Starset

Paris, France - 13 October 2025

Ana had never considered wedding dress shopping a high-risk activity.

This was, in hindsight, a personal failure.

She had accounted for the obvious stressors. Fabric texture. Bright lights. Being looked at for extended periods. Women with measuring tapes. The possibility of strangers using words like vision and moment while asking her to explain a desire she did not possess in concrete terms.

She had not accounted for Lewis Hamilton’s version of Wedding Dress Shopping.

That had been her mistake.

“Lewis,” Ana said, standing in the private terminal at Nice at seven in the morning, watching him arrive with sunglasses, and a leather folder tucked under one arm. “What is that?”

Lewis looked down as if he had forgotten he was carrying half a fashion archive. “Options.”

Susie, beside Ana, made a sound suspiciously close to delight.

Ana turned her head slowly. “Options.”

“Yes,” Lewis said. “Reference images. Fabric thoughts. Some silhouettes. Also notes.”

“You have notes.”

“Of course I have notes.”

“For my wedding dress.”

Lewis smiled. “Well, somebody had to.” Lewis adjusted his sunglasses. “You had no idea what you wanted.”

“I have some idea. No scratchy lace, please.’”

“It is a boundary,” Susie corrected. “Not a dress.”

“It is an important boundary.”

Lewis nodded seriously. “It is. And we will, of course, respect it.”

Ana looked back at him.

He was enjoying himself far too much. That was the first sign of danger.

The second was the folder.

The third was the fact that Lewis Hamilton, seven-time World Champion and man of many unlikely skills, appeared to have dressed for wedding dress shopping with the same level of intentionality other people brought to red carpets. Wide trousers. Long coat. Jewellery. Sunglasses despite the fact that they were indoors and the sun had barely committed to the day.

Ana looked down at herself.

Black trousers. Soft sweater. Coat. Loafers. Hair tied back. No jewellery except her ring.

She was dressed like a person prepared to attend a meeting where fabric might become adversarial.

Lewis looked like he was about to personally negotiate with the House of Dior. (Which, it turned out, he kind of was.)

Susie accepted coffee from the attendant and said, “Ana and Max picked a venue.”

Lewis stopped. For the first time since arriving, he seemed genuinely surprised.

“What?”

Ana sighed.

Susie’s face softened with immediate triumph. “They picked a venue.”

Lewis turned fully toward Ana. “Oh my God.”

“It is not that dramatic.”

“It is extremely dramatic.”

“It is a venue.”

“You picked a venue! Where?!”

“Yes. Isle of Eriska. In Scotland.”

Lewis’s expression changed. Not teasing now.

“Oh,” he said. “That sounds beautiful.”

Ana glanced down at her ring, then back up. “It is.”

“Private island,” Susie added.

Lewis’s grin returned instantly. “Of course.”

“It has a bridge,” Ana said.

Lewis stared at her for one second, then burst out laughing.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You are laughing.”

“Because Max must have loved the bridge.”

“He had several operational thoughts about it.”

“I bet he did.”

“He asked about access control before he asked about flowers,” Susie said.

“That is romantic for Max,” Lewis said.

Ana considered that. “Yes.”

Lewis looked delighted. “When?”

“Twentieth of December.”

His face softened again.

“This year?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Ana.”

She looked away.

She should have expected that tone from Susie.

From Lewis, it was more destabilizing.

“I know,” she said, though she was not entirely sure what she was agreeing to.

Lewis leaned closer, not touching her, but close enough that his warmth entered the space. He had always been good at that. Respecting a boundary while still making sure one knew he was there.

“You’re getting married in December on a private island in Scotland,” he said.

“Yes.”

“To Max Verstappen.”

“Yes.”

“And your only bridal design direction is no scratchy lace.”

Ana opened her mouth. Closed it.

Susie made a quiet laughing sound into her coffee.

Ana said, “I also dislike excessive volume.”

Lewis nodded. “Good. That helps.”

“And bows.”

“On you? Agreed.”

“And anything that feels like a costume.”

“Strongly agreed.”

“And I need to be able to move.”

“Of course.”

“And if someone says princess, I will leave.”

Lewis placed one hand over his heart. “I would never.”

Susie murmured, “You might think it.”

“I might think it privately,” Lewis conceded.

Ana narrowed her eyes.

Lewis smiled. “But not because of the dress.”

Before Ana could decide whether to object to that, they were called to board.

The flight to Paris was short enough that Ana thought it should have been uneventful.

It was not.

Lewis opened the folder.

Ana stared at it.

There were tabs. Tabs.

“Lewis.”

“Don’t panic.”

“I am not panicking.”

“You are looking at my folder like it might attack you.”

“It has tabs.”

“Organisation is good.”

“Not when used against me.”

Susie leaned forward. “Show me.”

“Susie.”

“What? I’m allowed to enjoy this. You are not picking a wedding dress every day!”

Lewis opened the first section.

Reference images.

Ana recognized some of them as wedding dresses, some as couture gowns, some as historical silhouettes, and some as what appeared to be photographs of sleeves.

“You printed sleeves?” she asked.

“Sleeves matter.”

Susie nodded. “Sleeves matter,” she agreed sagely.

Ana stared at both of them.

Lewis tapped one image. “This, for example, is wrong for you.”

“Why is it in the folder if it is wrong?”

“To establish what we are avoiding.”

Ana closed her eyes briefly.

Lewis continued, “Too stiff. Too bridal in the expected way. You would look like someone had placed you in a ceremonial envelope.”

Susie made a sound that meant she was trying not to laugh.

Ana opened her eyes. “Why are you so good at this?”

Lewis looked offended. “Ana, please.”

“He knows clothes,” Susie said.

“I know he knows clothes.”

“I asked for a favour,” Lewis said, turning another page.

Ana looked up sharply. “From whom?”

Lewis’s expression turned very innocent. Too innocent. “Dior.”

Ana stared at him. “Lewis.”

“I know the house. I asked for a favour.”

“For a favour.”

“Yes.”

“That is requesting with celebrity infrastructure.”

Lewis looked pleased. “That was a very Ana sentence.”

Susie leaned back, delighted. “It was.”

Ana pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose.

Lewis’s voice softened. “They said yes.”

Ana looked at him.

He was still smiling, but not joking now. “I called because I thought it might help,” he said. “Not because you have to do anything. We can walk in, look at fabrics, speak to people, and if it’s wrong, we leave. No one will trap you in tulle.”

“Tulle is also on the no list,” Ana said automatically.

Lewis pointed at her. “Good. See? We’re making progress.” His smile gentled. Then he turned another page. “Now. Off-the-shoulder.”

Ana blinked. “We are doing this.”

“We are absolutely doing this.”

By the time they landed in Paris, Ana knew two things.

One, Lewis Hamilton had extremely definite opinions about neckline geometry. Two, Susie and Lewis agreed on way too many things for Ana’s comfort.

The car took them through Paris under a pale morning sky. Ana watched the city move past the window with the wary detachment of someone entering an environment where people might use fabric emotionally.

Susie reached across and squeezed her hand. “You’re all right,” she said.

“I know.”

Lewis, from the front seat, looked back. “You don’t have to decide anything today.”

Ana stared at him.

He smiled. “Except no scratchy lace.”

“That has already been decided.”

“Correct.”

They arrived at the Dior atelier through a private entrance, because Lewis had apparently asked for a favour with frightening efficiency.

Ana had expected beautiful. She had not expected quiet.

The rooms were pale and high-ceilinged, full of soft light and careful movement. 

There were mannequins in half-formed garments, rolls of fabric, sketches pinned to boards, tables of embroidery samples that looked less like decoration and more like small acts of art.

Ana went very still.

Not because she was overwhelmed.

Well, not only because she was overwhelmed.

Because this was work.

Hands. Skill. Precision. People making things that required patience and repetition and attention so exact it became reverent.

That, Ana understood.

Lewis noticed. Of course he did. “It’s different when you see the making,” he said quietly.

Ana nodded once. “Yes.”

A woman with silver hair and excellent posture greeted them in French, then English, and then Lewis took over with the smooth confidence of someone who had been in these rooms before and belonged in them.

Ana did not belong in them.

That was fine. Ana rarely belonged in rooms. She had learned to function anyway.

They were led into a private fitting salon with mirrors, flowers, and a table set with coffee, water, tea, and small pastries that looked too architecturally delicate to eat. Lewis placed his folder on the table.

The Dior team looked at it with professional interest.

Ana looked at it with fear.

Susie looked as if she were having the time of her life.

“So,” said the woman leading the appointment. “Tell us about the wedding.”

Ana opened her mouth.

No sound came out.

Lewis stepped in.

“Private island in Scotland,” he said. “December. Small but not casual. She needs to move. She hates scratchy lace, excessive volume, bows, anything too princess-y, and anything that makes her look like she’s playing a role.”

Ana stared at him. Susie’s face softened.

The Dior woman nodded as if this were a perfectly normal briefing.

“And what does she like?” she asked.

Lewis looked at Ana.

Ana looked back.

“I don’t know,” Ana said.

It came out more bluntly than she intended.

The room went gentle. She hated that.

Then Lewis said, “She likes precision.”

Ana turned to him.

“She likes things that are intentional,” he continued. “Not fussy. Not fragile. She likes structure.”

The room was quiet.

Ana had to look away.

Susie reached for her hand again. Ana let her.

The Dior woman smiled. “That is a very good start.”

Lewis looked pleased.

Ana felt betrayed by the fact that he was right.

They began with fabrics.

That, at least, Ana could handle.

Silk mikado. Heavy satin. Crepe. Organza. Lace samples placed at a safe distance until Ana touched one, frowned, and said, “Absolutely not.”

Lewis murmured, “Scratchy.”

“Yes.”

The lace was removed immediately.

Ana appreciated that more than she could say.

Then came sketches.

Too much volume. Too sharp. Too modern. Too romantic. Too much shoulder. Not enough shoulder. Sleeves wrong. Sleeves interesting. Neckline wrong. Neckline almost.

Lewis had thoughts. Many thoughts.

“Not that waist,” he said at one point, leaning forward. “She’ll hate feeling segmented.”

Ana looked at him. “Segmented?”

“You will.”

“I do not know what that means in this context.”

“You would once you’re in it.”

The Dior woman nodded thoughtfully.

Ana looked at Susie for help. Susie said, “He’s right.”

Lewis pulled one of the references closer. “This line, but softer. And sleeves, but not heavy. She needs long sleeves.”

“I do?” Ana asked.

“Yes. December in Scotland.”

“There will be heating.”

“It’s also the mood.”

“I have a mood?”

Lewis gave her a look. “Several.” Susie laughed.

Ana sat there, increasingly convinced that she was not actually needed for her own wedding dress shopping.

Then the door opened.

Not abruptly. Nothing at Dior happened abruptly.

But someone entered, and the room shifted.

Lewis turned first.

Then smiled.

Ana knew the man’s face because Lewis had shown her three reference images in the car and said, “There is a chance we might see him, but don’t panic.”

Which had, of course, made Ana panic internally and prepare not to show it.

Jonathan Anderson smiled as if he had only intended to look in briefly and not alter the trajectory of the entire morning.

“Lewis,” he said warmly.

Lewis stood. “Jonathan. Thank you for this.”

“I was nearby,” Jonathan said, which Ana suspected was a lie told beautifully. His gaze moved to Ana. “And this must be Ana.”

Ana stood because she knew how to function in rooms even when she would rather disappear into the nearest storage cupboard.

“Yes,” she said. “Hello. Very nice to meet you.”

Jonathan shook her hand. His grip was warm.“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

He glanced at the table. The folder. The samples. The sketches. Then at Lewis, who had the expression of a man trying and failing not to look too pleased.

“I wasn’t supposed to interrupt,” Jonathan said.

“You are not interrupting,” Lewis replied.

Ana suspected he had been waiting for this interruption with the patience of a strategist.

Jonathan looked at Ana. “May I listen for a minute?”

Ana glanced at Susie.

Susie’s face said: this is your choice.

Lewis’s face said: please say yes, I am trying to be calm about it.

Ana sighed internally. “Yes, of course.”

Jonathan sat.

The design director summarized briefly. Private Scottish island. December. Officiated outdoors, likely. Photos outside if weather allowed. Bride with sensory constraints. Strong aversion to scratchy lace. No princess effect. No excessive spectacle. Groom likely to become emotional and possibly overprotective, which Lewis added without shame.

Ana said, “That last part is not design relevant.”

Jonathan looked amused. “It is more relevant than you think.”

Ana frowned.

Then Jonathan looked at one of the sketches and tilted his head.

“Wait,” he said. “I have thoughts.”

Lewis looked like Christmas had arrived.

Ana immediately became suspicious.

Jonathan took a pencil and then began drawing.

“Off the shoulder,” he said. “But not fragile. It should feel deliberate. Almost architectural. Long sleeves. Clean through the body, not too narrow, not princess volume. It needs weight at the hem. Winter. Scotland. She should look grounded.”

Ana stared at the sketch forming under his hand.

The neckline was wide and quiet, sitting off the shoulders. The sleeves were long and fitted but not tight, the bodice structured without being harsh, the skirt falling in a line that felt formal but not theatrical.

For the first time all morning, Ana understood what people meant when they said they could see it.

“Oh,” Susie said softly.

Lewis smiled.

Ana did not speak.

Jonathan noticed. “Too much?”

Ana shook her head. “No. It’s beautiful.”

That was all she could manage.

Jonathan nodded, as if he had heard the rest anyway.

“And the veil,” Lewis said, because Lewis Hamilton apparently woke up every day choosing escalation.

Ana turned slowly. “What veil?”

Lewis opened another section of the folder.

Of course.

Veils.

Ana stared at him.

“You made a veil section?”

“You are getting married in Scotland in December in Dior,” Lewis said. “There is going to be a veil.”

Jonathan was looking at her thoughtfully.

“Not lace,” Ana said immediately.

“No scratchy lace,” Lewis added.

“No scratchy lace,” Jonathan agreed. “Embroidery.”

Ana hesitated.

“What embroidery?”

“Stars,” Susie said softly.

Ana went still.

Lewis looked at her.

Jonathan looked between them. “Stars?”

Ana’s throat tightened.

“My grandmother had a star chart,” she said.

The words were quieter than she intended.

Lewis’s face changed.

Susie’s hand moved to her back.

Jonathan did not say how lovely.

Thank God.

He only nodded. “Do you have the chart?”

“Yes.”

“Could we use it?”

Ana looked up.

“Not literally if you don’t want,” he said. “But as a map. Embroidered into the veil. Very fine. Almost something you only see when it moves.”

Ana could not breathe properly for a second.

The star chart, taken from a Moscow floor and carried through every house she had survived, turned into something she wore while walking toward Max.

That was dangerous.

That was too much.

That was—

“Yes,” Ana said.

Susie made a small sound.

Lewis looked away for half a second, suspiciously.

Jonathan smiled, small and satisfied. “Good.”

After that, there were three dresses.

Because apparently once one entered an atelier with Lewis Hamilton, one did not leave with a single garment like a reasonable person.

The wedding gown: off the shoulder, long sleeves, structured, clean, winter-weight silk, with a veil embroidered from Yelena’s star chart in thread so fine it would look almost like frost until light caught it.

The party gown: embroidered, easier to move in, still long but less formal, with subtle stars worked into the bodice, something that could catch candlelight and look different every time Ana moved. Lewis insisted she needed to dance.

“I do not dance,” Ana said.

“You will at your wedding.”

“Max does not dance.”

“Max will do anything you ask at your wedding.”

Ana considered that.

Lewis pointed at her. “See?”

“I was calculating feasibility.”

“You were imagining it.”

“Briefly.”

“Good.”

The rehearsal dinner gown came last, because Susie mentioned the dinner and Lewis said, “Obviously she needs something for that,” in a tone that suggested Ana had been planning to arrive wrapped in a spreadsheet and nothing else.

“I have enough dresses,” Ana said.

Jonathan, Lewis, and Susie all looked at her with varying levels of pity.

Apparently she did not.

By the time they broke for tea, Ana had been measured, sketched, turned gently toward mirrors, asked questions about movement, temperature, fabric, hair, jewellery, shoes, and whether she intended to wear any jewellery.

“I have a tiara.”

Lewis nearly dropped his cup. “You own a tiara?”

Ana looked at him. “Yes.”

Susie closed her eyes, already smiling.

Lewis put the cup down with great care. “How. Why. Explain.”

“It was a gift.”

“From who?!”

“Papa.”

Lewis stared. “Toto bought you a tiara?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“My twenty-fifth birthday.”

Lewis looked at Susie.

Susie nodded. “He did.”

“Why am I only finding this out now?!”

Ana frowned. “It is not something that comes up often.”

“You own a tiara and it does not come up often?”

“No.”

Lewis looked personally betrayed.

“What does it look like?”

Ana took out her phone, found the photograph after some searching, and handed it to him.

Lewis accepted it with the gravity of a man being shown state secrets.

Then his face changed.

“Oh, this is good.”

“It is excessive.”

“It is beautiful.”

“It is excessive.”

“Both.”

Susie leaned over. “It is beautiful.”

“It lives in a safe,” Ana said.

“And it should,” Lewis replied. “You’re wearing it.”

“It may be too much.”

“You are wearing an custom Dior gown, on a private island in Scotland, to marry Max Verstappen. We have left the realm of too much.”

Jonathan looked at the photo and tilted his head. “Actually, with the clean gown and the veil, it could work beautifully. If the hair is restrained.”

By the end of the appointment, Ana felt wrung out in a way she could not neatly categorize.

Not bad.

Not good.

Too much, but not wrong.

That was perhaps the most accurate phrase.

Too much, but not wrong.

Jonathan shook her hand before he left.

“I’ll have the sketches refined,” he said. “We’ll move quickly, but not carelessly.”

Ana nodded. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “No scratchy lace.”

“No scratchy lace,” she agreed.

Lewis looked far too pleased with himself.

In the car afterward, Ana sat between Susie and Lewis with a folder of fabric notes, preliminary sketches, and a headache forming behind her eyes.

Susie held her hand.

Lewis held the folder.

Ana let both things happen.

For three minutes, no one spoke.

Then Lewis said, “I still cannot believe you own a tiara.”

Ana closed her eyes. “Lewis.”

“I need pictures of you wearing it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“For research.”

“You have seen a photograph.”

“I need styling pictures. You are going to wear it and send me a picture.”

“I am not.”

Susie said, “You are.”

Ana turned to her in betrayal. “You are supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” Susie said, smiling. “I also want pictures.”

Lewis looked victorious and leaned slightly into her shoulder.

“Thank you for letting me come,” he said.

Ana looked at him.

He was still holding the folder, but his voice had changed.

This was not about dresses now.

Not really.

So she said the truth.

“Thank you for helping me. You are the only person I know who knows what he is around Haute Couture.”

Lewis laughed.

Susie laughed too, softly.

Ana frowned. “That was a compliment.”

“I know,” Lewis said, still smiling. “From you, it is practically a love letter.”

***

Press Release: Oracle Red Bull Racing

Oracle Red Bull Racing today confirms the appointment of Gerhard Berger as Team Principal with immediate effect.

Mr. Berger will assume responsibility for the team's sporting and operational leadership ahead of the United States Grand Prix.

Statement from Gerhard Berger

"It is an enormous honour to return to Oracle Red Bull Racing in this capacity.

This team has achieved extraordinary success over the past two decades through exceptional people, relentless innovation and an uncompromising desire to compete at the highest level. My responsibility now is to help ensure that continues.

However, before looking forward, it is important to acknowledge recent events.

The circumstances surrounding the Azerbaijan Grand Prix were dealt with in a manner that fell far below the standards that Oracle Red Bull Racing should expect of itself.

It is now clear that serious failures occurred within our organisation. Those failures affected individuals who deserved better from their team. For that, I offer my sincere apology.

Trust cannot be restored through statements alone. It must be earned through actions, transparency and accountability.

That process begins immediately.

Over the coming weeks we will continue implementing structural changes across multiple departments, strengthen internal oversight and ensure that every member of this organisation understands that integrity is not optional. 

Performance without trust is not sustainable.

I have already begun speaking with many members of the team, and I look forward to meeting many more in the days ahead.

Oracle Red Bull Racing has always been built by remarkable people. My job is to make sure they are able to do their remarkable work in an environment worthy of them.

Finally, I would like to thank our employees, partners and supporters for their patience during an exceptionally difficult period.

We know that trust must be rebuilt.

We intend to rebuild it."

Gerhard BergerTeam Principal Oracle Red Bull Racing

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: GERHARD BERGER?!?!

@/formularachel: GERHARD BERGER????????

@/formularachel: sorry i got distracted by the team principal jump scare but HE MENTIONED BAKU???????

@/lightsoutandawaywego: “dealt with in a manner that fell far below the standards” oh so we’re using REAL WORDS now

@/verstappensleftfront: no because red bull spent weeks acting like baku was a weather event and berger just walked in like “yeah that was deplorable actually”

@/maxv33rstappen: “those failures affected individuals who deserved better from their team” HIS NAME IS MAX VERSTAPPEN SAY IT WITH YOUR CHEST

@/carbonfibertears: i know pr language when i see it but “trust cannot be restored through statements alone” is still the most accountability we’ve gotten from red bull since this whole thing started

@/ferrarifoodtruck: gerhard berger on day one:

becomes team principal

says baku was handled badly

implies trust is broken

apologizes

@/smoothoperatorrr: “Performance without trust is not sustainable.” that line is going to be quoted in every f1 essay for the next decade

@/tifosigossip: This is a very carefully worded apology and also somehow a knife.

@/boxboxbitchred bull fans: new team principal! max fans: HE SAID BAKU mercedes fans: HE SAID BAKU everyone else: HE SAID BAKU

@/racepacefraud: Gerhard Berger really said “good morning, I have arrived, and yes the house was on fire before I got here”

@/leclercsrevenge: I do not even like Red Bull and I still felt my eyebrows hit my hairline at that statement

@/paddockparalegal: Not legal advice but if I were involved in any future litigation around Baku I would be printing this statement immediately.

@/teambossupdates: BREAKING: Oracle Red Bull Racing appoints Gerhard Berger as Team Principal with immediate effect. Berger’s opening statement references Azerbaijan GP, apologizes for organizational failures, and states trust must be rebuilt.

@/ricciardhoe: daniel ricciardo somewhere: I knew red bull needed adult supervision x

@/rbrcivilwar: new red bull era begins with a public apology for baku. insane sentence. absolutely insane.

@/f1_screaming: Remember when they tried to push “driver error” after Baku? Yeah. Wonder how that paragraph feels now.

@/33orangearmy: I will never forgive the driver error line. never. max got in that car. he trusted them. and they let it sound like he had caused it.

@/maxvstheworld: “affected individuals who deserved better from their team” max gave them four world championships and they gave him sabotage + PR fog. berger better mean every word.

@/f1politicsdaily: The omission of Verstappen’s name is probably deliberate, but the entire statement orbits him.

@/inchidentgirl: “individuals who deserved better” is such a loud non-name

@/mclarenmenace: “environment worthy of them” gerhard berger said the vibes were rancid

@/gridgossipgirl: The fact that Gerhard’s first statement is basically “we know Red Bull broke trust” means the internal situation must have been SO much worse than leaked.

