the same space, to stay. On his screen, he moves around slightly, resting his head back on the pillows.

“I think,” he begins carefully, “You’re still trying to find the exact moment where everything went wrong.”

She lays on her side, facing him. “And?”

“And maybe there isn’t one.”

“There must be,” the girl counters, “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, having this conversation right now.”

Oscar sighs, suddenly looking uncertain, which is rare enough that it catches her attention. “Look, I’ll be back tomorrow night. Could I come over?”

The question is so gentle it almost breaks her heart. Even now, when she feels like she has spent weeks trying to understand where she truly belongs, Oscar is willing to give her the space she needs, regardless of whether her response might hurt him.

“You’re asking?” she teases.

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth curve upward a little. 

A fondness she cannot hide softens her expression. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Okay,” his smile widens.

Twenty-four hours later, Oscar is sitting on the couch in her living room. The TV plays a show on the background, its volume turned down so low that the sound is barely filling the empty spaces neither of them feels obligated to occupy. 

Dinner is simple: takeout, hastily ordered after Oscar arrived from the airport. They speak about inconsequential things like his flight, the race weekend and the last book she read. Only once the last wrapper has been folded in half does reality begin to slowly creep back into the room.

Oscar gathers everything into a neat pile before standing, carrying the empty containers into the kitchen. She picks up the sounds of the cupboard opening, the bin closing, then the tap running for a few seconds, finding an odd comfort in how ordinary all of it is.

When he returns, he doesn’t immediately sit; he feels content to linger behind the couch, one hand resting on the back of it as if deciding whether to disturb the peace they’d managed to build over the last hour. From the moment they ended the call yesterday, his mind started running. He imagined every version of the conversation they’re about to have, every time coming to the same conclusion. 

Eventually, he lowers himself beside her.

“How are you feeling?”

She exhales, fixing her eyes on the TV screen where people laugh at jokes neither of them can hear. “I’m not sure.”

She finds it very difficult to make sense of the flood of emotions that overwhelms her. There are too many feelings gathered in the same space inside her to separate one from the other; relief, guilt, love, affection, grief, hope, fear. They all exist together in a knot, so tightly woven that tugging on one only seems to tighten the rest.

Oscar’s thumb absentmindedly brushes over the seam of the cushion beneath his hand. Next time he speaks, his voice is careful which makes him sound disturbingly reserved. “I’m not saying this to put any pressure on you. It’s the last thing I want, and I know that we’re both equally involved, so it’s not that I don’t want to take any blame for it.”

The girl turns to look at him, their knees touching as she shifts.

“But I hope you know,” he pauses, searching for the right words instead of the easy ones, “Us… this only works for as long as you want it to.” Oscar smiles, but she notices the sadness tucked into its corners. “The circumstances won’t ever let me fight for you the way I’d like to,” he continues, gaze dropping to his hands. “Because I know you’ll always love him. I can’t hold that against you, I don’t think anyone could.”

She looks away before she can answer. “Yeah, but all that love… it’s just a burden if I have nowhere to put it.”

“Maybe it’s better if you try, and then you’ll know,” says Oscar, nodding. “You were together for a long time,” he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, “So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I know this will probably come back to bite me, but I think you should start putting it somewhere else. Starting with yourself.”

The simplicity of it catches her off guard. So much that it makes her laugh through her emotion, already sensing where their night is going to end.

“Are you breaking up with me too, Piastri?”

There is nothing selfish about what he’s asking of her. Nor can she blame him for refusing to become the person she turns to every time she finds herself running from Lando. If anything, she understands that it is the kindest thing he could have done for her. For himself too, and for whatever this peaceful, unexpected, beautiful thing between them has quietly become. 

He chuckles. “It’s really fucking hard. I don’t know how Lando did it.”

It would have been easier for Oscar to ignore that gray cloud. To accept the pieces of her she was able to offer and hope that, one day, they would be enough. But choosing honesty over convenience makes her admire him more. It reminds her that Oscar has never loved by possession. He’s the type of guy that does it by presence, by giving without demanding.

With a sigh, she lets herself drift closer, until the weight of her head comes to rest against his shoulder. Her hand, lying beside on the couch, searches for his instinctively, and Oscar doesn’t hesitate before intertwining his fingers with hers as though they have always known the shape of her hand. A moment later, she feels his body relaxing, his head settling atop hers.

“He’s a good guy,” says Oscar, no bitterness in his voice. “And a constant part of my life for as long as we’re teammates. If…,” he trails off, squeezing her hand for a fraction, “If we keep doing this while you’re not completely here, then eventually every day at work becomes about avoiding each other.”

She nods, thinking back at what he told her the night before. “Maybe I did find you while I was still waiting for him, but I also found you when I needed someone beside me the most. And for that…”

The moment he looks down at her, every conviction he has spent the past twenty-four hours painstakingly assembling begins to crumble. The urge to take it all back is so strong; he wants to tell her that he doesn’t care how complicates it is, that he’ll gladly endure every awkward glance, every impossible circumstance if it means having the chance to choose her anyway. He wants to close the small distance, kiss her and spend however long it takes proving that it can work. Not perfectly, but close enough. 

The thought dies before reaching his lips, though. For the first time all night, the words that usually come so effortlessly abandon him completely. He can only look at her in silence, carrying everything he cannot bear to say in the softness of his gaze, hoping she understands that choosing this version of the story is the hardest kindness he has ever offered.

“I don’t regret you,” she adds, reaching to cup his cheek in the palm of her hand.

Gently, she presses a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth, an expression of gratitude more than affection.

Oscar’s jaw tightens as a new thought starts to take root in his mind right away. Mostly because of what it reveals about him. He thought he understood the boundaries, the risks, the impossible timing of it all and, ultimately, he thought he understood himself. He knew Lando was her Achilles’ heel, but he never, for one second, expected her to become his.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

♫ ♪ ♬ ♫ ♪ ♬ ♫ ♪ ♬ ♫ ♪ ♬ ♫ ♪ ♬ ♫ [ fucking alarm! ]

“Fuck,” he hears a voice beside him groan.

You jolt upright like you’ve just been struck by lightning, and when you reach for your phone on the nightstand, your next “fuck!” comes out even more desperate.

There’s no time to waste. Your body is running on pure adrenaline as you bend down to grab your panties first, pulling them on with impressive speed, then your bra, your jeans, your shirt… Your movements are frantic, and Oscar has only managed to push himself up in bed enough to rub at his eyes and try to keep up as you whirl around the room like a hurricane, looking for your socks.

“What… what’s happening?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

You don’t even look at him as you finally tug your socks on and jump off the bed, dropping to your knees to reach for the sneakers that somehow ended up underneath it.

“I got a text. I have ten minutes to get to work. Shit. It was supposed to be my day off,” you complain, tying your laces.

Your hoodie. Oh my God. How many layers had you even been wearing last night? Where is it?

Oscar gets up. Calmly, he walks to the other side of the room and picks up his hoodie, which had been hanging over the back of the desk chair.

“Here. Don’t worry about giving it back,” he says, holding it out to you.

Your shoulders relax a little, and your hands close around the fabric before you shrug it on.

“Sorry for rushing out like this. Last night was really good, Oscar. Seriously,” you say, already heading toward the bedroom door. In a second, you’re in the living room, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and then you’re already at the front door, running your hands through your hair. “I loved meeting you. Hope you have a great day. Bye, cutie!”

And you blow him a kiss.

Oscar, naked and slightly bewildered, gives you a lopsided smile and a little wave, watching as you rush out of his house and straight into whatever morning disaster had stolen you from his bed.

From that distance, he can see through the front windows, past the curtains, the moment you reach the curb and wave down your Uber. Once you’re inside that car and it’s pulling away toward whatever address your job requires of you, Oscar finds himself officially alone.

He clears his throat, as if someone might be there to witness his pitiful state, and turns on his heel, heading to the bathroom.

He can say with a certain amount of pride that he left you with something to remember him by. He’s a perfectionist, deliberate by nature, which means the marks he left behind won’t be visible to the world, nothing that would give away exactly what happened inside those four walls to anyone looking from the outside, but you’ll notice them. That’s enough for him. When you look at yourself in the mirror, there they’ll be: two on either side of your waist, four on your stomach, and the faint little trail along the inside of your thighs. Ah, yes. He remembers those. Remembers how his mouth ended up there, making you sigh louder and—

No. Hang on. That’s too much.

Oscar needs to turn on the shower. Cold setting.

The water comes down over him in a steady cascade, doing what it can to freeze those thoughts in his mind before they have the chance to become a far more immediate part of his bloodstream. And once that happens, there’s only one direction they’ll go. Down, down, down. And how humiliating would it be to spend the rest of the day in that condition?

Fuck.

Oscar Piastri is reliving the final moments of his night with an intensity that can’t possibly be healthy.

He presses his wet forehead against the wall and closes his eyes. He’s really trying… but his hand already knows exactly where to go.

The thing about Oscar is that he’s not an impulsive man. If anything, the opposite is true. Everybody knows that. Calm and collected have been the two words trailing after him ever since he became relevant enough for the media to care. It’s his thing. His whole brand, really. Oscar Piastri: Calm & Collected™.

