#pato oward

recent comments

username00 : oh she just posted this a week ago. poor bby

username15 : lando. when i catch you lando.

username17 : notice how neither of them liked this. backstabbers.

username77 : lando, que te folle un pez.

liked by elbaoward, patriciooward and yourusername

↳ username77 : AHAHAH HEY GUYS

username20 : her best friend and her boyfriend. that poor baby

username19 : well now that lando has fumbled ik who is first in line

older comments

elbaoward : my real life barbie 💗✨

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↳ yourusername : mi vidaaaa<3 love you forever

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lando : my girl 😻

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↳ yourusername : my mannnnnn🥰

↳ username77 : your girl but you didn’t like this post but liked her best friends…

patriciooward : te extraño queridaaaaaa

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↳ yourusername : te extraño más mi patitoooo🗣️ iré a tu casa si tienes el wifi nuevamente activado🥴

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↳ patriciooward : está de nuevo listo para ti, mi reina.

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↳ username155 : omg yn saw the wifi nonsense too😭

↳ yourusername : SAW IT? mama i lived it. who do you think was getting called every 5 minutes out of pure boredom????

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magui_corceiro : minha linda menina💓

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lilymhe : so obsessed with YOU.

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↳ yourusername : that’s so funny because i feel the same about you !!!!!

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alexandrasaintmleux : most beautiful angel xx🤍

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↳ yourusername : love you love you love you

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

—

flashback (1 week ago…)

The day has been long — meeting in the morning, a team event in the afternoon — and the two of you are finally back in Monaco, the warm glow of late afternoon spilling across the balcony. The air smells faintly of salt and sunscreen, and Lando is stretched out on the couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, thumb scrolling idly on his phone.

You’re curled up beside him, still wearing the oversized McLaren hoodie he tossed at you before you left this morning, your legs tucked underneath you. Your hair is still a little messy from the wind, and you’re halfway through stealing one of his crisps from the bowl on the table.

“You hungry?” he asks without looking up, voice light.

“Starving,” you reply around a mouthful of crisp, smirking when he finally glances over at you.

His smile is easy and familiar, the kind that used to make you feel like the only person in the room. He sets his phone down on the coffee table — face-down. Not unusual, you tell yourself. He does that sometimes. Still, the motion catches your eye.

“I was thinking Italian tonight,” he says, reaching out to tug gently at the sleeve of your hoodie. “That place by the harbor you love — the one with the wine you always say is too sweet.”

You laugh softly. “You mean the wine you drink when you’ve had a bad day?”

He grins, leaning closer. “Guilty. But I figured we could walk down, maybe grab gelato after. Your favorite. The one with the little chocolate shavings.”

It’s hard not to melt at the thought — or at the way he’s watching you like he’s cataloging every reaction. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of him.

“You’ve been on your phone a lot lately,” you murmur before you can stop yourself. It’s not accusatory, just an observation.

He chuckles, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Just sorting some stuff for next week. Don’t worry about it.”

“Wasn’t worried,” you say, but the unease lingers in the back of your mind. Maybe you’re reading into things. Maybe it’s just the stress of the season.

His hand slides down to lace with yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Love you, you know that?”

You smile, squeezing his fingers. “Yeah. I know.”

And maybe that’s enough to make you swallow the question on your tongue. You don’t ask who he was texting. You don’t ask why his smile feels just a touch too polished tonight. Instead, you let him pull you up from the couch, laughing as he complains about how long you take to get ready, and you decide — just this once — to ignore it.

—

present day

f1gossipgirls

2,000,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : trouble in paradise? lando norris was spotted getting close to model magui corceiro at a nightclub last night in portugal, with multiple witnesses claiming the two left together before boarding a private jet this morning. what makes this even messier? magui is best friends with yn ln, a 23 year old internationally known model who has been publicly dating lando since early 2022. the two women have often been photographed together at races, vacations, and events, making this rumored fling a major shock to fans.

—

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username000 : nahhh this has to be fake right???

↳ username17 : i fear this is typical behavior for magui AND lando

username15 : MAGUI??? as in YN’s BEST FRIEND magui???

username23 : if this is true… i actually feel sick for her

username00 : yn was literally at his race last week smiling and supporting him… men are wild

username10 : magui better turn off her comments real quick 💀

username20 : lando better run and hide from elba bc i sense she is coming after him with something sharp

liked by elbaoward

↳ username13 : ELBA😭😭

username100 : this is actually the worst plot twist of 2025

username25 : PATOOOOOOOO OH PATOOOOO COME GET YOUR GIRL

username75 : imagine throwing away yn for MAGUI of all people

username88 : honestly queen has been booked and busy lately, she probably don’t care

—

You push open the door to your apartment in Monaco, the soft click echoing unnervingly in the quiet space. The familiar scent — a mix of sea salt, sun-warmed concrete, and faint traces of his cologne — hits your nose, and for a moment, it feels like you’re stepping back into a memory. But the warmth you once felt here is gone.

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a dull thud on the floor. You’re exhausted, drained in a way that no gig or jetlag could ever cause. Your phone buzzes insistently in your hand — notifications, messages, tags from people you barely know.

You unlock it with numb fingers, eyes scanning the screen.

An explosion of posts from gossip accounts fill your feed. The latest: photos of Lando and Magui — smiling, close, tangled in a way that used to belong to you. Shots from a club in Portugal, then boarding a private jet together early this morning.

Your heart stops.

You swipe to the comments. Hundreds of strangers, friends, fans — everyone shocked, devastated, furious. Your breath catches, tears prickling your eyes, but you blink them back. You don’t want to break down here. Not yet.

Your gaze flickers to the kitchen counter where Lando’s laptop sits — still open, like a silent witness. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, grounding yourself.

You tell yourself you have to see. You have to know.

Click. The screen brightens, the familiar interface opening. His messages.

A sea of texts stretches out — timestamps deep into the night, conversations between Lando and Magui that you never saw coming. Flirty emojis, inside jokes, whispered promises. Messages that should have been yours.

You feel the air leave your lungs, like you’re being crushed from the inside out. Your vision blurs.

Every word you read twists the knife deeper. The laughter you shared, the plans you made — all replaced by secrets and lies.

You sink to the edge of the couch, trembling, your phone slipping from your fingers onto the floor. The silence of the apartment presses in, louder than any scream you can’t let out.

You wrap your arms around yourself, like you’re trying to hold your shattered pieces together. The photo on the wall catches your eye — a snapshot of you and Lando, sun-drenched and smiling on a beach vacation.

You reach out, fingertips grazing the frame, a ghost of a smile flickering before it’s swallowed by sorrow.

Then, you stand. Slowly, painfully.

You walk to your bedroom, each step heavier than the last. Your suitcase sits waiting — half-packed from an earlier trip that now feels like a lifetime ago.

You start pulling clothes from the closet, stuffing them into the bag with trembling hands. Every shirt, every dress, every little thing is a quiet declaration: this is the end.

The tears come then — quiet at first, then flooding down your cheeks, unstoppable and raw.

You don’t bother to stop them. Not anymore.

When the last zipper clicks shut, you grab your bag and head to the door.

One last look around the apartment — your home, your heart, your heartbreak.

You close the door behind you softly, but with a finality that echoes through your chest.

Outside, the Monaco sun is still shining, but inside you know — this is where you stop looking back.

—

The low, constant drone of the private jet’s engines vibrates beneath you, a dull hum that fills the cabin but does little to quiet the turmoil in your mind. Outside the small oval window, the world shrinks away into a blur of clouds and sky, but inside you’re trapped, the weight of everything pressing down like gravity itself has turned cruel.

Your hands shake as you pull your phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up with Elba’s name — the one lifeline you still trust, the one person who feels like home even when everything else feels broken.

You hesitate, swallowing hard before pressing the call button.

The phone rings, once, twice… then Elba’s voice, calm and familiar, fills your ears.

“Hey. It’s me,” your voice barely carries, raw and fractured, like you’re speaking through a fog.