@/f1_insiderish: Hearing that some senior staff were deeply unhappy with how Baku was communicated publicly. Berger’s wording may be aimed internally as much as externally.

@/haasbadideas: Gerhard Berger has been team principal for 7 minutes and already created more plot than some teams create in a season

@/mercedesmood: as a mercedes fan i am not touching this with a ten foot pole but also: OH MY GOD

@/silverarrowsburner: the george-shaped elephant in the room is so loud right now

@/carbonfibertears: everyone carefully not saying george russell’s name under this statement is making it worse actually

@/rbr_defender21: New boss, new chapter. People need to give Gerhard time.

@/verstappenarmy: we gave red bull time and they used it to invent “driver error”

@/rbr_defender21: That was before Berger.

@/verstappenarmy: exactly why we are watching him like a hawk

@/f1oldschoolfan: Berger is one of the few names with enough history and credibility to walk into this mess and not immediately be dismissed. Smart appointment, brutal timing.

@/formulawagsdaily: Question: will this affect Max Verstappen’s expected move to Mercedes?

@/maxielbrainrot: girl where have you been. that ship is not just sailed it has a austrian registration and toto wolff at the wheel

@/silverstarmax: The funniest part is Red Bull appointing Berger and acknowledging Baku while Max is probably sitting in Monaco with his leg up watching everyone combust.

@/delulu_drs: this season has:

sabotage

team principal change

mercedes seat war

red bull public apology

everyone traumatized

drive to survive producers crying because nobody will sign release forms

@/netflixgarage: DTS episode title: Trust Cannot Be Rebuilt Through Statements Alone

@/paddockprincess44: that title would EAT unfortunately

@/redbullchaosera: gerhard berger really said: hello employees sorry your house is haunted we begin exorcism today

@/aussiegritfan: Mark Webber somewhere drinking coffee like “not my circus, unfortunately still full of people I know”

@/f1journalwatch: Expect questions about Baku, Max Verstappen, internal accountability, and potential legal consequences at COTA. Berger’s first press appearance as Red Bull TP will be heavily scrutinized.

@/gp2enginegp2: press conference at cota is going to need security, lawyers, priests, and possibly a priest for an exorcism

@/verstappensleftfront: the worst part is that this statement is good. like annoyingly good. now they have to actually do the work.

@/f1_archivist: That’s the core issue. The statement is strong, but it creates a standard Berger will now be measured against. “Trust must be rebuilt” is not a closing line. It is a promise.

@/verstappenfiles: “Those failures affected individuals who deserved better from their team.”

That is the closest Red Bull has come to saying “we failed Max Verstappen” and I need to lie down.

@/grandprixgirlie: Not Red Bull Racing discovering accountability in Q4 of 2025.

@/paddockpoppy: “Trust cannot be restored through statements alone.”

Okay Gerhard. Now say “Max Verstappen was blamed publicly for something our organization caused.”

@/simplysainz: This statement is either the beginning of actual reform or the most expensive PR bandage in motorsport history. No in-between.

@/maxvstan: He nearly died. They called it driver error. He nearly died. They called it driver error. He nearly died. They called it driver error.

I do not care how nice this statement is. Never forget that.

@/antiheroinef1: The funniest part is Red Bull saying “we intend to rebuild trust” like Max Verstappen isn’t currently in Monaco with a broken leg, a Mercedes contract, and probably Toto Wolff’s entire legal department on speed dial.

@/formulawah: Gerhard Berger: We need transparency. Paddock: okay then transparently tell us who decided to call it driver error.

@/racepacewitch: This statement feels like when someone finally tells the truth after the group chat already knew for six weeks.

@/maxmaxmax33: I don’t want Max back at Red Bull. I don’t want a reconciliation arc. I want him happy, safe, and winning in silver/black while Red Bull cleans its own house.

@/tifosigirl16: Ferrari could never release a statement this direct. We would get twelve paragraphs about passion and no verbs.

@/mclarenmuppet: McLaren PR reading this and whispering “thank god our chaos is just Lando accidentally revealing secrets.”

@/maxshelmet: I do not care if Berger personally writes Max an apology in gold leaf. The people who signed off on driver error need to be named internally and gone.

@/f1teaaccount: Update: reporters are already asking whether Berger has reached out directly to Max Verstappen.

This is about to get messy.

@/gridgossip: Imagine being Gerhard Berger and your first job as Red Bull TP is apologizing to Max Verstappen, reassuring sponsors, calming staff, admitting Baku was mishandled, and trying not to get murdered by Toto Wolff.

***

Group Chat: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!

(Members:    Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Yuki Tsunoda, Liam Lawson, Isack Hadjar, Oliver Bearman, Esteban Ocon, Gabriel Bortoleto, Nico Hulkenberg, Kimi Antonelli, Valtteri Bottas, Pierre Gasly, Franco Colapinto, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Alex Albon, Carlos Sainz, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso)

Lando Norris:WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON

Alex Albon:That is literally the name of the chat.

Lando Norris:YES AND IT IS RELEVANT AGAIN.

Carlos Sainz:Gerhard Berger?

Pierre Gasly:Red Bull team principal. I thought someone was joking.

Yuki Tsunoda:I wish someone was joking about Red Bull more often these days.

Isack Hadjar:…Is this good?

Nico Hulkenberg:Define good.

Oscar Piastri:Competent, experienced, and unlikely to start a civil war during FP1?

Lando Norris:That feels aimed at someone.

Oscar Piastri:No comment.

Esteban Ocon:It is a good appointment.

Charles Leclerc:For Red Bull, yes.

Alex Albon:That does not mean any of us have to enjoy saying it.

Valtteri Bottas:Gerhard knows racing. Knows politics. Knows when to let drivers drive.

Fernando Alonso:Good choice.

Lando Norris:WHY ARE YOU SO CALM

Fernando Alonso:Because I knew.

Lando Norris:YOU WHAT

Fernando Alonso:I knew.

Lance Stroll:Of course you knew.

Lando Norris:Fernando just says “I knew” like he is an oracle in a linen shirt.

Fernando Alonso:Thank you.

Oscar Piastri:I don’t think that was a compliment.

Lewis Hamilton:It is a smart move.

Carlos Sainz:Agreed.

Pierre Gasly:Long overdue, honestly.

Liam Lawson:The apology part or the team principal part?

Pierre Gasly:Both.

Max Verstappen:He reached out to Toto privately last week.

Lando Norris:SORRY?

Carlos Sainz:To apologize?

Max Verstappen:Yes.

Charles Leclerc:For Baku?

Max Verstappen:Yes. So I would know before the announcement. 

Nico Hulkenberg:That is… surprisingly sensible.

Oscar Piastri:It is the bare minimum, but yes.

Lewis Hamilton:It matters that he did it before the appointment was public.

Max Verstappen:He wants to meet Wednesday.

Lando Norris:YOU ARE MEETING HIM?

Max Verstappen:Yes.

Lando Norris:MAX.

Oscar Piastri:That does not sound optional in tone.

Max Verstappen:It is optional.

Lando Norris:Then don’t go?

Max Verstappen:I want to hear what he says.

Alex Albon:That is mature.

Lando Norris:I hate when Max is mature. It makes me nervous.

Carlos Sainz:Are you meeting alone?

Max Verstappen:No.

Lewis Hamilton:Good.

Pierre Gasly:Very good.

Lando Norris:Who is with you?

Max Verstappen:Raymond. Ana. Probably Toto.

Charles Leclerc:Ana might go?

Max Verstappen:If she wants.

Lando Norris:I feel like Ana Wolff going to a Red Bull apology meeting is either brilliant or terrifying.

Oscar Piastri:Those are not mutually exclusive.

Lewis Hamilton:If Ana is there, Gerhard should prepare.

Valterri Bottas:Understatement.

Isack Hadjar:Is she scary?

Lando Norris:Mate.

Lewis Hamilton:She once told a room full of senior engineers that their proposed workflow had “the structural integrity of wet cardboard.” and then fixed it in 5 minutes. 

Kimi Antonelli:That is accurate sometimes!

Lewis Hamilton:She is not scary. She is precise.

Max Verstappen:She made conditions.

Lando Norris:Of course she did.

Alex Albon:What conditions?

Max Verstappen:Neutral location. No Red Bull facility. Not our house. No media. No surprise people. No cameras. No handshake expectation. No forgiveness requirement.

Valtteri Bottas:Good conditions.

Fernando Alonso:Very good.

Pierre Gasly:The no forgiveness requirement is important.

Lando Norris:I still hate Red Bull.

Yuki Tsunoda:Same.

Liam Lawson:Same.

Pierre Gasly:I have complicated feelings.

Alex Albon:Join the club.

Carlos Sainz:I think many of us have complicated feelings.

Nico Hulkenberg:Gerhard is a good appointment and Red Bull can still have been wrong.

Oscar Piastri:Correct.

Franco Colapinto:So everyone thinks good choice but still hates Red Bull?

Alex Albon:Basically.

Oscar Piastri:Nuance.

***

Group Chat: 2025 Team Principals

 (Members: Toto Wolff, Andrea Stella, Fred Vasseur, Andy Cowell, Ayao Komatsu, Alan Permane, James Vowles, Jonathan Wheatley, Flavio Briatore)

Fred Vasseur:GERHARD BERGER?

Andrea Stella:Good afternoon to you too, Fred.

James Vowles:So the municipal crisis has selected a mayor.

Alan Permane:And apparently a competent one.

Ayao Komatsu:That is disappointing. I was becoming fond of the interim committee rumour.

Andy Cowell:To be clear, Red Bull have appointed Gerhard Berger as team principal?

Jonathan Wheatley:Yes.

Flavio Briatore:Good choice.

Fred Vasseur:Toto knew.

Andrea Stella:Toto absolutely knew.

James Vowles:He knew and sat there letting us speculate.

Alan Permane:With a straight face, presumably.

Toto Wolff:You were all enjoying yourselves.

Fred Vasseur:I was not enjoying myself. I was investigating.

Andrea Stella:You asked if Christian Horner would return with a fake moustache.

Fred Vasseur:That was Flavio.

Flavio Briatore:Yes. Very good idea.

Jonathan Wheatley:It was not a good idea.

Flavio Briatore:It was funny.

Andy Cowell:Toto, did you know at the time?

Toto Wolff:Define know.

Fred Vasseur:No.

Andrea Stella:Absolutely not.

James Vowles:Do not lawyer this.

Alan Permane:He is lawyering it.

James Vowles:That means yes.

Alan Permane:That absolutely means yes.

Fred Vasseur:Unacceptable.

Andrea Stella:You let us embarrass ourselves.

Toto Wolff:You needed very little assistance.

Jonathan Wheatley:I am taking this personally.

Toto Wolff:That seems emotional.

Jonathan Wheatley:It is emotional.

Fred Vasseur:You should have told us.

Toto Wolff:I should not have.

Andrea Stella:How long have you known before today?

Toto Wolff:Enough.

Fred Vasseur:That is not an answer.

Ayao Komatsu:Did Gerhard tell you?

Toto Wolff:Gerhard reached out privately last week.

Fred Vasseur:Ah.

Andrea Stella:That explains the tone.

Andy Cowell:For Baku?

Toto Wolff:Yes.

James Vowles:Before the appointment was public?

Toto Wolff:Yes.

Ayao Komatsu:Good.

Jonathan Wheatley:I am still annoyed.

Flavio Briatore:You can be annoyed and admit it is good.

Jonathan Wheatley added Gerhard Berger to the chat.

Gerhard Berger:Good afternoon.

Fred Vasseur:There he is.

Andrea Stella:Welcome, Gerhard.

James Vowles:Congratulations. Or condolences. Possibly both.

Andy Cowell:Congratulations on the appointment.

Flavio Briatore:Finally someone old enough to ignore nonsense.

Gerhard Berger:That appears to be the job description.

Fred Vasseur:Already better media handling than Red Bull managed all season.

Toto Wolff:Agreed.

Gerhard Berger:And for the record, Toto did not have permission to share.

Fred Vasseur:We only asked for hints.

James Vowles:Even a first letter would have done.

Gerhard Berger:G.

Alan Permane:Too late.

Toto Wolff:You see? Ungrateful.

Fred Vasseur:Do not make yourself the victim.

Andrea Stella:Toto, you sat here while we considered “interim committee.”

Toto Wolff:That was very funny.

James Vowles:You admit it.

Toto Wolff:Yes.

Alan Permane:Shameless.

Andy Cowell:Gerhard, are you officially in post before COTA?

Gerhard Berger:Yes.

Flavio Briatore:Fantastic. Straight into the fire.

Gerhard Berger:That also appears to be the job description.

Fred Vasseur:You inherited a bonfire.

Gerhard Berger:I have noticed.

Andrea Stella:Gerhard, since you are now here, can you confirm Red Bull has remembered it is legally required to have a team principal?

Gerhard Berger:Yes.

James Vowles:Good.

Alan Permane:Progress.

Andy Cowell:Do you have an org chart?

Gerhard Berger:I have several contradictory org charts.

Ayao Komatsu:That sounds realistic.

Flavio Briatore:Throw them all away and make your own.

Jonathan Wheatley:That is genuinely good advice, unfortunately.

Gerhard Berger:I know.

Fred Vasseur:Has anyone told Laurent he was removed from the group?

Jonathan Wheatley:I assume he noticed.

Andrea Stella:That is not the same as telling him.

Jonathan Wheatley:He was removed by admin action. That is information.

James Vowles:Very Audi of you.

Jonathan Wheatley:I am not taking criticism from Williams about admin processes.

James Vowles:Fair.

Alan Permane:Gerhard, did Red Bull give you a welcome package?

Gerhard Berger:Yes.

Ayao Komatsu:What was in it?

Gerhard Berger:A laptop, a pass, forty-three unresolved leadership issues, and three people saying “alignment” before I reached my office.

Flavio Briatore:Only three? First day is quiet.

Andrea Stella:Welcome back to Formula One management.

Gerhard Berger:I had forgotten how many people say “alignment” when they mean “panic.”

James Vowles:That is most of the job.

Alan Permane:Also “process.”

Andy Cowell:And “clarity.”

Fred Vasseur:And “moving forward.”

Flavio Briatore:And “family.”

Toto Wolff:Careful with that one.

Gerhard Berger:Noted.

Gerhard Berger:Speaking of which, Toto, I assume Wednesday is still acceptable?

Jonathan Wheatley:Wednesday?

Fred Vasseur:What is Wednesday?

Andrea Stella:Toto?

Toto Wolff:Gerhard is meeting Max.

Alan Permane:Ah.

Andy Cowell:Good.

Ayao Komatsu:Long overdue.

Fred Vasseur:Very long overdue.

Jonathan Wheatley:Extremely long overdue.

Gerhard Berger:I know.

Flavio Briatore:At least he knows.

Andrea Stella:That is already an improvement.

Gerhard Berger:I reached out to Toto first because it was not appropriate to ask Max directly before speaking to his side.

Toto Wolff:That was appreciated.

Fred Vasseur:This is all very mature and I resent it.

Alan Permane:Same.

James Vowles:It is unsettling.

Jonathan Wheatley:I am still annoyed nobody told me, but yes, that was the correct thing to do.

Gerhard Berger:Thank you, Jonathan.

Jonathan Wheatley:Do not thank me yet. I may become annoying again.

Gerhard Berger:I would be disappointed otherwise.

James Vowles:I am glad this is being handled properly.

Alan Permane:Same.

Jonathan Wheatley:Still furious about Baku.

Gerhard Berger:You should be.

Gerhard Berger:I am not coming in to pretend the damage was smaller than it was.Red Bull failed Max.

Gerhard Berger:That should have been said sooner. Publicly and privately. That will be part of what I say to Max. If he chooses only to listen and never accept it, that is his right.

Flavio Briatore:This is almost too sensible for this chat.

Alan Permane:Give it time.

Fred Vasseur:Someone will ruin it.

Jonathan Wheatley:Do you actually know what you have walked into?

Gerhard Berger:Yes.

Jonathan Wheatley:No, I mean actually.

Gerhard Berger:Jonathan, I have eyes, ears, friends, enemies, and a phone that has not stopped ringing for nine hours. Yes, I know. But I appreciate the concern.

Jonathan Wheatley:It was not concern.

Fred Vasseur:It was concern.

Andrea Stella:Definitely concern.

Andy Cowell:So Austin will be calm then.

James Vowles:Absolutely not.

Ayao Komatsu:Never.

Fred Vasseur:Austin will be media hell.

Andrea Stella:Between this, Baku questions, Max, Mercedes, Red Bull restructuring—

Toto Wolff:And normal racing.

Fred Vasseur:Yes, if anyone remembers that.

Flavio Briatore:Nobody remembers racing when drama is available.

The last thing I wanted to do with only two weeks left before classes started again was attend my cousin’s wedding.

But since I was seventeen—and in my family that meant I had absolutely no say in anything—I swallowed my complaints, rolled my eyes, and endured the long drive to the middle of nowhere.

Because nothing screams happy marriage quite like getting married in the middle of fucking nowhere.

By the time we arrived at the villa where everyone would be staying, I was ready to throw myself onto the bed and not get up until thirty minutes before the bride said I do. Unfortunately, my mother had other plans, so we headed off to meet the rest of the family instead.

“I thought we’d never get here,” my mother complained the moment she spotted my grandmother.

“Don’t even get me started. I thought I’d need another hip replacement after sitting in that car for so long,” my grandmother joked, her dry laugh echoing through the room.

A wave of disgust settled in my stomach. Anyone listening would think she was just a funny old woman enjoying the last years of her life. None of them would ever guess she’d spent years making mine miserable.

“Y/N, aren’t you going to say hello to your grandmother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

I swallowed the sigh of irritation threatening to escape.

“Hi, Grandma.” I gave her a quick, half-hearted hug.

Apparently, it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She was just about to lecture me when my cousin’s dramatic voice interrupted her.

It was only Wednesday. The wedding wasn’t until Saturday, yet according to my cousin, there were still a thousand things left to do before the groom’s family arrived the next day.

I spent the entire day running around, fulfilling every one of her demands. Every time I considered refusing, my mother shot me a look that promised my funeral would be sooner rather than later.

As far as she was concerned, I should’ve been grateful they’d even invited me. Apparently, after everything that had happened, being included in my cousin’s wedding was the greatest honor I could receive from that side of the family.

By nightfall, everyone gathered outside on the patio after dinner.

Several conversations were happening at once, but one in particular caught my attention. It was between my cousin Rose—the bride—and my cousin Angelina, who was about two years older than me.

“So… he’s really coming?” Angelina asked, lowering her voice.

Rose smiled immediately.

“Of course he is. He’s Carlo’s cousin. Why wouldn’t he come? He’s even one of the groomsmen.”

“And you said he’s single?” Angelina bit her lip, trying—and failing—to hide her smile.

“As far as I know.”

“Well… I hope he’s as handsome as you say.”

Rose laughed.

“Trust me, he is. And he’s loaded too. He’s a driver in a major racing series.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm. His name’s Kimi.”

Angelina’s eyebrows shot up.

“Guess I’ll have to make a little extra effort this weekend.”

Rose nudged her arm.

“I don’t think you’ll have to. My mother-in-law has been saying for weeks that you’d make the perfect couple.”

They both laughed.

I shook my head to myself.

Another conversation about men. Another conversation about setting someone up with someone else.

I lost interest almost instantly and focused on the glass in my hands instead.

Nothing that happened in this family mattered enough for me to join their conversations. And years ago, I’d learned they didn’t particularly care whether I did or not.

The next morning began as soon as the sun came up.

The villa fell into complete chaos with the arrival of the groom’s family. The most affected by it all seemed to be Angelina, who looked like she was waiting for Prince Charming himself to walk through the door.

As everyone introduced themselves, I limited myself to a polite smile and a handshake. Angelina, meanwhile, kept glancing toward the entrance. Apparently, the guy still hadn’t arrived.

Rose leaned over and whispered something in her ear and Angelina answered by making the saddest puppy face imaginable.

Pathetic.

I slipped away to another part of the villa to get some fresh air. About an hour later, I went back inside to find something to drink.

I poured myself a glass of lemonade. As I took a sip, I noticed a tin of cookies sitting on top of one of the kitchen cabinets. It was far too high to reach, so I dragged over a chair and climbed onto it. I had the cookies in my hand.

Victory was only seconds away.

Then the chair apparently decided it had fulfilled its purpose in life and It snapped beneath me. I braced for the impact, but instead, a pair of hands wrapped around my waist, stopping me just before I hit the floor.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart threatened to burst out of my chest, and I was certain every trace of color had drained from my face.

My eyes met a pair of warm brown ones staring back at me with the same startled expression.

“Are you okay?” he asked, carefully studying my face for any sign that I wasn’t.

I let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah.” The word barely came out.

God, this had to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. I was standing in front of one of the most attractive guys I’d ever seen, and he’d just saved me from falling off a chair because I’d risked my life for cookies.

“You should be more careful,” he said as he let go of my waist and stepped back. “That could’ve ended a lot worse.”

“Stupid fucking chair,” I muttered, glaring at the broken pieces scattered across the floor.

A quiet laugh escaped him.

I looked down at the cookies still clutched tightly in my hand. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding them.

I lifted the tin slightly.

“At least I accomplished my mission.”

He smiled.

“All this… for cookies?”

“They weren’t just cookies.”

He frowned.

“They were the cookies.”

“I see.” He nodded with exaggerated seriousness “A completely justified near-death experience.”

“Exactly.” For the first time since arriving in Italy, I smiled without feeling like I had to fake it.

He held out his hand.

“I’m Andrea.”

“Y/N.” I shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” There was something oddly calming about him. He didn’t seem like the type to force a conversation just to fill the silence.

His eyes drifted toward the broken chair before returning to me.

“Can I give you a piece of advice?”

“Depends.”

“Next time, try not to declare war on the furniture.”

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was a brief silence. Not an awkward one, the kind that happens when two strangers realize they genuinely don’t mind each other’s company.

“Are you part of the groom’s family?” I asked.

He nodded.

“I’m his cousin.”

“That explains the accent.”

He smiled.

“And you?”

“I’m the bride’s cousin.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to survive this wedding together.”

“Are Italian weddings really that bad?”

“No.” He shook his head “Big families are.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” I laughed again.

For a brief moment, I found myself thinking that, under different circumstances, I’d probably like to get to know him better.

Then voices echoed down the hallway.

“Kimi! Where the hell have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He closed his eyes for a second, like he’d known this was coming.

“Coming!” he called back before turning to me.

Kimi.

My stomach flipped.

Not Andrea.

Kimi.

The Kimi Rose and Angelina had spent half the previous night talking about.

He looked at me one last time, offering a small, almost shy smile.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

“I guess you will.”

I watched him disappear down the hallway. The moment he turned the corner, I heard an excited voice.

“Kimi!”

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

Of fucking course, it had to be him.

(…)

The rest of the day, my family put on the most painful humiliation ritual I’d ever witnessed. I barely said a word, yet I could still feel my face burning with secondhand embarrassment.

By then, everyone had found out that Kimi—whose full name was Andrea Kimi, hence the confusion—was none other than a Formula 1 driver. Apparently, that earned him a red carpet and the right to have everyone kiss the ground he walked on.

