#or not...

hahahahahahaa who wants me

but LOOK AT HIS brother... NICO HÜLKENBERG

His hand reached out on its own accord, fingertips carefully brushing the wet curls away as not to touch her throbbing cheek. The sight of deep crimson and faint plum greeted him mockingly, a fresh cut now adorning her face in a bizarre competition with her freckles. "Osti, Belle," he murmured, eyes intently scanning for signs of infection, "they got you good." In moments like these, he longed to offer any kind of comfort that he could. To protect her. But this wasn't the old world. Isabel was no damsel in distress, and he was no knight in shining armor. Still, the urge to wrap his arms around her was strong. Almost stronger than his self-preservation instinct. On any other night, he would've gladly risked losing an arm — or both — to be able to chase away the evening chill from between her shoulder blades, to inhale the scent of her freshly washed hair, to tell her that he was there for her... But not tonight. After Isabel's heated argument with Rush earlier that evening, Prosperity fell unusually quiet, unusually early. "Yeah," the captain sighed, hanging her head in shame. "But at least I still have a face."