“Mi cariño.” Elba’s voice shifts instantly — soft, comforting, a shield against the cold reality crashing down around you. “I saw everything online. I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could’ve told you sooner, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything.”

You close your eyes, biting back a sob. “I didn’t want to believe it. I kept telling myself it wasn’t real. But then… the messages. The texts. It’s worse than I ever imagined.”

There’s a pause, the kind that holds space for pain without rushing it.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Elba says finally, her voice steady and warm. “You can come stay with me. For as long as you need. There’s no rush, no pressure — just a safe place, a home to heal in.”

That word — home — lands like a gentle hand on your heart, softening the edges of your pain for the first time in hours.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, voice breaking under the weight of it all. “I thought I had my life figured out… that we had a future. And now it feels like everything’s crumbled.”

Elba’s voice is unwavering. “You had a life with him, but that wasn’t your whole life. You’re so much more than that chapter. And I’m here, okay? I’ll be here through all the mess, the anger, the tears — every step.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tightness in your chest loosening just a little. For the first time since it all started, you feel a flicker of something you thought was gone — hope.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I’m scared. I don’t know how to do this without him.”

Elba’s laugh is quiet but full of love. “That’s why we’ll do it together. You’re not alone, mi vida. I’ve got you.”

The plane’s engines hum steadily as you lean back, eyes fixed on the soft light of the cabin ceiling. Outside, the world is vast and unknown, but inside, there’s a promise. A promise that maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself again.

—

The plane’s wheels kissed the runway with a gentle thud that echoed in your chest. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. After all the chaos and heartbreak, you were finally here — home.

The cabin lights brightened, and you slowly gathered your things. Your fingers trembled as you zipped up your bag, your heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion, fear, and a faint glimmer of hope.

Each step down the jetway felt surreal. You wanted to believe that once you saw Elba, everything would somehow begin to heal.

The bustling airport surrounded you, voices and wheels rolling across polished floors blending into a distant hum. Your eyes scanned the crowd, searching. Then you saw her — Elba, standing near the arrivals gate, her phone still in hand, eyes wide with relief as they locked onto you. Without hesitation, she broke into a run and threw her arms open.

You didn’t stop yourself. You rushed into her embrace, collapsing into the warmth and safety you’d missed so desperately.

“It’s okay,” Elba whispered softly, her voice steady yet filled with tenderness. “You’re here now. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Your tears spilled freely, your face pressed into her shoulder as all the pain, confusion, and exhaustion poured out.

“I… I didn’t know what else to do,” you choked out between sobs. “I thought I had it all figured out. And then—”

Elba tightened her hold. “Shh. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. You just need time. And I’m here, always.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes red and shining. “Thank you… for everything. For being here when I didn’t know who else I could trust.”

She smiled, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re not alone. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

You nodded, the weight on your chest lifting just a little.

Elba squeezed your hand gently. “Let’s get you out of here and into some sweatpants. I’ve got a whole weekend planned — rest, junk food, terrible movies, and zero pressure.”

A small laugh escaped you, and you let yourself believe that maybe this was the fresh start you needed.

—

The moment you step inside Elba’s warm, inviting home, a soft sense of relief settles over you like a weighted blanket. The walls, adorned with photos of family and laughter, feel like a gentle promise that this place is different — a sanctuary.

Elba’s husband, Brent, greets you at the door with a warm smile and a quiet hug that feels like an unspoken welcome. His eyes hold kindness, but he quickly senses the heaviness you carry.

“Welcome home, YN,” he says softly. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

Elba nudges him and jokingly states. “Give us some space. She needs time to breathe.”

With a nod and a knowing smile, Brent steps back, leaving the two of you alone.

You follow Elba to the living room, where soft blankets and plush pillows are waiting. “I’ve stocked the fridge with all your favorites,” she says, her voice bright but tender. “Tonight, we do nothing but rest.”

You manage a small smile, sinking into the couch’s comforting embrace. But exhaustion weighs on you heavier than anything, and soon Elba helps you up.

“I set up the guest room for you. It’s just down the hall,” she says, leading the way.

Your footsteps echo softly as you enter the calm, softly lit room. The bed is made with fresh linens, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air.

“Try to get some sleep,” Elba says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We’ll take it slow.”

You nod, grateful, and let the quiet pull you under.

Hours later, just as the moon casts silver light through the window, the front door opens quietly — Pato is home.

Elba catches his eye from the kitchen, a silent question passing between them. She gently pulls you aside, kneeling to meet your gaze.

“Would you like to see him? He’s asked about you a lot.”

Your heart skips, nerves fluttering but warmth blooming just beneath.

“If you’re okay,” you whisper.

She smiles softly and leads you to the living room where Pato waits. His usual energy is softened, replaced by a tenderness reserved only for you.

When you step inside, his face breaks into a gentle grin. “Hey,” he says simply, reaching out to take your hand.

You lean into his touch, the years of friendship and unspoken feelings wrapping around you like a safe harbor.

Without words, he pulls you into a hug — steady, grounding, full of the promise that you don’t have to face this alone.

You sigh against his chest, the weight of pain lifting just a little.

“I missed you,” he admits quietly.

“Me too,” you breathe.

For the first time since everything fell apart, you feel the soft pulse of hope — fragile but real — blossoming between you.

Elba watches with a smile from the doorway, silently thankful that her two favorite people are finally beginning to heal together.

—

Sunlight streams gently through the large kitchen windows, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the sweet aroma of sizzling bacon and warm pancakes, wrapping around you like a comforting hug as you slowly wake from a deep, peaceful sleep.

You stretch beneath the soft duvet in the guest room, the soft scent lingering in the air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel the crushing weight of sadness pressing down on your chest.

Downstairs, muffled laughter floats up to you — the familiar, easy sound of Elba and Pato sharing a quiet moment. It’s like a balm to your soul, reminding you that you’re not alone anymore.

Pulling on a soft, oversized sweater and your favorite sweatpants, you make your way down the stairs, the floor cool beneath your bare feet.

Elba is at the kitchen island, carefully setting the table with fresh fruit, pancakes stacked high, fluffy scrambled eggs, and the perfect mugs of coffee — just how you like it.

“Good morning,” she says, turning with a warm smile that reaches her eyes, full of kindness and unspoken understanding. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I thought I would,” you admit, sliding into a chair beside the table. The soft cushions welcome you, and for a moment, you just breathe, letting yourself settle into this moment of peace.

From the stove, Pato flips a golden pancake with ease, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I’m guessing the guest room isn’t half bad,” he teases, catching your eye with a sparkle of warmth.

You chuckle softly. “Definitely better than the loud nights in Monaco.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous light. “You know, you could’ve told us you were coming. We might have planned a welcome party.”

Elba laughs, pouring you a fresh cup of coffee and sliding it across the table. “Party or not, you’re here now — and that’s what matters.”

You reach for the warm mug, the smooth ceramic grounding you. “Thanks, both of you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Pato’s grin softens, and he pushes off the counter to sit beside you. “We’ve been waiting for you to let us in. It’s okay to lean on us.”

Elba joins you, her hand brushing yours across the table, a quiet promise that you’re not alone. You smile, a genuine, small smile that feels like a seed of hope growing inside your chest.

Pato leans in with a teasing smirk. “So, when are you going to stop being mysterious and let us in on all your secrets?”

You raise an eyebrow, laughing. “I suppose they were his secrets more than mine.”

“Touché,” he replies with a chuckle. “But you’ve been holding back. We’re here for all of it — the good, the messy, everything.”

Elba nods, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let us be your strength.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease for the first time in weeks.

As you share breakfast, laughter, and quiet moments, the warmth between you feels like the first soft light after a long, dark night.

For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to believe in new beginnings — fragile, yes, but glowing with hope.

—

The late afternoon sun bathes the quiet neighborhood in a soft, golden light as you and Pato step outside, Norbi happily bounding ahead with his short legs and fluffy tail wagging like a little flag. The fresh air fills your lungs, carrying with it a calmness that feels foreign but desperately needed.

