Starset

Requested: Yes/ Anon

Word count: 5097

Author’s note: Hey guys, this one deals with some heavy feelings, but i hope you love the ending. I also had some problems with the formatting as I had to use my phone as my pc broke. Enjoy xx

Masterlist

The kitchen table in the house where you grew up had a slight wobble in the left leg, a defect that your father had tried to fix multiple times with folded pieces of cardboard tucked underneath the worn wood. That table was the center of everything, the place where you did your homework under the dim glow of a single overhead bulb, the place where your family ate meals that were carefully planned around grocery store flyers and coupons, and the place where your parents sat late at night after they thought you were asleep. You remembered the distinct sound of the calculator buttons clicking in the quiet house, the soft, worried murmurs of your mother as she went over the monthly utilities, and the heavy sigh your father always let out when the numbers did not balance the way he hoped they would. You did not grow up poor in the sense that you had no roof over your head or no food on your plate, but you grew up knowing the exact weight of a dollar. You knew that every new pair of shoes for the school year meant sacrifices elsewhere, that the heating was to be kept low until the winter cold became completely unbearable, and that vacations were rare, special occurrences that happened perhaps twice in your entire childhood, consisting of long drives to a modest seaside cabin where your mother packed all the meals in a cooler to avoid the expense of restaurants. Every opportunity you ever had was something that had to be earned with fierce determination, and you learned very early on to look at the world through a lens of cautious reservation, understanding that financial security was a fragile glass structure that could shatter with a single unexpected medical bill or a car breakdown.

Then the pandemic hit, turning the entire world upside down and trapping everyone inside their own four walls. Out of a mixture of sheer boredom, anxiety, and a need to find some sort of creative outlet while the world outside felt like it was ending, you started posting videos online. You began sharing little glimpses of your daily routine, your affordable skincare hacks, your attempts at baking with whatever ingredients were left in the pantry, and your honest, down to earth commentary on how strange it was to live through a global crisis. To your absolute shock, people started watching. Your follower count grew from a few hundred to several thousand, then to tens of thousands, and by the time the initial lockdowns began to lift, you had built a massive, loyal audience that looked to you for authenticity in a sea of curated perfection. The brand deals followed, starting as small exchanges of product for a post, and eventually transforming into contracts with numbers that made your head spin. The first time a major cosmetic company deposited a five figure sum into your bank account, you sat on your bedroom floor and cried for an hour, unable to comprehend that you had just earned more money in a single transaction than your father made in several months of grueling labor. Your life changed rapidly over the following years, you were able to move into a beautiful apartment of your own, you bought a reliable car that did not make terrifying noises every time you turned the key, and most importantly, you were able to hand your parents a check that completely cleared the remaining mortgage on their home, effectively lifting the heavy blanket of financial anxiety that had hung over their shoulders for decades. It was a beautiful, life altering shift, and you were incredibly grateful for the platform you had built, but despite the sudden influx of wealth, the deeply ingrained habits of your childhood never truly left you. You still checked the price per ounce at the grocery store, you still felt a sharp twinge of guilt whenever you bought something expensive without spending days deliberating over it, and you still viewed your financial success as a temporary blessing that could vanish just as quickly as it had arrived.

Then you met Lando. Your path crossed with his at a high profile charity event in London that your talent management agency had secured an invitation for, a glittering affair filled with actors, musicians, and professional athletes. You had felt entirely out of place in your rented designer dress, hovering near the catering tables and sipping a glass of champagne while trying to look like you belonged in a room where the artwork on the walls cost more than your childhood home. Lando had approached you with an easy, boyish smile, entirely unbothered by the formal atmosphere, and his genuine, down to earth demeanor had immediately put you at ease. He did not know who you were in the digital space, and you only had a passing knowledge of formula one, which created a refreshingly blank canvas for the two of you to talk. You laughed at his terrible jokes, he listened with genuine interest as you talked about your work, and by the end of the evening, he had asked for your number with a nervousness that you found incredibly endearing. Your relationship blossomed quickly over the following months, characterized by late night video calls across different time zones, sweet text messages before his races, and quiet dates in secluded restaurants whenever he was back in England. Lando was kind, attentive, and incredibly affectionate, making you feel cherished in a way you had never experienced before, and for the first few months, you were so wrapped up in the magic of falling in love that it was easy to overlook the vast, yawning chasm that existed between your backgrounds.

As the relationship progressed and you were introduced to his wider social circle, the reality of his world began to seep into your consciousness. Lando had grown up in an incredibly wealthy family, a fact that was not a secret, but seeing the manifestation of that generational privilege up close was an entirely different experience. To Lando and his friends, money was not a tool for survival or a source of constant negotiation, it was an invisible, infinite resource that simply existed to facilitate their desires. They spoke a different financial language, one where private jets were referred to as casually as taking a public bus, where luxury watches were collected like trading cards, and where the cost of a single dinner could easily fund a family vacation in your old neighborhood. In the beginning, you did your best to navigate these social gatherings by adopting a mask of polite indifference, smiling and nodding along whenever the conversation turned to topics that made your stomach twist into tight knots. You listened to his driver friends complain about the tax laws in various European principalities, you watched them debate whether to purchase a second or third luxury vehicle because they were bored of the current color scheme, and you sat quietly while their partners discussed the difficulties of coordinating schedules with their private chefs.

Every time these topics arose, you felt a familiar, uncomfortable sensation blooming in your chest, a mixture of alienation and a lingering sense of guilt. You would look at Lando, seeing his animated face as he chatted with his friends, and you would tell yourself that you were being overly sensitive, that this was simply his reality, and that he had never known anything else. He was not being malicious, he was not trying to brag, he was simply speaking about his life with the same casual ease that you might use to discuss the weather. You tried to convince yourself that because your own financial situation had improved so dramatically due to your career, you had no right to feel uncomfortable, but the truth was that your newfound influencer wealth was a drop in the ocean compared to the multi million dollar contracts and generational assets that defined the lives of the people around you. You were a guest in their world, a spectator looking through a gilded window, and no matter how much money you had in your bank account now, you still carried the mindset of the girl who knew exactly how much a gallon of milk cost.

The true breaking point arrived during the summer break, a two week period where the formula one calendar paused and Lando eagerly planned a getaway with a group of his closest friends. He had invited you along, his eyes shining with excitement as he described the massive luxury yacht they had chartered to sail around the coast of Ibiza and Mallorca. You had agreed, wanting to share these experiences with him and wishing to be the supportive, enthusiastic partner he deserved, but the moment you stepped onto the pristine, gleaming deck of the vessel, an overwhelming sense of dread began to settle deep within your bones. The yacht was a floating mansion, staffed by a crew of immaculate workers who anticipated your every need before you could even articulate it, and the sheer, unadulterated opulence of the environment felt suffocating.

On the third afternoon of the trip, the sun was blazing high in the cloudless Mediterranean sky, casting a brilliant, diamond-like glitter across the deep blue water. The group was gathered on the spacious aft deck, lounging on oversized, plush white cushions while a private bartender mixed drinks at the outdoor bar. Lando was sitting next to you, his arm slung casually over the back of your outdoor sofa, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your bare shoulder while he chatted with a couple of his fellow drivers and their friends. The conversation had started out light, revolving around funny track incidents and upcoming races, but as the afternoon wore on and the alcohol flowed, it shifted toward their off season plans and real estate investments.

“I am honestly so bored of my place in Monaco,” one of the drivers said, swirling the ice in his glass with a heavy sigh, “the view is nice, but the layout is just so restrictive, and the building management is being a total nightmare about the renovations I want to do to the private garage.”

“You should just buy that villa in the hills above Nice,” another friend chimed in, tossing a grape into his mouth, “the one with the infinity pool that looks out over the bay, it is only about twelve million, and the privacy there is unmatched, plus you would have enough space for the simulator simulator setup you have been wanting.”

“Twelve million is a bit steep for a place I will only use three months out of the year,” the first driver replied, chuckling softly, “but then again, I lost twice that much on a bad crypto investment last year, so I suppose it is all relative, it is practically pocket change if you think about the appreciation value of the land.”

Lando laughed, nodding his head in agreement, “yeah, the Nice property is insane, I looked at it briefly before I settled on my current place, you should definitely just pull the trigger on it, mate, life is too short to deal with annoying building managers who won't let you park your cars properly.”

You sat completely frozen beneath Lando’s hand, your breath catching in your throat as the words washed over you. Twelve million dollars described as pocket change, an entire fortune lost on a bad investment dismissed with a casual laugh, a multi million dollar villa viewed as a minor, impulsive purchase to escape a minor inconvenience. The sheer carelessness of the conversation felt like a physical blow to your chest, sending a rush of cold reality through your veins. You looked down at your hands, remembering how your mother’s fingers used to tremble when she opened the envelopes containing the winter heating bills, remembering the palpable relief in your father’s voice when he found a twenty dollar bill in the pocket of an old winter coat, and remembering the years of constant, low humming anxiety that had shaped your family’s entire existence. To these men, the wealth that could save a thousand families from ruin was just a casual topic of conversation to pass the time on a sunny afternoon.

A profound, suffocating sense of alienation settled over you, a realization that no matter how much Lando loved you, and no matter how hard you tried to fit into his world, you would never truly belong here. You were living a lie, pretending that this level of excess was normal, pretending that you could just erase the first twenty years of your life and adopt the effortless carelessness of the ultra rich. You felt a sudden, desperate need to escape the deck, to get away from the sound of their voices and the glittering expanse of the sea that suddenly felt like a beautiful, golden cage.

“Hey,” you whispered, leaning closer to Lando so your voice would not carry across the deck, “I am feeling a bit wiped out from the sun, I think I am going to head down to the cabin and take a nap for a little while.”

Lando turned to look at you, his eyes blinking with instant concern, his fingers moving to press against your forehead to check your temperature, “are you okay, babe, do you need me to come down with you, or get the crew to bring you some water and medicine.”

“No, no, I am fine,” you forced a small, tight smile onto your face, praying that your voice would not shake, “just too much sun, I think, you stay here and enjoy yourself with the guys, I just need a couple of hours of quiet.”

“Okay,” he murmured, kissing your cheek softly, “text me if you need anything at all, okay, sleep well.”

You nodded, slipping away from the lounge area as quickly and quietly as possible, descending the polished wooden stairs into the lower levels of the yacht. The moment you closed the heavy door of the master cabin behind you, the silence of the room enveloped you, and you leaned your back against the wood, letting out a long, ragged breath that felt dangerously close to a sob. You did not cry, but a heavy, numbing weight settled deep into your stomach, a quiet internal shift that changed everything.

Over the remaining days of the yacht trip, and continuing into the weeks that followed when you both returned to your respective routines, that internal shift began to manifest in your behavior. Unconsciously at first, and then with deliberate intent, you began to exclude yourself from Lando’s world. Whenever he invited you to join him for dinner with his friends, you found an excuse to decline, claiming you had a tight deadline for a brand campaign, or that you were feeling under the weather, or that you needed to visit your parents. When he asked you to come to the next race weekend, offering to arrange a private jet to fly you out to the circuit, you gently refused, telling him that your schedule was too chaotic and that you could not afford to take the days away from your content creation work.

You stopped participating in the group chats with the other partners, you stopped liking the lavish photos of clubs and exclusive parties, and you retreated back into the comfort of your own life, the life you had built with your own hands, which felt safe, manageable, and grounded in a reality you actually understood. You still loved Lando deeply, your heart still ached with affection whenever he texted you, and your quiet one on one moments together were still filled with warmth, but whenever his world threatened to intrude upon your space, you pulled away, erecting a invisible, sturdy wall between yourself and his lifestyle.

Lando, however, was far from oblivious. At first, he accepted your excuses with his usual understanding nature, knowing how hard you worked to maintain your career and respecting your independence. But as the days bled into weeks, and your refusal to join him in any social capacity became a consistent, undeniable pattern, his initial understanding transformed into deep confusion and a growing sense of anxiety. He noticed that you no longer asked about his friends, that you looked uncomfortable whenever he mentioned a luxury purchase, and that you seemed to physically withdraw into yourself whenever the topic of money or high society lifestyle arose. He began to wonder if he had done something to upset you, if you were losing feelings for him, or if the relationship was slowly drifting apart without him understanding why.

The tension finally culminated on a quiet Tuesday evening in your apartment. Lando had just returned from a grueling simulator session at the McLaren technology centre, and he had come straight to your place, looking tired but determined. You had cooked a simple dinner of pasta, a comforting meal that reminded you of home, and the two of you had eaten in relative silence, the atmosphere thick with an unspoken weight that had been building for a long time. After dinner, as you were standing by the sink rinsing the dishes, Lando walked up behind you, but instead of wrapping his arms around your waist as he usually did, he leaned against the counter, his expression fraught with worry.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet sound of running water, “can we please talk, I feel like you have been a million miles away for the last month, and I am really struggling to figure out what is going on.”

You turned off the faucet, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel with slow, deliberate movements to buy yourself a few seconds to compose your thoughts. You looked at him, seeing the genuine confusion and vulnerability in his blue eyes, and your heart broke for causing him this distress, but you knew you could not keep hiding behind excuses forever.

“I am right here, Lando,” you said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to your own ears.

“No, you are not,” Lando countered, stepping a bit closer, his brow furrowed with intense worry, “you haven't come to a single race in weeks, you always find an excuse to avoid dinner with the guys, and whenever I talk about anything related to my life outside of just the two of us, you shut down, it feels like you are actively trying to push me away, or push yourself out of my life, did I do something wrong, did I hurt you, please just tell me.”

You looked at his worried face, and the wall you had built so carefully over the past weeks began to crack under the sheer weight of your hidden emotions. You walked over to the small dining table, sitting down on one of the chairs and staring at the wood, your fingers tracing the edge of the table.

“You didn't do anything wrong, Lando,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “it is not you, it is just, it is the world you live in, and the realization of how completely different it is from where I come from.”

Lando followed you, sitting down in the chair opposite you, his hands reaching across the table to cover yours, his palms warm and comforting, “what do you mean, different, I know we didn't grow up in the exact same way, but we are together now, your life is great, you have built an amazing career, why does the past matter so much right now.”

You let out a soft, sad laugh, shaking your head as you looked at his hands over yours, “Lando, you say we didn't grow up in the exact same way, but that is the understatement of the century, you grew up in a world where money was never a question, where it was an absolute certainty, I grew up in a house where every single penny was counted, where my parents stayed up late crying because they didn't know if they could afford the electricity bill and the groceries in the same month.”

Lando blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to a deep, earnest desire to understand, “I know that, Y/N, you told me about your childhood, and I admire you so much for how hard you worked to help your family, but that is in the past, you don't have to worry about those things anymore, you are safe now, we are good.”

“But that is the thing, Lando, I don't feel safe,” you said, a sudden tear escaping your eye and rolling down your cheek, which you quickly brushed away with your shoulder, “that mindset doesn't just disappear because my bank account changed, it is built into my DNA, it is how I see the world, and during that yacht trip, when we were all sitting on the deck and your friends were casually talking about a twelve million dollar villa like it was pocket change, and laughing about losing millions on a bad investment, something inside me just snapped.”

Lando went entirely still, his eyes widening slightly as the memory of that afternoon registered in his mind, “they were just talking, Y/N, they didn't mean anything by it, it is just how they talk, they are drivers, they make a lot of money.”

“I know they didn't mean anything by it, and that is exactly what terrified me,” you explained, your voice trembling with the raw honesty of the admission, “to them, and to you, that conversation was completely normal, it was just casual banter, but to me, it felt like an alternate reality that I don't belong in, it made me realize how vast the gap between us actually is, no matter how much money I make from my social media work, I will never view millions of dollars as pocket change, I will never be able to sit around a yacht and listen to people be that completely disconnected from the reality of how the rest of the world lives without feeling sick to my stomach.”

Lando sat in silence for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he processed your words. He looked down at your joined hands, his fingers tightening around yours as if he was afraid that if he let go, you would disappear entirely. He had never had to think about these things, he had never known the suffocating weight of financial anxiety, and he had never realized that his casual everyday reality could feel like a hostile environment to the person he loved most.

“So,” Lando said, his voice thick with a sudden, raw vulnerability, “because of that, because of where I come from and how my friends talk, you are just going to exclude yourself from my life, you are just going to break up with me because I was born into privilege.”

“I don't want to break up with you, Lando,” you cried out, the honesty tearing from your throat as more tears began to flow freely down your face, “I love you so much, it hurts, but every time I am around your friends, or every time you talk about buying another luxury thing without a second thought, I feel this intense wave of guilt and alienation, I feel like a fraud standing next to you, and I started pulling away because it was easier to protect myself and my own peace of mind than to keep pretending that I fit into a world where I feel completely invisible and out of place.”

Lando pulled his hands back, running them through his curly hair with a frustrated, pained groan, his eyes bright with unshed tears of his own, “but you aren't invisible to me, Y/N, I don't care about any of that stuff when I look at you, I don't see a bank account or a background, I just see you, the girl who makes me laugh until my stomach hurts, the girl who supports me when I have a terrible race, the girl I want to come home to every single day, why does the rest of it have to matter so much if we love each other.”

“Because love doesn't exist in a vacuum, Lando,” you said softly, reaching across the table to gently touch his wrist, wanting to comfort him even as you tried to make him understand, “your lifestyle is a massive part of who you are, the private jets, the yachts, the high society events, the wealthy friends, that is your everyday reality, and if I am going to be your partner, I am supposed to be a part of that reality, but right now, that reality makes me feel like I am suffocating, and I don't know how to bridge that gap without losing myself and forgetting where I came from.”

Lando looked at your hand on his wrist, the anger and frustration draining out of him, leaving only a profound, grounded sadness. He realized, for the first time in his life, the sheer weight of his privilege, not as a benefit, but as a barrier that was actively separating him from the woman he loved. He had spent his entire life surrounded by people who viewed wealth the same way he did, and he had never stopped to consider how deeply intimidating and exclusionary that environment could be to someone who had fought for every single thing they had.

“I am sorry,” Lando whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he looked up to meet your eyes, “I am so sorry, Y/N, I have been completely stupid and blind, I was so caught up in having you there with me that I never stopped to think about how all of that wealth and talk sounded to you, I never thought about how it would make you feel based on everything you and your family went through.”

“You don't have to apologize for your life, Lando,” you said quietly, your heart swelling with a mixture of sorrow and deep affection for his genuine remorse.

“Yes, I do,” Lando insisted, shifting his chair closer to yours so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, burying his face in your hair, “I don't need to apologize for being lucky, maybe, but I do need to apologize for not paying attention to you, for not protecting you from things that make you uncomfortable, if my friends are being arrogant or insensitive, I should have shut it down, or I should have realized why you wanted to go down to the cabin, I just thought you were tired, I feel like a terrible boyfriend for letting you carry all this anxiety by yourself for weeks.”

You held onto him tightly, the familiar scent of his cologne enveloping you, providing a sense of comfort that you had desperately missed. The warmth of his body and the sincerity in his voice began to melt the icy core of alienation that had settled in your chest over the past month.

“You are not a terrible boyfriend,” you murmured against his shoulder, “you just didn't know.”

“Well, I know now,” Lando said, pulling back slightly so he could look down into your face, his hands gently wiping the tear tracks from your cheeks with his thumbs, “and I am not going to let this world push you away from me, if you don't want to fly on private jets, we will take commercial flights, I don't care, if you don't want to go to exclusive clubs or fancy dinners with people who only talk about money, we won't go, we can stay home and eat pasta on your couch, or we can hang out with people who actually talk about real things, I love my friends, but they can be idiots sometimes, and I am not going to let their lack of perspective ruin what we have.”

You looked at him, seeing the fierce determination in his eyes, the absolute certainty with which he was willing to adjust his world just to make you feel safe within it. It was a beautiful, overwhelming realization that he valued you far more than the effortless luxury of his lifestyle.

“Lando, you can't just completely change how you live your life for me,” you said, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through your tears, “you love racing, you love your lifestyle, and I would never want to take that away from you or make you feel guilty for what you have earned.”

“I am not changing who I am, Y/N, I am just changing how we navigate things together,” Lando said, his voice soft but incredibly firm, “we are a team, right, and if one person on the team is struggling or feeling out of place, you don't just ignore it and keep running, you adapt, I want you in my life, and that means building a space where you feel completely comfortable, respected, and safe, we can find a balance, I promise you, we can do things on your terms whenever it gets too much.”

You sat there in his embrace, the heavy, suffocating anxiety that had plagued you for weeks finally lifting, dissipating into the quiet air of your apartment. You realized that the gap between your worlds did not have to be a permanent barrier, it was simply an obstacle that required communication, empathy, and a mutual willingness to understand each other’s realities. He could not fully understand the anxiety of your past, and you could not fully adopt the carelessness of his present, but in the space between, where it was just the two of you, you could create a reality that belonged entirely to you.

“Okay,” you whispered, leaning up to press your lips against his, a sweet, lingering kiss that tasted of salt from your tears but carried the profound relief of a new beginning, “we can find a balance.”

Lando smiled against your lips, his arms tightening around you as he pulled you back down onto the couch, holding you close as the evening shadows lengthened across the room. The future would still require navigation, there would still be moments where the contrast of your lives would catch you off guard, but as you lay there with your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, you knew that you were no longer navigating it alone. You were safe, you were loved, and you were exactly where you belonged.

There is already a small crowd accumulating in the cramped North Shore dive bar when you, Samira Mohan, and Mel King breeze through the door. It’s unseasonably warm, the late winter fading to a tease of early spring you know the city won’t be able to sustain for long. You bring the temperate air in with you, a stray gust catching the hems of your dress, and it takes you all a moment to right yourselves.

Over the last month of immersing yourself among the crew of PTMC, you have learned that this is a favorite haunt of theirs – relatively close to the hospital, casual, homey in the way that these small, unpretentious establishments tend to be. You’ve been here twice before, once with Dana at the end of your first week on the job and once with a larger group to celebrate the nurse practitioner Donnie’s birthday. This time, the celebrant is Samira.

“Over here!”

A voice cuts through the sound of nineties rock blaring through the speakers, and you glance up to find Alpha resident Trinity Santos flagging you down from a booth near the back of the bar. She has a cocktail in hand already – tequila soda with lime, if you remember correctly from the last outing – and her dark hair hangs in limp waves around her cheeks, crimped in that specific way that tells you she has just taken it out of a ponytail.

Clustered around the booth with her are the rest of the day crew who have just finished their shifts – Dennis, Cassie, Princess, Victoria, all looking a bit haggard though in good enough spirits. Victoria has dark circles under her eyes, and Princess’s signature braids are starting to frizz along her hairline. Even still, the cries of “happy birthday!” are loud and earnest, and you can sense the happiness and embarrassment rolling off of Samira in waves as she smiles back.

The three of you make your way through the press of other patrons, squeezing your way down the narrow stretch between the bar and the booths along the wall. The others spill out to greet you, and although you know the celebration isn’t for you, you can’t help but respond with the same warmth and fondness. Working shoulder to shoulder with this team has brought you closer to them than you would have expected, certainly more than you’ve experienced while on other travel contracts. Though you might only count a few as true friends, the camaraderie between you all is undeniable. You’re happy to spend your precious free time in their company, particularly if it means getting out of Dana and Benji’s house for the night.

Not that you aren’t grateful for their hospitality; of course, you are, and you love them both dearly. But something about living in their home, sharing their meals, and sleeping in their youngest daughter’s old bedroom has you feeling a bit like a teenager again. You need a night to breathe.

“Hey, Cassie,” you say with an easy smile as the older Alpha pulls you into a friendly embrace. There are bright red patches of skin at the base of her pale neck, evidence of the irritation left behind by the hospital’s scent blocker patches. Without the dulling effects of the medicated cotton and hospital antiseptic, she smells like late October in your nostrils – fallen leaves and baking spices. It’s comforting, maternal, and lived-in.

“Thank god,” she groans into your hair. “I feel like I’ve been babysitting.”

You snort a laugh as, around you, a chorus of protests fill the air.

“Fuck off, you love us,” Trinity says, giving Cassie a playful shove. The young resident’s eyes shine tellingly in the dim light of the bar, and you’re suddenly certain that the drink in her hand is not the first one she has imbibed this evening.

“How on earth did you get here before us? Didn’t you all work today?” you ask with a frown.

Trinity shrugs. “Maybe we’re just that good.” You arch an eyebrow at her, hitting her with a pointed stare, and she smirks. “Nah,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Honestly, we got lucky today. And everyone was super motivated to get the hell out of there. Aaaand speaking of, there she is, the birthday queen herself!”

You turn just in time to see Samira shrugging off her jacket and tossing it into the booth. The dress she’s wearing is truly befitting the milestone of her thirtieth birthday – a deep plummy-purple silk thing that hugs the curve of her waist, its plunging neckline showing off the freshly-healed mating bite where her neck meets her shoulder. Her long legs are clad in sheer black stockings, the heels on her feet sure to bring her to at least eye level with her mate when he arrives.

“Goddamn. Look at you!” Trinity sounds physically pained as she takes in the senior resident’s apparel. You can hardly blame her for the reaction; it’s certainly a far cry from the nondescript black and gray scrubs you typically see each other in. “C’mon, give us a twirl.”

Samira hides her face in her hands for a moment, embarrassed by the attention, but you can tell there’s a part of her that is pleased, too. Obligingly she gives a little turn, spinning on the smooth soles of her heels, and you join the others in whistling and cheering her on.

“Jesus Christ,” Trinity sighs. “Abbot is one lucky bastard.”

The evidence of her interest is blatant, a wave of enticing sweetness scenting the air, the fragrance making you laugh while Dennis Whitaker grimaces. “Okay, okay, we get it, Dr. Mohan’s hot. Lay off the pheromones,” the young Omega scolds. His pale cheeks are tinged pink.

Patting him soothingly on the back, you, too, shed your jacket and adjust the ruffles on your skirt as you settle in. There’s something so freeing about getting to look like yourself for once, to not have to make yourself bland and sexless for the sake of the workplace. If you’re honest, most of your time outside of scrubs is spent in your pajamas, so the flirty little number you have on tonight is a particular treat.

Feeling flush with warmth, you announce to the table, “First round’s on me!” And then softer, to Samira, you add, “What can I get for you, birthday girl?”

“Whatever you’re having,” she replies, shrugging noncommittally. “I’m not picky.”

You blink at her. “It’s your birthday. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“I know.” She slides into the booth with a mischievous smile. “And for my birthday, I would very much like to not have to make any decisions.”

Barking a laugh, you give her a mock salute. Samira is a girl after your own heart – exhausted, a bit strung out, and ready to be pampered. “Of course. I can do that. Now, what about for the rest of you?”

Robby can’t remember the last time he joined the crew for a night out. It has to have been more than a year, maybe two. It isn’t as though he hasn’t been invited; on the contrary, Whitaker makes it a point to ask every time. Santos, too, on occasion. He keeps a handful of excuses in his back pocket for when the question arises – he has other plans, he’s promised a neighbor he’ll let their dog out, just let him wrap up this one patient and he’ll meet them there, he swears.

Lately, he can never quite muster the energy it would take to laugh through a few beers and play a round of darts. He can’t imagine sitting around a high-top or crowding himself into a booth and talking for hours. These days, every bit of himself goes to the hospital, every scrap of enthusiasm and identity siphoned from him by the ceaseless pace, the endless demand. Outside of those walls, he is hollow, devoid of substance.

Which is why, when Jack had asked him to come to Mohan’s birthday celebration, Robby had been quick to decline. It sounded like precisely the sort of gathering he preferred to avoid, and that wasn’t even taking into account the…strained relationship between himself and his senior resident. Admittedly, he has been trying to mend fences there, but he knows he has a long way to go to get back to a place where her hackles don’t immediately go up when he enters the room. Would she even want him there, he wonders? Somehow, he doubts it.

Jack, however, assure him that she does – once when he first invites him and then again when Robby had attempted to back out of their plans not half an hour ago. The older Alpha still has his reservations, but he chooses to trust his friend. After all, if anyone were to know what Samira Mohan wants, it would be her mate.

The bar is crowded when they arrive. There are a few faces Robby doesn’t recognize, a few pockets of neighborhood regulars not associated with PTMC, but the majority of the people he spots from the doorway are part of his team. A gaggle of night shift congregated by the bar, a table full of nurses he barely recognizes out of their scrubs, and there, nearly to the back of the bar, a cluster of day shift, half draped across the nearest booth, half hanging out into the narrow aisle, uproarious laughter spilling through the bar almost loud enough to drown out the music.

Just as he expects, Jack spots Samira immediately – holding court with her day shift colleagues, arm looped through one of Mel King’s, leaning into her shoulder companionably. He doesn’t bother to excuse himself from Robby’s side, simply locks eyes with her through the crowd and makes a beeline through the throng of bodies to meet her.

The crowd parts for him effortlessly, the space deferring to him without question or thought, and Robby shakes his head ruefully. Jack has always worn his Alpha status with such grace.

He gets to the collection of day-shifters before Robby does, and it takes him all of about two seconds to extend a hand and coax Samira out of the booth. The older attending can’t quite hear what the two say to each other, though the tone of their voices is warm and intimate, and it’s impossible to mistake the joy pouring out of each of them as Jack takes her into his arms.