Only once in his life has he taken that particular fact about himself and thrown it straight out the window, consequences be damned. How did that happen?

The night before, in what was a completely justifiable course of action, Oscar had been lingering in the corner of the club, near the bar, a glass of his favorite tropical yellow drink in hand, when your voice cut through the air:

“Is that any good?”

He turns, the rim of the glass still pressed to his lips halfway through a sip. The first thing he notices is the purple and blue light catching on the glitter dusted across your cheeks. It's an interesting look. Artistic, somehow. He finishes the sip and lowers the glass.

The long lashes framing your eyes are still there. So is your gaze. Steady. Unbothered. Fixed on him.

"It's alright," he says, leaning back against the wall.

A hum of approval leaves you as you step a little closer.

"I was thinking about getting a drink too. Got any recommendations?" you ask, using that sweet, faintly distracted tone accompanied by a small smile that seems to be saying far more than the words themselves.

"I'm not sure I'm the best person to be giving that kind of advice," Oscar replies, taking another sip of his drink.

You tilt your head slightly, your smile growing just a little wider.

"I thought you were an expert. You've been standing here for a while."

That gets his attention. Oscar tips his head back slightly, narrowing his eyes as though he’s trying to solve a particularly complicated case.

"You've been watching me," he says at last.

The mischievous smile spreading across your face is answer enough.

"Have I?" you reply, slipping past him to look over the selection of drinks displayed behind the bar.

It takes exactly ten minutes for Oscar to end up at the back of the club, your hands tangled in his hair, both of you kissing like it’s a competition to see who can be more impatient.

His hands are everywhere.

Mostly because he can't seem to decide where he wants to touch you first. Jesus Christ. He's never kissed anyone like this before. There's so much heat, so much urgency, that neither of you notices when his hand slides down to your ass.

You both notice when he squeezes.

And he definitely notices the muffled sound you make against his mouth.

"Did you drive here?" you ask somewhere between kisses.

"Taxi," he murmurs. "Alcohol."

"Hm. Good call."

His mouth finds yours again immediately.

A few seconds later—

"Your place?" you ask.

"Okay.”

So, yeah. Right. It had been a good start to a good night that ended a little too abruptly, but… well, that’s okay. Oscar isn’t even thinking about it. He’s definitely not thinking about how he would’ve liked to bring you into his kitchen for a nice cup of coffee, maybe make you scrambled eggs because it’s simple enough to pull off and still might somehow surprise you, and talk about what the rest of your week was going to look like and all that.

He’d kiss you again.

Well, he’d want to. Obviously. If you wanted to. After breakfast, of course. And then he’d take you to the shower and the two of you could… you know. Again. Yes. Right. He would like that.

As he makes his way over to the simulator, though, he goes back over the morning in his head. Tries to figure out what happened. Because you weren’t upset with him. You weren’t angry at him. God, what kind of massive ego would Oscar have to think that anything about that morning had been his fault? You got called into work on your day off, and even then, you were still sweet enough to blow him a kiss on your way out.

Knowing all of that, why is he still so disappointed?

Oscar turns on the simulator, waits for the screen to light up, and settles into the seat. When he lets out a slow breath, he makes himself a promise: he’s going to let it go.

At some point in the middle of the night, Oscar is sitting on the bed while you’re walking back from the bathroom. The only thing on your body is his t-shirt.

You stop halfway across the room, hands settling on your waist as you look at him with one eyebrow raised and a small smile on your face.

“What?” he asks, squinting at you.

You shrug and shake your head. Don’t say anything. You just climb back onto the bed and make your way over to him.

“I want to kiss you again,” you say, swinging one leg over either side of his lap before wrapping both arms around his neck.

Oscar arches an eyebrow too.

“I think you can kiss me again.”

“You think?” you ask, resting your forehead against his.

“I thought you were tired,” he murmurs, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, I lied,” you whisper, leaning in to press your lips to his through your own smile.

His arms wrap around your waist, and then his hands slip beneath the hem of the t-shirt, his fingers gliding slowly upward and sending shivers racing across your skin. And the two of you have touched each other like this so many times since you got there, but Oscar still hasn’t gotten tired of the sound that leaves your mouth when he reaches the middle of your back and pulls you even closer against him.

Maybe Oscar isn’t actually all that good at keeping promises he makes to himself, because it’s already halfway through the next day and you still haven’t texted him. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he does anyway.

That’s not even the worst part.

At some point that morning, while taking out the trash, Oscar realized the two of you never exchanged numbers. Of course you’re not going to text him. But even if you did have his number, would it really be a problem if you didn’t text him? Oscar likes to think not.

He calls Lando.

“Hey, mate!” Lando greets, sounding a little distracted. “You left the club pretty early that night.”

“Hey,” Oscar says back, pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can wash his hands at the kitchen sink. “Uh, yeah. I… went home.”

Lando laughs.

“With a girl. I saw,” he says, and Oscar straightens up, clearing his throat.

“Right. Yeah. You… you saw her with me?”

“Of course, mate. You literally waved goodbye to me as a warning, remember?”

Yes, Oscar had forgotten that.

“Do you… Do you think you know who she is?”

“Like, if she’s an influencer or something? Mate, I don’t think so,” Lando says, and Oscar can practically picture him shaking his head. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go deal with something. But good for you, though. Glad you had fun. I know these shiny party things aren’t really your scene.”

A small smile tugs at Oscar’s mouth.

“Yeah. It was fun,” he admits.

“Right. And about the girl, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

“No worries. See you, mate.”

And finally, the call ends.

Oscar locks his phone, slips it into his pocket, and heads into the living room. He drops onto the couch, turns on the TV, and tries, really tries, to focus on the action movie playing in front of him, where some woman is busy throwing herself from one building to the next.

The only problem is that she looks a little too much like you.

You’re sitting on top of him, hands braced against his chest. His own hands rest on your thighs, thumbs stroking over your skin while you look down at him, again and again.

“You’ve got so many freckles,” you say, lifting a finger to touch a few scattered across his chest.

Oscar nods, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

“I do. I think it’s genetics mixed with sun exposure,” he explains without much thought, because that’s simply what he’s always assumed.

Your head tilts to the side as you reach up to touch the small constellation along his neck. Oscar swallows.

“I once heard this theory that freckles show up in the places where your soulmate used to kiss you most in a past life,” you say, continuing your careful little exploration as your fingertips brush softly over his cheek.

Oscar closes his eyes.

“I didn’t know that,” he murmurs.

You let out a small laugh and lean down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I think your soulmate must’ve loved you very much in your past life,” you say.

And just like that, the conversation is over, because Oscar is kissing you again, and you kiss him back without even thinking.

He’s been running for hours now.

Oscar glances at the time and, yes, a full two hours.

His hair is soaked with sweat, and his t-shirt is even worse. Honestly, he’s pretty disgusting, if he stops to think about it. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps running, slipping past people like a guided missile — except he doesn’t actually have anywhere programmed to go.

Oscar just runs.

He called his trainer earlier to say he’d be doing his cardio outside today, which surprised the man enough, but he said it was fine as long as Oscar actually did it. Of course Oscar was going to do it. He just needed to get out for a while.

The pace of his feet only starts to slow when he turns onto a familiar street.

It’s not really a run anymore, just a slow walk along the cobbled street of the shopping district where some of the best clubs in the city are tucked away. Not exactly the kind of place people go for a casual stroll, but no one in Monaco would question it — the country is small enough that any stretch of road can be justified if you try hard enough.

He stops in front of that club.

The one where he met you three days ago.

“Can I help you with something?” the bouncer asks, giving him the flat, unreadable look of someone who’s had to deal with every kind of drunk in Monaco.

Oscar blinks at him, a little thoughtful, because he doesn’t really know how he ended up there, let alone what exactly he wants to ask.

But he has to ask something.

“There’s a girl who comes here. We met a few days ago, and I was wondering if maybe she’d shown up again after that, or if… if she’s a regular. If you remember her,” he says.

The man just raises his eyebrows and waits.

Oscar describes you to him. First name, age, height, job, eye color, what you were wearing, the way your gaze looks, the makeup you had on… everything he knows.

Then he waits.

The bouncer shrugs.

“No clue, mate. A lot of people come through here.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. How could he not recognize you with a description like that? Of course, Oscar doesn’t say any of that. He just nods politely and says,

“Right. Thanks.”

That, apparently, is the end of his walk home. Oscar decides he’d rather take an Uber back.

With one arm wrapped around your waist, Oscar keeps you tucked against him. Your body is still full of little aftershocks, still humming with the kind of pleasure that hasn’t fully faded yet, leaving you with nothing but a deep, sleepy need to stay exactly where you are — warm, boneless, and held against him.

Oscar lets out a very, very satisfied laugh and slides his other hand down to your hip.

“You okay?” he asks, his nose brushing into your hair.

“Hmm… yes,” you mumble, stretching out the word in a soft, sleepy little sound that makes him tighten his arm around you. “I’m slowly coming back to the real world.”

“I’ll wait,” Oscar murmurs, and you nod against him. “We should probably take a shower.”

You snuggle in closer.