You let your fingers brush against Pato’s as you walk, the easy contact grounding you in the moment. Norbi sniffs eagerly at every tree and bush, blissfully unaware of the heavy thoughts weighing on your heart.

Your phone buzzes sharply in your pocket. You pull it out and glance down — Lando’s name glaring up at you, unwelcome and intrusive. You don’t hesitate. Without a word, you press the power button, silencing the call.

Pato’s gaze shifts to you, concern etched across his face. “Did he call again?”

You nod, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. I’m just… not ready.”

He falls into step beside you, his presence quiet and reassuring. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

But after a moment, you realize maybe you do. Maybe finally, after all this time, it’s time to stop carrying the weight alone.

You stop near a small park bench, the soft hum of distant traffic and rustling leaves filling the space around you. Norbi settles down at your feet, looking up with bright eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you meet Pato’s steady gaze. “You know about what happened with Lando. About the cheating.”

He nods slowly, fingers entwining with yours. “I figured. But if you want to tell me more… I’m here.”

Your voice trembles as you begin. “When we started dating, it was everything I wanted — fun, support, laughter. But slowly, things changed. The late nights on his phone, the missed calls, the excuses.”

You look down, the memory sharp and painful. “I tried to ignore it, convinced myself it was stress or work. But deep down, I felt the distance growing.”

Pato squeezes your hand gently, encouraging you to keep going.

“It wasn’t just the cheating,” you confess, voice cracking. “It was how it happened. Magui — she was my best friend. Someone I trusted with my whole heart.”

Your eyes glisten with tears you don’t try to hide. “When I found out, it wasn’t just the betrayal of the relationship. It was the betrayal of friendship. The way they hid it from me, all while I was still believing, loving him.”

Pato’s face softens, the pain in your words settling deep in his chest. “I’m so sorry, cariño. That is more than anyone should have to endure.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize until I left Monaco. I had to get away — away from the lies, from the people who pretended everything was fine.”

You squeeze his hand, a fragile hope blooming between you. “You’ve always been so patient with me. Quiet. Steady. And for the first time, I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again.”

Pato smiles gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence seep into the cold corners of your heart. Norbi barks happily, breaking the silence, and in that simple moment — beside someone who truly sees you — it seems like the future might be bright.

—

several weeks later…

yourusername

liked by franciscagomes, patriciooward, elbaoward and 4,500,000 others.

yourusername : vegas w my pookies 🎰✨🪩

tagged : patriciooward and elbaoward

—

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oscarpiastri : my icon. win some money in vegas for me.

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↳ yourusername : my SECOND favorite mclaren employee. win that wdc for me ;)

liked by oscarpiastri and patriciooward

↳ username5 : imagine lando reading this. ik oscar is giggling.

↳ oscarpiastri : laughing even

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patriciooward : some people got luckier than others…

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↳ yourusername : lucky lucky man

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↳ username17 : WHAT DOES THIS MEAN HELP

↳ lungaardofficial : probably means pato got laid

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↳ yourusername : CHRISTIAN PLEASE

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alexandrasaintmleux : revenge arc and revenge dress. IM IN LOVE. PICK ME INSTEAD🧎🏻‍♀️

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↳ yourusername : i miss you so much😭 kiss leo for me pls !!!

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franciscagomes : love you pretty girl ❤️‍🔥 (fuck that evil man he didn’t deserve you)

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : love you even more 🥰🥰

elbaoward : nothing better than vegas with my favorite people🫶🏻 love you so so much !

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : my angel💓🤧 love you with all of my being

liked by elbaoward

username000 : lando might disappear forever after this post.

↳ yourusername : it’s because oscar ran him over

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↳ oscarpiastri : *ran him over twice

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—

You’re curled up on the couch in Elba’s living room, wrapped in a cozy blanket and scrolling mindlessly through your phone when Elba pops her head around the corner, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“Hey, you,” she says, “how about a quick escape?”

You glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Escape from what exactly?”

Elba winks. “All the drama, emails, social media chaos — basically, life. You need a break.”

Before you can answer, Pato strolls in, holding Norbi in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

“And I brought snacks and corgi kisses,” he announces, plopping down beside you with a cheeky grin.

Elba nudges him. “See? We come bearing gifts.”

Pato’s eyes twinkle as he adds, “And more importantly, a promise— all fun. No drama, no phones, just good vibes.”

You laugh softly, setting your phone aside. “I don’t know. Vegas is… a lot.”

Elba flops down next to you, mock serious. “It’s Vegas, baby! Neon lights, silly hats, endless buffets. Plus, I’m telling Brent to bring his best poker face.”

Pato chuckles. “And I’ll be your personal dealer. Cards, cocktails, and cuddles. All you can take.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “Alright, alright. But if I end up losing all my chips, I’m blaming you two.”

Elba beams. “Deal! Vegas, here we come.”

—

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and the three of you stepped out into the lobby of the restaurant. Warm golden light spilled from chandeliers that sparkled overhead, casting a glow over plush carpet and crystal glasses. The soft hum of conversation, the clink of silverware, and the faint scent of truffle oil and fresh bread wrapped around you like a warm welcome.

Elba was already striding ahead, her white silk dress catching the light with every step. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine shoot, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way she owned the room without even trying.

Pato, trailing behind you. “Remind me never to stand next to my sister in photos.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Relax, you clean up alright yourself.”

His grin was shameless. “Just alright?”

Your laughter followed you to the table the hostess led you to — a corner spot with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Strip. The view was insane. The entire city was lit up like it was trying to outshine the stars, neon signs blinking and massive LED billboards flashing in colors you didn’t think existed in nature.

“This,” Elba said as she sat down, smoothing her dress, “is the vibe.”

Pato leaned back in his chair, smirking. “This is the appetizer. Wait until we hit the casino.”

Menus appeared in front of you, along with a bottle of deep red wine and warm bread that you tore apart instantly. Conversation flowed like the wine — easy and bright. Elba told a story about a disastrous hotel pool party she once went to, and Pato launched into a retelling of a ridiculous karting race from when you were kids. You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt before your entrées even arrived.

By dessert — a decadent chocolate soufflé you pretended to share but definitely ate most of — Elba leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Okay, so here’s the plan. Blackjack. Loser buys the first round of drinks.”

Pato raised an eyebrow. “Is this before or after I take all your chips?”

“Oh, it’s cute you think you’re that good,” you teased.

Twenty minutes later, the three of you stepped onto the casino floor, and the atmosphere swallowed you whole. Bright lights flashed, chips clinked, and the low murmur of dealers calling bets mingled with bursts of cheers from lucky winners. You’d never been in a place that felt so alive.

Pato dragged you to the blackjack table while Elba went hunting for a slot machine with “a good vibe.” You sat next to him, a little intimidated at first, but quickly got into the rhythm — hit, stand, double down. The stack of chips in front of you wasn’t massive, but it was growing.

“Beginner’s luck,” Pato muttered when you beat him for the third hand in a row.

You smirked. “Or maybe I’m just better than you.”

His arm found its way around your waist halfway through the game, warm and steady. His thumb brushed absentminded circles against your side, and you tried to focus on the cards in your hand instead of the way your heart was suddenly hammering.

Elba eventually reappeared, waving a handful of small winnings. “Drinks are on me!” she announced.

The three of you ended up in a plush booth near the bar, neon lights from the casino spilling across the table. You leaned back, your legs tucked under you, and Pato’s arm stayed exactly where it had been all night — around you, grounding and warm.

At one point, he leaned in just enough for you to hear over the music. “Told you Vegas would be good for you.”

You met his eyes, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. “Yeah… you were right.”

When you finally left, the Strip stretched out before you, buzzing with life. The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of street food and perfume. Elba linked her arm through yours, and Pato walked close enough that your shoulders brushed with every step. You hadn’t expected to feel this light again — not yet, not so soon. But walking back to the hotel, laughing at something ridiculous Pato said, it hit you. You were happy. Really happy.

