kait's library

Out of all the things to have forgotten, a major celebrity coming for a visit has to be one of the worst.

You don't quite keep up with Formula 1 as much as some of your friends and coworkers do, but you know the name. The reputation.

How could you not?

Lando is one of Britain's biggest names in sports right now.

You also know that he's very cute, and good with kids—there was a video on social media with him and a little girl visiting him a while ago that had made your heart swell when you saw it.

Part of you suspects that he'll be the talk of the town amongst the staff and children for weeks to come, but for different reasons for both groups.

Luckily, you'd already had your class draw some pictures for Lando and come up with some good questions to ask during assembly, so you aren't too behind in terms of preparations, but you do have to move the maths quiz to tomorrow morning instead of today.

Though, somehow you suspect your students won't mind one bit.

Lando shows up an hour later, rolling up to the front drop-off area at the curb in a large, shiny black SUV with darkened windows.

The student body have gathered in the yard eagerly awaiting his arrival, some holding hand drawn signs, most waving little checkered flags. Your littlest ones can barely stand still, they're so excited, but they know not to rush him the moment he walks in.

A small hand finds its way into yours, curling around your palm tentatively.

You already know who it is. The sweetest little girl you've had the pleasure of teaching, seven year old Annabelle is bright and artistic and creative beyond her young years, and despite being pretty quiet and reserved most times, she's taken to you quite well.

Reminds you of yourself when you were her age.

Annabelle doesn't care much for large crowds, and honestly sometimes you feel the same. You're slowly working to bring her out of her shell a little bit, but days like these are a little more complicated than others.

You look back up and there's Lando, looking effortlessly casual in an all black outfit with a matching cap perched backwards on his head and a big smile on his face. You can't see him clearly yet on account of the distance, but he shakes hands with the head teacher politely and laughs at something they say, and you get this funny feeling in your stomach like you've just been shot forward on a roller coaster.

"He's cute, isn't he?" The same co-teacher from earlier whispers not all that quietly, bumping a shoulder against yours as they lean in close. Out of all your fellow teachers, you'd say they're your closest friend and who knows you best.

You manage a vague sound of acknowledgement that can't be construed as a yes or a no. (Even though the answer is a resounding yes.)

"Say, you're single, right?"

"Oh, stop it," You hiss, nudging them with an elbow.

Lando starts to make his way down towards your end of yard, greeting the kids with high fives and grins all around, and as he gets closer, you lock eyes. There's that feeling again, only this time it feels more like you've just done a nosedive.

You blink, push it down until you can't feel it anymore, plastering a polite smile onto your face as he approaches. A whiff of his cologne wafts your way when he comes to a stop right in front of you, something strong and heady but not overwhelmingly so.

"Mr. Norris, thank you so much for coming. This means the world to the kids," You say gratefully. His palm is broad and warm where it meets yours in a handshake, long fingers wrapping around yours, gaze lingering on you a few moments longer than usual.

You introduce yourself and your co-teacher, and Lando shakes their hand as well, though it doesn't last nearly as long as yours.

But that doesn't mean anything, you tell yourself. Hell, you've quite literally just met the guy.

"Please, call me Lando. And of course, anything for the kids. I have nothing but good memories at Chew Stoke, decided why not go back to where it all started?" He cocks his head towards the little grassy area in the far corner, the one all the kids love to traipse through in their wellies after a particularly rainy few days, amusement dancing in his captivating eyes. "The amount of mud and dirty water I'd gotten in my mouth must've done something irreversible to me. Like Spider-Man or something, y'know?"

"Don't tell the kids that, or they might get some ideas," You say lightly, almost teasing.

Lando cracks a grin and laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges.

That fucking smile. You think it might get you into trouble the longer he flashes it at you.

His eyes drift down to Annabelle and he crouches down to her height, expression melting into something tender. "Hello there," He says softly, holding out his fist for a bump. "I'm Lando. What's your name?"

"Annabelle," She mumbles, taking a half step behind you. Even so, she touches her fist against his carefully.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Annabelle. I love your jumper. Dogs are my favorite."

You watch on carefully from above as Lando chats with her casually, about her favorite breed of dog, about how her morning was and how he definitely doesn't miss waking up early for school, about the weather and everything in between.

She doesn't give more than a few words of an answer to his soft questions, but it's beyond amazing to see Annabelle talk to someone completely new. You can even see the beginnings of a smile twitch the ends of her mouth.

You beam now, heart swelling at the brief interaction.

"Mister Lando, mister Lando, I bet I'm faster than you!" Shouted from behind Lando, you clock another one of your students running up excitedly. Maxwell is the human embodiment of an energy drink, as most kids are at the age he's at.

Annabelle shrinks behind you yet again, startled back into silence by the outburst. You're bummed the moment is over, but just a few minutes of conversation is more than enough to reassure you that she's making great strides.

Lando ruffles Maxwell's hair, chuckling at his wild energy. "You think so? Let's test it out then, mate!"

"I'm the fastest kid in year three!" He exclaims, already bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"I might be setting myself up for defeat here, aren't I?" Lando tuts, looking up at you. All you can do is offer him a shrug and a look that says maybe, maybe not. His attention shifts back to Annabelle, who now peers out at him from just around your hip. "I'll be seeing you later, Annabelle. I might even have something cool to show you," He hums, holding his hand palm up for a high five this time.

She smacks her hand against his gently, but with more enthusiasm than the earlier fist bump, and he smiles warmly again, rising to your eye level.

Thank you, you mouth.

Not many people would take the time to chat with someone as introverted as Annabelle, but Lando has gone above and beyond in just these few minutes.

To him, it may mean nothing, but to you, it's everything.

He winks, dimples on full display.

"Do we know if he's single?" Your co-teacher again, this time with that same underlying tone in their voice you hear in overly curious kids from on a daily basis as soon as Lando keeps moving down to the end of the line.

You aim a sideways glance at them, equal parts skeptical and mortified at just the mere thought of walking up to Lando and straight up asking about his relationship status.

Granted, it most likely isn't the weirdest question he's ever been asked, but he's probably seeing someone. Not that it matters.

They shrug, arms crossed nonchalantly. "What? I could ask, if you want me to."

"Do not do that, I am begging you."

-------

The assembly goes off without a hitch. At first, yourself and the other teachers had been concerned putting all the students in one room with Lando would turn out in chaos, but everyone behaves perfectly.

Taking turns speaking, using their big voices so he can hear them, not acting disruptively. It goes as well as you'd all hoped, maybe even better.

Lando talks about a lot of things, both racing related and about his life off the track, even brings a few of his old helmets for the kids to pass around. The way he explains things so they can understand and takes his time answering their questions makes has you smiling like an idiot. There aren't many things sweeter than a man who's good with kids.

Down to earth, humble, funny when the situation calls for it—you can see why Lando is a favorite of many people.

After the assembly, he gets roped into stewarding a scooter race between a handful of younger kids, large checkered flag in hand at the finish line that he whirls it around with the expertise of a man who sees it for a living.

All the while, the giant grin never leaves his face. Lando truly seems like he's having the time of his life being here, and it makes you want to smile too.

Not that you're watching him from the window of your classroom as your kids take their quiet reading time. Definitely not watching Lando run around having a blast with a bunch of five year olds, and it definitely doesn't make your head spin.

You're having the class do some racing themed coloring pages instead of maths review as a fun treat for behaving so well around Lando when he pops his head into the room, giving a little knock at the open door that has everyone's eyes on him.

"Hey, guys! Hope I'm not interrupting anything," He chirps, looking to you for confirmation. You nod him in with a smile, and he ambles in like he belongs, inhaling a breath of surprise at seeing what they're doing. "Oh, mint! Coloring sheets, I need to get in on this!"

Coincidentally, the only open seat is next to Annabelle, who, until Lando had walked into the room, had been laser focused on her worksheet. She stops coloring as he takes a seat in the empty chair, marker hovering over the paper, and for a second you think she might bolt. But then she does something you'd never have expected.

She scoots her chair closer to Lando, carefully placing her collection of coloring utensils between the two of them, and offers him an orange crayon.

"For your car," She says, pressing the small crayon into his outstretched palm. "Mine is orange too."

"I like the way you think, my friend," He hums, going straight to work filling in the front wing neatly.

He's only been coloring a few seconds before he glances up again, this time directly at you. Your cheeks flame embarrassingly hot at being caught looking at the two of them, but Lando smiles again, this time bigger, and tilts his head subtly at the little girl beside him. He shrugs then, as if to say I'm just that good.

You sneakily snap a quick photo to send to Annabelle's parents later, as you're sure they'll be just as happy as you are that their daughter is opening up a little bit.

Soon enough, it's time for your class to go to their art block. As the kids clean up their workspaces, Annabelle makes her way over to your desk, placing her coloring sheet on the table gently.

"Can I give my drawing to mister Lando?"

You try your absolute hardest to quell the pride splitting your face as you nod. "I think he'd love that."

Annabelle gnaws on her lip, shifting on her feet slightly, pensive eyes darting towards where Lando is still at her desk, then back to you. "Can you give it to him for me?"

"Of course I can, darling."

It doesn't take long for the kids to tidy up, and then it's off you go, with Lando deciding to tag along due to their begging.

A text pops up on your phone as you double check the time while escorting them through the building, from your co-teacher and very simple.

So I did some digging around on social media and it looks like your potential man is free and single.

You fight the urge to react physically with a roll of your eyes with Lando right next to you, not wanting to draw his attention.

Another message pops up as you're reading the first, and this one really does make you roll your eyes. Do with that information what you must xx

Lando laughs from next to you, shoulder bumping against yours, and for a second you think he's seen the texts. Hurriedly, you tuck away your phone as if that would help your case at all, but he isn't even looking at you, too focused on waving to gawking students as you make your way down the corridor together.

It takes a while for you to actually get the kids to actually go into the classroom they need to be in, because none of them want to leave Lando, but eventually it happens. Annabelle is the last to go, lingering between the two of you for a few seconds longer. When she finally does get the courage to step away, it isn't without one last fleeting glance back. But much to your surprise, it isn't aimed towards you.

Rather, she looks at Lando for comfort.

"Go on, get in there," He urges, jutting his chin towards the door with a gentle smile aimed down at her. Annabelle doesn't move. The wrinkle between her furrowed brows grows deeper, little mouth turning down into a pout. "What's the sad face for, kiddo?"

"I don't wanna go."

Lando bends down to her level, hands on his knees. "You don't wanna go. Mind if I ask why?" Annabelle shrugs wordlessly, and he lets out a hum, bobbing his head. "Mm. Well y'know, your teacher says you're quite creative. Maybe one day you could help me design my new logo—think you'd like that?" This question of his garners him a tiny smile and a nod. "Yeah, me too, but only if you keep up the great work and practicing, and that means going to art class."

The wheels seem to be turning in her brain as she blinks at him for a few moments. But then, she nods again, firmer this time. "Okay."

"Okay?" Lando seems surprised, like he hadn't thought his tactic would've worked on her. But as someone who's had their fair share of bargaining with children before, you knew she'd take him up on the offer hook, line, and sinker. "I mean, mint! My people will call your people, then."

He crouches down and holds his hand out for a shake, mock serious, the way someone would close a business deal.

Annabelle takes one look at his outstretched hand and steps around it, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug, on her tiptoes as she hugs him tight.

"I like it when you're here, mister Lando," She says quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear with her chin hooked over Lando's shoulder.

Lando all but melts instantly, curving a gentle arm around her back. "I like being here too."

It's the sweetest sight that could very well make you tear up in the middle of hall right now.

"Alright, my friend. Go on, get outta here," He urges playfully, guiding her lightly towards the open doorway. This time, she goes without a fuss, scurrying into the classroom with a little more pep in her step.

You remain in awe.

Lando brushes his hands off on the front of his pants and straightens to his full height, looking proud as his gaze meets yours. The corridor around you seems to fade away, until it's just the two of you, connected by some invisible tether.

You blink once. Twice. The clamor returns.

Lando inhales sharply and lets it out as a breathy chuckle. "Didn't think that would work, honestly. I do good?"

"You did great. Before I forget, Annabelle wanted me to give this to you," You say softly, passing him the drawing. Lando takes it into his own hands with the utmost care, the way someone would handle something precious, and grins big, looking touched at her thoughtfulness. "She's never done this before, just so you know. Taken to someone so quickly the way she has with you."

"Really? But I'm just…me."

"She's comfortable with you, and that doesn't happen easily for her. Take the win, Norris."

Lando's mouth morphs into an amused little smirk at that, but he doesn't say anything on the walk back to the classroom. He helps you collect their coloring sheets and put away boxes of markers like it's second nature, helping you tidy up the room without asking if you needed any.

You've always been quite an independent person, but his effort is much appreciated.

As soon as the room is cleaned enough, you meet back in the middle, him leaned back against a desk with his arms crossed over his chest, you perched the tabletop just across the narrow aisle. Your foot brushes his knee as he bounces his leg like some sort of nervous tic.

"Thank you for all your help, Lando," You say softly, grateful for him in more ways than one.

"I didn't do much. They're a great group of kids with an amazing teacher, and it shows."

Your cheeks grow hot at the genuine warmth in his words.

As a newer teacher, sometimes you feel like you don't know what you're doing half the time. You do the best you can, but you haven't quite figured out the best way to handle everything that the job entails, both professionally and emotionally.

But right now, coming from Lando, it makes you feel like you're doing something right.

"Thank you. Seriously, that means a lot," You reply, leaning forward. Lando mirrors the same, a small smile gracing his face.

"You're really good with them too. You must have some kids in your life that taught you to the best way to negotiate with children."

Lando laughs, eyes crinkling on the outsides as he bobs his head. "Yeah, I've got two nieces I love to death and probably spoil far too much. Y'know, I think they'd really like you, actually. Here, I've got some pics of 'em."

He lets you flick through photos of his adorable nieces and you chat about various things for a while, conversation bouncing seamlessly from topic to topic. He's funny and a good listener, so it's easy with him. Scarily a little too easy.

You aren't aware of just how much time has passed until an alarm on your phone cuts through the conversation, startling the both of you. In the process of talking, and completely unbeknownst to you, you'd drifted closer to each other over the short time, sharing the same desk.

Shooting Lando a sheepish smile, you scramble to turn it off. "Sorry," You breathe, silencing the ringer. "Totally lost track of time."

"Duty calls, huh?"

"Always does. I take it you'll be sticking around for a bit?"

"Yeah, a little while more. I should probably branch out, go pop into some other classes and chat with the kids," He says, hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers as his leg continues to bounce. "Unless…I dunno, d'you need any more help? I can't say I'm great with spelling, but I'm halfway decent in maths."

You want him to stay, but you know he shouldn't. It'd be better if Lando left now, and it would save you any heartbreak too. Because the longer he stays, the more you feel yourself slipping, harboring some fleeting schoolgirl crush on a guy like him.

"Yeah, no, you should—you should definitely go see what everyone else is up to. They'd love that."

"Right. Of course." He bobs his head, crossing his arms, uncrossing them. His hands fidget like he doesn't know what to do with them. "You probably have better things to do, huh?"

"Not sure I'd call grading spelling quizzes better than hanging out with a man of your talents."

Lando lets out a snort of laughter, cheeks flushing a rosy red to go along with his crinkle eyed smile. "Careful. Don't want my ego to get too big now."

"A big ego? On a professional athlete? That's unheard of," You tease. You aren't really sure why you're this comfortable to jest at him now, but he takes it in stride, nudging your foot with his playfully.

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

-------

Lando doesn't leave your mind the rest of the morning. Even though your focus should be on the new phonics unit you're starting today, your concentration is shot, mind too preoccupied with a certain guy with the swoon-worthy smile and sparkly eyes.

By lunchtime, you're all out of sorts. After dropping your class off in the cafeteria, you decide to try and get some prep work done for tomorrow while you eat your own lunch to reset your mind. You feel quite ridiculous letting yourself get so wrapped up in Lando's attention.

Before long, a knock at your door draws your focus, and there's Lando once more, looking sheepish as he aims a heartstopping grin at you. "Hi again. Hope you aren't too sick of me yet."

"Never," You say, letting yourself grin. You honestly hadn't thought he'd stick around this long, thought he'd be long gone by now, but the fact that he's still here makes your smile grow even more. The rest of his body emerges from the corridor, and you spot the plastic lunch tray in his hands. "Ah, I see they hit you with the Chew Stoke special."

"I'm a sucker for nostalgia, what can I say? Nothing screams home like steamed veg and beans on toast," He sighs, nodding solemnly. "Mind if I hide out here with you?"

You oblige with a nod, tilting your head at the chair next to you. "Be my guest."

The way Lando folds himself into the tiny seat is almost comical, food tray balanced on folded knees that nearly reach his chest, shoulders hunched.

"I'm sorry," You breathe, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth to stop the giggle threatening to spill out. "I don't have any bigger chairs for you."

"No, no, it's fine. Love it when my hands can touch the floor," He jokes lightly. His eyes land on your food from home on your desk and he clicks his tongue, lips twisting to the side in thought. "See, you're smart, bringing your own lunch. I'll have to take a page out of your book next time."

"Next time?" You echo. In your mind, you think you sound only slightly gleeful about it.

"Erm…yeah, I would. It's been fun here, and the kids—" He cuts himself off with a chuckle, shaking his head. "They're great. Like…a breath of fresh air I don't get very often." His eyes flick to yours then, something hopeful glimmering in them, and he smiles almost bashfully, head tilting. "Though maybe not just for them."

"Oh?"

One word is all you can muster without feeling like you're going to say something stupid, because surely he isn't implying what you think he is.

"Listen, I'll be around for a few weeks, and I'd like to see you again. Buy you coffee, take you to lunch, steal you away for twenty minutes of silence during the kids' break time. Anything," He says, shifting forward in the small seat. He looks nothing but sincere, almost earnest. "I just—I think you're really cool, and I'd love to get to know each other some more."

You blink. Once, twice. A third time. Three blinks is all it takes for Lando's proposition to sink in.

Lando wants to see you again. Wants to spend time with you outside this school, and is willing to squeeze in that time whatever he can get.

Your stomach flips again, heart hammering against your ribcage. Of course you want to see him again. Of course you want to spend time with him. It's actually one of the many things you'd been thinking about all morning.

Coincidentally, three blinks is all it takes for Lando to jump to a conclusion.

His eyes widen, cheeks going pink, and he holds up his hands in what you think might be surrender or embarrassment. Perhaps a mix of the two. "Unless you're seeing someone and I've misread this whole thing. I am so—"

You scramble for a response now, an attempt to clear the air before awkardness fills it.

"No! No, I'm not—I'm not seeing anyone. I just…I don't know if it's a good idea."

The moment the words leave your lips, you know they aren't true. Subconciously, you're trying to protect yourself. It's a defense mechanism, one you've been guilty of your entire life.

Lando tries not to let his face fall, you can tell, but you can also see right through him. You continue, trying not to take the kicked puppy-esque look in his eyes to heart. "Our lives aren't very compatible for each other. I spend nine hours a day with kids, you race cars all over the world, and it—we might not even work together."

"But you don't know that," He says, a little louder than necessary. He must seem to realize that a split second later, because then he clears his throat. "Sorry. I meant, you can't know that for sure."

Part of you knows he has a point, because he's right. There's no way for you to know how things between the two of you will turn out if you don't take the chance to find out. The other part of you tells you that you aren't bold enough to take that leap.

"I don't think it's that easy, Lando. Look, I think you're great too, and if it were under different circumstances I'd probably take you up on the offer, but I just—I don't know. I'm sorry."

Lando smiles softly, a little sadly, shaking his head. "That's alright. I get it."

It doesn't take long after for someone to come and find him. His people had probably been wondering where he was all this time.

A slightly severe looking man bursts through the door, eyes glued to the phone in his hand, only looking up for a split second to confirm the person he's looking for is present. "There you are! What're you doing hiding in here? Actually, nevermind, we've gotta go."

Lando deflates a little, lips pressing into slight grimace. "Can I have a few minutes?"

The man's eyes flick between the two of you and he sighs, nodding. "Sure. Make it quick though, yeah?"

As soon as he leaves the room, Lando turns back to you, mouth turned down in a frown. "Sorry about that," He says, looking embarrassed. "They have me on a tight schedule. Like I'm a show pony, or something."

"Duty calls, what can you do?" You joke.

"Alway does," He chuckles, echoing your sentiment from earlier. "So I guess this is goodbye for real then, huh?"

"Looks like it."

"Thank you for coming, Lando. The kids are gonna be talking about this for ages, you've made all of their days. And it really does mean the world you took the time to visit us and stay a while. To the staff, the parents."

To me.

There it is again, that invisible thing that makes you feel connected to Lando in this moment. You can't tear your eyes from his, and he doesn't either, the rise and fall of his chest shallow as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

If you aren't mistaken, his gaze flicks down to your mouth. Almost imperceptibly, but you notice.

Lando moves suddenly and with purpose, reaching across you for the cute notepad and matching pen by your laptop, scribbling down a jumble of numbers before ripping it off and pressing it into your palm gently.

"Saturday. Lunch. Whatever you want, wherever, I'll be there," He says, curling your fingers over the page. "That's my number."

"Lando—"

"I know you said you weren't sure, and I can respect that. But if you decide to give me a chance, text me. If not, no worries. I completely understand."

A sharp knock at the door interrupts whatever train of thought you have and you pocket the paper, still a little stunned.

Another hurried goodbye and then Lando's gone with one last smile, leaving you behind with your mind running a mile a minute.

The safest bet would be to play it safe and forget about Lando. To throw his number out and move on, to keep yourself from possibly getting hurt.

At the same time, you don't want to be the kind of person who lets fear and uncertainty dictate what you do in life. It isn't what you teach your kids, and it isn't the example you want to set for them either.

And that's what has you moving, hurrying towards the front of the school before Lando leaves and you lose your chance to be brave and take that leap, uncertainty be damned.

Pushing open the heavy door, you spot him just about to climb into the back of the big car idling at the curb and call his name, and his head whips towards the noise quickly. He smiles when he sees it's you, taking a few steps to meet you where you come to a stop.

"You forgot this," You breathe, holding out Annabelle's drawing. Lando's eyes go wide a moment, and then he sighs gratefully, tucking the paper carefully into his backpack.

"Whew, thanks! Can't believe I almost forgot my future merch designer's resume."

"Could've been a nightmare for your merch team."

That gets a huff of laughter out of him, a nod of his head as well. "Could've been. Is that—erm, is that it?"

"No, it's not," You admit, suddenly growing unsure. Still, you push through it, shifting back on the balls of your feet. "You said lunch on Saturday."

The beginnings of a smile quirk up the edges of Lando's mouth. "I did, yeah."

"There's an Italian place in town I've been meaning to try. Does, uh—does noon work for you?"

"Noon is perfect."

Now you're the one fighting a smile, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell it. "Cool. I'll text you the address then."

"You could text me more than that, if you want. Maybe…tell me your favorite flower?" He asks hopefully, tilting his head.

"Maybe I will."

From somewhere deeper inside the car, someone clears their throat—a well and clear sign that Lando needs to get moving, now.

"I think they might murder me if I don't get in the car now," Lando sighs, shakes his head faux exasperated.

"Ah, the never ending obligations of a show pony."

"I'm tellin' you, it's killer. Though I don't doubt you have it harder than me, y'know—shaping the minds of our future and everything. Talk about pressure."

"I don't really have to do much," You sigh, feeling the smile grow on your face as you think about your students. "The kids, they're already so bright and understanding and kind, it's like…I'm learning from them as much as they're learning from me. And when they grow up, they might not remember me, but I'll always keep them with me."

"Trust me, they'll remember you. You're pretty hard to forget."

The soft lilt in his voice, the tilt of his head, the way he leans in to hold your attention—it almost makes you want to close the dwindling gap and just kiss him. It would be far too much, far too soon, and in front of people you definitely shouldn't do it in front of, but you can't say that the thought doesn't cross your mind.

A sharp knock on the darkened car window interrupts yet again, and this time Lando squeezes his eyes shut, letting his chin dip down towards his chest.

"Right, now I definitely gotta go. But I'll see you Saturday," He hums, shooting you a wink. "Or sooner, if the fancy strikes you. I wouldn't object."

You roll your eyes playfully, backpedaling a few steps towards the school building. "I think I'll just see you then. And don't be late, or you'll owe me!"

"Don't tempt me with a good time!"

He’d crashed three races ago. He was fine, but you had to watch helplessly from the garage as he spun and slammed into the barriers more than once, full speed ahead, not able to stop or slow down or soften the blows in any way.

They’d whisked him off to the medical tent and then the hospital in record time too, and since you technically weren't family, you weren't allowed to see him until after he’d been discharged.

Hours, you’d spent waiting for any shred of news on how he was, what his injuries were, if he was even okay. Hours, you’d sat in the waiting room, combing through every single scenario of what could've possibly happened for them to not be telling you anything.

He was allowed to walk out of the hospital on his own two feet after being let go with a few bumps and nasty bruises, but otherwise miraculously unharmed.