“Can we stay like this for a little longer?” you ask in a whisper.

How was Oscar supposed to deny you anything?

“Of course we can,” he replies, and you melt against him.

It’s been two weeks, and Oscar doesn’t think about that night anymore. Or about the fact that, somewhere in the city, you’re out there living your life. Maybe wearing his favorite hoodie — the one he’s probably never getting back. The idea is ridiculous, obviously, and not something he spends any real time dwelling on.

So he carries on as if nothing ever happened, which is how he’s ended up at the supermarket, standing in the pasta aisle with a thoughtful look on his face. He's pretending he has any clue what separates one type of pasta from another, even though he already knows he’s leaving with five boxes of spaghetti either way.

That's when a woman passes by him.

Oscar’s head snaps up, and he turns so quickly it’s almost embarrassing, because for one stupid second, he’s sure that—

Oh.

No.

She doesn’t look anything like… anyone he knows.

Oscar goes still for a moment, then turns back to his cart and drops the boxes of pasta inside, red as a bell pepper as he heads for the checkout.

“Hi… are you Oscar Piastri?”

He blinks, sliding the gas nozzle back into place before turning toward the little girl staring up at him with huge brown eyes.

“Sorry, she… she spotted you from over there and really wanted to come say hi. I hope we’re not bothering you,” her mother says.

The smile that spreads across Oscar’s face is slow, but entirely genuine. He shakes his head and glances down again, this time noticing the orange cap in the little girl’s hands, with the number 81 stitched across the front.

“I don’t actually have a pen on me to sign—”

“Here.” Her mother quickly holds one out.

“Thanks,” Oscar says, taking both the pen and the cap. “Alright, what’s your name?”

“Estelle.”

“Estelle? That’s a beautiful name,” he says, scribbling his autograph across the cap before handing it back to her.

Her mother lifts her phone to take a picture, and Oscar steps closer to the little girl, smiling as he raises a thumbs-up for the camera.

“Did you get it?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you so much, Piastri.”

“Yeah, thanks, Piastri! Hope you actually win next year, at least.”

Her mother looks instantly mortified, but Oscar just laughs as he hands the pen back to her.

“I’m hoping to win too,” he says, giving Estelle a friendly pat on the top of the head. “Soon.”

The two of them wave goodbye and start to turn away, and Oscar lifts his head to watch them go… only to catch sight, all the way across the station, of someone very, very familiar climbing into a car and pulling the door shut.

For one long second, he just stands there in the middle of the gas station.

His McLaren is still parked by the pump. A line is starting to form behind it. Fuck. There’s a line. But—

He blinks.

It’ll be quick. There are other pumps.

He doesn’t think.

Oscar bolts past the two girls in such a sudden rush that even the attendants stop what they’re doing to stare. He keeps going, one step after the other, because Oscar only ever runs like this when he’s training, except now he has somewhere to be, and you’re getting farther and farther away, and if he doesn’t catch you now, maybe he never will.

He needs to know how you are.

And you’re right there.

And he’s almost there. And your engine is already turning over and—

Oscar is completely out of breath.

He comes to a stop beside your car, one hand braced against the hood, the other on his knee. This is so wildly out of character for him that he nearly passes out from the sheer realization of what he’s doing and where he’s doing it. Jesus Christ. One second. Calm down.

Your door swings open. He knows because he hears it.

Oscar shouldn’t be this affected. He has athlete lungs. Twenty-five years on this earth without ever touching a cigarette.

Fuck.

“Oscar?” you say, your brow furrowing as you hurry toward him. “Oh my God. Oscar!”

Finally — and very slowly — Oscar straightens up enough to look at you.

“Are you okay?” you ask, your hands flying to his shoulders, mostly because he still isn’t saying anything and he’s pale as a ghost, which is starting to genuinely scare you.

But he just blinks. Looks down at your hand.

“I am,” he says with a nod. “I’m okay.”

You’re not entirely sure you believe him, but you let your hands fall away anyway. Back at the station, a chorus of car horns starts going off, and the attendants have gathered in a small cluster, all waving impatiently for him to hurry up. Oscar looks mildly horrified.

“Wait here, okay? Don’t leave,” he says, lifting a finger toward you even as he’s already moving. “I need to get my car out of there, but I’ll be right back.”

Your eyes blink once, but you… you nod.

Okay.

Oscar hurries back toward the gas station, murmuring quiet apologies to a few people on the way before finally making it to his car and pulling it out of the way.

Oscar comes back a minute later, shutting the door of his McLaren with a little more force than necessary before making his way toward you.

You’re still standing beside your car, arms folded loosely over your chest now, watching him with a look that lands somewhere between concern and confusion.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

Oscar clears his throat.

“So,” he says, a little breathless still. “Hi.”

You blink at him.

“Hi,” you echo, like you’re not entirely sure this qualifies as a normal greeting after whatever the hell that was two minutes ago.

His mouth twitches.

“Sorry about the…” He gestures vaguely behind him, as if that explains anything. “Running.”

Your eyebrows lift.

“Right,” you say slowly. “I was going to ask.”

Oscar glances away for half a second, then back at you.

“Yeah. No, that’s fair.”

And there it is — the smallest hint of embarrassment settling over his face, enough to make something warm flicker in your chest before you can stop it.

“I just—” He stops, exhales through his nose, and tries again. “I saw you getting into your car and thought if I let you leave without saying anything, I’d probably regret it.”

The way he says it makes you let out a breath.

“You idiot,” you say simply.

Oscar arches an eyebrow.

“You didn’t have to leave half of Monaco annoyed at you because of me,” you say, shaking your head before uncrossing your arms and stepping forward to wrap him in a hug. “This is how you’re supposed to greet someone, see?”

Shaking his head, he lets out a quiet laugh. Oscar isn’t even sure he’s allowed to do this, but he wraps his arms around you too, and the hug is a little awkward, a little clumsy — mostly because the two of you barely know each other and… yeah. You barely know each other. The thought makes him frown.

“How are you?” he asks, pulling away slowly.

You shrug.

“Normal. Fine. I’ve been working on a few new projects for uni this week,” you say, a little dreamily, gathering your hair in one hand as the wind keeps blowing it out of place. “I was actually on my way to get lunch. Do you want to come with me? It’s better than standing out here. My hair’s about two seconds away from sticking to my lip gloss and turning into a complete disaster.”

Oscar blinks because… did he hear you right? Lunch? You just asked him to lunch? As if the past two weeks hadn’t existed at all? As if they hadn’t been their own special little version of hell on earth?

“Yeah,” he says a little too quickly.

Then he clears his throat.

“Yeah. Sure. If you want.”

And because apparently he’s determined to make this worse for himself, he adds, a touch too late to sound normal:

“I mean— yes. I’d like that.”

A quiet laugh slips out of you at that, but all you say is,

“I’ll be right in front of you. No running this time, okay?”

As you walk back to your car, leaving Oscar behind, he rolls his eyes — but he’s smiling so hard it completely ruins the effect.

He drives slowly behind you, following your car through the streets of Monaco toward whatever lunch spot you had in mind. It’s not far, but it gives Oscar more than enough time to think. Or, more accurately, to sit there in a state of mild disbelief. For one brief second, he genuinely considers the possibility that he’s hallucinating. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe he hit his head somewhere between the petrol station and the parking spot. Maybe this is one of those bizarre out-of-body experiences people talk about, because up until today, you had been nothing more than a very good memory in his head — and now you’re leading him to lunch. Lunch. A thing you invited him to. With your own mouth.

Despite everything, Oscar really had thought there was a decent chance he’d never see you again.

By the time you pull into a parking space and step out of the car, he’s still sitting behind the wheel of his own, staring at you from that short distance like he’s trying to come up with some logical explanation for why this is happening at all. You walk over after a second, leaning down just enough to tap twice against his window.

“Come on,” you say.

Oscar drags his tongue over his bottom lip and nods, like that somehow makes him look less like a man who’s currently being led around by divine intervention.

As you walk into the restaurant, you head in front first to speak to the host, explaining that the reservation had originally been for one, but that you had a last-minute guest. He looks ready to say that won’t be possible — right up until he catches sight of Oscar and his eyebrows lift. Alright, then. He can come in.

You nod, and the two of you are led to your table, Oscar offering the man a grateful nod of his own while still biting the inside of his cheek, because he still hasn’t quite gotten used to how easily doors open for him.

And then, finally, you’re seated. One across from the other.

Oscar hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.

Your hand goes straight for the menu, and Oscar tries not to look at you too much. Predictably, he fails. Your lashes stay lowered as your eyes move from one option to the next, widening with interest whenever something catches your attention and narrowing again whenever something sounds questionable enough to make you pull a face. Your cheeks are pink, and you tap the edge of one nail against your tooth while you think.

“Do you eat seafood?” you ask after a moment, still scanning the menu.

“Yeah,” Oscar says. “Why?”

Now you finally look up at him.

“Because I kind of want the shrimp bucket,” you say. “But it’s way too much food for one person. Do you want to split it with me?”

A small smile appears at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding once. “I’d like that.”

You smile too and close the menu, then lean forward to rest your cheek against your hand.