—

The next night in Vegas had a completely different energy. Elba and Brent had their own dinner plans — something about a show and “grown-up time,” as Elba called it — which left you and Pato on your own.

He knocked on your hotel suite door just as you were finishing your makeup, leaning casually against the doorframe in a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled. The sight made your stomach do something suspiciously close to a somersault.

“Well,” he said with a grin, giving you an obvious once-over, “if we’re going to dinner, I’m going to have to up my game. You’re making me look underdressed.”

You smirked, stepping past him and locking the door behind you. “You say that every time, and yet…”

He held out his arm dramatically. “Shall we, señorita?”

The restaurant was the kind of place you wouldn’t dare step into without reservations — dim lighting, sleek black marble tables, soft jazz playing under the quiet hum of conversation. The kind of place where you didn’t just eat; you lingered. You drank wine that was far too expensive, ate pasta that tasted like it had been blessed by angels, and let conversation flow as easily as the champagne. At one point, you caught him watching you over his glass, that familiar little half-smile playing at his lips.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said, still smiling. “Just… glad you’re here.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest feel warm, and you had to look down at your plate to keep from staring back too long. By the time you left the restaurant, you were both a little tipsy — giggling too loudly as you made your way through the hotel to the club inside. The bass hit you the second you stepped in, deep and pulsing, vibrating through your chest.

Pato found you a spot near the back, tucked into a booth but still close enough to the dance floor to feel the energy. Drinks appeared — cocktails in tall glasses with neon straws — and the night blurred into a haze of music, laughter, and the comfortable way he leaned close to talk in your ear.

At some point, you ended up on the dance floor together, the crowd pressing in, the beat heavy and intoxicating. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, his arm slipping around your waist like it had a hundred times before. But this time, it felt different.

You were laughing at something he said — you couldn’t even remember what — when you looked up and really saw him. The lights were flashing, painting him in shades of pink and blue, and his smile was so genuine it made your chest ache.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. It was quick, almost clumsy, and you pulled back immediately, cheeks burning. “Sorry, I—”

He laughed, shaking his head, his hand still warm on your waist. “You’re drunk,” he teased gently.

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “So are you.”

And maybe that was all it took — because then he was leaning in, his forehead brushing yours, and his mouth met yours again. This time slower. Softer. The noise of the club seemed to fade, the lights dimming in your periphery. All you could focus on was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his thumb traced absentminded circles at your hip, like he’d been waiting for this for a long time but was in no rush to ruin it.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, he didn’t move far. His eyes were warm, a little dazed, like maybe he felt the same thing you did — that something had shifted, quietly but completely.

“You’re are gonna get me in so much trouble,” you teased, trying to keep your voice light.

He smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess we’re both in trouble then.”

The rest of the night was a blur — more dancing, more laughing, and his hand never leaving yours as you stumbled back to the hotel together, the city glowing below like it had been lit just for you.

—

The first thing you noticed when you woke up wasn’t the headache — though, yeah, the pounding in your skull was pretty unforgiving — it was the warmth next to you.

You cracked one eye open to find Pato sprawled sideways across the other half of the bed, fully clothed in last night’s button-up and jeans, one arm dangling off the side like he’d fought a war with the mattress. His hair was a complete disaster, sticking up in every direction, and his face was buried halfway into a pillow. You groaned softly, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple. The movement made him stir.

“Mmm…” His voice was gravelly with sleep. “Tell me we didn’t agree to an early breakfast.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Relax. It’s—” You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. “—almost eleven.”

His eyes cracked open just enough to catch sight of you sitting there, hair messy from sleep, wrapped in the hotel duvet. A slow grin spread across his face. “You look like a burrito.”

You tossed a pillow at him. “You look like a disaster.”

“Yeah, but a charming disaster,” he shot back, sitting up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to make your still hazy brain short circuit. Your mind flickered back to last night — the dancing, the drinks, the kiss. You wondered if he remembered all of it, but before you could ask, he gave you that same warm look he’d given you across the dinner table.

“Feeling okay?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Better than I thought I would.”

“Good,” he said, reaching over to ruffle your hair gently. “If you were going to have your first Vegas hangover, at least you had an elite level babysitter.”

You laughed, but it was cut short by the sudden vibration of your phone against your leg. You glanced at the screen — and froze. Lando. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, hadn’t wanted to, and now his name was glowing across your screen like some kind of bad omen.

Pato noticed immediately. “You don’t have to—”

But you were already swiping to answer, curiosity and stubbornness winning out. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” His voice was sharp, no greeting, no pause.

“None of your business,” you said evenly.

There was a beat of silence, then, “I saw your pictures.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the headboard. “Congratulations, you follow my Instagram.”

“You’re with him?” The edge in his voice was unmistakable — jealousy, raw and ugly. “Pato? Really?”

You glanced sideways at Pato, who was now sitting cross legged on the bed, watching you with a small, curious smile like he could hear enough to piece it together.

“Yes,” you said simply, even though it wasn’t technically official. “He’s been here for me. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“That’s—” Lando started, his tone growing defensive. “That’s different.”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice sharpening. “It’s not. You cheated on me with my best friend, Lando. And now you’re jealous? You don’t get to be jealous. Not anymore.”

On the other end of the line, you could practically hear him breathing hard. “He’s not right for you.”

Pato raised his eyebrows at that, mouthing Wow.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the phone. “The thing is, he’s exactly right for me. And if that bothers you… that’s your problem.”

Before he could respond, you ended the call, tossing the phone aside. For a moment, there was just silence in the room. Then Pato leaned back on his hands, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well,” he said, “that was… hot.”

You laughed, a little surprised at yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said, standing and stretching again. “But I think you just made my entire week.”

And when he offered you his hand to get up, you took it — the unspoken weight of last night and this morning hanging in the air between you, warm and electric.

—

The next night felt different. Not in a we’re going to a club and making questionable decisions kind of way, but in a softer, more deliberate sense.

Pato had knocked on your hotel room door right before sunset, wearing a crisp black shirt and black trousers that fit him almost too well. He had his hair styled just enough to look like he hadn’t tried at all, and when you opened the door, he just stood there for a second, looking at you like you were the only person in the building.

“You look…” He paused, letting his gaze travel slowly over your dress. “Wow. I was gonna say ‘beautiful,’ but that doesn’t even cover it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You look pretty good too, O’Ward.”

He grinned and offered you his arm. “Ready?”

The restaurant he’d chosen was tucked away from the chaos of the main Strip — dimly lit, all warm golden tones and candles on every table. You were seated in a private corner booth, and it almost felt like the rest of the world had been shut out.

Pato was charming as always, telling you ridiculous stories from his racing career and making you laugh so hard you nearly snorted wine. But there were also quieter moments — his hand resting close to yours on the table, his eyes soft when you spoke, the way he seemed to actually listen, not just wait for his turn to talk.

At one point, between the main course and dessert, he leaned back in his seat and studied you for a moment.

“You know…” he said slowly, “I’ve wanted to take you out like this for a long time.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a little nod. “But I didn’t want to push. I figured you might not be ready for… all of this.” He gestured vaguely between you, his voice warm but careful. “And I don’t want to be that guy who swoops in just because someone else hurt you.”

Your heart squeezed a little. “Pato…”

He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “That being said,” he added with a small, almost shy smile, “I do want to be yours. Whenever you’re ready.”

You didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’m ready now,” you said softly.

For a second, he just blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then his whole face lit up in a grin so bright it could’ve rivaled the Vegas Strip.

“Yeah?” he asked, almost boyishly.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, reaching over to take his hand. “I want this. I want you.”

He squeezed your hand back, and that smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of dinner. The ride back to the hotel was quiet in the best way. You sat side by side in the back of a black SUV, his fingers loosely linked with yours, the neon glow from the Strip flashing across his profile as you passed by casinos and endless signs.