I was genuinely worried my eyes would get stuck from rolling them so much.

Angelina and her parents were by far the worst. They never outright said anything, but the way they hovered around him made it painfully obvious how desperate they were to throw Angelina at Kimi every chance they got.

I simply watched in silence.

Every now and then, I’d feel someone looking at me. Whenever I glanced up, I’d find Kimi already watching me. He’d offer me the smallest of smiles.

I never smiled back.

By sunset, the bridesmaids and groomsmen were called away for the rehearsal. That was my cue to disappear unnoticed. I wandered around the property, lost in my thoughts.

Spending time with my family always left me feeling like this.

Exhausted.

Reflective.

From the outside, we probably looked like a loving family, maybe even a healthy one. But underneath it all, we were rotten.

I ended up beneath a large tree, watching the sun disappear beyond the hills while the first stars slowly emerged overhead.

Small lanterns lined the pathways around the villa, casting enough light that the gardens remained bright despite the growing darkness.

I was staring at the horizon when a familiar voice, carrying that unmistakably Italian accent, pulled me from my thoughts.

“Mind if I sit down?”

I looked up to find Kimi smiling at me. He didn’t wait for an answer before lowering himself onto the grass beside me. He held out a can of soda.

“For you.”

“Thanks.” I accepted it, and we both took a sip.

“So…” He glanced sideways at me. “What are you doing out here by yourself? I thought you’d be at the rehearsal with us.”

“I’m getting some fresh air. My family can be… a bit much.” I smiled faintly. “And to answer your other question… I’m not part of the bridal party.”

“You’re not? I thought everyone seemed really close.” His eyebrows lifted.

“They are.” I looked down at the soda in my hands. “I just don’t get along with Rose’s side of the family. My mom and my sister do, though, that’s why they’re involved.” I shrugged again, deliberately leaving out the rest.

Confusion flickered across his face, he clearly had questions. To his credit, he didn’t ask them. Instead, he tilted his head.

“How old are you?”

I laughed.

It was such an obvious attempt to steer the conversation somewhere lighter that I couldn’t help it.

The conversation drifted naturally after that. We talked about his family, childhood stories, my classes, and what life was like at boarding school in Switzerland.

“You go to boarding school?” His eyes widened. He looked genuinely astonished.

Like children raised in boarding schools were some sort of endangered species.

I laughed. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten that reaction.

“Yeah, it was my dad’s decision before he passed away.” The smile slowly faded from my face.

Kimi noticed immediately. Without saying a word, he gently squeezed my hand.

Then, just as quietly, he changed the subject. I silently thanked him for it.

We talked until there wasn’t a drop of soda left in either can. Until my throat felt dry from talking. Until my stomach hurt from laughing. Until the night had completely settled around us.

When we finally stood up, we exchanged a warm hug and a pair of quiet smiles before heading our separate ways.

The next morning started just as early as the previous one. The only difference was that the few hours of sleep I’d managed to get had left me in an even worse mood. It wasn’t even nine in the morning, and I’d already argued with both my mother and my sister.

I escaped outside with my breakfast, hoping to eat in peace.

A moment later, Kimi appeared and sat beside me with an amused smile.

“So… How’d you sleep?” He leaned a little closer. “Did you dream about me?”

He was obviously teasing. Probably because the expression on my face made it clear I wanted the entire world to leave me alone.

Unfortunately for my bad mood, It worked. A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

“Thankfully, I didn’t have any nightmares.” I took a sip of my orange juice.

He clutched his chest dramatically. That made me laugh even harder.

“There you are.” Angelina’s voice made me look up.

She was wearing a white linen dress and her trademark flawless smile. The kind anyone else would’ve mistaken for kindness.

I knew better.

It was the smile she wore right before saying something that only hurt if you knew the context.

“Good morning, Kimi,” she greeted warmly before turning to me. “Your mom’s been looking for you for at least ten minutes.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I muttered.

She made no move to leave. Instead, she sat down across from us.

“I didn’t realize you two had become such good friends.”

“We met yesterday,” Kimi answered simply.

“Yes.” Angelina smiled. “Y/N has always had an easy time making friends.”

Anyone else would’ve taken it as a compliment.

I didn’t.

I knew that tone, I knew Angelina and I knew exactly what came next.

“Although…” she continued with a light laugh, “…she does have a tendency to get herself into trouble because of it.”

I felt my stomach tighten.

There it was, the first stone.

“Trouble?” Kimi frowned slightly.

“Oh, nothing serious.” Angelina waved a dismissive hand. “My cousin has just always been… intense.”

Intense.

What a convenient word.

Vague enough to spark curiosity, harmless enough that no one could accuse her of saying anything wrong.

I lowered my gaze to the table, I knew this conversation. First came the joke, then the implication, then someone would ask what she meant, and before I knew it I’d be thirteen years old all over again.

I reached for my glass of juice, ready to leave before it got any worse. Then Kimi spoke.

“That hasn’t been my impression.”

Angelina blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“We’ve only talked a couple of times,” he said calmly, “but she’s seemed like a genuinely nice person to me, maybe I just got lucky.” He shrugged.

Angelina laughed, this time, it sounded forced.

“Well… You’ll get to know her better.”

“I hope so.” He answered so naturally that, for a second, it almost sounded like he had no idea he’d just contradicted her.

But I knew.

And so did Angelina.

I saw it in the way her jaw tightened for the briefest moment before she smiled again. It happened so quickly anyone else would’ve missed it.

I didn’t.

I’d known her my entire life and she’d just realized that, for the first time, someone hadn’t accepted the version of me our family had spent years telling.

A little while later, I ran into my mother. Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t seem particularly happy to see me.

“Angelina told me you’ve been getting awfully close to that young man she likes.” Her brow was deeply furrowed.

“Mom—” I didn’t get to say another word before she cut me off.

“Don’t say a thing, Y/N. I’m only going to warn you once. I don’t ever want to go through something like this again. God help me and give me the strength to restrain myself from what I’ll do to you if it happens.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away.

My eyes burned with unshed tears.

My breathing became uneven as I hurried toward the side of the house where no one would see me. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was making a scene and giving them yet another reason to make my life miserable.

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, trying to keep that familiar pressure from spreading across my chest.

“Are you alright?” A man’s voice made my eyes snap open.

A tanned man with graying hair was looking at me with unmistakable concern.

“Yes.” The smile I offered came out shaky.

“You don’t look alright. Come, sit over here.” He gestured for me to follow him.

With my legs still trembling, I followed him to a small wooden bench nearby. We sat down, and without losing the concerned expression on his face, he gently guided me through my breathing.

After a couple of minutes, my breathing finally steadied, and I could feel myself calming down again.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“It’s nothing.” He gave me a kind smile. “It breaks my heart to see someone as young as you suffering like that.”

My cheeks flushed. I lowered my head, staring at my restless hands.

“What happened to you?” he asked softly. “What could’ve caused you so much pain?”

A quiet laugh escaped me, completely devoid of humor.

“It’s nothing I haven’t been through before.” I forced my best smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

He studied me for a long moment before letting out a sigh of quiet surrender.

“I suppose I’ll choose to believe you.” He offered me a warm smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” I held out my hand.

“Marco.” He shook it gently. “I’m Kimi’s father. I think you already know who he is.”

My eyes widened. Apparently, getting away from him wasn’t as easy as I’d thought.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Marco continued, “but I do want to tell you something.”

I looked up at him.

“Whatever it is you’re going through, you can overcome it.” His voice was calm and reassuring. “No hardship lasts forever. Keep going, and one day you’ll look back and realize you made it through everything you thought would break you.”

He gave my shoulder a couple of gentle pats before walking away without another word.

Marco’s words stayed with me for the rest of the day and the rest of the night. I didn’t exchange a single word with anyone during dinner, and unlike the previous evening, when everyone left for the rehearsal, I went straight to my room.

I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to feel socially obligated to interact with anyone else.

Finally, Saturday arrived. The day everyone had been waiting for, the wedding day.

My morning started later than everyone else’s. The bride and her bridesmaids had begun getting their hair and makeup done almost as soon as they opened their eyes.

I took my time instead. I sat down with a mug of hot chocolate while I waited for my phone to catch a signal, then slowly started getting ready.

I wasn’t excited about the wedding. If anything, I just wanted this whole circus to be over so I could finally go back to Switzerland.

Even so, I paid special attention to my appearance that morning. When I finished getting ready, even I had to stop and catch my breath.

My dark curls fell freely to the middle of my back, my sun-kissed skin glowed, contrasting beautifully with my deep green eyes, while my lips looked almost the color of a pink pomegranate.

A blue dress hugged my curves delicately, and although my sandals weren’t exactly comfortable, they were beautiful.

The ceremony took place in a small church not far from the villa where we were staying.

While my mother and sister sat near the front as part of the bridal party, I found myself several rows behind them, surrounded by relatives I barely knew.

In a way, that was exactly what my life felt like. My family together. Me, pushed to the edges of it.

I tried my best to look happy, but there were moments during the priest’s homily when something inside me shifted. It wasn’t exactly sadness, it felt more like grief.

Once the ceremony ended, everyone made their way back to the reception tent. The moment we stepped inside, the celebration truly began.

Food and drinks started flowing as the dance floor quickly filled with members of both families. At one point, I spotted Kimi laughing with some of his relatives as they danced together.

He must have felt me watching because he immediately looked back at me, flashing me a wide smile.

I simply looked away without returning it.

The music changed to a much livelier Italian song, and the entire reception seemed to come alive even more. The tables gradually emptied as couples, children, and even grandparents filled the dance floor.

I stayed where I was, absentmindedly stirring the melting ice in my drink.

“And why are you sitting here all by yourself?” I recognized the voice before I even turned around.

Marco stood beside me, a glass of wine in one hand and the same warm smile on his face.

“Because I don’t have anyone to dance with.” I shrugged.

“Well, that’s an easy problem to fix.” He extended his hand toward me. “Dance with me.”

“No.” I shook my head immediately.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“And who said I wouldn’t?”

I couldn’t help smiling. Marco offered me his hand again.

I looked at the dance floor, then at his hand, finally, back at him. He wore the same calm expression he’d had when he’d found me struggling to breathe through my tears.

It was impossible to say no to him.

“Just one song.” I sighed.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He helped me to my feet, and together we walked onto the dance floor.

At first, my entire body was stiff and Marco noticed immediately.

“Relax your shoulders.”

I did.

“Now stop staring at the floor.”

I obeyed again.

“And smile a little.” He grinned. “You look like I’m forcing you to do this.”

“Because you are.” I rolled my eyes.

“Details.”

Another laugh escaped me. Little by little, the tension melted away.

Marco talked about anything and everything. How terrible his coordination was, how he always forgot the steps. About the time he had nearly dropped his wife in the middle of a dance.

Before I realized it, I wasn’t thinking about what everyone else might be saying anymore. I was simply having fun.

“That’s much better,” Marco said, sounding pleased.

“What is?”

“You don’t look like a girl waiting for the world to end anymore.”

I felt warmth creep into my cheeks.

Just then, the music changed again. It was one of those traditional songs where everyone switched partners as the dance went on.

Marco raised an eyebrow, an unreadable expression crossing his face. When it came time to change partners, he could have handed me off to anyone.

There were at least six people around us.

Instead, he turned directly toward Kimi. The two of them exchanged a brief glance that lasted barely a second.

Marco smiled.

“She’s all yours.” It wasn’t a question, nor an order. Just a simple sentence spoken with complete ease.

“My pleasure.” Kimi nodded.

Before I could process what was happening, Marco let go of my hand, and Kimi stepped into his place.

My stomach flipped.

“I think my dad just set us up,” Kimi said with a quiet laugh.

I couldn’t help laughing too.

“How embarrassing.”

“A little.”

The music continued playing. Kimi rested one hand gently against my waist, and we began moving to the rhythm of the song. It wasn’t a difficult dance, nor particularly impressive. But somehow, it felt incredibly easy when he was the one standing in front of me.

Our steps fell naturally into sync without either of us truly leading. It simply worked. Like we’d been dancing together for years.

“You look beautiful,” Kimi whispered.

“Thank you.” I smiled. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

We danced through a couple more songs before I finally gave in to my thirst.

“I’m going to grab something to drink,” I said.

He nodded with an easy smile as I made my way toward the bar. I was drinking a glass of water when my sister appeared beside me. The expression on her face was anything but happy.

“Grandma wants to see you in the kitchen,” she said. “She needs to talk to you.” She shot me one last look—a grimace more than anything else—before walking away.

My heart tightened in my chest, I already knew what was coming. I swallowed hard before forcing my feet to follow her instructions.

When I reached the kitchen, my grandmother was waiting for me. Angelina’s mother stood beside her.

“So,” my aunt said, her raspy voice breaking the silence, “they finally managed to pry you away from that young man.”

“We were just dancing, like everyone else at the wedding,” I replied immediately.

“Such an impertinent little girl,” my grandmother snapped. “If you were half as quick and clever at doing something worthwhile with your life as you are at talking back, you might actually amount to something.”

“But—” She didn’t let me finish.

“No ‘buts.’ Your cousin Angelina is having a panic attack because, thanks to you, she’s making a fool of herself in front of everyone.”

“She’s making a fool of herself because you’re trying to parade her around like she’s a piece of meat. It has nothing to do with the fact that one guy isn’t interested in her.” The moment the last word left my mouth, I knew I’d just signed my own death warrant.

The looks on both my grandmother’s and my aunt’s faces confirmed it. For a moment, my grandmother said nothing. She simply walked toward me, slow but unwavering.

I held my breath.

“You’re an insolent little girl.” Her hand struck my cheek with enough force to snap my head to the side.

Tears immediately stung my eyes. I tried to hold them back but there were simply too many, a few escaped and rolled down my face.

“You have no right to cry,” she hissed. “For years, you’ve been the source of this family’s misery. A little whore like you belongs in hell. We tried to give you a chance, but a pig will always find its way back to the mud.”

She looked me up and down one last time. Then she turned around, took my aunt by the arm, and walked out of the kitchen.

The moment they disappeared from sight everything inside me broke. I sank onto the cold kitchen floor and cried.

I cried like this would be my last day on earth.

I cried like there was no escape from any of it.

And I cried like the thirteen-year-old girl who was still wounded somewhere deep inside me.

(…)

I had no idea how much time had passed. The only thing I knew was that wine tasted a whole lot better after you’d finished half the bottle.

At some point, I’d gotten up from the kitchen floor, stolen a bottle of wine, slipped out of the reception, kicked off my uncomfortable heels, and decided to walk the mile back to the villa barefoot.

The plan would’ve been perfectly fine If I hadn’t gotten a little too enthusiastic with the wine.

Now I was sitting on the curb somewhere between the reception and the villa, too dizzy to take another step without collapsing onto the pavement.

The only things keeping me company were the moonlight, the sound of crickets, and a swarm of moths circling the streetlamp above my head.

I knew that if anyone in my family found me like this, the lecture would be absolute hell. But the truth was that I couldn’t find a single atom in my body that gave a fuck.

Somewhere in the middle of all that chaos swirling inside me, I decided it would be a great idea to start singing.

I was so painfully off-key I couldn’t even compete with the crickets.

The thought made me laugh like an idiot.

I was so caught up trying not to die from my own laughter that I didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until they were less than a yard away.

“There you are.” Kimi’s voice instantly sobered me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

I studied his face. There was worry in his eyes but there was also something about his expression that struck me as so funny I burst into laughter all over again.

He looked at me somewhere between amused and concerned. Clearly unsure of what was going on, he sat down beside me.

That was when he noticed the wine bottle.

“What are you doing drinking this?” He picked it up, inspecting the label. “You’re seventeen. You’re not supposed to be drinking.”

The concern in his voice hit me so deeply that every emotion I’d been holding back came crashing down at once. One second I was laughing. The next, I was crying.

Kimi immediately set the bottle back on the ground. Without asking questions, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tried to comfort me.

It was obvious he had no idea what had happened. All he cared about was making sure I was okay.

“Why are you so nice to me?” I asked once my sobbing had finally settled.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His eyebrows pulled together.

“Because everyone in my family thinks I’m the Antichrist.” A ridiculous laugh escaped me.

Kimi let out a quiet chuckle.

“I think you’re more like the Second Coming of Jesus. The problem is your relatives are fake believers, so they can’t recognize the miracle when it’s standing right in front of them.” He simply shrugged.

I couldn’t stop looking at him.

It made no sense. This boy had walked into my life only two days ago, yet he’d already shown me more kindness and understanding than my own family had in years.

Without saying another word, I grabbed the wine bottle and took another long drink beneath Kimi’s disapproving gaze.

As soon as I lowered it, he gently took it from my hands. Then, to my surprise, he lifted it to his own lips and took a long sip. It felt almost symbolic, as if he was trying to tell me I wasn’t alone in this.

He set the bottle back on the ground before turning to look directly into my eyes.

“You know something?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. My heart pounded wildly as I watched him slowly lean closer.

Neither of us looked away. I barely blinked, terrified of what might happen next.

I knew that one small movement could lead to something I’d regret later. But the longer I looked into his eyes the blurrier that thought became.

Finally, I gave in.

My gaze dropped to his lips for the briefest second and that was all the invitation he needed. He closed the distance between us and kissed me.

At first, the kiss was gentle and careful. But little by little, it grew more intense. My hands found his face and his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer like he couldn’t bear the space between us. We stayed lost in that kiss for what felt like forever.

Then, without warning, my grandmother’s cold, unforgiving eyes flashed through my mind.

I pulled away abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, breathless. “I can’t do this.”

I grabbed my sandals from the ground. Adrenaline flooded my body. I jumped to my feet and ran toward the villa as fast as I could.

“Y/N!” Kimi’s voice echoed through the empty road behind me.

But I never stopped running.

(…)

I couldn’t sleep that night. The image of Kimi telling me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, followed by the kiss we had shared, replayed in my mind every time I closed my eyes.

Around four in the morning, I heard everyone returning to the villa. About half an hour later, silence settled over the place once again.

Eventually, I gave up on the idea of sleeping. I got out of bed, took a shower, and decided to go for a walk.

My body was still paying the price for my impulsive decision to drink a bottle of wine the night before, and I figured a little fresh air might help.

Hiking had never really been my thing, but I knew there were a few overlooks nearby with breathtaking views and since it was my last day there, I wanted to watch the sunrise.

At least I’d leave with one beautiful memory.

I’d been walking for a while when I started hearing footsteps behind me. I hadn’t noticed them before because the trail had only just become rocky enough for each step to echo.

When I turned around, I found a familiar face.

Kimi was about fifteen feet behind me, he looked exhausted. The moment he realized I’d noticed him, he stopped walking.

He didn’t greet me with one of his usual smiles. Instead, he wore an expression so serious that I decided not to say anything and simply continued on my way.

For nearly twenty minutes, we walked like that. He kept the same distance between us. Whenever I stopped for a moment, he stopped too.

Eventually, I reached a cliff overlooking the valley. The landscape stretched endlessly before me as the first light of dawn painted the sky in shades of gold and pink. I sat down to take it all in.

A moment later, Kimi finally closed the distance and sat beside me.

“Why did you follow me all the way out here?” I took a sip from my water bottle before handing it to him.

He accepted it gratefully.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He took a long drink before continuing. “Then I saw you leave by yourself so I followed you. I wanted to make sure you didn’t decide to throw yourself off one of these mountains.” He glanced toward the cliffs.

There wasn’t a trace of humor in his voice. I let out an offended scoff.

“Trust me, if I ever wanted to do that, it wouldn’t be here.” I shook my head with a quiet laugh. “My family would hate me even more. They’d probably say I couldn’t even stop bothering them with my dying breath. ‘Of course she’d choose to die dramatically the day after Rose’s wedding.’”

Kimi smiled for a brief second, then the seriousness returned.

“I wish I understood you.” The words came after several minutes of silence. “I know you like me and I like you too. I’ve felt this… whatever it is… ever since I caught you before you fell off that chair.”

He smiled faintly to himself.

My heart stumbled inside my chest. I held my breath.

“But for some reason, you won’t let yourself accept it. I know we’ve only known each other for three days,” he continued quietly, “but for me… that’s been enough to realize I’ve found the woman of my dreams.”

The morning sun slowly climbed over the horizon, bathing everything around us in soft golden light.

“And I know you feel at least part of it too. That’s why I couldn’t understand what happened last night.” He finally turned to look at me. “It hurt. But I know it wasn’t really about me, it was about something inside you and I really… I really want to know what it is.”

For the first time since we’d met, the emotion in his eyes didn’t match the calmness of his words.

I looked at him for a long moment, taking in every detail of his face. He was sincere and deep down I knew he was right about everything he’d just said. So, against every instinct telling me to stay silent, I decided to tell him the truth, my truth.

I turned my gaze back to the sunrise because I didn’t think I’d be able to look Kimi in the face while telling him everything I was about to confess.

“When I was thirteen, my cousin Lina—Rose's sister—and I were very close. She was sixteen, but we had a lot in common, so we spent most of our time together.” I cleared my throat before continuing. “She had a boyfriend named Alex. I got along with him too, although I always kept a respectful distance because, well… he was my cousin’s boyfriend.”

I took another long sip of water, my eyes never leaving the horizon. Kimi remained silent, listening.

“Back then, I used to spend a lot of time playing an online game where you could also meet and talk to other people. One day, a boy sent me a message, and we became friends. I spent hours on that game during school breaks, and eventually we grew close.”

“Or at least what passes for closeness when you've only ever known someone through a screen.” I let out a quiet laugh. “The point is… he started making comments that made me uncomfortable. From the very beginning, I knew they were wrong, so I asked him to stop. When he didn’t, I blocked him. It scared me, but I tried not to think too much about it.”

I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, as if trying to shield myself from the cold that came with telling a story that, despite having happened years ago, still felt painfully close.

“A few days later, I was walking home from school when I ran into Alex. I greeted him like I always did, but he didn’t look happy to see me. Instead, he immediately started demanding that I unblock him in the game. He said I couldn’t play with his feelings like that.”

I glanced at Kimi and saw the shock written all over his face.

“You can imagine what that felt like. I’d spent months talking to my cousin’s seventeen-year-old boyfriend without knowing it. I didn’t know what to say or how to react and, even now, I still catch myself wondering what was going through his mind when he grabbed my face and kissed me.” I swallowed hard as a familiar knot formed in my throat. “I pushed him away and ran home. I told my mom and my dad what had happened. My mom couldn’t believe it, and my dad called his parents, then my cousin’s family.”

“After the initial shock wore off, my cousin started telling everyone I was lying. She said I’d gotten close to him through the game on purpose, that I’d been the one making advances, and that when he rejected me, I’d gone crazy and accused him of trying to force himself on me.”

I took a shaky breath before continuing.

“The rest of my family believed her. Every single one of them turned their backs on me. They all started saying I was a little girl my parents had failed to control… that I wanted to act like a grown woman.” I shook my head as I remembered their faces. “That had been my first kiss and that bastard stole it from me in the cruelest way possible.”

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

“After that, he tried to contact me again. Every now and then I’d see him hanging around my school. He’d approach my friends and ask them to pass messages on to me. It was terrifying and I couldn’t tell anyone because no one believed me.” My voice dropped to almost a whisper as I said the last sentence.

