#bianchi!reader

The nightmares were never unprecedented. There were always warnings. The buzz of the AC at night morphing into an oxygen machine’s hum, then the sound of a crowd. Your room was closest to the condenser unit by design. The nightmare either woke you up or kept you awake, and on the nights you didn’t have nightmares, it was because you slept too light. ‘It’s easier to wake you up this way,’ your mom had told you.

You reach for your phone from your pocket. Nine missed calls. Three from Mom, two from David, one from Mason, one from Gia, and two from… Charles? You haven't really talked to him in years. He left a voicemail— two.

“Hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a bit, but I’ll be in Miami for work this week. Alexandra couldn’t make it, so it's yours if you want it, no pressure. I just figured it’d be nice to catch up. I missed you at the wedding,” there's a pause, a sigh before he adds. “I guess I should ask your mum. I’ll call her now. Ciao.”

The next one is a few minutes later.

“I just called your mom,” pause, “Is everything okay? She said you two got into a fight. Please call me. And she got mad that I didn't call you Halo? Said I was ‘encouraging bad behavior.’ Please call me back.”

It’s Tuesday now. The grand prix was days ago

The tears in your eyes started to spill over, rapidly, and suddenly, unexpectedly, you were glad you were in a shitty gas station bathroom no one would bother to go into. Your thumb hovered over Charles’s contact. You had to close your eyes as you pressed call.

“Souer?” He sounds tired. Of course he does. It's three AM in Monaco.

You sniffled, you tried to speak but your voice was too thin, the lump in your throat overpowering.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah.” you finally managed. Your voice forced, like you were trying to convince both him and yourself that you haven't been crying, or screaming at your parents earlier. Charles could hear right through it.

“What is going on?”

Then your resolve slips away. “Mom and I got into a fight.” his side of the line is quiet, so you continue, “She kicked me out.”

“Where are you?”

Shame kicks in as you look around. The writings on the bathroom stall, the toilet paper on the floor, questionable stains on the wall behind the toilet you refuse to sit on. “I’m in a gas station bathroom in downtown Santa Monica."

You can hear shuffling on the other line, “hang on.” You can tell he’s holding the phone away from his face because of the mumbling, him and a woman, Alexandra. “I’ve put you on speaker. I’ll be in Los Angeles as soon as possible. I dont want you staying in a fucking petrol station toilet, so I’m calling a friend for you to stay with until I get there.” you can hear tapping on his phone. “Whats the address?” he finally asks.

You hesitate.

Charles sighs, then Alexandra speaks up, “What's the nearest landmark, miel?”

“I guess I’m not too far from the pier,” you sniffle, beginning to pull yourself together.

“Thats great,” Charles says, typing. “Kimi can meet you there in 30 minutes.”

Kimi Raikkonen. He came to visit your father when he was in his coma. Never said much. You let out a sigh of relief as you realize he won't bombard you with questions about what happened. “Thank you Charles,” you wipe your tears as the stall door squeaks open.

“Of course, ma soeur. I’m going to the airport now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After the phone call ends, you turn on the sink, running a shitty paper towel under the water before bringing it under your eyes, trying to wipe away your raccoon mask of mascara.

*

You find a bench on the pier and sit there, switching from looking at your phone to looking around for Kimi when someone who is definitely not Kimi Raikkonen approaches you. Somehow he looks vaguely familiar.

“Halo?” he asks. His accent is warm, but you still wince at the name. He takes a step back to give you space. “Charles sent me. I’m Kimi.”

“Oh,” you sound disappointed, unintentionally— well maybe not, you just don’t have the energy to mask your emotions anymore. You’re sure Kimi notices, but he doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry, I guess I just assumed Charles meant Kimi Raikkonen, someone I actually know.”

Kimi gives a slight nod. “So I guess you don’t remember me.” Your brows furrow. “We met a few years ago— a couple of times actually. I think the first time we met was in like… 2018, maybe? It was my first time on an F1 paddock after I signed with Mercedes. I was getting autographs from the grid and you were right by Charles and Sebastian. We talked a little while Vettel and Charle were signing,” he explains.

You look away. “Sorry.” Kimi is still warm, “Don’t worry. You seemed way more relaxed then I was. I was trying to savor every detail of that experience.”

You nod. It's quiet. Kimi shrugs, “So, should we go?” you nod again standing up from the bench, then realize you aren’t totally sure what the plan is. Kimi seems to notice your hesitance. “Charles said he won't be here until tomorrow, and I have to catch a flight to Montreal, but I told him I could stay with you until he gets here.” You nod. Kimi continues as you walk to his car, “Mercedes booked me a suite, so I'll take the couch in the other room and you can have the bed.” You nod. The rest of the walk is silent.

When you get to his car, a blue Mercedes that you assume is a rental, he opens the passenger side door for you before going to the driver side. You lean your head against the window. After a few minutes, Kimi asks, “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Thats not what I asked.”