That was when he saw you, curled up in one of the waiting room chairs, knees drawn to your chest. Your eyes had been red and puffy when you looked up at the sound of him calling your name, face going slack as if you were seeing a ghost and not him.

Still, he didn't question it when you threw yourself into his arms. Didn't question it when you stayed glued by his side the rest of the day, buried yourself in his arms that night.

In the morning, however, it was a completely different story.

And ever since then, Lando's noticed you growing distant. You still hug him and kiss him, still accept his affections towards you, but something about it feels off, like there’s something brewing under the surface that’s changed.

He hates it.

Today he finds you in the garden, staring out at the perfectly trimmed hedges blankly.

Fog sits thick in the distance, not unusual for London, and it complements the somber mood that's been haunting your relationship lately.

He knocks gently on the glass door as he passes through so as not to startle you, before stepping outside and settling in the other patio armchair beside yours.

“Morning,” He says, reaching out to rub your arm. You jolt ever so slightly, so subtle that it would’ve gone unnoticed had Lando not known you so well. He frowns, letting his hand drop.

How is it that you’re sitting right next to him, but somehow it still feels like you're a thousand miles away?

He tries again. “How’d you sleep? I didn’t hear you come to bed last night.”

“Fine. Had some work to do, wanted to let you get your rest so I slept on the couch.”

Lando blinks. Lets the excuse sink in.

You’ve never not slept next to him whilst he was home. And maybe that's the straw that breaks the camel's back, because his next words fall from his mouth before he's able to hold them back.

“Alright, what’s going on?” He asks finally, doing his best to keep his voice even. You don’t flinch at the question, which should bring him comfort, but it doesn’t. It just deepens the pit in his stomach.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend like everything’s okay, because I know it’s not.”

“I’m fine.”

“I love you, so I want you to know I mean this with nothing but the best of intentions. That’s bullshit. You’re not fine, and I know that because I know you.” Your brows crease in the middle, lips pressing into a hard line, but you don’t say anything. “Will you please just talk to me, love?” Lando pleads, taking your hands in his. He squeezes them, brings them up to his lips to kiss your knuckles softly.

You bristle this time, angling your gaze away from him. “It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not nothing, ‘cause if it was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He insists, shaking his head. “You can tell me anything, you know? Maybe I can help. I want to help, but I can’t if you won't talk to me about it.”

“You can't help, Lando.”

“How do you know?”

“You just can’t!” You cry, ripping your hands from his.

Lando’s stunned. It isn’t what he’d been hoping to get out of you, but it is something. It’s the most emotion you’ve shown at all the past few weeks.

“Okay. Okay, so maybe I can’t help. But I think you’d feel a lot better if you let it all out.” He chooses his words and tone carefully. Meticulously. The last thing he wants is for you to feel like he’s trying to interrogate the information out of you. “I just want you to know I’m right here. I’m here for you, whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”

You remain silent.

Lando may not be the best at heart-to-hearts, but he can take a hint. So he climbs to his feet and turns to go, because he can tell you want to be alone.

“I’m scared.”

The words stop Lando right in his tracks. Scared.

He makes his way back over to where he’d just been sitting, perching on the cushion a little closer. “Okay. You’re scared. Wanna tell me why you’re scared?”

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid—”

“It is stupid, and I’m being a big fucking baby!"

Frustrated, Lando throws his hands up in the air, shrugging. "Okay? And I'm telling you I'm here for you, and you're being—"

"I'm being what, Lando?"

"I don't know! You won't tell me!"

“Every time you get in that car, I think I might lose you!” You snap, voice shaky. It rips through your throat, raw with such pure emotion it renders him speechless. “And I know you’re a professional, I know this is your job and you’re trained to know exactly what to do when you crash, but do you have any idea how scared I was? They took you away so fast, I didn’t even know if you were alive, Lando!”

There it is.

“I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes, all I see is your car plowing into the barrier! I see parts flying everywhere, I see people dragging you out of the cockpit. I see the inside of that hospital waiting room, and I feel—I feel helpless.”

Your shoulders slump like the weight of the world has just been lifted off of them, and in a way, it has.

You hadn't planned on telling Lando, but now that it's out in the open, maybe something productive could come out of it.

Lando's eyes swim wide with guilt, and you fight the urge to groan.

This isn't what you wanted. Knowing him, he thinks it's his fault because he's the one who crashed, but it isn't. It was a freak accident, and your resulting feelings are just that. Your feelings.

"Don't look at me like that."

"What? I'm not—I'm not looking at you like anything."

Your jaw sets, brows pinching in the middle as you put a little more space in between the two of you. "Yes, you are. You're looking at me like you pity me, and I don't need that."

"I don't. I just…I wanna know how I can help."

"You can't."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's my problem, Lando! My fears, not yours. It isn't something we can do together," You say sharply. "The only way this can get fixed is if I get over it myself."

You half expect him to give it another go, to push again until you give in. But he doesn't. Instead, he scowls.

"Y'know, sometimes you can be so stubborn," He huffs. Your eyes flash dangerously, but since he's decided on glaring into the distance, he doesn't see, so he continues. "I wish it wasn't like pulling teeth to get you to let me in!"

A terse silence settles between the two of you. You've never been much of a combative person, but his dig flips a switch inside. You turn your glare on him.

"If I make things so hard all the time, maybe I should leave, then."

Lando gawks at you incredulously now, disbelieving. "I didn't say that!"

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to!"

"Fucking—y'know what? You can stay. I gotta get out of here."

He's gone before you can even think of a reply.

You hear the front door slam shut in the distance and curse, burying your face in your hands.

Snapping at Lando had not been the plan. Your emotions had gotten the better of you, again, like they always do. The same fear that has gripped your heart since Lando's crash is taking over your life now, and you have no idea how to stop it from consuming everything.

There are only a few people you can think of that might be able to help you right now.

That is how you find yourself on the doorstep of the Norris family household, mentally combing through whether or not coming to Lando's parents is the right move.

You're no stranger to this newer London home of theirs, having been with Lando long enough have had the privilege of spending many holidays here with all of them, and Cisca and Adam have welcomed you into the family with open arms. Still, as soon as you knock on the solid wooden door, a flicker of doubt ignites.

What if they think you're being silly?

Before you can do anything else, the door swings open and Lando's mum is smiling warmly at you.

"Hi, Cisca. Sorry to drop in out of nowhere like this," You say, fingers twisting into the hem of your jumper. "I probably should've called first."

"No apologies needed, love. Come, come in—we've always said you're welcome anytime and we meant it," Cisca tuts, shaking her head. She must sense something is off, because she studies you carefully as she leads you to the kitchen for a cup of tea. "What's on your mind, dear?"

"How did you know?"

"A mother always knows."

And so you tell her everything. The crash, the aftermath, the nightmares. How you've been growing distant from Lando because of your fears. The argument you had just before that brought you here in the first place. Not once do you feel like Cisca thinks you're being unreasonable. She just takes your hand in hers and listens thoughtfully.

"How do you do it? All these years of racing, all the worrying about him. How does it not get to you?" You ask quietly, fingers tightening around your mug.

"Oh, it does. Every single time," She sighs, giving her own tea a stir. Your head tilts to the side in confusion and she smiles warmly. "My darling girl, if I had a pound for every time I've worried about Lando when he gets in the car, I'd have enough money to buy the car. There is no getting used to it. There's only making peace with it."

"I don't think I know how to do that."

"Yet. In time, you'll learn," Cisca assures you. You can't help but let out a slightly skeptical chuckle. "You know, when Lando first got into karting and told me he wanted to go to Formula 1, I almost didn't let him."

This one makes your eyes go wide. Cisca has always been Lando's biggest fan, supporting him for so long it was easy to just assume she'd been all in since the beginning. Never would you have thought his career might've ended before it even began.

She grins at your shock, mirth dancing in her eyes. "I wanted to protect him. He was so small and so young, I thought he was going to go flying out of the kart at every turn. I thought, what kind of mother would be okay with letting her child risk their life like this? So, I was very close to shutting down the entire thing. I was beyond worried, just as you are now."

"I…wow, I had no idea. How did you deal with it?"

"I had faith in Lando. His team, his coaches. I trusted that he knew the risks and would be as careful as he could, still knowing that something could happen. The same is true for you now. All that fear you have, all that worry, it only shows how much you love and care for him, and he needs that." Cisca lays a hand over your own and squeezes reassuringly, maternal love and warmth emanating from her smile.

You exhale a shaky breath, blinking to keep any tears at bay. "I'm not sure how much love and care he's feeling right now. We kind of got in a fight before this. I said some things I didn't mean, and then he left and I came here, so…I'm not even sure where we stand anymore."

"Couples fight all the time, sweetheart. You just need to talk to each other."

"And then we'll be okay?"

"It might take some time and effort, but yes, you'll be okay."

Cisca's phone rings right at that moment. Squinting at the tiny screen, she chuckles. "Speak of the devil," She hums, before answering the call. "Hi, Lan."

Lando's voice spills from the speaker, a little warbled but still clearly panicked. "She's gone, mum. We were in a fight earlier, and I went on a walk so I wouldn't say something I'd regret and to gather my thoughts, but I came back and she wasn't there. I didn't—I didn't think she'd just up and leave, and I don't know what to do, I'm freaking out 'cause I don't know where she is."

"Have you tried texting her?"

"What if she doesn't want to hear from me? What if she's left me, what if—" His voice breaks, and you can see it in your head, the picture of him pacing the floor, dragging his hands through his hair, eyes squeezed shut like he does when he gets truly emotional. "Mum, what if she's finally done with me?"

He sounds smaller, more defeated than you'd ever heard him before.

Cisca shushes her son and takes him off speaker, offering her own comforting words to him. "She hasn't left you, my love. Yes, I know so, because she's sitting right across from me. No, Lan, I'm not kidding."

She talks to him a little longer and you try your hardest not to listen in, but guilt starts to creep in. This whole situation had become far bigger than you'd intended it to, and it's all your fault.

As soon as Cisca hangs up the phone, you can't help but ask, "Is he upset?"

"No, not upset. Worried sick, but he knows you're safe now, and he just wants you to come home. Said so himself!" She sees your doubt and sighs goodnaturedly, tilting her head in that same way Lando does when he comforts you. "Go to him, my dear. Talk to him, tell him how you feel, and I know you'll work it out."

Lando is sitting in the living room when you make it back to the flat at last. The powering down of the lock on the front door has him whirling around, wide eyes finding yours, relieved exhale deflating his tense shoulders. He waits for you to approach, eyes cautious as he watches you perch on the cushion next to him, like he isn't sure how to go about things.

It's foreign—this feeling of not quite knowing how to act around each other anymore. You've had disagreements, arguments, as all couples in healthy relationships do, but this?

This is uncharted territory. This is new in the worst possible way.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other. Then—

"I'm sorry—"

"Baby, I'm so sorry—"

"—I shouldn't have—"

"—was worried out of my freaking mind about you—"

Your words jumble together, voices overlapping each other in blurted apologies. You have the sense to stop speaking and gesture for him to go first, knowing he might shake right apart if he doesn't get his thoughts out quickly.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier and I know I shouldn't have walked out, and I'm—I was being an idiot, and I'm sorry."

"No, it's not your fault. You were right, I was being stubborn," You admit, offering him a small, sheepish smile. The drive home had given you the peace of mind to plan out what you want to say to him, so you're prepared now. "But it wasn't because I didn't want your help. It was because…I felt like I was being a burden. Like, out of all the things you have to worry about every single day, the way I feel shouldn't add to all that."

Lando's expression turns pained, like it hurts him to hear you have to explain yourself to him. "Oh, baby…" He murmurs, voice soft. "You could never be a burden to me. Ever. I hope you know that."

"I do know that, Lando. I do, but—fuck, I don't know why I did it. I don't know why I thought it would just go away if I ignored it."

"From experience, I can tell you that never works." He smiles and shrugs, as if to say hey, what can you do about it. "Look, what you were saying about being scared, I…I had no idea.”

“I don't expect you to, and that's fine. The danger, it's different for you than it is for me. You've had years of experience, you've trained relentlessly for situations like that. You may be used to the danger, but I’m not. Even after all this time, I'm still not,” You say, tracing an idle finger along the detailing of the pillow by your side. “And I’m not…asking you to give up your career just for me. I would never. You love racing more than anything in the world. I’m just—”

“That’s not true," He cuts in, shaking his head quickly. You frown in confusion. “I love you more than I love racing. If walking away is what it takes to make you feel safe again, then I'll…I'll figure something else out."

"No. No, I'm not gonna make you stop racing. Lando, you were born to do this. I won't take this away from you."

"But—"

"No. I will find a way to be okay with all of it."

"We'll find a way. Together, promise me."

All you can manage is a small nod, and it seems to satisfy him.

"I dunno about you, but I could really use a cuddle. Mind if I use you for a bit?" He doesn't wait for an answer before pulling you against him, settling back against the couch cushions with a loud, dramatically content sigh. "I'm not used to the danger, by the way. Every time I get in the car, I feel like my heart is about to fall right out of my arse," He says after some time, quiet words half hidden in your hair. His arms squeeze tight around you once. "It's high stakes to the next level, what I do. A snap of oversteer, an inch too far to the left, a millisecond of hesitation—it's a gamble, every single time."

You let the confession settle in, soaking in the comforting familiarity of just being held by him after these past few weeks. Knowing this reassures you in a way, makes you feel like you aren't being overdramatic about it all.

"How do you get through it?"

He lets out a sigh, a thoughtful thing that melts his body right into yours. "Everyone has that one thing they think of when they're in there. Like, something that keeps them grounded. Family, friends, their team. My tether is you. I imagine you're right there with me, on my shoulder, or in my helmet, and it makes me calmer. In a way, I guess."

That confession sinks in much better than the first. It doesn't take away your fear, your worries, but it certainly chips away at that wall you've put up. And hopefully, with time, you'll break it down altogether.

You climb into bed that night, slipping under the blankets wordlessly, sheets rustling as you make yourself comfy. Hesitantly, Lando raises the arm closest to you, a silent invitation to bridge the gap between your two bodies.

There’s a few agonizingly long seconds where you don’t do anything. He ignores the guilt arcing through his veins and starts to retreat, but then he feels it. You roll towards him, all the way until you're nestled against his side, cheek pressed to the warmth of his bare chest, an arm thrown across his stomach loosely.

Even though you don't say a word, Lando understands the message.

Not all your problems are solved, but it’s a solid start. It’s progress, and that’s all he could ask for.

The vending machine in the hallway is old bordering on ancient, a dusty box holding even dustier bags of chips and candy bars you're more than sure have been expired for at least a decade. None of them look even remotely appetizing as you survey the faded packaging, but you can't afford to be choosy.

Just as you punch in the number for the least suspicious looking bag of cheese balls, one of your fellow night shift nurses calls your name from the main station. You turn, immediately alert in case there's another incoming trauma.

"Someone's here looking for you. Sent them to the break room."

Looks like the cheese balls will have to wait. You tuck the crumpled dollar bills back into the pocket of your scrubs and head for the small room quickly. You aren't sure what's waiting for you there, but the last thing you expect to see is your boyfriend.

"Steve?"

His back is towards you as he studies the bulletin board full of flyers, but whirls around at the sound of your voice.

Steve's still in his coach clothes, khakis a little dirt smudged, blue jacket wrinkled. His baseball cap is missing but his hair sits a little flatter on his head, and it makes you wonder why he's still in his clothes from the day.

He beams, tired but still genuine. "Hey, you."

"What're you—are you okay? What happened?"

You can't help but jump to a few conclusions, looking him up and down for any sign of injury. Nothing visible, but it could be internal. Maybe he'd fallen, or he'd gotten some sort of illness from a student? Kids tend to be superspreaders and it is coming up on flu season.

"Easy, sweetheart. I'm fine, I swear. I just came to bring you this." He holds up a relievingly familiar paper bag, and you nearly sob, throwing yourself into his arms without a moment's notice. "Whoa, whoa—hey, it's okay. C'mere."

He shifts to hold you against him more comfortably, running a hand and down your back, tracing the seam of your scrub top.

"Sorry, I just—" You cut yourself off with a weak chuckle, blinking your tears back. This simple action shouldn't evoke this amount of emotion in you, but after the shift you've had so far, even the tiniest thing sets off the waterworks. "You're probably exhausted from work and would rather be asleep right now, but you still came, and I…thank you, baby."

"Can't have Hawkins' best night shift nurse running on crappy coffee and…stale Cheetos?" He hums, planting a kiss to the top of your head. Well, nobody can say he doesn't know you. "I would've come earlier, but traffic coming back from the boys' game in Fort Wayne was killer and I didn't get home until way late. Saw the bag on the counter and came right over, so I hope that counts for something."

You press your mouth to his instead of answering with words. It counts for everything.

Steve melts into the kiss, arms tightening around your waist when your fingers fold into the front of his jacket and pull him closer. It doesn't last more than a few seconds before you realize anyone could walk in and see you making out with your boyfriend.

You pull away, letting your forehead thump against his shoulder. "I probably stink, huh?"

"Not as bad as some of these high school kids," He shoots back. You laugh and he makes a little noise of protest. "No, I'm serious. It's like some of these kids have never heard of deododorant before. Or maybe even a damn shower."

"Oh, I'd kill for a damn shower right now. One of my earlier patients was a farmer who'd been working with manure, and I swear the smell of it is forever burned into my nostrils. Do I smell like manure?"

"Not at all."

Looking up, you see him with two fingers pinching his nose shut, grinning like he's the funniest guy in the world. You shove his chest, make a face at him, and he laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Why don't you eat while you still have the time?" He says, brushing back a piece of your hair that had fallen out of its place. "I got a look around when I came in, things seem pretty—"

You cover Steve's mouth with a quick hand, silencing the rest of his sentence. "Don't say the Q word. Never ever say that word, or you'll jinx it for everyone."

"Noted. Got it," He says muffled under your palm, brows raised high. "So…dinner?"

You wind up sitting on the beaten couch with your knees tucked to your chest as you munch on some refreshingly not stale cheese puffs, having scarfed down your turkey sandwich in record time. Steve sits behind you, deft fingers digging into both shoulders firmly.

You hadn't asked him for a massage, but it's clearer than water to Steve that you're stressed. In an environment like this, high stakes is the name of the game, and stress is just something that comes with it. He knows you love your job, but he wishes you weren't so stressed and tired all the time. So for now, he'll settle on trying to ease that stress for a small time, in whatever way he can.

"Think you'll be home before I leave for work tomorrow?" He asks, softly so as to not disturb the brief bubble of peace you're in. You start to shake your head, but his thumb finds a particularly tricky knot just below your shoulder blade and you let out a noise that could be considered not work appropriate instead. "Taking that as a no. I'll make you something in the morning and leave in in the fridge. Eat it. Please."

"Sure, mom. I might still be around by the time you get home from practice, though."

"Great, I can give you a ride then."

"You don't have to do that, Steve. I'm perfectly fine just taking the bus."

"I know. I want to." He shrugs, giving your shoulder a little squeeze. Your lips press into a line, bordering on a frown. The last thing you want is for him to have to venture back out after a long day of work. Seeing this, Steve lets his hand slide around the back of your neck, thumb stroking over the warmth of your skin. "C'mon, I just wanna spend a little more time with you, honey. I feel we barely see each other anymore. Like, we might as well just be two ships passing in the night."

He isn't wrong. With the extra shifts you've been taking and baseball season kicking into high gear as Steve and the Cubs inch towards the championship, time together is tough to find.

You sigh, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry."

"What? No, there's—you don't have to be sorry, m'not blaming you for anything. We're both busy. I just…I'd like us to try and carve out some time for each other. Wherever we can. So if that means I have to book it home from work to spend even just fifteen minutes in a car together, I'll do it."

Your charge nurse pops her head into the room before you can think of how to convey your appreciation, nodding her head towards the doors to the ambulance bay. "We've got a multi-vehicle trauma two minutes out. Sorry to break up the lovefest, but it's looking like all hands on deck."

"Yep, be there in a second!" You aim a guilty smile at Steve when she leaves, sighing. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Just be careful, please."

"Always," You promise. You kiss him quickly, brushing a stray curl of hair out of his face with a soft smile. "And I'll take you up on that ride to work tomorrow night. Love you."

He barely has time to utter the same sentiment back at you before you're gone, jumping back into the crazy that is the emergency room during—well, during an emergency.

There are times Steve wishes your schedules lined up more. That you'd find a job with better hours that would allow you to spend more time with each other, living the life you'd started together.

But then he sees you in action, and the thought disappears from his mind in an instant. You're meant to be here, in this chaos, doing what you do best—helping people. He wouldn't make you change that.

You cast a last glance back at Steve as the paramedics roll in from the ambulance bay, at the softness in his smile despite the worry in his eyes.

Sighing, you make a promise to yourself to try harder to make more time for him, even if it means switching to day shifts, or taking a job at the clinic instead of the emergency room so your hours would be somewhat normal.

Because sure, you love your job, but you love Steve more.

Steve rolls his eyes, taking a halfhearted kick at your foot that you dodge easily with a snicker. "So you'll do it?"

Of course you'll do it. You'd do anything Steve asks you to do like a goddamn lovesick fool, the same way you always have since the day you met him. Because you like him more than you should. More than someone should like their best friend, in a way that someone definitely shouldn't like their best friend.

"Yeah, fine, I'll do it. But you're buying me a slushie too. And fries."

"Whoa, what am I, made of money? You forget I'm living on a coach's salary, sweetheart."

"Looks like you'll have to figure out how to make ends meet."

"The things I do for you."

Three boys wind up piling into the backseat of your beat up car, overflow from those who wouldn't fit in the bed of Steve's truck for the short ride to the fairgrounds. You recognize them enough to know their names, but they're on the quieter side as you get on the road.

"So…are you Coach Steve's girlfriend, or something?"

A quick glance in your rearview mirror shows you the question came from none other than Derek Turnbow. Steve's told you much about Derek—solid catcher and a good kid, but with a major attitude.

It makes sense he would be the only one bold enough to ask it, but still, you're taken aback at his bluntness. "Am I—no, I'm not. Steve—Coach Steve and I are just friends."

"You sound like my sister when she talks about dumb boys with her friends. Do you have a crush on Coach Steve?"

"You sure do ask a lot of questions, Derek!" You say, fighting the urge to grit your teeth.

"I'm a naturally curious guy. So? Do you?"

You inhale deeply, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. "No, I don't. He's my friend."

"Okay. Sure. And I don't have a problem with authority."

Steve winds up parking right next to you in the lot. As the rest of the boys pile out of his truck and reconvene with your group, he makes his way over, hands in his pockets as he bumps shoulders with you.

"Everything cool? They cause you any trouble?"

"No, no trouble. Lots of questions, though."

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Was it Derek? I keep trying to tell the kid, stop giving everyone the third degree."

"He's just a naturally curious guy," You joke, and Steve rolls his eyes playfully. "Seriously, he's harmless, Steve."

Other than the fact he'd been able deduce your feelings for Steve in a single car ride.

"Yeah, I'll take your word for it. I'm still on the fence about that one though. Alright, boys, listen up!" Steve claps loudly to get their attention, beckoning the group of boys into a huddle. "You get two hours to go around the carnival. I promised all your parents I'd keep you knuckleheads safe, so don't make me look like a fool. Don't mess around, don't eat too much junk, don't get hurt! I'm not trying to spend my Saturday night at the hospital, okay? You need anything, you come find us. Can I get a 'yes, Coach'!"

A chorus of the same sounds from the group, very no nonsense without ounce of sarcasm in sight.

Watching Steve with these boys stirs something in you, because it's obvious how much loves what he does. How much he cares for these boys and wants them to thrive as much as he can let them. He's exactly the kind of mentor figure he needed when he was their age, someone to help them as they begin to navigate who they are in the coming years.

There isn't a doubt in your mind that they'll remember Steve long after they leave the team one day, maybe even when they leave Hawkins in search of their own place in the world. He just has that kind of effect on people.

"Perfect. Okay, okay, Cubs on me, Cubs on three—one, two, three, Cubs!"

The boys take off yelling with excitement at being cut loose without adult supervision for a while, running towards the entrance ahead of yours and Steve's slower approach.

"You didn't Cubs on three with us," He says, frowning.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that."

Steve sticks his tongue out at you childishly. "Party pooper."

The fairgrounds are more crowded than you thought they'd be, a cacophony of flashing lights and loud music and general yelling that has you pausing the moment you're hit with it.

Steve notices you aren't next to him within a few steps and whirls around, tilting his head at you curiously. He jogs back over, hands out to the side, brows pinched. "You okay?"

You blink. "Mm, I—" A shaky sort of chuckle escapes you with your attempt at a reassuring grin. You think it must come out as more of a pained one. "Place is packed."

Realistically, you have no reason to be wary of crowds, but the clenching of your heart in your chest says otherwise.

"Yeah. C'mon, let's find somewhere to sit. I don't like the looks of this crowd either."