Now it’s your turn to look at him. At his hair, his soft face, the freckles scattered across his skin…

“It’s been a little while since that night, hasn’t it?” you say. “If I’d known you were going to be here, I would’ve left your hoodie in the car.”

Oscar shakes his head.

“I told you not to worry about that.”

You smile faintly.

“So how’ve you been?” you ask. “Did you go back to the club? You said Lando likes going there.”

“Not really,” Oscar says. Not in the way you mean. “Lando’s more into that sort of thing than I am.”

You nod.

“Right.”

“What about you?” he asks. “Did you go back?”

“No, no. I haven’t had time,” you say. “Like I said, these projects have completely taken over my life lately—”

A waiter appears beside the table, and you glance up with a quick smile.

“Oh, hi. We’ll get the shrimp bucket, and…” Your eyes flick back to Oscar. “What do you want to drink, Osc?”

Osc.

His smile widens, just a little.

“The berry Italian soda, please,” he says. “Non-alcoholic.”

You nod and turn back to the waiter.

“And mine can just be strawberry, please.”

The waiter writes it down, and you thank him softly before he walks away.

“I love this restaurant,” you say, glancing around before your attention catches on an elderly couple tucked away in the corner. Oscar notices the little smile on your face and follows your gaze.

They’re adorable. The man is holding an analog camera, and his wife is posing like someone who knows, without a doubt, that she’s adored.

“They look happy,” Oscar says, tilting his head slightly.

Your nose scrunches with a smile as you turn back to him.

“They really do. They come here all the time.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“So you’re a regular.”

A tiny smile tugs at your mouth.

“I’m a creature of habit.”

That earns a quiet laugh from Oscar.

“I’ve never been here before,” he says, glancing up at the decorations hanging from the ceiling. Everything about the place feels so… oceanic. A wash of blue and white, starfish painted along the walls, dark wood everywhere.

You grin.

“Yeah, they really commit to the theme.”

Oscar’s mouth twitches.

“I’m a creature of habit too,” he says. “I usually stick to the restaurants in the city centre.”

Your eyes widen.

“The ones that are basically lit entirely by candlelight?”

He shrugs.

“They’re charming.”

That pulls a soft laugh out of you.

“I’ve never been to any of them. People have recommended them to me, but I just never got around to it.”

“Maybe we—” He stops himself, already knowing exactly where that sentence was headed. But Oscar pushes on anyway. “If you ever think it sounds nice, maybe we could go there sometime. I imagine it’s better with company.”

Seeing the look on your face, Oscar realizes with a flicker of nerves that you’re actually considering what he said. And when you nod, all soft expression and soft eyes, he feels his shoulders loosen.

“I’d love that,” you say.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Oscar’s mouth.

“Yeah?” he says, like he just needs to hear it one more time.

Your smile deepens.

“Yeah.”

If Oscar could, he’d probably put this afternoon somewhere near the top of the list of the best days of his life. He can’t quite explain why, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that two weeks of waiting have finally led him here — to the realization that you’re still the same person who laid your head on his chest and asked for five more minutes.

How exactly is anyone supposed to recover from that kind of experience?

Well. Oscar doesn’t have an answer.

The question only gets worse over Italian sodas and fried shrimp, when you point at the sauce on his cheek with a laugh. The table is full of laughter after that, and the two of you talk about everything. And when you lean in to hear his answer to whatever question you’ve just asked, Oscar almost lets himself believe you keep asking and asking and asking just because you like the way he explains things.

Later, when you lead him to the back of the restaurant to show him the view of the sea, you point at a gull gliding back and forth overhead and say,

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

But Oscar looks down at you and, for the first time that afternoon, feels the urge to disagree.

The days pass easily.

You don’t do anything out of the ordinary. Work, home, university. University, work, home. Lunch squeezed into whatever break the day happens to give you. The same routine, the same schedule, the same familiar little rush from one place to the next.

But now there’s something extra tucked into the middle of it all — a nice surprise that, if you’re being honest, you really hadn’t seen coming.

Ever since that lunch with Oscar, when you gave him your number so he could actually arrange the dinner the two of you had talked about, things have been… fun.

Which isn’t exactly shocking. He is nice; you already knew that much. You’d spent a night together, after all. A very intense night, actually. Intense enough that every now and then, when the memory sneaks up on you at the worst possible moment, your cheeks go warm because you genuinely don’t know who you were that night. Some insatiable little menace must have taken over your body. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.

You hadn’t meant for any of it to turn into more than that. A handsome guy at a bar, one good night of sex to work the tension out of your system after a string of exhausting days and the thousand things you always seem to have on your plate, and… well. That was supposed to be it. A solid plan. A very reasonable plan.

Then Oscar had quite literally run after you and nearly passed out in the process, leaving you a little stunned and far more charmed than you should probably admit.

So now, apparently, this is your life.

On your way into work, you stop halfway across the courtyard because a gull is circling overhead, and your first thought, naturally, is that Oscar needs to see it. You pull your phone from your pocket, angle the camera upward, and snap a picture before sending it off with the caption:

look. they’re following me now.

He replies two minutes later.

have you considered the possibility that they’re spying on you?

You lift an eyebrow, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you head for the door and type back:

gulls aren’t spies. pigeons are.

His answer comes through almost immediately.

have you ever seen a baby gull?

And honestly, you don’t have a response to that. Not one that matters, anyway. All you can do is laugh under your breath as you pull the door open, because no — now that he’s mentioned it, you’ve never actually seen a baby gull in your life.

“Well, look who’s in a good mood,” Bonnie, the woman at reception, says.

You glance up, still smiling as you make your way toward the staff room.

“Just having a good week,” you reply.

And you’re not lying.

The day goes by nicely. Work is exactly what it’s always been too, nothing's new. The schedule is predictable, your break happens at the same time it always does, but there’s something particularly entertaining about knowing that, at around four in the afternoon, you can pull out your phone and text someone that Susan from finance is cheating on her husband with Robert, the man who delivers the chemicals for the photo developers.

Oscar seems especially horrified by the replies he sends back, and when he says that maybe he should tell Susan’s husband, you let out a laugh so loud that the girls in the booth immediately tell you to keep it down. You nod, covering your mouth with one hand as you text back, you’re getting me into trouble here. He answers almost immediately with a simple okay, sorry, and somehow that’s enough to leave a small smile lingering on your face.

Yes. Yes, things have been nice.

His break is almost over, which means you won’t be in the same city for much longer. Soon enough, he’ll go back to travelling the world in his tight little racing suit — as you so kindly pointed out to him. Oscar had smiled at that one and made sure you knew it by sending back a bright little 😁.

This gives you an idea.

It’s a silly one. Probably a little more compromising than you’re giving it credit for. But you and Oscar are friends now, aren’t you? And you’ve already slept together once. It was good. Very good. So what harm could a second night together really do, when he’s about to spend so much time away? It wouldn’t be anything new. If anything, it might even help. Oscar has an exhausting job. You have an exhausting job.

It takes him fifteen minutes to reply to your suggestion with a simple okay. Then it takes him an hour and a half to show up at your door.

Glancing around before opening it, you suddenly wonder if you might’ve backed yourself into a corner a little. It’s not as though you were trying to be subtle about why Oscar was here, but maybe the low yellow lighting and the slow music are making the whole thing feel a touch more deliberate than you meant it to. A flicker of embarrassment runs through you, and you hurry over to your phone, biting the inside of your cheek as you hit pause.

Okay. Better. Your shoulders loosen, and you head for the door.

“Hi,” you say, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you pull it open.

Oscar looks ridiculous.

Ridiculously attractive, to be specific.

You’re not blind. You knew that from the first time you saw him leaning against that wall at the club, all soft eyes and unfairly pretty mouth. And when he gives you that crooked little smile, whatever lingering doubt you had evaporates on the spot.

This was absolutely the right decision.

God, you’re a genius.

“Hi,” he says back.

Your eyebrows lift, just a little, because suddenly you’re not nervous anymore. Not really. What you don’t know is that Oscar’s heart is beating so fast it might actually give up from exhaustion at any moment.

You tilt your head toward the inside of the house, silently inviting him in.

The door clicks shut behind you as you head for the couch. Oscar follows, glancing around with that curious, slightly charmed look on his face, but in the end, his attention settles back on you. He walks over and sits beside you.

“So…” he says, flicking you a quick glance. “Do you want to talk?”

The little look on your face already answers for you, but you say it anyway.

“We already talk all the time.”

Oscar laughs.

It’s low and warm and quietly melodic, and then he reaches for you, because suddenly he understands that he can. That he’s allowed to. That you want this just as much as he does. Christ, you invited him here.

You shift closer and swing your legs over his hips, and you know he loves that. He told you so that night. He told you so many things and nothing at all, and somehow, you remembered every single one.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, his eyes dropping to your mouth.

“I think you can kiss me,” you reply, repeating the same thing he’d said to you nights and nights ago.

His smile widens.

“You think?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not tired, so I’m not going to keep following the script. I haven’t worn you out yet,” you murmur, lifting your hands to his cheeks.

And Oscar becomes quite certain that he could die right there and still be perfectly happy about it in the afterlife.

He leans in, and he already knows exactly what to do.