“... no.” You admit.

“Let get some Pizza then. What do you like?”

You’re quiet. You are not letting that slip out in front of an Italian. Especially not one who drives recklessly for a living and is currently behind the wheel of a car. But Kimi seems to notice your hesitance. He tries to make a joke, “It can’t be that bad. I mean it’s not like you like pineapple on pizza.” You purse your lips into a thin line. Kimi sees it in a glance. His eyes widen before he sucks in a breath and straighten up in his chair. “Oh,” there’s a pause before he says, “You seem like you’re not having a great day, so I’ll let that slide for now.”

“I’ll just get cheese.”

“You don't even want salami pi— pepperoni?”

“Allergic.”

Kimi nods. “Pineapple it is.” his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

*

Kimi is kind enough to eat the pineapple on pizza without too much grief. And after eating, you try to get some sleep. But when you start to drift off, the AC unit starts. And you’re back to being 7 in that hospital room with your grandparents, the oxygen tube in your dad’s mouth, and the flowers. God, there were so many flowers. Almost everyone who came to visit brought something for you. Stuffed animals, bonbons, money even. You didn’t understand it, and that seemed to break your grandparents’ hearts.

Their son was only 25. In their opinions, he shouldn’t have even had a daughter at that age. You were born when he was only 18, and your own mother wanted nothing to do with you. She was only 18. Your dad did everything he could to take care of you, but being a young Formula 1 driver, he needed his parents' help. And they did. They helped to raise you, and for the nine months that he was in that coma, they took you to see him every day. And the few times they couldn’t, Charles did.

Charles was basically your older brother. He was literally your father’s god son. But he couldn’t protect you from your future. Your mother suddenly deciding that she wanted to take care of you, little did either of you know of her plans to move you to California and have you pursue an entertainment career almost immediately with dance classes and music and acting, her plan change your name to ‘Halo’ because apparently it was ‘attention grabbing.’

The dream shifts from the hospital room to a dressing room. Your mom doing your makeup before a show and your stepdad berating her. He was your producer. She was your manager. And when he screamed at her, the liquid eyeliner she was putting on you accidentally got into your eye. Instead of apologizing, she threw the brush down on the vanity, got up and left, leaving you with your step father. He sighed and took your mother’s seat across from you and put his hand on your upper thigh, under your mini skirt, and told you that once you turned 18, he would take care of you and divorce your mom. The relationship only got worse from there. When you did turn 18. In the dressing room of a show your mom booked for you but couldn’t make it too. He put you on your knees, unbuttoned his jeans and—

You wake up gasping. Maybe screaming. Apparently kimi heard you because he’s now standing in the doorway, hair messy from sleeping on the couch. “Are you okay?” he rasps.

You nod frantically, “Yeah, yeah. I'm fine.” It’s a lie. An instinct. Kimi knows, but he just nods slowly. “Okay… just checking.” Slowly, he turns to walk away, but you call out to him, “Wait!” He does.

“I’m probably not gonna be able to sleep.”

Kimi nods, “Do you want to talk about it? Charles hasn't really told me what's going on. Just that you needed help. Are the nightmares related to it?”

You stare at your hands in your lap as you nod. “Come sit on the couch and we can talk about it if you want…” You wipe some silent tears with the heel of your hands. Kimi speaks up again, “Or we could watch a movie and raid the mini fridge.” You smile at that and head to the other room.

The movie you decided on was some comedy you were completely paying attention to, you had already see it, but it was something to look at when your brain started running too fast.

“Can I ask you something?” Kimi asks, you nod. “Your name…” You sigh a little. Kimi continues with hesitancy, “You looked like it was painful when I called you Halo…”

“Wouldn’t you if you were named after the reason your father died?” Kimi’s quiet. You continue, “it was my mom’s idea. We moved when I was nine. She put me in auditions for acting and music and dance, and she thought it’d be a good story to tell interviewers and stuff. Sometimes pity pays, I guess.” You shrug.

Kimi presses his lips into a thin line before asking, “What do you want to be called?”

Your stomach flutters. Only a few people have ever asked you that, your closest friends, Charles. Your father’s friends were yelled at by your mom anytime they called you by your real name when you would visit the paddock. “My real name.” And you tell him what it is.

It sounds amazing coming from his lips, and you can feel it falling down your cheeks. “Please don’t cry.” He hurries to get you a tissue.

You shake your head and wipe the tears away with your fingers instead. “I’m sorry, it’s just… it feels nice knowing I can openly ask people to call me my real name, and they will.

Kimi still looks tense, like he wants to help you calm down, but he doesn’t know how, so he just smiles.

You laugh a little, in order to stop yourself from crying anymore, and you’re smiling. A genuine, soft smile for the first time maybe in years. “I’m sorry, I’m so emotional,” you wipe the tears of joy. “Tell me something about yourself. Distract me.” You’re still smiling.

“I’m glad I got to see you again.” He smiles

*******