You know he's just saying it for your benefit, because he saw the way your eyes darted around and flickered with the beginnings of fear. He's always been observant like that. Always noticed how others were feeling with just one look and took it upon himself to fix things.

It was the same when you were kids and you were scared to ride your bike without training wheels, when you were teenagers and afraid to ask out the boy you were crushing on.

And now, something as small as taking the blame for missing out on what should be an evening full of fun.

Your hand reaches out like it has a mind of its own, slotting with Steve's before you realize what's happening.

"No," You hear yourself saying. Steve's hand tightens around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. "I'm okay."

You trust Steve enough to get you safely where you need to go like how you've always trusted him with everything.

"Then let's go get you a giant stuffed animal."

It takes him twelve tries before he gives up.

"M'not giving up!" He insists, all while he drags you away from the booth with a glare aimed over his shoulder at the game attendant. You try to keep a straight face as you nod. "We're taking a break. A snack break."

As promised, you have a tray of fries and a blue raspberry slushie in your hand soon enough, courtesy of Steve, who sits across the table from you now, chin in his palm and a scowl on his face.

"Don't get so down on yourself, bud. It's a really hard game," You say, nodding solemnly.

Steve scoffs, kicking you under the table. "Don't patronize me. Stupid game's rigged anyways."

"That ten year old won something."

"That was not a ten year old! And the girl at the game probably thought he was cute and helped him, or something, I don't know!"

"Are you just mad because she didn't think you were cute?"

"I am cute!" He protests. The way he says it so seriously, you can't help but dissolve into a fit of giggles. "No, stop fucking laughing at me! I didn't mean it like that, I just meant—you know what? Whatever."

"No, I'm sorry. Steve, seriously, I'm sorry! I'm done laughing. See? Done." You bite back your laughter but keep the smile, which seems to tide Steve over. Then, on a more serious note, you reach across the table, fingers wrapping loosely around his forearm. "You don't have to win me the lion. Honest to god, I don't care. And I don't mind having to look after some kids again. I see how much you care about these boys and want them to have fun, and I love it. I love—"

You. I love you.

And there it is. The thing that, deep down, you think you've known all along.

You pause, suddenly hyperaware of the words threatening to spill off the tip of your tongue. Out of all times and all places, this would quite possibly be the worst one to let it slip how you feel about Steve. You inhale sharply, switch directions.

"How kind you are," You finish lamely. Despite the obvious, Steve smiles softly.

"Thanks, sweetheart," He says, voice fond. "Means a lot coming from you. Your tongue is blue, by the way."

"What?"

"It looks like you frenched a Smurf!"

You roll your eyes, flicking his hand with a huff. "Way to ruin the fucking moment, Steven!"

"I'm sorry, but it does!"

"I'm never complimenting you ever again."

"Oh, come on! Don't be like that, I love it when you shower me with praise!" He snags a fry out of the tray, popping it into his mouth with a big grin.

After the much needed snack break, Steve manages to convince you to let him try again at the ring toss game, one more time, just to see if he can win the damn thing. It's more for his ego than anything else at this point, but you'll let him have one more go at it before convincing him it's a lost cause.

Rings in hand, he rolls his shoulders, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a runner about to steal second base. Narrowed brown eyes focus solely on the task at hand—five rings, five bottles.

If you weren't so endeared by him and his competitiveness with nobody but himself, you'd probably laugh. Instead, you just watch.

Ring one falls neatly around the neck of the bottle. Easy.

Rings two and three wobble a little bit around the opening, but make their marks.

Ring four is a near miss, but still, it lands.

On ring five, Steve glances back at you.

You've got your hands clutched to your cheeks, eyes wide at the prospect of him actually making good on his promise. You meet his gaze and nod reassuringly. He's got this.

That seems to steel his nerves. He turns back, sets his feet in a ready position.

Ring five seems to soar in slow motion as it leaves his fingertips. Your breath catches in your chest as you watch it fly towards the array of bottles. It bounces off the lip of one bottle, flipping in the air.

Once…twice…

And lands.

"Holy shit!" Steve exclaims, whirling around to face you. The grin on his face is nothing short of delighted, pure pride at finally winning the big prize after all these years of trying. "I did it!!!"

You throw yourself into Steve's arms, wrapping your arms around his neck with a gleeful laugh. "You did it! Oh my god, Steve, I could kiss you!"

You aren't sure what had possessed you to say it. In fact, you don't know you said it until Steve freezes.

Quickly, you backtrack. "That's weird. I wouldn't, um, I wouldn't do that. 'Cause we're not—"

"You could. If you wanted," He interrupts, shoulders to his ears in a shrug. You make a confused noise and he licks his lips almost nervously. "Kiss me."

"You want me to kiss you?"

"No! I mean—if you wanted to, I wouldn't…say no to it," He finishes awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's—shit, yeah, maybe just forget I said anything."

How are you supposed to forget that Steve basically just gave you the okay to kiss him if you wanted to?

Does he know about your feelings for him and pity you for them? Does he share those feelings?

All these questions that you don't know the answer to, but you do know one thing. If you kissed Steve, he wouldn't mind if you did.

And with the way he's looking at you right now, a mix of embarrassed and sheepish with a dash of hope, it makes your brain go all fuzzy.

Fuck it.

You surge forward, pressing your lips against his before you can talk yourself out of it. And it isn't a long kiss by any means. On the contrary, you can only manage one, maybe two seconds before reality catches up to you.

Your mouths separate with a soft click.

Steve's eyes flutter open, lips parted, looking dazed.

You slide your hand into Steve's a little shyer this time, gauging his reaction carefully. His gaze flits down to your joined hands and back up to meet your eyes, a swoop of soft brown hair falling over his brow.

A message passes between the two of you without either of you even having to say a word. I like you.

The game attendant passes him the stuffed lion, which Steve offers to you with a soft smile.

It stands for something different now, something other than a fulfilled promise for a favor done by a friend. Now, this lion represents the start of something new, hopefully something that will last a long time.

And as Steve tugs you through the crowd in search of somewhere where you can be even a little bit alone, you'll never let it go.

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, tears streaming down your face. After all the fighting to live, you're all alone, about to die at the hands of the very creature you've spent the last few years of your life protecting others from.

Waiting for your body to be torn apart, waiting to be put out of your misery.

Waiting, waiting, waiting—

You jolt awake, clutching at your chest with a gasp. Frantically, you run a hand over all your vital areas, letting out a shaky whimper of relief when your fingers come back completely dry. All your organs are still thankfully inside your body where they belong.

It was just a dream. You're in your bed, at home. Safe.

Nightmares are a common occurrence for you nowadays, and you don't think they'll ever stop. While the Upside Down has been dormant the past two years, you think the nightmares are your mind's way of keeping you sharp. Reminding you that even if you think you're safe, there's always a chance something else could happen.

You exhale a deep breath in an attempt to slow down your pounding heart, reaching across the bed for Steve, any part of him, just to reassure yourself he's there. That you aren't alone.

But Steve isn't beside you. In fact, when you squint through the darkness, his side of the bed doesn't even look like its been slept in. It's half past two in the morning, and he hasn't come to bed yet. That isn't like him.

You pull yourself out of bed, wincing only slightly at the coldness of the floor under your bare feet as you scamper to the bedroom door. A faint glow comes from the kitchen, and you pad towards the source of the light, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the chill.

Steve stands at the island with his back towards the doorway, hip cocked, papers scattered all over the counter in front of him. The pen in his hand twirls between his fingers and his foot taps, both actions his tells for being deep in thought.

Relief washes over you at just the sight of him, and you tiptoe forward, sliding your arms around Steve's torso, chin on his shoulder.

Steve stiffens at the sudden touch, only for a second before laying a hand over where yours are linked over his stomach. His hand is bigger and warmer than yours, long fingers brushing over your wrist absentmindedly.

"Hey, honey," He says softly, melting back into your embrace a little bit. You merely hum in response, eyes closed, nose pressed against the curve of his shoulder now. "The boys, they picked up the last few plays I had for them faster than I thought and now I'm scrambling for new ones. Wanna help?"

"Mm, no. You're the coach, m'not gonna do your job for you." You giggle at the soft pinch Steve gives the skin of your wrist and just squeeze him tighter, inhaling the familiar scent of his body wash and laundry detergent. It brings you comfort, washing over you like a balm to soothe the lingering fear from your nightmare. "You should come to bed, babe. It's late."

"Is it?"

"Almost three in the morning."

Steve freezes and groans, drops the pen to run the hand back through his hair. "Shit. Did I wake you?"

"No, you didn't. I—" You pause, wondering if you should even tell him about the dream. It seems silly to bring it up, really. It was just a dream, nothing more. No need to get him worked up over something small.

Your split second pause is enough for Steve to catch on.

He turns around in your embrace, holding you at arm's length to study you with concerned eyes.

"You okay? What happened?" He asks, a tinge of worry present in his tone. His hand comes around to the side of your neck, fingers splaying over your jaw to turn your head side to side.

"M'fine, Steve. It's nothing, just another nightmare."

"Just another nightmare? Sweetheart, that's not nothing, and you know that. Anything else?" He doesn't give you a second to answer before continuing his visual check on you. "Headaches? Nosebleeds? You should've told me sooner, I could've—fuck, I could've—"

"Could've what? Stopped it from happening? Unless you suddenly gained the ability to hop into someone's mind like Vecna, there's nothing for you to do. Not in there."

Steve's shoulders deflate, and he sighs, pulling you against him in a hug. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to get all pushy about it, it's just…I know we've lost people, and we got through it, with each other. I wouldn't be able to get through losing you."

"You won't lose me," You say softly, voice muffled against his shirt. Steve runs a hand down your back, lips pressed into your hair as he takes in an uneven breath.

It's both of your worst fears, you think, losing each other. It's one thing to lose friends, and you have, each loss cutting deeper and deeper into your sense of self until sometimes it's all you can think about. But you've always had Steve to pull you back, to remind you of the good in the world when most of what you've seen is the worst of it.

Losing Steve, Steve losing you—it's unfathomable. Unthinkable. You don't exist without Steve woven through you. You don't think you want to.

"You'll never lose me, Steve," You repeat, just so he hears it again. He makes a noise, something between acceptance and relief. "We're gonna grow old together, and when I die of old age, I'll haunt you til you join me just so you won't be alone. You'll be the town crazy man who lives up in a house on the hill and talks to himself all the time."

You can hear the amusement in Steve's voice when he replies. "Who I've always wanted to be, of course. How'd you know?"

"I know you. Which is how I also know you're gonna be grumpy complainer when you wake up for work tomorrow if you don't sleep soon," You say, looping your arms around his neck.

Steve's lower lip juts out in a pout, soft strands of hair flopping over his forehead as his chin dips towards his chest.

You laugh and kiss him to get rid of it, squealing only a little bit when his hands sneak down to give your butt a squeeze. "Bed time now?"

"Bed time now," He agrees, bobbing his head. "I'll finish these up during my free period later."

"Good choice. Carry me?"

Steve groans overdramatically like you've just asked him to do the impossible, but he still turns around and drops into a baseball ready stance, arms out to catch you. He lets you climb onto his back, sliding his palms under your thighs as you latch onto him, nestling your chin in the crook of his neck comfortably.

Once you're both in bed, he pulls you closer to him, sliding a hand up the hill your hip makes under the covers. It settles at the curve of your waist like it was meant to sit there and he rubs his thumb in circles, rhythmic, soothing. Comforting.

"Hey," He murmurs. "Are you okay? Really?"

"I'm okay," You whisper back. The nightmare may have felt suffocating and all too real in the moment, but Steve makes you feel safe. "Thank you."

"You'd tell me if you weren't, right? You wouldn't just suffer in silence?"

"Me? Suffer in silence? You must not know me." That gets Steve to snort. Just as you know him, he knows you. Knows there are things you don't want to bother him with because you're afraid he'll think you're being ridiculous. Knows it's a work in progress, you telling him about stuff that makes you feel certain ways. Trying is all he could ask from you.

"Yeah, I know you. That's why I'm asking."

You roll over to face him, brushing your thumb over his cheek. In the darkness, you can't really see him, but you don't need to—you've already mapped out every line and slope of his face a hundred times over. "Yes, I'd tell you, Steve. Of course I'd tell you."

"Okay. Okay, good. I love you."

"Mm, love you too," You yawn and roll back over, nuzzling into your pillow. "Now go to sleep, loser. I'm not waking up to make you coffee in the morning."

"Ah, true love."

You let your knuckles rap against the heavy metal door of the building, bouncing on the balls of your feet. It isn't uncommon for you not to spend any time with Steve until the both of you get home from work, but you've been feeling a little anxious today. Seeing him always puts you in a better mood.

"Hey!" Steve exclaims, lighting up brighter than a Christmas light display as soon as he pulls open the door. "What're you doing here?"

You hold up the brown bag containing your own lunch with a smile, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "Figured you might want some company for lunch?"

"Yeah! Yeah, here, come on in!" He grabs your hand and pulls you inside with the utmost enthusiasm, letting the door slam shut behind you with a loud thud that rattles the walls.

What you aren't expecting is for him to nudge you up against the nearest wall and kiss you like he hasn't seen you in weeks.

His mouth moves against yours hungrily but still sweet in that way he does best, big hands cupping your face as he presses himself against you. Your fingers curl themselves into the front of his jacket, gripping the material dear life whilst you get the living daylights kissed out of you by your very enthusiastic boyfriend.

Steve pulls back after a while, giving you some time to gain your bearings and catch your breath again.

"Hey," He says softly, stroking a thumb under your ear.

You smile against him, reaching up to smooth back the few swoops of hair that have fallen over his forehead in the heat of the moment. "You greet everyone who comes here like that?"

"Only the really cute ones."

"Ones as in, there's more than just me?" You giggle, feigning shock. Steve drapes an arm over your shoulders, drawing you in close.

"What can I say? Can't keep a man like me tied down."

"Steve Harrington, you wound me!"

"Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean for you to find out this way."

The squishy yellow sofa in the common area isn't the most comfy, but it'll do for now as you plop down on it to eat. Time is of the essence here, because no matter how much you want to stay here with Steve and Robin, you're on a schedule here.

Steve takes perch on the armrest beside you, popping one knee up for him to rest his arm on.

"What'd you pack today?" He asks, leaning over so far his head blocks the entire opening of the bag. "Is that the last Bopper?! You said we had no more…"

You swat him on the back of the neck gently to get him to move, stretching your lunch further away from him with a snort. "Yeah, I only said that 'cause I knew you'd eat the last one if you knew! Boppers are a rare commodity around here these days, Steve, you can't just inhale the whole box like you used to!"

"I'm just saying it would've been nice to know, then I could just ask Murray to get another one—"

"Do not make that poor man smuggle more candy into a freaking military zone, Steven!"

"Okay! Alright, jeez. Can I have a bite, at least? You know they're my favorite—"

"Get your feet off the damn couch, Steve! How many times do I have to tell you?" Robin appears in a blur of movement, crossing the floor quickly like a woman on a mission. She doesn't smack his knee when she passes, but you know she would if she felt the urge. Then she spots you and stops right in her tracks, grinning widely. "There's my favorite person! Man, are you a sight for sore eyes. Did you know your boyfriend keeps moaning and groaning about you every five minutes?"

"Uh, no I don't!" Steve shoots back immediately, wrinkling his nose. He turns back to you with a roll of his eyes, giving you a can you even believe this look. "Don't listen to Robin, she's just bitter because Vickie can't hang out tonight."

"Everything okay with you two?" You ask, tilting your head.

"Yeah, yeah, they're fine. She's just ridiculously clingy and can't stand to be away from her for more than a day."

You laugh, amused. "Sounds like someone else I know."

Steve kicks you gently, handsome features morphing into a dramatically offended expression. "I am not ridiculously clingy. I'm a perfectly normal amount of clingy, thank you very much."

"You keep telling yourself that, buddy," Robin snorts from the soundbooth. "Feet, Steve, put 'em on the floor!"

Begrudgingly, he drops into the seat on your other side, muttering under his breath as he picks up your legs and swings them over his lap. Fingers tap along your shins rhythmically, only stopping when you pass Steve half your sandwich (and yes, the Bopper too), and even then, his free hand stays on your knee.

Your lunch break dwindles down faster than you'd like it too, and soon enough, you have to leave, much to Steve's chagrin. He watches with a frown as you gather your trash to throw it away.

"What's the sad face for, Harrington?" You chuckle, clocking the furrow in his brow when you turn around to come back. "Is the riveting world of being a radio station sound guy not thrilling enough for you anymore?"

"You need a longer lunch break."

"You think? Well, you tell my boss that and see how well it goes."

Steve mumbles something unintelligible, hooking his arms around your waist to pull you against him as soon as you're close enough, effectively trapping you in place. He smells like laundry detergent and cologne and the spearmint gum he keeps in his pocket. Nice, like he always does.

"I have to go, babe," You sigh, draping your arms around his neck loosely.

"You don't have to."

"Yeah, I kinda do. My lunch break is fifty-five minutes. It takes fifteen to get all the way out here, twenty to spend with you, and fifteen minutes to get back—and that's all assuming I don't get stopped by any MPs both ways. You know how they are."

"So what I'm hearing is you can stay for five more minutes and you'll get back just in the nick of time."

"Steve!" You exclaim, but even then there isn't any real force behind it. You can never really stay cross with him when he smiles at you the way he is now, all lazy and fond and like he never wants you to leave, ever.

His grin turns teasing as he gives the belt loops of your jeans a playful tug. "C'mon, you love me."

"Who said that?"

"Uh, you did. Multiple times. Just this morning," He says very matter-of-factly, squinting at you. "Which, might I add, was far too long ago."

"A few hours is nothing."

"To you. I feel like I'm dying over here! You wouldn't want me to die, would you?"

"And you say you're not clingy."

"I never said that. I said i was a normal amount of clingy, there's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Oh, shut up."

He takes the chance to press a quick kiss to your lips. Then another to your cheek, and your other cheek, before pulling back to look at you again. He does this a lot, sometimes. The looking at you like he can't quite believe you're real. It used to make you squirm under his gaze, but now you've come to love it.

The walkie talkie on the coffee table crackles to life, and Robin's voice pours from the small speaker.

"As happy as I am to see you both happy, and you know I am, I might need to burn my retinas and corneas if I have to watch you be any more disgustingly sweet with each other."

Steve grabs the walkie, pressing the button rather forcefully. "Then don't look, Rob!" He huffs. At the sound of your giggle, his annoyed facade drops, revealing a small smile. "C'mon, I'll walk you out."

Steve holds your hand all the way to the car, letting your joined hands swing between the two of you on the very short walk.

"Thanks for letting me hang out," You say gratefully, bumping your shoulder against his.

Steve's brows fly towards his hairline, the grin on his face growing. "Are you kidding? Babe, seeing you standing outside that door was the best surprise ever! Come by anytime, seriously. It's way better than me shoveling Pop Tarts and having to listen to Robin gush about her relationship all the time."

"You love her," You insist, giggling.

Steve rolls his eyes playfully, bobbing his head. "Yeah, but not as much as I love you."

"Ew."

"Ew? Ew?! C'mere, you little shit—" Steve drops your hand and lunges for you, managing to grab you around the thighs, and before you know it, you're upside down in the air, having been thrown over Steve's shoulder easily. He takes a few steps, leaning all the way forward to offset the new human sized weight behind him, cackling as you cling to his biceps for dear life. "Take it back. Take it back right now!"

"Okay! Oh my god, fine, I take it back!" You howl, squeezing your eyes shut. "Put me down, you maniac!"

He plants you back on your feet right next to your car with one last chuckle and a satisfied smile. Ever the gentleman, he opens your door for you, bowing you into the driver's seat overdramatically. "Hope you make it back on time."

"Guess I better speed the whole way there."

"Ha. Maybe don't do that." Steve braces his elbows on your open window, leaning into the car. "Be safe, okay?"

"Always am," You say softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "See you at home?"

"Best part of the day."

-------

The sun is just starting to set when you finally clock out, sky awash with another one of those watercolor sunsets that you love so much about small town Hawkins. Oranges and pinks and fading blues blend into each other in the most gorgeous picture as you lock up for the night, and you sigh.

Steve is leaning on the hood of your car when you turn around, arms crossed over his chest, one leg over the other.

You beam brightly at the sight of him, mood instantly lifted.

"Fancy seeing you here," He calls, pushing off the hood as you get closer. He's ditched the jacket he'd been in when you last saw him, shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair a little messier than usual—like he'd been running his hands through it.

You let yourself stop just within arms length from him, smile still present. "I thought we were gonna see each other at home."

"That was the plan, yeah. But then after you left I decided I didn't wanna wait that long." He shrugs, taking your bag from off your shoulder and hiking it over his own. You roll your eyes playfully at his reasoning but step more into his space nonetheless, fiddling with the buttons on the open collar of his shirt, and his smile only grows giddier. "Missed you."

"I saw you at lunchtime, dingus."

"Did you? I don't recall."

"I'm sure you don't."

"Wanna grab dinner? That diner we like?" He changes the subject, draping an arm over your shoulders to steer you towards his car a few spots away. "I don't think we have much of anything in the fridge, so unless you want a bowl full of ketchup…"

"Breakfast for dinner it is."

"I mean, I don't mind squirting ketchup right into your mouth, if you don't want a bowl."

"That's disgusting," You giggle. Then you realize where you're headed and stop in your tracks, tugging Steve to a stop too. "My car."

"Just leave it here. I'll drop you off tomorrow morning."

"You don't have the time for that, babe."

"I'll make time. I'll wake up earlier."

"You can barely wake up on time as it is," You tease.

"Well, someone kept me up last night," He replies pointedly, brows wiggling suggestively. You jab an elbow into his ribs and he grunts, doubling over in pain. "I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it! C'mon. I just wanna spend more time with ya, honey."

Well, when he says it like that—how can you refuse?

Still, you have one request.

"Can we stay here and watch the sun set first?"

Steve smiles like he knew you'd ask and pops the trunk of his car, rifling around in the mess of things before procuring a slightly ratty blanket, laying it out onto the hood of his car carefully. He holds out a hand to help you up before climbing up and settling in himself.

"You're the only one I'd let sit on her, y'know."

You preen, batting your eyelashes. "I feel so special."

"You should. Dustin tried once and I kicked his ass off."

"Yet you let him drill a hole into her."

"Okay, I didn't let him do that!" Steve protests, shoving a large palm towards your face that you manage to push away with a giggle. "And I patched up that hole, thanks. Now, can it and watch the sunset."

To anyone else, this might seem harsh, but Steve's wit and and sass have always been how he shows his love.

You slot into spot under his arm just right, tucking yourself against his side to watch the sky gradually fade.

"You don't think I'm clingy, do you?" You ask quietly, just as the sun sinks below the horizon. Steve shifts under you, rubbing a hand down your arm. "Seriously, babe. Am I?"

"If you think you're clingy, I'd hate to know what you think of me," He snorts. You only blink, waiting for his answer. Then he sighs, intertwining his fingers through yours. "Yes, I think you're clingy."

You can't help the surprised noise that escapes your mouth at his words, completely taken aback. "What?"

"Wait, no—hear me out, hear me out. Being clingy, it's not a bad thing!" He exclaims, though that doesn't reassure you at all. "I just mean, with all the shit we've been through, how many times we've almost fucking died these past few years, we have the right to wanna be with each other all the time. Both of us. All of us."

Oh.

This makes much more sense. Suddenly all your fears that you're being irrational about wanting to be near him all the time seem much, much smaller, and it makes you feel a hell of a lot better.

"Hey, I love you," He says firmly, giving your hand a squeeze. "If you wanna come see me at work, don't even hesitate. If you want me to come see you at work, just gimme a call on the ol' walkie and I'll be there as fast as I can without breaking any laws. Hell, if you want to crawl into my damn ribcage and make a home there, I'd gladly crack open my chest."

You wrinkle your nose, giggling. "Yuck, Steve, that's disgusting."

"I'm just sayin', sweetheart." He presses a kiss to the side of your head, letting his lips linger for his next words. "Never think I don't wanna see you. Because if I had my way, we'd be joined at the hip twenty-four seven."

"That doesn't seem so bad."

Steve smiles. Soft, gentle, fonder than ever. "Doesn't seem so bad at all."

“I know, schatje, I’m just being careful. Sprained ankles can get worse if you don’t take proper care of it,” He sighs, letting the both of you into your home.

He sets Nino down on the floor before the door swings shut and the little dog immediately tries to make a break for it, short legs taking him nowhere before you have the sense to crouch down and try to scoop him up.

“I’m fine!”

You go to stand and wobble on your injured ankle, almost losing your balance for just the slightest second, and Max is on you immediately, one hand coming to steady you around your waist.

“Thank you.” You sniff, straightening your shoulders back with as dignified of a look as you can manage.

Max looks rather amused by your act. “Of course. Go sit on the couch, I’ll bring you some ice.”