It’s been years since his best friend has looked at another person like that, with deep wrinkles around his eyes and an even deeper softness in his smile. The loss of his first mate, his wife, had nearly killed him, and Robby had done his best to help him pick up the pieces in the aftermath. Looking at him now, watching him pull Mohan in for a deep kiss in front of the entire bar, is like looking at a different person in all the best ways.

Though Robby would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a twinge of jealousy at the whole display. Jack had somehow managed to find a great love not once, but twice. Two other halves of his soul, two marks of devotion scored into the meat of his neck. For something that he had never really thought he might want, the other Alpha certainly did make it look appealing.

The kiss drags on for a handful of seconds too long, and the crowd responds appropriately – cat calls and wolf whistles, a stray crumpled straw wrapper tossed and landed perfectly in Jack’s salt-and-pepper hair. By the time he finally lets Mohan go, the senior resident is laughing and hiding her face in his neck, and Robby has taken to busying himself reviewing the chalkboard beer menu hanging behind the bar.

“Oh! Dr. Robby!”

He blinks, turning to find Mohan running a nervous hand over her now-disheveled curls, an embarrassed half-smile quirking the corners of her lips.

“I didn’t think you were going to make it,” she continues, and goddamn it, Jack was right. She looks a bit confused but undeniably pleased to see him. Her big, dark eyes give her away. She looks like someone has given her a gift she’s afraid she’s not allowed to accept, and Robby’s chest aches.

Glancing down at the scuffed, sticky floor, he replies haltingly, “My, uh. My schedule opened up. And I didn’t want to miss telling you happy birthday, so.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, meets her gaze through his eyebrows. “Happy birthday, Dr. Mohan.”

He watches as she blinks at him, taken aback. “Thank you.” Her voice is soft and painfully earnest and tinged disbelief. He hates that something as simple as a birthday wish from him is so unexpected, but he has no one but himself to blame for that. So he bears it with a toothless smile and tries not to let loose a sigh of relief when she adds, “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me, too.” Clearing his throat, Robby shifts on his feet and redirects his attention to the rest of the table. There’s a collection of empty beer bottles and cocktail glasses scattered across its surface, as well as a round of shots that he suddenly feels thankful he missed. It’s been a long time since his tired body could tolerate that kind of night out. Still, he offers, “Let me know when you all are ready for another, next round’s on me.”

At that, Trinity Santos lets out a triumphant sound and bangs both of her palms down onto the surface of the table, shaking glasses and sending bottles rolling. “That’s what I’m talking about – drinks on Dr. Robby!”

The lingering crowd bursts into laughter, and feeling lighter than he has in a long time, Robby can’t help but join them.

You are two amaretto sours deep by the time the attendings make their conspicuous entrance.

It would be impossible not to notice their approach, two broad-shouldered, graying men with the same competent swagger, the same quiet authority in the way they cut through the crowd. It’s a rarity to see either of them outside of the hospital, even rarer to see them in anything other than scrubs, and there are just enough drinks in your system for the sight to send heat rushing to your cheeks. Dr. Abbot, of course, has eyes only for Samira (as he should). But Dr. Robby…

Booze humming in your bloodstream, syrupy sugar and tart lemon juice coating your tongue, you watch the way the older Alpha’s ears flush pink at the group’s attention. You watch the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his dark, silver-threaded hair fluffs and ruffles as he passes a large hand over his head in self-consciousness. In the month you’ve been working in his ED, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard him laugh like this, and it never fails to make your chest tighten.

It’s honestly frustrating how intriguing you find him. Even after that first stilted, off-putting introduction, there’s a pull to him, a gravity that you can’t quite shake.

It’s all innocuous, all professional, but you can’t deny that over the last month, you have spent more time on Dr. Robby’s patients than anyone else’s. You take every opportunity to work cases at his side in the trauma bays, standing elbow-to-elbow with Jesse and Kim and the other seasoned nursing staff, all the while learning his methods, his preferred instruments, the shorthand of his commands. You’ve started to be able to anticipate his orders before he gives them, and you tell yourself that it’s all in the name of the job. You assure yourself that you’re doing the same things you’ve always done, that you’re simply living up to the central tenet of travel nursing – get good, and do it fast. It’s not a lie. But it’s not the whole truth, either.

Even now, even in a crowd of your peers, free from the confines of the sterile hospital walls, you can feel the tug of his presence in your gut. It’s like he’s got a homing beacon in the pocket of his classic Levi’s, and the receiver is tucked behind your navel. He mingles with your colleagues, floating from table to table, and it does not matter how invested you are in your conversation with Princess about Love is Blind or how interested you are in Cassie’s story about her last family vacation. A part of you is always focused on him.

And fuck, but he looks good. Not that he wasn’t handsome in his scrubs, but there’s something intimate about seeing his familiar figure in this new context. The bulk of his well-loved canvas coat, the softness of the navy-blue flannel he wears beneath it, the way the buttons of that flannel pull slightly against the breadth of his chest and the gentle curve of his belly. His jeans are effortless and perfectly-fitted, and you are embarrassed to acknowledge that you recognize the brown boots on his feet from the days when he rides his motorcycle to work. He looks rugged. Strong. Stupidly masculine in a way that speaks to the basest part of your psyche.

You’re such a goddamn cliché – the younger, subordinate Omega squirming in her seat over the older Alpha in a position of power. You’d be mortified if you weren’t so…distracted.

You make it about another 15 minutes before you find yourself slipping from the booth and retreating to the bar. You’re going to need another drink if you’re going to survive the rest of the night without making a fool of yourself at the feet of the chief attending. Perhaps something a bit stronger than amaretto this time…

Flagging down a bartender, you order a whiskey ginger. You busy yourself studying the countless dusty neon signs that cling to the walls while you wait, nodding along to the thump of the music in the background. Trinity had insisted that once it got late enough, the music would switch to something funkier, something with more of a groove, and the far end of the bar would become a makeshift dance floor. You could hardly remember the last time you had gone dancing…

Beside you, someone clears their throat and leans against the bar.

You startle at the sound, but the surprise quickly morphs into a dizzying flush of pleasure as the scent hits you. Clean, masculine soap floating over woodsy base notes of oakmoss and black tea leaves. Unfiltered, unblocked, completely lacking the sanitized, antiseptic qualities you associate with the hospital. Just…him.

Swallowing thickly against the sudden surge of nerves, you flash the older man a weak smile and a wave. “Hey, Dr. Robby.”

Robby’s gaze flicks to yours, and he returns your smile with one of his own. It deepens the creases at the corners of his eyes in a way that you find senselessly charming. “Hey,” he replies, voice warm and rasping, almost too soft to hear over the music. Thoughtlessly, you shift closer to catch it better.

“I was told not to expect you here tonight.” The words leave your lips of their own accord, your tone light and open while still carrying a hint of accusation. This was meant to be a fun night out celebrating one of your new friends. The disruption of his presence was never meant to be a factor.

Thankfully, he merely laughs at the suggestion, as though the idea pleases him. “Oh?”

The sparkle in his dark eyes is contagious, and you fight a grin in spite of yourself. “Way to prove everybody wrong.”

“Well, I’d hate to think I was getting predictable in my old age,” he quips, rapping his knuckles against the sticky lacquered surface of the bar. “It’s good for the kids. Keeps them on their toes.”

His words settle low and heavy in your abdomen, and you pray to whatever higher power might exist that he can’t sense how he’s affected you. It’s honestly humiliating the way your stomach tightens, the way you have to press your thighs together against the pulsing there. You’ve always had a preference for older men, but this might be the first time an explicit reference to one’s age has gotten you wet.  

Clearing your throat, you make a big show out of rolling your eyes and make a desperate play for humor instead of arousal. “Oh, come on,” you groan lightheartedly. “You’re not that old.”

At that, Dr. Robby merely scoffs. “Tell that to my back. And my knees.”

You are saved from having to craft a response by the return of the bartender. He drops a thin, flimsy cocktail napkin onto the bar top and slides your whiskey ginger across its surface before redirecting his attention to Robby.

“What can I get you, man?”

The attending orders several drinks, a combination of shots, beers, and a single tequila soda that you know is going directly to Trinity Santos. It seems he’s made good on his offer of a round for the table. The bartender listens with a mildly-concerned arched brow but doesn’t question it. Instead, he simply nods along as he absorbs the long list. Giving Robby a short nod, he returns to the backbar and starts pulling glasses out from beneath the counter.

You take a sip of your drink as the lull in conversation lingers. It’s precisely what you wanted, sharper and smokier than the sweetness you had started the evening with, stinging your throat on the way down in a way that feels more grounding than uncomfortable. It sharpens you, pulls you out of the Alpha scent-induced haze that had you wanting to press closer, to bury your face in the weathered skin of this man’s neck and just breathe.

“So how’ve you been settling in?”

The second sip of whiskey catches strangely in your throat, and you smother a cough in the crook of your arm.

Well. Perhaps you’re not all the way out of the haze just yet.

Gathering yourself, you put on a smile and offer him a carefully unaffected shrug. “You tell me.”

“Well, of course, your work is exceptional,” Robby says easily. “Only took you what, a week? Two? To figure out the rhythm of the department?”

This time, the heat that blooms across your neck and chest has nothing to do with pheromones. “I’ve been doing this for a while,” you demure, brushing off the compliment. “It gets easier over time.”

He accepts the response with a gracious nod, but corrects, “I meant more…interpersonally.”

Quirking your brow, you blink back at him in surprise.

“I just…the ED is a team sport. Sometimes it takes new players a bit to find their footing,” he stammers in explanation. It must be a trick of the neon lights that has his cheeks turning red under your stunned gaze.

Either way, you warm at the sight. Stirring your drink with its little black cocktail straw, you swallow and reply, “If I’m being honest, I’ve felt more welcomed in the Pitt than anywhere else since I left Philly.”

You watch as Robby’s eyes soften, your words hitting him someplace quiet and vulnerable.

“Dana helps, of course,” you’re quick to add. “I’ve known her my whole life – she’s basically family. But really, this team seems to be…especially accepting of new players.”

Now, it is his turn to shift uncomfortably on his feet, to shutter a bit at the earnestness of your praise. “It’s a teaching hospital. We’re pretty used to people coming and going.”

“Still. It’s appreciated.” You pick up your drink, raising it in his direction in a casual toast. “Compliments to the team captain.”

Robby scoffs a soft laugh, and now you’re certain he’s blushing. Satisfaction swells in your chest. He will be able to smell it on you, surely, but you’re not certain how much you care anymore. You made him smile. Made him laugh. In spite of the amount of time you’ve spent at his side over the last month, you think you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve witnessed both of those gifts in a single interaction.

Thankfully, the bartender returns before you can let it go to your head, before you can start formulating increasingly more ridiculous things you might say or do to elicit such a response from the older Alpha again. The number of drinks deposited onto the bar top feels truly absurd, entirely too many for one person to carry, but Robby does not balk. Instead, he thanks the bartender and begins gathering them into his hands.

“Need help with those?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you watch him artfully arrange the glasses so that he can carry four in each hand.

“No thanks, I’ve got it,” he replies. “Think I’d better get these to the parched masses.”

Fuck, his hands are huge. It’s not the first time you’ve noticed – as he rubs hand sanitizer into his skin, as he scratches his beard while deep in thought, as he snaps extra-large nitrile gloves on and off while breezing through trauma bay doors. It’s distracting every time, and this display only adds to the Robby-shaped fantasy fodder stored carefully away in the back of your mind. Wide palms, long, thick fingers… He manages everything in one single pass.  

Throat suddenly dry, you take another drink of your whiskey ginger before responding. “Probably for the best. Trinity might mutiny otherwise.”

The noise the attending makes in response is gruff and warm and full of good humor, not laughter but something with more substance, low in his throat. It makes you feel hot under your dress. Makes you feel…reckless.

“Catch you on the dance floor later?” The question is out of your mouth before you can swallow it back, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted to disappear more than you do right now as the older man glances up from the drinks in his hands. He bites down on his bottom lip, smothering a smile, and shakes his head.

“Ohhh no, I don’t think so.” Though clearly taken aback, his refusal is tinged with laughter, and you are suddenly grateful for the cold press of your drink against your palm. You’re in real danger of overheating under his sparkling gaze.

“That’s a shame,” you manage to reply. “I’d have saved you a dance.”

You can’t bear to stick around long enough to allow him to respond. Instead, you duck around him and make a beeline for the table where most of the nursing staff have congregated. With any luck, he won’t follow you there, and you’ll be able to slam the rest of your drink in peace.

Robby may have turned down your invitation, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t allowed to watch.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he lingers against the bar, twirling a half-empty IPA bottle in his fingers while trying (and failing) to be discrete in the way his eyes follow you. It’s late now, the drinks and the atmosphere settling heavy and loose in everyone’s system, and if he were a stronger man, he would have made his excuses and gone home by now. He would have clapped Jack on the shoulder, bid Mohan one final “happy birthday,” and disappeared into the night.

But he can’t remember the last time he felt strong. These days, he mostly feels tired. And old. And desperately lonely.

But you? Since the day Dana brought you into his ED, you’ve been…a revelation.

You’re a goddamn ray of sunshine. Bright and warm and giving, a smile on your face for every patient, a helping hand at the ready for every colleague. Whip-smart, quick on your feet, experienced enough to not require much oversight yet always eager to learn something new. Clear-eyed, unafraid, kind down to your bones... He could go on.

He’s only known you a month; it’s embarrassing how much time he could fill extolling your virtues.

And now, as of tonight, he has even more to add to the ever-growing list. A far cry from your typical gray scrubs and well-worn Brooks sneakers, the ruffled, body-hugging dress you’ve got on leaves little to the imagination. There’s something achingly feminine about the way it clings so softly to the swell of your breasts, the nip of your waist, the full plush of your ass. It’s frothy and sweet with just enough sex appeal to keep it from looking too girlish. Even still, watching you sway through the crowd, head thrown back in laughter, pulling Samira into your lithe arms as you move to the beat, Robby feels like a dirty old man. But he can’t seem to make himself look away.

He’d gotten a whiff of your scent earlier. It was warm and light and musky, almost sparkling, amber and champagne and white florals. It’s taken residence under his skin, clouding his thoughts with gauzy, half-formed images of tenderness that make his chest ache. You smell like tangled sheets and satin pillowcases. Soft sweaters and bare feet and cups of coffee in the sunshine on his back patio. The fucking farmer’s market on Sundays.

Sweet. Painful. Like pressing too hard on a bruise left by a lover.

“Still with me, brother?”

Robby blinks, clears his throat, and turns to find Jack watching him with raised eyebrows and that little quirk of his mouth he does when he’s got something to say but is choosing not to. Shaking his head, the older Alpha smiles ruefully. “‘Course. Continue.”

Everything is beautiful.

The music is loud in your ears, throbbing in your chest, fusing with your bones. Whiskey in your veins, floaty and warm, you feel like all the sharp angles and edges of you have blurred and softened. Surrounded on all sides by your new friends, you bleed into each other like watercolors on a wet canvas. Samira spins with you, her dark curls wild against her cheeks, her mate’s leather jacket draped around her shoulders. Nearby, Mel holds hands with Trinity, jumping more than dancing but still managing to keep perfect time with the song. Victoria and Dennis both look like they’ve never been on a dance floor in their lives, but they’re grinning so big and singing at the top of their lungs, dripping sweat and spilling the sweet, intoxicating scent of Omega joy from every pore.

You’re cocooned here – bodies pressed close, eyes half shut, hips swaying, fingers catching on Dr. Abbot’s coat, on Mel’s loose blonde hair, on the silver chain resting on Dennis’s chest. And still, the back of your neck burns.

Dr. Robby is watching you. You can feel it like a brand on your skin, and you savor the heat. It’s wrong. God, it’s so wrong, for too many reasons to count. He’s got almost 20 years on you. He’s the chief of the ED. You hardly know him. And you cannot forget that you’re temporary here, already a third of the way through your contract. When it ends, there will be another, and who knows where you will find yourself next?

But those thoughts are too heavy, too real for this moment. In this moment, with the music and the booze and the dress and all your beautiful friends, you feel beautiful, too. You feel sexy. You feel desired in a way that’s more exciting than intimidating. And you’re perfectly content to allow this gruff, mysterious, older Alpha to watch you dance for as long as he likes. Perhaps you’ll even put on a bit of a show for him…

One song fades into the next, then again, and before long, you’ve utterly lost track of time. You’re sweaty and fuzzy and so happy, so lost in the music and the moment that you don’t notice the approaching stranger until he is close enough to snake his hands around your hips and pull you into him.

You flinch, loose body stiffening instantly. An Alpha. A face you’ve never seen before towering over you, red-rimmed, heavy-lidded eyes finding yours in the darkness. He’s young, maybe two or three years your junior, with a square, clean-shaven jaw and shoulder-length blonde hair he wears pushed back from his face. And holy shit, he reeks – like smoke and ash and sickly, cloying flowers, an exotic greenhouse someone doused in vodka and lit on fire. There’s arousal there, too, the scent distinctly Alpha. It invades your nostrils as he presses your hips into his pelvis, using his grip on your body to grind you against him.

“I like your moves, Omega,” he says, leaning down and speaking directly into your ear. His breath is boozy and hot on the skin of your neck, and you recoil at the feel of it brushing over your scent glands.

Stomach soured, palms firm against his wiry chest, you shove him hard. “Hey! Back off!”

But this stranger is wasted, and he’s got almost a foot of height on you, and in his single-minded lust, he’s stronger than you expect.

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” he groans with a laugh, as though your disgust and your refusal are no more than an inconvenience to him. His fingers dig hard into the soft flesh of your hips, blunt nails scraping the filmy fabric of your dress. “Could smell you all the way on the other side of the dance floor. I know how bad you need this.”

Your stomach drops, and you let out an involuntary whine as you scramble ineffectually against his hold. A young, strong, cocksure Alpha has caught the scent of an aroused, unmarked Omega. It’s the stuff public safety announcements are made of. You’re in danger.

“Get your hands off me!” you cry. And with that, chaos breaks out on the dance floor.

Samira’s dark eyes flash with fury as she fearlessly charges into the strange Alpha’s space and wraps both her hands around one of his elbows. You can tell she’s throwing her whole bodyweight into trying to yank his paws off of you, but the man doesn’t budge.

Dennis tucks Victoria under his arm and shepherds her off the dance floor, and you feel a swell of gratefulness for his quick thinking; Victoria is so young, even more vulnerable here than you are.

From a few feet away, you hear a growl of “oh, fuck no”, and out of the crowd, you can smell Trinity approaching before you see her – the bright green notes of the mint and lime in her scent sour and sharpen with rage as she bullies her way through the press of bodies to get to you. There’s a brief, instinctual surge of relief the moment you lock eyes with her – the only thing this man might listen to right now is another Alpha – but the feeling is short-lived. Trinity is fierce and scrappy and famously protective, as virile as any other of her designation, but the stranger currently grinding a growing erection into your stomach is so tall –

“Let. Her. Go.”

Barked in a low, gravelly voice, the Command drowns out the beat of the music and sends ripples through the crowd of dancers – gasps, shudders, a groan through gritted teeth as Trinity Santos halts in her tracks. Even without being directed at her, the will of a more senior Alpha is too strong for her to resist. The sound of it makes your knees tremble with a wave of fear and bone-deep gratitude. You twist in the stranger’s grip and crane your neck to find the source of the words that have taken such swift control of the scene.

It does not take you long. There, standing almost directly behind you, tall and square-shouldered and stinking of rage, is –

“Dr. Robby.”

His name leaves your lips like a plea, and you watch as his frown deepens. You’ve never seen him like this – he’s radiating dominance and territorialism, his scent darker, thicker, every inch of softness you’ve ever observed in him evaporated into the night air. He looks…formidable. Strong and broad, still not quite as tall as the young Alpha holding you but infinitely more daunting. The threads of silver in his hair and the dense patch of it in his beard practically glow in the neon lights, and you feel certain that when you think back on this moment, you will remember him as a barrel-chested old wolf standing undaunted in the face of an enemy upstart.

“I said, let her go,” he repeats, taking a step forward.

The stranger scoffs and turns you around in his grip, this time tugging hard enough to make you stumble as he pulls you back into him. “She’s unmarked, man,” he says as he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head to the side, exposing your bare neck.

He touches you like the mere fact that no bite mark scores your flesh entitles him to your body; the thought alone disgusts you. You yelp in pain, and you swear you can feel the vibration of Robby’s growl as it thunders through the air.

“I don’t give a shit,” the attending snaps. “She doesn’t want your hands on her.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.” The blonde man grinds against your ass, and you swallow a wave of nausea. “I smelled her first. Get your own bitch!”

That seems to be the final straw. Closing the distance between you in two long-legged strides, Robby’s hand darts out and clutches onto the back of the younger man’s neck.

“I would think very carefully about what you do next,” he snarls, almost too soft for you to hear over the music. “I’ve been putting pups like you in their place for longer than you’ve been alive, and I swear, if you hurt her, I will let every other Alpha in this room take their turn with you before I kick your ass from here to Philadelphia.”

The acrid, burnt-rubber scent of fury pouring from the young Alpha is enough to make your eyes water and your throat swell, but there’s something else there now, too. Fear. Intimidation. Submission. His hands tighten against you even further.

“Now,” Robby says. “Let her go. And then get the fuck out of here.”

For a moment, you don’t breathe. The challenge hangs in the air as Robby maintains his grip on the other man’s scruff, holding him fast and certain in what is quite possibly the most aggressive, provoking move one Alpha could pull on another. Had he attempted to hold you like that, you feel certain you would have turned into a pile of goo, limp and pliant and utterly boneless as you dangled from his fingers. Instead, this Alpha merely whimpers and shudders against your back.

There is a beat where he continues to cling to you, the hold suddenly feeling less possessive and more stubborn, but in the end, the younger man cannot resist following the attending’s orders. It’s sudden when he finally drops you, and without this stranger’s hands keeping you upright, your legs give out beneath you.

Robby is there in less than a heartbeat – releasing the scruff hold on the younger man, catching you in his strong arms before you can slump to the floor. The former staggers backward and lets out a weak, unconvincing sneer.

“Whatever, man. She’s a fucking tease, anyway.”

Out of the darkness, Dr. Abbot appears then, his face like a storm cloud as he inserts himself between a furious Robby and this overconfident pup. Wrapping his thick fingers around the younger man’s upper arm, he growls, “Time to go, buddy.”

Without another word, Abbot drags the man toward the door. You think you see him pass his fingers over the back of Samira’s hand on his way by, but truthfully, you weren’t certain. You’ve started to shake in Robby’s arms, the edges of your vision have begun to blur, and you feel as though you could collapse again at any moment.

Around you, the dance floor abruptly surges back to life.

Everyone within the radius of Robby’s Command seems to descend on you at once, strangers and friends alike all rushing to check on the distraught Omega. The sounds of their voices, the touch of their hands, all of it feels oddly deadened and far away – as though they are talking to you through the wall of a quarantine bubble.

“Okay, everybody, back off – give her some space!”

You spot Mel’s wide, worried eyes. Trinity’s furious frown. There’s a Beta night shift nurse – Olive, maybe? – checking on the other Omegas in the crowd. Thankfully, the ones you can see look relatively unscathed…

And that is all you register before Dr. Robby is shucking his big brown coat, wrapping it around you, and ushering you away from the dance floor.

“D-Dr. Robby – ”

“Shh,” he soothes, his hands gentle but firm on your shoulders as he steers you toward the rear exit, the thick metal door labeled “Employees Only”. “I’m just taking you someplace quiet.”

As he guides you through the door, you find that all of the unseasonable warmth you had enjoyed earlier has dissipated with the setting of the sun. The late winter night is damp and bracingly cold as you step out into the back alley, but the relief you feel almost makes up for the sudden chill. Out here, the fresh air smells faintly of wet concrete and the nearby Allegheny River, and you find yourself gulping lungfuls of it to try to banish the ash-rubber-flower scent of the man whose bruises now decorate your skin.

“Okay, here we go,” Robby coaxes as he directs you away from the door. He is a steadying presence, his touch light but constant. When he encourages you to lean back and brace yourself against the brick exterior of the bar, you obey without a thought. “Better, right?”

“Yes.” Your response sounds tremulous to your own ears – dazed, weak, and far away…

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open. You didn’t realize you had closed them.

Robby’s gaze meets yours. Hands on your shoulders, brows gathered at the center in concern, you notice he has bent down in front of you so he can look you in the eye. This close, he’s all you can see, and he’s even more handsome than you thought. You’re fascinated by the wrinkles around his eyes, his long, dark lashes, the sharp, commanding line of his nose…

“Hey. I’ve got you. You’re safe now,” he says. The comforting words are muffled and distant. It’s like he’s talking to you through a pair of tin cans and some string from a block away. “Deep breaths, okay? Breathe with me. In.” He sucks a dramatic breath through his nose, nostrils flaring, and you do your best to imitate him. “Out.” His breath smells like the IPA he had been drinking as he exhales through his mouth. You breathe out, too, and he smiles faintly. “Good girl. Again. In. Out.”

You comply easily, breathing in rhythm, in and out, sinking into the cold, textured brick of the wall behind you. It takes a few rounds of this, your bleary eyes locked on his as he helps you regulate, but after a while, your heartrate slows, and your vision begins to sharpen.

He must be able to see the clarity come back to your expression because he asks, “Better?”

Jaw tight, you nod. “Mm hm.”

The confirmation, however, does not seem to do much to comfort him. Instead of the smile you expect, his frown deepens, and he runs his palms over your arms briskly, like he’s trying to warm you up. “You’re shaking,” he observes.

Oh. You are, aren’t you? You take another deep breath, the scent of your assailant blessedly faded now, and make a conscious effort to relax your rigid muscles. You start with your jaw, then down to your neck, your shoulders, your back, but every inch of you is wound so tightly, as though still braced for unwanted touch, that you make little progress. You may no longer be on the edge of hyperventilating, but still, your body clearly has not caught up with the sudden absence of threat.

“I’m s-sorry,” you reply. “I c-can’t stop.”

Robby shakes his head, brushing off the apology, and you watch as he examines you with a critical, almost clinical gaze. You weren’t injured – not really, not in any lasting sort of way. The man didn’t bite you (thank god) or even scent you. It had been scary, terrifying even, but more in the threat of it than the actual reality.

The more you sit with it, the more you recognize this feeling. The dread, the thoughtless, nauseating panic so intimately, biologically tied to your nature as an Omega that it feels doubly wounding, doubly personal. It’s been more than a year since you last felt this way. It’s the reason why you left your ex, why you packed your bags and fled Philadelphia, leaving behind a life you loved for the chance to get away from this.

You see it in his eyes the moment he recognizes it. Omega distress. A primal defense mechanism designed to encourage community protection and care when an Omega is in danger. Of course, as an Alpha and as a medical professional, it’s something you’re certain he’s seen before. Perfectly treatable, but prolonged distress could result in neurological damage, and it’s not as though most Omegas carry the necessary hormone treatments on their person –

Under his breath, Robby curses. “Fuck. Okay.”

You might be the one bracing your weight against the building right now, but Robby has never felt more backed into a wall.

Of course, it had to be you. So pretty, so sweet, so frightened – shaking in your high heels, drowning in his coat, pouring the choked, sour fragrance of your distress into the night air. Your eyes are wide and glassy, shining with tears that refuse to fall, and you’ve got your elegant hands balled up in little fists so tight your knuckles have gone pale. He can still smell hints of that bastard pup on your skin, and even the faint reminder is enough to have his hackles standing on end.

He comforts himself with the knowledge that if he does what he knows he must, if he manages to work up the courage to take that step, at least that scent will finally disappear.

And of course, it had to be him. After all of his efforts to maintain professional distance, after all of the scoldings he’s given himself about keeping you at arm’s length, of course it would be him in this impossible scenario. He knows what you need – would know it even if he weren’t an Emergency Medicine physician, but in his line of work, he can’t count the number of times he’s treated this exact condition. But you are not a patient in his ED, and this alleyway behind a dive bar is not PTMC. There are no synthetic hormones he can inject you with here. There is only…him.

Well. Not only him. There are at least three other Alphas inside that bar, two of which are unmated and could do the job just as well. But the idea of letting anyone else anywhere near you right now makes something ruinous and feral clamor inside his chest. For the first time since his adolescence, Michael Robinavitch truly feels the depths of the raging beast that lingers at the edges of his subconscious.

In this moment, if anyone but him were to touch you, he thinks he might rip their throat out with his teeth.

“Fuck. Okay.” Robby squeezes your shoulders and tucks his thumbs into the collar of his jacket. Your eyelids flag instinctually at the touch. “Hey, right here, look right here.”

You obey, but that sense of presence and awareness he had detected just moments ago has already begun to fade. Your skin is burning up under his touch, and shit, you still haven’t stopped shaking. Your nervous system is fully strung out, on high alert, and your body is struggling to keep up.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you. “I’m right here with you. Just keep your eyes on me.”

“Robby.” His name leaves your lips on the back of a whine. Gritting his teeth, Robby swallows against an answering purr that threatens to rumble from his throat.

“I know, Omega.”

God, he’s going to have to do it, isn’t he? He’s going to have to –

Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

Your responding nod is immediate, the delicate skin of your neck brushing against his thumbs. “Yes. I trust you.”

Combined with your big, wet eyes and your pouting, open mouth, your words hit deep and sound like praise. They make him want to preen, to roll over at your feet and show you his soft belly.

You trust him. He is a good Alpha. His Omega trusts him.