You part your lips for him straight away, because this kiss was never supposed to be soft. No. It was always meant to burn.

Fuck. Yes. This is it. This is exactly what Oscar had been looking for for the past two weeks, and when you push his head back against the sofa and take over the kiss with an intensity that makes his grip tighten around your waist, he’s fairly sure he’s just been launched into another dimension.

One that smells like you. Feels like you. Has you everywhere.

This is casual, Oscar reminds himself. Just one more night before he leaves. Normal sex. With someone he trusts. A way to let off steam. Right. Of course. Sure.

Yes. He knows that.

He eases you back against the couch. Oscar is in control now. Or at least, that’s the plan. But the second he presses into you and hears that hungry little sound disappear into his mouth, he forgets what the word control is even supposed to mean.

You’ve just gotten out of the shower. Together.

Now you’re lying on your side, facing Oscar, wearing the hoodie you stole that morning before leaving his place — and he’s quietly losing his mind over the fact that it doesn’t smell like him anymore. Now it’s just you.

He’d love to steal it back, though not because he misses it.

“What are the next few weeks going to look like?” you ask softly, your index finger tracing absent little patterns over the freckles on his chest.

Oscar slips a hand beneath the hem of the hoodie and rests it on your waist, and you immediately pull a face when his fingers meet your skin.

“Your hand is freezing,” you complain.

He just laughs.

“Two races back-to-back,” he says, his thumb stroking over your waist, “and then two weeks without one.”

Your eyes lift to his.

“Two race weekends in a row?”

Oscar nods.

“And you like that?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“The racing part?”

You nod.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s my favourite thing in the world,” he says.

Your fingers pause over his chest.

“What does it feel like?”

You shift a little closer into the bed, settling in as you wait for his answer, your eyes fixed on his. Oscar bites the inside of his cheek for a second, thinking, then blinks up at the ceiling.

“I think…” he says slowly. “I think it’s probably the closest anyone can get to real freedom.”

Your expression softens.

“And maybe a little like flying,” he adds. “If flying came with lower back pain.”

A laugh slips out of you.

“It hurts that much?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “Feels like someone stuffed me into a sardine tin and then stretched me out with medieval torture equipment.”

That makes you laugh properly.

“Wow. Sounds lovely.”

“It is,” Oscar says, smiling. “I told you. It’s my favourite.”

Your expression softens again, and without really thinking about it, you nudge your forehead against his shoulder in a quiet little request to be held. Oscar immediately wraps an arm around you.

“Then I think you need to sleep, you sardine-tin masochist,” you murmur, your eyes already drifting shut. “It won’t do for McLaren’s best driver to show up exhausted.”

He goes still for a second, breathing a little mechanically.

“Sleep here?”

“Hm.” You tuck yourself in closer. “I’m not about to kick you out after you gave me some of the best orgasms of my life for the second time. That would just be rude.”

The heat that rushes into his cheeks is so immediate he’s half-convinced there might actually be smoke coming out of his ears.

“Oh my God.”

You burst out laughing and melt further into him.

“You’re so puritanical when you talk. It’s adorable.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Hm. Alright, then. Say something outrageous.”

Oscar thinks. Really thinks.

“Sex.”

You gasp.

“Wow.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh, low and helpless, as he pulls you in a little tighter.

“Go to sleep,” he says.

“Okay,” you mumble, already halfway there as your body goes soft against his.

And Oscar can’t quite believe this day is real — that you, of all people, are curled up against his chest, wearing his hoodie while you drift off to sleep.

When he closes his eyes, he already knows exactly what he’ll be dreaming about.

The two race weeks go by fast, but not kindly. Oscar feels every second of them.

Neither of them turns out quite the way he would’ve liked. In one, both he and Lando end up with DNFs. In the other, he drags home a hard-earned P5 in the rain after starting P9, in what had already been one of the worst qualifying sessions imaginable — helped along by three DNFs ahead of him and an overtake dramatic enough to earn its own replay. The whole thing is such complete chaos that Oscar isn’t entirely sure how he makes it out alive.

In the middle of all that, though, even knowing he’s exhausted from briefings, late-night team meetings, and complaints that never seem to go anywhere, Oscar still finds one way or another to reply to you.

He loves the voice notes you send him, especially the ones where you tell him that one wet corner he took nearly sent your heart straight out of your chest. And then, naturally, you decide to drop a bomb in his lap.

A photo.

You’re wearing a McLaren shirt you bought, one exactly like his. His number on the front. His number on the back. Big enough to leave absolutely no room for interpretation. The “fuck” that slips out of Oscar is so loud that half the garage turns to look at him. He actually has to apologise.

And when he finally gets back home, you call him and ask if he wants to celebrate.

“I’d love to,” he says, setting his suitcase down by the wall. “What exactly are we celebrating?”

“Your marriage to P5,” you reply. “I saw people on Twitter saying you’re very attached to that position. Apparently you only cheat on it with the occasional P7.”

Oscar shakes his head, but a helpless laugh escapes him anyway.

“That’s ridiculous,” he says. “People should mind their own business.”

You hum.

“Rude. Your fans won’t like hearing that you’re this badly behaved.”

“And are you planning to tell them?”

“Only if you don’t agree to go out and celebrate with me,” you say. “I’ve got an idea, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

Oscar goes soft immediately. He still has no idea how to say no to you.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

“Yay.”

With a small smile still tugging at his mouth, he hangs up and goes to get ready.

“When you talked to me for the first time at the club, what was your first thought?” you ask, peering at him over the enormous witch-hat-shaped cotton candy in your hands.

Oscar pretends to think about it, but he already knows the answer. He reaches over to tear off a piece of your cotton candy, and when you immediately protest with an indignant, “Hey!”, he says,

“I thought, who’s this lunatic asking me for drink recommendations?”

“Lunatic?!” you gasp. “My God. You’re so rude.”

A quiet little laugh slips out of him, and by then the two of you are already making your way toward the shooting stall, because apparently that’s the next attraction you’ve decided you need to learn how to play.

Oscar hadn’t even known there was a festival in town with a fairground attached. It had been a long time since he’d been to one of these.

“Do you realise you’ve called me rude twice today?” he asks, clearly amused as he hands the tokens over to the guy at the stall.

You set your cotton candy down on the little ledge, take your toy gun, and shrug.

“Maybe you should reflect on that.”

“Me?” he asks, picking up his own.

“Yes, you. You’re the one being rude.”

Oscar laughs and ducks his head, squinting through the sight. You copy him, bending down a little beside him. When you fire your first shot, one of the bottles topples over immediately. Oscar misses by half an inch.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, straightening up to see what went wrong.

“Ha! Okay. Again,” you say, already adjusting your stance for the next shot.

In the end, Oscar gets two strikes, and you only manage one.

You decide immediately that this is so, so unfair and inform him that, as compensation for the absolute tragedy of your performance, he’s going to have to give you the giant dolphin he won. Oscar complains, obviously, but somehow still ends up carrying two absurdly oversized stuffed animals — one enormous heart and, of course, the dolphin you’d already claimed for yourself — while you tug him along by the elbow toward the photo booth.

Oscar loves seeing you like this. All bright-eyed and happy, wandering around the fair like an overexcited little kid.

You slide onto the bench inside the booth, pull the stuffed animals in between the two of you, and then reach for Oscar’s hand to get him to sit down beside you.

“Do a good pose,” you warn him before pressing the start button. “And none of that thumbs-up thing you always do.”

“What’s wrong with—”

“Look!”

You grab his cheek and squish it, forcing his mouth into a pout while you do one of your own.

The next photo catches Oscar mid-laugh, with you wearing the most delightfully mischievous little smile. Then there’s one of both of you looking straight at the camera, and another where each of you is hugging one of the stuffed animals.

In the end, the two of you somehow end up at the top of the Ferris wheel, entirely because it was Oscar’s idea. Nothing could be more cliché than this, he’d thought. But then you were leaning over to look at the city below, pointing off into the distance with a bright little, “I can see my house from here!” and Oscar decided he didn’t care even a little bit.

At some point during the ride, though, things get a little out of hand. Because you turn to him with a look that means absolutely no good, then lean in close to his ear and whisper an idea so scandalous that the only thing Oscar manages in response is biting down on his own lip before kissing you hard and letting his hand drift somewhere very, very dangerous.

Oscar doesn’t do things like this. And, if you’re being honest, neither do you.

But when your mouth falls open and you have to hide your face in the curve of his neck to muffle the sound trying to escape, you find yourself thinking that maybe — yes — you could get used to doing things like this.

Of course you fuck that night. And the night after that. And the one after that, and the one after that too. What started as a one-night thing after the club — no strings, no expectations — turned into a second night with no strings attached, and then into weeks of no strings attached, until suddenly you have no idea what’s going on anymore.

Because now you’re lying in Oscar’s bed, and tomorrow he has to leave for a race week, and all you can think about is how much you don’t want to be here without him.

His eyes are closed, and he looks peaceful in that way only Oscar ever seems to manage. In that way you’ve somehow learned to recognise, and—

Oh, fuck.