You limp to the living room with Nino dancing around your feet now, sinking into the plush, almost cloud-like cushions with a deflating sigh. It does feel good to get off your bad ankle, as much as you hate to admit it. You're stubborn like that, but then again so is Max.

Nino paws at your knee, unable to jump onto the couch himself, and you lift him onto your lap, giggling at the licks he gives your face in return. Soon enough, he curls up on your lap, sighing like he's had the most tiring day of his life.

By the time Max returns with an ice pack and a glass of water, Nino has already dozed off. You’ve already snapped a photo and sent it to Charles, to which he’d sent you a near identical one of Leo passed out in his lap.

Max smiles at the sleeping pup. You show him what Charles had sent and he chuckles. “Leo tired him out, huh?”

“They’re puppies, they’re always tired,” You say softly, stroking a finger along the soft fur on the top of Nino’s head.

Max hums in agreement. He props the ice snugly against your ankle just as the cats materialize around Max’s side of the couch. Jimmy hops up next to him and Donut takes refuge further away, over on the armchair off to the side, both of them settling in. Sassy perches over on the cat tree in the corner, staring down at you all like she's been put in charge of watching over the whole family.

You smile at your little cat army gathered around you. “Oh look, the whole gang’s here.”

“They’re worried about you too.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I’m fine.”

“Charles wouldn’t have called me if he thought you were fine,” Max sighs, rubbing a thumb over your knee.

“Yeah, well, Charles is scared of you!”

“What? No, he isn’t.”

“You’re quite intimidating when you get overprotective.”

Max scoffs. “I do not.”

“Uh, yeah you are,” You shoot back. “Ask half the grid, ask your fans. Ask your sister’s friend who said I looked tired that one time we ran into them at the shops—”

“Okay, okay, fine. Maybe I am. But it’s only because I care about you.”

You kiss his cheek, snuggling a little deeper into his side. “I know.”

“Are you hungry?” He asks, fingers drumming against your leg. Without waiting for you to answer, he extricates himself from beside you, disappearing back into the kitchen before you can even say a word.

You frown even though he can’t see you. “Not really. Just tired, I guess.”

“I can make you something. Or if you want something else I’ll order it for you.” It doesn’t even feel like he’s talking to you at this point, really. He definitely isn’t listening.

Max gets like this sometimes, especially when you get hurt or sick or anything of the sort. He’s so committed to making sure you have everything he thinks you need that he ends up ignoring what you actually need. It isn’t a flaw, per se, because he does it with nothing but the best intentions, but it feels off putting.

You shift Nino off your lap with practiced precision, hobbling after Max to have an actual conversation with him. He’s rifling through the refrigerator when you get there, oblivious to your presence until you clear your throat pointedly.

“What’re you doing up? You should be staying off your feet, schatje, come on,” He chides, rounding the counter towards you. His arm loops under both of yours, and out of habit, you let yourself hold onto his strong shoulders for support as he guides you towards one of the island stools. “If you needed something, I would’ve gotten it for you.”

“What’s going on with you?” You ask, doing your best to keep the annoyance out of your tone.

“Nothing is going on.”

Max is beyond intelligent on and off the track, so you’d think he’d know better than trying to hide something from you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I didn’t know you were a liar, Max Verstappen.”

He arches a brow but doesn't say anything, and that's how you know you’ve got him right where you want him. It’s a standoff—you versus Max in a battle of steel will to see who will be the one to break first.

“I do have a heart, you know,” He mumbles eventually. Your brows furrow slightly.

“I know that,” You say. “Babe, of course I know that. You have the biggest heart.”

“I was worried when Charles called and said you were hurt.”

You let your shoulders sag, empathy flooding through your system. “It was just a sprained ankle, love.”

“I know that now, but you have to understand, I immediately thought the worst,” He says stiffly, bracing his hands against the countertop. “I thought you’d been hit by a car, or something. And the entire way there, I was losing my mind because I can’t bear the thought of losing you, or—or of you getting hurt because I wasn’t around to protect you.”

“Max,” You whine, drawing out the syllable with a pout.

“Call me crazy, but that’s what goes on in my mind. So if I seem a little overbearing, or overprotective sometimes, now you know why. It’s because…well, it’s because I love you.”

Oh.

“You love me.”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

Max loves you.

It shouldn't surprise you. Max has always been very honest when it comes to his feelings for you. Maybe not so much in words, but his actions never fail to show you how much he cares.

He always keeps some of your things in his backpack whenever you go to races with him because he knows inevitably you'll forget something, and also exactly what you'll wind up forgetting. He remembers all of your favorites and surprises you with them when you come home, or even when he's not here, he'll have them delivered just so you know he's thinking of you.

You can't even begin to list the things about him that make you the luckiest girl ever, but above all, he makes you feel safe. Understood. There isn't a person in the world that knows you better than Max knows you, and really, you should've connected the dots a lot sooner.

"This is normally the part when you say it back," He says. He looks uncharacteristically nervous, finger fiddling with his expensive watch. "Unless you don't. Which is fine too, I don't expect you to feel the same way. I just wanted—I just felt like it was time I told you. Not because you got hurt. This isn't some sort of—"

"Max," You interrupt softly, beckoning him over to your side of the counter. He obliges almost instantly, shuffling right on over and into your open arms. "I love you too."

"Really?"

"Don't sound so surprised!"

"I'm not!" He protests, chuckling a little. Then he sobers up, holding you at arm's length as he studies you, sharp gaze flitting all around your face with the fondest little grin and you take the time to do the same, marveling at the man you love.

That one freckle on his lip that you always take the time to kiss whenever you can, the crinkles by his eyes that only come out when he smiles hard. The little tuft of hair that sticks out the opposite way of the rest of the blonde strands and makes him look like he has a singular horn protruding from his head. The scar half hidden in his hairline from that time he'd stood up too fast and smacked into you. (You have a matching one on your chin.)

You love Max and everything about him, all that he comes with. Overprotectiveness, big heart, and all.

Clark is actually kind of impossible to hate. He’s got that Midwestern charm going for him, somewhere in Nebraska or Kansas or whatever is out there, and he’s infuriatingly nice to everyone around him—even complete strangers on the street. His journalistic integrity is frustratingly perfect just like the rest of him, and not to mention he’s handsome.

Big blue eyes and deep set dimples that make you want to rip your hair out and kiss him stupid just to see the look on his face, especially when he smiles at you like you’re the best of friends, or drops off some papers at your desk. Or god forbid, when he compliments you on your writing.

He seems to know every single way to push your buttons without even trying, always knows how you’re feeling no matter what.

You’re frustrated because some of the wording in your article isn’t sounding right? Clark knows exactly how to fix it.

You’re proud of a piece that made the second page? Clark’s piece on Superman beat you out for the front page. Again.

You’re intimidated by a huge story you’ve been assigned to cover? Clark is there with words of encouragement and a fresh cup of crappy coffee as you slog through your sentences.

He always seems to be there when needed, sometimes even when he’s not needed. But sometimes he disappears from the office without telling anyone, coming back hours later with a wrinkled suit and a mumbled apology. Not that you notice, of course.

You certainly don’t keep glancing at the elevator to see when he’ll come back from wherever he’s gone. And you definitely don’t wonder who he’s with…or what they’re doing.

Seriously, fuck that guy. It isn’t hate, but fuck Clark Kent and his broad shoulders and kind heart and—

“Hey, hold the elevator, please!”

You come back down to reality to see none other than Clark himself hurrying across the lobby with a hand up, juggling four different things at once as he tries to catch your eye.

If he doesn’t make this elevator, he’ll be stuck waiting for the next one. You have half a mind to jab the close button a few times just for good measure, but before you can actually commit to it, he’s next to you, and the doors slide shut.

“Thanks,” He breathes, smiling down at you. You manage a stiff smile back, adjusting the strap of your bag. Your heart thrums in your ears when his elbow brushes yours. “How was your weekend?”

“Good,” You reply, hoping your short reply will end any conversation right there. He’s almost buzzing with energy, like he wants to talk about something, and you aim a sideways glance at him. Fine. “How was yours?”

“Oh, it was great, thanks for asking! I went back home to visit my parents and help them out around the farm a little bit before the busy produce months hit. Actually, my Ma made blueberry muffins, but there’s just way too many for me to eat on my own, so here, have one.” Clark presses a neatly wrapped muffin into your hand before you can object.

Although small looking in his palm, it covers the expanse of yours, and it’s heavy. But it looks delicious, smells even better, and you didn't have time to eat breakfast before sprinting out of the house so you wouldn't miss your train.

“Thank you, Clark,” You say sincerely. You might even offer a small grin at him, you’re not sure. You’re more focused on the microscopic ball of warmth in your chest, ebbing and waning like the tide at the thought of Clark being so close with his family.

He blinks a few times, then smiles. “You’re welcome.”

The elevator doors slide open with a ding, and the moment is broken. Loud chatter fills the air, the Daily Planet office already running full speed ahead, smelling like coffee and fresh paper.

Clark gestures for you to go first, laying an arm over the frame for you to step out. Someone calls your name as soon as you do, and upon a glance you see Jimmy waving wildly at you from his desk, beckoning you over.

“Looks like someone’s excited to see you,” Clark observes, falling into step with you. This isn’t the fastest way to his own desk, but he doesn’t seem to pay it any mind, too busy rummaging through his bag for something.

“Jimmy’s always excited. He’s like an overexcited puppy.”

“You say that like you don’t like puppies.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Kent.”

He ducks his head, looking sheepish. “Sorry. Not my intention."

Damnit. Why does he have to be so agreeable?

"Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, ma'am."

You shove down the fluttery feeling in your chest at those two words, quickening your steps to Jimmy's desk and leaving Clark behind. "Morning, Jimmy. What do you want?"

"Such a lovely warm and welcoming greeting from my favorite journalist," He sighs all dramatically dreamy, poking fun at you like he always does. You're quite fond of Jimmy under it all. He's loyal and funny, not to mention a great photographer. “Saw you and Clark coming in together. What’s happening with that?”

You bristle, lips pressing into a thin line. “Nothing.”

“He gave you a muffin.”

“He’s giving everyone muffins. Look at him,” You say, jutting your chin over at where the man is still handing out the baked goods to everyone at their desks.

It looks almost comical—tall, broad Clark doling out muffins and smiles like he’s the freaking Muffin Man of Metropolis, like a ray of goddamn sunshine. But on the other hand, it's sweet and so very like him that he's decided to share with everyone.

"Oh, I see him alright. And it seems like I'm not the only one."

Your gaze snaps back to him, mouth turning down into a scowl at the suggestive grin gracing his. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying! He's single, you're single. He's open to dating, you're…here. It could be nice. Soften up those edges a little bit." You raise a warning brow at him. "Not that they need softening! You're lovely the way you are, of course. Just thought I'd put in my two cents, is all."

"Is that all you brought me over here for? To meddle with my love life?"

"Not much of a life to meddle with, if you—" You kick the legs of his chair and he yelps, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, fine, I'll stop! I actually wanted to talk to you about some photos for one of your articles."

As Jimmy goes on and on about pictures, you steal another look over at Clark.

He's finally at his desk, hunched over in the chair on the phone, tapping a pen against the side of his head with the cap between his teeth. His shoulders straighten like he can feels your eyes on him, catching your gaze. He rolls his eyes playfully, tapping the phone and miming the 'blah blah blah' motion with his free hand.

You smile at his antics, but only just a little bit. You won't have anyone thinking you actually find him amusing. Not on the surface, at least.

"Hello? Are you even listening to me? Seriously, what are you looking at?" Jimmy follows your line of sight to Clark and immediately lets out a noise not unlike a honk from a goose, making your attention snap back to him. "Sorry to interrupt your little staring contest with Clark, but I really need your opinion."

"Yeah, they're good. Send them to printing before lunch and everything should be fine," You say distractedly, feet already taking you towards your own desk. "Thanks, Jimmy, great work!"

"I swear to god, it's like nobody listens to me in this place," Jimmy mutters, shaking his head.

-------

The muffin sits at the corner of your desk all morning like a constant reminder of your complicated feelings for Clark, enticing you with its blueberry flavored temptation. By the time mid morning rolls around, you give in. You do a quick once over of the floor to see if Clark is around before unwrapping the treat and taking a careful bite, because you'd never live it down if he saw you enjoying it.

Just as you expect, it's absolutely delicious. Buttery and sweet but not too much so, bursting with tart berries, light enough to enjoy but dense enough to satisfy you. It's heaven in a little paper wrapper.

"How is it?"

Clark's voice scares the shit out of you, and you nearly spit out the bite in your mouth. But that would be a disrespect to the truly delicious piece of baked good in your mouth, so you chew carefully, holding up a finger for him to wait a moment.

You can't even lie to him. "It's really good," You admit, wiping crumbs from the corner of your mouth. "Your mom is an amazing baker."

"Yeah?" He smiles, tucking the messy stack of papers under his arm with a nod. "I'll tell Ma they were a hit."

"Please do. And also tell her if she ever wanted to open her own bakery, she'd always have a regular customer in me."

That makes Clark chuckle, and your heart flutters again. Damn him.

"Sure will. I think she'll be happy to have someone who likes her baking that isn't me or my Pa."

"I'm sure she loves the support from you guys. She sounds wonderful."

Clark smiles fondly, nodding. "Yeah, she's great."

Kind of like her son, you think. Just as quick as the thought crosses your mind, you bat it away, banishing it to the corner of your mind. Clark returns to his desk, but even then, you still can't stop him from lingering in your head.

You really are kind of fucked when it comes to your feelings for Clark Kent.

Thankfully, you don't run into him, again until much later in the day, too busy with your nose buried in your computer as you try to finish a different article about the absolutely riveting topic of the rat problem in Metropolis subway stations and how the city is planning to take action to curb the problem.

Not your topic of choice, but not every story can be a hard hitter.

The cursor on your document blinks tauntingly at you, as if mocking your inability to put words to page, and you groan, reaching for your mug. Unfortunately, you find it empty, although you're not quite sure when you'd finished it. Maybe that should've been a a sign that you've been sitting in this one spot far too long, but you can't think about that now.

Clark wouldn't be having this problem. He'd get the job done, and humbly so.

You drag yourself over to the coffee station, needing to rid your mind of Clark Kent again, only to find the man himself standing there, leaning against the wall next to the table scrolling on his phone intently. You keep an eye on him as you approach silently, watching his brows furrow deeper and deeper with each scroll.

Then he scoffs, prodding at the small screen with more force than necessary, and only then do you decide to announce your arrival.

"Bad review or something?" You ask, crossing your arms.

Clark's head whips up, wide eyes meeting yours. He almost looks guilty for a second, like he was a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar, before smiling. "Hey! No, everything's fine. I'm just…keeping tabs on some stuff."

You manage a glance at his screen as you reach past him for the coffee pot and catch a glimpse a photo of a very familiar red and blue suit, yellow emblem on full display. "Superman fan, I see. Or y'know, maybe not. Lots of divided opinions in this city."

"Tell me about it," He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "What do you think?"

"Of who? Superman?" Clark nods. You shrug. "I think he's cool. He's helped save Metropolis a lot, and he seems like a nice guy."

"Thank you!" Clark exclaims, a little too enthusiastic to pass off as normal. You aim a curous look at him. "I mean, he'd probably say thank you if he heard you say that, is what I meant. He's probably kind of miffed at all the hashtag supershit stuff, actually."

"I'm sure he has better things to do that peruse some Internet trolls hiding in the comments of social media posts."

"Well, maybe it bothers him more than he likes to admit," Clark mumbles. You don't seem to hear him as you empty the remaining crappy coffee into your mug. "You're right. How's your article going?"

"It isn't," You huff, rolling your eyes. "I've hit a wall. I suddenly don't know words anymore."

“Don’t worry about it too much. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon like you always do,” He says encouragingly, pushing his glasses up with a knuckle. “You’ll make it great, I know you will.”

You aren't sure why this is the last straw, but you scowl at him.

“Do you ever stop?” You blurt, a little snappish.

Clark blinks, looks partially taken aback. “Come again?”

“Being so nice. So perfect. Do you ever get tired of it?”

“I’m not perfect,” He replies instantly. His brows furrow behind his glasses, and you roll your eyes. "I'm not. Are you okay? You've been prickly all day. Was it the muffin? 'Cause I told Ma, I said too many blueberries can make or break a muffin."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply. "It wasn't the muffin, Clark, it's you."

"Me? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong with you, and that's the problem."

"I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to."

"Then explain it to me! Tell me what I'm doing wrong and how I can fix it."

"There's nothing to fix!"

"Well, obviously there is, or else you wouldn't dislike me so much."

"I don't—" You let out a strangled groan, shoving the coffee pot back under the machine rather forcefully. "I don't dislike you, Clark."

"Could've convinced me."

"Yeah, well, that's not my job."

"See? That, right there, that confuses me! I didn't mean to start an argument, but—"

"We're not arguing!"

At this point, your conversation is starting to draw attention from the rest of the office, many pairs of eyes shifting to where the two of you are not having an argument. You huff, grab Clark by the wrist, and drag him away, because the last thing you need right now is a room full of journalists doing what they do best and getting the inside scoop.

Once you're alone, you turn back to him.

"If we're not arguing, what is this?" Clark asks, genuinely baffled. The look on his face resembles that of a very confused kicked puppy, soulful eyes searching your own narrowed ones for any ounce of an explanation. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," You sigh. "You didn't do anything. I mean, you did, but nothing wrong."

"I'm not following."

You aren't sure what compels you to tell the truth. Maybe it's the truly confused look on his stupidly handsome face, or the fact that you're just too done with having this inner turmoil in your mind to give a damn about pretending anymore.

"I like you, Clark."

The silence that ensues is not one bit reassuring. Clark stares at you like you've magically gained the ability to fly right before his very eyes, eyes wide behind his rounded frames. Though if you were in his shoes, you'd probably have the same reaction.

"You…like me?" His voice is soft and curious, but not judging. It never is.

"Shocking, I know, but yeah, I do. I have this thing where I…god, I don't even know what it is that I do, I just know it's not very healthy. Or very nice to you."

"You push people away because you're used to being independent? Lash out because you're afraid of getting hurt? Feel free to stop me when I have it."

Even as he prattles off reasons, he's grinning now, and you know he's not upset with you. He seems to have recovered from his shock quite well, really.

"Oh, shut up," You huff, shoving at his chest with no real force behind it.

Clark catches your hand before you can let it drop, long fingers wrapping around your wrist to draw your attention. "I like you too. A lot, if that wasn't obvious."

Now it's your turn to look befuddled. "Wait, you do? But I'm—I've been such a bitch to you. For years, I—" You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut a beat. "You've been nothing but kind, and I never really reciprocated."

"You're not a…that word. You keep me on my toes, keep my mind sharp," Clark says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You're determined, strong-willed, a brilliant journalist. You care about people, and the truth, and you're—you're just good. You're a good person, even if you are a little combative. It's what makes you you. And I happen to like that you. So, I was wondering if maybe…you'd want to go out with me sometime?"

"Yeah. I'd like that, Clark."

"Great, I—"

"But I'm not going to cut you any slack just because we're involved now. I still want to beat you out for the front page most days," You insist, chin tilting up defiantly.

"I'd expect no less. Nothing but a little bit of healthy competition to kickstart a relationship," He replies, nodding mock-seriously. "Besides, you push me to be a better journalist. If anything, I appreciate the challenge."

You narrow your eyes at him, at the genuine smile on his face, and for once, it doesn't make you want to break something. Instead, you grab him by the tie, pull him forward, and kiss him, maybe a little harder than necessary. He's dazed when you pull back, lips parted as he blinks owlishly for a few seconds.

"You're infuriating," You grumble, straightening out his tie.

Clark snaps out of his stupor then, mouth lifting into a smile on one side, and you have to fight the urge to push your thumb into his dimple. "I know. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't tell Jimmy about this. He'll be insufferable about it."

"Noted." Clark nods, then pauses, brows furrowing. "Wait, you told him how you feel about me?"

"He figured it out himself, the bastard. Why?"

"He knows how I feel about you." Your mouth drops into a soft oh at that, and Clark has a moment of realization, chin tipping up towards the ceiling. "So that's why he keeps urging me to ask you out."

"He has?" You ask incredulously.

"For ages now, yeah. I just never did because—well, because I thought you hated me."

You squeeze your eyes shut momentarily, letting your forehead thunk against his chest. "Not my finest moments, I admit. He's been making little comments about you to me too. I just thought it was because he's nosy."

"Oh no, he is."

"Right?"

"The nosiest."

"But we love him."

Although humorously annoyed, Clark nods. "Gotta love the guy."

"We should probably get back before he notices we're gone then, huh?"

"You're probably right."

So yeah, people don't get under your skin. But Clark Kent isn't just anyone, and he's done more than get under your skin—he's made it all the way to your heart. But you don't mind. In fact, you like it so much you might actually be starting to love it.

-------

The next morning is uncharted territory.

You're the one running late this time, pulling open the building door to make the sprint across the lobby before the elevator closes and you're stuck waiting for the next one. Thankfully, Clark spots you in time, slapping a hand over the sliding doors and giving you enough time to throw yourself in beside him.

"Thank you!" You pant, collapsing against the wall behind you in an attempt to catch your breath. "I just sprinted the last five blocks. Swear to god, I've never run so fast in my life. They should make me the Flash instead!"

"You ran? Why?" Clark asks incredulously, punching the button for the correct floor.

"Got stuck behind some group of teenagers on the platform, missed my connecting train by, like, two seconds. The next one wasn't coming for another eighteen minutes, so I made a very poorly executed executive decision."

"You should call me next time, I'll give you a lift," Clark chuckles.

"Don't you take public transportation too?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah. I forgot about that."

"You forgot how you get to work everyday?" You snort. He flushes pink, shrugging. "Cute."

"Thanks. You look nice today."

"I'm sweating so much right now."

"Maybe a little damp, but still nice."

Clark has that little half grin you think you might love on his face, curling a hand over the base of your jaw, fingers in your hair as he kisses you like it's his sole purpose in life.

Slowly, surely, savoring every bit of it as if he has all the time in the world and not the twenty seconds it takes to get from the ground floor to the Daily Planet offices.

One floor before you're meant to get off, he pulls away, shoulders straightening,

You barely have enough time to wipe the dazed look on your face before the doors slide open with a ding.

Jimmy stands just outside the elevator, foot tapping as he waits for the car to arrive so he can go get his breakfast from the delivery guy. He's so hungry, he thinks he might be able to eat a Kaiju if it came to it.

That foot slows to a stop when the doors open and his eyes fall on Clark and yourself standing a bit too close to be casual. He hasn't caught you in anything scandalous, but something between the two of you has changed. He doesn't know what, but he can feel it in his bones.

You arch a brow at him, nose wrinkling on your way past him. "Why are you staring?"

Clark trails a half step behind, glasses crooked and cheeks pink, skirting around Jimmy with a dopey sort of grin as he mumbles, "Morning, Jimmy. Nice day, isn't it?"

"Oh, I bet it is."

"Gotta go. Busy day today."

"Sure."

Jimmy narrows his eyes, watching as Clark shuffles past your desk on the way to his own. He doesn't go so far as to do anything different, but the two seconds he lingers is telling enough. The way your mouth turns into a slightly less flat line is evidence on its own.

"I fucking knew it!"

Max and Pietra even pop out to visit you and the girls for a bit, much to Lando's dismay. He wants to be there too, wants to see you in person more than anything in the world, if the long chain of sad face emojis he sends you when you text him a snap of all of you out to dinner is any indication.

You’d love nothing more than to see Lando too, but busy is an understatement when it comes to him. There is no good time to fit in a few days together, even with the breaks between race weeks.

Your schedules never seem to line up just right—when you’ve got a clear couple of days, he’s busy with training and McLaren commitments; when he has a break, you’re swamped at work pushing towards a rapidly upcoming deadline, and so on.

Something always seems to get in the way.

You can hardly keep track of where he is in the world, but you know he’s working hard. Pushing himself day after day, and it shows.

He wins by a landslide in the Netherlands and in Singapore, and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier for anyone in your life. Lando needed those wins and he got them, which you can tell is doing wonders for his confidence and his self esteem, even from thousands of miles away.

Brazil, however, is a total shitshow.

Max calls you right after, and you know it must be worse than you can tell. You’d been texting with each other during the race and all the chaos that came with it, but seeing his name flash across your screen only solidifies it.

“How fast can you make it to Monaco?” He asks as soon as you pick up. He sounds the same way you feel right now—worried. You both know Lando well enough to know that he’ll blame himself for everything, and neither of you want him to be alone right now.

“I’m looking at tickets right now.”

You’ve got Max on speaker, phone tossed to the side as you quickly look up whatever flight can get you to Lando the quickest. At this point, you don’t care how much it’ll cost, and to be completely honest, you’d been toying around with the idea of somehow surprising him with a visit one of these days.

“It looks like I can’t get a flight to France until Tuesday, at the earliest,” You say, disappointed.

It’s not great, but it’s all you can find. You’ll stomach the price of a last minute ticket if it means getting to Lando.