“Lina and Alex stayed together for a few more months until, according to her, he confessed that he couldn't be with her anymore because he was in love with me. He told her that every day he stayed with her felt like he was being unfaithful to me. That I'd somehow cast some kind of spell on him—that he couldn't stop thinking about me, didn't care what anyone else thought anymore, and was willing to fight for us to be together.”

I lowered my legs and turned to look directly at Kimi.

“I’d like to believe any reasonable person would’ve turned against him… but my family did the exact opposite. Instead, for them that only confirmed everything they already believed about me.”

“My grandmother came to my house and slapped me across the face. Right there, in front of everyone, she said God had revealed to her that I was the instrument the Devil would use to destroy our family. That Satan had clothed me in the beauty of the serpent so I could lead others into temptation… so I could become a stumbling block, luring men away from the righteous path.”

“That sounds like psychosis,” Kimi muttered, letting out a disbelieving scoff.

“It probably was,” I admitted with a nod. “But you can imagine what hearing something like that does to the mind of a thirteen-year-old girl. After that, my mother and my sister took everyone else’s side too. My dad was the only sane one, but even for him it became impossible to deal with the rejection his daughter was facing. So he sent me to a boarding school in Switzerland. That was the only way he found to protect me from Alex’s harassment and from the rejection and abuse of his own family.”

I looked back at the landscape, mentally preparing myself for the next part.

“A few months after all of that, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. It was aggressive. He died six months later.” My eyes slowly filled with tears. “To this day, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. Nothing else has ever come close.”

I paused for a moment.

“The day of his funeral, my grandmother stood in front of everyone and said my father had died from the shame of having a daughter like me.”

The tears slipped down my cheeks, but I quickly wiped them away. I looked at him with a tired smile.

“After hearing all of that… I think you can understand why you and I can’t be together.”

“Your family is horrible.” Kimi’s expression was unlike anything I’d seen before. It wasn’t pity, it was compassion. “They made you carry the weight of something you were the victim of. I can't tell you what I would've done if I'd been in your shoes, because you survived the only way you knew how. And I'm not going to sit here and tell you that being with me will magically heal everything, because it won't. I know what happened to you left scars that run deep. I know your family changed the way you see yourself. But what I don't understand is why that means you can't be with me.”

“What don’t you understand? You know Angelina likes you, don’t you? If my family finds out there’s something between us…” I shook my head at the mere thought. “I don’t even know what they’d be capable of.”

“The fact that Angelina likes me shouldn’t mean anything. This isn’t about her seeing me first and suddenly me belonging to her. That’s not how people work, Y/N.”

“In my family, it is. And going against them would be terrible for me.” I tried to make him understand, but he remained stubbornly firm.

“I don’t give a fuck about your family.” Kimi reached for my hands and held them gently. “If things ever reach the point of no return… you can come with me.”

For a second, I couldn’t find my voice. I couldn’t believe I’d actually heard those words.

“Kimi… it’s not as simple as you’re making it sound. We just met.” I slipped my hands from his and looked anywhere but at his face.

“Y/N, look at me.” He gently turned my face back toward him. “I can’t tell you this will be worth it, because that’s something only you can decide. I’m just asking you to give me a chance.”

“Kimi…” His name escaped my lips as little more than a whisper.

“Give me that chance. We don’t have to tell the world right away. We can wait until you’re eighteen and you’re no longer dependent on your family. When that day comes, if you still think what we have is worth fighting for, we’ll figure it out together. One step at a time.”

I looked at him for several long seconds. His warm eyes searched mine almost pleadingly. They were so beautiful and made me so weak.

Finally, I let out a long breath.

“Okay.” I nodded. “Let’s try.”

Kimi let out a deep sigh of relief, and a smile spread across his face.

He kissed my cheek.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He kissed my cheek again. “I swear I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”

Despite all the wounds I carried, not for a single second did I doubt that he meant every word.

(…)

The next day, I returned to Switzerland and my life at boarding school, while Kimi headed to Brackley to take care of a few commitments before the season began.

From the very beginning, we stayed in touch.

Over the following weeks, we texted constantly and spent hours on FaceTime. Whenever I came across a video that reminded me of him, I’d send it to him, and he’d do the same.

A few days before leaving for the Australian Grand Prix, which marked the start of the season, he came to visit me in Switzerland.

I had to perform all sorts of acrobatics and come up with every excuse imaginable to sneak out during the week without anyone at the boarding school suspecting a thing.

Kimi took me around the little villages that surrounded the lake. We wandered through cobblestone streets where time seemed to move a little slower, stopped at tiny cafés to try their chocolate, and ended up sharing a carton of strawberries by the water as we watched boats glide peacefully across the lake.

Later, he drove us to a vineyard stretching across the mountainside. From there, we could see the snow-covered Alps reflected in the water below. We stood there in silence for several minutes, taking in the view, discovering that sometimes the right company made words unnecessary.

At one point, Kimi started taking candid pictures of me. The moment I realized what he was doing, I scolded him for it, but all he did was laugh.

“They’re for the memories,” he’d say, refusing to delete them.

Later, we got lost wandering through the streets of another nearby village. We stepped into a secondhand bookstore where he pretended to be interested in books written in French just so he could make me laugh by attempting to pronounce the titles with an absolutely terrible accent.

Before heading back, we sat on a bench overlooking the lake, arguing with complete conviction that neither of us was ever going to change the other’s mind about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.

Time always seemed to move too fast whenever I was with him. So I found myself constantly finding excuses to delay saying goodbye for just a few more minutes.

Like neither of us wanted to admit that, sooner or later, I’d have to go back to boarding school, and he’d have to start preparing for Australia.

When he finally dropped me off at the entrance, neither of us made any move to say goodbye right away.

We simply stood there, looking at each other.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said with a confidence that made it sound more like a promise than a farewell.

I smiled.

“I hope so.”

I watched him drive away down the tree-lined road until his car disappeared from sight.

Only then did I walk back inside the boarding school.

The months went by, and without even realizing it, I had started to associate the word home with Kimi.

When two races were canceled in a row, Kimi invited me to spend a few days with him and his family. At first, I wasn’t sure. But if I truly wanted a future with him, I had to start getting used to being around the people who mattered most to him.

I was incredibly nervous at first, but I quickly discovered a family dynamic that was calm, loving, and nothing like my own.

Marco welcomed me with open arms, genuinely happy to see me with Kimi. His mother and little sister were just as kind. They kept dragging me along on little girls’ outings, and after a while I found myself looking forward to them.

That year passed so quickly that before I knew it, the first days of August had arrived.

Along with my graduation.

Only my mother came. I had asked her to be there more out of obligation than genuine desire.

After the ceremony, we went out for dinner, and she gave me a beautiful watch as a graduation present.

The following day, Kimi took me to Portugal as his graduation gift to me.

I had to convince my mother it was a girls’ trip so she’d sign the travel authorization.

Just like every other time I spent with Kimi, it was wonderful. We walked for hours, ate far too much, and enjoyed every second of it.

We also took countless pictures to remember the trip by.

When it was over, I returned to Switzerland to start organizing what my life would look like after graduation.

I’d told my mother that before enrolling in university, I wanted to take a preparatory course so I’d have a better idea of what my future degree would actually be like before diving into it.

That was part of the reason.

But it wasn’t the only one.

The first was that I had no intention of moving back in with the rest of my family.

They were just as unbearable as ever, and I refused to let them make my life miserable only months before I finally gained my freedom.

The second reason, was Kimi.

According to the plans we’d made together, once I turned eighteen, I’d move to San Marino and live with him.

I’d thought about it carefully. For a long time and in the end, I’d made my decision.

By then, we were officially a couple.

No one knew. For the time being, it was better that way. Kimi was having an incredible season, and we wanted to keep the focus exactly where it belonged.

My first few weeks back in Switzerland were fairly uneventful. Not much had changed about my routine. The only difference was that I was temporarily living with a friend.

It was Saturday.

Kimi was in Zandvoort, getting ready for the following day’s race.

We had just hung up after spending nearly an hour on the phone. That’s why I was surprised when I saw a message from him only a few minutes later.

When I opened it, I expected a funny video or a random picture. Instead, I found a text that immediately made my stomach drop.

KIMI ❤️: Please don’t look at social media right now.

Kimi should’ve said anything but that. He should’ve known that telling me not to do something was the fastest way to make me do exactly that.

I opened Twitter. It was the quickest way to find out what was happening in the world.

Sure enough It was the very first post on my feed.

@boxboxdaily Kimi and his alleged girlfriend 👀

Below the caption were four photos. Two of them showed the two of us together and the other two were candid pictures of me, completely unaware they were being taken.

My heart stopped for a moment. My hand flew to my mouth as a sound that could only be described as pure shock escaped me.

These weren’t pictures taken by a stranger on the street. They were photos Kimi had taken himself.

Private photos.

Which somehow made everything even worse.

How on earth had anyone gotten hold of them?

ME: Why are there pictures of us all over the internet? Aren’t those the ones you took?

KIMI ❤️: Yeah. They’re photos I posted on my private Instagram account. I have no idea how they got out. I’m guessing someone who follows me leaked them.

I sat down on the couch, trying to process what was happening.

Then I made the mistake of reading the comments. Every single one was worse than the last.

That familiar pressure began tightening in my chest again. I closed Twitter and started pacing around my room instead.

The moment my family found out I was completely screwed.

KIMI ❤️: I’m so sorry. I’m going to do everything I can to fix this. My dad and the team are already working on it. Please don’t read anything else online. I don’t want other people’s ignorance getting to you.

To be honest the comments didn’t scare me nearly as much as my family’s reaction did.

That night, I fell asleep with anxiety settling into every cell of my body.

And I had every reason to feel that way. Because the first thing I saw when I woke up the next morning was a message from my mother and a missed call from my grandmother.

MOM: Call me as soon as you wake up. I can’t believe you’re doing this again.

With trembling hands, I decided to call her and get it over with once and for all.

She answered before the second ring.

“So it was true.” She didn’t even bother to say hello.

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the window.

“Hello to you too.”

“Don’t change the subject. What’s all this that’s going around on the internet?”

“Mom, it’s not what it looks like.” I let out a sigh.

“Oh, really? Because the pictures seem pretty clear to me.”

“They weren’t published by the press. They were private photos.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

I stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Kimi posted them on a private Instagram account. Someone leaked them.”

“So you are dating him?”

I lowered my head.

“We’ve been seeing each other.”

“And it never crossed your mind—not even for a second—to think about everything this was going to cause?”

“I’m sorry…” The words slipped out almost automatically.

Like apologizing had become my first instinct, even when I wasn’t sure I’d done anything wrong.

“‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Y/N. Do you have any idea what kind of phone call I just got from your grandmother? She’s furious. The whole family is talking about this.”

“I figured.”

“I warned you that I didn’t want to go through something like this again.”

I tightened my grip on the phone.

“I know.”

“Then explain to me why you always end up doing the exact opposite.”

“Always?” I frowned.

“Yes. Always. You always find a way to get yourself into trouble.”

I felt something inside me crack. Something I’d been holding together for years.

“Get myself into trouble?”

“Don’t start.”

“No, Mom. Answer me. When exactly have I gotten myself into trouble?”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No. I want you to say it.”

Her breathing grew heavier.

“Your cousin…”

A dry laugh escaped me. Of course, we always ended up there.

“That happened four years ago.”

“That doesn’t change—”

“What doesn’t it change?” I cut in. “That I was thirteen?” My voice trembled.

Not with fear.

With anger.

“That a boy kissed me against my will, stalked me afterward, and somehow I was the one who ended up paying the price?”

“Y/N…”

“No.” This time, I was the one who interrupted her. “I’ve spent years listening to this family talk about me as if I’d done something unforgivable.”

I felt a knot tighten in my throat.

“And do you know what the worst part was?”

She didn’t answer.

“You never defended me.”

Silence. Absolute silence.

“Not once.” I took a shaky breath, trying to hold back my tears. “Not once did you say, ‘My daughter is telling the truth.’ Not once did you ask them to stop treating me like I’d done something wrong.”

My voice broke.

“You chose to stay quiet because it was easier than standing up to the family.”

I could hear her breathing.

Slower now.

Heavier.

“It wasn’t that simple…”

I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me.

“It wasn’t that simple for me either.”

Another long pause. When she finally spoke again, her voice had lost its sharp edge.

“I… I was just trying to keep things from getting worse.”

“Well, they got so much worse.” The tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. “Because while you were trying to keep the peace with them… I was learning that no one was ever going to be on my side.”

I could almost picture her sitting on the other end of the line, not knowing what to say.

“Y/N…” Her voice sounded different. Quieter and tired.

But for me It was already too late. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand.

“I have to go.”

“We can keep talking…”

“No, mom.” I slowly shook my head. “We’ve gone four years without having this conversation. A few more minutes aren’t going to change anything.”

I waited.

For some reason, a part of me still hoped she’d tell me I was wrong.

That she had defended me.

That she regretted not doing it.

But she never did, she just stayed silent. So I hung up and didn’t feel even the slightest bit guilty for doing it.

(…)

Later that same day, I found myself anxiously waiting for Kimi’s call after his race.

It came while I was sitting on the couch, staring off into space.

“I’ve got news, love,” he said the moment I answered. “Good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?”

“The bad news.” I answered without hesitation.

Kimi chuckled softly.

“I think I’ll tell you the good news first.”

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a smile.

“Just tell me already. I hate suspense.”

“Alright.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “We know who leaked the pictures.”

My mouth fell open. I immediately sat up straighter on the couch. Before I even had the chance to ask who, he answered.

“It was one of my cousins.”

“What?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t intentional, at least not according to him. After the wedding, he kept talking to your cousin Angelina. During one of their conversations, he asked about our relationship. She told him she had no idea we were together and asked if he had any proof. Like the idiot he is, he sent her the pictures.” He let out a sigh. “I’m pretty sure that after that, she contacted one of those gossip pages and gave them the photos.”

“That bitch—” Kimi cut me off before I could finish.

“Watch your language, Y/N.”

I let out an annoyed groan.

“The point is,” he continued, “it doesn’t really matter anymore. Everyone knows now, so all we can do is deal with it.”

He paused.

“The other thing is… your mom spoke to my dad.”

I shot to my feet.

“What?”

“Yeah. We were just as surprised when she called. They talked for a long time, and in the end, your mom decided to give my dad permission for you to stay with us in Italy until you turn eighteen in a couple of months.”

That shocked me more than anything else he’d said.

My mother… Doing something selfless for me?

It was almost impossible to believe. Apparently, our conversation that morning had affected her far more than I’d realized.

“So,” Kimi continued, “whenever you’re ready, my dad will come pick you up in Switzerland. You can take the course you were planning to do in Italy… if that’s still what you want.”

“It is.” I nodded instinctively, even though he couldn’t see me. “I mean, it moves our plans up a little… but that’s what we’d always planned anyway.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright.” I took a deep breath. “Now tell me the bad news.”

I was already biting my nails.

“Well…” He hesitated. “I guess it’s only bad depending on how you look at it. I had a meeting with Mercedes’ PR team, and everyone agreed that the best thing to do is not address the situation publicly.”

“Okay… and the bad part?”

“The bad part is that they also want us to keep an extremely low profile until the championship is over. No pictures of us together when we’re out, nothing like that. We’ll have to limit ourselves to seeing each other at home. And I can’t say anything to the media, no matter how awful the things they’re saying about you get.”

“Wow.” I leaned back against the couch. “That’s a little extreme… but I think I can live with it. It’s only a few more months.”

“Yeah…” His voice grew quieter. “But it doesn’t make me happy. I know there are sacrifices you have to make if you want to be with someone… but they shouldn’t feel like a punishment.”

My heart softened. Kimi was the most wonderful person I’d ever met and somehow I was lucky enough that he loved me.

So selflessly.

So sincerely.

So deeply.

A few days later, Marco got the paperwork signed by my mother and came to Switzerland to pick me up.

We flew straight to Bologna.

Maggie was by far the most excited to have me staying with them until I moved in with Kimi.

A couple of months later, my eighteenth birthday finally arrived. It was one of the most special days of my life.

Kimi and his family spoiled me with gifts and thoughtful surprises.

My mother called to wish me a happy birthday. There was still a certain awkwardness between us. Our relationship was nowhere near healed but we were taking it one step at a time.

Someone else tried to contact me too.

My grandmother. Unlike my mother, I had no interest in making peace with her. So I blocked her number and went back to celebrating.

A few days later, the season came to an end and with it the restrictions surrounding our relationship.

Our first public outing was a trip to the beach.

We spent almost the entire afternoon walking along the shoreline, competing to see who could find the prettiest seashells and laughing because Kimi insisted he could tell which ones had drifted over from Croatia.

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Of course it does.” He grinned. “Trust my talent.”

“Your imaginary talent?”

He splashed a little water at me with his foot.

“Very funny.”

I immediately splashed him back.

Five minutes later, we were both completely soaked.

When we finally got tired, we collapsed onto our towels, staring out at the sea.

Almost instinctively, Kimi reached for my hand. He laced our fingers together.

Neither of us spoke for several minutes.

We didn’t have to hide little gestures like that anymore. We didn’t have to look around before holding hands.

“There’s my two kids.” Marco’s voice made both of us sit up at once.

He was walking toward us carrying three ice creams, wearing an amused smile.

“I figured all that running around the beach would’ve worked up an appetite.”

“Dad…” Kimi laughed, clearly embarrassed.

“What?” Marco shrugged. “I brought one for myself too.”

He handed each of us an ice cream before sitting down a few yards away, giving us our space again.

I stared at mine for a few seconds.

“How did he know this was my favorite flavor?”

Kimi smiled.

“Because Maggie made a list.”

“A list?”

“Yeah.” He started counting on his fingers “Your favorite desserts. Your favorite pizza. Your favorite coffee…”

I looked at him in complete disbelief.

“My family’s a little intense.”

A lump formed in my throat.

Not because of the list but because it was the first time in my life someone had gone to so much effort just to make me feel like part of a family.

Without thinking, I rested my head on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

He turned slightly to look at me.

“For what?”

“For giving me a home in you.”

A soft smile spread across his face.

“I think I’m the lucky one.”

I smiled too, my eyes never leaving the sea.

A few yards away, a couple was walking along the shore. The woman discreetly lifted her phone.

I didn’t think much of it. I assumed she was taking pictures of the scenery.

Two hours later I realized she wasn’t.

The photos first appeared on an Italian gossip page. Then another account reposted them. Then another.

Less than an hour later they were everywhere.

None of the pictures were scandalous.

None of them were compromising.

In one, we were simply walking hand in hand along the beach. In another, I was laughing while Kimi tried to brush sand out of my hair and the last one showed Marco handing each of us an ice cream while we accepted them, laughing.

The internet did the rest.

@boxdarlingbox: The Antonellis literally said, “One more for the family” 😭

@leclrfamily: I’m sorry, did you SEE the way he fixed her hair? I’M UNWELL

@antogrande: I can’t get over Marco showing up with two ice creams like this is a romantic comedy

@grmylove: My love language is officially future in-laws bringing me ice cream

@merctonelli: The real hard launch was Marco showing up with the ice creams 😭😭

That last one made me laugh the hardest.

Apparently, the internet was far more interested in the ice cream than in the fact that Kimi and I were dating.

(...)

The first few months of living together felt strangely uneventful. Not because nothing happened, because everything did.

We argued over whose turn it was to buy groceries.

He left his racing suits hanging on chairs instead of putting them away. I complained, he apologized.

Then did it again the following week.

On Sundays when he wasn't racing, we drove to his parents' house for lunch.

Maggie always hugged me before she hugged her brother. Marco kept pretending not to notice whenever Kimi stole food from my plate. And every time we left, his mom reminded us not to wait so long before coming back.

Life became a collection of things that would have sounded painfully ordinary to anyone else.

But to me… they were extraordinary.

One afternoon I was looking for one of my notebooks. Instead, I found an old box I'd never bothered to unpack. Inside were things I'd carried from one place to another for years.

A school ID.

A dried flower pressed between two pages of a book.

And, at the very bottom, a photograph. It was a photo from my first days at boarding school.

I stared at it for a long time.

I barely recognized the girl smiling back at me. Not because she looked different, but because I'd spent years trying to leave her behind, only to realize she'd been doing the best she could all along.

I wondered what she'd think if she could see me now.

Not the apartment.

Not Kimi.

Not Italy.

Me.

Would she believe that one day she’ll stop apologizing for taking up space? Would she believe that silence could stop feeling like punishment? Would she believe that people could know every version of her and choose to stay anyway?

I heard keys turning in the front door.

"I'm home."

I placed the photograph back inside the box, not because I wanted to forget her, but because I no longer needed to carry her everywhere I went.

I closed the lid, stood up and walked toward the sound of home.

Some stories end when someone finally finds love.

Mine didn't.

Each time the front door gave way to a sudden rush of wind, you glanced up, observing, picking apart. There was the civilian, whose wide eyes flickered like he'd stumbled into a place twenty miles from where he was actually meant to be. Then came the couple—definitely military—who sidled up to the counter and rattled drinks off like a maintenance checklist, like they couldn't quite shake off work. 

The worst ones were the slim-bodied, khaki-clad aviators, who sauntered in with the confidence of a vain peacock, laughter as vibrant as the attention-grabbing feathers adorned in deep blues and verdant greens.

Hangman leaned against the counter with that perfectly, frustratingly charming grin of his. Your name rolled off his tongue, laced with shallow affection. A light-hearted flirt fest was all. "How've you been, sweetheart?"

"You're a few hours from Lemoore," you said. "Both of you."

The corners of Coyote's lips flipped up. "Missed us?"

"Terribly." Sarcasm dripped from your tone. "What can I get you tonight?"

Amber beer bottles scraped against the counter. Hangman winked as he threw a few dollar bills down—a hefty tip, as always—and you blew a meaningless kiss in the air that sent him and Coyote away. 

"Your dad know you're flirting with his men?"

You turned slowly in hopes that you could rein in the widening stretch of your mouth in time, but a full-blown beam glimmered beneath the dim bar lights as you met the familiar raised eyebrows and knowing green eyes that had watched you—and seen past your innocent eyelash batting—through nearly every stage of life.

"I was wondering how long it'd take before you showed up here," you said, cheeks flushed with remnants of a passing youth. You rounded the bartop, two strides becoming one, feet light like the floor was made of springs. 

Maverick barely twisted in his seat in time for your embrace, his shoulder digging into your sternum as you flung your arms around his neck. He shifted, winding his grasp around your ribs, unable to hide his smile as your sweet laughter echoed in his ears like a bright sunny day. "Hi, kid."

"Hi, Mav. It's been a while. I missed you."

"How'd you know I'd be around?"

You were behind the bar again. "All this time, and you're still asking."

Maverick's lips thinned. Of course. "How is he?"

A sharp breath inflated your chest, your gaze falling to the lemons yet to be cut. You picked up the knife. "I don't feel like crying on the job today," you said with a slight tremble. You made one slice before putting the knife back down and forcing your chin up. "You should go see him while you're here. I'm sure he'd appreciate it after all the strings he's pulled for you."

"You're making digs at me now?"