No.

He slams the door on that fantasy before it can take hold.

Not his Omega. An Omega. Never his.

Shoving that painful conclusion to the back of his mind, Robby nods and ducks his chin, making deep, direct eye contact with you once more. “Okay then. You’ll feel my touch on your hands and on the insides of your wrists.”

He keeps his words calm and clinical, like he’s talking a skittish patient through a painful and unfamiliar procedure. But there’s nothing clinical about what he’s about to do to you. In fact, if he were to do this with a real patient, he would be lucky to get off with a written warning from the Ethics Committee. But here, he has no choice. Here, it’s the kindest thing an Alpha like him can do given the current circumstances.

So he does it. He scents you.

Moving slowly so as not to spook you, Robby wraps his fingers around one of your graceful wrists and brings the thin, vulnerable skin covering your secondary scent glands to press against the weathered base of his neck.

It’s admittedly a bit unconventional – scenting someone on the wrist instead of the neck – but the rational, practical part of him hopes it might soften the staggering intimacy of the gesture. You might be an Omega in distress, but you are still his colleague, still someone he has to see every day in the Pitt. You’re still a member of his pack that he is responsible for protecting – and that includes from himself. If he were to put any part of himself on your neck right now, would that make him just as bad as that impudent pup on the dance floor, smelling your arousal and thinking it an invitation?

Robby allows a handful of seconds for his scent to permeate yours, for the hormones to mingle and for your body to recognize his, and then your eyelids are drooping, and your knees are turning watery, and for the second time tonight, he finds himself propping you up as you sway on your feet.

“I gotcha,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, cradling you to his chest.

You fold into him easily, every rigid muscle going pliant beneath his hands as you nuzzle into his flannel. Your answering sound – somewhere between a contented hum and moan – vibrates through his collarbones to his sternum.

Goosebumps break out across his skin as the sensation of it zips along his nerve endings to burrow at the base of his spine. Fuck. The most primal parts of him love that sound. That sound means happy Omega, comfortable Omega, safe Omega.

He did that. No one else.

“Thank you,” you sigh, dazed but grateful. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his flannel shirt as you pull yourself upright. Your pupils are blown wide, and if he thought you had smelled appealing before, you are downright edible now.

Clearing his throat, grasping the remaining strings of his restraint, he replies, “Anytime.”

The warmth and softness of your skin. The rich, earthy sweetness of your arousal. All of it buoyed by his own scent.

You smell held. Protected.

Fuck. You smell good together…

You must think so, too, because in less than a heartbeat, you lean back into his space, tuck your face into his open shirt collar, and begin nosing around in search of his scent glands. Robby can feel the heat of your breath on his skin, the delicate, ticklish sensation of your fluttering eyelashes against his throat, the dampness of your lips –

“Jesus, Robby, you smell amazing.” The breathlessness of your exclamation goes straight to his cock.

Twitching in his jeans, eyes falling shut, he shakes his head in weak protest. He knew this would happen, knew the consequences before he ever touched you. Scenting might be the most effective treatment for Omega distress ever studied, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have physiological and socioemotional side effects. Scenting is deeply personal – the sort of thing a partner does, the sort of thing a lover does.

He definitely feels like your lover right now.  

“Michael,” he groans thoughtlessly, and for the span of a breath, you pause.

“What?”

If there was ever a time to pull back, it would be now. As he holds you to his chest, Robby feels a bit like he does when he goes up to the roof of the hospital and stares down at the city below – the thrill and the terror of the knowledge that the smallest move now would send him plummeting, and there would be no coming back from it. There would only be the cold, unforgiving embrace of the pavement below. It tempts him now just as it does on the roof.

You’re so…good. And so vulnerable. And something inside him is fundamentally broken. What if he breaks you, too?

“Robby?”

Wordlessly, his hands grip the well-loved canvas of his coat, the one he is certain will carry the scent of you for weeks now that it’s been wrapped around your shoulders. Fuck, Robby is so weak. All it takes is the pretty little travel nurse showing a little skin and carrying his scent, and all of the very legitimate reasons why this is a terrible idea go out the window.

Gritting his teeth, resting his cheek against the crown of your head, he murmurs, “Michael. My name is Michael.” 

You’re floating.

The irrational, involuntary panic is gone. The dread has retreated. The instinctual clench of every muscle and tendon has softened. Instead, it has all been replaced with ease. Peace. An unshakeable sense of safety. It’s chemical, what this man has given you, and you can’t deny the way you’ve hungered for such a feeling.

Of course, the sweet, molten warmth that has taken residence low in your abdomen doesn’t hurt the situation, either. You’re just like any other red-blooded Omega; there have been a variety of Alphas (and a few Betas) throughout your life whose scents and touch have triggered a…primitive response. But Dr. Robby had had you dampening your panties even before scenting you. And now –

No. Not Dr. Robby, you correct yourself. Michael.

Michael, with the competent, seasoned authority in baked into his every move. Michael, with the soft, expressive eyes and the painfully charming smile. Michael, with the scent that makes you lightheaded and flustered every time you detect it.

Michael, with the hardening cock pressed against your belly as he allows you to wrap yourself eagerly around him. Something deep inside you trembles at the feel of it, and you are suddenly reminded of how long it’s been since you’ve been properly fucked.

Michael would fuck you properly. You know it in your gut, can feel it in every gentle-but-firm touch of his big, calloused hands. An Alpha his age? He has to have been around the block a few times. With his intelligence, his sense of humor, and his looks, there is no way he hasn’t learned a thing or two about how to please a woman. Just the thought of it is enough to have you biting back a whimper.

Your ex – who you try so hard not to think of if you can help it – was a Beta with an inferiority complex. David had been so insecure in his own designation and so envious of every Alpha he met that he had molded his entire personality around trying to emulate them. Early on in your relationship, you had found it intriguing. It was subversive in a way that you had admired; to flout the expectations and predispositions of one’s designation like that was no small thing. You had always loved a man with convictions, and David certainly had that going for him.  

Plus, the sex with him had been pretty good; what he lacked in certain anatomy, he made up for in his willingness to experiment. But it had been over a year since you saw him last. And you couldn’t deny that no matter how hard he tried, he had never quite managed to replicate the specific, inimitable satisfaction of taking a knot.

You bet Michael’s knot is big.

With a trembling breath, you pull away from the older man’s chest just far enough to be able to meet his eyes. He looks wrecked as he stares down at you – freckled cheeks flushed pink, graying hair disheveled, brown eyes nearly black with arousal. In the dim light of the alley, his sharp, white teeth glisten. He looks like he wants to eat you. Fuck, you wish he would.

“Kid?”

Inhaling a sharp breath, Michael abruptly yanks himself away, putting inches and then feet between you as Dr. Abbot and Dana emerge from the bar. The sharp, sudden distance steals the air from your lungs, and you bite back a whimper of protest as you steady yourself against the wall and pray your godmother did not just see you about to offer yourself up on a silver platter to the Chief of Emergency Medicine at her hospital.

You blink rapidly and try to clear the warm, intimate blur from your vision as you take her in – blonde hair loose on her shoulders, face pale and free of makeup, winter jacket zipped up to her chin. She’s wearing a pair of heather gray sweatpants you know she would never normally be seen out of the house in, and you recognize the boots on her feet as the ones she keeps in the garage that she only wears when gardening.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Dana hisses, a frown of distaste wiping away the concern etched into her tired face. “It stinks out here. I got here as soon as I could. You okay, honey?” 

Behind her, Dr. Abbot keeps his distance, hands clasped behind his back in a loose parade rest. Of course, he would call her. She’s the emergency contact you listed on your employment contract, your host while you’re in town. And what had happened tonight on the dance floor with that other Alpha was certainly an emergency.

However, from the way he is staring down Michael, expression unreadable, you wonder whether that was his only motivation.

Swallowing against an unexpected lump in your throat, you nod and offer Dana a close-lipped smile. “I’m okay, promise. M-Dr. Robby had my back.”

With his scent still in your nostrils, his jacket around your shoulders, and the gusset of your underwear uncomfortably soaked, calling this man Dr. Robby feels nothing short of bizarre.

Dana, thankfully, does not seem to catch your near slip, but Dr. Abbot does. You watch as a faint smirk twists his lips, and although you can’t hear it from where you stand, the little puff of warm air that escapes him tells you that you’ve made him laugh.

“I’m sure,” he mutters under his breath.

Closing the distance between you, you are helpless to protest as Dana peels the oversized canvas jacket from your body and hands it back to Michael. Her hands are cold but so gentle as she coaxes you away from the support of the brick wall at your back. “C’mon, missy. Let’s get you home.”

Before you can think better of it, you shake your head in refusal. “No, I’m okay, really. I can go back in, I just need another minute.”

Your godmother arches her brows at you, and the expression is so familiar, you feel certain that if she had her reading glasses on her person, she would have met your gaze over the rim of them.

“Listen,” she says softly, and that tone, too, is familiar. It’s the one she uses with patients, the one that tells them that she sees them, that she cares, but she also isn’t afraid to do whatever is in their best interests whether they like it or not. “It might not have hit you yet, but we both know that you’re gonna be falling asleep on your feet in a few minutes. The comedown from a distress episode is nothing to joke about, you understand? Now c’mon – I’m parked by the curb out front. Let me take you home.”

She’s not wrong; you know it from experience, both personal and professional. But the idea of leaving, the idea of being any further than a few feet away from Michael – Dr. Robby – right now feels unbearable. It’s as though he’s invaded your body on a cellular level, his scent on your skin a chemical signal that you belong at his side. The peace he had so graciously granted you starts to waver and wane as you try and fail to catch his eye. Surely, he feels it, too. Surely, he will advocate for you to stay. With him.

Instead, Robby’s wide shoulders stiffen, and he very pointedly does not meet your probing gaze as he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Dana’s right. You should let yourself rest.”

If you were in your right mind, if you had been capable of paying attention to the microexpressions in his voice in that moment, you would have noticed that the words sound as though they have been ripped from his throat. There’s a tension in his jaw that would tell you that it hurts him to deny you. But instead, all you feel is a cold wave of rejection that is enough to snuff out the heat in your belly and make your chest ache.

“But – ”

“It’ll be all right.” Finally, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Trust me.”

Do you trust me? he had asked. Of course, you do. You have trusted him since the day you met him, have only grown to trust him more as you’ve worked alongside him, as you’ve gotten to know him. Especially after tonight, after everything he has just done to protect you, you can’t imagine not trusting him.

“Okay.”

The word is all Dana needs to pull you away from the wall and start ushering you toward the door. “Okay. Let’s go grab your coat, it’s freezing out here.”

This time, you allow her to guide you along without protest. Just as she is about to beckon you through the threshold, however, you pause and turn to Dr. Abbot. “Tell Samira happy birthday for me again, and that I’m sorry I caused a scene at her party.”

The expression on the older man’s face is one of fond affection as he replies, “Wasn’t your fault, honey. But I’ll tell her.”

And then you’re stepping back into the neon light of the bar, and no matter how loudly your body screams at you to turn around, you keep your eyes locked on the back of Dana’s head and let the door fall shut behind you.

Every step you take is a leaden weight in Robby’s stomach. It goes against every one of his instincts to let you out of his sight knowing how vulnerable you still are. He supposes the knowledge that you carry his scent should help; if any other Alpha were to even consider approaching you for the next 24 hours, you might as well be wearing a shirt that reads “Property of Michael Robinavitch.” But it’s not enough.

You should be where he can see you. Where he can touch you. For your safety.

For his sanity.

Releasing a long, trembling breath, he rubs his hands over his face. Fuck. What a mess.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks through Robby’s mental pity party, and he opens his eyes to find Jack Abbot standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a pointed expression on his face.

He feels a bit like a child, like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Hackles bristling, Robby snaps, “If you’ve got something to say, now’s the time.”

He’s expecting a scolding. A lecture about the impropriety of his actions, about the potential complications at the hospital if the events of tonight were to get back to the administration. At the very least, he’s expecting a ribbing – something about how Robby had gotten on Jack’s case about the exact same things when he had first learned of his friend’s burgeoning relationship with Samira Mohan, and wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?

Instead, as Jack sweeps his knowing gaze from the top of Robby’s head to the tips of his boots, he offers the older Alpha a wry smile.

“Don’t worry, brother,” he says, slapping Robby on the shoulder fraternally. “You’ll see her on Monday.”

Credits: Dividers -@saradika-graphics, Chapter Beta Reader -@kedsandtubesocks

Taglist: @kedsandtubesocks @sawymredfox @livslifeonline @rosharanfiction @skylardenae @pocket-of-possibilities @bergamote-catsandbooks @peepawispunk @80ssong @ohheyitssj @vicky066 @windsweptarmadillo @sharkerino @dugiioh @tatertot118 @pickles-the-jackalope @delusionalcvnt @thegift0fgabb @inkededucatednnerdy @princessesareforsuckers @natbat666

BB-series astromechs weren't built for miracles, and yours was screaming at you, panicked whistles cutting through the noise of engines failing and your control panel blaring.

"I know," you said, to the droid, to yourself. "I know, I know — "

The planet’s surface was coming up fast. You kept fiddling with all the emergency switches, but nothing did anything, even the emergency ejection switch did nothing. You could feel the seat shifting slightly, but the ejection rocket didn’t launch.

You found yourself thinking that you still owed Poe thirty credits from your last game of sabacc, and cursing about not paying it back earlier.

The control panel went dark with a whine, cutting off most of the power you had left. You kept trying, despite knowing the crash would come, despite the plane’s speakers crackled with warnings with the last power they had. Pull up, pull up, pull up.

Then the treetops.

And everything went dark after that.

—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You knew the sound even before opening your eyes. Med bay.

Somehow, you had survived.

You opened your eyes slowly, the bright lights made you groan and closed them immediately.

The moment the sound left your lips, a shadow leaned over you, and you heard your name being called.

“…Poe.”

He let out a breath. “You’re awake.”

“Mm,” you got out, before turning your head slightly, forcing your eyes open again. Poe blocking the bright light made keeping them open bearable. “How long was I out?”

“…about a week. We saw you going down, and rushed to rescue you. The trees had softened the landing, but you still had hit your head pretty bad.”

“…did my BB survive?” you asked quietly.

Poe smiled softly. “As I said, the trees softened the landing.”

“Good.”

Silence descended for a moment. Poe sat back down on his chair beside your bed, wringing his hands for a moment. “Listen— I… I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“Hmm?”

“When we found you… it was bad. It was really bad, I thought— I kept thinking about stuff I had never—” he paused, closing his eyes for a moment. “I realized… I should have said something a long ago. To you.”

“Poe—”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupted you. “We have been friends for years. And I just can’t keep pretending— I thought I would, because I don’t want to lose you, but after seeing you go down, a trail of smoke trailing behind your X-Wing… I just kept thinking I should have said it. So I’ll say it now. I love you.”

The silence that followed was louder than you had ever heard before. You stared at him. Poe Dameron was in love with you. The man you’d been love with for almost a year was in love with you.

“You’ve sat here for a week?” you mumbled, before you smiled and reached to grab his hand. “Have you slept?”

He looked surprised at your reaction, but took your hand anyway. “…some.”

“Eaten?”

“Finn made me eat a few times.”

You grinned now, pulling him up by his hand. “Come here.”

He stood, still a bit confused, and you pulled him down and met his lips with yours. He froze at first, but then slowly kissed you back, and you smiled into it, before pushing him back slightly. “I think it goes without saying, but I love you too.”

He blinked, his mouth slightly open, before he mirrored your smile, leaning back down to kiss you again, but you held him off. “I swear I’m not saying this to get out of my debt, I still owe you those thirty credits.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I know.”

Right on cue, the door slid open. Max walked in, wearing his usual team kit, a cap pulled low over his eyes. He didn't look angry or unwelcoming, he just looked incredibly focused.

He glanced at Mekies, who gave him a brief nod, and then Max turned his full attention to you. He grabbed a bottle of water and walked over, pulling out a chair across from yours and sitting down.

"So," Max started, his voice casual. "It's official then."

"It's official," you replied, your voice steady despite the nerves humming under your skin.

Max nodded, a small smiles breaking through his face. "Good. Honestly, when we heard what went down, I told Laurent we should call you immediately. Your races this year? You were driving the wheels off that car, even when it looked completely un-driveable."

"Look, our car isn't easy," Max explained honestly. "It's fast, but it's really twitchy, especially in the corners. It takes some getting used to. But I think you're going to fit it really well."

Max stood up and held out his hand, his grip firm and welcoming.

"We're going to be a strong team. Let's go out there, work hard, and show them what they threw away."

Text Messages: Toto Wolff & Stephanie Wolff

Toto:You will have additional security assigned tonight.

Stephanie:That is an interesting greeting.

Toto:This is not optional.

Stephanie:How charming.

Toto: Someone has made credible threats connected to the family. Security will contact you shortly.

Stephanie:Connected to the family.

Toto:Yes.

Stephanie:Which family would that be, Toto? Our children or Anastasia?

Toto:This conversation is about security.

Stephanie:So this is about her.

Toto:This is about credible threats.

Stephanie:Of course. Anastasia has another crisis, and everyone else is expected to rearrange their lives.

Toto:You, Benedict, and Rosa will receive additional protection as a precaution.

Stephanie:My children do not need to be dragged into Anastasia’s drama.

Toto:Benedict and Rosa are my children too.

Stephanie:Funny. You remember that when it gives you a reason to issue orders.

Toto:Security will contact you.

Stephanie:No.

Toto:That was not a request.

Stephanie:And I am not one of your employees.

Toto:No. You are the mother of two of my children. That is the only reason I am even doing this.

Stephanie:Excuse me?

Toto:You heard me.

Stephanie:You arrogant bastard.

Toto:Security arrangements only.

Stephanie:Do not speak to me like I am some inconvenience.

Toto:Then stop behaving like the safety of Benedict and Rosa is an inconvenience because the threat began with Anastasia.

Stephanie:Everything begins with Anastasia, apparently.

Stephanie:Anastasia is upset, so the house must reorganise itself. Anastasia is strange, so everyone must adapt. Anastasia is wounded, so everyone else must be careful. Anastasia wants distance, Anastasia wants exceptions, Anastasia wants silence, Anastasia wants security.

Toto:Enough.

Stephanie:No, Toto. Not enough. Never enough. You never let anyone say it. You never let anyone admit what she did to this family.

Toto:She was eight years old.

Stephanie:She was not eight forever.

Toto:She was a child you resented because you lacked the courage to resent me.

Stephanie:How dare you.

Stephanie:After everything I tolerated?

Toto:You tolerated nothing. You punished a child for existing in a situation I created.

Stephanie:She was never a child in the way normal children are children. She watched everyone. Judged everyone. Like she was above us.

Toto:She watched because she did not feel safe.

Stephanie:And whose fault was that meant to be?

Stephanie:Certainly not hers, I assume. Nothing ever is.

Stephanie:Let me guess. She read something online, panicked, and now everyone needs bodyguards because poor Anastasia cannot cope with the consequences of being publicly attached to famous men.

Toto:Someone sent my daughter death threats.

Do not text me again tonight unless it concerns the security arrangements.

Stephanie:No. You do not get to hide behind that. If this is serious enough to put men outside my home, then I deserve to know whether this is real or another Anastasia overreaction.

Toto:If you call threats to her life and threats of sexual violence an overreaction again, I will stop this conversation and speak only through counsel.

Stephanie:Sexual violence?

Toto:Yes.

Stephanie:From whom?

Toto:That information is not for you.

Stephanie:But I am expected to accept security without knowing anything.

Toto:You are expected to protect Benedict and Rosa.

Stephanie:Do not use the children to control me.

Toto:I am protecting you because you are their mother. That is the only reason you are in this notification chain at all.

Stephanie:You really are vicious when she is involved.

Toto:No. I was too weak when she was involved. I am correcting that.

Stephanie:Oh, how noble. Is this the part where you rewrite history and pretend everything was my fault?

Toto:No.

Stephanie:At least you admit it.

Toto:It was my fault too.

Toto:I should have protected her from you.

Stephanie:From me?

Toto:Yes.

Stephanie:You are unbelievable.

Toto:I am not debating the past with you tonight.

Stephanie:You brought it up.

Toto:You attacked Anastasia.

Stephanie:I said what everyone was too afraid to say.

Toto:No. You said what you have always wanted to say when you thought there would be no consequence.

Stephanie:There is always consequence with her. Always. You made sure of that.

Toto:Security arrangements only.

Stephanie:Stop saying that.

Toto:Then stop trying to use this moment to hurt her.

Stephanie:She is not even reading this.

Toto:No. She is not reading it. That is why I am ending it here.

Stephanie:Convenient.

Toto:Send yours and Rosa’s schedules for the next seventy-two hours. School, activities, transport, drivers, household staff, regular visitors.

Stephanie:You want my household staff list?

Toto:Yes.

Stephanie:Absolutely not.

Toto:Then security coverage will be arranged using the information available, and if there is a gap caused by your refusal, that will be documented.

Stephanie:Do not threaten me.

Toto:I am informing you.

Stephanie:You think documentation scares me?

Toto:No. I think risk to your children does.

Stephanie:Is Rosa specifically at risk?

Toto:There is no specific threat naming Rosa.

Stephanie:Benedict?

Toto:No.

Stephanie:Then why?

Toto:Because the person who made the threats is unstable, has referenced family logic, and may identify people connected to me or Anastasia as pressure points.

Stephanie:Anastasia is not connected to Rosa in any meaningful way.

Toto:She is her sister.

Stephanie:Half-sister.

Toto:Her sister.

Stephanie:Rosa does not see it that way.

Toto:That is your failure and mine.

Stephanie:Do not blame me for Rosa having boundaries.

Toto:Resentment is not a boundary.

Stephanie:You have no idea what Rosa feels.

Toto:I know she has been given permission to make Anastasia the villain of a story she did not write.

Stephanie:You are so blind.

Toto:Security arrangements only.

Stephanie:There it is again.

Toto:Yes.

Stephanie:You are impossible.

Toto:Schedules.

Stephanie:Fine.

Toto:Within twenty minutes.

Stephanie:You are not my employer.

Toto:No. I am the father of Benedict and Rosa. I am acting to protect them because a credible threat may extend to the family. If you continue to obstruct that, I will escalate through the appropriate legal channels.

Stephanie:You would do that?

Toto:Yes.

Stephanie:Over Anastasia.

Toto:Over my children’s safety.

Stephanie:You always know how to phrase things.

Toto:So do you. That is the problem.

Stephanie:Rosa will ask why this is happening.

Toto:Tell her there is a temporary family security concern and i am handling it.

Stephanie:She will ask whether Anastasia caused it.

Toto:Then tell her no.

Stephanie:And if I don’t believe that?

Toto:Then keep your belief away from our daughter.

Stephanie:Our daughter. How touching.

Toto:Stephanie.

Stephanie:What?

Toto:If you tell Rosa that Anastasia caused a man’s threats against her, you will be lying to her. If you imply that Anastasia is to blame, I will not tolerate that.

Stephanie:You will not tolerate.

Toto:Correct.

Stephanie:There he is. The real Toto. Not the guilty father, not the reformed man. Just control.

Toto:Schedules. Twenty minutes.

Stephanie:You really have nothing else to say?

Toto:Not to you.

Stephanie:I will send them.

Toto:Good.

Stephanie:But if you put visible security at Rosa’s school and embarrass her—

Toto:Discreet perimeter and routes. No visible intervention unless necessary.

Stephanie:Does Anastasia know you are doing all this?

Toto:Yes.

Stephanie:She must enjoy it.

Stephanie:All of you running around because she is scared. It must feel very validating.

Toto:You are speaking about a woman who received threats to her life tonight.

Stephanie:A woman now, is she?

Stephanie:How convenient.

Toto:This conversation is over.

Stephanie:Of course it is.

Toto:Send the schedules to the security contact within twenty minutes. Further communication regarding this matter will go through the security team unless it directly concerns Benedict or Rosa.

Stephanie:You always choose her.

Toto:I should have chosen her when she was ten.

***

Text Messages: Toto Wolff & Rosa Wolff

Toto:Rosa, this is important. There is a temporary family security concern. You will have additional security around your movements for the next few days.

Rosa:Seriously?

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:That’s the first thing you text me in months?

Toto:This is not a normal situation.

Rosa:No hi? No how are you? Just security?

Toto:There has been a credible threat connected to the family.

Rosa:Connected to the family.

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:Let me guess.

Rosa:Ana.

Toto:This conversation is about your safety.

Rosa:No, it’s about Ana. It is always about Ana.

Toto:You are receiving security because you are my daughter.

Rosa:Am I?

Rosa:Because you haven’t acted like it lately.

Toto:Rosa.

Rosa:No. Don’t “Rosa” me.

Rosa:You disappear for months, you cut me off, nobody tells me anything, and then suddenly I’m important because Ana has another crisis?

Toto:I did not cut you off. I changed your financial arrangements.

Rosa:Oh my God.

Rosa:Do you hear yourself?

Rosa:“Changed my financial arrangements.”

Rosa:You mean you put me on a trust like I’m a child who can’t be trusted.

Toto:You are on the same trust structure as Ana and Benedict. That was the point. Equal structure. Clear boundaries. No discretionary transfers being used as pressure from either side.

Rosa:That sounds like something Ana would say.

Toto:Ana had nothing to do with the decision.

Rosa:Sure.

Toto:It was my decision.

Rosa:Because of Ana.

Toto:Because of your behaviour.

Rosa:There it is.

Rosa:At least you finally said it.

Toto:You were cruel to your sister.

Rosa:Half-sister.

Toto:She is your sister.

Rosa:She doesn’t act like it.

Toto:How should she act?

Rosa:Like she wants anything to do with us?

Rosa:Like she remembers there were already people here before she arrived and everyone reorganised their lives around her? She comes into our lives, everyone has to tiptoe around her, everyone has to learn her rules, everyone has to pretend she’s not being rude because she’s “overwhelmed” or “processing” or whatever word you all use, and somehow I am the problem?

Toto:Rosa, I am not going to debate Anastasia with you tonight.

Rosa:Of course not. Nobody ever debates Ana. Ana is just right because Ana is clever and damaged and special.

Toto:Stop.

Rosa:Why? Did I say the wrong magic word?

Toto:Do not speak about her like that.

Rosa:Why? She can speak about everyone else however she wants.

Toto:No, she cannot.

Rosa:Yes, she can! She does it in that flat voice and everyone acts like it’s honesty.

Toto:Ana’s directness can hurt. That is true.

Rosa:Wow. Did you just admit she isn’t perfect?

Toto:She is not perfect.

Rosa:Could have fooled me.

Toto:But that does not justify cruelty.

Rosa:You know what is also cruel?

Toto:What?

Rosa:Never telling me anything. Everyone else gets information. Benedict knows things. Ana obviously knows everything because everyone tells Ana everything. But I find things out last.

Toto:You are told what you need to know.

Rosa:Like I’m a child.

Toto:No.

Rosa:Yes.

Rosa:You don’t trust me with anything.

Toto:Rosa, when you found out Susie was adopting Ana, you went to an Instagram gossip page and complained anonymously in their inbox.

Rosa:What?

Toto:You heard me.

Rosa:I didn’t.

Toto:Rosa.

Rosa:You don’t know that was me.

Toto:Yes, I do.

Rosa:How?

Toto:Do you really want the technical answer?

Rosa:That is creepy.

Toto:No. Creepy was my daughter’s private family matter appearing in the inbox of an gossip account before she had even decided whether she wanted anyone outside the family to know.

Rosa:It was anonymous.

Toto:It was still you.

Rosa:I was upset!

Toto:I know.

Rosa:Nobody had told me properly.

Toto:We would have told you before anything became public. 

Rosa:You would have told me like it was already decided.

Toto:It was already decided. Ana is an adult and  Susie is an adult. It was not a committee decision.

Rosa:So I’m untrustworthy now.

Toto:You have broken trust.

Rosa:Because of one comment?

Toto:Because of repeated choices.

Rosa:You act like I sold family secrets.

Toto:You took a private family matter to a gossip page because you wanted strangers to agree with your hurt feelings.

Rosa:Anonymous.

Toto:Public.

Toto:That is why you are not getting details tonight.

Rosa:Because you think I’ll post about it?

Toto:Because I cannot risk it.

Rosa:I wouldn’t.

Toto:I hope that is true.

Rosa:You hope.

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:Wow.

Toto:I am not saying this to punish you. I am saying it because you keep asking why you are not told everything.

Rosa:And your answer is because I’m awful.

Toto:My answer is because information requires trust, and trust has to be rebuilt.

Toto:Security will contact you. Answer the call. Provide your schedule for the next seventy-two hours. School, activities, transport, friends’ houses, anything outside your usual routine.

Rosa:You think I’m going to be attacked?

Toto:I do not have a specific threat against you.

Rosa:Then why?

Toto:Because a dangerous person has threatened one member of the family. Until we know more, precautions are being extended.

Rosa:“One member of the family.”

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:You mean Ana.

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:What happened?

Toto:She received serious threats. Police and security are involved.

Rosa:What kind of threats?

Toto:Serious ones.

Rosa:That is not an answer.

Toto:It is the answer you are getting.

Rosa:Because you don’t trust me.

Toto:I do not trust you with Ana’s private information right now.

Rosa:Because of the Instagram comment.

Toto:Because of that, and because you are currently blaming her for a threat made against her.