Max lets out a thoughtful noise. “Yeah, that’s—I mean, it’ll have to do, won’t it? I can’t get there any earlier either. It’s just good he won’t be alone for his birthday.”

Something strange pulls at your heart. You feel like you should’ve known that. You should know when his birthday is, but you don’t. Now you do, but why didn’t you know in the first place?

“It’s his birthday?”

“Yeah, on Wednesday. He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” You say, frowning. “He's never mentioned it.”

“Oh. Well, he probably just forgot, I’m sure. Shit memory, you know him.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. I’ll book the ticket and send you my flight info.”

“Mint. I’ll be here scrounging for the earliest flight I can find,” Max says. “Hopefully he’ll just sleep it off tomorrow.”

“I hope so. I’m worried about him, Max,” You sigh, burrowing deeper into your sweater. Worried is an understatement. You’ve never wanted the ability to teleport more than you have at this very moment. If you know Lando, and you know him, he’s beating himself up for everything.

“He’ll be better once you get there, I’m sure of it.”

You hate that the first time you’ll be seeing him since parting ways back in August is under these circumstances, but it is what it is. You’ve never been more anxious to get to him than you are right now.

Camille is the first one you tell after you buy your ticket. The most responsible one out of the four of you, part of you thinks she might tell you what you’re doing is rash. Impulsive.

To your surprise, she doesn’t say anything like that at all, just squeezes your hand supportively and offers you a ride to the airport. She cares about Lando too, and knows that you’ll have most likely done nothing but worry yourself to your wit’s end if you didn’t go to him.

-------

Tuesday comes too slow for your liking. You’ve tried to keep tabs on Lando however you can, but even through text you can tell he’s not doing so hot. It doesn’t seem like he wants to talk at all, and that’s definitely saying something.

Max texts you Lando’s address and apartment number once you’re off the plane in Nice, and as soon as you’ve flagged down a taxi, you’re on your way to Monaco.

You make your way all the way up to his apartment as soon as the driver drops you off in front of Lando’s building, but when you get to the door, you hesitate a beat in making your presence known.

Inhaling deeply, you ring the bell and wait with baited breath.

A few seconds go by without a sound from inside, but then the door is yanked open and there he is, squinting out into the bright corridor blearily. His eyes are rimmed red, hood pulled over wild curls, shoulders slumped.

To put it plainly, he looks defeated.

“Hi, Lan,” You say softly. Immediately, he pulls you inside, burying himself into your outstretched arms without hesitation. The sigh he lets deflate his body is enough to make you hug him even tighter, tugging his hood off to tangle your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck as the door swings shut behind you. “Oh, my love.”

You aren’t sure how long you stand there in the entryway, but you let him be the one to pull away first once he’s ready. Even then, he keeps you close, arms still wrapped tightly around your waist. You stroke a fond, gentle thumb across his cheek.

“How are you here?” He asks in amazement, looking you up and down like he can’t believe you’re really here and not just a sleep deprivation induced hallucination.

“Figured you might not want to be alone right now.”

His brows furrow. “But that’s—you flew all the way here to be with me? Baby, what about work? What about—”

“It doesn’t matter, work can wait. You’re what’s important to me,” You insist. “Max and I were worried.”

Lando snorts, the corner of his mouth quirking up into half an amused smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m surprised Max didn’t make the trip here himself.”

“Oh, he is. I was just able to get an earlier flight in.”

Somehow you make it to the giant couch in his living room, and you just let yourself be there for him, whatever he needs right now. What he needs turns out to be a good long cuddle, to let himself be held by you without a word from either of you until he’s okay.

“I’m so sorry for the way things turned out,” You murmur into his hair. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

“Not really,” He mumbles. “Can’t. Too many things.”

“You should at least try, Lan,” You urge. “Sleep. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

“No, m’fine. Wanna spend time with you,” He insists, shaking his head vigorously at the same time a yawn rips through him. You raise a brow at him and he sighs, nuzzling a little deeper into your embrace. “Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt.”

Lando dozes off quicker than a cat in sunlight and winds up sleeping soundly for hours. It’s probably the longest he’s slept in days. Your being there seems to give him a sense of security that allows him to let himself rest.

One of his hands sits tucked under your shirt, splayed over your ribcage in an attempt to absorb some of the heat radiating from your body to warm his cold hands. You also suspect he might’ve glued himself to your side in order to reassure himself he isn’t alone.

You nap with him for a little while too, only turning on the TV when you wake up to see him still snoring away.

He doesn’t rouse from his deep slumber until well after night falls, when the only light illuminating the living room is the faint glow of the screen across the room. Blinking awake slowly with a long yawn, he pushes himself up on one elbow, dragging a hand through his hair groggily.

“Morning, sunshine,” You say, softly so as to not startle him.

Lando offers you a sleepy grin. “You’re still here,” He rasps, voice hoarse from sleep. He looks a little more well rested and unbelievably cozy with his crazy bedhead and rosy cheeks.

“‘Course I am, silly.”

“Thought I might’ve been hallucinating you.”

“Nope, I’m really here.”

“Thank you for coming all the way out for me,” He says sincerely. Then he cocks his head, brows furrowed in thought, gaze sharper now. “Can I pay for your flights?”

Your answer is short and straight to the point. “No, you don't need to do that.”

You know he doesn’t mean it with anything other than the purest intent, but you won't have him paying for your flights back and forth.

“Baby, it’s the least I could do. You came to see me.”

“Exactly. I came to see you. It was my choice.”

“But—” Whatever argument he's about to come back with is cut off as you press your lips against his suddenly, effectively shutting him up.

It’s the first time you've had the chance to kiss Lando in months and you savor it—that not quite desperate but definitely more than innocent feeling in your chest that makes you push even closer to him. His hand comes around the back of your neck pulling you closer, melting against you with an audible sigh.

You’re both panting when one of you has the sense to pull back reluctantly. Lando looks completely dazed, lips kiss-swollen with a blissful little smile on his face.

“You never told me your birthday was tomorrow,” You blurt. Now might not be the right time to bring it up, but you’d had a whole flight to dwell on the thought. Lando makes an inquisitive noise, cocking his head to the side. “I had to hear it from Max.”

He blinks, lips pressing into a thin line. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t really think about it, to be honest.”

Part of you feels guilty. You’ve been thinking so much about how you had no idea when his birthday was and how he hadn’t told you, you never even stopped to think why he hadn’t mentioned it.

He’s had bigger things on his mind. The rest of the season, the championship fight, the pressure to perform his very best with so many people counting on him—it’s a lot to think about all the time.

It seems silly of you to be so caught up over something so miniscule now.

Even so, this is the first birthday of his that you’re in his life. You want to celebrate your boyfriend doing another lap around the sun, to do something even the slightest bit special that makes him smile in the midst of everything going on.

“What do you wanna do?”

He shrugs, tracing an idle finger along your arm. “I don’t really feel like celebrating, honestly. It doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s your birthday, Lando. You’re sure you just want to sit here and do nothing?”

“Sounds like the perfect day as long as I’m with you.”

“We’ll do something together then,” You insist. Lando twists his lips to the side in thought. “Whatever you want, just the two of us.”

“If it’s whatever I want, we’ll never leave my bed.” Something else ignites in his gaze now, something deeper, more intimate.

“Not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“Pretty good one, huh?”

“One of the best, actually.”

You don’t re-engage in your persistence to let you do at least something for Lando’s birthday until he’s breathless under you, eyes closed, waiting for you to continue kissing him.

“Dinner,” You say firmly.

“Mmm…what?” He mumbles. His eyes flutter open lazily, only half focusing on you.

“Let me make you dinner tomorrow.”

“No, you don't have to. We can just—fuck, I can’t think right now,” He whines, fingers tightening around your hips. You lean over him again, almost close enough to brush your lips against his, but not quite.

“Don’t think. Just say yes.”

“Fine! Fine, yes, okay. Whatever you want. Just…” He trails off exasperatedly, chest heaving. An attempt to raise himself closer to connect your lips is made, but you rear back just the slightest bit, taking one more second to enjoy the way you’ve gotten him at the moment.

“Perfect. What d’you want? What sounds good?”

Another whine escapes him, this one more desperate. “Oh my god, you’re fucking with me now,” Lando groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “C’mon, baby. Kiss me, please.”

“Someone’s needy,” You tease, stifling a giggle.

His eyes fly open, visible impatience swirling in his scowl. “This is the first time we’ve been in the same country, let alone the same room in months. If you don’t kiss me right now, I’m gonna lose it.”

-------

Cooking dinner for the two of you proves harder than you originally anticipated.

Lando has nothing in his refrigerator except a few condiments and a sad looking meal prep from god knows how long ago. You’re not even sure he knows how long it’s been in there.

A trip to the supermarket is much needed, and even though Lando insists on coming with you, you manage to convince him it’ll be much faster if he stays home. Begrudgingly, he agrees, but not before attempting and failing to slip his credit card into your pocket for you to use.

It’s a miracle you make it to the nearest market, but now you’re here, perusing the aisles for everything you need to make a nice dinner for your boyfriend’s birthday.

At first, your mind goes to something fancy. Lando is turning twenty five, it’s an important birthday that calls for something that’ll hit that wow factor.

But then you remember it’s Lando, and you decide simple yet delicious is the way to go. Definitely some sort of pasta dish, definitely with chicken. In a way, you’re kind of thankful he’s a picky eater, because it makes knowing what to make a lot easier for you.

You’re browsing the produce section for fresh herbs when you first notice it.

People hovering at the end of the aisle, whispering amongst themselves. At first you pay it no mind, because they’re probably just here to shop for food, just like you.

But then you see the same few people in the next few aisles you wander to, only this time, they’ve got their phones out and pointed in your direction. Upon glancing at your surroundings and seeing nobody else around, you’re starting to get a little weirded out.

The final puzzle piece clicks into place when your eyes catch a sticker of the telltale fluorescent green and dark blobs you’ve seen so many times on Lando’s helmet during races.

These people are fans of his, trying to get a glimpse of him. He’s not around, obviously, so their focus has shifted to you.

Back in Greece, Lando had told you that things like this might happen the longer the two of you are in a relationship. People grasping for any shred of intel into his personal life like they’re entitled to know what he does and who he does it with. It comes with the territory, he’d said.

You, in Monaco, on Lando’s birthday—you can almost picture the gossip mill now. You shouldn’t care, really, but the situation has you feeling quite unsettled. Nonetheless, you go about your shopping as usual, trying your best not to pay any mind to being watched.

But the unease doesn’t lift even when you return home, arms laden with bags full of way too much food.

Lando greets you at the door with a wide smile that turns into an even wider eyed stare of disbelief as he sees just how many things you have.

“What the—baby, did you buy the whole shop?” He asks incredulously, surging forward to lessen your load. “Seriously, I know I eat a lot, but this is enough food for a small army!”

“I picked up some other groceries for you while I was there,” You reply, hoisting your bags onto the kitchen counter. He raises a brow. “What? Your fridge is basically empty, Lan. I thought it’d be nice.”

Lando’s mischief face melts into a smile as he bounds over to wrap you in a hug from behind, smacking a loud obnoxious kiss to your neck in thanks. There must be something different in the way your body reacts to him, because he retreats too soon, moving next to you to lean up against the counter.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

Your reply is immediate and probably far too forced. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Did something happen while you were at the shops?”

“No.” He aims a pointed look at you, and you sigh. “Nothing bad. It was just odd.”

“Odd how? What happened?”

“There were some people taking pictures of me while I was shopping,” You say hesitantly. Lando’s face scrunches up into something akin to displeasure. “They didn’t come up to me or anything, they were just…hovering, I guess? It’s fine, I’m just being weird about it.”

“They were following you.” His words don’t come out as a question, but rather a disappointed statement. “I knew I should’ve gone with you. Could’ve gotten them away from you if I had.”

You sigh, setting down the box of pasta you’re holding. “If you’d been with me, we’d still be there right now. I can handle a little bit of staring. It’s something to get used to, but I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I might’ve even talked to them if they wanted. Like, if they wanted to have a conversation like normal people instead of taking photos of me like I was an animal at the fucking zoo, I wouldn’t have said no.”

“No, baby, that’s—wait, really?”

“If they were nice, yeah.”

Lando looks rather satisfied at your words, letting out an impressed whistle. “Look at you. My girl, growing out of her shell. Proud of you, love.”

You really do think you’ve become a different person since finding Lando. More outgoing, a little more confident, a better version of yourself that he’s had a part of making. You’ve still got reservations about this life he lives, but you’re working towards being more comfortable with everything that comes with it.

“You’ve really been rubbing off on me, huh?”

“Guilty.” He grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek. His attention quickly turns to the ingredients you’ve spread around the counter, head cocking to the side as he takes it all in. “What’s for dinner, chef?”

“Not sure yet. Some kind of pasta with chicken and veggies. I’ll figure it out.”

“Sounds mint! Tell me where you want me.” He rolls up his sleeves, heading for the sink to wash his hands quickly. You think it’s cute how ready it is to help you despite his poor cooking skills.

His phone chimes with a message before he can get far, and in classic Lando fashion, his attention is sidetracked by checking the source of the noise.

“Everything okay?” You ask carefully.

“Yeah, it’s just Max,” He says, scanning his messages. You tilt your head in question. “He wants to see if I’m up for some Tarkov. I’ll tell him no.”

“No, you should go play.”

Lando looks hesitant. “Are you sure? I thought we were making dinner together.”

“You’re hopeless in the kitchen anyways,” You tease gently. Lando’s nose wrinkles in offense, but even he knows you’re right. “Go. I got dinner covered.”

“Okay. Give a shout if you need me, I’ll just be in the other room.” He stops to kiss you on his way out, and you savor in the slowness of it all, smiling against his mouth briefly before he pulls back.

His eyes flit around your face for what seems like the hundredth time since you’d arrived yesterday, taking in the sight of you with such adoration your heart melts into a puddle at your feet. You’d give everything you have for him to always look at you this way.

“What?” You chuckle, suddenly shy under his gaze.

Lando tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek gently. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Happy to be here,” You reply, and you mean it more than anything in the world. “Now get out of my kitchen.”

Later in the night when you’re both just finishing up dinner, you clear your throat gently. Lando’s eyes flick to yours curiously, mouth full with the last bite of his chicken.

“I have one more thing for you,” You announce, pushing back your chair.

He sets his fork down with a clink against his now empty plate, lips curving into a fond smile as soon as he swallows his food. “Another surprise? You really didn't have to. You just being here is more than enough.”

“It’s nothing. Just something small,” You insist. It really is nothing huge. Whilst you were out shopping today, you’d popped into a nearby bakery on the way back and gotten Lando a little cupcake for dessert, just something small to celebrate another year on Earth. “Close your eyes?”

“You’re not gonna murder me, are you?” Lando jokes, squeezing his eyes shut anyways.

“If I were gonna do that, I’d have poisoned your food.”

“That’s—damn, baby, that’s dark. Even for you.”

You quickly make your way to the kitchen to get the sweet treat and stick a candle in it on the way back, only lighting it once you've set it down in front of him.

“Happy birthday, Lan,” You murmur, draping yourself over his shoulders with a kiss pressed to his cheek. His eyes peek open, cautiously at first, in case you're about to pie him in the face or something, then widen with curious excitement at the sight of the small dessert. "Make a wish."

He obliges, closing his eyes yet again and waiting, just a few beats, before blowing out the candle gently.

You grin big and squeeze him tight, pecking his cheek again, twice in succession. “What’d you wish for?”

“Afraid I can’t tell you that or else it won’t come true, now would it?” He teases, winking. You pout at him, willing him to let you in on it, and he gives in immediately. “Alright, fine. I didn’t actually wish for anything.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’ve already got everything I need right here.”

Because I've got you.

Lando pulls you over his lap at that very moment, one strong arm looping around your back, the other stretching over your knees. He noses his way into the crook of your neck, warm breath ghosting over your skin with every exhale.

There's something different in the way he holds you right now, something pensive. Like he has something on his mind.

"I'm sorry for making you worry about me," He says quietly after a while.

You tut, frowning. "Stop that. You don't have to apologize."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I—fuck. I just didn't want to think about everything that went wrong. I wanted to forget the whole fucking weekend and I just…" He trails off mid sentence, but you understand the gist what he can't put into words.

You kiss his temple, letting your lips linger against his hairline with your next words. "I could never truly understand the amount of pressure you're under right now—the amount of pressure you're under every single day. But know that I'm here for you, always. No matter where, no matter when, even if I have to fly across the fucking world to be with you, you've always got me. Never forget that, Lan."

"God, you're amazing," Lando breathes, looking up at you with a smile so big his eyes crinkle at the edges. "How did I get so lucky with you?"

You shrug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Right time, right place, I guess."

"Call Greece my favorite place in the world, then."

You retire to the balcony just off the dining room after a while, glasses of wine in hand as you settle in on the plush patio sofa overlooking the sparkling city down below.

Lando plops down first with his arms open for you to snuggle up into, because you’ve done your fair share of holding him these past twenty four hours. Now it’s his turn to hold you and you gladly take it, burrowing into his warm embrace.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” He murmurs after sitting in silence for some time, voice soft.

You hum your agreement, pressing your nose deeper into the coziness of his jumper. Any further and you’d meld into one being, though you wouldn’t quite mind at all, because god, you needed this. You’ve missed him—his touch, the smell of his shampoo, the softness of the way he is around you.

“Would you stay here with me?”

“‘Course I would,” You say immediately. Your answer isn't even in question. You’d stay with him until the end of time, if you could. The fact that it's Monaco of all places definitely doesn't hurt either. “You might get sick of me after a while, though.”

It’s meant to be a humorous comment, but Lando pinches your side gently.

“Not possible. I’d stay right here in this flat with you for the rest of our lives if I could.”

“But you get to go to all these cool places,” You sigh wistfully. “Like, I’ve always wanted to travel around the world.”

Lando taps your arm to get you to look at him, pressing his lips together for a beat before speaking. “What if…you could?”

“Travel the world? That’s funny,” You chortle, stroking a thumb along his cheek. When his expression doesn’t change, you tilt your head, brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Not the whole world, probably, but what’re your thoughts on watching me race?”

“I watch you race all the time?”

“No, I mean like, coming with me. Being there, seeing it in the flesh.”

You’re a little stunned for words at the idea of Lando wanting you to come with him to a race weekend.

The thought has crossed your mind occasionally—getting to see your boyfriend be in his element, doing what he does best—but you’ve never been able to picture yourself there.

It seems so different from what you’re used to, and if you’re being completely honest, it’s a bit daunting. Not only is it a massive event, but it also entails going public with your relationship, confirming the rumors already swirling around, and are you really ready for that?

You like to think you've grown, but enough to brave the paddock? You're not entirely sure.

Lando must take your silence negatively, because he shakes his head, clearing his throat. “Nevermind. It was a stupid idea anyways, just forget I brought it up.”

“Hey…” You placate softly, putting enough space between the two of you to study him. Your hand slides around the back of his neck, longer curls tangling through your fingers as you study his obviously upset face. His hair has grown out surprisingly fast since the last time you’d seen him, something of a mullet starting to take shape on the sides. You actually kind of love it. “Talk to me. Where’s this coming from?”

“Nothing, nowhere, I just—I miss you, is all. There’s three races left this season and I wish you were there with me at every one of them, but I know you can't be. It’s dumb.” He shakes his head again, chin dropping down towards his chest. “I’ll be fine. Just something that's been on my mind.”

Silence stretches across the fading Monaco skyline as you contemplate. Lando busied himself with downing the rest of his wine all the while.

“Okay.”

His brows fly up in surprise. “Okay? Okay as in you’ll come?”

“If I can cancel my flight home, yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“If you want me there.”

“Fuck yes, I want you there. I’ll pay the cancellation fees myself,” He says quickly, looking entirely serious. “I know you said I can’t pay for the flight, but can I do that for you at least?”

“I’ll hold you to that, mister millionaire. Where’s the next race?”

Lando opens his mouth to reply, but something must click in his mind, because his shoulders deflate a little bit. “Las Vegas. Night race.”

You frown at his sudden downtrodden tone. There’s something he isn’t telling you. You let out a questioning hum, inquisitive brows knitting together.

“I, um—” He clears his throat, gives his head a shake. “Last year, I crashed there. Spun out on a turn, skidded across the track til I hit the barriers. I was fine, but they had to take me to the hospital just as a precaution.”

“That sounds really scary,” You say softly.

He does this for a living, has done it for years now—there’s bound to have been a few crashes, you know that. Lando trains for what to do in those situations, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. Hearing that he’s crashed bad enough to land him in the hospital sends a spike of dread through your veins, even though he wound up being fine.

“It was. I remember parts of it, but I don’t really like to think about it all that much.”

“That’s understandable. How’re you feeling about racing there again?”

Lando makes a thoughtful noise, scrunching his nose. “Alright. Determined not to do it again, though. I’d hate to embarrass the fuck out of myself in front of my girl.”

“You’ve already been doing that since day one, you muppet,” You tease, fighting a giggle at the absolutely appalled look he throws your way in response. “And I love you for it.”

After the long rolling of eyes your comment gets you, he smiles, dragging his nose along your cheek to plant a kiss there. "Thank goodness for that."

Tomorrow will be a whirlwind of last minute flight bookings and pulling strings to get you the necessary clearances for the paddock, but tonight you can relax, soak in the comfort and quiet before you're on another plane.

Next stop—Las Vegas.

"are you sure? what're your symptoms?"

you're surely worried now as you pad over to his side, brows pinched in concern. feeling unwell is one thing, but getting sick right before one of the most physically challenging races on the calendar is a nightmare.

"feels like i'm swallowing sandpaper, and my head is pounding, and my bones hurt. those aren't supposed to hurt."

"no, they're definitely not," you agree, pressing your palm against his forehead. you're expecting him to be a little warm, but it feels like he's burning up under your touch. you sigh, pushing slightly damp curls away from his face to study him. sure enough, there's a sheen of sweat over his skin and his eyes are a little bloodshot, a little glassy. "i'll call jon and let him know."

"no, it's fine, i can—" his protests are cut off by a series of hacking coughs, and you wince. it even sounds like it hurts. "fuck."

"i will tell jon. you need to rest," you insist, firmer this time. lando looks like he wants to fight back, but doesn't because he knows you're right. "go change into comfier clothes. you must be boiling alive in all those layers. i mean, a hoodie in ninety percent humidity, lando?"

"regretting that decision right about now," he mutters, shucking off the material. his kit underneath is sweaty as well, and he lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. "i think i'm just gonna go take a cold shower."

"good idea."

"kiss before i go?"

"and contract whatever illness you've got?" you scoff, arching a skeptical brow. "i love you, but no thank you."

lando musters a sly grin, shrugging on his way to the bathroom. "worth a shot."

by the time he reemerges with a cloud of steam in only a pair of soft shorts, you've already accomplished a handful of things.

you'd called lando's trainer, who materialized at the door in no time with an armful of hydration concoctions and a few approved supplements for lando to take to hopefully get him feeling as best he could. jon would've stayed longer, but both you and he know the busyness of a race weekend. you'd assured him you'd take very good care of your boyfriend.

you'd ordered some food from room service for lando to eat with the meds. nothing too extravagant, just some soup and a chicken wrap, because he never really is hungry when he's feeling poorly. but he does need to eat something.

you'd laid out your personal stash of helpful items for a bout of illness, hoping something would come in use. you're no stranger to traveling with lando to races, and with that came experience in knowing what to pack just in case. cooling compresses, tissues, things like that.

"feel better?" you ask, smiling warmly at lando. he looks a smidge better, a little more revitalized than before as he nods. then he squints at the multitude of items on the table, head cocking.

"did you pack a whole pharmacy in your suitcase, or something?" he jokes, voice scratchy. "oh, so you're my doctor now! didn't know they made 'em this hot. lucky me, huh?"

you roll your eyes at his flirting attempt, passing a bottled drink to him as he settles into the plush pillow on the bed. "here, drink this. jon says you need to keep hydrated."

"thanks, babe." lando smiles gratefully, before grabbing his phone off the bedside table. "i should call him, just keep him updated."

"he knows. i've told him already, and promised to send hourly updates on your condition. offered to send proof of life too, but he didn't seem too keen on that."

lando blinks blankly. you can picture the wheels turning in his head, wondering what to do next. "then i should look over the telemetry from fp2 again, see what i can fix next session. where's my—"

"tablet? i'm under strict instructions to have you rest as much as you can before tomorrow. that means no data for now. sorry, bub."

"...okay. what can i do, then?"

"eat something. take these meds, take a nap. let your body try to fight whatever is going through your system so you can feel the best you can in the car."

"so...do nothing?" he asks warily, rubbing at his nose. you nod. "that feels wrong on so many levels."

"doctor's orders," you hum, scooting closer to him. you open your arms, beckoning him towards you. "c'mere, i'll spoon you."

he shakes his head quickly. "i don't wanna get you sick, baby," he insists.