At one point, the car slowed as you passed one of those tiny wedding chapels — white lights strung along the roofline, a big sign advertising “Elvis Officiants” and “Same-Day Marriages.”

Pato’s gaze flicked toward it, and then he let out a low chuckle. “One day,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I’m bringing you back here. We’ll get married in some ridiculous little chapel, and I’ll make sure they have the tackiest Elvis impersonator they can find.”

Your head turned toward him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Oh, really?” you teased, but your voice was softer than you expected.

“Mmhm,” he said, giving your hand another squeeze. “We’ll have champagne in paper cups, and Norbi will be the ring bearer.”

You laughed, leaning into him a little. “That’s… oddly perfect.”

He glanced down at you, his expression gentler now. “Don’t worry. I’m not saying we need to run off and do it tomorrow. But one day… yeah. I can see it.”

And the thing that surprised you most wasn’t his words — it was how easily you could see it too. By the time you reached the hotel, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

—

Back at the hotel, Pato unlocked the suite door and held it open for you, still grinning like he couldn’t quite believe the night had happened.

“After you, mi novia,” he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The word hit you right in the chest — my girlfriend. You didn’t think you’d hear that again so soon, let alone in a way that made you feel this… light.

You stepped inside, kicking off your heels, and he set his keys on the counter before nodding toward the windows. “Come here. The view’s better from the balcony.”

The Vegas Strip stretched out below, glittering in a thousand shades of neon. You could see the fountains at the Bellagio dancing to some faint music, the glow of the Eiffel Tower replica across the street, the constant buzz of life even at this hour.

“Not bad,” you murmured, leaning your forearms on the railing.

Pato stepped up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I was actually talking about the view right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Cheesy.”

“Accurate,” he countered, turning so he could really look at you. The cool night breeze stirred your hair, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

He reached up, tucking a strand behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You know,” he said softly, “I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times. But somehow, this is better than I thought.”

Your breath caught a little. “What moment?”

“This one,” he said simply, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Standing here with you. Knowing you’re mine. Finally being able to do this—”

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or heated like the club — it was slow, intentional, the kind of kiss that said I’ve been waiting, but I’m not going anywhere. His hands settled at your waist, pulling you closer, and you curled your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, deepening the kiss just slightly before breaking away with a soft laugh.

“You’ve been holding out on me, O’Ward,” you teased.

He smirked, leaning his forehead against yours. “I told you. I wanted to do this right.”

The city kept buzzing beneath you, but up here, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you — his warm hands, his steady heartbeat, his smile that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, you could trust love again.

—

4 months later...

yourusername

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yourusername : always a papaya girl...this time just a slightly prettier shade ;) @/arrowmclaren

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lilymhe : iconic caption. 10/10.

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patriciooward : didn't think it was ever possible for you to look better...but somehow you do...standing in my garage ;)

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elbaoward : queen behaviorrrrrrr. ily

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—

You’re leaning against the railing, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the mid afternoon glare, when you hear your name. Not just your name — his voice saying it. You freeze.

“YN.”

You turn slowly, heart pounding in your ears, and there he is. Lando. In his McLaren gear, cap pulled low, a look on his face you can’t read. You feel Elba stiffen beside you, her hand curling around your forearm like she’s ready to physically block him if needed.

“What do you want?” Elba’s voice is cool, her posture sharp. She shifts, subtly stepping between you and him.

“I need to talk to her,” Lando says, gaze fixed on you.

“You’re not—” Elba starts, but you place a hand on her arm.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, though your chest feels like it’s tightening. “Two minutes.”

Elba gives you a hard look — the kind that says she doesn’t like this, not one bit — but she nods and stays close enough to hear if you raise your voice. You follow Lando a few paces away, just far enough from the crowd. He takes off his cap, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment you see a flicker of the boy you used to love.

“I made a mistake,” he starts, his voice low but urgent. “I never should’ve—”

You hold up a hand. “Lando, stop.”

“No, listen to me,” he insists. “I messed up, okay? With Magui, with everything… I was stupid. I was stressed, I—”

“You cheated,” you cut in, each word deliberate. “You didn’t trip and fall into her. You made a choice. Multiple choices.”

His jaw tightens, but he presses on. “I thought… I thought maybe we could fix it. We were good together, YN. You know we were.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Were. Past tense.”

“I can be better. I can prove it.”

“Lando…” You shake your head, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “You didn’t just break my heart, you broke my trust. You broke… us. And I’ve moved on.”

His eyes darken. “With him? With Pato?”

You lift your chin. “Yes. With Pato. And I’m happy.”

“That’s not real,” he says, stepping closer. “You can’t be—”

“Enough,” you snap, taking a step back. “You don’t get to tell me what’s real. You lost that right the second you decided being in my best friend was worth more than our relationship.”

He flinches, but you don’t soften.

Elba appears at your side again, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. “We’re done here.”

Lando’s jaw works, like he wants to say more, but instead he just nods once, shoving his cap back on before walking away. You exhale, your whole body trembling. Elba slips an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back inside. “I’m proud of you,” she says softly. “And I’ve got you. Always.”

—

Pato finds you in the motorhome an hour later, fresh out of the car and still buzzing from practice. His hair’s messy under his cap, his race suit halfway unzipped, but the moment he sees your face, his expression changes instantly.

“Princesa…” He drops the water bottle in his hand and walks straight to you. “What happened?”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the coffee cup Elba shoved into your hands earlier. “Nothing—”

“Don’t,” he says firmly, crouching in front of where you’re sitting. “Your ‘nothing’ face looks a whole lot like your ‘I’m about to cry but I don’t want to make a scene’ face.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. It’s Elba who answers from the couch across the room, voice sharp. “Lando happened.”

Pato’s entire body goes still. He looks at you again, and it’s different now — softer for you, but there’s a storm brewing just under the surface. “Did he touch you?”

“No,” you say quickly. “He just… he cornered me outside and started talking. About wanting me back. About—” You exhale shakily. “About how what I have with you isn’t real.”

Pato’s jaw clenches. He sits back on his heels, trying to keep his voice even. “He said that to you?”

You nod.

“Cabron…” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. Then he stands, pacing once like he’s trying to burn off the urge to march straight to McLaren’s garage. Elba gives him a look, warning.

Pato stops pacing and turns back to you, his expression shifting again — the anger still there, but now wrapped in something gentler. “Hey,” he says, kneeling back down so you’re eye level. “You know that’s crap, right? Every word. What we have—” He takes your free hand, squeezing it. “—is the realest thing I’ve ever had.”

You blink hard, your vision blurring. “I know. It’s just… hearing him say it—”

“—doesn’t make it true.” His voice is firm but quiet, and it sinks in deeper than you expect. “You’re not going to waste another second doubting yourself because of him. Not while I’m here.”

There’s something so steady in the way he says it that it breaks you open a little. You let out a shaky laugh, brushing at your eyes. “You’re a good one, Patito.”

He grins, just a little. “The best one you’ve got.”

Elba snorts. “Alright, lovebirds, enough. You’re making me gag.”

Pato doesn’t even look at her — just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and says, “Ignore her. I’ve got you. Always.”

And you believe him without hesitation.

—

The garage is pure chaos after the checkered flag drops. Mechanics are yelling, hugging, slapping each other’s backs. The monitors still flash P1 next to Pato’s name, and you’re standing there in the middle of it all, heart pounding like you were the one out there pushing the car to its limits.

You watch him on the feed, helmet still on, standing on top of the car and soaking in the roar of the crowd. He’s grinning so hard you can feel it from here. And then — the camera cuts to his podium moment. He lifts the trophy, champagne spraying, and you swear the whole place feels like it’s vibrating with pride.

When the celebrations on the stage wrap, you figure he’ll go off to media duties first, like always. But the moment he disappears down the stairs, you hear the commotion outside the garage door — shouting, running footsteps, and then—

“Princesa!”

He doesn’t slow down. Still in his race suit, still sticky from champagne, Pato charges straight into the garage, vaults the barrier like it’s nothing, and grabs you.