"Only fair for all the teasing you've put me through as a kid." Your gaze slid to the door as it swung open. Just another group of civilians. "Look," you propped your forearms on the counter, "I'm not supposed to know anything about this, but you know my dad has never been able to keep things from me, especially not about..." You paused when Maverick's expression wavered, then cast a glance over your shoulder, toward Hangman and Coyote by the dartboard—the only kind of people you'd come to know throughout your life. "I know Bradley got called back here. Are you ready to see him?"

Are you? came close to slipping out of Maverick's mouth—a quick rebuttal he'd slammed down with teeth grinding together, just short of painful. The sting eventually shot through his jaw when he noticed the threaded bracelet looped around your wrist, weathered and stained as time frayed the edges. You and Bradley had matching ones. He remembered that. He was there when you made them.

And the shirt you were wearing—a deep blue with the University of Virginia insignia printed in the middle—was loose around the collar, nearly sliding down your shoulder, sleeves scraping past your elbows. It was almost comically oversized. If he had to guess, he'd say it was Bradley's, somehow in your possession over the years—years he'd lost with him, but years you hadn't.

Those aviators, too, roosted atop your head, clearly forgotten to take off before the start of your shift, looked an awful lot like the ones he'd gotten Bradley as a teenager. You must have been the recipient of them after their relationship had plummeted into the seventh circle of Hell.

Money not wasted, he supposed. 

But his question would've been a stupid one to ask.

You were nearly doused in Bradley Bradshaw, and instead of the tumultuous ball of dread cradled in his stomach, your heart was probably jumping for joy at the very thought of seeing him again.

Something in his chest clenched as the mission loomed over his head. You. He had to think of you, too. He couldn't afford to blow this.

"Get back to work," he finally said.

Your gaze flitted over his face—steely, calculating, like you were dissecting every thought that passed through his brain, paired with a cocky edge that pushed your head atilt, obnoxiously chomping on the stale piece of gum in your mouth. God, you were every bit Iceman's kid when you did that. 

Maverick wasn't sure if he found comfort in that.

"Fine," you relented. "We'll do it your way, Uncle Pete." You pushed away from the counter. "But you owe me dinner."

You returned your attention to your job, mentally preparing for the moment this bar would be turned upside down and inside out as the clock struck closer to midnight. The limes and lemons were cut into wedges, and you'd wiped down the counter more times than truly necessary, and really, you should be switching out the kegs, but Maverick looked pathetically lonely as he nursed a pint, and you'd run your luck—and a keg—dry the last time you tried to do it, so you remained at your station and hoped someone else would do it for you.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Penny froze, a crate of freshly washed glasses and schooners perched on her hip. "You know about this?"

You bit back a grin, innocently shrugging. You could feel Maverick's disbelief burning into the rear of your head as you attended to a new patron. Then another. And another. Until the bell clamored beside you, a jingle that coaxed cheers from everyone but the reason behind it.

"Tough night, Mav," you said over your shoulder, but your amusement trailed off when Hangman's voice ricocheted like a jet engine.

"What do we have here?"

With Payback and Fanboy flanked behind her, Phoenix strolled through the front door—just three. Your stare lingered on the closing gap as the door thudded against the frame, trying to keep the small puff of dejection from blowing against the bottle of vodka in your hand.

He'd be here soon enough.

Hangman eventually found his way back to the bar. "Penny, my dear."

"Yeah?"

"I'll have four more on the old-timer."

Your lips slanted. The slight tilt of Maverick's head was meant to snuff out your impending rib-aching, tear-filled laughter, but your smirk only deepened. "You gonna be able to buy me dinner after this, old man?"

"You're trouble," said Maverick. His gaze darted to Penny, long enough for you to understand that he had meant more than just the fun you were poking at. 

All you responded with was a wink.

Hangman beckoned you over with his fingers. He leaned down, his voice a quiet hum against the ruckus flowering around you. "I'm not one to judge, but he's a little older than your usual target, ain't he?"

You ducked your head, hiding the way your face twisted in all the wrong ways and swallowing down the retch shooting up your throat, before the coquettish mask returned. "My usual target's not here."

"Will he be?"

"I don't believe I'm at liberty to tell you, Hangman."

His eyes crinkled. "Well, if you're looking for a new one," he said, "you know where to find me."

You snorted. 

"Bradshaw!"

Your head whipped toward the door.

Amidst the throng of people pouring into the Hard Deck, you spotted the familiar sunkissed skin swathed in a loose, unbuttoned shirt, jeans mapping out the creases in his muscles, and those sunglasses you'd talked him into buying one day. Your mouth had tipped up in a smile before you even realized.

Hangman sighed. "And there goes my chance."

"Like you ever had one." Penny slid in beside you, putting down four beers in front of Hangman.

"I'll let him know you're here."

Your gaze followed Bradley as he bounded past the bar and toward the pool tables, joining the growing group of aviators. "No, you won't."

Hangman flashed another one of his charming smiles. "Much appreciated, Pops. Hey, sweetheart, what song are you feeling? I was thinkin' Slow Ride." He scrunched his nose when you fixed him with a dry and hardened stare. "Offer's still on the table."

"Keep dreaming, Seresin!" you exclaimed to his back.

Maverick handed his card to Penny to close his tab. His gaze was heavy on you, tracking the way your giddy grin faltered as a new song danced into the air. Hangman's laughter was a beacon within the crowd, as though he knew you were rolling your eyes at him. You hadn't even followed through when you drifted to Bradley again, like a compass needle always finding true north.

Yeah, his qualms with this mission went beyond him and Bradley. He definitely needed to think of you.

"Why'd you pull his papers, Mav?" you asked softly, a quiet hum that was nearly lost in the flood of commotion warming the room up. It felt misplaced for a place like this. But you asked anyway. 

"He wasn't ready."

You slipped a lemon wedge against a glass. "Neither was I, and you and my dad hadn't made a sound when I put my application in. I think that only pissed him off some more."

"You weren't going in to be a pilot."

"Bullshit, and you know it. If my eyes hadn't shit the bed, I'd be in that cockpit." You handed the drink off to a waiting sailor. "I know it's different—you and him, you and I—but at the end of the day, he still made it here. Was it really worth losing him over it?"

The muscles in Maverick's jaw ticked. He shook the distant fog in his eyes away. "Do you always have heart-to-hearts with your customers?"

"Only the ones I grew up with."

Penny put Maverick's card down on the counter. "It's been declined."

Disbelief warped his face. "You're kidding."

Penny didn't pull her attention from him as she told you, "Why don't you take your fifteen?"

You didn't stick around. You didn't want to. You'd seen Penny and Maverick dance around each other for as long as you could remember, spanning since before you were born. Whatever unresolved tension hung between them was something you did not want to be trapped in the midst of.

Hangman wooed. "I knew you couldn't resist, sweetheart."

But his words fell on deaf ears as your hand glided up Bradley's arm and across the expanse of his back. His skin didn't twitch, and there wasn't a flicker of surprise in Bradley's eyes—not at the sudden warmth encasing the scars littered on his neck that traced the path of your touch, not at the brush of your thumb against the hairs on the back of his head, not at the comforting press of your body against his, not at the weight of your stare that seemed to settle his entire soul. 

No, of course not. He would know you even if his memory were wiped.

Bradley snaked his arm around your waist, meeting your eyes with a face-splitting grin. A sweet mix of seasalt, wood, and sweat encircled you as his body draped over yours, the tautness in your shoulders dissipating with a slow exhale that would make the next few hours of fulfilling drink orders worth it. You weren't sure if the shivers prickling your skin were from the ticklish brush of his mustache or the gentle kiss on the curve of your neck.

"Watch the hand, Bradshaw," you warned when his palm ventured low over the curve of your spine, skimming the top of your jeans. His chest trembled with laughter, and yours followed as you pulled away—a sound so attuned to his, a familiar beat you'd grown up with, one your heart had learned to mimic. "Hiya, you big stud."

"You look good," he said, kissing the side of your head. "Always do."

A satisfied hum rippled in your throat. You remained nestled against Bradley, but turned to Hangman with a sugary sweet smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, Seresin. Did you say something?"

Hangman rolled his eyes as laughter erupted around you.

Bradley's lips grazed the shell of your ear, breath warm. "Unplug the jukebox and meet me at the piano?"

"I was getting sick of this song anyway." You slipped from Bradley's grasp, even as his arm seemed to contradict his words and tightened around you.

Groans weaved between patrons as you yanked the plug from the outlet, slicing through the song that Hangman had selected.

Bradley held his hand over his shoulder, waiting patiently to feel yours slide against his before pulling you onto his lap. "How long do I have you for?"

"One song," you said, taking his folded sunglasses from the collar of his white vest and resting them back on the bridge of his nose. "Make it a good one, hot stuff."

"Yes, ma'am." His fingers dexterously tapped along the black and ivory keys of the wooden upright piano, quelling the complaints around them. 

Something warm wrapped around you, memories infiltrating your mind of late summer nights in high school, and endless karaoke nights he'd back you up with, and ballads after your first heartbreak, and thunderous thrumming that kept the party alive, and relaxing Saturday mornings as the waves crashed into the nearby shore, and stories you'd heard from your dad and Maverick over the years, and behind each one, you could hear Bradley pressing one key after another.

There was nothing quite like it.

The bell rang again as a distant echo in your head. You managed to catch the moment Hangman, Payback, and Coyote carried Maverick out of the bar by his limbs. Overboard. Briefly, your eyes connected over Bradley's shoulder, and you picked out the subtle shift in his expression, like he, too, was caught in a memory. A very different one.

Then, he was gone in a blink of an eye.

Maverick left your mind just as quickly as he'd gone as the first few notes of Great Balls of Fire played out. Bradley had told you about the fading recollection he had of him perched on a piano while his dad belted out the song. He also spent hours teaching you to play it. You were sure Carole would've been sick of the song by the time you'd figured it out if it didn't remind her so much of Goose.

"You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brains," Bradley started strongly, his voice rasping with charisma. His mouth was hot against your ear. "Too much love drives a man insane!"

Laughter shook your chest as you joined in, your head bobbing to the rhythm. You didn't care for the way his body jostled, or his head bumped against the back of your shoulder as he damn near shouted the lyrics for everyone to hear.

It was fun. Being with Bradley was always fun.

Whether it was doing fifty push-ups in the kitchen together because your dad thought he was standing too close to you, or helping you with the infinite mountain of paperwork you needed to fill out during your tenure in the Navy, or grocery shopping with his mom before she passed—all of it was a zing of adrenaline and a rush of dopamine when it was with him.

You were out of breath by the time the song ended, throat scratched raw from belting out the familiar song. Ecstasy leaked into your exhale, trembling yet light, and your lips remained pinned up as Bradley squeezed your waist, his arm winding around securely, a comfortable heat seeping past the fabric of your shirt.

It took everything in you to peel away from his grasp.

"What time are you off?" he asked.

"You've got an early morning," you said. "Don't do it to yourself."

Bradley twisted around as you disappeared through the sea of people. "But I want to!"

The rest of the night had stretched long and strenuously, incessantly churning out drink orders, wiping down sticky counterspace, and restocking bottles. By the time the last drunk-to-high-heaven person had ushered themselves out, you were ready to collapse behind the bar and call it a night.

Penny had to pull you off a stool before your eyes fluttered shut until daybreak.

Hauling your bag over your shoulder, you shouted goodnight to her on your way out. The chilly coastal breeze beyond the front door did enough to revive what little energy you had left, bones chattering beneath your pebbled skin.

A startled gasp cut past your lips when you found Bradley leaning against your car, sunglasses askew on his nose and one sleeve of his loose, unbuttoned shirt sliding down his arm. Somehow, he still looked more put together than you. "I thought you left with the rest of 'em."

His head snapped up, a slow grin stretching across his face. "You wouldn't tell me what time you got off, so I waited."

"And now you need someone else to get you home," you said, recounting the drinks you'd served him (and cut him off from for his own benefit).

Bradley dug his keys out of his pocket, the matching bracelet you had with him hanging off the keychain that glinted beneath the exterior lights of the Hard Deck, and handed them to you for safekeeping. "Yes, ma'am." He watched you haphazardly stuff your things into the backseat of your car. "D'you know why we got called back?"

A teasing spark shined in your eyes. "Should've known you just wanted to use me."

Something akin to a wounded noise escaped Bradley. "Baby, no." His hands clumsily cradled your jaw. "I would never."

"What about the time you tried to make Vanessa Torres jealous?" You pushed his sunglasses into his hair.

"That was one time. Almost twenty years ago."

"So not never." The amusement on your face faltered, easily wiped away as time plunged deeper into the night. You curled your fingers around his wrist, his radial pulse gently beating beneath you. "I don't know what the mission is," you conceded quietly, swallowing thickly, "but whatever it is, promise me you'll come back."

Bradley's eyes flickered between yours. You had probably done this a million times by now—made him swear that he'll return. That he'll return to you. Alive. And each time, he felt the weight of his career compressing his bones until he was about ten inches shorter. Was this what his dad felt? He wished he could ask him that, see if it got any easier.

"Haven't I always?" He hoped you wouldn't notice the slight crack in his voice.

You gave a short hum, as though you could see right past him. He doubted that the lingering alcohol coursing through his system was any good at keeping a mask up; then again, he was never very good at hiding things from you to begin with.

"Get in the car," you said softly, pulling your face away from his hands. "We'll grab your Bronco in the morning."

"Can I get a kiss first?"

That got a quiet little huff of laughter from you, swelling when he pulled you even closer, his arms tightly looping around your waist, like the very notion of space between you was inexcusable.

"Kiss me, baby," he sang like he was behind the piano again. Quieter this time—a personal serenade.

"You're something else, Bradshaw." You pulled him down for a surprisingly gentle kiss, a delicate pressure that sent a quiet, warm ripple straight to your chest. You hated to pull away, even as your heart rapped against your ribs and your lungs heaved for air, but you couldn't stop the giddy stretch of your lips as age-old butterflies erupted in your stomach. 

"Ooh," Bradley shivered, "that feels good."

"Yeah?" You notched an eyebrow. "You gonna love me like a lover should?"

"Oh, baby, I'll do a lot more than that." He nuzzled his face against your neck. "I'ma tell this world that you're mine, mine, mine."

"Good." You stole another kiss. "Now get in the car."

Las Vegas Motor Speedway.

Friday morning and the desert was already doing what the desert did in October — bright and sharp and dry in a way that made everything feel slightly more urgent than it needed to be.

She'd been up since six. Scout had been up since five, because Scout did not understand the concept of sleeping in and had expressed this by sitting next to the bed and staring at her with the focused intention of a dog who had somewhere to be. They'd gone for a run before the track got loud, just the two of them in the early morning quiet, Scout covering twice the distance she did by virtue of having four legs and no sense of pace management.

Now Scout was asleep on the floor of the motorhome like she hadn't just dragged her owner through three miles at sunrise, and she was on her second coffee going over the weekend notes from her engineer, and everything was normal.

Her phone buzzed.

From: Carson 🤠 [link]

No caption. Just the link.

She clicked it.

r/NASCAR

📌 Y/N Carter Updates — okay I need someone to validate my shipping CartVar Posted by u/spire95daily • 2 hours ago

Someone made a four minute video and I have watched it six times. I’m convinced they’re dating. I'm going to describe it because you need to understand what's happening here.

It starts with a clip from the media day interview at Darlington back in August. A reporter asks Carson Hocevar who his favorite person on the grid is and without missing a single beat, before the reporter has even finished the sentence, he points at her and says "her." no hesitation. doesn't even think about it.

Then it cuts to HER doing a separate interview, different day, and someone asks her the same question and she laughs before she answers. Not like a polite media laugh. Like a genuine "what kind of question is that" laugh and then says "Carson, obviously" like it's the most boring question she's ever been asked.

Then there's like six clips from their joint Twitch stream. I'm going to need you to understand what this stream was. It was two hours of Carson Hocevar yelling at literally every other driver on the iracing platform while she sat next to him and did not stop him once. She just sat there. She was smiling. She handed him a snack at one point without him asking and he took it without looking and they both just continued on like this was completely normal.

Then there's a clip of him in a post race interview after Kansas where he's talking about her race, not his, and he says "she deserved better than P8 and anyone who watched the race knows that" with the kind of personal investment that is not standard teammate behavior.

Then — and this is the part that got me — there's a tweet from two months ago where she retweeted one of his posts with just "correct" and nothing else and he replied with "thank you finally someone gets it" and she replied with "I always get it" and. I'm just going to let that sit there.

I'm not saying anything. I'm just describing what I see.

↑ 6.2k | 521 comments

u/Monsterorbust • 2h the way she handed him that snack without looking I think about it constantly

u/95ganggang • 2h THE "I ALWAYS GET IT" TWEET. I remember when that was posted and I did not understand its significance at the time

u/spire95daily • 2h none of us were ready

u/monsterpurist04 • 1h okay but to be fair they've been teammates for a year and best friends even longer so some of this could just be— u/lurkingengineer • 1h the snack. explain the snack. u/monsterpurist04 • 1h ...I cannot explain the snack

u/nascarnotes • 1h I went back and watched the full Twitch stream after seeing this compilation and I need everyone to know there's a moment around the 47 minute mark where another driver comes into the chat to defend himself after Carson roasted him and Carson just looks at her and she shakes her head slightly and he drops it immediately. he dropped it IMMEDIATELY. do you understand what kind of power that is

u/f1nascarcrossoverfan • 1h The silent communication. THE SILENT COMMUNICATION u/redbullorbust • 58m they have a whole language and we're only seeing part of it

u/oldschoolnascarfan • 58m y'all said this exact thing about the max verstappen instagram stuff a few months ago and then nothing happened so u/95ganggang • 55m the max thing was different this is different u/oldschoolnascarfan • 54m how is it different u/95ganggang • 53m the SNACK

u/maxshipper_supreme • 45m wait so we're dropping the max theory?? u/spire95daily • 43m I mean he still follows her and likes her photos but he does that with a lot of drivers. The Carson evidence is RIGHT THERE u/maxshipper_supreme • 42m I just think we're being hasty

523 more comments

She read the whole thread.

Then she read it again.

Then she looked at Scout, still asleep on the floor, entirely unbothered by everything, and thought about how nice that must be.

To: Max 💙 Carson sent me a Reddit thread.

Four minutes passed.

From: Max 💙 I know. Lando sent it to me this morning.

She sat up straighter.

To: Max 💙 Lando sent it to you.

From: Max 💙 He thought it was funny.

To: Max 💙 And what do you think?

From: Max 💙 I think they're wrong.

To: Max 💙 That's it? That's your whole response to people on the internet thinking your girlfriend is dating her best friend?

From: Max 💙 You're coming home to me at the end of the season. I'm not worried about a Reddit thread.

She stared at that for a moment.

To: Max 💙 You're infuriating.

From: Max 💙 You're stressed about nothing. Go focus on your briefings and practice session.

She made a noise out loud that Scout opened one eye for, assessed, and decided wasn't worth getting up over.

She called Carson. He picked up laughing, which was not a great start.

"Before you—"

"Five hundred comments, Carson."

"Five hundred and thirty-seven," he said. "It went up while you were reading it."

"That is not the flex you think it is."

"I'm just saying, the engagement is impressive—"

"They think we're dating."

"I know."

"They made a compilation video."

"I watched it," he said. "Honestly pretty well edited. Whoever made it has a future in—"

"Carson."

A pause. Then, with a slightly less grin in it: "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say something useful."

"Okay." A pause, the joke mostly gone. "Here's something useful — it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Why?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

"Five hundred people on the internet who don't know you, don't know me, and have never been to a race track, they’re just looking for something to do," Carson said. "That's what this is. That's the whole thing. All they did was compile things that are just — us. That's just what we're like. Best friends. We've always been like that."

"I know that."

"So what are you actually worried about?"

She didn't answer that.

Carson let the silence sit, which was unusual for him. When he spoke again the grin was fully gone. "Hey."

"I'm fine."

"I know you're fine. That's not what I asked."

She looked at Scout, still resolutely asleep on the floor. "I just don't love that the narrative is out there and I can't do anything about it."

"You could do something about it."

"Carson—"

"I'm not saying do anything. I'm saying you could. And you're choosing not to. Which is a decision you made. So own it a little."

She didn't say anything.

"You know how this ends," he said, simpler now. "You're the only one acting like you don't."

A long pause.

"Go look at your setup notes," he said. "we’ve got a race Sunday. You're in the hunt for the championship. Everything else is noise."

"When did you get wise."

"I've always been wise. You just don't listen." The grin was back, faint. 

“Okay mister wiseguy, I'll see you out there.” 

"Yes you will." He said and hung up.

Max landed in Las Vegas on Saturday evening.

Nobody noticed, or if they did, nothing surfaced yet. He came to the motorhome and Scout greeted him with the focused enthusiasm she reserved for people she had decided were worth her time — which was a meaningful list, not a short one — and he crouched down and let her investigate him thoroughly with the patience of someone who had learned the protocol.

"How was the flight," she said from the couch, not looking up from her notes.

"Long," he said. Scout headbutted his hand. He scratched behind her ear without being asked. "How's the car?"

"Better than Friday. Not quite where I want it yet."

He came and sat next to her and looked at the notes without saying anything for a while. Just read. That was the thing about him she still hadn't fully gotten used to after six months — the quality of his quiet. It wasn't empty. It was just comfortable.

"Your rear entry angle," he said eventually, pointing at something on the sheet.

"I know."

"Your engineer knows?"

"He knows."

"Okay," he said, and leaned back.

Scout relocated to lie across both their feet. Outside Las Vegas was being Las Vegas on a Saturday night — loud and lit up and completely indifferent to the two of them sitting in a motorhome going over setup notes like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It was, she thought, a very normal evening.

The Reddit thread had 1,200 comments now. She didn't open it.

She won Las Vegas Motor Speedway on a Sunday afternoon with three laps to go and a move on the bottom that Carson would describe for the rest of the year as "the most calculated thing I have ever watched happen in real time" and she would describe simply as "it was there."

The radio erupted. The crew erupted. She took the checkered flag and let herself be loud about it for a few seconds inside her helmet before everything got very fast — victory burnout, bringing the car in, the noise hitting her all at once the moment she climbed out. Carson got to her first because Carson always got there first, grabbed her by the shoulders and said something completely inaudible over the crowd, and she laughed, the unguarded kind, pure adrenaline. Then there were crew members everywhere, her engineer with his arms around her, someone putting a hat on her head, hurrying through the motions of victory lane, the interviews, the presenting of the trophy, the photos, the hat coming off and going back on, someone asking her to move left for the cameras and then right and then back again, and she was trying to be present in all of it — smiling and here and grateful then she saw him.

He was standing just back from the chaos, slightly removed from it the way he always was in crowds. Cap pulled low, sunglasses on, in the completely futile way that Max Verstappen wore hats and sunglasses as a disguise in public — like it would work if he just believed in it hard enough. He was watching her with that almost-smile, quiet in the middle of all the noise, and for a second the rest of victory lane went a little distant.

She thought about six months of late nights and setup notes and a pigeon on a balcony in Monaco and a Reddit thread sitting at 1,200 comments about entirely the wrong person.

She thought about Carson saying you know how this ends. You're the only one acting like you don't.