"don't be silly, lan."

"what happened to not wanting to get what i've got?"

"guess you'll just have to play hot doctor for me on your week off."

lando's mouth quirks up into a cheeky grin, and he nods. "uh, yeah, i can do that!"

and so you find yourself being used as lando's personal pillow, his head nestled comfortably on your chest, legs a tangled mess, arms tucked around you snugly as your fingers comb through his hair in slow, soothing motions.

even now, after a little bit of food and some medicine, he's still warm to the touch, but not uncomfortably so anymore. he seems in better spirits too, although still tired judging from the way his eyes flutter open and shut.

"m'sorry you got sick," you murmur, stroking a gentle hand down his arm.

he manages a sluggish half-shrug. "i'll survive. i've got the best doctor in the whole world to take care of me, don't i?"

"and don't you forget it."

-------

"you didn't drink anything during the race."

one side of lando's mouth quirks into a sheepish smile as he approaches you in mclaren hospitality after all his responsibilities are fulfilled. "noticed that, did you?"

"uh huh."

"sorry, doc. wasn't really feeling hot water at the time." he sets his bottle down on the table, grabbing both your hands to haul you to your feet for a hug. of course you wrap your arms around his shoulders in return, but you won't pretend he's off the hook.

though he did drive a phenomenal run just now, something you keep in mind as his lips find your ear to murmur words he doesn't quite want any cameras to pick up.

"i could've done more," he sighs. his chin finds the crook of your neck, big sigh exhaled against your skin.

you frown and pull back so he can see it, fingers brushing across his browline to smooth out the furrow between them. "you did everything you could."

"if i'd just had a few more laps, i could've—"

"lando."

"sorry. i know, i did my best, i just...wish my best was better. that's all." he shrugs, mouth pressing into a thin line.

"you did great. congratulations on the constructor's championship too." you press a kiss to one cheek, then the other when the first one gets him to smile. "proud of you!"

"thanks, baby. means a lot from you," he says gratefully, swiping a fond thumb over the apple of your cheek. "let me go get changed and we can get out of here. i just wanna go back to the hotel and sleep."

"no team celebrations?"

"the team are going out, but i kinda feel like shit right now, so. think i'll just see everyone back at mtc." he smiles again, but now you see the toll this race and whatever bug he's got has taken on him.

his skin is pale and clammy again, breaths labored, and he does look a bit nauseous.

lando is exhausted, physically and mentally—you can tell in the way he moves a little slower, takes a few more seconds to react to his surroundings. there's nothing more he wants to do than to be with them, but his body is telling him he's done for the day.

"they'll understand," you assure him, easing one of his arms around your shoulders and looping one of yours around his waist. he takes the support you give gladly, leaning on you as you maneuver through the common area full of people. "c'mon, let's get you changed."

"you're gonna help me?" he asks earnestly, perking up a little.

"not in the way you're thinking of, perv," you snort, giving his side a pinch that he whines at. "the second we get back to the hotel, i'm loading you with electrolytes and medicine, then you're gonna sleep for at least two hours."

"will the nice doctor also prescribe a back rub?"

"maybe. if you're good and take your medicine without moaning about the taste."

lando's face screws up into an expression of disgust. "but it's gross. it's not even flavored, or anything!"

"you want a back rub or not?"

"shoulders too?"

"sure, lan."

"m'kay, fine. i'll be a good boy."

Option two, always a proven winner.

“An event?” You repeat, pressing for more information. Lando rolls onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Right, it’s more of a gala. Black tie, formal wear, all that shit. Will you come with me?”

“Am I allowed to ask what for before I give my answer?”

Lando’s whole face scrunches up, lip curling up on one side as he thinks. “M’not sure, actually. A charity, most likely. Charlotte told me it would be best if I brought someone along.”

“Then why don’t you take Max?” You’re only half joking with the suggestion, and he lets out a sharp laugh, throwing his head back.

“I would, but Max isn’t as effortlessly charming as you. Or as pretty.” He grins boyishly, tilting his head to the side, batting his eyes. You fight an amused smile of your own. “Look, don’t tell him, but you’re my best friend, yeah? I thought it’d be much more exciting if I got you to come with me instead of being bored out of my mind all night, third wheeling Oscar and his girlfriend.”

“Oh, so you’re asking me to be your pity date.”

“Exactly. You get it.” He yelps when you jab your socked foot into his ribs, getting this look in his eye much like a kicked puppy. “I’m kidding, my god, you violent one. I’m asking you because you’re the only one I’d have fun with if I have to be meeting and greeting and kissing ass for hours.”

“That’s surprisingly nice of you to say, Lando.”

“Thank you, I really—wait, surprising? What d’you mean surprising, I’m a very nice person!”

“Yes, of course you are.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “I feel like you’re not being sincere, but I’ll let it slide this time because I need you. Are you saying yes, you’ll help me out?”

"I dunno…seems pretty painful to sit through."

"Please?" His lower lip juts out, hands clasped under his chin. You never could last very long before giving in to his pleas.

"Yeah, alright, fine. You know what they say—misery loves company, and all that.” You wave around an aimless hand. “But I need to get a dress. I don’t think any of the ones I have are gala worthy.”

“Yes! Yes, of course, buy a dress, buy five dresses, whatever you need! Use my card.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

Lando leans in closer, eyes gleaming. “Buy whatever you want. On me.”

“You sure do know the way to a girl’s heart.”

He shrugs, winks at you. “So I’ve been told.”

That makes you roll your eyes playfully. You're no stranger to the narrative of his irresistable charm, but you know better.

Yes, Lando is charming, but it isn't his charm that made you fall in love with him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. His ability to remain the person he was before the fame and money. How, really, he's just a normal, flawed, extremely dorky guy who happens to have one of the most high profile jobs in the world.

After everything, he's still Lando. He's still the boy you fell in love with.

Lando reaches out and bumps your cheek gently with his knuckles, smiling genuinely as he rolls himself off the bed and heads for the door. "Seriously, thank you. I owe you one."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I want something expensive."

"Oi, try not to break my bank account, yeah?"

"I'm sorry, are you not a gazillionaire with nineteen cars living in a tax free haven for the super rich?" You call after him, only teasing.

Lando's head pokes back into the room immediately. "I only have sixteen cars, thank you very much!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Sixteen cars, of course," You correct, holding your hands up in mock surrender.

His nose and brows scrunch adorably as he sticks his tongue out at you. "You're so mean to me! I'm going home."

"Don't forget to lock the front door on your way out!"

"I forgot my key one fucking time!" He huffs, scowling. You break into a cackle at his utterly outraged tone of voice. Having these feelings for Lando makes poking fun at him all the time even better. "I'll text you the details soon, and…thanks again. It'll be fun, I promise."

"I'll take your word for that."

Lando shoots you one more heartstopping grin before disappearing from sight, and you hear the door slam shut in the distance soon after.

Sighing loudly, you flop back onto your bed spread eagle, staring up at the ceiling.

What in the world have you just gotten yourself into?

-------

You manage to keep your deal with Lando under wraps for all of twenty four hours.

But in your defense, coffee and pastries with Lily is the perfect opportunity to get in a good yap session, and maybe some advice. She's been busy playing in golf tournaments across the world the last few weeks, so you haven't seen her in far too long.

“I may have done something bad,” You blurt, even before Lily has a chance to put the cups down.

She raises a brow at you, warily curious, and rightfully so. Your being in love with Lando for this long has been the topic of conversation between the two of you (sometimes three if Alex is around and eavesdropping) many times.

“Uh oh. What happened, babe?”

“Lando asked me to be his date to a gala and I said yes.”

Her perfect brows fly sky high. “Whoa! Date, like date date???”

“Yes? No? I don’t know. I don't think so. More like he didn't want to go alone.”

"And he asked you…why?"

"Said it'd be more fun with me than anyone else."

"And you believe him?"

Your shoulders creep up towards your ears before dropping down in a shrug. "Yeah, I do, I think. He always complains about being bored out of his mind at these things, I figured he just wanted some company to make the night a little less painful."

Lily doesn't say anything, just picks up her matcha latte and takes a sip. She might not have said a word, but her eyes speak volumes.

"What? What's that look?" You whine. She shakes her head. "Lils, just tell me what you're thinking."

"Are you actually going to listen to me this time?"

"Yes!" She raises a brow, and your nose wrinkles. "Okay, maybe. What is it?"

"He likes you."

"No, he doesn't."

"See! You said you'd listen and you aren't. I don't even know why I bother at this point!"

"Because I make your life better and you love me."

"Yes, that, but, you're kind of blind when it comes to Lando. He's your best friend, I get it, but there's something there. And I know you hate to hear it, but that's just what I see. Alex agrees."

"Oh, does he now?"

Meanwhile, in a padel court across town, Alex Albon sits on a bench lacing his trainers tightly. Lando sits on the court in front of him, stretching out his hamstrings in a poor attempt at touching his toes.

"I might've done something bad." Lando's sheepish voice has the taller man looking up curiously for him to continue. "I asked her to be my date to an event."

"An event?" Alex repeats, squinting. "Like, a work thing?"

"Yeah, like, a charity gala."

"Oh my god, a gala? Mate, you didn't."

"I did."

"And did she say yes? I'm assuming she did."

"She agreed, yeah. I'm excited, I just…I really don't want to mess anything up. You know how I feel about her," Lando sighs, tossing a padel ball in hand.

Alex's lips press into a sly smile. "Oh, I'm well aware."

"So, what do I do?"

"Be a good date? I dunno what to tell you, mate."

"Fucking obviously I'll be a good date!"

"Lando's got a date?" George's voice comes out of nowhere, startling Lando. He has to fight the urge to groan, because George Russell is a notoriously bad secret keeper. Half of Monaco will know soon enough, he's sure.

Alex grins wickedly. "Sure does, and guess who it's with?"

George pauses a beat, hand on his hip, head cocked to the side. Alex raises a brow at his friend, sending a silent message. Then, "Oh my god, really? Finally?"

"Fuck off, how'd you know?"

"Buddy, everyone knows. Except her, apparently."

Lando groans, slapping the ground with an open palm. "Was this a bad idea?"

"Do you not want to go with her?" Alex asks. Lando wrinkles his nose.

"Of course I do," He says. No hesitation. Good. "I've actually had dreams about it. They always ended with—"

George interrupts before he can get any farther, holding up a firm hand. "No! No, we do not need to hear about how your dreams of the girl you're in love with end, thank you very much."

"Not like that, you muppet! I just—" Lando sighs, dragging his hands back through his hair. "I thought our first date would be different. I thought I would've been man enough to actually tell her how I feel about her instead of hiding behind a fake date."

"But it's not a fake date though, is it? It's not like you made up an entire gala just to get her to go out with you," Alex muses, shrugging. Then he zeroes in on Lando with an expectant stare. "You didn't, right?"

"Of course I didn't! It's a real thing. I just didn't tell her I didn't actually need to bring a date." It's true. He didn't lie, but he also didn't tell you the full truth.

"Then you're fine, mate! Quit worrying and let things fall into place the way they're meant to be!"

"And finish up your stretching, we've only got the court booked for an hour," chimes in George, waving his racket in the air. Lando rolls his eyes at both of his friends and climbs to his feet.

Nothing to distract himself from the consequences of his own actions than beating them both at padel.

Not two hours later, Lando's phone buzzes with a message.

Carlos: You finally ask her on a date and I have to hear it from Alex? I thought we were friends, cabrón.

Lando actually groans out loud this time. He'd expected George to be the blabbermouth, not Alex. And Carlos isn't good at keeping secrets either.

So much for it being under the radar.

-------

The days before the gala pass by surprisingly quickly. Before you know it, the day is upon you and you're nearly ready to go. You've set up shop in Lando's guest bedroom.

Your hair and makeup are as good as they're going to get without a miracle, and your dress is on.

Well, almost on. No matter how far you stretch your fingers, you can't reach the zipper at the back.

"Are you done yet?" Lando calls from another room. He'd probably finished up getting ready ages ago, the bastard. "I've already watched the plant on my kitchen counter sprout flowers and then wilt. Twice."

"Almost!" You reply, ignoring his sarcastic wit. "Can you come here?"

Footsteps sound out and get closer, and then you see Lando step into the doorway through the mirror in front of you. If you weren't nervous enough, the sight of him looking devastatingly handsome in a sleek black suit certainly doesn't help.

“Mind giving me a hand with this?” You ask sheepishly, shooting him a helpless look. “I can’t reach the zipper.”

“Skill issue,” He snickers, though he doesn't hesitate in padding over to you to help. The way his eyes drag their way down your body, taking in the silhouette of the dress with some look in his eye you can’t quite put your finger on, isn’t lost on you.

You clear your throat slightly, and his gaze snaps to yours, cheeks flushing a little pink at the prospect of getting caught checking you out.

“This—erm, it’s a nice dress. You look really…nice. Good choice.”

“Must be if it's got you staring at me like that. Close your mouth, Lan, you might catch flies."

"M'not—I'm not staring, I'm—I'm just admiring what I paid for, that's all."

"Sure, you are."

"I am!" He insists. A red flush is starting to creep up his neck, one that you can't help but snicker at. He sees this and huffs, rolling his eyes. "Shut up."

You open your mouth to poke even more fun at him, but then his fingers brush the small of your back where he goes to take hold of your dress zipper and your voice dies in your throat. Even the softest touch feels like a volt of electricity along your skin, a golden tattoo zipping its way along your body, even more so as he drags the zipper upwards.

Part of you thinks he's going slowly like this on purpose, torturing you just because he can.

In the mirror, you can see him behind you, lower lip drawn between his teeth with his brows furrowed in the utmost focus. Surely doing up a zipper doesn't require this much focus, but you won't complain.

When he gets to the top of the dress, you're expecting him to let go, to step back and tell you he's done, but he…doesn't.

Instead, gentle fingers trace along your upper back, along your shoulder and down your arm to the crook of your elbow. Lando's chin dips down towards the back of your shoulder, so close you feel his ragged breath ghosting over your bare skin.

Before his lips make contact, he freezes. Then his eyes flick up to yours in the reflection and he gives his head a little shake, blinking a few times.

"You're all good," He mumbles, mouth pressing into a tight smile.

You turn around to check out the zipper for yourself, and find yourself closer to Lando than you expect, not more than a foot of space between the two of you. Your breath catches in your chest at the look in his eyes.

To put it plainly, he looks like he wants to devour you.

If you were bolder, you'd let him. But you aren't, so you focus on something else.

"Your tie is crooked," You note, trying hard not to sound too choked.

That breaks the charged moment immediately.

Lando groans. "What? Damnit, I thought I got it right this time." He nearly goes cross eyed trying to look at the knot at the base of his throat, fiddling with it to try and straighten it out, unfortunately with no luck. "Would you mind?"

Wordlessly, you readjust the knot to its perfect place with shaky hands.

You aren't sure what makes you tug him closer by the smooth material, especially when you'd just ruined the same moment mere seconds ago. Your body seems to be doing whatever it wants despite the alarm bells going off in your brain.

Lando's your friend. Your best friend. The one who knows you almost as well as you know yourself, who's been by your side through every heartbreak, every mistake. Through every earthquake that has shaken your life, he's been the one constant that's kept you tethered when all you can think to do is run.

You can't ruin what you have right now for what could possibly be. It's selfish of you for the thought to even cross your mind.

"We should go," You say abruptly, stepping back. Lando rocks forward on his feet just the slightest bit as if he wants to follow, but he refrains. "Wouldn't want to be late."

He lets out a deep breath, shoulders straightening. "Definitely would not want that."

"I'll drive?"

"Yeah, right. Don't make me laugh too hard, I'll crease my shirt," He snorts. "Alright, let's go. I've got some people to schmooze."

The ride to the gala is short, not nearly enough time to give yourself a mental pep talk, and before you know it, you're there.

"Stop overthinking."

"I'm not," You insist, tearing your eyes away from the swarm of flashing cameras just outside the car. Crowds are inevitable when it comes to events like these, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. Lando doesn't look like he believes you one bit. "Alright, fine, maybe a little."

He slides a palm over your knee, thumb rubbing a few comforting swipes. "Don't worry about them. Just focus on me."

Then he's gone, slipping out of the car with the practiced ease of someone who's done this many times before, only to reappear around your side a second later.

You hesitate when he pulls open your door, only a moment, but Lando smiles reassuringly. "You got this," He mouths, holding out his hand.

You trust Lando with every fiber of your being. You trust that if you fall, or stumble, or make a complete fool of yourself, he'll be right there with you. It's just always been that way.

So, despite every part of you telling you to run away, that this isn't your place and you're above your head, you put your hand in his.

Your senses feel magnified by a thousand as soon as you step outside the car. You feel the focus of a hundred cameras turn on you immediately, the glare of their lights turning the grand staircase entrance blinding.

Through it all, you feel Lando's hand tight around yours. He has the other one at the small of your back too, guiding you towards the building quickly but calmly.

Your eyes stay trained on the ground in front of you, but even that doesn't stop your heel from getting caught under the hem of your dress before you've had the sense to pull it up.

Maybe floor length wasn't the way to go for tonight.

And that's just fucking great. You aren't even in the building yet and you've already embarrassed yourself.

Lando's already on it before you can even blink, stooping down to fix it with gentle hands. He gets the silky material unstuck and straightens back up in one smooth motion. You're almost amazed.

This Lando is far different than the one you know. Then you realize, he's been trained this way. Trained to maintain a perfect facade, to problem solve and recorrect on the fly because it's his reputation on the line.

"All good?" He murmurs, eyes searching yours.

You manage a quick nod and a grateful squeeze of his arm. "All good."

Before you know it, you're inside. It's much calmer than all the clamor outside, but somehow, it doesn't bring you any comfort. If anything, it feels much more daunting.

Lando nudges you with an elbow. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Not bad? I nearly ate shit."

"But you didn't."

"Yeah, only 'cause of you," You chuckle. "I didn't know you could be so smooth."

"That is rude! I'm extremely smooth, if you must know," Lando gasps, dramatically offended. When all you do is raise an unimpressed brow, he scowls. "Oh, shut up. C'mon, let's go inside. Charlotte'll have my head if I show up late. Again."

The moment you walk into the vast room, you're taken aback at just how many people are here. It suddenly occurs to you, you're probably the most uninteresting person in this place.

Lando sucks in air between his teeth, grimacing slightly. "Shit, sorry, I've got—I need to go for a second."

"Lando—" You hiss, panicked. He can't possibly be abandoning you right now, when you've quite literally just gotten here. It's like leaving a baby seal alone right in the middle of pack of killer whales.

"I'll only be a few minutes, I promise, and if anyone comes over, just be yourself and they'll love you."

He's already stepping away before you can say another word, arm falling from where it'd been curled around your waist. You glare at him, but all he does is shoot you a reassuring grin and a thumbs up as he backpedals away.

You recompose yourself, chin up and shoulders back like you belong here. Like you're not sorely out of your depth.

Still, you can't help but notice the whispers and stares aimed your way—both in Lando's absence and when he inevitably makes his way back to you. They only grow when he's his usual self towards you as the night stretches on, but you don't bring it up with him. It seems silly to. You've been part of his life long enough to know this is normal for the people he chooses to spend his time with, and he has bigger things to worry about than what people are saying about you.

Later on, you find yourself in the company of Oscar and Lily, glad to finally see some familiar faces among the sea of side-eyeing strangers whilst Lando is off chatting up more potential sponsors.

"So, Lando finally told you his big secret, huh?' Oscar says jovially, grinning proudly.

Your head tilts in confusion. As far as you're aware, Lando didn't keep secrets from you. He never has, always saying he trusts you with anything and everything. And as far as you're aware, that hadn't changed.

"Erm, sorry—what?"

"A little offended I had to overhear someone talking about it instead of getting the news myself, but hey, better late than never."

Again, you ask. "Oscar, what are you talking about?"

Lily gives Oscar's arm a little tug and a look that screams stop. "Osc, maybe we should talk about something else?"

His features wrinkle in such a way that makes you feel like you're missing a large chunk of information. "That you and Lando are dating. I was wondering when he'd finally tell you."

"Oh! We're not—" You pause, brows furrowing. "Wait. Tell me what?"

"That he has feelings for you."

And all of a sudden, the world flips upside down.

You inhale sharply. "Um, sorry, I need to—"

You don't think you even finish your half assed excuse before you break away from the conversation. Your head spins with an entire barrage of thoughts, one after the other, after the other, until they all start to jumble together but one.

Lando has feelings for you. Or, might have feelings for you, depending on how much trust you put in Oscar Piastri a few champagnes in.

Either way, this changes everything.

Either way, your relationship will never be the same.

Off to the side, you half see Lando stepping away from whatever conversation he'd been in, eyes glued to you as you hurry out of the hall as quick as your heels can take you. Which is to say, not very fast. You've barely made it down the corridor when he calls after you, but you don't stop, you keep walking.

You only stop when you're pulled to one, Lando's fingers wrapping around your wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to put a stop to your escape plan. You turn to him, eyes hard, jaw tight, and his brows furrow.

"Where are you going?" He asks, clearly confused. There's something cautious swirling in his eyes too. Worry.

"I need some air."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"I was just talking to Oscar."

The corner of Lando's mouth quirks up into an amused half smirk. "Fun conversation that was, I bet."

"He told me something."

"Was it about turtles? 'Cause I keep telling him—"

"He said you have feelings for me, Lando," You blurt.

The expression that crosses his face would've been comical had you not been grappling with the realization yourself.

A tic goes off in Lando's jaw. He drags a hand forward through his carefully styled curls, ruining them by scrunching up the front part in his fist tightly. "He—fuck, he said that? Just now?"

You can't help but let your voice waver. "Is it true?"

All this time you've spent silently pining, desperately waiting for him to see you the way you see him, it's killing you. You're trying your hardest to hold back from him, but you don't want him like a best friend. You want more, you've wanted more for ages now.

And now, to find out he might want the same thing as you…it feels like some sort of cruel prank.

"At the beginning of all this, you said you owe me one, so I'm cashing it in now. You owe me the truth, Lando. Is what Oscar said true?"

Lando's mouth opens, closes, opens again. Then he jerks his head in the direction you'd been headed, expression unreadable, hands shoving into his trouser pockets. "Still wanna get that air?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I will. I promise. Just…come with me?"

And so you do. You follow him until he reaches a set of glass doors that lead out to a balcony, through those doors out into the nippy British air. Part of you regrets not bringing something to cover up from the chill, the other part welcomes the coolness against your hot skin.

Lando wanders away from you, towards the edge, and braces his elbows against the stone railing.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" He asks softly.

You scoff, shaking your head. "Way to change the subject."

"No, I'm not, I'm—hear me out, please?"

"Fine. Yeah, I remember. Max's birthday party. You were bald."

Lando lets out a snort. "I wasn't bald. My hair was buzzed. Which I did for charity, might I add. And you had bleached hair, so I wasn't the only one with a questionable hairstyle."

"What was wrong with my hair?" You huff, crossing your arms. He shakes his head.

"Nothing. You looked…fuck, you were still the prettiest girl in the room. And I—I'd never really believed in love at first sight before then. Always thought it was just one of those stories people told without any actual truth in it, to like, make them feel better about themselves, or something. But then I saw you, and everything I'd convinced myself didn't actually exist just poofed away," He says quietly, not looking at you, but out into the darkness of the night. "And I've spent every day of every week, month, year, ever since then telling myself to ignore my feelings, to just…be your best friend, because that's all I'd ever be. But I'm tired of pretending. I'm in love with you. I always have been."

All you can do is gape at him, unmoving, unreacting. Because what the fuck are you supposed to do when the boy you've been in love with for ages actually tells you he feels the same way about you?

This is uncharted territory, all of it.

It feels foreign—this realization that you could finally have him in all the ways you've wanted. Not just his friendship. All of him. You didn't think the day would ever come, and now that it has, every word you've wanted to say to him has disappeared from your mind.

The chatter from inside seems louder even from this far away, as does the sound of traffic from down below in this thick silence. You're staring at Lando and he's staring right back at you now, waiting for a response.

Then he says your name, and it feels like everything just stops. It's never sounded nicer coming from anyone else than him.

You blink. He's still looking at you, watercolor eyes wide with hope. Or confusion at your sudden mute state. Most likely both.

Your mouth opens, but still nothing comes out. Lando shifts on his feet, gaze growing less and less hopeful with every second that ticks by without you saying anything.

"I am quite literally baring my entire heart and soul to you right now, but sure. Take your time. I'll just be shitting myself over here."

Words won't do your feelings justice, but you know what will.

You grab him by the elbow before he can begin to make his defeated retreat, pulling him back towards you. Your lips crash against his before you can really even register what you're doing, hands tugging at the front of his suit jacket to bring him closer to you.

It doesn't even take a second for Lando to kiss you back with just as much enthusiasm, if not more than what you're giving him. He kisses you like he's been waiting ages to, finger splaying across your back to bring you even closer.