Rosa:I didn’t blame her.

Toto:You said it is always about Ana.

Rosa:Because it is.

Toto:She was threatened.

Rosa:I know.

Toto:Do you?

Rosa:I said I know.

Toto:Then do not turn it into evidence that she is taking something from you.

Rosa:Benedict doesn’t talk to me anymore. He doesn’t answer my texts.

Rosa:He speaks to you. He speaks to Susie. He probably speaks to Ana now because everyone has to be on Team Ana.

Toto:Benedict makes his own choices.

Rosa:You could tell him to talk to me.

Toto:I could.

Rosa:But you won’t.

Toto:No. Benedict is allowed to have boundaries.

Rosa:Oh, boundaries.

Rosa:Funny how when Ana avoids us, it’s boundaries. When Benedict avoids me, it’s boundaries. When I don’t want to be around her, it’s resentment.

Toto:Not wanting to be around someone can be a boundary. Blaming them for every consequence in the family is resentment.

Rosa:You don’t understand.

Toto:Then explain it.

Rosa:Benedict used to be mine. Not like that. I know how it sounds. But he was my brother. He was on my side. And now he looks at me the same way he looks at Mama.

Toto:Sometimes you repeat things she taught you.

Rosa:And Ana repeats things you taught her. Cold. Cutting. Always right. Always above everyone because feelings are inefficient.

Toto:Ana learned coldness because warmth was not always safe.

Rosa:And what did I learn?

Toto:You learned things I should have protected you from too.

Toto:I failed Ana. I failed Benedict. I failed you.

Rosa:Don’t.

Toto:It is true.

Rosa:I don’t want your guilt speech.

Toto:This is not a speech.

Rosa:It always becomes one.

Toto:Then I will keep it simple.

Toto:Your money was changed because I will not let money be used to reward cruelty or avoid consequences. It was not done because Ana asked. She did not. Benedict not speaking to you is Benedict’s decision. I will not force him. You are not receiving details tonight because you have broken trust with private family information before. The security is not punishment. It is because you are my daughter and I will protect you whether you are angry at me or not.

Rosa:Did she really get threatened?

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:Badly?

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:By who?

Toto:I am not sharing that.

Rosa:Because you don’t trust me.

Toto:Because it is an active security matter and Ana’s private information.

Rosa:Does Benedict know?

Toto:He will receive the same safety information. Not the details.

Rosa:So I’m not the only one being treated like a child.

Toto:No.

Rosa:Great.

Rosa:Is she okay?

Toto:No.

Rosa:Is she hurt?

Toto:Not physically.

Rosa:Is Jack there?

Toto:Yes. Susie had just picked him up from school. They came over. He knows only that there is a security concern and Ana is not physically hurt.

Rosa:He shouldn’t be around this.

Toto:He is not hearing details.

Rosa:Still.

Rosa:Jack loves her.

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:Everyone loves her.

Toto:Many people love you too.

Rosa:Not Benedict.

Toto:Benedict loves you. He is probably hurt and angry.

Rosa:Because I was mean to Ana.

Toto:Because you were cruel and refused to acknowledge it.

Rosa:I don’t know how to fix it.

Toto:Start by not making what happened tonight Ana’s fault.

Rosa:I didn’t say it was.

Rosa:Do I really need security?

Toto:Yes.

Rosa:Will they be obvious?

Toto:No. Discreet. Routes and perimeter. You will not be embarrassed at school or activities unless there is an emergency.

Rosa:I’m not a child.

Toto:I know.

Rosa:You keep saying things like school and schedule like I’m twelve.

Toto:University. Movements. Transport. Any place you will be outside your flat.

Rosa:Thank you.

Toto:Send your schedule, please.

Rosa:Mum already is.

Toto:Send yours too.

Rosa:Why?

Toto:Because your mother may edit.

Rosa:Fair.

Rosa: I’ll send it.

Toto: Thank you.

***

Text Messages: Toto Wolff & Benedict Wolff

Toto:Benedict, there is a temporary family security concern. You will have additional security around your movements for the next few days.

Benedict:Hello to you too.

Toto:Hello.

Benedict:That somehow made it worse.

Toto:I am sorry.

Benedict:Okay. What happened?

Toto:Ana received serious threatening messages tonight. Police and security are involved. We are extending precautions to the family.

Benedict:Is Ana okay?

Toto:She is not physically hurt.

Benedict:That is a terrible answer.

Toto:Yes.

Toto:Security will contact you shortly. Please answer the call and provide your schedule for the next seventy-two hours.

Benedict:No.

Toto:No?

Benedict:No security.

Toto:This is not optional.

Benedict:It is if I refuse to cooperate.

Toto:Benedict.

Benedict:Papa.

Benedict:I am literally seeing nothing but my apartment and my workplace anyway.

Toto:That is not as reassuring as you think it is.

Benedict:It should be.

Toto:It is not.

Benedict:I do not go out. I do not meet people. I take the same route. I park underground. I go upstairs. I work. I come back. There is very little to secure.

Toto:Benedict, why are you only seeing your apartment and your workplace?

Benedict:Because I have a job.

Toto:That is not what I asked.

Benedict:It is the answer.

Toto:No. It is a deflection.

Toto:Answer the question.

Benedict:I am tired.

Toto:Of what?

Benedict:Everything.

Toto:Can you be more specific?

Benedict:Not really.

Toto:Try.

Benedict:Work is easy.

Toto:And everything else is not.

Benedict:Yes.

Toto:Is this about Rosa?

Benedict:Partly.

Toto:She told me you do not answer her texts.

Benedict:I know.

Toto:She is hurt.

Benedict:I know.

Toto:Are you?

Benedict:Yes.

Toto:Because of what she said about Ana?

Benedict:Because of what she keeps saying. Because she acts like if she says it nicely enough, it is not cruel.

Toto:You are allowed not to answer her.

Benedict:I know.

Benedict:It does not feel good.

Toto:No.

Benedict:She thinks I chose Ana.

Toto:Did you?

Benedict:I chose not to pretend Rosa did not mean it.

Toto:That is a difference.

Benedict:Apparently not to her.

Toto:No.

Benedict:Or to Mama.

Toto:Your mother has her own version of events.

Benedict:That is a diplomatic way to say she lies.

Toto:Security.

Benedict:No.

Toto:Benedict. Please.

Toto:Would a discreet exterior watch be acceptable?

Benedict:At my apartment?

Toto:Yes. And a route assessment. No one inside. No one following you visibly. No contact unless there is a concern.

Benedict:That sounds like you already reduced the plan because you knew I would say no.

Toto:I know my children.

Toto: Will you accept that?

Benedict: Only exterior.

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: I don’t think anything is going to happen, but I am sending security.

Victoria: What?

Max: To you.

Victoria: Max.

Victoria: What the fuck is going on?

Max: Nothing probably.

Victoria: You cannot say “nothing probably” after “I am sending security.”

Max: I can.

Victoria: No, you absolutely cannot.

Victoria: Max Emilian.

Max:Do not do that.

Victoria:I will do worse if you do not explain in the next ten seconds!

Max:There was a thing.

Victoria:A THING?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Is Ana okay?

Max:Physically yes.

Victoria:Max.

Victoria:What happened?!

Max:She got threatening messages.

Victoria:From who?

Max:Probably George.

Victoria:Russell?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:George Russell is sending Ana threats?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Isn’t he under house arrest?

Max:Apparently not under house arrest enough.

Victoria:Jesus Christ.

Victoria:What kind of threats?

Max:Bad ones.

Victoria:Max.

Max:Death threats. Baku. Other things.

Victoria:Other things?

Max:I am not typing it.

Victoria:Okay.

Victoria:Okay, fine.

Victoria:Is she safe?

Max:Yes. Nikolai is here. Toto and Susie are here. 

Victoria:You are the worst communicator in the world.

Max:I am communicating now.

Victoria:You opened with “I don’t think anything is going to happen but I am sending security to you.”

Max:Yes.

Victoria:That is how people in thrillers get told to leave the country!

Max:You do not need to leave the country.

Victoria:Thank you, how reassuring.

Max:But there will be someone near the house tonight.

Victoria:Near my house?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Max.

Max:And probably the school route tomorrow.

Victoria:THE SCHOOL ROUTE?

Max:Just to check.

Victoria:For my children?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Max, you need to explain like I am a normal person and not GP receiving half a strategy message at 300 kilometres per hour.

Max:Ana thinks George could use family as pressure points.

Victoria:Ana thinks that?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Then why did you start with “I don’t think anything is going to happen”?

Max:Because I don’t.

Victoria:But Ana does?

Max:She thinks risk should be assessed.

Victoria:That means Ana is worried.

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Max.

Max:What?

Victoria:How bad is she?

Max:She is calm.

Victoria:Max.

Max:Too calm.

Victoria:Okay.

Victoria:I’m sorry.

Max:She nearly had a panic attack.

Victoria:Oh, Max.

Max:She is better now.

Victoria:That does not mean okay.

Max:I know.

Victoria:How are you?

Max:Fine.

Victoria:Try again.

Max:I want to kill him.

Victoria:I know.

Max:Nikolai said no.

Victoria:Nikolai is correct.

Victoria:So security is for me because George might escalate?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Does he know about me?

Max:Probably.

Victoria:That is not reassuring.

Max:He knows I have family.

Victoria:Everyone knows you have family, Max.

Max:Yes.

Victoria:What about Mum?

Max:Also security.

Victoria:Pa?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:You are sending security to all of us?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:And you opened with “nothing probably.”

Max:I did not want you to panic.

Victoria:How did you think that would work?

Max:Badly.

Victoria:At least you are self-aware.

Max:I am trying.

Victoria:I know.

Max:The security people will be discreet.

Victoria:Are they already coming?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Of course they are.

Max:You should not argue with them.

Victoria:I am not the one who argues with security.

Max:You are a Verstappen.

Victoria:You are the Verstappen who argues with security.

Max:Do not let the kids be scared.

Victoria:I won’t.

Max:Just say it is because people are being annoying.

Victoria:Max.

Max:What?

Victoria:My children know what security is.

Max:Toto wanted Ana not to go to COTA.

Victoria:Reasonable.

Max:She said no.

Victoria:Also reasonable.

Max:That is what I said.

Victoria:You sided against Toto?

Max:No.

Victoria:Max.

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Did he look like he wanted to murder you?

Max:Ana says she is not letting George stop her from doing her job.

Victoria:Good for her.

Max:I think so.

Victoria:You sound worried.

Max:I am worried.

Victoria:Because of COTA?

Max:Because she is scared and still going.

Victoria:Those can both be true.

Max:I know.

Victoria:You hate that.

Max:Yes.

Victoria:You cannot lock her in the house.

Max:I know.

Victoria:Or buy the whole paddock.

Max:I could.

Victoria:Max.

Max:I know.

Victoria:Do not buy the whole paddock.

Max:It is probably not for sale.

Victoria:That was not the point.

Max:Fine.

Victoria:Is she there with you now?

Max:Yes.

Victoria:Can I text her?

Max:Maybe later.

Victoria:Okay.

Max:Not because she doesn’t want you.

Victoria:I know.

Max:She is just… full.

Victoria:I know, Max.

Max:I can tell her you love her.

Victoria:Please do.

Max:She knows.

Victoria:Tell her anyway.

Max:Okay.

Victoria:And tell her she is not being paranoid.

Max:Everyone has said that.

Victoria:Say it again.

Max:Okay.

Victoria:And tell her I will not argue about security.

Max:That is good.

Victoria:And tell her if anyone tries to hurt her, I will become very unpleasant.

Max:I believe it.

Victoria:Good.

Max:Are you okay?

Victoria:No.

Victoria:But I will be.

Max:I am sorry.

Victoria:This is not your fault.

Max:It feels like it is.

Victoria:Of course it does. Because you love her and because Baku happened to you.

Max:He is a threat to you because of me.

Victoria:No. He threatened Ana because he is dangerous. Ana would say that, wouldn’t she?

Max:She did.

Victoria:Then listen to the woman you are marrying.

Victoria:I love you.

Max:Love you too.

Victoria:And Max?

Max:Yes?

Victoria:Do not open conversations with “I don’t think anything is going to happen but I am sending security” ever again.

Max:What should I say?

Victoria:“Something happened. You are safe. I am sending security as a precaution. I will explain.”

Max:That is long.

Victoria:It is also not psychotic.

***

Group Chat:    “TEAM 33”

(Members:  Max Verstappen, Jos Verstappen, Raymond Vermeulen)

Max:George sent messages.

Jos:What?

Max:Pa, you are getting security.

Jos:What the hell does that mean?

Raymond:Max.

Max:What?

Raymond:Context.

Max:I gave context.

Raymond:You gave two fragments and a panic attack.

Jos:What messages?

Max:Threats.

Jos:Threats to who?

Max:Ana.

Jos:George Russell sent threats to Ana?

Max:Yes.

Jos:From house arrest?

Max:Apparently.

Jos:What kind of threats?

Max:Death threats. References to Baku. Some related to his prior behaviour toward Ana. Police and lawyers are involved. 

Jos:Prior behaviour?

Max:George had a thing about Ana. You know he kissed her against her will earlier this year. He thought if he was with Toto’s daughter, he could keep his seat.

Jos:With her?

Max:Yes.

Jos:But she was with you.

Max:George did not know that.

Raymond:Can we return to the security issue?

Jos: I do not need security.

Max:You are getting it.

Jos:I said I do not need security.

Max:I do not care. You are getting it. 

Jos:Max.

Jos:You think George Russell is coming for me?

Max:I don’t know.

Jos:Then why send security?

Max:Because Ana thinks he could use family as pressure points.

Jos:Ana thinks that?

Max:Yes.

Jos:Then why are we arguing?If Ana says security, send security.

Raymond:That is the first sensible thing you said in this chat.

Jos:How is she?

Max:Not okay.

Jos:And you?

Max:Same as before.

Jos:That is not an answer.

Max:I have the broken leg still. I am angry, limited in movement, and being prevented from committing crimes.

Jos:By who?

Max:Everyone. Mostly Nikolai.

Jos:Good.

Max:Not good.

Raymond:Very good.

Jos:Listen to Nikolai.

Raymond:Does this change things for Wednesday?

Jos:What is Wednesday? I thought the meeting about the GT3 cars was tomorrow. 

Max:It is tomorrow. I am meeting Gerhard Berger on Wednesday.

Jos:Gerhard wants to meet you? You agreed?!

Max:Yes.

Jos:No.

Max:I did not ask.

Jos:No.

Max:Again, did not ask.

Jos:You are not meeting him.

Max:I said I would hear him out.

Jos:You said that before George started threatening Ana. Cancel.

Max:No.

Jos:Are you insane?

Max:Maybe.

Raymond:Let’s avoid diagnosing each other in writing.

Jos:Stay out of it.

Jos:Max, listen to me. You do not sit in a room with Red Bull leadership the day after your fiancée gets death threats about Baku.

Max:Pa. This has nothing to do with George Russell. Neutral ground. Wednesday morning. No surprises. Nikolai knows. Toto knows. Ana will probably come.

Jos:You should not meet him at all.

Max:I want to know what he says.

Jos:Why?

Max:Because I do.

Jos:Red Bull nearly got you killed. They put out that line about driver error. They let people say you made a mistake.

Jos:And now George is sending threats to Ana because in his crazy head this all started with her, and you want to give Gerhard Berger a polite little meeting?

Max:It will not be polite.

Jos:Good. Then I’ll come.

Max:No.

Jos:Yes.

Max:Absolutely not.

Jos:You need someone there who is not trying to be diplomatic.

Raymond:That is precisely why you will not be there.

Jos:Raymond.

Raymond:No.

Max:I am not accepting an apology unless I want to, and listening does not create an obligation.

Jos:Fine.

Jos:But I still think it is stupid.

Jos:Do not let Berger talk you into forgiving Red Bull.

Max:I won’t.

Jos:Do not let him make this sound like business.

Max:I won’t.

Jos:Do not let him make you feel bad for leaving.

Max:I won’t.

Jos:Good.

Jos:And Max?

Max:Yes?

Jos:You protect Ana. But let people protect you too.

Jos:Tell Ana I am sorry this happened.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie:Max.

Max:Yes?

Sophie:Victoria just texted me.Do you want to explain why your sister has informed me that I am “getting security” tonight?

Max:Because you are getting security tonight.

Sophie:Max.

Max:What?

Sophie:I am going to need you to try again.

Max:Something happened. You are safe. I am sending security as a precaution. I will explain.

Sophie:Did Victoria make you rehearse that?

Max:Yes.

Sophie:What happened?

Max:George sent threatening messages to Ana.

Sophie:George Russell?

Max:Yes.

Sophie:Jesus Christ.

Sophie:Is she okay?

Max:Physically yes.

Sophie:I hate that qualifier.

Max:Me too.

Sophie:How bad?

Max:Bad.

Sophie:Max.

Max:Death threats. Baku. Other things I am not typing.

Sophie:Okay.

Sophie:Okay, I understand.

Sophie:Is she safe?

Max:Yes. Security is here. Toto and Susie are here. Police and lawyers are involved.

Sophie:Good.

Sophie:And you?

Max:I am here.

Sophie:That is not an answer.

Max:It is the answer I have.

Sophie:Why am I getting security?

Max:Ana thinks George could use family as pressure points.

Sophie:Ana thinks that?

Max:Yes.

Sophie:Then I’m not arguing.

Max:That is what Pa said.

Sophie:Jos agreed to security?

Max:Because Ana said it.

Sophie:Of course.

Max:Everyone listens to Ana when she is worried.

Sophie:Because Ana being worried means the rest of us should have been worried twenty minutes ago.

Sophie:Does he know about Ana and you?

Max:No.

Sophie:Are you sure?

Max:The messages suggest he does not.

Sophie:That somehow makes this worse. This is not about jealousy. It is about entitlement.

Max:Yes.

Sophie:I’m so sorry.

Max:It is not your fault.

Sophie:I know. I’m still sorry.

Sophie:What do you need me to do?

Max:Answer the security call.

Sophie:Obviously.

Max:Do not argue.

Sophie:Unlike you, I understand instructions.

Max:They will be discreet.

Sophie:Okay.

Max:Maybe exterior tonight and route assessment tomorrow.

Sophie:Okay.

Max:Pa also agreed. He wanted to come to the Gerhard meeting.

Sophie:The what meeting?

Max:Nothing.

Sophie:Max Emilian Verstappen.

Max:Don’t.

Sophie:What Gerhard meeting?

Max:Small meeting.

Sophie:With Gerhard Berger?

Max:Yes.

Sophie:About Baku?

Max:Probably.

Sophie:Tomorrow?

Max:Wednesday.

Sophie:Max.

Max:It is controlled.

Sophie:That is not an answer.

Max:I am not meeting him alone.

Sophie:Good.

Max:I am only listening.

Sophie:Listening does not mean forgiving.

Max:That is what Toto said.

Sophie:Toto and I agree.

Sophie:You sound tired.

Max:I am fine.

Sophie:Try again.

Max:I am tired.

Sophie:And angry.

Max:Yes.

Sophie:And scared.

Max:Yes.

Sophie:Okay.

Max:I hate it.

Sophie:I know.

Max:I hate that he can reach her.

Sophie:I know.

Max:I hate that he did this because she said no.

Sophie:Max.

Max:Yes?

Sophie:Let the police and lawyers handle George.

Max:I know.

Sophie:Let Ana decide what she needs from you.

Max:I am trying.

Sophie:Good.

Sophie:Security can call me anytime. I will answer.

Max:Thank you.

Sophie:Do not thank me for accepting protection because someone threatened your fiancée.

Max:Still. Thank you.

***

Text Messages: Toto Wolff & Freya Wolff

Toto:Where are you?

Freya:That is a rude way to begin a conversation.

Toto:Freya.

Freya:Currently?

Toto:Yes.

Freya:Sri Lanka.

Toto:Why are you in Sri Lanka?

Freya:Sapphires.

Toto:Of course.

Freya:You say that like sapphires source themselves.

Toto:I need to send security to you.

Freya:No.

Toto:That was not a question.

Freya:It was also not a reasonable sentence.

Toto:You are getting security.

Freya:No, I am not.

Toto:Freya.

Freya:Torger.

Toto:This is serious.

Freya:It usually is when you forget manners.

Toto:George Russell sent threats to Anastasia.

Freya:What kind of threats?

Toto:Death threats. Threats involving Baku. Other threats.

Freya:Other threats.

Toto:Yes.

Freya:Do I want to know?

Toto:No.

Freya:Is she hurt?

Toto:Physically, no.

Freya:Where is she?

Toto:With Max. I am here. Susie is here. 

Freya:Good.

Toto:She asked for security for the rest of the family.

Freya:Of course she did.

Toto:You say that like you agree.

Freya:I agree with Ana’s threat assessment. I do not agree with being followed around by a man in bad shoes while I am looking at gemstones.

Toto:The shoes are not the issue.

Freya:They will become the issue if I have to look at them for twelve hours.

Toto:Freya.

Freya:Toto.

Toto:You are in Sri Lanka sourcing sapphires after a man under house arrest managed to send threats to my daughter.

Freya:Your daughter is significantly more likely to murder a man with a spreadsheet than I am to be kidnapped over sapphires.

Toto:This is not funny.

Freya:I know.

Freya:I am making it funny because otherwise I will think too much about Ana reading those messages.

Freya:Is your super scary bodyguard with her?

Toto:Yes.

Freya:Then she is safer than almost anyone else on the planet.

Toto:That does not mean enough.

Freya:No. It does not.

Toto:You see why I am sending security.

Freya:I see why you are trying.

Toto:Freya.

Freya:I am not having a bodyguard in gem markets.

Toto:Yes, you are.

Freya:No, I am not.

Toto:Do you understand what “credible threat” means?

Freya:Do you understand what “I have been doing this job for twenty years” means?

Toto:This is not about your job.

Freya:Everything is about my job when I am standing in the middle of it.

Toto:Where exactly are you?

Freya:Not telling you if you are going to air-drop a security team onto my head.

Toto:I already know enough to find you.

Freya:That is threatening.

Toto:Good.

Freya:You are becoming very paternal.

Toto:I am your older brother.

Toto:Security does not need to interfere with your sourcing. One person. Discreet. Local. Good shoes if that matters so much.

Freya:It does.

Freya:No hovering.

Toto:Fine.

Freya:No speaking unless spoken to.

Toto:That is not how security works.

Freya:It is how my security will work.

Toto:Freya.

Freya:I am negotiating.

Toto:You are being difficult.

Freya:Family trait.

Toto:Anastasia is worried about you.

Freya:That was manipulative.

Toto:Yes.

Freya:You used the child.

Toto:She is twenty-seven.

Freya:She is still the child when you are being emotionally criminal.

Toto:Will you accept security?

Freya:I dislike you.

Toto:Will you accept security?

Freya:One person.

Toto:Thank you.

Freya:Local.

Toto:Yes.

Freya:Discreet.

Toto:Yes.

Freya:If he wears ugly shoes, I send him back.

Toto:Fine.

Freya:And you tell Anastasia I am perfectly safe and extremely annoyed.

Toto:I will tell her.

Freya:No, tell her exactly that. Perfectly safe. Extremely annoyed. It will reassure her.

Toto:I will.

Freya:How is Max?

Toto:Furious.

Freya:Obviously.

Toto:Injured.

Freya:Still?

Toto:Broken legs do not resolve over a weekend.

Freya:I know that. I meant emotionally.

Toto:Also furious.

Freya:Useful?

Toto:Trying to be.

Freya:Good boy.

Toto:Do not say that to him.

Freya:I absolutely will.

Toto:He has enough problems.

Freya:Max Verstappen can survive being called a good boy by his future aunt.

Toto:Speaking of that.

Freya:Oh?

Toto:The wedding date is set.

Freya:You are telling me this now?

Toto:It has been a complicated day.

Freya:You told me about death threats, security, George Russell, Baku, and ugly-shoe bodyguards before telling me my niece has a wedding date?

Toto:Yes.

Freya:When?

Toto:20 December.

Freya:This year?

Toto:Yes.

Freya:Of course this year. Why give anyone time to breathe?

Toto:It suits them.

Freya:That means it suits Ana, or Max bought an island and declared it suitable?

Toto:Both.

Freya:Ah.

Toto:Isle of Eriska. Scotland.

Freya:Private island?

Toto:Yes.

Freya:He must be unbearable.

Toto:He is very focused on access control.

Freya:Romance, Verstappen style.

Toto:Ana likes the island.

Freya:Then it is perfect.

Toto:Can you come?

Freya:I’ll do my best to be there.

Toto:She would like you there.

Freya:Do not do that twice in one conversation.

Toto:It is true.

Freya:I know it is true. That is why it is manipulative.

Toto:Will you come?

Freya:I said I’ll do my best.

Freya:And if I come, I am bringing something.

Toto:Freya.

Freya:Do not start.

Toto:No enormous gemstones.

Freya:You are boring.

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 13 October 2025

Toto Wolff was in the middle of reading an email when Nikolai Maroz called.

That was the first warning.

Nikolai did not call unless the matter required immediacy. He texted when something required record. He briefed when something required strategy. He appeared silently when something required prevention.

A call meant an event was already in motion.

Toto looked at the name on the screen, and the part of him that had survived decades of Formula One, corporate warfare, and fatherhood went very still.

He answered before the second ring. “Yes.”

Nikolai did not waste time. “Where are you?”

Toto was already standing. “Home. Monaco.”

“Are you alone?”

The air changed.

Toto’s hand tightened around the phone. “Yes.”

“Dr. Wolff received multiple threatening messages from an unknown number approximately ten minutes ago.”

For one second, Toto heard nothing.

Not silence.

Nothing.

Then the world came back with too much detail.

The soft hum of the air-conditioning. The weight of the phone in his hand. The desk under his knuckles. The unread email open on his laptop. The Monaco light outside the window, sharp and indifferent.

“What kind of threats?” he asked.

His voice did not sound like his.

It sounded like something that had been placed under glass.

Nikolai paused.

Not because he was hesitant.

Because he was deciding how much of the horror to compress into one sentence.

“Death threats. Threats referencing Baku. Sexual threats. Language indicates George Russell.”

Toto’s vision narrowed.

George Russell.

For a moment, he saw the boy he had hired.

No.

Not boy.

Man.

A man he had once trusted with machinery, contracts, access, rooms, staff, reputation. A man who had sat in meetings with Anastasia. A man who had watched her work. A man who had put his hands on his daughter once already and called it whatever entitled men called violence when they wanted to survive the consequences.

A man who was supposed to be contained.

Toto’s voice dropped. “Is Anastasia safe?”

“Physically, yes. She is with Verstappen. I am with them.”

“Is Max safe?”

“Yes. Angry. Limited mobility. Contained.”

Under other circumstances, Toto might have laughed at that description.

He did not.

“How is Anastasia?”

There was a fraction of silence.

That fraction told Toto more than he wanted to know.

“She nearly had a panic attack,” Nikolai said. “She is coming down. She is responsive. She has not replied to the messages. Screenshots taken. I have the device secure.”

Toto closed his eyes.

His daughter, in her house, with her phone in her hand and George Russell reaching through the screen to put his voice back inside her life.

His daughter, who had only just sat with him under Scottish stars and said, You stayed.

His daughter, who had gone to Paris that morning for a wedding dress.

A wedding dress.

Toto opened his eyes.

“When?” he asked.

“The most recent message came three minutes ago.”

“Is the number active?”

“Yes.”

“Do not block.”

“I know.”

“Do not delete.”

“I know.”

“Preserve everything.”

“I have.”

“Does she know it is George?”

“She believes it is. So do I.”

“What did he say about Baku?”

Another pause.

Toto’s hand closed around the edge of the desk hard enough that pain flashed across his palm.

“Nikolai.”

“He implied he would not have needed Baku if she had let him ‘fix’ her. He frames the loss of his seat as her fault. He does not appear to know about her relationship with Verstappen.”

Toto stopped breathing.

Then, quietly, “Repeat that.”

“No.”

Toto went very still.

Nikolai’s voice was calm. “You heard me. You do not need it repeated while you are alone and about to get into a car.”

There were very few people in the world who could speak to Toto Wolff like that and survive it.

Nikolai Maroz was one of them.

Not because Toto lacked authority over him. Technically, he employed him.

Because years ago, Toto had handed Nikolai the task of protecting Ana at Cambridge and Nikolai had performed it without drama, without ego, without making her feel hunted by the protection itself. 

Ana trusted him. Not easily, not completely, because Ana trusted almost no one easily or completely. But she trusted him enough that when her life narrowed, his voice could still reach her.

That mattered more than hierarchy.

Toto forced air into his lungs.

“I am coming.”

“I know.”

“Does she know you called me?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She objected initially. Verstappen corrected her.”

Despite everything, a violent little flicker of gratitude moved through Toto’s chest.

Max.

Broken leg, explosive temper, catastrophic impatience, and somehow still the person who could look at Ana while the world burned and say the thing she needed to hear.

Good.

“Mr. Wolff.”

Toto paused at the door of his office.

“What?”

“Breathe before you come in.”

For one second, the fury in Toto rose so sharply it almost became speech.

Then he thought of Anastasia.

Not okay. But here.

He inhaled.

“I will try,” he said.

Nikolai made a sound that suggested the bar was on the floor and Toto was still not guaranteed to clear it.

“Do that.”

The call ended.