She crossed the distance between them with the trophy still in her hand and kissed him, and he caught her like he'd known it was coming — one hand at her jaw, completely unbothered by the cameras and the noise and the very public nature of what was currently happening.

It lasted maybe five seconds.

When she pulled back he looked at her with that same calm expression.

"Good race," he said.

She laughed, still a little breathless, still holding the trophy, still vaguely aware that there were approximately forty cameras pointed at them right now. "That's all you've got."

"You drove well in the second stage," he said. "Your tire management was better than the leader's. I was watching."

"You were watching my tire management."

"I was watching everything." The almost-smile again, closer to the real thing now. "But yes. Specifically the tire management in stage two."

She shook her head. Six months and he could still catch her off guard with it — the way he paid attention, the specific and unhurried way he saw things. She'd stopped being surprised that he'd noticed. She hadn't stopped being glad about it. She was still smiling when Carson appeared at her elbow approximately four seconds later. She watched him look at her, then at Max, then back at her. Something moved across his face — not surprise, more like a man watching something he already knew become real in front of him.

"So," he said.

"Don't," she said.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Good."

"I'm just standing here."

"Carson."

"Observing," he said. He looked at Max. Max looked back at him. Something passed between them — brief and unspoken, the kind of acknowledgment that didn't need words. Carson nodded once, slow, like something had been confirmed. "Nice to finally meet you properly," he said.

"You too," Max said.

She looked between them and felt something settle — quiet and certain and a little overwhelming — underneath all the noise of a race win on a Sunday afternoon in October.

r/NASCAR

📌 Y/N Carter Updates — VICTORY LANE. LAS VEGAS. I NEED EVERYONE TO LOOK AT THIS VIDEO RIGHT NOW Posted by u/spire95daily • 6 minutes ago

I don't have words. I literally do not have words. She won the race which is already — but then in victory lane she — I can't.

[video link]

I'm going to go lie down. Someone else take over.

↑ 18.4k | 1,249 comments — sorted by: new

u/Monsterorbust • 5m IS THAT MAX VERSTAPPEN

u/95ganggang • 5m IT'S MAX VERSTAPPEN

u/lurkingengineer • 4m THE RIVAL SPONSORS AGENDA WAS REAL THIS WHOLE TIME

u/monsterpurist04 • 4m I need to sit down I genuinely need to sit down

u/f1nascarcrossoverfan • 3m OUR OWN REDDIT THREAD. WE WERE SO WRONG. WE WERE SO EMBARRASSINGLY WRONG.

u/oldschoolnascarfan • 3m okay. FINE. I'll admit it.

u/95ganggang • 3m TOLD YOU IT WASN'T THE SNACK

u/maxshipper_supreme • 2m I NEVER DOUBTED THIS FOR A SINGLE SECOND

u/nascarnotes • 2m wait where's Carson in this video u/redbullorbust • 1m HE'S RIGHT THERE. HE'S WATCHING IT HAPPEN IN REAL TIME u/lurkingengineer • 1m his FACE. someone gif his face immediately

u/95ganggang • 58s Carson Hocevar watched his best friend kiss Max Verstappen in victory lane in Las Vegas and I think that's the most Carson thing that has ever happened

u/monsterpurist04 • 45s the rival sponsors agenda was real the whole time and we almost missed it because of a SNACK

u/nascarnotes • 30s I am not going to be normal about this for a very long time u/spire95daily • 15s none of us are

fc: freya allen + my questionable manip skills

cw: fem!reader, logan sargeant twin sister, complex parent relationship, shitty & manipulative mom, grid mom nicole piastri, good friends!grid, good brother!logan, soft max verstappen, adorable alex albon, some soft james vowels slander, yn use. logan calls reader ‘ynnie’. alex calls reader ‘sunshine’. probably some typos.

smau + written mini series

a/n: this feels like a fever dream. i haven’t slept and i’ve been working on this for two days straight and my brain is still going. send help.

multi part fic, maybe four total

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williamsf1team | december 2023

tagged: logansargeant 

liked by logansargeant, fan, fan, and others…

williamsf1team logan sargeant has signed to race with us again in 2024! 

fan: wrong sargeant to sign

fan: i mean… i love the guy, but come ON

fan: this is certainly a choice, mr vowels 

fan: yn injustice 

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ynsargeant.fan | december 2023

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

ynsargeant.fan yn was the highest points scoring williams this season and the sole reason the team finished 6th in WCC. why is she still a reserve driver when it’s clear she’s the more talented sargeant? 

fan: i’m glad someone said it. i was rewatching the final f2 race of 2022 and i swear, yn LET logan overtake her on the final lap. 

| fan: fan I’VE BEEN SAYING THIS ALL YEAR!!!

fan: and suspicious silence from the entire sargeant family, save logan. 

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ynsargeant | close friends christmas 2023

tagged: alex_albon

christmas in london 🤍

replies 

ynchildhoodbff: i wanted to see you 😭

| ynsargeant: i wasn’t invited home 👍🏻

| ynchildhoodbff: you WHAT

lilyzneimer: you should have come to aus

| ynsargeant: and leave this beautiful man alone? yeah right

nicolepiastri: miss you, sweetheart. hope you and alex are having a blast

| ynsargeant: thank you, mama. we are!

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alex_albon | christmas 2023

liked by georgerussell63, logansargeant, fan, and others…

alex_albon it’s a sunshiny christmas in london

fan: oh? 

georgerussell63: mum says to come over for boxing day brunch! 

| alex_albon: georgerussell63 we’ll be there! 

fan: i ship it

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george -> alex

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georgerussell63 | boxing day 2023

liked by carmenmmundt, alex_albon, ynsargeant, and others…

georgerussell63 besties joined russell and company for boxing day!

ynsargeant: thanks for the invite! 

| georgerussell63: ynsargeant you’re always welcome here! 

carmenmmundt: best family 🤍

fan: what is happening 

fan: so yn is just… not going home? 

lando: thanks for the invite 

| georgerussell63: lando we’ll see you for NYE in monaco! 

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ynsargeant | NYE 2023

liked by alex_albon, lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri, and others…

ynsargeant blink said nobody likes you when you’re 23, but i’ve never felt so loved. 🤍

alex_albon: happy birthday, sunshine! 

georgerussell63: only the best for our yn! 

lilyzneimer: happy birthday, my wife! 

| ynsargeant: lilyzneimer can’t believe you and osc left aus early for me 😭🤍

oscarpiastri: happy birthday! 

lando: thanks for letting us celebrate with you!

| ynsargeant: lando thanks for coming! and paying my tab! 

maxverstappen1: happy birthday, kid! kelly & i had a great time! 

| ynsargeant: maxverstappen1 thank you both for coming and for the amazing gift 😭

fan: where’s logan? 

| fan: fan he isn’t even in the likes

fan: dream blunt rotation 

| ynsargeant: fan this is such a compliment but all our employers can see this babe 😭

| fan: ynsargeant I’M SO SORRY QUEEN! FIA I DON’T ACTUALLY KNOW THEM AND NEED TO TOUCH GRASS!! THEY WOULD NEVER BE IN A BLUNT ROTATION! 

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logansargeant | story NYE 2023

23 looks a little different this year

replies 

ynsargeant: happy birthday, logie. 

| logansargeant: happy birthday, ynnie. 

fan: is this a sibling breakup 😭

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f1 | 2024

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

f1 BREAKING! lewis hamilton has signed a multi year contract with scuderia ferrari! 

fan: lewis hamilton did WHAT

fan: oh my god

fan: silly season has begun

fan: yn sargeant to mercedes ASAP

| fan: fan oh fuck yes

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f1 | preseason testing 2024

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

f1 in a seemingly coordinated event, all the teams let their reserve drivers take on the first session of day two testing! 

fan: this is actually so fucking cool

fan: yn topping the ranks per USUAL

| fan: fan i need to know how she does it. she beat REDBULL! and max proved how fast that thing is. imagine what she could do in the car of a top team

fan: ollie drove the hell out of that ferrari! 

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reserve group interview grabs

“welcome everyone to the first ever reserve driver group interview,” the announcer said. “we’re here with oliver bearman of ferrari, liam lawson of visa cash app redbull, isack hadjar of redbull racing, jack doohan of alpine, patricio o’ward of mclaren, mick schumacher of mercedes, felipe drugovic of aston martin, pietro fittipaldi of haas, theo pourchaire of sauber, and yn sargeant of williams.

“let’s begin.” 

the press were surprisingly polite, though they hadn’t had much time to prepare, as the reserve session had been a surprise to just about everyone. 

“i have a question for yn sargeant,” the first journalist said, standing. “and i think it’s one we’re all asking ourselves. how on earth did you manage p1 of the session in a car that, when driven by albon and your brother, has yet to come within three seconds of your best lap?”

the room turned to stare at you, and you should have been expecting it. you had been freakishly fast. even the other reserve drivers watched you with rapt attention. ollie, the adorable kid he was, gave you a soft and encouraging smile. 

“honestly, y’all, i don’t even know,” you laughed, breaking the tension. “my brother and alex ask me constantly to teach them how i do it, but i just do. the car is there, i can feel it.”

you paused, and the room stayed quiet, allowing you continued space to speak. “when you’re a reserve, the pressure is different. there’s no media cycle every week. you look forward to the chance to drive an epic piece of machinery- it’s a gift. nobody really expects you to do well, we all know that-” the other reserves mumbled and nodded their agreement. “so it’s easier to breathe, easier to let the car speak to you, because there aren’t any other voices in the way.” 

“beautifully said,” the announcer agreed. “next question.” 

the journalists were fair in the queries, much kinder to you all than they were to the main drivers. you all laughed, still high on the fact that you got a chance to drive. 

“final questions, as we’re down to five minutes remaining.” 

“last question for you, ms sargeant.” you sat up taller at the address, wondering why anyone was being so formal with you. “unrelated to racing, i know, but it caught my eye. your new bracelet is beautiful, what’s the story behind it?”

you looked down at the tennis bracelet max and kelly had given you on your birthday and smiled softly. 

“it was a birthday gift, actually, from max and kelly.   it has the date of my first podium on it, from austin last year.”

the room ‘awe-d’ in unison, rarely getting a glimpse of the soft side of ‘max mad’ who was, admittedly, a giant softy. 

“it’s lovely. well done to max and kelly.”

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ynsargeant | melbourne 2024

tagged: alex_albon, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri, lilyzneimer 

liked by alex_albon, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri, and others…

ynsargeant alex got to meet mama nicole and my pastry family 🤍

alex_albon: the piastris are the best! 

| nicolepiastri: alex_albon we think you’re pretty great, too! 

hattiepiastri: can’t wait for the race! 

| ynsargeant: hattiepiastri make sure you come to williams! 

lilyzneimer: i love being in aus when you’re in aus! 

| ynsargeant: lilyzneimer i love YOU bbg 

fan: where is logan

fan: um… is this meet the boyfriend or something? 

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williamsf1team | melbourne 2024

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

williamsf1team after taking irreparable damage during free practice, the team have decided alex will race in logan’s car this weekend. 

fan: this is fucking DIRTY

fan: yo what the fuck

fan: nah, we don’t play like this at ALL

fan: let yn drive the car ffs 

| fan: fan honestly i’d be down for this

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“i’m sorry,” you told logan friday night at the hotel. “that was a bullshit decision, even alex said so.”

“but he didn’t refuse to drive,” logan grit out. your relationship had been strained since before christmas and your budding relationship with alex was creating more problems for you and your twin. 

logan didn’t blame alex - he didn’t know who to blame. you hadn’t told him what your mother said, you had told him you wanted to stay with alex for the winter, which stung. 

the media had been all over it, on top of you consistently outpacing him AND alex every time you drove their cars. it was a shit storm that was nearing mass destruction. 

“he did say it wasn’t right, we were both in that meeting,” you countered, balancing act between comforting your brother and defending your… alex. “james didn’t give him a choice.”

“so you drive the car!” he exploded. “if they want points scored so bad, you drive, not me, not alex - you.” 

“it doesn’t work like that, logan.” you sighed. “and you don’t really want that. nor does alex.”

“i don’t want this,” he argued. “what happened to us? is it alex? is it because i got the seat and you got reserve? why do you hate me?”

“logie, i don’t hate you. i could never hate you,” your choked out. “i just think we didn’t realize how hard it would be for both of us.” 

“i miss driving with you. that was fun. now, you only ever replace me.” 

“do you want me to leave? williams? f1?” 

“what? why would i want that?” he asked, appalled. 

“because we were okay until this,” you cried. everything felt like it was your fault. like you weren’t a good enough sister, like you were too selfish to let your brother be better. you knew that your mother’s words were echoing in your head, but they were so loud. 

“no, yn, i don’t want you to leave,” he promised, settling down at the sight of your tears. “i wish i could find the pace in the car you do. clearly, it’s there. but i can’t find it; alex can’t find it. i don’t get it.” 

“i’m trying to show you, i have showed you. you can find it.” you didn’t say anything about alex, knowing that was its own separate issue. 

“i think… i think i just don’t love racing like i used to. last season took so much out of me. f1 felt like a dream but it turned into a nightmare.”

“you have the talent, you work hard. you can do this, logan. i know you can,” you encouraged. “so, take one for the team this weekend and we’ll come back better next race. but don’t take it out on alex, please.” 

“are you incapable of not defending him?” logan grumbled, but it wasn’t mean spirited. 

“he has a terrible habit of leaving cabinets open and eats all my good chocolate,” you shared, earned a huff of a laugh from your brother. “but shoe on the other foot, he’d let you have it. vowels shouldn’t ask it of either of you, but that’s not the point.” 

“i know, i know,” he sighed. “alright, go see lover boy. i’m fine, sissy.”

“ew, don’t call me sissy. we aren’t five.” you groaned. “and don’t call him lover boy. he’s just alex.

“anyway, i’m going to nicole’s.”

“again?” logan asked skeptically. 

“yeah well, you have a mother who loves you. only fair i get one, too.”

“mama loves you, yn. in her own way.”

you snorted, wondering if logan would continue to defend your mother if he knew the way she treated you behind his back. 

“i’m not getting into this tonight,” you said. “i’m going to nicole’s and i’ll see you bright and early for quali. we will cheer on alex and not let anyone know we’re bothered by the team’s decision, yeah?”

“alright,” he conceded. 

“get some sleep, logan.” you stood, heading towards the door. “love you, loser.”

“love you, dork.”

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williamsf1team | melbourne 2024

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

williamsf1team tough weekend start to finish. we’ll come back stronger in suzuka

fan: all that car swap drama and still no points. unbelievable 

fan: if i was logan i’d be RAGING

fan: alex was so disappointed on the radio

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ynsargeant | story miami 2024

tagged: lando

LANDO FOUND ON TOP STEP!! 

replies 

lando: I WON A RAC

| ynsargeant: YOU WON A RACE

| lando: come out with us tonight? 

| ynsargeant: you buying? 

| lando: always 

| ynsargeant: alex and i will be there! logan is with his mom. 

| lando: you mean your mum? 

| ynsargeant: nah, mama nicole is my mom

| lando: there’s so much to unpack there, mate

| ynsargeant: get me drunk and i’ll cry about it 🤪

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“you look fit,” alex said in awe, heart shaped eyes glued to your figure. you hadn’t dressed up much that night, but so seldomly were you out of a team kit that made you look rather lego shaped. it felt nice to have someone so beautiful look at you like you were flawless. 

“you look rather nice yourself, mr albon,” you replied with a smile. “ready?”

“absolutely.” he put his hotel room key in his wallet and slipped on his shoes. “let’s go drink to lando one win, sunshine.” 

you cackled, somehow still surprised at alex’s dry sense of humor. he grinned like he won the lottery.

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“you made it!” lando shouted, clearly well into the bottle already. 

the entire room turned and cheered as you and alex entered the club the group had rented out of the night. carmen and george greeted you with a group hug. kelly kissed you on the cheek; max squeezed your shoulder like your eldest brother used to do. fernando nodded at you approvingly, like you were his actual child. oscar and lily were also decently into the drink, as they were both pink faced and giving each other googly eyes. charles and pierre squished you between them, with kika and alexandra repeating the action when their respective partner’s had released you.

by the time you and alex made it to lando, you were half drunk on love and belonging. 

you were easily talked into doing shots with the 2019 rookies. then, max and fernando made you do a shot with them, both claiming ‘grid dad’ privileges. 

then a round of shots with the wags. 

by the time your actual vodka soda made its way into your hand, you were tipsy and warm and giggly. 

alex held you close to him, never letting you drift far from one another. 

your were distracted from your conversation with kelly and lily because you were staring at him. his wide smile, brilliant brown eyes, the way you had to look up at him to truly appreciate his beauty. 

“i think you’re drooling,” lily teased, poking you in the side and making you yelp. 

“ouchhhhh,” you moaned. 

“drama queen.” lily laughed, and you followed. 

“you’re so gone for him, hm?” kelly asked. 

“have been for awhile now,” you admitted, alcohol loosening your tongue. “he’s everything.” 

lando, being lando, ruined the moment by shouting your name. 

“YN!!!”

you cupped your hands around your mouth. “LANDOOOOO!” 

“SHOTS!”

“HELL YEAH!” 

you squeezed past alex and george, tucking yourself behind charles to get to lando’s side at the bar. 

“one shot, one truth,” he said, only slightly slurring.

“you’re on, mr one win,” you agreed cheekily, throwing it back. 

“your mother-”

“adores my brothers, loathes me entirely, yup,” your said plainly. “i was only allowed to kart and race because logan loved it. but i’m the second driver in my family.” you laughed, though it wasn’t actually funny. 

in your state of intoxication, you were unaware of your volume and that half the grid had heard your admission. they all went very still, sharing side eyes and frowns of confusion. alex shook his head, telling everyone it really wasn’t the time and to let you and lando have your moment. 

“your truth, good sir,” you said to lando, both unaware of the bomb that had gone off behind you. 

“now that i’ve won a race, i’ll be expected to do it again and again and again,” he said. “and when i don’t, it will be all ‘fluke lando’ ‘lando one win’ ‘overhyped lando’. it’s fucking hard to win a race with 19 other brilliant drivers fighting you.” 

“you could win nothing else the rest of your life and still be absolutely perfectly you,” you told him. “it’s not about winning. the second it’s more about winning than loving the drive, you’ve already lost.”

“holy shit, that’s deep,” lando said, then grinned. “you’re brilliant, you know that?”

“yeah, but you should definitely keep feeding my ego.” 

lando burst out laughing and you couldn’t help but smile at the race winner. he was a good guy, in and out of the car, and a good friend. 

“hey, pretty,” alex said, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “having fun?”

you tilted your head and beamed up at him, cheeks pink from the alcohol and heat of the club. “loads, bub. you?”

“same,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead. “fancy a dance?”

“always, if you’re with me.” 

alex tugged you out to the dance floor with george and carmen and lily and oscar and pierre and kika, everyone all smiles and laughter and love. lando, drunk as a skunk and intent on being a dj, changed the song to something from 2016 pop radio, and you all went wild for it, feeling like teenagers again. 

your sole focus became alex, swaying and jumping and screaming along to the songs of your youth. 

alex leaned in, hand coming to hold the nape of your neck. “it would be an international crime if i didn’t kiss you right now.” 

“yeah?” you smiled. “better get on it, then.” 

he laughed into the kiss, and the world around you faded. no drivers, no friends. no loud music. just you and alex and a moment that had been building for well over a year. 

the kiss broke and the room around you cheered like mad. 

“fucking finally, mate!” a drunk george shouted, clapping alex on the shoulder. 

“atta girl, yn!” lily cat called, and kika and alexandra joined in by wolf whistling. 

but alex still held your eye and you held his. 

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f1gossip | may 2024

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

f1gossip photos of a grid night out were leaked after lando won his first race in miami. they featured a couple loved up and seemingly kissing the hell out of one another. who’s the new wag? 

fan: that’s definitely alex’s hair

fan: it has GOT to be yn. they’re so bf/gf coded

fan: oh to party with the grid

fan: no logan? 

| fan: fan he doesn’t live far from miami, i’d bet he went to see his family. 

| fan: fan without yn? because that’s definitely her throwing shots back with the wags in the fourth photo.

| fan: fan oh my god it IS

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logan -> yn 

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enjoy!

check out my other driver smaus op81, cl16, and ob87.

In 2026, you attended like you always did. Only this time it wad clad in Ferarri red, prancing horse emblem proudly sitting on your cap and running after a severely depressed Charles Leclerc after his season seemed to go just as fucked as Lando’s car was.

Your best friend had tried to hide his distaste, keyword being tried, but ultimately he frowned whenever he had to see you dressed in the other teams colors. Not accepting it even if it was simply in a professional setting and instead flicking your cap off your head to replace it with his own papaya one.

Charles had found it quite amusing, teasing the Champion mercilessly to the point you were scared for the Monegasque whenever Lando was behind him on the track.

And with Max and Pietra living close by, it was only a given that there was an obligatory hang out scheduled during that week.

Nothing could have ruined your mood that night, so you thought.

If only it wasn’t Magui opening the door for you as you arrived a bit later then Lando at the couples place.

Barely suppressing a noise stuck between horror and utter surprise you choked out a little, “hi!”, eyes blown wide before searching for help from Pietra who had appeared behind the actress.

“Y/n, it’ so nice to see you again!” the words were lied straight through her teeth, Magui not moving herself out of the door as if wanting to stop you from entering altogether.

Moving around the blond Portuguese, Pietra gently moved her out of the way to let you in. She wrapped her arms around you, having last seen you when in Monaco when she and Max had visited you and Lando for the weekend.

“I’m sorry y/n, we didn’t know Lando would bring her! Did you–?” she whispered into your ear as she swayed with you for a moment.

“Of course not! Last thing I knew was that they haven’t talked since that soccer game!” You hurried to whisper back, not wanting to appear as if you’d be talking about Magui when said woman was still standing right there, staring at you and P with a glint of annoyance in the blue of her eyes.

In your head you cursed Lando to hell and back, even hoping that stupid engine of his car was going to blow up on Sunday just to be spiteful.

The question why he apparently saw it fit to invite a woman he knew you couldn’t stand and most likely also knew, couldn’t stand you, was burning in you hotter then the sun ever could.

Last years conversation during the F1 75 Event suddenly was at the back of your mind, remembering how he had ensured you that it was nothing serious with them. Not in so many words but you did feel like that’s what he meant. And since you haven’t heard of the actress much since then, you had thought that had been the end of it.

Seemed like you were wrong.

“Hurry, its getting cold…” The other woman fake shivered, the temperature of 27°C making it impossible for her to be actually cold.

Rolling your eyes so hard they might as well have seen your brain for a second once Magui turned to get inside, rubbing at her arms and announcing loudly to everyone that you had “finally managed to make time in your busy schedule to grace them with your presence,” you fought the urge to fight her.

“How you can be friends with her, I truly wonder,”

The door fell shut.

Pietra looked a bit pained, knowing very well that her other friend did have the tendency to lay it on thick when it came to you and that since your first time meeting, there has been a certain tension that wasn’t exactly unjustified.

“She’s not so bad when it’s just us, I swear,”

Giving her a look Pietra knew you didn’t believe her.

Fair, she thought.