There's that zip of electricity racing through your veins again, that flickering burn that begins under his palms and spreads like wildfire. You've felt it so many times before and always willed the feelings to go away, but now…now, you don't have to anymore.

He pulls back after what seems like forever but still not long enough, putting enough space between the two of you to catch your gaze.

"Please tell me that meant what I think it means," He murmurs, breath coming in short pants. His tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously.

"What do you think?"

"Just humor me."

"You're really gonna make me say it?" You chuckle, smoothing a hand down his tie. Lando pinches your side gently with expectantly raised brows. "Oh my god, fine! I love you, Lando. I think I always have, I was just…scared. I still am."

"That's okay. I'm scared too. Like, borderline shit my trousers scared of fucking this up. But we'll figure it out, slowly. Together. I know we will."

"You're hot when you're confident."

He kisses you again now, this one wildly different from the last. This one is hungry, passionate. Less like a confession of love and more like desperation from waiting far too long.

"Jesus, this fucking dress," He groans, breathless, fingers tracing the hill of your hip almost shaky. "I can't even think straight anymore. If we weren't here right now, I'd take it right off you."

"Why do you think I bought it, you muppet?" You hum against the shell of his ear, dragging a hand over his broad shoulder and up around to cup his jaw.

His head tips forward, nose pressing into the crook of your neck as a shaky exhale escapes him. "Fuck."

"Leaving now doesn't sound like a bad idea, does it?"

"It sounds perfect. But we can't. Not yet, there's some sort of award I've got to give out."

You huff quietly. "Can't Oscar do it?"

"If I could get him to do it alone, I would, believe me."

"I'll bribe him," You insist. "Unrelated, but can I borrow your credit card again?"

Lando presses his lips to your pulse point and your knees nearly give out. "Stop being smart," He mutters.

"I know you don't mean that."

"No, I don't. But the sooner we go back inside, the faster I take care of business, and then we can ditch everyone here and go home. I've got something other business to take care of there."

"Oh?"

Lando blinks. "You. It's you."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks. You really aren't that good at flirting, are you?"

"Not really, no. Been a while. Y'know, since I've been so busy being secretly in love with you for years. Now I'm starting to think I should've just sucked it up and told you ages ago, we could've saved loads of time."

"The journey is worth the wait, haven't you heard?" You tease, shrugging. A grin splits Lando's face, and it's like you've just witnessed pure sunlight in the dark of night.

"Yeah," He says, leaning in close for another kiss. "Well worth it, I'd say."

One too many races with little to no visibility and almost serious near misses with hydroplaning cars on track, not to mention a childhood fear of thunder, make storms like these one of your worst enemies.

It seems silly, really—that a highly trained professional athlete like yourself, forged by challenge and perseverance over decades of training, is afraid of a little water. But to you, it’s more than that. Doing what you do doesn’t come without its dangers, of course, but rain multiplies those challenges a tenfold.

Rain makes you uneasy, and that’s putting it lightly. If you were to describe how you really feel, it would be nervous. Painstakingly, almost paralyzingly nervous.

Your hands clench into fists to quell the trembling of your fingers, shoulders back, posture straight as you step into place beside Alex, who shoots you a sympathetic look from his marks. He knows how you feel in conditions like these, and normally you’d share, but it seems he’s already huddled under George’s umbrella. They're big, but not big enough for three people.

Water puddles up around your feet, dripping from your jacket, down your race suit. Suddenly a hand touches your elbow, gentle and almost unsure. Then again, more insistent this time.

You look to your other side to see Lando peering back at you, also burrowed into his three jackets but noticeably dry. The sight of him makes your heart flip in your chest, though your brain forces you to declare it the fault of your nerves, rather than a glimmer of joy at his soft smile.

His curls are a riot like they always are, sticking every which way like he’d just rolled out of bed to get here. And if you know him, which you like to think you do, he’s probably already had a little afternoon nap not long before this.

“You look like a sad wet cat,” Lando says bluntly. Not one for mincing words, that boy. “Where’s your umbrella?”

“Thought I’d enjoy the rain.”

He snorts, shoulders jolting. “Yeah, right. And I’ve just had fucking sushi for lunch.”

“Wouldn't that be something.”

“C’mere.” When you don't budge, just stare at him, he rolls his eyes playfully. “I know you don’t like the rain. And I don’t want you catching a cold, so budge up,” He insists, scooting a little closer still.

You’d argue some more if you weren’t shaking like a very drenched leaf, but you very much are, so you oblige, stepping under the welcoming canopy of the massive papaya umbrella. Your shoulder presses against his with the action, sending a burst of warmth radiating through your cold bones.

“Thanks, Lan,” You say. You finally have the safety to shuck off your hood, and it sends water droplets flying everywhere—namely, all over Lando. His face screws up into something akin to disgust, nose scrunched as he leans away from you.

“Oi, watch it!” He huffs. You giggle. “I take you under my wing and you repay me by shaking water all over me like an animal?”

“It’s just a little bit of rain,” You say innocently, bumping your shoulder against his.

"I'll leave you out to freeze then," He warns.

"Nuh uh. You like me too much."

"Yeah, you're alright, I guess."

You whip towards him to fire off another remark, but all comebacks disappear into thin air at the warmth in the smile he has aimed at you. If you let yourself be delusional for a second, you might even think there was something more to the fond look in his eyes.

Before you can think too much into it, lightning flashes across the darkened skies. You flinch, exhaling shakily as you count—

One, two, three, four, five—

Thunder rumbles before you hit six, and you freeze.

Too close.

Beside you, Lando watches the whole thing. How you shrink into yourself at the sight of lightning. The way you mouth your numbers and immediately go stiff when you don't get very far. The way your breathing quickens at the loud clap of thunder. He can feel the tension radiating off you in waves, and it kills him.

You're terrified.

If he could, he'd pull you into a tight hug and tell you he'd protect you from anything, but he can't. Hundreds of thousands of people are watching, not to mention the fact you're at work.

Would that be considered workplace harassment?

Lando shakes the thought out of his head. It isn't important right now. What's important is helping you in the best way he knows how.

He nudges you with a gentle elbow to the ribs to get your attention and grins when you look at him.

"What?" You whisper, raising a brow.

"Why do seagulls fly over the sea?"

"Pardon?"

"Why do seagulls fly over the sea?" He repeats, gesturing for you to answer. You shug. "Because if they flew over the bay, they'd be bagels."

He sees it then—the way your lips threaten to curve into a smile. It isn't a laugh, but he'll take it. He tries again. "Where did the lettuce go for a drink?"

"I dunno."

"A salad bar. What do you call a sleeping dinosaur?"

"Lando—"

"A dino-snore."

There it is again. A slightly bigger smile, carefully amused by his stupid jokes. Lando doesn't mind making a fool of himself if it means you'll be okay. All he wants to see is that smile.

"Oh my god. That one was awful," You breathe, stifling a hushed giggle behind your sleeve.

"Cheers. What month has twenty eight days?"

"Uh…February?"

"No, you muppet! They all have have twenty eight days."

A laugh bubbles out of your mouth, clear and bright and exactly what Lando hoped for. He straightens proudly, grinning at his accomplishment.

Before he can tell another joke to warrant another laugh, a warbled voice over the speakers announces the start of the national anthem in a few minutes, and you press your lips together, curbing your amusement so as to not be caught messing around. Lando follows suit, winking at you.

You face forward, chin up, feeling more at ease thanks to him. Even as the sky gets a little greyer, the picture of his smile in your mind has the power to shine through the dark clouds shrouding your thoughts.

Funnily enough, you find that you always tend to feel that way after spending time with him. All the years you've known each other, all the years you've spent kinda sorta in love with him. He's always known just what you need when you need it.

Even now, as he makes a silly face at the grid kid standing in front of him to make her giggle, you see him a little clearer than you ever have before.

A rain delay stalls the start of the race for another hour minimum. It seems cruel, like the universe knew you were already nervous about this race and decided to make the whole ordeal drag out even longer.

You find yourself outside the Williams garage safe under the overhang from the pouring rain, peering up at the sky warily. It doesn't feel like it'll let up anytime soon, and you've already been through your telemetry data so many times your brain is swimming. There's nothing you can do but wait until race control green flags the race again.

Something sharp pokes your shoulder. Not hard, but enough to get your attention.

You aim a sideways glance towards the nudging to see Lando, again, prodding you with the handle of his umbrella across the line dividing the two of your garages. He perks up when you notice him, letting the offending weapon drop back to his side.

"Hiya," He says, leaning against the wall.

You smile, but Lando can tell it doesn't reach your eyes. "Hi, Lan."

"How're you doing?"

"Oh, you know me, pushing it down and willing the storm to pass."

Lando hums thoughtfully, head tilting, eyes warm. "I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you, but technically we're rivals right now. How do I know you're not trying some sneaky Mclaren Jedi mind tricks to get inside my head?"

You're only joking, of course, but Lando rears back like he's been personally attacked, dramatic as ever. It has a real smile peeking through your careful facade.

"How dare you accuse me of such devious intentions! I'll have you know, if I could do Jedi mind tricks, I'd only ever use them for good."

"Uh, no you wouldn't. You'd use them to make me to do something embarrassing in front of the whole world."

"Fuck off, no I wouldn't! I'd use them to make Alex do something embarrassing in front of the whole world."

Another bolt lights up the sky right then, and on instinct, Lando starts counting, nearly getting to ten before he hears thunder.

"It's further away than the last one," He says instantly, watching as your shoulders loosen a little at the realization. "It'll be over soon, I promise."

"What are you, Mother Nature?" You jest weakly.

"Absolutely. I'm just pretending to be a Formula 1 driver because I get bored sometimes."

The chuckle you let out isn't as genuine as the one he'd gotten out of you with the jokes, but at least it's something.

"You know, I can tell more awful jokes if you want me to. If it'll help."

"Please don't," You reply, wrinkling your nose.

In its own way, it would help, but you don't think you'll be able to stop yourself from hugging him so hard you run the risk of cracking his ribs because of his willingness to help.

On race days, more often than not it's every driver for themselves, but it never is with Lando. Even though you're supposed to be enemies right now, he's kind.

"There's that smile," He hums, head tilting to the side. You manage a playful roll of your eyes. "You're gonna do fine. It'll clear up soon, and you're gonna kill it, I know it."

"Thanks, Lando," You say softly, offering him a small smile. "You'll do great too, I bet. Car's wicked fast this season for you guys."

"Just the car?"

You roll your eyes at his expectantly raised brows. "And you too."

"Thank you," He says, looking pleased at your correction. "And just to clarify, that's a no on the jokes?"

"Definitely. I'll be okay."

"Damn right you will."

Much to your surprise, you somehow wind up finishing P2. Lando nabs P3 towards the end of the race while Leclerc takes that top step, rounding out the top three in what was a pretty stressful run for you, even though the rain had died down within the first fifteen odd laps.

Despite not winning the whole thing, you're pretty damn happy with second place considering you'd been nearly paralyzed with fear not an hour before jumping in the car. But once you were in there, in your element, everything else became background noise.

And when the rain cleared up, it was your time to do what you did best—drive.

Sure, you would've liked the win, but you aren't worried. Your day will come.

"What'd I tell ya? Killed it!" Lando exclaims, clapping you on the back. You can't wipe the grin off your face at his excitement, and it only grows bigger when he throws an arm over your shoulders, drawing you in towards his side on the short walk to the cooldown room. "I really thought I had you on the inside of turn 4, but that move?! My god, it was mint!"

"It was pretty good, wasn't it?"

"Pretty good? It was amazing!" He counters, pinching your arm gently over your fireproofs. "Move of a champion, that one."

"Not yet," You snort lightly, smiling to yourself. Lando nudges you again, making you look over at him, and when you do, he's got this look in his eye. Something like determination and gentle warmth all mixed up in those sea glass eyes of his.

"But one day, yeah?" He holds his fist out for a bump and you oblige, knocking your fist against his with a playful roll of eyes. "You and me, we'll make it there."

"You and me," You echo.

And when you're on the podium later on, when Lando clinks his bottle against yours, grinning at you through the rivulets of champagne dripping down his face, it really does feel like it's just you and him up there.

And it’s because of that you’ve made The List. As the name suggests, it’s a list, full of things you want to do with Lando before he inevitably breaks up with you. Some are extravagant in your opinion, some are more down to earth. Some of them you’ve already gotten to check off. 

Explore a new city at night together? Check. 

Have a fine dining experience in Monaco? Check. 

Have a How to Train Your Dragon marathon because much to your horror, he’d never seen the movies at all? Check. 

Take one of Lando’s million dollar cars out for a ride down the coast with you in the driver’s seat? That one he’d done very reluctantly and with one hand gripping the door handle for dear life, but check. 

Your adventures always start with a text. Messages of different content, sent at different times of day, but it’s always Lando wanting the same thing—to see you, no matter what it takes.

A simple ‘wish you were here’ turns into you on the next flight to a different country every time because Lando misses you a little too much. An ‘I wanna see you sooner than we planned’ turns into him flying out to where you are and spending even just a day, sometimes less than, together because he’d rather travel halfway across the globe than be away from you too long. 

You’ve spent days holed up in his flat together doing nothing but watching trashy television eating ice cream and takeaway in your pajamas, and on the flip side, gone on week long trips to the Bahamas where you were wined and dined and spoiled so much by him you didn’t want to go home afterwards.  

That’s kind of the way things are with Lando—spontaneous, always a good time—whenever he’s free. His schedule is much more strict than yours, but you make it work, together. You do it because even though it hasn’t been long, you think you’re starting to fall in love with him. 

But at the end of the day, you’re from two different worlds, and eventually he’ll come to realize that, and then it’ll be over. The List is your way of compartmentalizing and accepting that. 

You’re going over said list yet again right now, looking over the few things you’ve been able to check off with a sad smile. You wonder when your luck will run out and you’ll have to say goodbye to the best times of your life. 

Out of the blue, your phone buzzes with a message. Then another, and another, and before you can see who’s texting you so many times, it rings. One look at caller ID and the dumb photo you’d taken of Lando on one of your many adventures tells you it’s him calling. 

“Lando? Is everything okay?” 

“Hi to you too, babe. Everything’s fine, I just wanted to hear your voice,” He says casually. You snort out an ungraceful laugh, rolling your eyes playfully even if he can’t see it. “There’s that laugh I love. I miss you.” 

You can picture him now, probably sprawled out on the bed of some fancy hotel room. On the balcony, if it’s daytime and warm out. He’s probably got that lopsided grin on his face too—the one that only really comes out around you—and it makes your heart ache. You haven’t seen him in a few weeks, but it feels like longer. Months. Eons, even. 

“I miss you too, you muppet.” 

“You do? Like, a lot?” 

Your brows furrow in curiosity. “Yeah, ‘course I do.” 

“That’s good to know.” 

Before you can question his short answer, there’s a knock at your front door. 

“Hang on, Lan, there’s someone at the door,” You sigh, shifting the phone to your other ear as you drag yourself off the couch to grab the door. There isn’t an inkling in your mind who it could be since you aren’t expecting anyone, and you hadn’t ordered any packages lately that could warrant parcel service. 

“Yeah, better go answer that,” He hums. 

You don’t connect the dots until you've pulled the door open and locked eyes with Lando himself, phone still in hand, grinning just like you thought he’d be. 

“Surprise!” He exclaims, making jazz hands. Your phone nearly slips from your fingers at the sight of him, jaw going slack as you blink at him like you can't quite comprehend that he's right in front of you rather than across the world. You must stare at him for longer than you know, because he shifts on his feet awkwardly, brows raised. “Erm, surprise? Hello?” 

“Hi,” You finally manage to say, eyes wide. “Oh my god, hi!” Excitement breaks through your disbelief at last and you all but throw yourself at him, crushing him in a massive hug that sends him stumbling two steps backward. 

Lando huffs out a high pitched, breathy giggle, hefting you into his arms with your legs around his waist. “Hey, baby,” He murmurs, nose buried deep into the crook of your neck. Once he’s inside and the door is kicked shut behind him, he lets you back down onto your feet. 

“What’re you doing here?” You ask incredulously, letting your gaze flit all over his face. He looks a little tired, dark circles under his eyes a little more pronounced, hair a little messier than you remember. But he’s still got that smile on his face, the big one that makes his eyes squint shut a bit and tells you he’s happy. 

“Can’t a guy just pay his girl a surprise visit without a reason?” He asks, all cheeky grin and boyish charm. You press a kiss to his smiling mouth, running your fingers through the shorter hair at the back of his head. “I missed you, wanted to see you, hopped on the first flight out, here I am.” 

“Oh yeah? What if I was busy?” You tease, giving his hair a little tug.

“Were you?” 

“No. But I could’ve been.” 

“Since when are you too busy for me?” He shoots back, nose scrunching cutely. He doesn’t know how much truth lies in that one little question. “So, dinner? I’m starving.” 

You shrug. “I could eat. Let me get changed really quick and then we can go out.” 

Like always, spontaneity is the name of the game with Lando. You’ll spend maybe a day with each other before he jets off to wherever he’s going next, and then you’ll be back to wondering when the next time you’ll see him is. If you had your choice, you’d tell him you don’t want him to go. It wouldn’t change anything, but at least you’d have put it out there. 

“I know it's pretty last minute, but I think we could probably get a table at this little Mediterranean place over on—”

The rest of your sentence dies off when you walk back into the room after you’ve put on some decent going out clothes and see Lando holding a piece of paper.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

It’s The List. He’s holding The List, probably already read it too judging by the furrow of his brow. In all the excitement of him showing up out of the blue, you’d forgotten to tuck it away. 

His gaze flicks to yours, impossible to read as he holds up the paper. “What is this?” 

You decide to go for humor first. “That is a list.” 

“Yeah, no shit, I can see that,” Lando snorts, shaking his head. “But what is it? What’s it for?” 

“So, funny story. Really think you’re gonna laugh,” You chuckle nervously, taking a seat next to him. You’ve been caught now, there’s no use in trying to cover things up anymore. “When we started dating, I made a list of things I thought would be fun. Things I wanted to do with you before we broke up.” 

To Lando’s credit, he manages to look even more confused than you expected. “Broke up? What the hell are you even talking about, break up? You wanna break up?” 

“No! No, I don’t want to break up. That’s the last thing I want,” You insist, shaking your head. He holds his hands up as if to say 'then what?'. “Look, I know how this ends, Lando. We’re very different, you and me. The kind of life you have demands a certain…image, and I don’t fit into it.” 

“What are you talking about?” He repeats, voice low. “Of course you fit into my life, love. You fit perfectly, that’s ridiculous.” 

“Is it? Lando, I’m not like every other girl you’ve dated—I’m not a model, I’m not famous. I work a shitty job and I have a shitty apartment, and eventually you’re going to realize that I’m not the kind of person you want to be with, and you’re gonna leave!” You blurt, doing your very best to keep the waver out of your voice. “One way or another, one day, this thing we have, however great we think it is now, is going to come to an end. The list is stupid, but it’s helped me come to terms with that. You may not get it, but—” 

Lando’s hand goes over your mouth before you can finish your sentence. Not hard enough to hurt, but sudden enough to stun you into silence. 

“Are you done?” He asks flatly, arching a dark brow. You nod, and his hand drops. “I like your job. I like your flat. I like you. And I don’t know where you’ve gotten this idea that I’m just gonna bail one day, but it’s fuckin’ rubbish.” 

“You have a reputation, Lando,” You mutter. You’ve done the deep dive, gone down the rabbit hole of the Internet with the intention of managing your expectations, only to reemerge with a pit in your stomach and the sinking feeling that the rug is going to be pulled right out from under your feet when you least expect it. Lando’s face warps into something akin to embarrassed guilt, almost shame. “Yeah, I know about it. You’re not exactly the picture of commitment here.” 

“Okay. Okay, yes, I’ve made mistakes in my relationships. I was young and stupid and didn't know the weight of my actions. But I’ve grown up since then. I’ve changed,” He says slowly. Cautiously. He’s got his hands out in front of him like he wants to reach out and hold you, but doesn’t know if he should. “That was the past, baby. This, with you, right now—I would never do anything to jeopardize that.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” 

“Because it’s me! When have I ever lied to you? When have I—jesus, I flew across the world for you because I wanted to see you!” He exclaims, dragging his hands back through his hair. He’s begun to pace now, which only happens when his emotions get big. “Every night I go to sleep wishing you were with me, and every morning when I wake up, there’s this—this ache clawing at my chest because you’re not there.” 

“Lando…” 

“No, no. You did your talking, now it’s my turn. I don’t know how else to show you how I feel about you. Do you want me to get on my knees and beg or something? ‘Cause I’ll do it, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” 

He actually does drop to his knees at this point, both hands pressed together as he drapes himself over your lap dramatically. 

“Oh my god, get up,” You huff, stifling a giggle at his overexaggerated pleading. 

Lando lifts his head, peering up at you with one eye squeezed shut. As soon as he sees you smiling, he straightens up, bumping your chin gently with his knuckles. “Are we good now?” 

“We’re good,” You concede, hand wrapping around his wrist. His pulse thumps steadily against your fingers. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Lan.” 

“Next time you feel like this, just come talk to me. Trust that I’ll be one hundred percent honest with you, always. Okay?”  

“Okay.” 

“Now let me kiss the shit out of you, baby. I’ve been deprived for way too long.” 

“How long?” You hum, tilting your head. 

“C’mere and I’ll show you.” 

Lando kisses you, and you swear you can feel every ounce of tension in your body melt away until you’re putty in his arms.

“Come to a race. As my guest,” He murmurs, thumbs stroking over your cheeks. You start to shake your head, but he kisses you again at the corner of your mouth to stop you, forehead pressing against yours. “Let me show you how serious I am about us.” 

“You don’t have to make your case anymore, babe. I was being ridiculous earlier, I know how you feel about me,” You say gratefully. And you do know now. The fact that he’s so adamant on making sure you know gives you hope. 

“No, hear me out. Come with me, let me show you off to the world. My girl,” He insists. “You’ve always wanted to see a race in person, and you’ll get to be in the team suite, the garage if you wanna watch from there. And I happen to know a guy who’ll give you a personal VIP tour of the ins and outs of the whole paddock.” 

“That is very tempting.” 

“The guy is me, by the way. If that tips the scales in my favor.” 

“You know what people will say.” 

He pops back up onto the couch next to you, taking both your hands in his. “I don’t give a fuck what they say. I’m happy with you and I want the whole damn world to know, fuck what people think.” 

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek in contemplation, nose scrunching. “Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely, a gazillion percent sure. Like, if sure was a dish on a menu with a hundred other options, I still wouldn’t even think twice before getting it,” Lando says earnestly. You finally crack a smile. “So, how ‘bout it? Say you’ll be my guest of honor.” 

“Guest of honor seems very prestigious.” 

“I’m a little rusty with arts and crafts, but I’ll even make you a crown if you want.” 

“Definitely not,” You giggle. Lando gives a little offended look at the quickness of your answer, but still seems well pleased nonetheless. “But I will take you up on that paddock tour.” 

“Deal! Done deal, for sure. Oh, this is the best day of my life! I have to go make some calls, pull some strings,” He says quickly, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Um, raincheck on the Mediterranean place, if that’s alright? I gotta sort this out sooner rather than later.” 

You smile, nodding. “Takeaway and Love Island it is.”

“Oh my god, yes please! I’m sick of waiting for you so we can watch the new season together.” 

“Um, it’s called being a good boyfriend!” 

“I know, but it’s fucking Love Island! I need my fix!” 

As unprofessional as it is, you’ve grown a little crush on the British driver in the time you’ve been with McLaren. How could you not have? 

Lando is kind and very down to earth, not to mention extremely talented at what he does. To say he’s charismatic is stretching it a bit, but his personality exudes comfort—the kind of comfort you’d felt even the first time you’d met him. Like the sun’s rays finally shining through the clouds after a rainy day. 

As part of the physiotherapy team, you’ve worked with him quite often, always on hand when he needs anything both at MTC and trackside during race weekends. He’s always been a little extra nice when you’re the one working on him, asks about your life away from work and actually listens when you talk. You just attribute it to his likeable nature, because if you let yourself think too deeply into the way he is around you, you’d never be able to get anything done. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” 

You scowl. “Let’s not talk about this now. C’mon, we gotta load all the equipment into the trucks.” 

All of a sudden, a ruckus just outside the room gains both your focus. Someone’s shouting something about medical attention, which snaps you both to attention because, well, that’s your forte. The door swings open to reveal none other than the two people you’ve just been talking about. 

A worried looking Jon ushers Lando, who’s got both hands clutching at his upper face, into the small area. 

“Whoa, what happened?” You gasp, hurrying to pull out a chair for Lando to sit on. 

Jon rakes a hand back through his dark hair, pushing his glasses up on his nose with a grimace. “Incident with a photographer out in the pit lane. Would you mind checking him out?” You nod quickly, and he claps Lando on the shoulder. “Mate, you gotta show the doc.” 

When Lando just shakes his head no, the older man looks at you and your coworker helplessly. 