You barely get a breath out before you’re wrapped up in his arms, feet lifting off the floor as he spins you once, twice, laughing into your neck. And then he pulls back just far enough to look at you — cheeks flushed, eyes blazing with pure joy — and kisses you.

Not a quick peck. Not something shy. This is a full, grounding, I just won and you’re the first person I needed to see kiss. You hear the cheers from the crew around you, someone wolf-whistling, someone else yelling, “Get a room!” but neither of you care.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your hands still gripping the front of his suit. “Pato—”

“Had to find you first,” he says, forehead pressing to yours. “None of this means anything without you here.”

You don’t even notice Lando at first. But then, over Pato’s shoulder, you catch him — standing just beyond the crowd, still in his McLaren kit, expression unreadable but his jaw set tight. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just watches. Pato notices where your eyes have gone. He follows your gaze for half a second, then turns back to you and smiles like the rest of the world doesn’t matter. Like he’s choosing to make a point without ever having to speak. He kisses you again — slower this time, deliberate — and the message is clear: you’re his, and he’s not afraid to let anyone see it.

When he pulls away, he grins. “Let’s go celebrate, mi vida.”

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the weight of the past tugging at you. Only the warmth of now.

—

6 months later...

patriciooward

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patriciooward : kept my promise, brought her back and made her mrs. o'ward <3 love you forever and always mi vida

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—

The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly in the back of your mind as you stepped into the hotel suite. The adrenaline from the race had worn off, replaced by a warm buzz of happiness. Pato had just taken the checkered flag again — another incredible victory — and you couldn’t stop smiling. He was already there, leaning casually against the window, his race suit replaced with a simple white shirt and dark jeans. The city lights flickered behind him, casting soft glows that made his eyes shine even brighter.

“You looked amazing out there,” you said, dropping your bag by the door.

He turned, that signature grin lighting up his face. “Only because I had the best support.”

You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the familiar steady beat of his heart. “You earned this.”

He kissed the top of your head softly, then suddenly stepped back, a little nervous energy replacing his usual confident swagger.

“YN…” His voice dropped to a gentle murmur. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to ask you this.”

You blinked, curiosity and excitement mixing in your chest. “Ask me what?”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate ring — a simple band with a single sparkling diamond that caught the light perfectly.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, dropping to one knee without hesitation. “Will you marry me? Fly out to Vegas with me this weekend and say yes?”

Your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes before you even had time to answer.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I will.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger and pulled you up into a tight, trembling hug. “You make me the happiest man alive.”

You laughed through the tears, resting your forehead against his. “I think this is the best win of your career.”

He chuckled, kissing you again — soft, slow, full of promises. The city glittered around you, but all you saw was each other.

—

The morning sun filtered softly through the wide windows of the suite, casting a gentle glow over the room filled with quiet excitement. You stood in front of the full length mirror, the delicate lace of your dress brushing your skin like a whisper. Elba was beside you, carefully fastening the tiny buttons up the back, her hands steady but her eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Can you believe this day is finally here?” she asked, her voice low and warm.

You smiled, your heart fluttering. “I’ve dreamed about it... but somehow, it feels even more real now.”

Elba reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look breathtaking.”

You caught her reflection and saw the affection there — not just as your best friend, but as your sister in every way that mattered. As Elba finished the last button, Norbi — ever the lively corgi — padded into the room, tail wagging wildly. He hopped up onto the soft rug, circling around your feet before settling contentedly by the chair.

“You’re the best ring bearer anyone could ask for,” Elba teased, kneeling to scratch behind Norbi’s ears.

He responded with a happy bark, making both of you laugh. The door to the suite opened quietly, and a few close family friends filtered in — smiles bright, eyes warm with love and celebration. You could feel the hum of joy and nervous anticipation mingling in the air, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Elba caught your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Ready for this?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath that filled your lungs with confidence and hope. “With you here? Always.”

Together, you stepped away from the mirror, hearts aligned and spirits soaring, ready to begin the next chapter of your story surrounded by love.

—

The ceremony was set in a beautiful garden terrace just off the hotel, surrounded by lush greenery and delicate white flowers that danced gently in the breeze. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft golden light, making the scene feel like something out of a dream. You stood just behind the archway, your heart hammering wildly as soft music played. Elba squeezed your hand one last time before stepping aside to take her place among the guests. And then, you saw him.

Pato was standing at the altar, the most radiant smile on his face, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. The moment your gaze met, his breath hitched, and a flood of emotion crossed his features — pride, awe, pure love.

With each step you took down the aisle, the world seemed to slow, every detail sharpening — the shimmer of your dress, the warmth of the sun, the steady beat of Norbi’s little paws padding beside you as he proudly carried the rings tied to his collar.

Just as you reached the altar, Norbi decided this was the perfect moment to get a little distracted by a stray leaf fluttering across the grass. He chased it with all the enthusiasm of a puppy, prompting a ripple of laughter through the guests and a gentle shake of the head from Pato.

“You ready for this, mi vida?” Pato whispered as you took his hands, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve never been more ready,” you said, smiling through tears.

The officiant began the ceremony, but all you could focus on was the way Pato’s eyes held yours — steady, loving, and filled with promises that went deeper than words. When it came time for the vows, you spoke first, your voice clear but tender.

“Pato, from the moment you came into my life, you’ve shown me a love that is patient, kind, and true. You’ve stood by me through every high and low, and with you, I am home. Today, I promise to be your partner, your friend, and your biggest supporter — now and always.”

He squeezed your hands, his eyes shimmering, before speaking his own vows.

“YN, you are my light, my strength, and my heart. You’ve made me better in every way and taught me what it truly means to love. I promise to cherish you, protect you, and laugh with you for the rest of our days.”

As the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, Pato leaned in to kiss you — a soft, lingering kiss that was met with cheers and applause. Norbi, still energized from his earlier distraction, bounced around excitedly, barking happily as if celebrating right along with everyone else. Later, as you and Pato walked hand in hand down the aisle, the sun setting behind you, the world felt perfect.

—

The reception was held in a softly lit ballroom filled with laughter, music, and the warm hum of celebration. Twinkling fairy lights were strung overhead, casting a magical glow over the tables where friends and family gathered, glasses raised in joyous toasts.

You slipped through the crowd, arm in arm with Pato, the band playing a slow, romantic song that made your heart flutter. Elba was nearby, radiant in a flowing white dress, her eyes shining with happiness as she caught your gaze and smiled.

At one point, Pato pulled you gently onto the dance floor, his hands steady around your waist as you swayed together. The world seemed to melt away until it was just the two of you, moving in perfect rhythm.

Elba watched for a moment before joining you both, tugging Pato into a playful hug that made him laugh. “Look at you two,” she teased. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“You should know,” Pato said, grinning, “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid.”

Elba smiled, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “And you, YN, you’re the best sister I could have ever asked for. You two make everything brighter.”

You felt a rush of love for them both — the bond of family, friendship, and something even deeper. As the night wore on, Norbi made his rounds, charming guests and sneaking bites of cake when no one was looking, and the three of you found a quiet moment on the balcony, the city lights twinkling below. Pato wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, while Elba leaned into you both with a contented sigh.

“To new beginnings,” Elba said softly.

“To family,” you and Pato said in unison, smiling into the night — knowing whatever came next, you’d face it together.

patriciooward

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patriciooward Being forced to join a book club has to be the most cruel punishment

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user What book is he reading?

user I want to join this book club

nolansiegel its the @ ynusername bookclub! user so going to join! user they are reading 'Cleopatra and frankenstein' omg user thats a crazy book to read after years of not reading nolansiegel threw him in the deepend

yourbff @ ynusername he's joined your bookclub!