“Just don’t let her get to you, okay? She has to leave in about an hour either way,”

“I’ll try but no promises!” you answered with a pointed look.

However when you walked into the livibg room and saw Magui settled comfortable attached to Lando on the couch, a place that was by default reserved for you, you immediately regret to agreeing.

The McLaren driver looked comfortable, even indulgent into her little giggles that grated on your nerves even from afar just as Max appeared with a glass of your favorite wine in his hand.

He quickly wrapped his arms around you as best as he could, a short kiss pressed against your temple, “Just smile and pretend, sunshine. She’ll be gone soon.”

Pietra had sat down with the two lovebirds shamelessly flirting at the moment, though you thought Lando seemed a bit distracted when his eyes met yours over Max’s shoulder.

“Lets pray you got enough wine until then, Maxie.” You accepted the glass with a grateful hum, taking a larger than maybe reasonable sip right after he had let go and earning a snort from your other best friend.

The Brit stirred you towards the single seater across the balcony door, giving you a direct route of escape should your patience run out quicker then the said hour of her presence.

You settled into the throw pillows, hands clutching the wine as if it were you safety line in this situation. Maybe it kind of was…

“I heard of your movie release a while ago. Congratulations for that, Magui.” You smiled forced, hopping that small talk would make he stop clinging to your man lando so much just to be horribly disappointed as she grabbed Lando’s hand while she talked animatedly about her premiere.

Nearly dissociating during her monologue you kept nodding along, eyes pointedly avoiding the man beside your rival? Enemy? You didn’t know what to think of her really.

It wasn’t easy, your eyes flicking back to Lando every so often just to see his reaction to the girl next to him.

It made your stomach drop, to see him mostly focused on Magui, a fond smile plastered on his face even if it looked a bit forced. The little green eyed monster on your shoulder with his claws buried deep and whispering in your ears, not leavibg you alone for a second.

And when he turned to meet your sharp gaze, yu answered by lifting your glass in a mock toast, the corners of your mouth curling into the sweetest smile you could fake.

Max sighed into his beer while Pietra shot her boyfriend a knowing look that said this is going to end interesting.

You took another long sip of wine, hoping it would drown out the ugly knot twisting tighter in your chest, because jealousy had never been an emotion you had to handle often or well.

Magui laughed loudly at her own joke that you seemed to have missed and leaned her head against Lando’s shoulder as if she belonged there, making your grip on the stem of your glass tighten until your knuckles turned white.

Was this why Lando had told you that the almost kiss you shared shouldn’t have happened? Because he had already started seeing Magui again?

God you wanted to throw up at the thought of them together again.

Lando’s smile faltered for the briefest heartbeat when he caught the hurt that slipped through your carefully crafted expression, his fingers unconsciously loosening where Magui still held his hand.

You wanted to go home, maybe get a hug from your mom like you did when you were a child and never see them again.

Half of the conversation you completely tuned out. You didn’t hear Max talk about the Pop Up in London, or Pietra getting up to take Rio out for a walk, or that Max kept refilling your glass whenever it started to look a bit more empty until you were on 3rd glass within the hour until finally the Portuguese woman rose and finally let go of Lando.

Just to have him get up too to walk her out.

The room suddenly felt suffocating, everything fading into meaningless background noise as the realization settled heavily in your stomach that maybe you had misunderstood everything happening between the two of you recently.

“Are you okay?” Pietra dared to ask as she looked into the hallway to check if Lando was coming back. Max eyed you carefully, watching how you looked up sharply as if ripped out of your own world.

“Yeah!” you said almost to fast, voice a bit to high and loud. “Yes, of course why wouldn’t I be? I– I…”

They both saw the exact moment in which your eyes went glassy.

“…I need some air…”

Neither Pietra nor Max managed to get a word out before you were out the balcony door. Wine glass abandoned on the table now and neither able to fault you for needing a moment.

Max had known that the situation had turned messy long before today. Maybe it had always been messy, he wondered then and Pietra, having been on the receiving end of your rant calls for quite some time now, knew that it had only been a matter of time until something spilled over.

And even if that didn’t have front row seats to the disaster that was you and Lando, anyone else seeing you together knew that this wasn’t just friendship.

The balcony door slid shut behind you with a soft click, muffling what was going on inside until all you could hear was the distant hum of traffic, the chirping of a bird and the frantic pounding of your own heart as you gripped the railing hard enough for the sun heated metal to burn your fingers.

Inside, Lando’s laugh abruptly died the second he stepped back into the living room and found your seat empty, his eyes immediately searching the room before landing on the untouched wine glass you had left behind.

Max didn’t even bother hiding the disappointed look he sent his best friend, taking a long pull from his beer before muttering, “Congratulations, mate. You finally fucked it.”

Behind you, the sliding door opened again a bit later and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him, the familiar weight of presence and the soft hesitation in the steps giving him away before he said a single word.

“Hey…” he started carefully, like he was approaching a skittish animal but the word alone made your throat tighten as you finally looked at him with glassy eyes you couldn’t fully hide.

“Why was she here?” you demanded to know with force, trying to will away the tears wanti g to spill out.

Lando stood still for a moment. He hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. Maybe anger for bringing Magui or maybe annoyance but this? This raw and utter defeat tangled with rage? That he hadn’t expected.

“She had a few days off and was at the Pop Up so I thought, why not catch up with everyone,” he said carefully just to receive a scoff.

“Catch up, hm? Sure looked a lot more comfortable then just catching up to me.”

Lando frowned at that.

“That’s not— it’s not like that love,” he started, then stopped himself knowing that you didn’t believe him either way.

The petname usually able to warm your heart now simply served to make you mad.

“Then pray tell me what it is like, hm? Why invite her after no contact for months?” you hissed back, tone scratching at his patience.

“Like I said, just catching up!”

“Question. Do you think I’m dumb? Or blind?” you asked with your arms now crossed and you chin tilted up with a kind of sass only you could bring to the table.

“No but I think you’ve twisted this thing between me and Magui—”

“So there is a thing now?”

Taking a step forward Lando inhaled slowly to not let it show how much it got to him being called out about this thing he was trying not to make one. “No, like I was trying to say youre twisting it into something its not!”

Your laugh came out pained as you shot back, “Right, because I just imagined her nearly crawling into your lap just now.”

“You said there was nothing between you! You, said that last year!” you spat, voice cracking under the weight of it.

„An I wasn’t lying y/n,“ Lando said quietly, his jaw tightening as he held your gaze.

Your breath hitched, anger and hurt tangling so tight in your chest that it felt like you couldn’t separate one from the other.

He took another careful step closer, lowering his voice, “I didn’t lie then and I’m not lying now— there is nothing between me and Magui, not like you’re thinking.”

What was meant to be reassuring was everything but that. You felt hot, not because of the weather but because of burning anger boiling your blood. “Then why was she fucking here?“

Lando took another step closer, his voice dropping as frustration finally cracked through the careful restraint he’d been holding onto.

„Why do you even care who I fuck, hm? You aren’t my girlfriend,“ he snapped, the words tasting wrong on his mouth as he said them.

„And she isn’t either, so why was she here?“ you forced out darkly followed by a silence that knocked the air out of your lungs. Your shoulders that had been tense before dropped significantly and your voice a bit breathless „She isn’t… right?“

Lando’s expression broke for a second, all the frustration draining out of him as he stepped closer and murmured, „Y/n, love…“.

He shook his head slowly, voice quieter now, insisting again that there was nothing between him and Magui.

Your throat tightened as you stared at him, barely breathing when you repeated, „Lando tell me she isn’t… please…“.

Lando standing in front of you now reached out but stopped just short of touching you, exhaling sharply before answering, „She isn’t anything like that, I swear— there’s no her and me.“

The words should have soothed you, but instead your eyes filled anyway as you stood there frozen.

„Why do you even care?“ he asked quietly, eyes shaking a bit at his own question.

„Because you can’t be her’s!“

The words echoed in Lando’s ears. Breath caught sharply at your words, his eyes fixed on you like he had just been hit harder than any crash he’d ever taken on track, and for once Lando looked completely lost.

„Then who’s am i, huh?“ he whispered into the closing gap between you.

Your words were stuck in your throat and you didn’t know what to say. The question was good. Who’s was he because it wasn’t you. It had never been you and even if you hated that he wasn’t, you still saw him as your’s.

„Say it, who’s am i?“ he said again, wanting to know what you were going to say. He couldn’t help but stare at your lips stuck between your teeth as you tried to come up with something to say.

„Lan—“ you breathed shakily.

„Say it.“ Forehead touching yours now he wasn’t asking anymore. He wanted an answer. “Come one, my love just say it…”

The air between you felt impossibly thin, like one wrong breath would snap whatever fragile line was holding you both together.

You swallowed hard, chin lifting in that stubborn, petulant way that had always undone him and forced out, „You’re mine!“

Lando went completely still, like the world had short-circuited, his hands finally closing the last inch between you as they came up to hold your face.

„Damn right i am.“

His lips found your own in a demanding kiss that knocked the air you had left in your lungs completely out again. It was far from gentle but just as satisfying as the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place after hours of searching for it.

Your fingers found the front of his shirt, tugging and pulling him in to prevent any distance forcing you apart again until you had to come up for air.

His mouth stayed only inches away from yours, thumbs brushing feather light over your cheeks and sending shivers down your spine.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though neither of you dared to move away.

Instead, you shook your head quickly and that was all the permission he needed to lean in again.

In the living room Max and Pietra had tried not to listen into to fight happening outside. Due to the volume it was nearly impossible to do so however and even while talking about their upcoming week didn’t distract them enough to miss what was going on outside.

And then there was silence all of a sudden.

Scared that you and Lando had finally murdered each other now, Max whipped around just to have his jaw nearly drop. P quickly reached out to hold onto his arm, trying to steady herself and equally as shocked as her boyfriend.

fc: freya allen + my questionable manip skills

cw: fem!reader, logan sargeant twin sister, complex parent relationship, shitty & manipulative mom, grid mom nicole piastri, good friends!grid, good brother!logan, soft max verstappen, adorable alex albon, some soft james vowels slander, yn use. logan calls reader ‘ynnie’. alex calls reader ‘sunshine’. probably some typos.

smau + written mini series

a/n: this feels like a fever dream. i haven’t slept and i’ve been working on this for two days straight and my brain is still going. send help.

multi part fic, maybe four total.

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logansargeant, ynsargeant | october 2021

liked by oscarpiastri, williamsdriveracademy, alex_albon, and others…

logansargeant your favorite twins signed to williams driver academy! thank you for having us (both).

ynsargeant: dream come true 

williamsdriveracademy: we’re so excited to have you (both)! 

oscarpiastri: williams has no idea the chaos they’ve opened themselves up to

| ynsargeant: pfft, you love our chaos

| oscarpiastri: ynsargeant ‘love’ is a strong word

alex_albon: welcome to the family! 

| logansargeant: alex_albon thanks, alex! 

| ynsargeant: alex_albon thanks albon! 

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williamsf1team | october 2022

tagged: logansargeant, ynsargeant

liked by logansargeant, ynsargeant, alex_albon, and others…

williamsf1team the sargeant twins will both be taking to the track this weekend in austin for free practice 1, making history as the first americans to join a grand prix weekend since 2015! 

ynsargeant: so exited! thanks for the loan, alex_albon! 

| alex_albon: ynsargeant please don’t crash my car

logansargeant: thank you for the opportunity! 

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f1updates | november 2022

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

f1updates williams racing team principal jost capito said both logan and yn sargeant have been signed to williams for the 2023 season, pending they have the necessary fia super license points! whoever finishes higher in the f2 championship will be partnered alongside alex albon, the other will be the team’s reserve driver. 

fan: that’s… a choice

fan: holy sibling rivalry 

| fan: fan seriously. they’re better than me and my brother because we would 100% sabotage one another if there was an f1 seat on the line. 

fan: it’s giving team principal who can’t make a decision 

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williamsf1team | december 2022

tagged: alex_albon, logansargeant, ynsargeant

liked by logansargeant, ynsargeant, alex_albon, and others…

williamsf1team introducing your 2023 williams f1 team drivers: alexander albon and logan sargeant! alongside the pair is yn sargeant as our reserve driver! 

logansargeant: thank you! 

alex_albon: it’s going to be a great season! 

fan: okay but yn literally finished one singular point behind logan in the f2 championship but had a more consistent performance across the season. i’d have picked her in a heartbeat 

| fan: fan the tp said whoever finished higher. they’re just following through on their word

ynsargeant: it’s an honor! 

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ynsargeant | december 2022

tagged: logansargeant, oscarpiastri 

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and others…

ynsargeant your favorite trio is headed to f1!!! mama, we made it!!

logansargeant: the paddock isn’t ready for us 💁🏻‍♂️

oscarpiastri: 2023 rookies forever!!

mamasargeant: i’m so proud of you, my babies! 

nicolepiastri: you’re all amazing! see you in melbourne 🤍

alex_albon: should we be afraid? because i’m a little afraid. 

| ynsargeant: alex_albon we’re harmless! 

| oscarpiastri: alex_albon she bites

| logansargeant: alex_albon can confirm 

| ynsargeant: alex_albon oscarpiastri logansargeant it was ONE TIME! 

fan: the 2019 rookies are about to meet their match

| fan: fan they won’t know what hit them

lilyzneimer: WOO HOO!! my besties!!!

| ynsargeant: lilyzneimer leave oscar and marry me 

| lilyzneimer: ynsargeant immediate yes

| oscarpiastri: ynsargeant please stop trying to steal my girlfriend 

| ynsargeant: oscarpiastri never!!

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logansargeant, ynsargeant | NYE 2022

liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri, fan, and others…

logansargeant i don’t know about you, but we’re feeling TWENTY-TWO 

ynsargeant: everything will be alright if YOU KEEP ME NEXT TO YOUUUU

alex_albon: happy birthday! 

oscarpiastri: happy birthday to two twenty two twins

| ynsargeant: oscarpiastri excellent alliteration, osc!

lilyzneimer: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY FAVOURITE AMERICANS!! WTF IS A KILOMETRE!!!

| ynsargeant: lilyzneimer i love you SO MUCH!! 

| logansargeant: lilyzneimer chronically online bestie

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ynsargeant | story january 2023

tagged: alex_albon, logansargeant

alex is already sick of us 

replies

alex_albon: i never said that! 

| ynsargeant: your face said it for you

logansargeant: he’s just jealous of our swag

| ynsargeant: oh my god you’re so cringe

oscarpiastri: he doesn’t know the half of it

| ynsargeant: he will learn to love us

lilyzneimer: okay but those BROWN EYES

| ynsargeant: girl, he’s so dreamy. lily doesn’t know what she lost 

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alex_albon | story february 2023

tagged: ynsargeant, logansargeant 

i’m surrounded by chaotic americans

replies

ynsargeant: we are not that bad

| alex_albon: you’re worse! 

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yn -> lily zneimer 

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ynsargeant | march 2023

tagged: logansargeant, oscarpiastri 

koala and eagle’s debut grand prix!! 

replies

fan: that should be you

lilyzneimer: are we sure they aren’t boyfriends? 

| ynsargeant: we are not

mamasargeant: i’ve never been more proud in my life. 

| ynsargeant: i’m aware

ynchildhoodbff: scale of 1-10, how bad is the jealousy? 

| ynsargeant: 1000 but i’m trying not to let it get to me

| ynchildhoodbff: i’ll break his kneecaps? 

| ynsargeant: LMFAOO

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williamsf1team | bahrain 2023

tagged: alex_albon, logansargeant 

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, ynsargeant, and others…

williamsf1team a strong start to the 2023 season! 

logansargeant: 💪🏻

ynsargeant: go weeums! 

fan: only williams calls p10 and p12 a ‘strong start’

| fan: fan we’re just glad both cars made it to the finish line

fan: i’m not going to get my hopes up

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logansargeant | bahrain 2023

liked by ynsargeant, mamasargeant, oscarpiastri, and others…

logansargeant p12! more work to come 💪🏻

mamasargeant: so proud of you, my baby! 

oscarpiastri: race finisher!! 

| ynsargeant: oscarpiastri you’ll get it next time, koala

williamsf1team: 💪🏻💪🏻

fan: not bad for a rookie

| fan: fan not bad for an american lmao

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ynsargeant | march 2023

tagged: alex_albon, logansargeant 

sim days with the boys

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ynsargeant | melbourne gp 2023

tagged: oscarpiastri, logansargeant, nicolepiastri 

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, nicolepiastri, and others…

ynsargeant time with my honoury mama piastri at our koala’s home race! 

nicolepiastri: love seeing you both! 🤍

oscarpiastri: please stop trying to steal my mum and my girlfriend 

| ynsargeant: oscarpiastri no 

fan: nicole piastri is mum to all the 2023 rookies

| fan: fan i want her to be my mum, too 

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ynsargeant | story australia 2023

tagged: alex_albon, logansargeant, oscarpiastri 

tough weekend for the williams’ boys but KOALA HOME RACE POINTS!!! 

replies

alex_albon: your sympathy is overwhelming 

| ynsargeant: i do feel really bad, okay? i’m just so proud of oscar 😭

mamasargeant: take care of your brother! 

| ynsargeant: i always do. 

oscarpiastri: could be better

| ynsargeant: so could your car 💀

| oscarpiastri: strong words from a reserve driver 

| ynsargeant: ouch 

| oscarpiastri: too soon? 

| ynsargeant: way too soon

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williamsf1team | miami 2023

tagged: logansargeant, ynsargeant 

liked by logansargeant, ynsargeant, alex_albon, and others…

williamsf1team in honour of their home race, yn sargeant drove in fp1 in miami, rocketing up into p4 behind both redbulls and the mercedes of george russell! 

ynsargeant: thanks for the loan (again) alex_albon! 

| alex_albon: ynsargeant we just need to get you your own at this point. 

| ynsargeant: alex_albon hard agree 

fan: AMERICA RAH RAH RAH!!

fan: WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER!!!

fan: putting that tractor in p4 is impressive. someone needs to give her a seat

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ynsargeant | story miami 2023

tough weekend for my 2023 rookies 

replies 

fan: ‘tough’ they’re both driving tractors

oscarpiastri: can i blame the car? 

| ynsargeant: yup

logansargeant: no luck at the home race

| ynsargeant: we’ll try again in austin! 

alex_albon: i need to know how you managed fourth in fp1

| ynsargeant: i just… drove? 

| alex_albon: show me in the sim next week 

| ynsargeant: sure? 

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yn -> mama sargeant

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f1gossip | miami 2023

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

f1gossip yn sargeant and who appears to be her mother were seen arguing heatedly outside a hotel after the miami gp. 

fan: this is like, a crazy level of privacy invasion 

fan: who yells at their own child like that

fan: logan nowhere to be seen

fan: okay but can we talk about this being the first time we’ve ever seen them in public together? their mom is always with logan

| fan: fan right! i’ve seen yn with nicole more than her own mother

fan: okay but what were they arguing about 

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alex -> yn 

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f1updates | austin 2023

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

f1updates it’s been a long season for sargeant and williams fans. crash after crash for car number 2; some due to mechanical issues but a lot due to the driver. how long can williams go on like this? 

fan: they put the wrong sargeant in the car

fan: american fans everywhere are so ashamed 

fan: god i need austin to bring a better result 

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williamsf1team | austin 2023

tagged: logansargeant, ynsargeant 

liked by logansargeant, ynsargeant, alex_albon, and others…

williamsf1team logan will be out this weekend due to illness; yn sargeant will be driving car number 2 in austin this weekend!

ynsargeant: ready to do my brother proud! 

fan: is logan okay? 

| logansargeant: fan flu a, strep, and covid but i’ll live! 

fan: williams podium? 👀

fan: i’ve been waiting for this moment. yn fans RISE! 

| fan: fan american pride through the ROOF rn 

fan: first ever american, female f1 driver. EVER

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you looked at your ringing phone and sighed heavily, knowing you needed to answer, despite wishing you could throw the damn thing in the river. 

“hello, mother,” you greeted, exasperation evident in your tone. 

“you shouldn’t be racing your brother’s car,” she started her lecture. “it’s not right.”

“my entire job is driving when alex or logan cannot,” you explained. “that’s why they pay me.”

“you’re supposed to be his supporter, not his competitor.”

“he is ill, mother. so ill that he was told he was not to drive. what would you have me do instead? say ‘nah, that’s alright, i’ll just quit my job’? i mean, come ON.”

“you can’t out score him. or alex,” she demanded. 

“why not?” 

“because he has never out scored alex. you can’t be seen as better than him.” 

you resisted the urge to tell her you WERE better than your brother. “i am expected to race my best for the team. again, that’s my JOB.” 

“your JOB is to be a good sister, a good daughter,” she countered. 

“i AM. it will still be points to sargeant in car number 2.” 

“but to the GIRL sargeant,” she scoffed. “it would emasculate your brother and undermine all he’s ever worked for.”

“jesus christ, mom!” you lost your composure. “i gave him the fucking seat, just like you asked! i sandbagged last year for HIM, for the FAMILY! i gave up my dream for HIM. can’t you let me have one fucking race?!”

“you sound like a brat right now, yn,” your mother chided. “you’ll do the right thing if you want to come home for christmas.”

without another word, the line clicked off and you resisted the urge to scream. digging your palms into your eyes, you did your best to collect yourself before someone found you. 

“sargeant?” a familiar accented voice called. “what are you doing out here?”

“verstappen,” you greeted, wiping the traitorous tears from you face before turning to look at him. “just getting a moment of silence.” 

he studied you, not judging, just observing. the red rimmed eyes, the phone clenched in your right hand, your red nose. 

“i get it, you know,” he said softly. “the pressure to conform to what someone else wants. knowing that the punishment for not meeting that expectation is loss of love.” 

“i don’t know what you-”

“you don’t have to lie, kid,” he laughed gently, kindly. “i see you. but i also can keep a secret like none other.” 

you were silent for a few moments, finally feeling comfortable and still. “he doesn’t know.” 

“i’d bet not,” max agreed. “you’re too good a sister for that.

“a bit of advice, from a vet to a rookie?”

you nodded, welcoming it. 

“do what makes you happy. be true to yourself. they’ll always find a reason you aren’t worthy in their eyes. fuck ‘em.” 

“thanks, verstappen,” you said, sniffling again. god, how good it was to be seen for the first time in your life. 

“max,” he corrected. “just max.”

“yn, then.” 

“i’m here, if you need to talk.”

“thanks, max,” you said genuinely.

“anytime.” he went to walk away, but paused and smirked. “give them hell, kid. prove them all wrong. i expect to see you with me on the podium.”

you laughed as he walked away. 

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f1gossip | austin 2023

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

f1gossip only hours after it was announced yn sargeant would be racing in her brother’s stead this weekend, she was seen in tears during a phone conversation. what is happening? 

fan: my baby

fan: i hate how often she’s seen crying when good things happen to her

fan: wanna bet it was her mother on the other line? i haven’t forgotten those miami photos

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williamsf1team | austin 2023

tagged: alex_albon, ynsargeant 

liked by alex_albon, ynsargeant, logansargeant, and others…

williamsf1team a flawless qualifying in austin that will see car 2 starting p5 and car 23 in p10. well done, alex and yn! 

logansargeant: that’s my twin!! 

oscarpiastri: go, yn! 

fan: mega drive from yn! 

fan: no way that’s the same tractor logan and alex drive every weekend. 