Toto stood in his office for one second.

Two.

Then he picked up his keys.

He was halfway to the lift when his phone rang again.

Susie.

For a moment, he stared at her name.

She had picked Jack up from school. She would be on the way back to the apartment or possibly already downstairs with Jack..

He answered.

“Toto?”

Her voice was warm with movement, distracted in the way it became when Jack was near her.

He could hear traffic behind her. Jack talking in the background about something involving a beetle. The normal world. Their son’s small, bright, ordinary day pressing against the impossible thing Toto had to say.

“Toto?” Susie repeated, sharper now.

He stopped walking. “There has been a security incident.”

The background noise seemed to drop away.

Susie’s voice changed immediately. “Ana?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“George sent messages.”

A pause.

Not confusion.

Containment.

Susie had always been faster than most people gave her credit for. Her mind moved cleanly under pressure. It was one of the reasons Toto had fallen in love with her and one of the reasons, at times, she terrified him.

“What kind of messages?” she asked.

Toto closed his eyes.

Beside Susie, Jack’s voice said, muffled but clear, “Mama, is it about Ana?”

Toto’s chest tightened.

Susie must have moved the phone slightly away from her mouth because her voice softened. “One second, darling.”

Then she came back. “Toto. What kind of messages?”

“Threats.”

“What kind?”

He did not want to say it.

Not to Susie.

Not with Jack close enough to hear tone if not words.

But Susie would not accept anything less than truth. Not here. Not for Ana.

“Death threats,” he said. “Sexual threats. Baku. Nikolai believes it is George. Ana does too.”

The silence on the line was absolute.

Then Susie said, very quietly, “Where is she?”

“The house. Nikolai is with her. Max is with her.”

“How is she?”

“She nearly had a panic attack.”

Susie exhaled once.

It was not a sob. It was worse. Controlled fury entering the body and finding nowhere civilized to go.

“Where are you?”

“Leaving home.”

“We are going over now.”

Toto’s eyes opened. “Susie—”

“No.”

The word was flat.

Final.

“Susie, Jack is with you.”

“I know Jack is with me. I picked him up from school. He is my son. He is also Ana’s brother. We are going over.”

“He does not need to hear—”

“He will not hear the details,” Susie cut in. “But he already knows we sometimes have security for reasons. He knows Ana and Max have extra people around right now because of Baku. He knows enough to understand when adults lie to him, and I am not doing that.”

Toto pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

She was right. Of course she was right.

That did not make it any easier.

“Put me on speaker, please,” Toto said.

A rustle.

Then Susie’s voice, clearer and slightly distant. “You’re on speaker. Jack is here.”

Jack’s voice came quickly. “Papa?”

Toto shut his eyes again. Kept his voice steady. “Yes, kleiner Mann.”

“Is Ana hurt?”

There it was.

The only question that mattered to a child.

“No,” Toto said immediately. “Ana is not physically hurt.”

Jack was quiet for a second.

Too smart. Too used to adults choosing words carefully.

“Physically means her body,” Jack said.

“Yes.”

“So something else happened.”

Toto opened his eyes. In the reflection of the lift doors, his own face looked like a stranger’s. “Yes,” he said. “Someone sent her very frightening messages.”

Jack was silent.

Then: “A bad person?”

Toto’s hand curled at his side.

“Yes.”

Susie’s voice was soft. “A person who is not behaving safely.”

Jack absorbed this with the terrible seriousness of a child who had grown up around adults who sometimes used words like security protocol over breakfast because Formula One life was strange.

“Is Nikolai there?” Jack asked.

Toto’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

“Then she has security.”

“Yes,” Toto said. “Nikolai is handling security.”

Jack was quiet again.

Then, very carefully, “Are we allowed to go to her?”

Toto looked at the closed lift doors.

He thought of Ana at Cambridge, younger and sharper and pretending she did not care that he had hired Nikolai. He thought of Jack at three, pressing a handmade birthday card into Ana’s hands, and Ana going upstairs to throw up because love had arrived too suddenly for her body to tolerate. He thought of how fiercely Jack loved her, in the open, with no embarrassment at all.

“Yes,” Toto said. “We are going.”

“Do I have to be quiet?”

Susie answered before Toto could. “You have to be gentle, darling. Quiet if Ana needs quiet. Normal if Ana needs normal.”

“Which one will she need?”

Toto’s chest ached.

“I don’t know,” Susie said. “So we will ask.”

Jack seemed to consider that.

“Can I bring Coco?”

Toto looked up at the ceiling.

There were moments in parenting when the heart did not break so much as become too large for the body trying to hold it.

Susie’s voice trembled only slightly when she said, “Yes. Bring Coco.”

“She is in my school bag.”

“Good.”

Toto heard car door sounds.

Susie said, “We are getting in the car now.”

“I will meet you there.”

“No,” Susie said. “You will not meet us there. You will drive safely and arrive after us if necessary.”

“I am closer.”

“Toto.”

He stopped.

“Do not make me worry about you crashing the car while I am trying to worry about Ana,” she said.

There was fury under it.

Fear too.

Love, unfortunately, for him.

“I will drive safely,” he said.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“Do not arrive like a thunderstorm.”

“That may not be possible.”

“Try.”

He thought of Nikolai’s instruction.

Breathe before you come in.

Everyone kept giving him the same order.

This was irritating. Probably useful.

“I will try,” he said.

Susie was quiet for half a second.

Then, softer, “We are going to her.”

“Yes.”

“And when we get there,” Susie said, voice sharpening again, “you are not going to make this about your guilt. You are not going to make her reassure you. You are not going to walk in there looking like you might kill someone unless Nikolai physically restrains you.”

Toto hesitated.

“Toto.”

“I will try.”

“That is not good enough.”

He breathed in.

Out.

“She needs me calm,” he said.

“Yes.”

“She needs us calm. She needs to know he cannot reach her. She needs to know this is not her fault.”

Susie’s voice softened.

“Yes.”

Toto opened his eyes.

“Then I will be calm.”

“You can be furious later.”

“I will be furious later too.”

“I know.”

Toto did not answer.

Susie said, “He touched her once and I already wanted to tear the world apart. If he has sent her threats about that, if he has put that back in her head because he is angry he lost the seat he thought he could get by using her—”

She stopped.

Not because she was finished.

Because Jack was there.

Toto heard her breathe.

Then she said, controlled again, “We are going over now. I’ll see you there.”

“Yes.”

The call ended.

The ride down took too long.

Everything took too long.

In the car, he did what he had promised.

Mostly.

He drove fast, but not recklessly. He stopped at lights when stopping was required. He did not call Nikolai again because Nikolai would call him if something changed, and because calling repeatedly would create noise in a room that needed less of it.

His phone stayed in the holder.

His hands stayed on the wheel.

His mind did not stay anywhere useful.

It went to George.

George in Mercedes kit.

George smiling politely in meetings.

George standing too close to Ana in a corridor while Toto had been busy with some other fire, some other contract, some other championship, some other crisis that had felt urgent enough to take his eyes off the oldest danger in the room: a mediocre man with entitlement and access.

Toto had missed Stephanie until after harm had already occurred. 

He had missed George too.

Not entirely. Not forever. But long enough.

Long enough for Ana to be cornered.

Long enough for a forced kiss.

Long enough for George to build a story in his head where Ana’s refusal was the first domino in a chain that ended with sabotage at Baku.

Toto’s jaw clenched so hard pain shot toward his ear.

He breathed.

Because Nikolai had told him to.

Because Susie had told him to.

Because Ana needed him not to arrive as another emergency.

By the time he reached the house, Susie was already there.

Of course she was.

Her car had pulled in moments before his. The door opened, and Jack climbed out wearing his school uniform, backpack too large on his shoulders, one hand gripping Coco the stuffed capybara by one leg.

Susie stepped out behind him.

Her face was pale.

Her eyes were furious.

Toto knew that expression.

He had seen it in boardrooms, in paddocks, nights earlier when she had looked at him and said, You never asked her.

This was different.

This was maternal rage stripped clean of everything else.

She looked at him once. He crossed the small space between them.

For a second, neither spoke.

Then Jack moved first.

He walked up to Toto and pressed himself against his side.

Toto’s arm came down around him automatically.

“Papa,” Jack said into his shirt, “are you calm?”

Toto closed his eyes.

Susie’s face changed. Just for a second. Then she looked away.

“I am trying,” Toto said.

Jack considered that.

“Okay.”

It was trust. Toto did not deserve all the trust his children gave him. He held Jack for one second longer, then let go.

Susie stepped closer.

Her voice was low enough that Jack could not hear. “If I see him again,” she said, “I will forget every media training session I have ever done.”

Toto looked at her. “If I see him again,” he replied, “there may not be enough left for anything at all.”

Susie’s mouth tightened.

Not quite approval. Not disapproval either.

Then Jack looked between them. “Are we talking about the bad person?”

Susie turned immediately.

“Yes,” she said. “But not details.”

Jack nodded, serious. “Because details can make brains make pictures.”

Toto’s throat tightened.

Susie crouched in front of him.

“Yes, darling. Exactly.”

Jack held up the capybara. “Coco does not make pictures.”

“No,” Susie said, and her voice nearly broke. “Coco is very sensible.”

“Nikolai will know what to do.”

“Yes.”

“And Ana might not want hugs.”

“That’s right.”

“But she can have Coco.”

“If she wants.”

Jack nodded again, as if the matter had become a protocol he could manage.

Good.

Susie stood.

Toto looked toward the building entrance.

Nikolai was waiting.

Of course he was.

He opened it before they knocked.

His gaze took them in.

Toto. Susie. Jack.

The capybara.

For half a second, something almost human softened around Nikolai’s eyes.

Then it was gone.

“How is she?” Susie asked.

“Shaken. Breathing. With Verstappen.”

Susie inhaled.

“Good.”

Susie’s hand found his wrist.

Brief. Hard. A warning and an anchor.

Not here. Not now. Ana first.

They entered the house.

It was too quiet.

The house was rarely loud, exactly, but it had a particular atmosphere when Max was in it. Movement, irritation, the distant threat of a sim race, cats occasionally insulted by doors. Now the quiet had been organized. Contained. Every sound seemed to know better than to travel too far.

Nikolai led them to the living room.

Toto saw Max first.

On the sofa, broken leg extended, face pale with rage, one hand wrapped around Ana’s.

Then Ana.

She sat beside him, too straight, too still, her face composed in a way that made Toto want to destroy something.

Her eyes lifted.

Found him.

Then Susie. Then Jack.

Something changed in her expression when she saw her brother. “Jack,” she said.

Her voice sounded thin.

Jack walked into the room carefully.

Not rushing.

Good boy, Toto thought helplessly. Good, good boy.

“I brought Coco,” Jack said.

Ana looked at the capybara.

For one second, Toto thought she might break.

Then she held out her free hand.

Jack placed Coco in it with the solemnity of a ceremonial exchange.

“She is good for bad days,” Jack said.

Ana looked down at the capybara.

Then at Jack.

“She is,” Ana said.

Jack nodded.

Then, after a pause, “Are you hurt?”

Ana’s mouth trembled.

Only once.

“No.”

“Okay.”

He looked at Max. “Are you hurt?”

Max blinked.

Then looked down at his cast.

“Already was.”

Jack frowned. “That counts.”

Max’s mouth twitched.

“Okay. Then yes.”

Jack nodded again, apparently updating the situation.

Then he looked at Nikolai. “Is the bad person far away?”

“Yes,” Nikolai said.

“Are you making sure?”

“Yes.”

Jack looked back at Ana. “Nikolai is making sure.”

Ana closed her eyes briefly.

When she opened them, they were wet.

“Yes,” she said. “He is.”

Susie moved then.

Slowly. Not rushing.

She crossed the room and knelt in front of Ana.

For a second, mother and daughter looked at each other.

No words. No demand.

Then Susie said, “Darling girl.”

Ana’s face cracked. “I’m sorry,” Ana said.

Susie’s expression changed so quickly it was almost frightening. “No.”

Ana swallowed. “I—”

“No,” Susie said again, firmer now. “No. You do not apologize to me because a violent, entitled man decided consequences were your fault.”

Ana’s eyes went wide. Max’s hand tightened around hers.

Toto stayed in the doorway. If he moved too quickly, he would become the wrong thing. He knew that.

Breathe before you come in.

So he breathed.

Susie took Ana’s free hand, careful of Coco.

“You did nothing wrong,” Susie said. “Not then. Not now. ”

Ana’s throat moved. “I know.”

“Do you?”

Ana looked away.

Susie’s face softened.

“Okay,” she said. “Then we will know it for you until the rest catches up.”

Max looked down.

His jaw was clenched. Toto could see the effort it cost him not to speak over that.

Susie kissed Ana’s cheek.

Then stood.

Only then did Toto move.

One step. Two.

He stopped in front of Ana, not too close, because she was already surrounded and the room was already full.

“Anastasia,” he said.

Her eyes lifted to his.

He had driven here with a thousand things burning in his throat.

I am sorry.

I failed you.

I should have seen.

I should have kept him away.

I will end him.

None of them were the first thing she needed.

So he said the truest thing he could trust himself with. “You are safe here.”

Ana stared at him.

Then her eyes moved to Nikolai.

To Susie.

To Max.

To Jack.

To the capybara in her lap.

Back to Toto.

“I know,” she said.

The words were small.

But not empty.

Toto nodded once.

“Good.”

His hands wanted to reach for her.

He did not.

After a moment, Ana lifted her free hand.

Not far.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Toto took it.

Carefully.

Her fingers were cold.

He held them as if something in him might shatter if he held too tightly.

“Papa,” she said.

That was all.

It was enough to nearly bring him to his knees.

***

Maison Étoiles, Monaco - 13 October 2025

The next steps were, unfortunately, very boring.

Ana had expected that.

She had said as much to Max earlier, and Max had looked at her like she had said something clinically insane, because Max believed death threats and police involvement should qualify as many things, but boring was apparently not one of them.

He was wrong.

The immediate terror was sharp.

The aftermath was simply paperwork.

Screenshots. Timestamps. Device preservation. Call logs. Number traces. Statements. Legal classifications. Jurisdictional questions. House arrest conditions. Police liaison. Private security escalation. Digital forensics. Official Mercedes records from George’s prior conduct. HR documentation. Access logs. Event calendars. Travel manifests. Baku evidence chains. Every fact extracted, duplicated, labelled, backed up, and placed into a structure..

Ana liked structures. Usually. Tonight, she hated this one.

She sat in their living room with a blanket over her legs that Susie had put there and Ana had not removed, and watched a very serious lawyer from Monaco speak to a very serious lawyer in London through Toto’s phone on speaker.

Police had already been contacted.

Not debated. Not postponed. Not softened into we should see if this escalates. Nikolai had made that decision before Toto had arrived, and Toto had endorsed it with the expression of a man who would have preferred to solve the matter by physically putting George Russell through a wall but understood that courts sadly required less satisfying behaviour.

Ana had given the statement.

Or the first statement.

There would be more.

That was the thing about statements. They reproduced.

The Monaco officer had been calm. Professional. Careful with his questions after the lawyer had said, in French first and then in English for everyone’s benefit, that Ana would answer once and clearly, and he would stop the interview if she was made to repeat sexual-threat content unnecessarily.

Ana had appreciated that.

She had hated that she needed it.

Max sat beside her on the sofa, broken leg elevated on a cushion, jaw clenched so tightly Ana worried briefly about dental damage. He had been told three separate times that he could not participate in active evidence handling while medicated, furious, and visibly inclined toward murder.

He had responded badly.

Then Susie had said, “Max, darling, sit down before you make Ana start managing you,” and he had sat down so quickly Ana had almost smiled.

Almost.

Jack was on the floor near the windows with the cats and headphones on.

That had been an unexpected stabilizing variable.

Ana had not wanted Jack in the room for the legal discussions. Nobody had. Not even Jack, once he had understood that the adult voices were going to be boring and sharp and full of words he was not meant to collect.

So Susie had created a boundary.

Jack could stay in the house. Jack could be near Ana. Jack could wear headphones and listen to his favourite tv series. Jack could not listen to the details of the messages. Jack could not see the phone. Jack could not interrupt when police were speaking unless it was urgent.

Jack had accepted this after negotiating one amendment: he was allowed to play with Sassy and Jimmy.

Max had said, “If they agree.”

Jack had gone very serious and said, “Cats have consent too.”

That had been the first time Ana had nearly cried.

Now Jack lay on his stomach on the rug, still in his school trousers and socks, Coco tucked under one arm, dragging a feather toy in small cautious circles while Jimmy stalked it with the exaggerated intensity of an apex predator who was shaped like a spoiled domestic cat.

Sassy watched from a chair with open disdain.

“She is supervising,” Jack whispered to Jimmy.

Jimmy pounced on the feather and missed by a humiliating margin. Jack did not laugh. He said, very kindly, “Good try.”

Ana looked away.

Her eyes burned again. This was becoming inconvenient.

Toto sat opposite her, one ankle crossed over the other, outwardly controlled in a way that made the air around him feel pressurized. His sleeves were rolled up. His watch had been placed on the table beside him, which meant he had already entered the phase of crisis management where objects became obstacles.

Susie stood behind Ana’s end of the sofa, one hand resting lightly on the back cushion. Not touching Ana, but there. Close enough that Ana could lean back by two centimetres and find her.

Nikolai stood near the hallway.

He had not sat once.

That was unnecessary. It was also deeply reassuring.

The London lawyer said, “Given the content referencing Baku, we will need to coordinate with the relevant authorities already involved in the investigation.”

Toto’s face did not move.

“Yes.”

“And the house arrest conditions—”

“Will be revisited,” Toto said.

It was not a question.

The lawyer paused.

“Yes. We can apply pressure there.”

“Not pressure,” Toto said. “Evidence.”

Ana looked at him.

That was exactly the correction she would have made. Under better circumstances, that would have pleased her.

Tonight, it simply made her chest hurt.

The Monaco officer asked Ana whether the unknown number had attempted to call.

“No,” Ana said.

Her voice sounded normal.

Too normal.

She knew because Susie’s hand flexed against the sofa behind her.

“Only text messages?” the officer asked.

“Yes.”

“And you did not respond?”

“No.”

“Did the sender identify himself?”

“No.”

“But you believe it is George Russell?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Ana looked at her laptop screen.

The cursor blinked in the open document where she had already begun constructing a timeline because waiting passively for other people to organize facts was intolerable.

“Language patterns,” she said. “Prior conduct. Specific references to phrases he previously used. Motive. The mention of Baku. His belief that his seat loss was caused by me. His prior fixation on the idea that I required correction.”

The room went very still around the word correction.

Max’s hand moved toward hers.

Stopped. Waited.

Ana looked down at it.

Then placed her hand in his.

His fingers closed gently.

The officer’s voice softened, which Ana disliked.

“Can you expand on that prior fixation?”

Toto’s head turned sharply.

Nikolai spoke before Toto could.

“That has been documented in the initial incident report from Mercedes,” he said. “Additional detail can be provided in a supplemental written statement after she has rested.”

The officer accepted that.

Ana made a note to thank Nikolai later.

Probably by sending him an updated access schedule.

(He would understand.)

The call continued.

Legal action. Emergency protective orders. Coordination with UK police. A formal report in Monaco. Preservation letters. Notification of whatever authority supervised George’s house arrest. Review of whether the threats constituted breach of conditions. Review of whether his access to communication devices had been properly restricted. Review of whether anyone around him had facilitated contact.

That last part made Ana’s skin prickle.

Facilitated.

Someone could have given him a phone.

Someone could have looked away.

Someone could have decided George was harmless if contained behind the right walls.

Ana looked toward Jack on the floor.

Jimmy had now climbed halfway onto Jack’s back, apparently deciding the human child made an acceptable platform. Jack was whispering to him.

Her chest tightened again.

Not as sharply as before.

Worse, in some ways.

Broader.

Because fear, once it finished aiming at the first target, began looking for others.

George had reached her.

From house arrest.

While under restrictions that were supposed to matter.

He had not known about Max and Ana. He had not known he was texting Max Verstappen’s fiancée in their shared house.

He had still reached her.

If he could reach her, he could reach—

“Papa,” Ana said.

Toto stopped mid-sentence.

Everyone looked at her.

She hated that.

But the thought was already moving. Once a thought began moving with this much momentum, stopping it required more energy than redirecting it into words.

“Maybe security for the rest of the family would not be a horrible idea.”

The words landed heavily.

Susie’s hand went still behind her.

Toto’s face changed. “The rest of the family,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Max turned his head toward her.

Ana kept her gaze on Toto because if she looked at Max, she might see too much fear reflected back and lose the thread.

“I know it sounds paranoid,” she said.

“It does not,” Nikolai said.

Immediately. Flatly.

Ana looked at him. Nikolai looked back.

“It does not sound paranoid,” he repeated.

Something in her loosened by one degree.

Toto’s expression had hardened, but not at her.

Never at her.

“Who?” he asked.

Ana swallowed.

“Susie. Jack. Benedict and Rosa. Stephanie, although I do not know whether George would consider her connected to me. Your mother. Maybe Max’s family too.”

Susie inhaled softly. Ana did not look at her.

“I am not saying George can reach them,” Ana continued quickly. “I am saying his logic is not rational, and if he believes I caused a chain of events, he may decide other people are pressure points as well.”

Toto leaned forward. “Anastasia.”

“I know this is probably excessive.”

“It is not.”

She stopped.

Toto’s voice was very quiet. “It is not excessive.”

Ana blinked. “Papa—”

“No.” He shook his head once. “You are not being paranoid. You are assessing risk after a credible threat. That is what you should do.”

Her throat tightened.

She hated how much she needed him to say that.

She hated that some part of her had expected, even now, to be told she was overreacting. Too much. Too sensitive. Making patterns where none existed.

Stephanie’s voice, old and sharp, from the ugly carpet years.

George’s voice, smoother, newer. Most people don’t have patience for this.

Toto’s voice cut through both.

“You are assessing risk,” he said again. “And you are right.”

Ana looked down.

Max’s thumb moved once across her knuckles.

Toto turned to Nikolai. “Can we expand coverage tonight?”

“Yes.”

“How quickly?”

“Some immediately. More within the hour. Full coverage by morning.”

“Do it.”

Nikolai nodded.

Susie stepped around the sofa and sat on Ana’s other side.

Ana stiffened reflexively.

Susie noticed and did not touch her.

She simply sat close enough to become part of the perimeter.

The lawyer on speaker cleared his throat delicately.

Toto returned his attention to the phone call, but something in the room had shifted.

Not better.

Better was not available.

Contained, perhaps.

No.

Ana disliked that word now.

Held. Maybe.

The calls took another forty minutes.

Ana answered questions until Nikolai said, “No more,” and this time even Toto did not argue.

The police confirmed next steps. The lawyers confirmed paperwork. Nikolai confirmed additional guards moving into place around the immediate family. Toto confirmed nothing with his face, but Ana could see him already building the list in his head.

Benedict. Rosa. His mother. Susie’s parents, perhaps. Sally and John were not direct targets, but they had just hosted them in Scotland and Fiona knew the wedding venue and—

Ana’s breath caught.

Venue. Wedding. Private island. Bridge. Guest list. Children in the bridal party.

Her mind moved too fast.

Alana and Keira. Lio and Luka and Hailey. Jack. Families. Names. Arrivals. Flights. Staff. Access.

Max’s hand tightened. “Nastya.”

Ana blinked.

She had gone somewhere.

She knew because everyone was looking at her again.

“I need the wedding guest list locked down,” she said.

Susie’s face changed. “Not now.”

“Yes, now.”

“Ana.”

“If George somehow learns—”

“He does not know about the wedding,” Susie said.

“He did not know about Max and me either, and he still reached my phone.”

The words came out sharper than intended.

Susie stopped.

Max’s jaw flexed.

Toto stood.

Not abruptly.

Carefully.

Then crossed to crouch in front of her.

Ana disliked when tall people crouched. It made conversations feel medical.

This did not.

Maybe because Toto did not touch her.

Maybe because his face was not pitying.

Maybe because his anger was there, but not aimed at her.

“Anastasia,” he said. “Listen to me.”

“I am listening.”

“No, you are planning.”

That was deeply unfair.

“I can do both.”

“Yes,” Toto said. “I know. But listen anyway.”

Ana closed her mouth.

Toto’s eyes held hers.

“We will secure the family. We will secure the wedding. We will secure travel, communications, venue access, guest movement, staff, suppliers, routes, and every other variable you can name. Nikolai will make lists. I will make calls. Max will attempt to interfere and be told to sit down. Susie will keep us from turning the wedding into a military operation.”

“I make no promises,” Susie said.

Toto did not look away from Ana.

“You do not need to solve all of it tonight,” he said.

Ana’s mouth tightened.

“If I don’t write it down, I will lose track.”

“No,” Max said quietly. “You won’t.”

She looked at him.

He was leaning toward her as much as the cast allowed.

“You will remember,” he said. “You remember everything when you are scared. That is the problem.”

Ana’s throat closed.

Toto’s face softened with pain.

Max continued, low and steady. “So we write down enough that your brain stops trying to hold all of it alone. Not everything. Enough.”

Ana looked at the laptop.

The open document.

The blinking cursor.

Enough.

It was a difficult category.

Less precise than complete.

More livable.

Nikolai stepped forward and placed a piece of paper on the table.

Ana stared at it.

It was already labelled:

IMMEDIATE SECURITY QUESTIONS — NOT FULL PLAN

She looked up at him.

Nikolai’s face was unreadable.

“Ten items,” he said. “Maximum.”

Ana stared.

“Only immediate,” he added.

She took the pen.

The first item was: Family coverage tonight.

The second: Jack school route.

The third: Susie public schedule.

The fourth: House access.

The fifth: COTA travel.

Toto saw that one immediately.

His eyes sharpened. “We need to discuss COTA.”

Ana did not look up. “No.”

“You are not going to COTA.”

She looked up then.

The room went still.

Max’s hand tightened around hers again, but he did not speak.

“I am going to COTA,” Ana said.

Toto’s expression did not change, which meant he was about to become extremely difficult.

“Anastasia.”

“No.”

“You received death threats less than two hours ago.”

“Yes.”

“And sexual threats.”

“Yes.”

“And threats referencing Baku.”

“Yes.”

“You nearly had a panic attack.”

“Yes.”

Her voice stayed level.

Barely.

Toto leaned forward. “Then you understand why I am suggesting that you do not fly to Texas this week.”

“I understand why you are suggesting it.”

“But?”

“But I am still going.”

Susie shifted beside her. “Ana—”

Ana turned to her. “No.”

Susie closed her mouth.

Not because she agreed.

Because she had heard something in Ana’s voice.

Good.

Ana needed someone to hear it.

“I am shaken,” Ana said.

The words cost more than she expected.

She forced herself to keep going.

“I am scared. I am angry. I do not like that he reached me. I do not like that my body reacted. I do not like that I am thinking about Jack’s school route and Susie’s book tour and whether George has access to other people I love. I do not like any of it.”

Max’s face twisted.

Toto looked like he had been struck.

Ana kept her hands still.

“But I am not letting him stop me from doing my job.”

The sentence settled in the room.

Hard.

Clean.

“He has already built an entire internal mythology where my refusal caused his career to collapse,” she continued. “If I disappear from COTA because he sent messages, that will become part of the same mythology. He will not know why. He will not see nuance. He will only know that he reached me and I changed my behavior.”

Nikolai’s gaze sharpened.

Toto said, “Your safety is more important than his interpretation.”

“Yes.”

“Then—”

“But my life is also important,” Ana said.

Toto stopped.

Ana’s heart was beating too fast again.

She ignored it.

Mostly.

“My job is part of my life. Mercedes is part of my life. Max’s transition is part of my life. COTA is work I was already scheduled to do. I will not let George Russell decide that I have to become smaller because he is dangerous.”

Toto looked at her for a long moment.

Then, quietly, “I am not asking you to become smaller.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Ana hesitated.

Toto saw it.

Of course he did.

He looked pained.

Max spoke then. “I think she should go.”

Everyone turned toward him.

Toto’s eyes narrowed. “You think she should go?!”

Max kept his gaze on Toto. “If she stays home because of him, she will hate it,” he said. “She will be safer maybe, but not better.”

“Safer matters,” Toto said.

“Yes,” Max said. “So make it safe.”

Toto’s jaw tightened.

Max did not back down. “She is not saying no security. She is saying no hiding.”

Ana’s eyes burned again.

This was getting ridiculous.

Nikolai said, “COTA can be secured.”

Toto turned to him.

“How?”

“Travel adjusted. No commercial exposure. Known movements minimized. Additional close protection. Digital restrictions. Local liaison. No solo transfers. Paddock movements controlled. Mercedes staff briefed on need-to-know basis. I will go to COTA with her. We will need additional coverage for Mr. Verstappen here in Monaco.” 

Max frowned. “For me?”

“You are a target too,” Nikolai said.

“I know.”

“You behave as if you do not.”

Max opened his mouth.

Ana said, “He is correct.”

Max closed his mouth.

Toto looked between them.

Then at Susie.

Susie was watching Ana, not the men.

Her eyes were sad and proud and furious all at once.

“I don’t like it,” Susie said.

Ana nodded. “I know.”

“I want to wrap you in blankets and lock every door.”

“That is not efficient.”

“It would make me feel better.”

“I know.”

Susie’s mouth trembled slightly. “But you are right,” she said.