“Lando, she needs to take a look at your face. She can’t do that if you won’t show her,” He says slowly. Cautiously. Again, Lando shakes his head, this time more vigorously than the first. 

You lay a hand on his shoulder gently, crouching down to his eye level. “Hey, I gotta make sure you’re not hurt badly, yeah? If you’re in pain, I can help you, but only if you let me.” 

“Why don’t we give them some privacy?” Your coworker suggests, aiming her question towards Jon. It takes a few seconds, but he eventually gives in, tells Lando he’ll be right outside if he needs him, before heading for the exit. 

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving just the two of you. Lando hasn’t moved or said a word yet, and it’s starting to make you a little nervous.

“Lando, it’s me. Just me, no one else. Can you let me help you?” 

“It’s so embarrassing,” He groans finally, broad shoulders hunching in on themselves.

“You once came to me because you pulled your hamstring trying to do the full splits on a dare. I think we’re past embarrassing at this point, no?” 

“Don’t remind me about that, please,” Lando mutters, chin dropping towards his chest. You take the cap off his head and set it aside to get a better look, but he’s still got his hands over his face. “I was trying to get up on the fence to, y’know, say hi to some of the fans, show them the trophy. And then someone in front of me fell into me and the next thing I know the pointy bit on the top jabs me right in the face.”

He gestures a haphazard hand towards the golden trophy sitting on the counter, all sharp edges and protruding details that glint in the light. It’s beautiful, you think, but dangerous. 

Kind of like Lando. 

“Not your eye, right?” You press. It is very—no, extremely—important that he hasn’t been stabbed in the eye. 

“No, no, not the eye. My nose.” 

“You and injuring your nose seems to be a common theme, doesn’t it?” 

“Ha ha, very funny,” He deadpans, lifting his head to level you with an unimpressed stare through his fingers. You smile, and his shoulders lose a bit of their tension. The sign that he’ll let you touch him now is subtle, but you know him. 

“Let’s see what we’ve got here, shall we?” You hum, prying his hands away from his face gently. Upon first inspection, it looks pretty bad. A sizable looking gash sits right between his eyebrows, a rivulet of blood running down his nose, smeared onto his cheek from where he’d probably rubbed at it. 

In your experience, the sight of blood tends to make an injury look a lot worse than it actually is, and you suspect this is the case with Lando. 

“Is it bad?” He asks breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut. His chest rises and falls erratically, which tells you he’s nervous about the diagnosis. Or worried his handsome face will be scarred for life, you can’t tell. 

Even with blood streaking his golden skin and a face injury, Lando is still unfairly attractive. You don’t mean to stare at him outright like this, but you can’t help it. Long, thick lashes kiss his cheekbones, curls still damp with the sweet smelling tang of champagne hanging over his forehead artfully messy, pink lips pressed into a slight pout. 

You use your thumb to turn his head to one side, then the other, before stepping back and sighing loudly. If you spend any longer looking at him, you’d feel like a creep. “Terrible. We might have to cut the whole nose off.” 

“What?” He yelps. His eyes spring open, wide and disbelieving until he catches you giggling into the back of your hand. “Oh, you’re just taking the piss, aren’t you? That’s not funny!” 

“It’s a little funny.” Lando scowls weakly at your jest, and you roll your eyes playfully. “You’re gonna be fine, Lando, it’s not bad at all. I do have to clean it up, though.” 

“That’ll hurt like a bitch.” 

“Probably. But you’re a big boy, you can handle it.” You turn to grab the supplies you need to clean his face, completely missing the way he blushes. By the time you turn back, he’s got a little crooked smile on his face, like you amuse him. “What?” 

“Nothing. You just look happy.” 

“Happy that someone needs me? Yeah. If you boys didn’t get hurt, I’d be out of a job, wouldn’t I?” 

“I’d get hurt more often if it meant seeing you every time.” 

You falter, nearly fumbling the things gathered in your arms in surprise at his boldness. The roll of tape at the top of the pile topples over at the sudden stop, but Lando leans forward, snatching it out of the air before it falls even a foot. 

He holds it out to you like it’s a peace offering to what he’d just blurted out, cheeks already pink with sheepish embarrassment. 

You pluck it out of his open palm, setting it and the rest of the supplies onto the table beside him. “Thanks.” 

Lando likes seeing you. Lando wants to see you more often. Your brain doesn’t seem to comprehend that.

You give your head a little shake to refocus, busying yourself with organizing your materials nicely. “So how does it feel? To win your home race for the first time,” You ask, ripping open a packet of antiseptic wipes discreetly. 

You have the feeling you’ll need to distract him for this. 

“Absolutely fucking unreal, honestly. Like, it feels like I’m dreaming and I’ll wake up any second, and then realize it was all just in my head.” He’s grinning like a madman, still smiling like he’s replaying the whole thing in his mind as you nudge your way between his knees. “Is that crazy?” 

You smile warmly, shaking your head. “I don’t think so. You’ve been wanting this forever, and it’s finally happened.” You settle a gloved hand at the base of Lando’s jaw to keep him still, tilting his head up for a better angle. His lips part, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously before quirking up into the tiniest of satisfied smiles. “You should be proud.” 

“Yeah, I am, for sure. But I owe it all to—fuck, ow!” He bites out, grimacing at the sting of the antiseptic as you dab at the cut gingerly. A hand comes up to the curve of your hip, knuckles curling into the material of your team jacket on instinct. To ground himself from the sudden pain.

For a moment, you lose yourself in the mesmerizing constellation of his eyes, lured into losing focus by the swirl of colors and the weight of what lies within them. Your hands fall still on his face. The way he’s looking at you makes you want to kiss him, just to see what it would be like. 

Fuck. No, you can’t. You have to remain professional, because you’re coworkers, damn it. 

“Sorry,” You murmur. You try really hard not to think about how his hand doesn't move from your waist. Instead he holds on a little tighter, giving you an almost imperceptible tug closer. “This is gonna hurt some more.” 

“I don’t mind.” His voice is impossibly soft, a little breathless as he stares up at you unabashed. 

You dab at the cut and the surrounding area until there's no more blood, letting you see the wound a little more clearly. Clean edges, not too deep, definitely no need for stitches. Some tape to close it up and a plaster should do nicely. 

“Did you know you scrunch your nose when you focus?” He asks some time later, as you’re getting ready to fix him up. 

“What? No, I don’t,” You scoff. 

“Yeah, you do. It’s cute.” 

You feel your face flame hot. “Shut up.” 

“I’m serious!” He insists, grinning. He seems to rather enjoy the reaction he’s elicited from you. “Look, I know we work together, but I don’t think I’m imagining the way things are between us. So I’m just gonna come out and ask. D’you—I mean, would you maybe…I dunno, wanna grab dinner with me tonight?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you lay down the plaster right over his cut, fingers smoothing around the edges delicately. “We have the team dinner later.” 

The last thing you want to seem is too eager, but you wouldn't even dream of saying no. Not when he's looking at you all hopeful and nervous like this. 

Lando scratches his cheek, frowning. “Oh. Right. It’d be a bad look to skip out on that, wouldn’t it?”

“Reckon it would be, yeah,” You chuckle goodnaturedly. Three pieces of tape go on, right before he tilts his head to the side thoughtfully.

“Maybe tomorrow then? We’ve got the day off, we can do something together!” 

“You’ve got it off maybe, but I’ve got an exciting day of supply inventory at MTC.” 

“Sound riveting,” He snorts, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Alright, how ‘bout this? I can swing by in the afternoon, bring some food. We can sit out in that little garden in the east wing on your lunch break. Or I can pick you up after your day’s done and we can grab some dinner?” 

“Has anyone told you that you’re very persistent?” 

“Oh, all the time. But I do really like you, and today’s given me the courage to man up and finally ask you out, so…yeah, I’m persistent. Is that alright?” 

You try to fight the smile spreading across your face, but it’s no use. “Yeah, it is. ‘Cause I kinda like you too.” 

“Just kinda?” 

“Quit killing my mysterious vibe, Norris.”

“Mysterious! That’s hilarious, seriously.” 

“What? Why?” You’d be offended if it wasn't true. Now it just makes you giggle. 

“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you’ve been staring at my lips this whole time. And might I add—” 

You lean forward, slotting your mouth against his before he can go on. It’s an impulsive spur of the moment kind of decision that stuns him into silence, short and sweet and effective. 

He looks utterly dumbfounded when you pull back. “I—you—that was…if that’s how you get me to shut up, I should start talking a lot more.” 

“Try it, see what happens.” 

“I could. Or I could just…” He trails off in favor of tugging you a step closer by the hand, leaning in slowly. 

Closer, closer, closer still, until—

“Mate, I heard you got smacked—” Oscar bursts through the door right before your lips touch, phone waving in hand. The sudden intrusion makes you both startle away from each other. You grab the remnants of your supplies to put back, Lando scratches the back of his neck in a poor attempt to look casual, and the Australian boy just stops, eyes flicking between the two of you in search of a connection. “Oh shit, sorry. I was—you guys were just—um, I can leave. Yeah, I’ll go.” 

“It’s fine, Oscar.” Although a little bummed the moment has been cut short, you smile as sincerely as you can manage. “We’re just about done here anyways.” 

“We are?” Lando asks, brows furrowing. He looks like he doesn’t want to go, but even you know he has to. 

You squeeze his hand. “Yeah, you’re all set.” 

“Thanks for patching him up, doc,” Oscar says, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “Dude, c’mon. We gotta get to the fan stage.” 

“But—” 

“We’re already late because of your detour, let’s go.” His tone leaves no room for discussion and Lando can see that, because he slouches and sighs. 

“Fine,” He huffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. His grumpy expression softens when he looks at you again. “See you later?” 

“I’ll be around.” He’s halfway out the door when you exclaim quickly, “Lando, wait!” 

Lando pokes his head back into the room quicker than lightning, looking hopeful. “Yeah?” 

“Don’t forget your trophy.” 

“Oh.” He shuffles towards you to grab it, ears turning red at just how excited he’d sounded as he hefts the giant thing into his arms. “Thanks.” 

You press a kiss to his cheek before he can get far, smiling fondly at him when you pull away. “See you tonight.” 

“And tomorrow?” 

“Yes, and tomorrow.” 

“Mint. Can't wait.”  

With a cheeky wink aimed at you, he’s gone, leaving you alone grinning like an idiot with your heart thrumming in your ears. 

You barely notice your coworker slip back into the room, but coincidentally, she’s also grinning. Though hers looks much more devious in nature. 

You roll your eyes. “Not a word out of you.” 

“I didn’t even say anything!” She protests, but the wicked gleam in hers tells you she knows exactly what went down. 

“Good. There’s nothing to say.” 

“Of course.” She nods. “But if I were to say something, which I definitely won’t, it would be about fucking time.” 

That gets you to set aside your book, carefully marking your page before tossing it off to the side. Oscar leans forward, hair falling back into that perfectly messy swoop you love so much, cheeks rosy with your shared warmth. This kind of relaxed comfort isn’t something you get to have very often with him with the F1 season upon you. 

“Come home with you,” You repeat slowly, like you’ve somehow misheard him even though he’s sitting right next to you. He nods. “Like…meet your family?” 

“Yeah,” He says, nodding. Like it isn’t a big deal. His tone makes it seem more like he’s suggesting what to have for dinner, not taking a big step in your relationship together. “It’ll be nice.” 

Something about Oscar you have yet to get used to is how casual he is about things. To you, this is a big thing, but to him? Well, you’re not really sure what he thinks. 

“Osc, I’d be meeting your family for the first time. This is a big deal.” 

He blinks, cocking his head to the side in thought. “Um, yeah I guess it could be, sure. But you’ve already met them before, over video chat.” 

“That is so not the same thing!” You whine, leaning forward until your cheek presses against Oscar’s thigh. His hand moves to your back immediately, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades. “Meeting them in person is something else entirely.”

“They’re gonna love you, you know that, right? I’m pretty sure they already do. My sisters keep asking me where you get your clothes from every time you post on Instagram.” 

You return to a sitting position, cocking your head at him. “And do you?” 

His nose wrinkles in confusion. “No? I just tell them I don’t know.” 

“God, you’re such a boy, Osc,” You scoff playfully, rolling your eyes. 

“Thank you? I’m taking that as a compliment even if it isn’t.” He shrugs, laying an arm across the top of the cushion behind you. He reaches out, gentle fingers stroking your arm soothingly. “So, what d’you say? Come home with me, meet my family?” 

You take in the sight of him, the tilt of his head and the softness in his smile and the happy crinkles he gets by his eyes whenever he’s happy. “Okay,” You agree. (Like you were ever going to say no to him in the first place.) “A summer holiday to Melbourne it is.”

-------

The handful of days before summer break fly by quicker than you can imagine. Now you're standing on the front step of Oscar’s childhood home, nervously clicking the button on the handle of your suitcase like it suddenly gained the ability to teleport you home. 

“I think I might throw up.” 

Oscar’s nose crinkles when he looks at you. “Gross. Are you being serious?” 

“Not really. I think. My stomach feels weird.” 

“You're nervous.” 

“No shit, genius.” 

An amused laugh snort escapes his mouth. “Oh, you really are nervous.” 

“I will smack you.” 

“I still don’t see what the big deal is,” He says, shrugging. Then you shoot him a pointed look and he holds his hands up in surrender. “But I know it is a big deal. And I will try my best to remember that.” 

The door swings open before he can knock, revealing none other than Oscar’s mum and dad. 

“You’re late!” His mum exclaims, though her fond expression tells you that she really doesn’t mind at all. In fact, she just looks beyond relieved that her son is home. His dad looks the same. 

“Hi, mum, dad,” He says softly, accepting the bone crushing hug she gives him. He doesn’t even say a word when she fusses over him, wonders if he’s eating enough and getting enough sleep, and then berates him for not calling her more often whilst he’s been away in the very same breath.

You can tell right away, he’s happy to be home. 

You stay back, wanting to let Oscar have this moment with his parents, but Nicole Piastri turns her gaze on you next. Part of you is a little intimidated, but then she breaks into a smile like a carbon copy of Oscar’s and any worries you have start to melt away. 

“Don’t be rude, Oscar, introduce us to this lovely young woman!” 

“I was getting there!” Oscar laughs, escaping his mum’s clutches to slide a hand around the small of your back, nudging you forward. “You guys remember my girlfriend.” 

Oscar’s mum says your name with such maternal warmth, you don't even recall why you were so nervous to meet his family in the first place. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s so nice to finally meet you face to face! Video quality doesn’t do justice to how gorgeous you are, my goodness.” 

“It’s really nice to meet you too, Mr. and Mrs. Piastri,” You say politely.

“There’s no need for that,” Oscar’s dad insists, waving away any formalities as you cross the threshold into their home. “Chris and Nicole is just fine.” 

“Oh, um, okay! Thank you for having me, by the way. I hope it’s okay I brought dessert, Oscar’s always raved about a bakery in town that has amazing pastries. I may have gone a little overboard and gotten a bunch of them for everyone to try,” You admit sheepishly, holding up the giant box. 

It’s true, Oscar had told you about the family owned bakery many times, the same place where his mum would buy anything for a special occasion. You’ve been wanting to try it, but you’d also chosen to get a little of everything to smooth out any awkwardness with his family if there was any. If they’re anything like Oscar, dessert is always the answer. 

“Where’s everyone else?” Oscar asks, peering around in search of his sisters. 

“All out with their friends, but they’ll be back soon for dinner. Your dad’s about to fire up the grill, we've got steaks and chicken—oh no, I forgot to ask if you had any dietary restrictions, hon.” 

“She doesn't,” Oscar chimes in before you can respond. His mum swats him on the arm. “What?” 

“She can answer for herself, Osc!” 

“But I was just—” At her pointed look, he snaps his mouth shut, looking at you with an expression that screams help me.

“He's right, I’ll eat anything,” You chuckle. 

“I can see why my son loves you so much! Y’know, he talks about you all the time. Whenever I can wrangle him for a call—which, let me tell you, is like pulling teeth—he always chats about you nonstop. His sisters tease him about it too, but they’ve always liked to poke fun at their big brother—” 

“Okay, alright, mum! Let’s not scare her off just yet, yeah?” Oscar says, absolutely red in the face with embarrassment. 

He hurries you upstairs before his mum can share any more stories, but you’ll be sure to get your fix of them in the mornings, when he’s busy snoring away. Where Oscar is an enjoyer of sleeping in, you thrive in the quietness of early morning. 

You barely have time to set your bag down at the foot of the bed before he’s tugging you into his room right across the corridor. Looking around the cozy room, you take in every bit of the version of Oscar you haven't had the chance to know. 

Trophies and medals and stacks of books sit neatly on shelves, posters of cars and pictures with jagged edges from being torn out of magazines plastered all over the walls, photos of friends and family tacked onto a cork board above a terribly cluttered desk. Even though it hasn't been occupied in a while, it still feels very lived in. 

You can almost picture little chubby cheeked Oscar reading vigorously through car books with a torch under the blankets at night when he was supposed to be asleep. 

A lone koala stuffed animal sits on the small bed tucked into the corner of the room, obviously well loved and facing the door like it had been waiting for Oscar’s arrival. 

“Oh. My. God.” You plop onto the bed with a bounce, gathering the soft toy into your arms with a giggle. Oscar scrubs a hand down his face, cheeks tinged pink. “It’s you!” 

“Just because I’m Australian doesn't mean every koala is me,” He sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. You make the koala’s paw wave, peering at Oscar with pouted lips. “And besides, his name is Turbo.” 

You laugh then, loud and clear and so full of joy it makes Oscar’s heart leap right out of his chest. 

You look like you belong here, sitting on his bed in his childhood room hugging his favorite stuffed animal. In another life, one where racing never came into the picture, you’d spend hours and days here together, sprawled out on the carpeted floor eating snacks and laughing until your stomachs hurt. 

In another life, you might’ve grown up knowing you loved each other your whole lives. 

But then again, if he never took up racing, he never would've gone to boarding school, never made his way to Formula 1. Never met you in the first place. So, he wouldn’t trade this life for anything. 

“Turbo! Of course his name is Turbo, you absolute nerd.” 

Oscar gives a little snort at your quip, taking a seat next to you. “I wasn't very original when I was nine.”

“Definitely not. Sure were a little cutie, though. Look at those cheeks! You’ve still got that baby face, you know.” 

“I do not.” He frowns, pressing his lips together. 

“You so do, don’t even try to deny it.” 

“I don’t see it.” He shrugs. You knock your knee against his. “I don’t!” 

“Fine, live your life in denial. I, for one, adore your baby face.” You squish his cheek between your fingers, grinning widely at him, and it makes him roll his eyes playfully. 

Just so he doesn't have to listen to you talk about it any more, he leans in to kiss you then. On instinct, you meet him halfway, eyes fluttering shut as his lips press against yours gently. 

For a second, you almost forget where you are. It isn’t until Oscar’s kisses start to stray towards your jaw that you remember. 

“Oscar!” You gasp quietly, splaying a palm over his chest. He rears back, brows pinching in confusion, eyes squinting. “Your mum and dad are right downstairs.” 

“Okay. And?” 

“So we can’t.” 

Oscar makes an indignant sound out the back of his throat, pushing in a little closer still. “They’re busy. It’s not like anyone’s gonna come upstairs, my sisters aren’t even home. Besides, I haven't kissed you in so long I’m starting to forget what it's like.” He grins boyishly, head lolling to the side. 

“I kissed you after we got off the plane.” 

“Yeah, but that was, like, an hour ago. Way too long.” 

“You’re feeling deprived?” You giggle, bumping your shoulder against his. 

“Very.” He nods. “Help a guy out?” 

“I guess I could.” 

“How gracious of you. C’mere.” Oscar slots his mouth against yours with a lazy smile, sliding a gentle palm around the back of your neck. 

He’s too big for this bed now, but he doesn't let it stop him from guiding you back down against the mattress, pushing himself onto his elbows without breaking the kiss. 

“Osc, d’you still have—oh shit!!!” 

Oscar shifts his body over yours in a flash, shielding you from view as if you aren’t still completely clothed. (Had it been a few minutes later, well, that you couldn’t say for sure.) 

“Edie!” He snaps. He doesn’t sound mad though, just firm. “Ever heard of knocking?” 

“Your door was open, you moron!” Edie exclaims. You can see her with her hand over her eyes through the gap between Oscar’s arm and chest. 

You’ve just been caught making out with your boyfriend on his childhood bed by his sister, and it’s absolutely mortifying. 

“Get out!” He says exasperatedly, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Hi! It’s really nice to finally meet you!” Edie chirps, waving at you. You manage a feeble wave back, smiling as best you can given the circumstances. So much for a good first impression. “I love your top! Where’d you get it?”

Oscar groans, turning to shoot a glare her way. “Out!” 

“Ugh, okay! I’m going!” 

She does shut the door on her way out, something Oscar and yourself should’ve done the moment things started to get heated. Oscar drops himself by your side, wedging himself in between you and the wall with a groan. You roll over to face him, cheeks still burning hot. 

Truly, this might have been one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. 

“I’m never living that one down,” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You?” You whine, burying your face in your hands. “What about me? Edie will never look at me the same! She might be scarred for life.” 

“Trust me, she’s seen a lot worse before. She’ll be fine.” 

“I don’t think I even want to ask about that,” You huff. You wriggle out from under him, going over to the mirror in the corner to make sure you look as non-kissed as possible. Oscar pouts from behind you, having flipped onto his back to watch you straighten yourself out. “What? We’re going downstairs.” 

“Right now?” 

“Right now.” 

“But we were a little busy before Edie barged in,” He reasons, coming to stand behind you. An arm winds around your waist, chin nestling on your shoulder as he meets your gaze in the mirror. You level him with a pointed look, brow raised. “Point taken. You’re right, of course.” 

“Always am.” 

“Right again. Don’t know what I was thinking. Certainly not anything to do with you laid out on my bed like some sort of—” At the elbow you press warningly against his ribs, he clears his throat, cheeks flaming pink. “Uh…nevermind. Nothing.” 

“Thought so,” You hum, smiling. “Let’s go meet your sisters, shall we?” 

-------

Dinner goes swimmingly. 

Any worries or fears about Oscar’s family not liking you have disappeared the longer you get to know them, and by the time night falls, you feel comfortable with them. They don’t treat you like Oscar’s girlfriend that they’re just meeting for the first time, they treat you like one of their own. Like you’re part of the family already.

His sisters have no shortage of funny stories about him and they don't hesitate to tell you all of them, which you return with a whole slew of stories of your own. His parents, particularly his mum, join in eventually, and it makes you laugh so much your stomach hurts. 

Oscar sinks lower and lower into his seat with every story, cheeks growing pinker and pinker until he looks thoroughly embarrassed of the attention on him. He’s still got an arm draped over the back of your chair, fingers that smooth over your arm and shoulder soothingly (more for his own sake, than anything, really), occasionally pinching where he can when you bring up particularly embarrassing moments of his. 

As night falls, you all move to the backyard, where Oscar’s dad gets the firepit going as you all settle into the various comfy sofas surrounding it. They all insist on not letting you lift a finger to clean up dinner, which Oscar gets a rare free pass from as well, much to his delight. 

Finally alone again after hours of talk, Oscar tugs you down next to him with a loud exhale, slinging an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. 

“You seem like you’re having a little too much fun with them,” He notes. He looks thoroughly unimpressed, as he always does, but you swear you can see a smidge of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. You shrug nonchalantly. “I’m starting to think I should’ve kept all of you far, far away from each other.” 

“What? No! I like it here, Osc,” You giggle at last, leaning into his side. You fit perfectly under his arm as if you were made to slot in right there, cheek smushing against his chest, knees drawn up to yours as you smile innocently up at him like you’ve never done wrong in your entire life. 

“You mean you like ganging up on me.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah, right. Sure,” He snorts. You press a kiss to the side of his neck to placate his huffing and puffing, another to the underside of his jaw, then his cheek, everywhere you can reach until he gets fed up with your teasing and plants his mouth on yours for a proper kiss. 

There isn’t much kissing that can be done before Oscar’s family comes back outside, but you’ll take what you can get from him at this moment. When you pull back, he looks pleasantly dazed, a little unfocused in the eyes to go hand in hand with his almost noticeable kiss-swollen lips.

“I really like your family, Osc,” You whisper, stroking a thumb under his eye tenderly. All Oscar can do is blush the same color as your lipgloss smudged on his mouth and nod. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 

“I think my mum would’ve strangled me if I didn’t bring you round to meet everyone soon. The texts she’s been sending have been oddly cryptic,” He says solemnly, looking entirely serious. You burst into a bout of giggles so infectious Oscar can’t help but start to chuckle himself, until you’re both laughing uncontrollably with no real reason why. “Y’know, I think we need to call it a night.” 

“Why? You still think there’s a chance of starting where we left off earlier?” You tease. Oscar shrugs, head cocked to the side like the thought had crossed his mind, and you scoff, elbowing him lightly. “In your dreams, babe.” 

“I was actually talking about beating jet lag, but hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”