You’d rather not think about it, so instead you just close your eyes, curl your arms around him, and breathe in the soft scent of the cologne he wears — the one that, somewhere along the way, became your favourite.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of Oscar moving around the room, gathering his things and carrying them out to the living room.

And you can tell he’s doing it as slowly as humanly possible so he won’t wake you, because the room is still dark and he’s trying to see everything by the light of his phone torch alone.

“Morning?” you mumble, rubbing one eye with the back of your hand.

Oscar stops mid-step, looks over at you with his head tilted slightly to one side, and smiles.

“Morning,” he says. “Did I wake you?”

There’s a faint note of guilt in his voice.

You shake your head and yawn, reaching out to tug him closer by the hand.

“You’re leaving already?”

He nods and comes back to sit in the empty space beside you. Your hand curls around his forearm.

“And you weren’t even going to say goodbye.”

Oscar wrinkles his nose.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your sleep.”

“You were going to leave me lying here in your bed while you went off travelling,” you say. “Don’t you protect your belongings?”

A quiet laugh slips out of him as he glances down at the fingers absently stroking his arm.

“Of course I do. But half of them are already at your place, so…”

You hum.

“Fair enough.”

Your eyes are still heavy with sleep, and your grip on his arm loosens a little, but you lift a finger and tap your forehead.

“I want a kiss here.”

Oscar smiles like an absolute fool and leans in. Honestly, how can someone be this needy? He presses a kiss right where you pointed.

“Here?” he asks, and then drops one onto your cheek. “I’ll leave one here…” Then the other. “And one here too.” The tip of your nose. “Here.” And finally, your lips. “And one here.”

You’re smiling by then, one hand curled around the back of his neck, and when you open your eyes properly, you tilt your head to the side and nod.

“That’s better,” you say. “Now you can go.”

He leaves one last kiss on your forehead before getting to his feet.

“But I’ll be back,” he says. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”

Oh, but you will. You definitely will.

“Okay,” you murmur.

And when Oscar finally leaves, you let yourself go limp against the bed, staring at nothing as you wonder what the hell you’re supposed to do with your life now that you’ve somehow managed to ruin everything.

He’s absolutely brilliant that weekend.

You watch Oscar cross the finish line from pole position with the giant stuffed dolphin hugged to your chest, and the very first thing you do afterwards is grab your phone and text him:

DIVORCE FROM P5!!!!!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉

Watching the podium celebration is a little harder. Mostly because, honestly, how is he allowed to look like that while the Australian anthem is playing?

Half an hour later, he replies with a simple:

celebration?

And you send back whatever you want! before promptly dropping onto the rug on your back and staring up at the ceiling.

You’ve been doing that a lot lately.

As if the ceiling might suddenly decide to give you some kind of answer. It never does. Not even one.

Outside the restaurant, the one he promised he’d take you to, tucked into the middle of the city and glowing softly with candlelight, Oscar takes your hand.

He’s wearing a suit. He hates suits, but he told you he put one on because, once, you mentioned seeing a photo of him in one and thinking he looked really handsome. So now he’s standing there in a suit he doesn’t even like, his fingers threaded through yours like this is the easiest thing in the world.

Like it doesn’t pull at something deep in your chest.

He reaches for your chair and waits until you sit so he can gently push it in, then takes the seat beside you, not across from you, beside you, and orders for both of you, wine included, because tonight is a real celebration, isn’t it?

“Pole position,” you say, propping your head up on one hand as you look at him. “That deserves a proper celebration.”

Oscar has so much to say about it.

About the race weekend, about the way the team helped him get there, answering every question you ask mostly because you like listening to him explain things. He talks and talks, and all you can think is that you have no idea how people still insist he’s quiet, or reserved, or hard to read, because no one gets this version of him. Not like you do.

And in the end, when he finally runs out of things to say, he just looks down with a small, lovely smile and says,

“Yeah. Pole position. Pretty cool, huh?”

A soft laugh slips out of you as you look at him. Honestly, he’s unbelievable.

“Yeah,” you say, all fondness. “Pole position is very cool.”

He lifts his eyes to you and squints a little.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Am I?” you ask, and he leans in closer.

“I don’t care,” he says, and steals a quick little kiss that makes your stomach turn over.

The food arrives, and the conversation keeps going.

It’s the same easy rhythm that always leaves you warm all over, full of butterflies, the same dry little jokes that make you laugh far more than they probably should, day after day after day, and it’s… perfect. Everything about it is perfect.

Then his hand disappears beneath the table and finds yours again, threading your fingers together like it’s second nature by now, and you look at him as you swallow hard.

Defeated. Ruined. Your heart in pieces.

He looks back at you, and you… You wish that look could stay forever. You wish it meant exactly what yours does.

By the time the two of you step back outside, the whole thing feels almost cinematic: a street in Monaco at night, all soft yellow lights and a couple dressed far too well for their own good.

“Osc?” you call, turning to look at him.

“Hm?” he says, stopping immediately so he can listen.

How are you supposed to say this without making a complete disaster of yourself in the process? Your eyes are already threatening to spill over, and you have to blink hard and tip your chin up just to keep the tears where they are.

“I—I…” you start, your voice already trembling as it fights to stay steady. “I don’t think we can keep doing… this.”

Oscar blinks, and you watch his shoulders drop.

“What?” he asks, patient, waiting.

But you don’t want to explain. You don’t want to talk. Your mouth is already wobbling into a cry, one tear slipping free despite your best efforts, and you’re lifting your fist to wipe at the corner of your eye while Oscar is about two seconds away from panicking.

“This,” you say helplessly. “Casual. I don’t want to force anything, but I can’t… I can’t—” You swallow hard, trying to breathe through it. “I can’t keep doing this casual thing with you. Going to your place, wearing your clothes, walking around holding your hand and seeing you wear… wear something just because you know I like it…” Your voice drops, smaller now, barely holding together. “And keep pretending that…”

His chest rises and falls, quick and shallow. Oscar is still waiting.

You lower your voice until it’s almost a whisper.

“Keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”

Oscar goes completely still, like his whole body is rebooting in real time.

He lifts a hand, asking for a second, and you — who were quite literally crying a moment ago — sniffle and stare at him, suddenly very confused by the reaction. He scratches the top of his head.

“Can you…” he starts, clearing his throat. “Can you say that again?”

Your arms fall uselessly to your sides. You blink once. Then again.

“I…” Your voice comes out small and uncertain. “I can’t keep pretending I’m not… in love with you?”

His eyes widen. He clears his throat again, bites at the tip of his thumb like he’s trying very hard to hide a smile, and says,

“You know, this is actually kind of funny…”

What?

“Because I—” He swallows hard. And then he looks at you, all soft around the edges. “Oh, my God…”

He lets the breath out of him slowly, tucks his hands behind his back because they’re shaking, and then finally…

Finally.

“I’m in love with you too.”

And now it’s your turn to stop functioning entirely.

“W-What?” you ask, blinking at him as you try, and fail, to make sense of any of it.

Oscar just shakes his head.

His hand comes to rest at your waist, and right before he kisses you — right before his mouth finds yours in a way that says far more than either of you has managed all night — he murmurs softly,

“I’m in love with you. Like a complete idiot.”

And somehow, all at once, everything falls into place. You hold onto him as you kiss him back, your knees going weak beneath you.

“Fuck casual,” he whispers when he pulls away just enough to speak.

A soft laugh slips out of you.

“Oscar…”

“My God,” he murmurs, smiling so helplessly it nearly does you in.

You’re grinning by then, all warmth and relief and something so fond it almost hurts, and you kiss him again. And again. And one more time, just because you can.

“My Oscar?” you whisper back.

He rests his forehead against yours, looking for all the world like a man who’s lost a battle and doesn’t mind one bit.

“Your Oscar.”

“OSCAR PIASTRI NEW GIRLFRIEND?”

That’s the giant headline currently making you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. Oscar notices immediately and, naturally, becomes suspicious.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, eyes still on the television as his fingers drift lazily through your hair, now that you’re stretched out with your head in his lap.

You don’t answer. You just turn your phone around so he can see the screen.

Oscar glances at it, lifts an eyebrow in a very poor attempt at pretending not to care, and then — about two seconds later — a little smile appears at the corner of his mouth.

“You like that,” you say, thoroughly entertained.

He looks down at you, still absentmindedly playing with your hair.

“You would too,” he says, far too pleased with himself, “if you had a girlfriend like mine.”

You let out an offended little huff and drop your phone onto the couch before lifting your face to glare at him, though it’s hard to look very irritated when your heart is trying to melt out of your body.

“I can’t make fun of you when you’re being all cute like that.”

A second passes. He doesn’t say anything.

Then another.

“I think we should do a hard launch.”

You go still.

“Since when do you know what a hard launch is?”

Oscar shrugs like this is a perfectly normal thing for him to say.

“Do you want to?” you ask, suddenly a little shy. “Tell everyone, I mean.”

He nods.

Your smile sneaks back immediately, and you hide your face against his stomach before he can see too much of it.

“You get shy too, you know,” he murmurs.

“Shut up.”

Oscar laughs softly and bends down to steal a kiss from you anyway.