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ynusername

book club discussion group - June - Cleopatra and Frankenstein

ynusername Hi everyone! How did everyone find the book?

user I loved it, I loved how certain chapters had a different formatting and writing style for each character perspective shift!

ynusername Yess, it was so refreshing and kept me on my toes! user I found some of the chapters to run too long, though ynusername Hmm, I can see your point, however, I always found that there were good moments to pause within a chapter

yourbff I love seeing the relationship between Cleo and Frank grow, shift and change throughout the book

ynusername It felt like a real representation of a maybe toxic or unhealthy relationship yourbff At some point, I think I hated and loved each character, like my opinion of them changed throughout patriciooward I agree, characters I thought I liked towards the beginning I disliked towards the end! and vice versa! yourbff OMG HI ynusername omg please don't go fangirl crazy in this group patriciooward (hi)

user Wasn't my taste in books but it was a nice shift in genre for a change

ynusername Everyone is entiled to their own opinion of every book! Sometimes a shift in genre just consolidates my love for others user Exactly! Probably going to stick to my murder mystery/crime novels after this ynusername Oooo I'm always looking for books for the next club or just general recommendations!

patriciooward

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patriciooward This book thing is quite addictive

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user haha where is he getting his book recs?

patriciooward @ ynusername ! She has a book club and really good youtube! user Omg I follow her, she is so lovely! yourbff @ ynusername HE SHOUTED YOU OUT! ynusername aww thank you so much x So happy you enjoyed my content liked by patriciooward

nolansiegel Omg you are so easily influenced

praticiooward shush user Do you think it is because he thinks the book youtuber is cute? user I wouldn't blame him

ynusername

liked by yourbff, patriciooward, and 6,632 others

ynusername Busy day of editing videos when this lovely bouquet arrived at my door with a lovely, but nameless, note. Why do I feel like I'm in my romance books?

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user Living the dream!

yourbff You could have a stalker... like why do they know where you live

ynusername They came through my manager, and if they thought it was appropriate, they must be! yourbff okay so it's definitely cute!

user So pretty and well-read!

ynusername Thank you! xx

patriciooward Can't wait to watch the next video!

ynusername Can't wait for you to see it! yourbff Do we need to have a lesson about how to flirt ynusername shut up

patriciooward

liked by ynusername, nolansiegel, yourbff, and 364,238 others

patriciooward Been a good few days in my life!

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user @ nolansiegel what did you do to Pato

nolansiegel I tried to educate him but I created a monster nolansiegel He won't stop suggesting books to me nolansiegel And keeps talking about that book youtuber user omg down bad Pato

yourbff Getting more men to read books, you're doing God's work @ ynusername!

ynusername Hahah don't be silly! patriciooward I have been changed! Good though yourbff omg

user He has a dog and he reads, how is he single omg?

ynusername

liked by patooward, yourbff, and 6,871 others

ynusername July book club read : Just for the summer

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user OMG THIS ONE IS SO GOOD

ynusername No spoilers!

patriciooward This sounds really interesting and fun, its a romance no?

ynusername Yes! A more classical romance book rather than the last one we all read, but still fully fleshed out! patriciooward Can't wait to read this with you ;) x yourbff oh. my. god. how have you done that ynusername shushhh I have no idea yourbff omg flower man??

user I love your cat omg

ynusername He is called Pickles! He's a little stupid, but we love him!

patriciooward

liked by nolansiegel, ynusername, arrowmclaren, and 285,644 others

patriciooward Date

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user Love the caption is just that

user He must have hope for this relationship if he is posting just a date

nolansiegel Good god man

patriciooward What? nolansiegel You down bad, you flew to her? patriciooward Was going to, she actually lives close! nolansiegel Fate

yourbff hmmm

ynusername What? yourbff I didn't even tag you...

ynusername

liked by yourbff, patriciooward, and 7,252 others

ynusername Last few days: More bookshops, got this lovely hoodie as a gift, went on a few dates, edited lots of videos, prepped for July book club!

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user Omg she went on a date!!

ynusername I did! I'm living in a novel!

yourbff I approve

ynusername Ha like I need your approval ynusername I do, thank you yourbff He is good liked by patriciooward

user Can't wait for book club!

patriciooward Me too, this one was brilliant! ynusername Glad you all enjoyed it!

ynusername

book club discussion group - July - Just for the summer

ynusername Another month, another book club

patriciooward I will read anything you tell me too

patriciooward This one was brilliant and I loved it ynusername Amazing xx Do you want to go into more detail for the group?

--

patriciooward

liked by ynusername, nolansiegel, yourbff, and 341,544 others

patriciooward got forced to read a book, met a lovely beautiful girl because of it

tagged : ynusername

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user So cute x

nolansiegel I am taking credit for this

patriciooward Did you ask her out? No patriciooward Did you charm her? No patriciooward Are you dating her? No nolansiegel Did (like you said in the caption) I force you to join a book club which lead you to meeting her? Yes patriciooward Fine yourbff If anything, I should get credit for telling Nolan about Y/N's book club patriciooward You get credit

ynusername Handsome man x

patriciooward Thank you cutie x

user Has she even been to a race?

user Does that matter?

user Should I start reading a book

patriciooward Yes, and watch @ ynusername for recommendations! yourbff Down bad

It wasn’t that she disliked him. There were no grudges, no bad blood. She treated him with the same polite professionalism she extended to reporters or engineers she barely knew. And yet, when he spoke, her responses were clipped, transactional. If she laughed at a joke in the paddock, it was never one of his. If she scanned a room, her gaze slid past him like he was a shadow against the wall.

It shouldn't have bothered him. It did.

Because Pato had been nursing a hopeless, ridiculous crush on her for as long as he could remember.

It wasn’t immediate, this thing he had for her. It crept up on him, slow and insidious, like the way tyre wear set in over a long stint—barely noticeable at first, until suddenly, it was all he could think about.

Maybe it started the first time he saw her race, years ago, before he even had a seat in IndyCar. He remembered watching from the pit wall, the way she danced through traffic, fearless and calculated, wringing every ounce of speed from a car that should’ve been struggling. He told himself back then that it was admiration, the kind any driver would have for another at the top of their game. But admiration didn’t tie knots in his stomach when she brushed past him in the paddock, nor did it make him hyper-aware of every offhand comment she made.

No, this was something worse.

And she had no idea.

Pato had tried to make an impression—nothing over the top, just little things. A comment here, a question there, something to make him more than just another driver in the field. It never landed. She’d acknowledge him, sure, but only in the way she acknowledged anyone she wasn’t particularly close with. There was no spark of recognition, no shift in her tone when she spoke to him.

Everyone else had that with her. Everyone but him.

And the worst part? He had no idea why.

It wasn’t arrogance; he knew his place in the pecking order. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he deserved her attention just because he wanted it. But it wasn’t as if they’d ever clashed, either. He’d never taken her out of a race, never bad-mouthed her, never done anything that might explain why she skimmed over him like he was background noise.

He’d never mattered to her.

And yet, she was all that mattered to him.

He knew he needed to get rid of his hopeless crush on her.

It was stupid. Pointless. Self-inflicted torture.

He told himself that constantly, especially when she breezed past him in the paddock without a second glance, or when she laughed—really laughed—at something another driver said, like they were in on some joke he would never be part of.

He needed to move on.

Until they were paired for pre-season media.

For a whole week.

Pato stared at the email in his inbox, half-convinced it was a mistake. Media obligations were a necessary evil in racing, but they were usually spread out, different drivers rotating in and out for interviews, photoshoots, sponsor promos. This, however, was something else.

A full week of interviews, press events, and behind-the-scenes content. Together.

The logic made sense. She was the reigning champion, the face of the sport. He was coming off a strong season, a title contender in his own right. Pairing them up created a compelling narrative—two of the top drivers, side by side, setting the tone for the year ahead.

For everyone else, it was great marketing.

For Pato, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Because how was he supposed to pretend she didn’t affect him when he’d be stuck with her for seven straight days? When he’d have to sit next to her, answer questions about their "rivalry" (which didn’t exist, considering she barely registered his presence), and—God help him—probably pose for staged social media content where they’d be forced to look like they were actually friends?