Toto looked at her sharply.

Susie did not look away from Ana.

“You are right,” she repeated. “Not because safety does not matter. It does. But because you get to keep your life.”

Ana’s breath shook.

Just once.

Susie reached out slowly.

Ana let her hand settle over hers.

Toto stood, turned away for one second, then turned back.

He looked like he wanted to argue. He looked like he wanted to forbid it.

He looked, for one painful moment, like the father who had missed too much and wanted to repair the past by controlling the future.

Then he inhaled. 

He chose differently. “Fine,” he said.

Ana blinked.

Toto pointed at her, and there he was again, half father, half team principal, entirely impossible. “Not fine. Conditional fine.”

Max muttered, “Here we go.”

Toto ignored him.

“You go to COTA only with a security sign-off. Nikolai approves the plan. Travel is adjusted. Your schedule is reviewed. No unnecessary appearances. No solo movement. If Nikolai says leave, you leave. If there is another credible escalation, we revisit.”

Ana considered this.

It was not unreasonable. Annoying. But not unreasonable.

“Define unnecessary appearances,” she said.

Toto almost smiled.

Almost.

“We will define it together.”

“That means you will attempt to remove everything.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“That is why we define it together.”

Ana looked at Nikolai.

He nodded once.

“Acceptable,” he said.

Ana sighed. “Fine.”

Max leaned back slightly, as if someone had removed one of several knives from the room.

Toto looked at him. “And you.”

Max’s face closed. “What?”

“You are injured. You are also not moving without security.” Toto continued, “You will follow the same plan.”

Max looked rebellious.

Ana turned her head. “Max.”

He looked at her.

She did not have to say more.

That was satisfying.

He sighed. “Fine.”

Jack, who had apparently decided the adult crisis had become safe enough to re-enter, looked up from the rug.

“Are we all going to Texas?”

“No,” Susie said immediately.

Jack looked disappointed. “Why?”

“Because you have school.”

“School is less secure than Texas.”

Every adult in the room went still.

Jack looked around. “What?”

Ana closed her eyes briefly.

Toto said, “We are also discussing your school route.”

Jack nodded. “Good. Nikolai should check the side gate. It sticks.”

Nikolai looked at him.

“The side gate sticks,” Jack repeated helpfully. “At pickup. Not drop-off.”

Nikolai took out his phone and made a note.

Jack looked pleased.

Ana stared at her brother.

“Useful,” she said.

Jack beamed. “I can do security.”

“You can do school,” Susie said.

“And security observations.”

“And security observations,” Susie conceded.

Sassy chose that moment to leap onto the sofa beside Ana, step directly across the paperwork, and sit on the list of immediate security questions.

Max sighed. “Sassy.”

Sassy looked at him with contempt.

Jack whispered, “She is protecting the documents.”

Ana looked at the cat.

Sassy blinked slowly.

Ana placed her hand lightly on the cat’s back.

The purr started immediately.

Low.

Smug.

Alive.

For the first time in almost two hours, Ana’s nervous system found a sound that was not a phone vibrating, not George’s words, not lawyers, not police, not the echo of her own breath failing.

Just a cat purring under her palm while her little brother explained gate mechanics to a bodyguard and her fiancé argued silently with her father about who had the more unreasonable protective instincts.

She was still shaken.

That did not vanish because people loved her.

Her hands still trembled if she stopped paying attention. Her chest still felt bruised from the panic. Her phone still looked like a threat on the table. Somewhere in her mind, George’s messages kept trying to replay themselves in the dark.

But the room was louder now.

Not in volume.

In presence.

Toto making calls. Susie sitting close. Nikolai writing down Jack’s side-gate observation. Max’s thumb against her hand. Jack’s socked feet on the rug. Jimmy attacking the feather toy. Sassy purring with the entitled force of a small engine.

George had reached her.

He had frightened her.

He had not stopped her.

Ana looked at the fifth item on the list.

COTA travel.

Then she wrote beneath it:

Proceed with modifications.

Toto saw it.

His mouth tightened.

But he did not tell her to cross it out.

Good.

Progress.

Ana placed the pen down and rested her hand on Sassy’s back again.

The cat purred louder.

Jack looked up. “Ana?”

“Yes?”

“Coco can go to Texas if you need her.”

Ana’s throat tightened so fast it hurt.

Max looked away.

Susie pressed her fingers to her mouth.

Toto’s face broke for half a second before he controlled it.

Ana looked at her brother and the capybara tucked under his arm.

“I might,” she said carefully, “need a photograph of Coco for the travel file.”

Jack nodded, deeply serious. “I can send one.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was absurd.

It was perfect.

It was, Ana thought, perhaps the only reason she did not fall apart completely.

Because there were police and lawyers and death threats and security protocols.

And there was also Jack, offering her a stuffed Capybara as part of an international travel risk mitigation plan.

Ana breathed in.

It shook. But it entered.

Then she looked at Toto.

“Family coverage first,” she said.

Toto nodded.

“Already happening.”

“And COTA.”

“Modified,” he said.

“Not cancelled.”

His eyes held hers.

The fight was not gone.

The fear was not gone.

But he nodded again.

“Not cancelled.”

Ana looked down at the list.

Her hand still shook when she picked up the pen.

She wrote anyway.

Ilia: At some point you have to talk to me

You stare at the screen again, Cam's voice slowly fading into the background. She's on FaceTime with you, showing you two dresses she has as options for a last-minute wedding invitation. Originally, she had planned to decline, but your and Ziggy's points were convincing enough that she decided to put her gaming console aside for one night, opting instead to spend time with her relatives.

"Is it, like, too slutty for a wedding?"

"No, it's perfect."

"But the cut is low."

"Well, it's not like you have the boobs to fill it out."

"Bitch," she chuckles, throwing you a half-annoyed, half-offended look. She squints at the screen because she still hasn't picked up her new prescription glasses, being the procrastinator she is. "Are you still dwelling on Ilia's text?"

"What am I supposed to reply?!"

"Tell him you'll talk to him once your exams are over."

"My exams are over in, like, two weeks," you sigh, leaning back in your gaming chair as you shut your eyes tight for a few seconds. You feel entirely overwhelmed by the single text message you haven't opened since this morning. It's almost 5 p.m. now.

The truth is, you're not really ignoring him. Sure, maybe you ran away after he confessed to you and kissed you, but it's not like you've seen him since then or have been deliberately avoiding him. And it's only been two days. You're just not actively seeking to resolve whatever happened because the whole situation scares you even more than the reality excites you. The embarrassment still lingers every time you relive those few seconds when you tugged the door handle and ran away as he called out your name.

"Why are you so uptight about this whole thing? It's Ilia."

"Yes, exactly!" you huff, rolling your eyes. Explaining something to your best friend is hard, especially when you don't even understand it yourself. "He kissed me and I ran away like an idiot!"

"And now you're acting like a bigger idiot because you keep ignoring him."

"I mean, I'm not exactly ignoring him."

"Oh, shut up," she exhales, throwing you a dirty look before she puts the black dress away in the closet, presumably brushing aside your opinion that it looks appropriate for a wedding. "Tell him you needed time to think and you'll talk to him soon."

"When is soon?"

"Honestly, I'm running out of patience with you."

"Alright, alright," you admit in a defeated voice, straightening your spine as if it somehow gives you the confidence you desperately need. "I'll figure something out."

"Yes, like you always do."

"But this is, like, an exceptional case."

"Are you going to keep ranting about that Russian boy, or will you help me finish my wedding look?"

You nod, leaning forward so you can see the jewelry options she's showing you. You try to bite back the comment that all of them are ugly—but you do, because it fits Cam's style perfectly and you are a good friend.

The call with her ends approximately twenty minutes later. You find yourself spinning in your gaming chair, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you type out several responses before aggressively hitting the delete button, never satisfied with the outcome. Eventually, you stop and ask yourself if it's really that serious. The next second, you've sent a message before fully thinking it through. Your heartbeat quickens just enough when you see that he has read it almost immediately.

You: I'm sorry. I know we need to talk.

Ilia: Are you home?

You: I'm kind of in the middle of something.

You panic when he doesn't respond. Your eyes widen as you realize he hasn't even opened your last message, meaning he's probably already on his way over. Cursing under your breath, you leap up from the chair. You frantically look around the room to find something to put on instead of your washed-out t-shirt, which has holes in the collar thanks to your habit of chewing on it whenever you're bored. A dark blue t-shirt that you snagged from Jace's room at some point is in much better condition, complementing a pair of gray shorts that were also his before puberty fully had its impact on him.

The doorbell rings just as you're sprinting down the stairs. He knows your dad is still at work, and he also knows that Jace hits the gym around this time every Tuesday. There's not really a reason for him to hide or hold back, meaning you're forced to have this conversation even if you're not fully prepared for it. Maybe it's better this way, before you start overthinking and potentially ruining something that hasn't even started yet.

"Hi."

You give him a somewhat shy smile, stepping aside to silently welcome him in. He eyes you for a second, opening his mouth slightly as if he's about to say something, but ultimately decides against it. He's wearing one of the many Toothless t-shirts he owns, his shorts hugging him perfectly. You subtly eye him as he steps inside, wondering when exactly his glutes managed to grow like that.

"What are you up to?"

"Um… just the usual stuff," you shrug, heat rushing to your face despite trying so hard to sound casual. It's almost like you've completely forgotten how to talk to him.

He gives you an expectant look, the kind that encourages you to start talking, but the silence hangs heavy in the room. Your palms seem to grow sweaty, so you hide them at your sides as if they are the sole thing giving away your uneasiness and not the panicked expression plastered on your face.

"Can we just talk?" he asks abruptly, as if he's finally had enough of the awkwardness. He sighs, looking at you with slightly raised eyebrows—an expression you know well from when he's feeling sorry or worried about something. You shift uncomfortably, pressing your lips together as he continues. "It's me. Things don't have to be awkward."

"I know."

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not," you exhale, resisting the urge to bury your face in your hands. Looking him straight in the eye is deeply embarrassing, especially when he shakes his head, his gaze hardening. "I'm just…"

"You're just what?" he presses, vaguely gesturing with his hands. "Look, I understand if you needed time to think, and I wanted to give you space, but you haven't talked to me in almost three days. You ran away after I kissed you. I just… I don't know what to think."

"I know it was a stupid thing to do."

"Are you still mad at me?"

The question takes you aback. You pause when his voice comes out quieter. The answer doesn't come easily because you haven't actually thought about it. All you could think about these past few days was the fact that Ilia kissed you, and that he actually liked you back—just as you had always wished he would.

"No," you reply after a while, concluding that you don't feel an ounce of the rage you felt a few days ago. "I ran away because I was confused and… scared. I'm just stupid."

"You're not." He shakes his head and steps forward, gently pushing your blue-light glasses back up after they had slid down your nose. You only wear them because of your dad's insistence; he always uses the excuse of being a doctor who "knows better" when he forces you and your brother to do things you don't really want to do.

"Usually I'm not, no, but running away that night was one of the most embarrassing things I've ever done."

"It doesn't top the talent show you did back in middle school."

"Oh, shut up," you groan at the memory, avoiding his gaze as he lets out a laugh. He tugs at your arm, pulling you toward him. It's as if the heavy tension completely breaks with the solo memory, a stark reminder that this is Ilia—the guy you grew up with, the boy you never need to shy away from. He stares down at you with a soft expression, fixing the pieces of hair that messily frame your face. "You weren't so great at that talent show either."

"I got first place."

"Just because you sucked less than the other kids doesn't mean you didn't suck."

The corner of his lip lifts, a smile stretching across his face as his voice loses its teasing edge. "As much as I enjoy this conversation, can we go back to where we started?"

"You like embarrassing me, don't you?"

"No, I just want to establish the fact that I like you," he repeats, more confident this time. His eyes search yours while you stare at him quietly, your chest tightening at the words that make you dizzy. They still feel unfamiliar, but you could easily get used to them. "And I'm sorry for being a coward and not sticking up for us when it mattered. I was a jerk that night."

"It hurt. A lot."

"I know."

"I've spent the last few years having a massive crush on you," you admit openly, your heart hammering against your ribs. Something twists in your stomach as you hold back, choosing not to tell him that your feelings are actually much greater than a silly crush. It's too soon, you tell yourself, clinging to the excuse. "And hearing you say that… it just destroyed me. You brushed me off like I was just Jace's annoying little sister you're forced to tolerate… And then you just confessed out of the blue when I was so mad at you, and I just…" You can't even finish the sentence, unable to find the words for what you felt in that moment. "It was a lot to take in."

"I'm sorry. I hate myself for how I handled that," he says, his voice apologetic. He reaches down, gently taking your hands in his, forcing you to look up at him. "The second Jack brought you up, I panicked. He kind of already knew, and I was afraid he would see right through me. And if Jack found out, Jace would find out."

The image of your brother flashes across your mind. He loves Ilia; there's no doubt that in any world, he would consider his best friend worthy of you, but you also know him well enough to know he won't be happy about this. Both you and Ilia know that if Jace finds out, things are going to get ugly.

"I took the easy way out because I was terrified," Ilia confesses, his blue eyes sincere, pleading with you to understand. "I was terrified of how messy things would get if they found out how I actually felt about you."

"Jace won't approve."

"I know."

You exhale, your shoulders dropping, heavy with a secret that already feels like a burden. He lets go of your hands only to cup the side of your face, his fingers sliding into your hair. "Look at me."

You look up, meeting the intense blue of his eyes.

"I've felt this way about you for a while, and I always tried to tell myself it was wrong," he says softly, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "Yeah, maybe I'm not supposed to have feelings for my best friend's sister because of some unwritten moral code, but it's not wrong. It doesn't feel wrong anymore. The whole time I was on tour, I missed home terribly, and then I realized it was you I was homesick for."

The honesty in his voice completely undoes you, stripping away the last string of your hesitation. Suddenly, you find yourself leaning in, sneaking your arms around his back and burying your face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent. His response is immediate. He pulls you tighter against him, rubbing your back affectionately and pressing a light kiss into your hair.

You don't know how much time passes before he gently lifts your head up, caressing your jaw with his palm. His blue eyes sweep over your face, his thumb eventually coming to rest on your bottom lip.

"Can I kiss you?"

"It's not like you asked the first time, either."

He grins, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. Closing your eyes, you sigh into the touch. His mouth is warm against yours, his hands roaming over your back as they clutch your t-shirt. Your hand flies into his hair, the short strands soft between your fingertips as you gently tug at them. You only pull back when you're left breathless, your chest heaving up and down just like his. A smile breaks across his face.

"By the way," his voice turns teasing, his fingertip tracing a slow line up your arm. "You're wearing my t-shirt."

"What?" Your brows furrow, genuine confusion making your lips pout.

"Yeah. Jace ended up borrowing it a while ago, but he never gave it back."

"Well, I'm not giving it back either."

"Good," he smiles, his eyes almost shining. "I don't want you to."

You grin at him, intertwining your fingers with his—at first shyly, then gripping him tightly, leading him up to your room to show him the new Lego set you've built before Jace comes back.

Neither of you talk about it, neither of you openly discuss it, but you quickly slip into a routine.

His texts come in every morning and night, the day never ending without late-night conversations with him, your friends teasing you that you have temporarily replaced them. He gives you rides to the university—half the time you secretly slide into the passenger seat, and the other half of the time you casually mention to Jace that you two happen to have the same schedule. Your brother doesn't think anything of it, you're sure, casually waving you off before his stare fixes back on the computer screen.

On the rare occasions that you're free from studying and working and the house is empty for you to use as you please, he comes over. You watch movies, play games, cook pasta for him, and teach him how to play Sudoku. He brings you your favorite snacks and you cuddle on the couch, always glancing at the clock to make sure you don't get caught. Sometimes it's hard, pretending nothing exists between you two except a platonic relationship, and perhaps there's no reason to wait anymore, because Jace will rage at both of you anyways—but still, neither of you speak about it. Perhaps you like the thrill of sneaking around behind everyone's back. Perhaps, despite how much you don't want to admit it out loud, the idea of things getting real scares you both.

"Come on, just one more lap."

"I can't!"

"Stop whining."

Jace exhales, nudging you to continue running while your chest heaves up and down, your whole body sweaty as you try to fight off your legs from giving up. You watch him run ahead of you, wiping the sweat from your forehead before you straighten your spine, jogging after him in a way less energetic way.

Jace thinks of himself as a caring brother, which is why he has decided to take care of your physical health, forcing you to run with him almost every day and feeding you the protein smoothies he enthusiastically makes every morning. You're doing laps around the neighborhood, having just passed your house, when you see Jace stopping. You squint your eyes to confirm that the blonde talking to him is Ilia.

"Hey."

"Hi," you wave at him, still breathless. His face is completely relaxed, unlike yours, a smile plastered across it. You're wearing nothing special—just shorts and a sports bra—but his gaze still shifts, subtly eyeing you before he fixes his stare back on Jace. He's wearing Snoopy pants and a plain white t-shirt, making it evident that he just rolled out of bed, holding some letters in his hand. Tatyana must have sent him out to collect the mail.

"You should run with us," Jace tells him, nudging him on the shoulder. Then he gestures toward you, pointing a finger. "I have to keep this one in shape, and I need help because she's awful company."

"Oh, shut up."

"You've been whining for the whole run!" he insists, throwing you an annoyed look while Ilia witnesses the sibling interaction with an amused expression. "No, ever since this morning, before we even started running."

"Because instead of helping me gradually build stamina, you just force me to run for over an hour and I'm exhausted!" you argue, looking over at Ilia so he can prove your point. "You're an athlete. Tell him that he's an awful instructor."

"I fear she's right, Jace."

"What's up with you always agreeing with her lately?" Jace rolls his eyes, throwing him a dirty look. The smile washes off your face, but he doesn't notice it. He doesn't notice either when Ilia nervously shifts, his smile turning awkward. "You're supposed to be my best friend."

"It's not like you own him."

"I own him more than you do."

Jace winks at you, convinced that he's made a point, while you bite down on your tongue before you regret the next words escaping your throat. Ilia must notice that Jace's words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, because he swiftly changes the topic, talking about their next hangout as you look at your watch, contemplating that you should just go home.

"I'm streaming this afternoon."

"What are you going to play?"

"Probably Fortnite again."

"Bro, people are tired of watching you play that shit," Jace groans, his dislike of Fortnite shining through. It's a topic he and Ilia still haven't agreed upon after all these years. "Even Geometry Dash is more entertaining."

"I was going to play FIFA with Jacob, but he ditched me for practice," Ilia sighs, and even though your eyes are fixed on your phone screen, you can feel him subtly glancing at you. "I asked your sister to accompany me, but she turned me down… playing Valorant would be fun."

Feeling both of them burning their stares through your skull, you lift your head up, shrugging as you purse your lips. "I don't really want to engage with your crazy fangirls."

"People usually behave, and I have mods."

"Yeah sis, show him some generosity," Jace backs him up, to your surprise, your eyes squinting at his behavior, which seems suspicious. "Teach him how to play Valorant properly."

"I can absolutely play Valorant!"

"I said properly," Jace grins, slapping his back in what is supposed to be an affectionate way. Then he backs up a few steps, looking at you with determination as he motions for you to follow him. "Now come on, one last lap."

You throw Ilia a helpless look, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips as he mouths words you absolutely cannot decipher. Then you leave him there, jogging after Jace as you glance behind your shoulder every few seconds, only to find him staring right back at you.

You: NO

Ilia: Come ooon

Ilia: It's gonna be Fun

Ilia: I want to stream with you

Ilia: Please :(

You stare at the screen, then back to the clock, contemplating whether you're ready to give in and accept his invitation or not. Occasionally streaming with Ziggy and Cam is fun because the chat is chill, and mostly the conversation is just about Valorant or other games you play together. But even from just watching bits of Ilia's stream a handful of times, you know his is drastically different. You know you'll probably get dragged online for no reason, because some fans can just be that crazy.

Maybe you just don't have the heart to turn him down, or maybe a secret, deep part of you wants to remind others of your existence and your place in his life. It sounds stupid, but when another text comes through—this time a picture of him making a pouty face—you find yourself smiling. You agree without giving it any further thought.

Jace helps you set up the camera, removing a few plushies from your bed because he insists they leave a "loser impression" of you. He takes Dusty too, with the excuse that she might be frightened by the loud noises you and Ilia will probably make, but really he just wants to cuddle her.

"You're all set up!" he exclaims with unusual enthusiasm, patting you on the back as he leans in to wipe the lens once again. "Destroy his ass."

"Why are you so excited about this?"

"Because you're a good gamer and I want people to appreciate you."

"Are you soft-launching that you want me to become a full-time Twitch streamer?" You squint your eyes at him, an almost disgusted expression plastered on your face.

"Nah, you donut, you're way too intelligent to be a Twitch streamer," he ruffles your hair, earning a sharp slap on the arm in exchange. He backs off toward the door, clutching Dusty in his hands while she looks at you with a helpless expression. He's about to walk out when he stops, whipping his head around as he squints at the t-shirt you're wearing. "You stealer, that's mine."

"Start learning how to do your laundry, maybe then you won't lose your clothes," you grin at him, completely omitting the fact that it isn't his shirt at all, but Ilia's. "Okay, go now, Ilia is calling."

"Alright."

He disappears, the door softly clicking shut behind him. It takes you and Ilia approximately five minutes to figure everything out, him ceaselessly reminding you that it's nothing to worry about even though you aren't showing an ounce of uneasiness. You're not so bad at pretending.

"Okay, I'll start the stream in a minute."

"Alright."

"You should start streaming, and then I'll send you an invite you can accept."

"I know how this stuff works," you laugh out loud, rolling your eyes at him while he stares back at you with a wide smile. "You should clean the mess behind you before they start making fun of you for having a messy room again."

"Literally, what am I supposed to do with these?" he gestures helplessly behind himself. "It's a mountain of plushies!"

"And a half-ass made bed, along with empty chocolate wrappers on the nightstand."

"Okay, stop judging me!" he huffs, giving you a pouty look. "Do you want to do a shared chat?"

"Sure, it's not like people will be watching my stream anyway."

"No, I'm sure they will." He says it with a determination that amuses you, but you don't argue.

You try to recall the last time you did this—not streaming on Twitch in general, but doing it with him. It was back in 2023, when he was supposed to play with Jace. Since your brother caught a cold, you were summoned to sub in for him. It lasted maybe an hour before Ilia got bored. Jace joked that he ended the stream early because you beat him at every single game.

The moment you go live, you have three viewers: your best friends Ziggy and Cam, and another online friend you sometimes play with. They immediately flood the chat, the inside jokes never ceasing until you tell them to keep their mouths shut. Ilia sends you the invite soon after, and then his face pops up on your screen. His chat starts flooding in, and your throat goes dry for a second before you manage to smile, your voice coming out softer than usual.

"Hi."

The all-caps messages quickly catch your eye. Most of them are asking who you are, some of them already know, and a few are showing you love that takes you aback. Ilia quickly introduces you, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth when he refers to you as his friend—but it's fine. You both know it's not true. You shouldn't care about what outsiders believe.

"Why are you reloading? You had twenty-two bullets!"

"I forgot about it, okay?!" Ilia's voice comes through your headset, sounding slightly panicked.

You sigh, keeping your eyes locked on the screen. "Don't you dare peek."

But it's already too late. The second Ilia swings the corner, a shot rings out. You watch him drop right in front of you. You hear him groan, irritation seeping into your own voice. "I told you not to peek!"

"I thought I could get him," Ilia says, immediately trying to defend himself. "I had the angle."

"No, you had confidence. That's different," you note, a layer of smugness coating your voice. You peek at his webcam for a second to find him smiling. "You're so bad at this."

"Everyone starts somewhere!"

"Guys, even Liza plays better than him," you snort, leaning back against your seat as you watch your own agent die, surrendering the round to the opposite team so you can start another one with Ilia. So far, you've only won three times.

"Let's take a break for a while and answer some questions," Ilia announces, leaning close to his screen so he can read the comments. He squints until his face falls, a disappointed expression shooting in your direction. "Never mind. I shouldn't have."

You laugh, reading the comments that keep roasting him in contrast to praising you. He spends the next two minutes scanning the questions, trying to involve you, but mostly you keep to yourself. It's his stream, after all. And it's not like most of these people care about you.

"Someone's asking about our favorite superheroes," Ilia laughs like it's obvious, his gaze wandering behind you, looking at the Spiderman poster displayed on your wall. "I think yours is Batman, right?"

"Yes, either him or Quicksilver," you grin, going along with him, purposely sliding around in your chair so you can give them a better view of the poster. "I like lots of superheroes, with a few exceptions. Spider-Man is, like, so overrated."

"Yeah, totally."

"I feel like it's one of those superheroes targeted specifically for a children's audience."

"Yes," he says, a subtle smile tugging at his lips before he bursts out laughing. "I think we can play FNAF next, yeah."

"Oh my god, I love FNAF," your voice immediately gets excited. Leaning toward the screen, your eyes practically sparkle under the dim lights as you scan the comments. "Resident Evil too… Dead Space is definitely underrated, I agree… The last horror game I played, mhm, I think it was Soma."

"I have not played any of them."

"Sure you haven't," you snort at Ilia's comment, your eyes crinkling. "You get jump-scared all the time."

"I am gonna let that slide."

"Jace is working on a deadline, guys," you answer one of the comments, and the chat immediately floods with his name like they just remembered his existence. Then you squint at another message. "Oh my god, we do not look alike!"

"Who is she?" Ilia reads out loud. He spins around in his chair, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips when his eyes snap back to yours through the screen. "Jace's annoying little sister."

You laugh, not even slightly offended by it, because you know this time he doesn't mean it. You find yourself enjoying the secrecy you two share right in front of a chat of a few thousand people. Ilia proceeds to answer some questions regarding his training and skating, and then you two are just about to boot up Five Nights at Freddy's when a blur of motion cuts across your vision. Dusty comes sprinting across your keyboard, pausing for a second to look at the bright screen.

"Oh, hi Dusty," Ilia coos from the screen, his voice turning high-pitched just like when he talks to his cats. "That's her chinchilla, guys."

You scoop her up before she flees, gently pressing a kiss to her fur before you let her go. She immediately sprints down from your shoulder, jumps onto the bed, and settles somewhere behind the pillows.

"Ilia is scared of Dusty, guys."

"Stop spreading misinformation!" his voice rises in disbelief, shaking his head like he's deeply disappointed in you. "I'm not, guys. I love animals."

"Yo, what's up, bro?"

Suddenly, a loud noise breaks the flow as Jace comes into the frame, slapping his hands down on your shoulders. He makes you jolt, and you throw him an annoyed look through the lens.

"Hi, Jace."

"Hey, everyone," he waves at the camera, hovering over your chair as he looks at the chat, his smile wide and impossible. "Did my sister beat your ass?"

"I fear she did."

"Well, it's my turn then," he grins, motioning for you to get up. You look over your shoulder, giving him an offended look, but he completely ignores you. "I finished the deadline. Let me play with him, sis."

"We were about to play FNAF."

"Ilia sucks at that game."

"Bro, can't I just enjoy games?!" Ilia complains, shaking his head. "I don't have to be good at it."

"That's an excuse bad gamers use."

"My god, you're so annoying." You stand up from the chair, removing the headset and handing it to him because you know he won't leave you alone anyway.

A twinge of irritation sets in as he settles into your chair, seamlessly resuming the stream with Ilia as if you were just a temporary placeholder for him until he arrived. You know Jace doesn't have ill intentions, and he definitely doesn't realize the weight of what he's doing, but a sharp prickle of anger burns through you nonetheless. You close the door behind you and head down the stairs with an excuse of getting something to eat. He yells after you to make your signature pasta and leave some for him.

You ignore him. But when you get into the kitchen and start prepping the sauce while the water boils in the pot, you find yourself rationing enough for more than just yourself.

Your phone buzzes on the counter.

Ilia: Are you mad?

You almost roll your eyes at the question, but a smile still tugs at your lips because he noticed, and he cares.

You: just a bit annoyed

Ilia: I'm sorry

You: it's fine, it's not your fault

Ilia: He just invited me over For a Movie night

You: should I make pasta for 3?

Ilia: Yes please

You grin at the messages, locking your phone away and setting it on the table. He hasn't slept over since that night, and the thought of him staying in the room right next to yours while Jace sleeps dead to the world leaves you both excited and nervous.

Ilia arrives shortly after they end the stream. The pasta is ready, and the three of you eat at the table, no longer waiting for your dad because he decided to get drinks with his friends and called to say he might crash at a friend's place tonight in Washington—which means he definitely isn't coming home.

"What's up with him always staying somewhere else lately?" Jace asks, giving you a weirded-out expression as he shrugs his shoulders. "He has conferences, like, every two weeks."

You stop eating, briefly sharing a glance with Ilia to see that he confirms your thoughts. You straighten your spine, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you pause, unsure of how to strike up a conversation about it.

"Jace…"

"What?"

"You really think he's traveling for medical conferences?" You raise an eyebrow, trying so hard not to make him feel stupid, but failing anyway.

"What do you mean?" He furrows his eyebrows, looking at you first before his eyes lock back onto Ilia, who stays silent, letting the two of you settle it. "Where else would he be going?"

"Jace, he's seeing someone."

"What?" He snorts, rolling his eyes like you've said something impossible. Maybe it isn't supposed to, but it makes a spark of anger ignite within you. "Come on."