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

ynupdates

liked by user2 and 342,826 others

ynupdates Y/n has created a new, private twitter account, which was made public briefly yesterday. We wonder what she's been posting 👀.

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user1 i just missed it 😭😭😭 i wanna see what shes been posting

-> user3 ikk im so annoyed

user2 i saw someone on tiktok saying she was talking about an f1 driver

-> user3 omg no i have to know???

-> user5 wait i saw that too, i wonder which one tho 🫠

-> user6 you are actually feeding my delusions rn omg @/ynupdates pls confirm

-> ynupdates @/user6 While our account has not been accepted by Y/n yet, we do accept submissions from fans so if anyone is on the account, they can send us screenshots.

user4 so all of us are just sitting in her requests fr

TWITTER

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oscarpiastri

liked by yn.ln and 283,239 others

oscarpiastri Another race down. Thank you everyone! 🧡

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user1 Amazing as always

user3 smashing it!!!

user4 the racing gods blessed you fr this time 🥹

-> user3 finallyyy he deserves it

yn.ln congrats!! 😚 | liked by oscarpiastri

-> user6 ariana what are you doing here????

-> user7 HUH

-> user5 giggling to myself because im on her priv so this makes perfect sense

-> user2 this NEEDS to happen.

-> user3 oscar likeddddd 🤭🤭

ynupdates

liked by user1 and 472,973 others

ynupdates It seems Y/n has a little crush on Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri 👀. She has made numerous tweets about him on her private account and even commented on his recent post! (Thank you to those who sent in screenshots).

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user3 THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN MISSING???

user6 nooo whoever sent these is lowkey a snitch

-> user2 girl please y/n made that comment publicly 😐

user1 oscar liked her comment too ... new ship?? 🤭

-> user2 this is actually my dream couple i can't even lie

user6 i don't know if i want to be him or be with him

yn.ln .... 😀

-> user4 GIRL 💀💀💀

-> user5 i love u but u are literally a public figure 😭 it was going to be exposed eventually

-> user2 brb making edits of you and oscar...

-> ynupdates Sorry! I promise we love you!!!

user6 do not let any f1 fanpages hear this im scared

TWITTER

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yn.ln

liked by oscarpiastri and 782,933 others

yn.ln you ain't got no mrs, but you got a sports car.

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user3 THE CAPTION pls

-> user4 in the words of ms tate mcrae herself 😛

-> user1 her acting so nonchalant on the main is sending me lmfao

oscarpiastri I do have a sports car actually | liked by yn.ln

-> user8 WJEBJDUXKDWHSHDJS

-> user5 oh my god. im floored

-> user3 HELPPO WTFFF

-> user7 this is what the people wanna see!!!!!!! holy shit

ynupdates 👀👀👀

TWITTER

DIRECT MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yn.ln

liked by oscarpiastri and 837,728 others

yn.ln perfect day <3

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user1 omg no way

user2 is that who i think it is?????? PAUSE

user6 SHE MANIFESTED THIS.

-> user4 literally so jealous

-> user2 this is actually everything to me

user7 ur so gorgeous im

user9 someone tell ynupdates immediately

user5 what was your exact prayer word for word???

You catch Lewis grinning from across the garage. Alex, mid-interview cuts off his answer and stares like he’s seen a ghost. Mechanics pause. Journalists whisper. Your name ripples through the chaos like an echo breaking water “Is that her?”

Your father just laughs beside you.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he murmurs in your ear. “You’re still remembered around here.”

You scoff, but the flutter in your chest is impossible to ignore. “They only remember me because I set off the fire alarm in the Red Bull motorhome when I was fifteen.”

“Twice,” Toto corrects smoothly, clearly enjoying this far too much.

You roll your eyes, but the grin threatens anyway.

You’ve been gone a long time. University in Vienna. The start-up you built from scratch. Years spent fiercely carving out something that was yours, something that didn’t begin and end with the name Wolff. You stayed away on purpose. Detached yourself from the sport, from the politics, from the way every glance carried expectation.

But now, standing in the middle of the paddock with the sky blindingly blue above you and the scent of hot tarmac in the air, you realise how much you missed this. The adrenaline. The anticipation. The chaos and glamour of Formula 1. It hums in your blood like something ancient and familiar.

And then you see him.

Across the paddock, past the media swarm and team garages and Red Bull hospitality, Max Verstappen is staring at you.

Not discreetly. Not with the professional civility you might expect from a World Champion. No polite nod, no casual sip of water. Just... stillness. Frozen mid-step, Red Bull clutched in his hand, staring like someone had knocked the breath out of him.

You haven’t seen him in six years.

Not since everything fell apart. Not since you walked away without saying goodbye. Still, across the noise and cameras and years your eyes lock like magnets snapping into place.

Your heart stumbles, one hard, clumsy beat against your ribs. You’d half-expected him to turn away. Look past you. Pretend not to notice.

But of course not. This is Max Verstappen. Ever-confident, maddeningly unbothered Max. The boy who turned into a man when you weren’t looking.

You watch disbelief flicker across his face, brief and raw, before it hardens into something more dangerous, a crooked, knowing half-smile. He mutters something to his trainer, who also glances your way, brows raised. Then, with the same intensity he brings to every race, Max begins walking toward you.

You forget how to breathe.

“Uh oh,” Toto says under his breath, gaze still forward. “Here comes trouble.”

You don’t respond. Can’t. Not when Max Verstappen is walking straight toward you like you never left, like no time has passed, like the silence between you wasn’t its own kind of heartbreak. Not when your palms are sweating and every part of you is screaming to run or stay.

You stay.

Because God help you, you want to know what he’ll say.

“Y/N,” Max says when he’s close enough, voice breathless like he might’ve run the last few steps. It’s deeper than you remember, rougher, older, but his eyes… his eyes haven’t changed at all, sharp, stormy blue. Still impossible to look away from.

“Max.” You say his name like it doesn’t still echo in your chest. Like it hasn’t been living in the corners of your mind for years. You fight the warmth crawling up your neck, the way your voice threatens to crack under the weight of history.

For a moment neither of you says anything. You just stare, two people caught between memory and reality, the past pressing in from all sides.

Then—

“You’re back?” he asks, as if he still doesn’t quite believe it.

You raise a brow. “What gave it away?”

He huffs out a laugh, low, surprised, too genuine. It curls in your chest like heat. “Guess you haven’t changed.”

“Would you want me to?”

The smile on his face falters just for a second and something flickers across his expression, brief, unreadable. Pain, maybe. Or regret. Or something else you’re not ready to name.

His voice is softer when he speaks again. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Me neither.”

“You’re working?” He glances at the staff badge around your neck.

You nod. “Yes.”

Another pause. Tighter, heavier. The kind that says the next words will change the air around you.

And then, quieter, the last thing you expected him to admit right now so soon. “I missed you.”

It lands like a punch to the ribs. Your breath catches. Your heart stumbles.

You don’t say I missed you too. You don’t say I thought about calling you all the time, or I hated you a little for letting me walk away. Because there are cameras everywhere. Phones pointed in your direction. Hundreds of ears. Thousands of eyes. This moment is too real to be shared.

So instead you swallow it down and smirk, light, teasing, familiar. The version of you he used to know.

“Well,” you say with a playful tilt of your head, “try not to lose me Verstappen.”

He blinks. Then his brow arches and he smirks back. “So you’re back to distract me?”

You lean in, just slightly. “No. But I am the one writing the new Mercedes strategy protocol, so…”

Max’s jaw drops, stunned. It’s comically satisfying.

His expression twists into something between disbelief and awe. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Not even a little.”

His mouth opens like he has something more to say, something real, but you’re already turning away leaving him standing there with nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

The video gets clipped from three different angles.

In one Max sees you across the paddock and actually stops walking. Mid-stride. Like someone pressed pause on him. His gaze locks on you with such intensity that even the camera jolts a little, as if the person filming felt it too.

In another, he's closer, much closer. Biting back a grin as he reaches you, fingers nervously fidgeting with the cap of his drink. Like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like his whole body is trying to contain something bigger than it can hold.

In the last you're smiling, bright, carefree, almost like you’ve forgotten you’re being watched. Max leans in, drawn to you instinctively, grinning in a way that makes him look younger. Lighter. Like someone who hasn’t smiled like that in a very long time.

The video goes viral in under ten minutes.

It’s barley a minute-long interaction.

It breaks the internet for seventy-two hours.

SHE’S BACK: Y/N WOLFF’S SURPRISE RETURN TO F1 SENDS SHOCKWAVES THROUGH THE PADDOCK Verstappen stops in his tracks — insiders say “he didn’t see it coming.”

@formulaaddict: MAX VERSTAPPEN HAS NOT SMILED LIKE THAT ALL SEASON.

@missedgridmoments: Y/N Wolff just walked back into the paddock and unlocked core memories for everyone born before 2005.

@redflag: Max’s whole posture changed when he saw her. Guys. GUYS.

@mercedesstan44: Let’s not forget that time in 2018 when Toto joked, “Max is practically a son with the amount of time he spends with my daughter.” Oh to be a fly on that wall now...

@f1gossipgirl: Why is no one talking about the way Max’s face lit up when he saw her? That wasn’t a hello. That was a memory.