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ynsargeant | close friends austin 2023

nicole taking on mama duties at my debut gp and home race because my own can’t be bothered! 

replies 

nicolepiastri: i love you so much, my girl! always proud of you

| ynsargeant: thank you, mama nicole 😭

oscarpiastri: i’m not even mad 

| ynsargeant: that’s pity you’re feeling 

alex_albon: sunshine :(

| ynsargeant: don’t start. 

maxverstappen1: remember kid: fuck ‘em. drive like hell. 

| ynsargeant: see you on the podium 

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f1 | austin 2023

liked by fan, fan, fan, and others…

f1 yn sargeant made history this weekend! the reserve driver is the first ever american woman to drive an f1 race and scored an impressive p3 at her debut race AND home race, AND clinched fastest lap. fantastic job! 

fan: RAH RAH RAH!!!!

fan: oh logan has to be gutted rn

fan: GIRL POWER !!!

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williamsf1team | austin 2023

tagged: ynsargeant 

liked by ynsargeant, logansargeant, alex_albon, and others…

williamsf1team historic drive from yn sargeant this weekend! a well earned p3! 

logansargeant: my twin!! 

alex_albon: go, yn! 

fan: she’s everything to me

fan: someone better give her a seat asap

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ynsargeant | austin 2023

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer, and others…

ynsargeant p3… it still doesn’t feel real… thank you to the team for an amazing race and my brother for all his support. i told you i’d make you proud. 

logansargeant: i am the most proud 

oscarpiastri: MEGA!!!

lilyzneimer: THAT’S MY GIRL!!!

ynchildhoodbff: YEAH BABY!!!

nicolepiastri: proud mum over here!! 🤍

williamsf1team: brilliantly driven! 

fan: my wife

maxverstappen1: great race, kid! show them who you are.

| fan: maxverstappen1 mr verstappen, what are you doing here? 

| fan: maxverstappen1 oh this is so sweet wtf 

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enjoy!

check out my other driver smaus op81, cl16, and ob87.

Maison Étoiles, Monaco - 12 October 2025

By the time they got back to Monaco, Max was exhausted in a way he found personally offensive.

He had spent enough of his life exhausted that the sensation itself did not bother him. 

Race weekends did that. Jet lag did that. Bad races did that. Good races too, sometimes, if they were the sort of good that required fighting the car, the track, the tyres, and the entire concept of physics at once.

This was different.

This was useless exhaustion.

This was sitting too long with his leg angled badly in cars and aircraft. This was pain medication making his body slower without making his mind quieter. 

This was Scotland still clinging to him somehow, in the damp smell of his jacket, in the bag of biscuits Sally had pressed into his hands, in the memory of John calling him the Dutch lad with just enough affection that Max had not known what to do with it.

This was also the knowledge that Gerhard Berger would be in Monaco by Wednesday.

That he had agreed to listen.

That listening was not acceptance.

That he was still thinking about Toto in John’s garage, saying it as if it were simple.

You can listen to someone’s reasoning and still not accept their apology.

Max knew how to overtake at two hundred and ninety kilometres an hour through a gap that only existed if one believed in it before the other driver did.

He knew how to manage tyre temperatures through traffic.

He knew how to feel, through his hands and feet and spine, when a car was about to give him less than it had promised.

He did not know why that sentence felt like learning a new braking point at a track he had driven for years.

When they reached Ana’s apartment, Ana moved into her evening systems immediately.

That was one of the things Max liked about her.

Other people came home and collapsed. Ana came home and restored order as if the house itself required reassurance. 

Bags were put in the correct place. Medication was checked. His crutches were leaned where he could reach them without being an idiot, as she had put it. The kitchen lights were turned on low. The terrace doors were checked even though no one had opened them.

Max sat on the edge of the bed and watched her unpack the little bag of things she had brought from Scotland.

She was tired too.

Not in the same way. Ana’s exhaustion was rarely loud. It gathered in the tiny delays between movements. In the way she stood too still before choosing the next task. In the slight inward pull of her shoulders when she thought no one was noticing.

Max noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He had been reading Ana Wolff for nearly ten years.

That was the thing people did not understand.

They thought she was unreadable because they were looking for normal signs. 

Smiles, easy affection, visible softness, obvious emotional weather. She was not responsive in the way people expected. 

If you entered a corner with the wrong assumptions, you missed the apex entirely and then blamed the car for not telling you sooner.

Ana was like driving something difficult in changing conditions.

You had to learn where the grip was.

You had to feel the balance before the oversteer arrived.

You had to know that the silence before a sharp answer could mean irritation, or fear, or too much sensory input, or that she was trying to phrase something honestly and not wound anyone with the first draft.

You had to know that when she made tea and did not drink it, she was worried.

That when she reorganized a shelf she had already organized, she was processing something she could not yet say.

That when she touched the back of his neck for one second while walking past him, it meant I am here.

Max knew.

Not everything.

Never everything.

That was not how Ana worked.

But enough.

After a moment, Ana turned toward him and became practical again. “You need to shower.”

Max made a face.

Ana raised one eyebrow.

He sighed. “I know.”

“Your leg cannot get wet.”

“I know.”

“You need the cover.”

“I know.”

“And the chair.”

“I know.”

“And you cannot stand without holding the rail.”

“Nastya.”

She stared at him.

Max stared back. “I know,” he said.

“You say that while frequently behaving as though you do not.”

“I behave fine.”

“You tried to hop from the bed to the bathroom yesterday.”

“It was one time.”

“It was stupid one time.”

“It worked.”

“It did not. You almost fell into the suitcase.”

“Almost is not the same as did.”

Ana closed her eyes briefly.

Max smiled.

He loved annoying her.

Not properly annoying her. Not hurting her. Not making her life harder when she was genuinely strained. But this, the little arguments, the back-and-forth that had years behind it. 

The way her mouth tightened like she was fighting amusement. The way she pretended he was unreasonable when both of them knew she liked having someone in the room who could make her stop.

She opened her eyes. “Shower,” she said.

“Yes, boss.”

“I am not your boss.”

“You are very bossy.”

“I am simply correct.”

“Same thing.”

Ana gave him a look and went into the bathroom.

Max followed more slowly, because broken limbs were inconvenient and crutches were evil.

The bathroom was already set up.

Of course it was.

Ana had done it before dinner, probably while he had been on the sofa pretending not to fall asleep.

The shower chair was in place. Towels were folded on the heated rail. The waterproof cast cover lay on the counter. His clothes for after were stacked neatly beside the sink: soft shorts, loose T-shirt, clean boxers. Pain medication and water had been placed within reach for later.

A whole process.

They had one now.

Max hated needing a process. He loved that Ana had built one anyway.

The first few times she had helped him shower, he had been worse about it. Not because he was embarrassed exactly. He had very little modesty in the general sense, and even less with Ana. She had seen him in far less dignified situations than standing on one leg in a bathroom with a plastic cover over his cast.

It had been the needing.

That had been the problem.

The slowness. The balance. The fact that he could not simply move his own body through the world with the automatic certainty he was used to. 

The fact that Ana had to stand close with one hand on his waist and another ready at his elbow because if his balance shifted badly, both of them knew he would try to catch himself before he remembered he could not.

The first time, he had snapped at her.

Ana had gone very still, then said, “You are angry at your leg. Do not redirect.”

And Max had felt like an idiot.

Because she had been right. Of course she had been right.

Now they had rules.

No unnecessary speed.

No heroic balancing.

No pretending pain wasn’t a factor.

No sexual activity in the shower while he had a broken limb, which Max considered an overly specific and completely discriminatory rule.

Ana had added that one after he had tried his luck two showers ago.

He still thought it was worth protesting.

Ana picked up the cast cover. “Sit.”

Max looked at the closed toilet lid.

Then at her. “Take my shirt off first.”

“Sit first.”

“It is easier standing.”

“It is safer sitting.”

“You like me shirtless.”

“I like you alive.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive.”

Ana looked unimpressed.

Max sighed dramatically and sat.

Ana knelt in front of him to ease the cover over the cast, her hands careful around the edges. She checked the seal twice, then a third time, pressing gently with her thumbs.

Max looked down at her.

Her hair was loose now, falling forward over one shoulder. She had changed into soft black leggings and an oversized sweater after they arrived, but the sleeves were pushed up, because Ana could not leave sleeves alone when she was doing something with her hands.

She looked tired. Beautiful. His.

Not in the possession way. Not really. Max had never thought he owned Ana, even when every ugly part of him wanted to put walls around her and dare the world to try. She was not something to own.

But she was his in the way a track became his after enough laps. Not because he controlled it, but because he knew where it lived under his skin. Because he had learned its cambers and shadows. Because no matter what changed, some part of him recognized the racing line.

Ana glanced up. “What?”

“You are very serious.”

“You have a broken leg. It requires seriousness.”

“You can be less serious while taking off my trousers.”

Her hands paused on the cast cover.

Then she looked up at him slowly. “No.”

Max grinned. “No what?”

“No to whatever tone that was.”

“It was a normal tone.”

“It was a Max tone.”

He leaned back on his hands, watching her stand.

“You could shower with me,” he said.

Ana reached for his shirt. “No.”

“You haven’t considered it.”

“I have considered it.”

“When?”

“When you opened your mouth.”

She helped him pull the shirt over his head, careful not to make him twist too far. Max lifted his arms obediently, because he liked the way she touched him when she was pretending it was purely functional.

It was never purely functional.

Not with Ana.

People missed that too.

They would see her checking the medication schedule and think it was clinical. They would hear her say your next dose is in forty-five minutes and think it was practical. They would watch her wrap his cast cover and assume she was simply solving a problem.

Max felt the love in the pressure of her fingers.

In the fact that the towels were warm because she knew he hated being cold after a shower.

In the way she had put the chair exactly where he would not have to angle his bad leg too sharply.

In the fact that his shampoo was already open because dealing with lids one-handed annoyed him.

Ana loved like preparation.

Like telemetry. Like seeing the failure point before the part broke.

Max had always been good at feeling a car underneath him.

Ana made him feel loved the same way.

Through data other people did not think counted.

She tossed his shirt into the laundry basket, then reached for his waistband.

Max smiled. “You are undressing me.”

“Yes.”

“Very romantic.”

“Medical.”

“Could be both.”

“No.”

“Nastya.”

“Max.”

He put one hand over hers before she could pull the shorts down.

She looked at him.

He softened his grin into something more persuasive.

“Get undressed with me.”

“No.”

“You say no too fast.”

“Because you already know the answer.”

“We are both tired.”

“Yes.”

“Showering together would be easier.”

“That is false.”

“It would save water.”

“Max.”

“Good for the planet.”

“You drive Formula One cars for a living.”

“That is why I have to do my part at home.”

Ana stared at him.

He held her gaze with the solemnity of a man making a very reasonable environmental argument.

Her mouth twitched. 

Victory.

Very small victory, but still.

“You are impossible,” she said.

“I am injured.”

“That does not help your argument.”

“It means you should be nice to me.”

“I am helping you shower.”

“You could help more.”

“I am not having shower sex with you while you have one broken limb.”

Max made an offended sound. “I did not say sex.”

Ana’s stare became flatter.

He smiled. “I implied it.”

“Yes.”

“So we agree.”

“No.”

“It would be fine.”

“It would not be fine.”

“We could be careful.”

“No.”

“I am very good with balance.”

“You almost fell into a suitcase this morning.”

“One time.”

“And shower floors are slippery.”

“We have a mat.”

“Max.”

He sighed, long and wounded. “You are very strict.”

“You already have one broken limb.”

“Yes.”

“I would prefer not to explain a second injury to your doctors.”

“We could lie.”

“I will not lie to medical professionals because you were horny and overconfident.”

Max smiled at her. “You think I am overconfident?”

“I know you are.”

“You like that.”

“Not in this context.”

He laughed.

That made her face soften despite herself.

Ana pulled his shorts down carefully, helped him shift, handed him the rail when he stood, and kept one hand hovering near his ribs even though he was stable.

Mostly stable.

Stable enough.

“Your turn,” Max said.

Ana looked at him.

“I said no.”

“Not for sex.”

“No.”

“For a shower.”

“You do not need me inside the shower.”

“I need emotional support!”

“You do not.”

“I have trauma.”

“You have drama.”

“That too.”

Ana pressed her lips together.

He could see the moment she calculated the cost of refusing versus the cost of agreeing. That was also Ana. Love did not make her impulsive. It made her run probabilities more quickly.

He shifted his weight slightly, just enough for her eyes to flick down.

“Nastya,” he said, softer.

Not joking this time.

Her gaze lifted.

He did not know what his face looked like.

Tired, probably. Annoyed with his leg. Still full of Scotland. Still carrying Gerhard and Baku and Toto’s garage voice. Still wanting her close in the simplest way, skin and water and the absence of everyone else’s grief.

Ana saw whatever it was.

Of course she did.

Her expression changed.

“All right,” she said.

Max smiled.

“But no sex.”

He opened his mouth.

“No,” she said again.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to negotiate.”

“I was about to thank you.”

“No, you were not.”

“I could have been.”

“You were not.”

Max leaned on the rail and watched as she pulled her sweater over her head.

He loved her body.

This was not news.

He loved it with the blunt certainty of a man who had spent years trying not to look at her too long in rooms where he had no right to want her. 

He loved the clean lines of her shoulders, the softness of her stomach, the small freckle near her hip, the scar on one knee from some childhood accident she had once described in such technical detail that he still had no idea whether she had fallen from a tree or defeated it.

But what undid him most was not that she got undressed.

It was that she folded her clothes.

Even now.

Even after everything.

Bra, leggings, underwear, all placed neatly on the counter. Efficient. Precise. Slightly ridiculous.

Max watched her step out of herself layer by layer and still organize the evidence.

He smiled.

Ana caught it. “What?”

“You fold your clothes before showering.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So they are not on the floor.”

“They are dirty.”

“Not all of them.”

“That is not an argument.”

“It is a little bit an argument.”

“It is not.”

She stepped into the shower first, adjusted the water, checked temperature with the inside of her wrist, then looked back at him.

“Slowly.”

Max obeyed.

Mostly.

Getting into the shower was an operation. One hand on the rail. Ana’s hand on his waist. Bad leg protected. Good foot placed exactly where she told him. Shower chair waiting. He hated it less when she did not fuss verbally.

Ana had learned that.

He had learned to let her steady him without making a joke every time.

Mostly.

Once he was seated, she stood in front of him under the spray, hair darkening as water ran through it. The bathroom filled with steam, softening the edges of the mirror, the glass, the whole city beyond the walls.

For a moment, Max forgot to be annoyed.

Ana reached for the shampoo.

He caught her wrist.

She looked down. “What?”

“Come here.”

“I am here.”

“Closer.”

She looked at him for one second too long.

Then she stepped between his knees, careful of his leg, and let him put his hands on her hips.

Not pulling.

Just holding.

Her skin was warm and wet under his palms.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against her sternum.

Ana went very still.

Not because she did not want it.

Because sudden tenderness still surprised her sometimes when it was directed at her in a form she could not immediately categorize.

Then her hand came to the back of his head.

Careful.

Fingers sliding into his wet hair.

Max closed his eyes.

The water hit Ana’s shoulders and ran down between them.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

This was what he had wanted, really.

Not sex.

(Though also sex, obviously, because he was injured, not dead.)

But this. Her close enough. 

The day had been full of families.

Sally and John. Susie and Toto. Jack. Ana and Toto in some complicated orbit of hurt and forgiveness. Max and the ghost of Jos. Gerhard waiting on Wednesday with explanations Max had agreed to hear and might not accept.

He had not realized how much he needed one room where he did not have to think through anyone else’s reasoning.

Only Ana. Only water. Only the steady pressure of her hand at the back of his head.

After a while, she said, “You are quiet.”

“I am enjoying my emotional support shower.”

Ana’s fingers paused.

Then moved again through his hair.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Yes.”

Another silence.

Then Ana said, “Max?”

The tone was different.

He lifted his head.

She was looking down at him with an expression he recognized immediately and still could not easily name. It was not fear. Not quite. Not ordinary worry either. Ana’s worry usually arrived with a list.

This was softer.

More exposed.

“What?” he asked.

Her thumb moved once near his temple.

“You know that I do love you, right?”

Max stared at her.

For half a second, his brain did nothing useful at all.

Then he said, “What?”

Ana’s mouth tightened.

Not irritation.

Regret, maybe.

She looked away slightly, toward the tiled wall.

“I know I do not always say things correctly.”

Max’s hands tightened on her hips.

“Nastya.”

“And I know that other people probably make it more obvious. More frequently. With words. Or—” She paused, visibly searching. “Spontaneous affection. Or whatever the social expectation is for romantic partners.”

Max stared at her.

The water ran down the side of her face, but he could tell her eyes were too bright for it to be only water.

“I am bad at it,” she said.

“You are not.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“Max.”

He stopped.

Ana swallowed.

“I am bad at emotions,” she said, with the bluntness of someone reporting a technical deficiency she had not yet managed to resolve. “I can identify them. Sometimes. I can act on them in structured ways. I can make decisions based on them if I have time. But I forget to say things. I assume things are understood because they are obvious to me. I become a closed book, and then I am surprised when people have not read it.”

Max’s chest hurt.

Ana looked at him. “And sometimes I worry,” she said, quieter now, “that you do not know.”

Max looked at her for a long moment.

Then he huffed a laugh. Not because it was funny. But becuase she was standing naked in the shower with him, helping him wash because his leg was broken, looking genuinely concerned that he might not know she loved him.

His Nastya.

His terrifying, difficult, brilliant Nastya, who had rearranged half her life around making sure he had what he needed before he asked for it. 

Who had texted Raymond before the plane landed because Gerhard Berger might try to turn an apology into pressure. 

Who had accepted Toto’s wedding fund not because she needed money, but because she had understood the love underneath it. Who let Max call her Nastya. 

Who had built exits instead of walls and then worried the exits looked too much like walls.

“You think I don’t know?” he asked.

Ana’s expression did not change. “Sometimes.”

“Nastya.”

“I do not want you to feel unloved because I am not demonstrative in the correct way.”

He laughed again, softer this time.

Then he pulled her closer as much as he could without disturbing his leg.

She came willingly.

He looked up at her.

“I have known you for nearly ten years,” he said.

Ana’s mouth parted slightly. “I know.”

He reached up and touched her face, thumb moving over the wet line of her cheek. “I know that you love me.”

Her eyes searched his. He let her.

This was another kind of racing, maybe.

Not in the fast way.

In the knowing way.

The reading. The listening.

The constant adjustment to something alive underneath your hands.

“People think you are hard to read,” Max said.

“I am.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “If they are trying to read you like someone else.”

Ana went still.

Max continued, because he had never been good at poetic things but he could do this. He could explain it in the language he had. “You are like a race car,” he said.

Ana blinked.

Then said, dryly, “Romantic.”

“Shut up.”

Her mouth twitched.

He smiled.

“A difficult car,” Max said. “Not bad. Difficult. You cannot just drive it like whatever you drove before and then complain it does not respond. You have to learn it. The braking, the rotation, where the grip comes from, what it does when the temperature changes. You have to feel the little things before they become big things.”

Ana stared at him. The shower hissed around them.

“And after enough laps,” he said, “you know.”

Her face changed.

Max’s thumb moved over her cheek again.

“You think you don’t tell me things,” he said. “But you do.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“How?”

“You put my pills beside water because you know I will forget if they are in the packet. You open the shampoo before I shower because the cap annoys me when my hands are wet. You sit beside me when I am pretending I don’t want company. You touch my neck when you leave a room. You check my crutches are on the correct side of the bed. You let me call you Nastya. You tell Toto yes to the wedding fund because you know he needs to give you something and you are kind enough to accept it.”

Ana was very still now.

Too still.

But not locked.

Listening.

Max looked at her and felt so much love it became almost annoying.

“You love people all the time,” he said. “You just don’t always announce it.”

Her eyes shone.

“That is inefficient,” she said, voice smaller than usual.

“What?”

“Announcing.”

Max smiled.

“There she is.”

Ana made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost not.

Then she looked away, but he caught her chin gently and brought her gaze back.

“I know,” he said. “Okay?”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“And I like reading you.”

Her brow furrowed faintly. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it means I get to know you.”

Ana’s face went open for one dangerous second before she tried to close it again. Max did not let her by making a big thing out of it. He only slid his hand back to her hip and leaned forward, pressing a kiss just below her ribs.

Ana’s fingers tightened in his hair.

“You are very good at saying things sometimes,” she said.

“Only sometimes?”

“Do not become arrogant.”

“Too late.”

She huffed a breath.

There.

That was almost laughter.

Max smiled against her skin.

Then he tilted his head up. “So, since you really love me…”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

“I do.”

“It could have been innocent.”

“It was not.”

“I am injured.”

“You are horny.”

“Also injured.”

“May, you are not using your leg as emotional blackmail to negotiate shower sex.”

“Not emotional blackmail. Medical context.”

“No.”

“Hand stuff?”

Ana stared at him.

Max smiled.

“I am asking respectfully.”

“You are asking while seated on a shower chair with a waterproof cast cover.”

“Yes.”

“That is not seductive.”

“You are naked. I am naked. It is a start.”

“You already have one broken limb.”

“My hands are fine.”

“Max.”

He grinned.

Ana closed her eyes, as if seeking strength from the universe and finding none.

“You are impossible,” she said.

“You love me.”

“Yes,” she said.

It was immediate. That was the best part.

Max’s grin softened. “I know.”

She looked at him for a second longer.

Then she reached for the shampoo. “Hair.”

“Yes.”

“I am not rewarding you.”

“This feels like reward.”

“It is hygiene.”

“Could be both.”

“You are very annoying.”

“But loved.”

Ana’s hands sank into his hair, working shampoo through it with firm, careful pressure.

“Yes,” she said, quieter now. “But loved.”

Max closed his eyes.

Steam curled around them. The cast cover crinkled faintly when he shifted. His leg still hurt. Wednesday still existed. Baku still existed. Gerhard Berger still existed. Red Bull, Jos, all of it waited outside the bathroom door like problems for another room.

Inside, there was Ana.

Her hands in his hair.

Her love in every precise, practical motion.

Max could read that just fine.

***

Text Messages: Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff & Nico Rosberg

Nico:Ana.

Ana:Yes?

Nico:I looked through the photobook.

Ana:All of it?

Nico:Yes.

Ana:Good.

Nico:That is your response?

Ana:You were asked to review all of it.

Nico:I know what I was asked to do.

Ana:Then yes. Good.

Nico:Ana.

Ana:Was there an issue with the file?

Nico:No.

Ana:Color grading?

Nico:No.

Ana:Image resolution?

Nico:No.

Ana:Pagination?

Nico:No.

Ana:Then why are you saying my name like that?

Nico:Because I am emotionally compromised.

Ana:Oh.

Nico:Yes. Oh.

Ana:Is this about page forty-two?

Nico:It is about every page.

Nico:Ana, it is beautiful.

Ana:Thank you.

Nico:No, I mean it. It is really beautiful.

Ana:Good. I can get it printed then.

Nico:That is your response?