"Why is that so funny to you?"

"Because it's dad we're talking about."

"So?!"

"Why would he be sneaking around behind our backs?" he asks, looking at you in confusion. While you don't have a definitive answer to that question, you still can't believe he hasn't realized it until now. "He's an adult."

"I don't know, but do you seriously think he attends all these medical conferences and goes out to grab a drink with Dale every week with an excuse not to come home at night?" You roll your eyes, huffing at how stupid it sounds. "It's clear that he's seeing someone. I don't know why he feels the need to hide it from us, and I'm not going to bring it up until he does, but I thought you knew about it and we just didn't discuss it."

"Yeah, I haven't really thought about my dad sneaking behind my back like a teenager," his voice turns frustrated, something bitter laced in his tone.

He resumes eating, your eyes snapping back to your plate as you feel Ilia squeezing your hand under the table. Abruptly, Jace drops his fork, the clinking noise loud against his empty bowl. "I don't understand why he would hide it! It's not like we're children and we'd get mad or something!"

"I don't know, Jace."

"So, Dad is having a secret relationship behind our backs," he snorts, repeating the words like he's trying to let the information sink in. He leans across the chair, squinting his eyes as he looks at you for a second. Panic almost settles into your body because you can't quite decipher his expression. "Are you, by any chance, too?"

You roll your eyes, shrugging off his question as a joke. Thankfully, he doesn't dwell on it, and most likely, he doesn't notice the quick glances you and Ilia share with each other either.

Since you usually don't tag along with them when Ilia comes over and the movie Jace chose is boring to you, you go upstairs to your room, finishing the book you started a few days ago before you play with Cam and Ziggy for a while. You barely get a chance to talk to Ilia, and it only happens when you go downstairs for a snack while Jace is in the restroom.

"Streaming was fun," he murmurs, leaning against the counter while you cut up some fruit. You give him a piece of peach, which he takes without hesitation. "We should do it again."

"Maybe."

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

"I did, before Jace crashed it."

He sighs, giving you a pouty look as he leans in, quickly pressing his lips to yours, letting you taste the sweetness on his lips. You smile through the kiss, fixing his hair that's been growing out steadily over the past few weeks. A part of you wants to beg Tatyana to cut it again.

"Are you going to sleep?"

"It's not even 11 p.m. yet."

"Would you, um… would you like a cuddle buddy afterward?" he asks almost shyly, your heart on the verge of bursting at how adorable he is. His blue eyes sweep over your face, his cheeks flushed with heat.

"Are you asking for permission to sneak into my room?"

"Respectfully."

"Then you have it."

You reciprocate his grin, leaning in one more time to kiss him again before you hear Jace's heavy footsteps on the stairs.

They stay up way past midnight, both of them entirely engaged in their game, not even noticing you when you go down to get a glass of water and slip right past them.

It's way past 3 a.m. when you lock your phone and put it aside, Ziggy finally recalling that he has to wake up early tomorrow for his fencing practice. It keeps raining, the drops hitting against the window making a pleasant sound to fall asleep to, but you keep tossing in your sheets, unable to find a comfortable position.

Your eyes are shut tight when you slowly feel drowsiness wash over you, and just as you're about to drift off, you're snapped back to wakefulness. The floor creaks, the footsteps light as he quietly closes the door behind him. You keep your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when you feel the mattress dip down. He carefully climbs under the blanket, the weight of his legs subtly pressing against yours. You feel him shift closer, slowly circling an arm around your waist as he leans down and presses a light kiss to your cheekbone. You can't contain the smile that breaks across your face when he tucks his chin over your shoulder, his breath fanning over your neck.

"I know you're awake," he murmurs, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Switching sides to face him under the moonlight that spills into the room, you make out his nose and blue eyes, his grip tightening around your waist. Throwing your leg over his waist to chase his warmth, you snuggle deep into his chest, a content hum escaping your throat as his familiar scent floods your nostrils.

"I couldn't sleep," he whispers, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I thought you were long asleep but I'm pretty sure I heard you giggling, like, fifteen minutes ago."

"Yeah, Ziggy said something stupid," you smile, a chuckle escaping your throat at the memory. Sliding your hand under his t-shirt because his warmth is comfortable against your skin, you trace lines on his back, wishing you could somehow close the distance that doesn't exist between you two anymore—wishing you could completely let him swallow you in. "You can't fall asleep here."

"Just let me stay for a little bit," he mumbles. "I'll sneak out early." "Mhm."

The silence, the soft sound of the rain, and the warmth of his body against you feels just right, leaving you ready to let sleep consume you. But then, you notice his body suddenly stiffen. His breathing hitches. He stops moving completely, freezing like a statue against you. Before you can even ask what’s wrong, you feel the hardness pressing against your thin shorts, your eyes slowly opening as the realization sinks in.

"Oh, fuck," he murmurs, gently pushing you away, untangling his legs from yours and rolling onto his back. He groans, covering his face with his arm, refusing to look you in the eye. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I mean, fuck, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's fine."

"No, it's not," he insists, clearly unable to let the initial embarrassment go. "We were having this sweet moment and I got a boner like a schoolboy."

"I mean, I'm honored."

He huffs, a breathless chuckle escaping your own throat at his stubbornness. You glance toward the closed door, your pulse picking up just enough for you to feel the heat radiating from your body. Licking your lips, you glance back at him, sprawled on his back, still refusing to look at you. You stretch out your hand, gently touching his arm. "Do you, um… do you want me to help?"

Ilia drops his arm from his face, his blue eyes widening. He looks at you like he can't quite process what you just said. "What?"

"I mean…" You shift a little closer, your voice dropping to an absolute whisper, shy as you feel your face burn with heat. "Jace is right down the hall. We can't do it. But I can… you know."

He sits up, biting down on his lip as he stares at you. "You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"You don't have to, really—"

"Ilia," you stop him, pressing your palm against his mouth until his body relaxes. "I want to."

You remove your hand, leaving his mouth slightly agape as he stares up at you. Before you can overthink it, you nudge him back into a comfortable position, throwing your leg over his thigh to straddle him. Your fingers are almost trembling when you reach the waistband of his shorts, slipping your hand underneath to wrap your palm around him. The moment your hand makes contact with his burning skin, a low breath hitches in his throat. His mouth falls open, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"Ilia…" You lean in, your face so close to his that you can feel his hot breath on your skin. Your own body is slowly setting on fire, something twisting deep in your stomach as you feel your shorts getting damper. Brushing your lips against his ear, you whisper, "You have to be quiet."

"I am trying," his voice is weak, so soft that it makes your chest tighten. "It’s just… you’re really warm."

You take his hand, placing it on top of yours where it's wrapped around him, silently asking him to guide you. With pure instinct and the direction of his trembling hand against yours, you begin to move, the rhythm clumsy at first before you adjust to the unfamiliar feeling. The moment you find a steady pace, his eyes flutter shut.

"Like that?" you whisper, your face burning as you watch him completely unravel under your touch.

"Yeah," he chokes out, his other hand digging into your hip. "Exactly like that. Just… don't stop."

His head rolls back against the bedframe, his chest heaving up and down in shallow, ragged breaths. His hand falls away to his side, letting you fully take control. The sight of him is enough to make your mouth water, your own breath uneven as you pick up the rhythm.

He lets out a soft whimper, the stillness of the room pierced by the sudden rise in his voice. You lean in to kiss him, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth to keep him quiet. You continue moving your hand up and down, feeling his hips subtly shift against your palm. As you swirl your tongue over his, he abruptly pulls back, his mouth glistening in the dark.

"Wait," he mutters suddenly, his eyes snapping open. His gaze looks almost drunken in the moonlight. He grips your wrist, slowing you down for a fraction of a second. "Hold on, I don't want to—"

"It's okay," you whisper fiercely against his cheek, leaning your weight into him to keep him right there, refusing to let him pull away.

He lets out a defeated, ragged sigh, his fingers locking tightly between yours as you guide him through the final moments. His entire body goes rigid, a tremor running straight through his muscles as he buries his face deeply into the crook of your neck, smothering a heavy groan right against your skin.

For a minute, he stays just like that, the ragged sound of his breathing slowly quietening down. Gradually, the tension in his body drains away, leaving him completely relaxed against you. He pulls his hand back, his face still half-buried in your shoulder as he lets out a long, exhausted breath.

"Wow," he murmurs, finally looking up at you. His hair is a total mess and his cheeks are flushed a deep red. A quiet, shy smile touches his lips. "That was… woah."

You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, reaching over to grab a tissue from your nightstand to clean your hand. As you're about to climb off him and slide back into the warmth of the bed, he stops you, keeping his grip on your waist tight so you don't move.

"You think I'm just gonna let you sleep after that?"

He leans in, his voice soft and his mouth warm against your skin as he places a gentle kiss on your neck. One of his hands slides up underneath your top, your eyes fluttering shut when he slowly trails his fingers to your breasts. A shiver runs down your spine, your breath hitching in your throat when he cups them with his palms. His fingertips brush across your hardened buds as you throw your head back, biting down on your lip so a moan doesn't escape your throat—because if it does, you know it'll be impossible to contain yourself.

You offer no resistance as he pulls the shirt over your head, his stare almost hungry. He gently nudges you down onto the mattress, hovering over you while he continues trailing kisses down your chest. The moment his mouth closes around your nipple, your back arches instantly. You bury your fingers into the bedsheets, gripping the fabric until your knuckles turn white to stifle the muffled gasp tearing from your throat. His hands slide down to your hips, removing your shorts in one smooth motion that leaves you entirely exposed to the cool air of the room.

With the end of the triple header, it was time to for a little break. And that little break was spent with Kimi doing his schoolwork during the morning and early afternoon, then training (for Kimi) and physical therapy (for you) in the late afternoons and the nights... well the nights...

"Osc, don't you dare!" Lando yells and your ears ring a little on the other side of the call.

Your boyfriends are currently playing Mario Kart in their Monaco apartment, while you watch some series in your Imola apartment. But you're only half paying attention, because you keep laughing at Oscar and Lando.

Oscar, who's smirking mischievously as he targets Lando's character once again, crashing him out from in front of him. Oscar then takes the lead while Lando is yelling at him and you just laugh at the two of them.

Oh how you wish that they were beside you.

It's only a couple days more until you have to go to Canada and there you would finally reunite.

But to be fair, it hasn't even been that long since you've been in the same place. It's just that ever since you got together, time without them seems to pass so slow. You want to spend time with them, doing whatever you can together (mostly cuddle).

That was your favorite thing in the whole world. Cuddling with your boyfriends, them holding you close or you holding them close. It didn't matter which way it happened, you enjoyed it all. Even when Lando would sometimes poke at you and even when in retaliation you'd press your cold feet against his warm waist. Even when Oscar would just laugh at the two of you in that terribly fond way.

You sigh and watch as Lando wrestles Oscar for finishing in front of him. Yeah, you can't wait for Canada.

Canada was warm when you arrived with the Mercedes team. But it was still better than other parts of the world, where the summer heat started creeping in. You couldn't even think about how it would be in a few weeks, how warm it would be. You were glad for the weather for now.

As much as you were glad for your boyfriends, who came over every evening for a bit of time spent together.

"Ah, I needed this," you murmured on the first evening as Lando laid halfway on top of you.

"You and me both," Lando agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck.

"Okay, give me space too," Oscar entered back into the room after his trip to the bathroom. "I wanna be in the cuddle pile too."

"Choose a space then," Lando looked up at him for a moment. "But you cannot be in the middle, I already reserved this space," he teased and pulled his arms closer around you.

"Fine, but tomorrow I'll be in the middle," Oscar stuck his tongue out and approached the bed, laying down next to Lando, arms circling around his waist.

"Fine," Lando sighed out and closed his eyes in bliss.

"The day after can be mine, right?" you asked squeezing Lando's shoulder.

"Yep," the two answered immediately.

Then came media day and free practice Friday and quali Saturday. During the day you worked hard with Kimi, giving him tips and tricks, though it seemed he didn't need it that much. All the training that you helped him with during the free week seemed to amount in a good preformance. So much so that he ended up in fourth place after qualifying ended.

"That could be a podium tomorrow, right?" Kimi asked after the debrief, looking excited.

"Could be, if you work hard for it," you smiled at him. "And we'll do everything in our power to push you through it."

"I'll do whatever it takes," he smiled too.

And that was that.

Today though as you prepare for the race start, Kimi's radio check comes with a little uncertainty.

"Radio check," Kimi replies back. "Y/n, I'm a little worried about the two behind me."

"You don't have to," you tell him gently, though you understand his worry. "You just have to pay attention to yourself and what happens in front of you. Oscar and the McLaren usually have a good start, but anything can happen. Keep turn 1 clean."

"Yeah," Kimi sighs.

"Take a deep breath, little wolf," you hum. "It's all gonna turn out great."

"You shouldn't make promises like that," Kimi chuckles.

"I'm not. I just trust your abilities."

And it's true. You're aware of Kimi's abilities, the way he's aware on the track, how quick his reflexes are.

It's proven right at the race start, where he manages his position perfectly and takes third place. And despite Oscar's advances, Kimi manages to keep it until he has to pit for a new set of tyres. He emerges fifth, an amazing place to be after a pitstop.

By lap 30, he's back to third place, but the two McLarens are right behind him. He fights against Oscar with all his power, only slightly panicking once or twice to you and Bono on the radio.

Lap 38. With Max pitting, Kimi comes up second, and even if only for a little while, but he starts bridging the gap between him and George.

"Box box," Bono tells him in lap 39 and you can hear him sigh but he takes the turn and comes in for a new set of tyres.

"Good job Kimi," you tell him, trying to keep the faith in him.

It's still a long road to the checkered flag, and you know that Kimi needs a little reassurance. He has been stressed about a lot of things and the Canadian grand prix came at a really bad time with Kimi having to study for his exams. So as he emerges from the pitlane in 6th, you try to keep his stress in the optimal range for him to do a good job on track.

Lap 46 is when Kimi comes up to fifth, when Oscar pits in front of him. Then a lap later Lando pits, so he's fourth.

"Doing good, Kimi," you encourage him. "Just pay attention to tyre deg. You can do this."

It's an intense race, especially on lap 54, when Charles pits at the front and Kimi slides back into third place. But Oscar is close behind and you can almost feel Kimi start freaking out.

"He's always behind me," he whines as he defends against one of Oscar's attempts.

"Yeah, mate, that's kinda how racing works," Bono jokes on the radio to lighten Kimi's mood a little.

"Just be calm and be smart," you add with a light smile on your face. "You can do this."

"Copy that," Kimi sighs.

Just two laps later, when Kimi's attention wanes a little, Oscar almost gets past him.

"Shit, he's faster," Kimi mutters on the radio. "What should I do? Y/n, please help."

"You're doing good, cucciolotto," you tell him, your tone as calm as you can manage. "He may be faster, but you can be smarter. Don't panic now, you know exactly what to do. We've talked about this."

"Yeah, yeah," Kimi says and you can hear it from his tone that he does remember the conversation.

And he manages it all, beautifully. All the simulator runs that you talked him through, all the conversations that you had with him about situations like this, it culminates in this. This fight.

On lap 67 though, things take a turn. Oscar and Lando have been fighting for fourth place for some time by then and you knew how frustrated Lando must have felt. And that frustration is obvious by the way he dives for a space that isn't really there.

It culminates in Lando crashing into Oscar's rear. The damage is only bad on Lando's car seemingly, as he rolls to a stop in the grass. His full front wing is missing and you can see on the broadcast that he's holding his head.

"Are you alright dude?" comes through the radio from the McLaren pitwall.

"Yep, I'm sorry. It's all my bad. All my fault," he rambles, sounding frustrated. "Unlucky, sorry. Stupid from me."

Your heart aches for your boyfriend, but can't dwell on it as Kimi's radio crackles.

"Was that my fault?" he asks, having witnessed the carnage behind him in the rearview mirror.

"Nope, they lagged behind by then," you tell him, voice steady.

"Is everyone involved okay?"

"Yes, Lando is alright," you hum in response.

It's quite calm behind the safety car, knowing that they probably won't have a restart with only a few laps left. At least that's what you think. Because George is still warming his tyres and slows, which is unexpected by Max, who pulls to the side to not crash into him at the speed which he's going at.

When George's radio comes through, you shake your head in distaste. You never liked the mindgames that George plays. Not when you raced against him, not now. But you don't speak out about it, you keep your distaste to yourself.

They cross the finish line one final time, the checkered flags waving. Kimi is in third and you can't help the wide smile that spreads on your face.

"That's p3, my love!" you tell him on the radio. "Congrats, congrats!"

"Oh my God, oh my God..." is all that comes through from his side.

"How does it feel?" Bono asks and you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Amazing!" Kimi's voice is excited. "Thank you guys, great work."

"Grande Kimi!" Toto joins in. "Little Kimi grows grande!"

You laugh and watch the screen as Kimi celebrates. When he pulls into the third place, Bono places a hand on your shoulder, having stood up already.

"Come on, let's walk to parc fermé," he smiles down at you and you nod, grabbing your crutches.

It's a good paced walk to parc fermé, Bono helping you along to stand with the others from the team.

"Great job on keeping Kimi level headed," he tells you once you're standing underneath the podium.

"Thank you," you smile at him. "Amazing job on instructing Kimi. I've always admired what you achieved with Hamilton."

"Thank you," he smiles back and then both of your attention strays to the balcony, where they start announcing the winners.

With little difficulty, you balance your upper body on your crutches so that you can clap for Kimi first, then Max and finally George. As the two anthems play, you can't help but watch Kimi, who looks like he's on top of the world. His first podium. You can't help the tears in your eyes. It was a tough fight, but you did it. Kimi did it.

He beams when he accepts the trophy and lifts it immediately above his head. You can see his eyes search the crowd, then finally settle on you and if it's possible, his smile widens even more. He lifts his free hand and points at you and you can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you. You cheer loudly for him.

And after the podium, Kimi is sprinting toward you, his trophy in hand. You laugh as he skids to a stop in front of you, trying his best to be gentle as he envelops you in a big hug, lifting you off your feet.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he mutters into your ear.

"It was all you, my love," you squeeze him. "Beautiful work, good job. I'm so so proud of you."

"Thank you, Y/n," he sighs. "Thank you so much for being here."

After the celebrations, after yelling too much and probably drinking too much too, you arrive back at the hotel, feeling tired but happy. To your surprise though, you find the lights on.

"You're home!" Oscar says as you find them on the bed.

"Why-" you start, but your brain helpfully supplies: "oh, right, I gave you a spare key."

"Yeah," Oscar nods. "How was the celebration?"

"Good," you smile, then you see that Lando's face is slightly red. In the 'I cried' type of way. So you approach the bed slowly and sit down, letting your crutches drop to the floor. "Oh my love, are you alright?"

"Yeah," Lando sighs and smiles softly. "Now I am."

His hand reaches for yours and you let him pull you closer. He's laying on Oscar slightly, his back pressing against Oscar's front. You fit perfectly in between Lando's legs though as your legs give out after a little and you lay on top of him.

"Was it about the race?" you ask him, resting your chin against his chest to look him in the eyes.

"Yeah," he sighs.

"But we've sorted it out," Oscar smiles and reaches his free hand to caress your back. "Kimi did really good today. His first podium..."

"Yeah, the first of many I hope," you smile and let your head drop against Lando's chest, listening to his heartbeat. "Hopefully one with you guys there as well."

"As long as I'm on the top step," Lando jokes gently and you chuckle.

"Or me," Oscar agrees.

"Hmm, how about no?" Lando teases.

"How about yes?"

"I want to be on top."

"We've had this conversation, you can be top anywhere else but on the podium."

"That's not what this season is proving."

"The season," you join in to stop their lighthearted bickering. "Is proving that both of you guys are on top. And I'm watching from the bottom of the podium."

"Hmmm," Lando pulls you a bit further up on him so that he can face you. "But you look good while doing it."

"Oh?" you smirk, but feel your face flush. "And you look good from the bottom..."

"Mhm," Lando flushes at that and leans in to kiss you.

"But," you stop him, his lips barely touching yours. "Oscar is the top."

Oscar chokes on a laugh (knowing full well what you're referring to) and you know just how red he probably gets. You don't get to see it though, because Lando finally kisses you through his own chuckle.

The air in the room changes, it feels charged with a different kind of tension. And your heart races with it. Lando kisses you deeply, with a rarely seen passion and you can't help but sigh into his mouth as his hands slide down your back.

He pulls away then, just enough to murmur against your lips.

"As long as I can be your top."

And you get in the words just as he dives in for another kiss.

"Okay."

It's a warm day in Austria when you arrive to the paddock. There's a lightness to you and to Kimi as well, who feels more than confident after his first podium in Canada.

And it shows in the first free practice where he drives confidently, ending the session higher than anyone expected. Now you walk with him toward the hospitality unit, talking about the session, his chances during the second free practice and also qualifying.

That's when someone steps out of the Ferrari garage with a force only the youth can have and bumps into you. Kimi's hands fly out immediately to steady you, months of doing so conditioning him.

"Oh, so sorry," the boy turns around and Kimi's face lights up as he recognizes Dino Beganovic.

"Ah! Dino!" he greets him. "So good to see you, mate!"

"Hi, Kimi," Dino smiles back and looks at you. "Hi. So sorry for bumping into you, I really should've payed more attention."

"It's alright," you smile. "Good to see you again. You were quick out there with the Ferrari. Once again."

"Ah, I tried my best," the boy laughs, a bit embarrassed. "I should really go, now. Though it was great to see you again."

Dino turns around to leave, but you stop him quickly.

"Wait. Actually it's good that you're here," you start as he turns back around, curiosity in his eyes. "I host these rookie dinners every month and I was hoping you would join us?"

"Why me? I'm not technically a rookie," Dino hums.

"I realized that we were at Prema at the same time," you smile. "And I feel like I should've realized it sooner, but my memory isn't what it used to be. So, I was hoping we could have a kind of... Prema reunion?"

"Oh, uh... sure," Dino blinks.

"That's an amazing idea!" Kimi gasps as he looks at you.

"Thank you," you huff a laugh. "So, what do you say to dinner?"

"Today?" he asks looking down at his phone. "Yeah, I could... thank you."

"Then I'll have Kimi send you the location and time," you reach out to squeeze his wrist. "And good luck for the rest of today."

"Thanks."

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, dinobeganovic, kimiantonelli and 463,279 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, dinobeganovic, kimiantonelli, olliebearman, gabrielbortoleto, isackhadjar

yourusername: ladies and gentleman i present to you a prema-union (plus isack)!❤️❤️ also known as the rookie dinner🙂‍↕️

at some point i'll manage to gather everyone for a proper prema-union, but this is all i could do for now. lovely to have you with us, @.dinobeganovic and @.oscarpiastri for this evening!🥰

view all comments

dinobeganovic: i didn't think it was gonna be this fun! thank you so much for having me!!❤️

yourusername: thank you for accepting the invite! it was great to hang out with you!

dinobeganovic: if there is ever an actual prema-union, i want an invite🥰

yourusername: of course!! i would never leave you out!!

oscarpiastri: thank you for including me🧡

yourusername: thank you for coming❤️

oscarpiastri: not like i'd ever say no to you🧡

landonorris: still salty i wasn't invited😭

yourusername: were you at prema with us?? no!

landonorris: not my fault you guys are babies😭😭

yourusername: well, not our fault that you're OLD

landonorris: the betrayal!! achk😭

gabrielbortoleto: ha OLD

landonorris: noooo

user1: i wanna know about these rookie dinners so much😭

user2: me too! i want content, it must be so fun!😭

user3: can you imagine? five teenagers and you have to pay attention to all of them😭

user4: these prema years >>>>

user5: oscar looks so happy to be there😭 what a cutie😭

kimiantonelli: can't wait for the prema-union!! we need to do it!!

yourusername: agreed!! i miss the prema days😭

oscarpiastri: honestly, me too, it was such a different time

olliebearman: i can't believe we never really interacted during the prema years. we should've!

gabrielbortoleto: we would've had a different time coming to f1, that's for sure

yourusername: don't even mention it, i'm yearning to get back that time

dinobeganovic: i mean, at least you guys are there together now?

yourusername: you'll be with us soon!!❤️

dinobeganovic: hope so!!❤️❤️

fred.vesti: sad that I wasn't invited😭

yourusername: you WERE though, you said you're busy😭

fred.vesti: and to think that i was your teammate and you DIDN'T invite me😭

yourusername: shut up, fr

oscarpiastri: sucks to suck, dude

fred.vesti: leave me alone😭

isackhadjar: you prema people are a different BREED

dinobeganovic: sorry that we're having FUN

kimiantonelli: someone is salty that they weren't at prema with the rest of us

olliebearman: damn hadjar, roll back the jealousy, it's stinking up the place

isackhadjar: maman!! help me!!

yourusername: darling, you started it...

gabrielbortoleto: yeah, hadjar!!

oscarpiastri: shouldn't mess with the prema people😬😬

isackhadjar: not you too...😭

user6: honestly, if they DO manage to get all the prema people together for a dinner...

user7: can you imagine the chaos? the rookies are ALREADY a handfull

user8: i CAN imagine the chaos and i CRAVE IT!!

user9: imagine the ogs together😭 rob, logan, arthur, oscar, y/n, fred... and all the younger ones like dino, paul, kimi, ollie, gabi, ARVID!! like it would be so chaotic, but also so so lovely😭

user10: omg, paul and arvid😭 do you think y/n would adopt them too??

user11: i mean, it already seems to me that she adopted dino as well😭

user12: what a lovely family they are🥺❤️

After a gruelling Saturday, where just nothing seemed to go Kimi's way, you hope that at least Sunday will turn out great. Kimi is starting from 9th place, which isn't great, but isn't terrible either.

So far everything up until the formation lap was great. It's warm and it was hell standing in the sun for the anthem, but you managed. The laps were great before the driver's parade. The driver's parade was fine. And now, the start procedure is okay too.

"Radio check," Kimi radios.

"Loud and clear, Kimi," you answer back. It's only a couple minutes until the formation lap and you can feel Kimi's tenseness through the radio.

"Great," he sighs.

"Breathing excercise, please Kimi," you tell him and you can hear another sigh from the other side. "Big breath in," the radio crackles as he does what you tell him. "Swallow," you instruct. "Blow the air through your mouth, slowly."

You found that this excercise helped him immensely to clear his head. It was a lucky find too. One night you were scrolling through your instagram feed and found one video about this technique and you decided to try it. It was originally meant to help him during the exams (which he completed beautifully considering the circumstances), but it proved so useful, you tried it before sessions too.

"Are you feeling better?" you ask him.

"Mhm," he hums back. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Then the minute ticks down and the formation lap begins. Watching the telemetry, everything seems to be going great. Then you glance at the broadcast, that shows that though most of the grid is already moving, Carlos is standing stationary.

"Oh no," you sigh and hope for the best for him. And as Lando approaches the starting grid, he does get going.

It comes in handy that the circuit is short this time, because Carlos goes around in little time and enters the pitlane. However as he stops at the pitlane exit, his breaks catch on fire almost immediately.

"What's happening to Carlos?" Kimi radios as you get the race control's order that a new start procedure will be in place.

"Probably a break issue," Bono answers him. "He couldn't get a start, then once he stopped in the pitlane, his breaks caught on fire."

"Oh, poor man," Kimi sighs and you can't help but agree him. It's terrible when issues like that arise.

"Yeah," you hum. "Try to stay in focus though."

The delay is long and it's never great to have. But, thankfully nothing happens during this start procedure and the drivers are allowed to go on their new formation lap. This time even the lights can go out and the cars shoot forward towards turn 1.

Kimi clears it beautifully, but in turn 2, he gets swarmed by all the midfield cars. It's messy and the result of that comes in turn 3, where he breaks later than he planned (a lock-up, if you're correct), and he collides right into Max.

It's not a terrible crash, but your heartbeat jumps a little. You feel terrible for what happened (as if you could've prevented it) and immediately reach for the radio button.

"Sorry about that, locked the rear. Sorry," Kimi is quicker and he sounds sad and guilty.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, sorry."

The first one out of the car is Max and though he's in his helmet, you know how he must feel. But when Kimi gets out of the car and goes to apologize, he seems gentle. You all know what it was.

A rookie mistake.

Something that had to happen for him too, at some point. It was just a shame that it took Max out of the equation too. And knowing Kimi, you imagined that that stung more than the fact that he himself is out of the race.

But it's all part of the learning process, which he's still a part of. And Kimi knows that too. As does Max, who states later in the interview that it was only a mistake and that there are no hard feelings over it. Which just proves to you how much Max has grown as a person and how truly amazing he is.

Which is why you decide to text him during the evening.

Then you switch to a different contact. Gabi, who did amazing during the race, ending up in 8th place, which was the best that he did since the start of the season.

"It's home race tiiime," Lando sing-songs as you enter along with him and Kimi to the Silverstone paddock.

"Mhm, heard you had your own stand, right?" you grin at him.

"I doo," he smiles widely, clearly excited. "It's so great, I really couldn't wait for this weekend."

"I know," you chuckle. "You've literally been talking about this since the race in Austria ended."

"Can you blame me? This is so exciting!"

"No," you sigh, looking at him with love clear in your eyes. "No, I really cannot."

"I'll go find Osc, see you during the lunch break?" he steps closer to hug you.