@vettelbaby94: They were inseparable back in the day. This is my Roman Empire.

@gr63lover: The grid kids are grown up and together again. We are so back.

@veryapping33: I need a docuseries on what happened between them. Why did she vanish? Why did they stop talking?? I’m not sleeping until I know.

Then the stories start flooding back like wildfire.

Clips from 2015 resurface: the two of you stealing a golf cart in Monaco, Max laughing so hard he nearly crashes it, you in the passenger seat screaming “LEFT MAX NOT RIGHT!”

An old Sky Sports interview gets dug up where Max, nineteen and bashful, is asked about you. He looks down, shrugs with a crooked smile, and says, “She knows me better than anyone. She always has.”

There’s a video from Brazil, 2019. You and Max sprinting through the rain, hand in hand, drenched and breathless and shrieking with laughter. The camera catches a moment where he pulls you into his jacket, arms wrapped tight, grinning into your soaked hair.

The old fans remember it all, the golden era of Max-and-you moments. The new fans eat it up.

You’re dubbed the grid’s lost love story. A flame that never got to burn properly. The kind of maybe-almost that turns into myth when no one explains why it ended.

Because no one knows.

No one knows what happened in 2019.

No one knows what tore the silence between you wide open and why it never closed.

No one knows why you left. Not even Max himself.

Sky Sports Paddock Walk:

Natalie Pinkham pauses mid-stride, turning toward the camera with a knowing smile as the cameraman instinctively zooms in.

Natalie: “Well, would you look at that. The paddock’s long-lost princess Y/N Wolff has officially returned. Back on Mercedes turf and, we’re hearing, heading up a new performance strategy division. That’s not just a comeback, that’s a statement.”

Cut to footage of you warmly greeting Mercedes mechanics. A few break into grins. One wraps you in a hug. Another says something that makes you laugh, full, unfiltered, radiant.

DAZN Interview – Max Verstappen

Reporter: “What do you think about Mercedes new hire Y/N Wolff?”

Max smiles, faint and guarded, squinting into the sun.

Max: “She surprised everyone didn’t she? It’s been a long time.”

Reporter: “You two were close, weren’t you?”

Max: “We grew up in the same chaos, it’s hard not to be.”

Reporter: “Fans seem to think you two were more than that.”

Max: “Fans think a lot of things.”

Twitter is in flames:

@gridtea: Max didn’t deny it. I REPEAT. MAX DID NOT DENY IT.

@y/nloremaster: For anyone confused: They met as kids at karting events Would hang out constantly in the paddock from 2015–2019 Multiple hand-holding sightings 2017-2019 Last seen together in Abu Dhabi 2019 arguing near the Red Bull garage Stopped being seen together after Abu Dhabi 2019 No known fallout No known romance Everyone speculated they were together NOTHING was ever confirmed

@mclaren81: Please someone dig up that old interview where Y/N says, “Max and I? No, he’d die before admitting he likes me.” PLEASE.

Lando Norris on Twitch:

“I remember thinking they were married at one point. I swear she’s the only person who could shut Max up without saying a word.”

Daniel Riccardo on a podcast:

“We’d all be stuck in meetings and Max would vanish. Then you’d see him down the hall leaning on a wall talking to Y/N. Like clockwork.”

Lewis Hamilton in an interview:

“Told you she’d come back eventually. The paddock’s not half as fun without her.”

The buzz continues through the weekend. Every time you so much as pass Max in the paddock it’s another 50k likes on Instagram.

People zoom in on photos. Highlight lingering stares. The mystery only grows.

Why did you stop showing up after 2019?

Why did he never talk about it?

Why did neither of you?

Sky Sports:

Interviewer: “Max, fans want to know… are we witnessing a rekindling of something?”

Without missing a beat:

Max: “Ask her.”

Thursday - 9:35PM:

By now it’s no longer a question of if something happened between Max and you it’s when and why it ended.

So the fans go digging…

@y/nloremaster (thread): THE Y/N x MAX TIMELINE – WHAT WE KNOW

2008-2015: Max and Y/N spotted together constantly at karting events. Their friendship is formed. Fun fact: Their dads were often interviewed together while they snuck off. Someone on Tumblr claimed they once raced against each other at a private test and Y/N beat him. Unconfirmed, but delicious.

2016: Max joins F1. Y/N is at fourteen of the races despite being in school at the time. (their crushing hug after his first win still makes me cry) Once they were caught on Sky F1 stealing snacks from the hospitality fridge. Ted Kravitz called them “F1’s resident gremlins.”

2017: Photos emerge of them leaving the paddock his arm wrapped around her shoulders at Spa. Fans start shipping them hard. Y/N posts a blurry Instagram story of Max driving her in a golf cart with the caption: no brakes, no rules, no common sense (Deleted but archived forever along with many Instagram stories.)

2018: Max does an interview in which he says: “Y/N’s might be the only person who knows how to calm me down. I don’t know what it is, but it works.” That same weekend, Toto Wolff says in a press conference: “If Verstappen crashes again I’ll send my daughter to talk some sense into him.”

2019: Final year they’re seen consistently together. They’re caught arguing near the Red Bull garage in Abu Dhabi. Y/N leaves the paddock before the race. Max is unusually quiet in post-race interviews. She never returns.

2020–2024: Radio silence. No interaction. No mentions. Not a single word.

2025: She walks back into the paddock. He beelines for her.

Instagram re-shares of old deleted stories explode:

@gofasterprincess: Can’t believe we forgot this one. [Story repost] Y/N’s phone camera panning across the sky, giggling in the background. Max’s voice: “Stop filming me. This is blackmail.

@y/nmax4ever: June 2018. Max has a wrist wrap on. Y/N posts this. Caption: Don’t worry, I’ll drive the getaway car.

@fastestlapmemories: Throwback to Silverstone ‘17. [Story repost] Max holding a melting ice cream. Y/N behind the camera: “You said you didn’t want one.” Max (mouth full): “This isn’t yours anymore.”

@paddockchronicles: Lowkey forgot how obsessed he was. [Story repost] Max in sunglasses, sitting on a pit wall, clearly watching someone. The caption from Y/N: He says he’s not staring... suuuuure. (This one was deleted in under an hour)

@behindthevisor: The chaos was unmatched. [Story repost] A blurry night-time clip from a driver’s party. Y/N shouting, “Don’t let him near the karaoke mic!” just as Max grabs it

@vercedes: We’re never getting over this one. [Story repost] Max and Y/N playing table football in the Red Bull hospitality lounge. It’s neck and neck. Her caption: Loser buys dinner. He lost.

Friday - 11:17AM - Sky Sports Show:

Ted Kravitz

“I’ve been in this paddock for a very long time and Y/N Wolff caused more chaos here at seventeen than most team principals do in a decade.”

David Croft :

“Max always seemed more relaxed around her... that’s not speculation, that’s just an observation.”

Naomi Schiff:

“They were just kids though.”

Crofty (chuckling):

“And now she’s back and not just as Toto’s daughter, but as a strategic lead. If she and Max start hanging out again someone tell Red Bull to double-check their passwords.

Reddit Thread – /r/formula1gossip: “What if they WERE a thing?”

u/oldschoolracingfan: You’re telling me we had a secret paddock romance under our noses for years and no one figured it out? That’s either master-level privacy or Toto had people scrubbing content.

u/bringthelionout: They have “unfinished business” energy. You don’t look at someone like that unless you’ve dreamt about it every night for 6 years.

u/hotlaphero: Max hasn’t looked this relaxed and stressed at the same time in years. This is going to end in tears or a wedding.

u/wolffpackbaby: I NEED. TO. KNOW. WHAT. HAPPENED

Friday - 5:00PM - Drivers’ Briefing Lounge

It’s a little too quiet when you walk in. Max isn’t here yet which is probably for the best.

The briefing lounge is usually a blur of quiet chatter, but as you step through the door in full Mercedes team gear headset slung around your neck, badge clipped to your belt the air shifts.

You’re not a guest. Not a paddock kid. You’re staff.

George is the first to acknowledge you, grinning as he rises from his seat. “Ladies and gentlemen the prodigal strategist.”

Lewis looks up from his seat near the back and lifts his chin in greeting. “Took you long enough.”

You smile. “Blame your ex-boss.”

“Always,” he replies, voice warm and cheeky.

Then, from across the room, you hear it:

“Finally.”

You turn to see Fernando, arms crossed, watching you with the sort of smile that’s rare for him, soft, restrained, genuine.

“We’ve been waiting.”

You blink, warmth flooding your chest. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”

“You?” He raises an eyebrow. “I remember when you used to hide under the briefing table and eat all the snack bars.”

You flush. “I was a kid.”

“You were a menace,” he says fondly.

He rests a hand on your shoulder. “It’s good to have you back around here. Really.”

You nod, suddenly and unexpectedly choked up. “It’s good to be back.”

By now more eyes are turning.

Charles notices you next as he arrives, expression lifting in disbelief. “Wait. No way.”

He crosses the room in a few quick strides and wraps you in a hug without hesitation. “You’re actually here?”

You laugh as he pulls you into a tight hug. “I’ve been back for less than 48 hours.”