"Yeah, see you then," you nod into his shoulder and hug him back for a moment. "I love you," you whisper so only he can hear it.

"I love you too," he whispers back and when he pulls back, his smile is warmer than before. "Bye, Kimi," he reaches out to ruffle the boy's hair and then he walks off towards the McLaren garage.

Kimi smiles when he looks at you and you reciprocate it. You walk through the hospitality, chatting with Kimi about the possibilities of the weekend. Then both of your phones ping with a notification and you share a look before Kimi takes his own out.

"It's the rookies in the chat," Kimi says, reading the message. "Specifically Gabi. He's asking where we are."

"Why?" you ask, furrowing your brows.

"Don't know, he didn't say," Kimi hums while texting back.

"Should we wait for them here?"

"No, I told them to meet us half way," he shrugs and puts his phone away.

Meanwhile, the rest of the rookies, namely Ollie, Isack and Gabi are pulling a very confused Arvid Lindblad through the paddock.

"I'm telling you, you gotta meet her!" Gabi promises. "She's like the best person ever!"

"I don't doubt that," Arvid manages. "But is now really the time for it? We're on the track soon."

"Of course now is the time!" Ollie encourages.

"And we still have an hour until then," Isack waves it off. "You'll be plenty good."

"Honestly, you'll love her, believe me," Ollie agrees. "You won't feel like it's wasted time."

"Y/n!" Gabi yells through the paddock when he spots you and waves enthusiastically at you. "Come on!"

You turn towards the sound and Kimi looks out behind you. You notice the group. It's kinda hard to miss them as they push through the people, pep in their steps, each sporting a big grin.

Well, all except one, who's held by Gabi.

"Good morning, ducklings," you chuckle when they reach you. "Who did you kidnap this time?"

"This time?" Arvid squawks while Gabi lets him go to hug you tightly. "Do you guys make a habit of this?"

"No!" the rookies chorus, while you reply, "yes."

"Well..." Kimi hums, thinking about it. "Maybe we do."

You chuckle and look at the new face, whom you're sure you've seen around before. Maybe earlier in the year, or before that. You can't put a finger on it.

"So, Arvid, this is Y/n," Ollie introduces. "Y/n, this is Arvid. He was with us at Prema."

"Ah," you gasp. "Of course! We met very briefly during my time there."

"Yeah," Arvid lets himself smile and reaches out to shake your hand. "I'm Arvid Lindblad."

"Y/n L/n, a pleasure to finally officially meet you," you shake his hand, leaning heavily on your crutches. "You're driving today?"

"Yeah," he nods. "I'm really excited."

"I can imagine," you chuckle. "It's a really busy weekend for you, so good luck with everything."

"Yeah, it's busy, but wouldn't give it up for anything. I'm gonna do my best on every front."

"I'm sure you will. I can't wait to see you out there."

"So you'll watch me?" he asks and you can see his eyes light up, which makes your heart turn soft.

"Of course."

He positively beams at that and you feel like you're gonna melt. You can't help but reach out to squeeze his arm, not wanting to cross his boundaries but also not able to stop yourself. Clearly, you have a soft spot for the younger generation.

"See? This is why I said you'll love her," Ollie chimes in and when you look at him, you can see the wide grin on his face.

"Oh, you told him about me?" you raise your eyebrows.

"Of course, maman!" Isack smiles sweetly and steps in to hug you. "You're our grid mom, we're telling everyone about you. Especially those who have a chance of being on the grid."

"Woah, I wouldn't say it like that," Arvid winces. "We're all just testing."

"Well," you hum, looking at him. "Testing is one step closer to your dream. So, who knows?"

"That's how we all got here," Kimi agrees.

"In any case, I hope we'll see you on the grid soon," you smile encouragingly at the boy and he smiles back. "And now off all of us go, because we're gonna be late!"

"Oh, shit, you're right," Gabi looks at his phone where a message glints. "Nico is already searching for me."

"Honestly, you and Nico," Kimi teases and Gabi narrows his eyes at him.

"I agreed to meet with Esteban at the trailer," Ollie points in one direction and leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. "I'll see you later, mum."

"Yeah, careful on the track, darling."

"Always," he winks and jogs off.

"Gabriela!" comes a shout and Gabi looks in the direction of the voice, where Nico stands, his hands on his hips.

"Uh, shoot, that's me," he winces and turns back to you quickly. "See you later, mama," he leans his head down and you press a kiss to his forehead as he has come to expect. He grins at that and rushes off to Nico, who you can see is shaking his head, though with a smile on his lips.

"I'll walk with you," Isack shrugs. "Arvid, you too?"

"Sure," the younger agrees and so you and the three boys walk toward the garages.

The three next to you start chatting, cracking jokes to lighten the anxiety that (though Arvid hides it beautifully) radiates off of the youngest. You smile as Isack bumps his shoulder gently against Arvid's, his smile soft as he says something to him.

And suddenly you have a strong feeling that sooner or later, but Arvid will make it to Formula 1. And once he does, you'll officially adopt him into your group of ducklings.

Because he fits right in.

user15: he's so obviously upset about losing those grid places...

user16: can you blame him? he worked really hard for that third place. and now it's just gone like that :(

user17: i mean but he DID cause that crash in austria

user18: he's still allowed to feel upset about the penalty. he made a mistake and he's paying the price, but he can feel however he wants to feel!

user19: i'm sure y/n and him have a lot to work over with that😬😬

user20: soooo.... are we getting another kimi podium??

user21: guys! the weather forcast is saying rain for tomorrow😬😬

user22: well we know who LOVES a good rainy race

user23: thank you so much for always bringing the interviews to us tiff!!💜

user24: do you think that y/n and him talked about the penalty beforehand?

user25: definitely, i mean, it's not a huge penalty, but it still IS one, so she definitely talked to him about how he should deal with it

user26: "my mentor is really great at grounding my thoughts" my heart🥺🥺

user27: they're so mother-son coded🥺🥺

user28: kimi in the beginning of the interview:☺️ kimi at the end:😑

user29: sorry interviewer, you really know how to ruin someone's mood😬

Hours earlier than the race start, the rain starts falling. And it's heavy too. During the anthem, during the driver's parade, it's raining like it has to. For a while it's not even sure that you'll have a standing start.

But an hour before the is supposed to start, the rain stops and the sun comes out.

"This is gonna be a difficult race," you mutter to Kimi, who stands next to you as you both look at the sky.

"Yep," he nods and with a sigh, hugs you sideways.

"What's wrong, cucciolotto?" you hum, resting your head on his.

"I'm... still sad about starting sixth," he says and you sigh. "I know, we've talked about this, but... I can't help it."

"I know, my love. But we'll bring it back, I believe in you."

"And our strategy."

"And our strategy," you laugh and press a kiss to the crown of his head. Then you nudge his foot with your crutch. "Now go, get yourself in the zone, it's not long now."

He salutes to you jokingly and walks off to focus. You smile and walk to the pitwall, where you're staying for the first time. It was Toto's idea and you're kind of glad for a change of scenery.

The race start procedure is interesting. Everyone is on inter tyres with the drying track, but you suspect there could be need for the full rain tyres. Because during the formation lap the forecast is saying that there's a chance for rain.

There are some brave souls (or stupid, who's to say) that decide to change for slicks as the track dries fast. But when they suggest it for consideration (just as Kimi preforms a beautiful manouevre to overtake Lewis Hamilton in front of him), you're quick to shut their ideas down.

"We should change to slicks," one of the engineers suggest over the radio.

"I don't agree with that, it's still massively wet in sector 3," you're quick to add. "Plus there's chance for rain."

"We could be a lot quicker."

"It doesn't matter if we can save time if we crash in the last sector," you argue. "Wait with that decision just another lap."

"We'll-"

"We'll listen to Y/n for now," Toto stops the argument and you all focus back on the screens.

And your gut feeling proves to be right, because in lap 4, just as the VSC (a result of Liam's crash in lap 2), there's another crash. It's Gabi, who was on slicks.

"See?" you radio them, looking at them. "This is what I meant."

On lap 5 the Virtual Safety Car comes back as Gabi's car is retired and a lap later you're notified that there's rain incoming in about ten minutes. All the while Kimi is locked in an intense battle with Lewis. A battle that lasts until lap 10, when it is raining and Kimi suddenly overtakes Lewis.

You wince when Bono has to call him in for a tyre change, because his tyres were dying for the past two laps. You know that it stings for him to lose such a position and so quickly too. But there's nothing to do, so he goes out again on new inters.

On the end of lap 11, seemingly everyone and their mother pits, so that slides Kimi up to p2, right behind Oscar with a five second gap. Alex is close behind though and your mentee's only saving grace is that his car is faster than Alex's, so he keeps his position.

In the next couple minutes, the rain intensifies and you start to worry about his safety. Especially when he radios-

"Lot of rain in turn 8 through 14," his voice is clear through the radio.

"Copy that, be careful," Bono replies to him.

And not a minute goes by before he radios again.

"I can't see anything," he complains.

"I know, be careful Kimi," you tell him because you can see his camera and you can only make out blobs. Thankfully though, the race control seems to understand that the situation is turning dire and sends in the safety car.

"It's safety car now," Bono updates him, though you know that Kimi can see that too.

"Thank God," he sighs and you agree with him.

They circle around the track like that for a couple laps, the rain lessening as the minutes tick by. The cars spray water, making it hard to see anything on the onboard cameras. It's through that restart where Max (who has been behind him in third place since his own pitstop) suddenly overtakes Kimi and he's left to defend his position against Lando.

You catch sight of the broadcast then where it just changed to Isack's onboard. It's hard to see anything and you squint to make out anything through the curtain of water. The rain has thankfully stopped. Then, you see a Red Bull appearing almost out of nowhere and Isack crashes against it.

The reaction is almost immediate - and it's another safety car. You aren't even sure that Maylander even made it back properly to the safety car's resting place.

"What happened?" comes from Kimi.

"Isack Hadjar crashed into Yuki Tsunoda, he couldn't see anything," Bono explains.

"Yeah, man, I can't see anything either," he agrees.

"I know, let's hope the track dries," you try to calm him.

He makes a pitstop next lap and comes out right between Nico Hülkenberg and Pierre Gasly. Two people, who have been fighting against each other for a while.

"Amazing place I guess," you mutter and then wince, because the restart comes and it's... horrible to say the least. Kimi just barely dodges Nico's car as the line of cars suddenly come to a near stop. "Oof... that's messy."

But Kimi manages. Through the next laps he overtakes Nico with an ease and he hunts down Lance Stroll, pulling Nico with him. It brings fruit in lap 32, when he finally overtakes Lance after a small slip from the Canadian man.

The track is drying slowly, which makes the tyres overheat too, especially as Kimi chases Lando, who's 8,9 seconds ahead of him. You tell him that he can relax it a little, to keep the tyres alive a little longer.

Ten laps before the checkered flag, you finally call him out to change the tyres, bringing in the slicks. It's a mess there, with Oscar and Lando staying out on track, Kimi ending up behind them, then Nico in fourth, which makes you smile. Maybe it shouldn't, especially with you needing to focus on Kimi, but still. You can't help but be happy for the German.

"I'm slipping a lot here," Kimi radios on lap 46 and you can see him struggling in the corners.

"Yeah, be careful. It should be better on the next lap."

The last six laps pass by in a blur. The sweet scent of Kimi's second podium wafts closer and closer to you and you know that Bono feels it too when your eyes lock for a moment. But you keep quiet about it, letting duty take first place.

And then, it's reality. Kimi on second place, right behind the hometown hero Lando Norris. And third...

Oh the third makes your eyes water. Because it's Nico Hülkenberg, finally on his maiden podium after 239 race starts. An incredible feat.

And then Kimi is running toward you and you lean heavily on the barrier, hugging him tightly. He's beaming, his eyes shining as he squeezes you, clearly happy with the result.

"Congrats Kimi! You did so amazing, my love. So amazing!"

And he did, fighting against the big dogs, those more experienced than him. His second podium and this time, a step higher.

"Thank you, Y/n," he says into your hair, hiding there if only for a moment. "Thank you so much."

"I'm so proud of you."

He's pulled off after that, the obligations of those on the podium needing him. You watch the screen, where he soon appears with Lando and Nico. Though the words spoken aren't audible, you can see as Kimi leans down and congratulates Nico to which the German smiles widely and congratulates Kimi as well.

You see him sit in his place and lean forward, seemingly asking Nico about his race with Lando sometimes chiming in. You can't help but feel glad that Kimi is there to share this moment with Nico, and in turn Nico being there to share this moment with Kimi. Lando looks a little out of it though and you wonder what happened.

They watch the race highlights, talking about the different moments that are shown to them. And then the live feed switches to the outside view and it's time for the podium celebrations.

Nico comes out first, looking just a tiny bit lost, but also incredibly happy. Then Kimi, who's just a bit more experienced in the podium protocol. And then Lando, who looks happy to be on the top step at his home race. You feel proud of him, knowing the work he put in. And he catches your eye just for a moment and winks, and you know that that was meant for you. You smile happily at him.

The Mercedes team is loud when Kimi gets his trophy. But the Sauber team is louder than anything, clearly ecstatic by Nico's podium. Then the champagne spray comes and you watch as Nico struggles just a bit with making the champagne come out of the bottle and get interrupted in his attempts by a spray that comes from Kimi's bottle. Though you don't hear it above the music, you can see Nico laughing and turning his own bottle in Kimi's direction, who laughs in turn.

It's an amazing day and you wish for many more like this. For Kimi, for your boyfriends, for all your loved ones. You wish for them to be as happy as you feel in that moment.

Oscar slams the door to your hotel room shut and you wince. He has been in a mood since the race yesterday and though you tried most things that helped him in the past (giving him space, letting him vent, cuddling with him), nothing seemed to work. Lando looks at you with a frown matching yours before looking back at your boyfriend.

Oscar is biting at his lips, looking down at his phone with an angry expression. The tips of his fingers that are clutching his phone turn white with the force of his hold.

"Oscar..." you say gently, trying to not piss him off even more. "What are you looking at, my love?"

"These stupid people!" he basically growls and throws his phone on the bed where you're laying too. "They're saying that- argh!"

Lando sighs and picks Oscar's phone up from between you. The screen is alight with seemingly endless comments all about him. How he's a bad driver, how he's not talented, how it's only a matter of time before he joins all his rookie mates - out of F1.

You scoff at that and grab the phone out of Lando's hand, quickly managing the app, logging out of it.

"What are you doing?" Oscar asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Whatever I can to help you," you mutter and delete Instagram and Twitter in a couple moves. "This is ridiculous. You know it too," you hand him his phone back.

"What did you do?" he looks through his apps, seeing the two most offending ones gone. "Y/n, you shouldn't have done that!" he turns his attention to you, the fire in his eyes still burning.

"No, you're right, I should've done it sooner," you sit up and look at him sternly. "You know full well that we don't look at social media when the race didn't turn out the way we wanted it to!"

"This is my phone, I didn't give you permission-"

"I don't need permission to protect you," you cut him off, feeling the anger burn in you now, your italian blood getting the better of you.

"I don't need protection!"

"Clearly you do!" you retaliate, your voice raising just a little. "Look, I know you're angry and you have every right to be, but I'm not going to allow you to hurt yourself over this anymore!"

"That is not-"

"She's right, Osc," Lando takes on the role of the good cop, his voice gentle. "You settled into a cycle of being mad, calming down slightly and then stirring it all up again. It's not healthy anymore."

Oscar just looks at the two of you, clearly not knowing what to say to that. Even through all of his anger, he knows you're right. You both are.

"Now come here," you tell him, leaning back against the backboard.

"I don't-"

"That was not a request, it was a command," you cut him off again, raising one of your eyebrows, and with a huff Oscar does climb onto the bed.

He's immediately pulled down into a lying position by Lando, his arms locking around his chest, so that Oscar is facing you. He still looks annoyed, but not having his phone in his hands and having Lando hugging him calms him slowly.

"Little idiot," you mutter and reach out to rake your fingers through his hair. "Always making things harder for yourself," you pull on his hair just a tiny bit, trying to offset his anger.

"I'm not," he says petulantly and you scoff.

"You do," you lean down and kiss his pouty lips. "And I hate to see you like this."

"But now you have us," Lando noses at his neck. "You don't have to do it alone. You're not alone."

Oscar doesn't say anything but you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. You slowly slide down so that you're lying on the bed too as you wait for him.

"Tell us what you need," Lando murmurs against his neck. "Let us take care of you."

"I..." Oscar closes his eyes, anger easing out of his bones for the first time since the end of the race. Your hand finds his waist, rubbing circles there and he focuses on every inch of his body that's connected to you or Lando.

"You?" Lando prompts, hand over his heart, feeling the rhythm beneath his fingers.

"I don't know what I need," Oscar opens his eyes to find you looking at him.

"Let us help you then," you murmur, voice low. You lean closer to press a kiss against his lips and he sighs against you.

"Okay."

antonelli.fans.unite

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antonelli.fans.unite: some of kimi's radio on today's qualifying! congratulations @.kimiantonelli on the fourth in sprint and the third place in quali! we're with you!!🩵🩵

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user30: he foughts so hard today! and yesterday too!! after struggling so much during the free practice, sprint quali and now quali too, this is an amazing place to start!!

user31: i felt so bad for him, i'm sure he was really stressed

user32: can we talk about his sprint though?? like my boy was so damn good, he fought so well against charles for fourth place!!

user33: omg when he took back fourth?? like?? that was so damn smooth!!

user34: and in the end he was so close to lando too!! honestly, if the sprint was a little longer, i'm sure he could've fought for third place too!!

user35: he's shaping up to be a great driver!

user36: yep!! he's clearly as hardworking as his mentor! kudos to him!!

user37: i felt so bad for him all weekend, he was clearly so frustrated that nothing wanted to come together the way he wanted it to!

user38: i mean at least it came together when it really mattered!

user39: i can only imagine how stressed y/n was, like honestly. i was sweating even though i'm just watching all of this!

user40: can't wait for the race tomorrow!! our boy is GOING on that podium!!

Spa-Francochamps is a rainy place. You all knew that. There's hardly any time where at least one of the weekend's events isn't rained on.

And so it isn't a shock that the race starts behind a safety car. You're all hopeful that the race won't be cancelled, but the rain is consistent. And that results in the starting procedure being suspended.

"Well... we have at least fifteen minutes," Kimi comes in the garage, his helmet in hand.

"We do," you nod and roll into the place that his car is usually in. "What would you like to do until then? Do you want to just stay in focus or...?"

"Honestly, anything to make me less nervous," he sighs and sits on a free chair. "I'm just... so nervous."

"Understandable," you hum.

"It's just... the weekend hasn't been good, what if... what if it all comes crashing down now?"

"Then it comes crashing down," you say, though you know that it's not helpful. "There isn't much we can do about that. Focus on what you can control."

"It's easier said than done," he looks at you.

"I know, but... I mean what can you do if something breaks in your car?"

"Nothing."

"Right, what can you do if the strategy we made doesn't work out?"

"Try to work it out?"

"Can you do that now?"

"No?"

"There you go," you smile at him. "You shouldn't worry about the future. The future will worry about itself."

Kimi lets himself smile at that and looks down at his hands. He takes a deep breath. He is calmer now.

"Wow, when did you become so wise?" comes a teasing voice from the door and you roll your eyes.

"I've always been wise, thank you very much," you look to the side to find Carlos there, grinning.

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep better?" he approaches the two of you and sits down next to Kimi.

"I sleep like a baby, I don't need to tell myself anything," you smile. "Why are you here anyway?"

"To learn all your secrets so I can take Kimi's position, duh."

"Duh," you shake your head while Kimi snickers next to Carlos.

Carlos smiles at you, his eyes warm as he looks at you. You smile back, unable to hide just how generally happy you are.

"I'm actually bored. I hoped your little ducklings would be here so we can all chat."

"Ah, I'm sure they're not far," your smile grows, knowing that the rookies have grown partial to you.

And you're correct, because there, in the door stand two lanky rookies. Gabi and Ollie.

"Hey guys," you greet them. "You got a break too?"

"What a surprise, right?" Gabi jokes and pulls a chair right next to you.

"Yeah, wouldn't have guessed," you hum and lean your head against his own as he buries his head in your shoulder.

"We think it's going to be at least half an hour until the race can restart," Ollie adds and sits down on the other side of Kimi. "We hoped to let time pass here."

"You can," you shrug. "I mean, at least it's fine by me. I love having you guys around."

"As you should, maman," Isack joins too, his teammate, Liam right behind him.

"Hey, could I join?"

"Absolutely," you smile at him kindly. "Grab a chair."

They do and you guys sit in a kind of circle. You notice Valtteri Bottas in the background, watching your little group with raised eyebrows.

"You can join too, you know," you tell him and he huffs before he smiles.

"I don't want to interrupt your little family hangout," he jokes and you grin.

"You could be the fun uncle," you suggest. "Anyway, you don't have anything to watch and look cool on live."

"That's not all I do," he scoffs, though you can see a smile in the corner of his mouth as he approaches you.

"Is it not?"

"No," he shakes his head and sits down into the little circle of rookies (and Carlos).

"Hm, could've fooled me," you tease to the joy of the rookies.

"Oh, family meeting without the dad? I'm offended," comes from the door and you see Max standing there with his hands on his hips.

"We're just getting started, you don't have to worry," Kimi waves at him, inviting him closer.

Max grins and joins the circle. The chairs are rearranged a little to accomodate him, but everyone seems happy to do so. You notice a camera focusing on your group out of the corner of your eyes and feel kind of happy that it's far away so that it can't pick up on your conversation.

"So, are we actually having an impromptu family meeting?" Max asks.

"I mean, we are here," you shrug your shoulder with a smile.

"Technically we're still missing the questionable family friends," Carlos grins with a knowing look toward you.

"And we're missing one of the uncles' questionable something-something," you reciprocate his look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Isack leans in, his face one of confusion.

"Nothing," you smile at him gently. "Absolutely nothing," you look at Carlos with a pointed look.

A natural conversation picks up after that, though you can feel Gabi's eyes on you for a while. You know that he suspects something (something that has to do with you and Oscar and Lando), he has since Imola (which seems like ages ago), but you play it off. And you will until all three of you agree to share it with more people than your immediate family.

And about twenty minutes into the impromptu break, the three missing pieces do arrive. Charles comes in first and without a word sits down next to Carlos. Then Lando, pulling a very exasperated looking Oscar behind him.

"Move, rookie," Lando kicks gently at Gabi's chair.

"No way, this is my place," Gabi crosses his arms while Oscar moves away from Lando and sits down on your other side without hassle.

"It is so clearly my place though!" Lando whines, then notices that Oscar secured a place next to you. "Oscar!"

"Just sit in a free spot," Oscar shrugs.

"But I wanna sit next to Y/n!"

"Well, I'm already sitting here, so... find a different place," Gabi hugs your arm for good measure.

"That is so unfair," Lando pouts, then sits down between Ollie and Valtteri, sulking very dramatically.

Isack and Ollie chuckle at his expression while Gabi grins victoriously. Oscar in the meantime leans closer to you and knocks your shoulders together, as inconspicuous as he can. You smile at him gently at that.

"Okay!" Kimi puts an end to the giggling and teasing. "Could we... maybe play a game?"

"A game?"

"Yeah!" Ollie jumps in, always eager for some fun. "We should play a game! Y/n, do you have any?"

"Uuhhh..." you blink a couple times, trying to think of something. "Hm, I mean... yeah, I guess? We could play a game for like... reflexes and concentration?"

"How does it go?" Oscar looks at you curiously.

"Well..." you roll your chair closer to the middle of the circle. "You should come closer so that your knees touch with the person sitting on your left and right," you instruct them. "You're going to put your right hand on the knee of the person sitting to your right," you demonstrate it and place your right hand on Gabi's knee. "Then you're going to place your left hand on the knee of the person sitting on your left."

"This is intimate," Max teases and looks at Charles, who sits next to him.

"Yeah, the game is simple from here, you need to tap once with each of your hands. First I'm gonna tap on Gabi's left knee, then Max will tap on Gabi's right knee, because his hand is next," you tell them and slowly demonstrate it. "Then Gabi's right hand taps, and then Charles' left... Good!"

You go a few rounds like that, the group understanding and getting used to the game.

"Okay, now that you got this, the real twist is here," you smirk. "If someone taps twice, the direction changes," some of them look confused, so you explain it a little differently. "We've been going counter-clockwise, right?" you show the direction with your hand and they nod. "If someone taps twice, we're gonna go clockwise."

The game starts slow, everyone concentrating and growing used to the rhythm. But slowly, gradually the rhythm grows quicker and people start becoming more and more comfortable with the direction changes. It's hard not to smile or giggle as the game is really fun and you notice some cameras capturing it.

Time passes by quickly like that, just having fun. And then you get notified that possibly in twenty minutes the race could restart.

"I think we should go and get ready," Max stretches.

"I mean," Kimi speaks up. "We could do my focus excercise together? Since we've already had fun together?"

Everyone is quiet for a moment and you understand. Everyone has their own way to get in the zone and that changes very rarely. Still, Kimi looks hopeful, probably wanting to spend a little more in the safety of this little circle.

"I'm in," Oscar is the first to say.

"Yeah, maybe it'll help us as much as it helped you," Lando teases Kimi, who smiles back shyly.

Slowly everyone agrees, some because they don't want to be left out, others because they genuinely are interested in the focusing excercise.

"Okay," you smile at them. "Straight backs, please. Then take a deep breath through your nose," you watch as everyone's chest moves up. "Swallow. Then blow a cool stream of air through your mouth," you instruct them. "Just nod or shake your head, no words, no overthinking."

Some nod, others close their eyes, finding the zone.

"Are you sitting up?"

They nod.

"Is it a comfortable position?"

There are some who shake their head, but most of them nod.

"Are you feeling relaxed?" The reactions are varied there and you feel just a little happy that you managed to make some of them feel relaxed.

"Was it hard to swallow?" Most of them nod, which you catalogue.

"Do you like yourself?" your heart clenches at the question, but also when some of them shake their head.

"Do you enjoy racing?" Everyone nods, which you expected.

"Is it warm in this room?" Some of them nod, some of them shake their head and you smile.

"Are you feeling relaxed?" you repeat the question and this time everyone nods and you're glad that the excercise helped them.

"Okay, take a deep breath," your voice is gentle as you tell them and they move at the same time, taking a big breath. "Swallow. And blow that cool stream of air."

The reaction after that isn't immediate in a rushed way, they all seem calmer and like they realised something about themselves through the excercise. Which is the goal, so you smile at them.

"Thank you so much for being here," you tell them and look around at everyone.

Gabi reacts first, leaning in and hugging you tightly. You hug him back, closing your eyes for a moment. Liam and Valtteri just stand up and leave the circle after that, while Max pats your back in a way you know means 'thank you'. Then Charles and Carlos move, almost in sync with each other and they lean down, one after the other to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you, carino," Carlos murmurs against your skin and you smile.

"Anytime."

Oscar squeezes your shoulder and you know that he really wanted to do more than that, but the cameras are still watching and leaves the garage. Lando follows close behind him going in for a quick but loving hug.

"Maman," Isack speaks up when it's only the rookies left in the Mercedes garage. You look at him and he looks toughtful. "Is it normal that it was hard to swallow the first time and easier on the second?"

"Yeah," you nod. "It has something to do with... being stressed I think? Or like being too... wound up, or however you say it."

"Ah," Isack hums then shakes his head and leans in to hug you. "Thank you for the excercise."

"Anytime, darling."

Ollie looks probably the most out of it and you let him have a moment to himself. Then roll closer to him, reaching for his hand.

"Are you alright?" you ask him gently.

"Yeah, I just... never realised..." Ollie swallows and looks at his hands. "Anyway, thank you, mum, for this," he forces a smile on his face.

"If you want to talk, we can. Later, after the race."

"Yeah, I'll... think about it," he agrees.

"Alright, now go and race, my darling," you tell him and press a kiss to his temple.

Gabi, who hasn't left yet, simply offers you his cheek and you chuckle before pressing a kiss there. He grins and leaves, walking after Ollie. Kimi is the last in the garage and he has his eyes closed, already on the next step of his pre-race ritual. You smile and leave him be.

At precisely 20 minutes after four o'clock, the race restarts behind the safety car. They circle around for four laps time, hoping to dry up enough of the track for racing.

The sun is shining by this time and the track is drying faster with the cars there, but you know it's still gonna be some time before all of it drives.

The race itself is eventful, especially as Kimi defends his second place beautifully. The strategy changes only a little, influenced by the other teams' strategies, but Kimi takes it all in a stride.

You'd say you're stressed, but the truth is, you have a feeling that the end result is gonna be how it was in lap 5. Of course you still think through every decision, talk with Bono when things seem uncertain, but deep down, you're sure that it'll all turn out great for Kimi.

And it is, because in lap 44, Kimi crosses the finish line in second place, at a comfortable distance from Charles, who comes in third.

"Beautiful job, little wolf," you tell him over the radio. "Beautiful, beautiful job."

"Thank you Y/n," Kimi laughs. "I could get used to this."

You laugh at that and share a smile with Bono, who seems just as happy that his driver is doing great in races.

The rookie is making himself known.

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“Hey!” said Samira falling at your side at the counter.

You were still too distracted by the two to even tear your gaze away and look at her. “Hey.”

Samira followed your eyeline. “You're staring, you know that?”

You nodded.