He could already see it: a carefully curated clip of them laughing at some scripted joke, the kind of moment fans would eat up. She’d be effortless, charming as ever. And him? He’d be struggling to act like he wasn’t hanging onto every word she said.

It was going to be the longest week of his life.

The first day of pre-season media started early. Too early for Pato to be dealing with this.

He arrived at the studio ahead of schedule, hoping that being early would give him time to settle in. It didn’t. The place was already a whirlwind of activity—PR reps barking orders, camera crews setting up lights, stylists buzzing around like it was the Met Gala instead of a bunch of racing drivers doing press.

And she was already there.

He spotted her near one of the backdrops, talking to a producer, nodding along as they ran through the schedule. Effortlessly composed, like she’d done this a thousand times before. Which, of course, she had.

She was dressed in team gear, but even the plain polo and branded jacket looked good on her, like she belonged on the cover of a motorsport magazine. He forced himself to look away before his brain could start romanticising something as stupid as the way she stood—like she owned the room without even trying.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Good.

Maybe he could get through this week by staying in the background, doing his job, keeping things professional. He just had to ignore the fact that every time she looked through him, it twisted something in his gut.

“Ah, Pato! You’re here.”

Too late.

One of the PR reps clapped him on the shoulder before steering him forward, right into her line of sight. She turned at the sound of his name, her expression shifting from polite focus to something neutral. Not cold, not unkind—just nothing.

“Morning,” she said, like it was an afterthought.

“Morning.” His voice came out steadier than he expected, which was a miracle in itself.

She gave a small nod, then looked back at the producer, clearly expecting the conversation to move on without him.

Of course.

The PR rep cleared their throat. “Right! So, you two are paired for the day, and we’ve got a packed schedule. First up—some quickfire Q&A for the socials, then a sit-down interview for the pre-season documentary.”

Pato nodded, determined to act like this was just another media obligation. Nothing unusual. Nothing worth overthinking.

Until the PR rep added, far too casually—

“And after lunch, we’ll be doing some fun challenges—bit of a ‘getting to know each other’ vibe. Teamwork exercises, that sort of thing.”

He froze.

So did she.

Her brows pulled together, just slightly. It wasn’t irritation, more like mild confusion—like she couldn’t understand why they had been chosen for something like that.

“Right,” she said eventually. “Sounds… fun.”

It didn’t sound fun. Not to her. Definitely not to him.

Pato had wanted her to acknowledge him. To notice him.

Now, for the first time in his career, they were going to be forced to interact properly.

And he had no idea if he was ready for it.

The first part of the day went about as well as Pato had expected—awkwardly, painfully, and with absolutely no shift in how she saw him.

The quickfire Q&A session was fine. Standard questions, standard answers. They sat side by side while an off-camera producer fired prompts at them. Who had the better qualifying record? (Her.) Who was most likely to be late to a team meeting? (Him.) Who had the worst taste in music? (Also him, apparently, judging by the way she scrunched her nose when he admitted to liking 80s rock.)

She didn’t laugh at him, but she didn’t laugh with him either. The same easy, effortless energy she had with other drivers wasn’t there. It was all business, like she was just getting through another obligation.

The sit-down interview wasn’t much better.

“Describe each other in three words.”

Pato hesitated. Three words. Just three? He could name 100 if she asked.

“Fast,” he said eventually, because obviously. “Consistent. And… competitive.”

She gave a small nod, acknowledging the answer, but there was nothing behind it.

When it was her turn, she barely hesitated. “Skilled. Focused.” A pause. “Quiet.”

Quiet.

It wasn’t wrong, exactly. He was quieter than most of the grid, more measured with his words. But coming from her, it felt less like an observation and more like confirmation—of what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe that she still didn’t really see him.

By the time lunch rolled around, he was convinced nothing about their dynamic was going to change.

And then, the afternoon happened.

The "fun challenges," as the PR rep had so kindly put it, turned out to be a mix of stupid icebreaker games and team-building exercises.

The first was a trust exercise.

“Okay, you know how this works,” the producer explained, gesturing between them. “Pato, stand behind her. She’s going to fall, and you’re going to catch her.”

Pato’s brain short-circuited.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, looking more amused than anything. “Try not to drop me, yeah?”

It was the first remotely casual thing she’d said to him all day.

He managed a smirk. “No promises.”

A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips. Not a full smile. Not even close. But it was something.

She turned back around, took a breath, and let herself fall.

For a split second, he almost forgot to catch her. Not on purpose—he just wasn’t used to her being this close, trusting him with something as simple as this.

His arms wrapped around her waist just in time, stopping her before she hit the ground. For the briefest moment, she was right there, weight pressed against him, her head tilting slightly as if she was about to glance back.

And then it was over.

She straightened up, stepping away, brushing her hands over her jacket like nothing had happened.

“Not bad,” she admitted.

Pato exhaled, forcing his brain back into normal function. “Told you I wouldn’t drop you.”

She hummed, considering. “I thought you said no promises.”

He blinked. Was she—was she teasing him?

Before he could figure out how to respond, the producer clapped their hands together. “Great! Next challenge—answering questions for each other. Let’s see how well you really know your gridmate.”

Her brow lifted slightly as she looked at Pato.

Gridmates.

They weren’t. Not really.

But for this week, maybe they had to be.

The rest of the week blurred into a cycle of press obligations, staged interactions, and an ever-present awareness that, for the first time in his career, she actually had to acknowledge him.

It wasn’t much—small, incremental shifts that barely felt like progress. But Pato noticed everything.

The way she started looking at him when he spoke, instead of through him. The way she started responding to his jokes—not always with laughter, but with a twitch of her lips, like she was holding something back. The way she started actually engaging with him, even if it was just subtle, throwaway comments between takes.

By the time they reached the final stretch of media duties, it was easier. Almost natural.

Almost.

The moment that stuck with him, though—the one that lodged itself in his brain like an unshakable thought—came on the second-to-last day, during lunch.

He hadn’t even realised she was nearby until she was standing in front of him, hand extended. A cereal bar. Nothing fancy. Just one of those standard protein bars the teams kept stocked for quick energy.

Pato frowned, looking between the bar and her face, like there was some hidden meaning he wasn’t catching. “What’s this?”

She tilted her head slightly, like he was the one being strange. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

He blinked. “How do you—”

“You always wait until the last second, and then you grab something just before the next shoot.” She shrugged. “Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

Pato stared. Not because it was a grand gesture—if anything, it was small. Thoughtless, even. Like she’d noticed, made a decision, and moved on without thinking too much about it.

And maybe that’s what got to him.

She noticed.

She noticed.

Before he could say anything, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him standing there, cereal bar in hand, trying very hard not to read into something that probably meant nothing.

Probably.

That night, Pato was actively losing his mind.

The cereal bar was still sitting on his hotel nightstand, untouched. He didn’t even like that flavour. That wasn’t the point.

She had noticed him. Noticed him. And not in the usual, fleeting, empty way where he barely registered in her head. She had paid attention. To his habits. To the fact that he was terrible at remembering to eat on time. She had walked over, handed it to him, and left before he could so much as process the fact that it had even happened.

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

There was only one person he trusted to make sense of this for him.

His mother.

He pressed the phone to his ear, pacing his hotel room like an idiot, waiting for her to pick up.

“¿Mijo?” came her warm, familiar voice. “¿Qué pasó? It’s late where you are, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” he said, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m losing my mind.”

She sighed, the kind of exasperated sound that only a mother could perfect. “Ay, Dios. ¿Qué hiciste ahora?”

“Nothing! That’s the problem!”

A pause. “… Es por una chica, no?”

Pato groaned. “Of course you immediately know it’s about a girl.”

“Because you sound like your father when he was being tonto about me,” she said, unimpressed. “Who is she?”

He exhaled. “It’s—ugh. It’s her.”

His mother knew exactly who he meant. He had never explicitly told her about his hopeless crush, but she wasn’t stupid. The one time she’d come to a race and met his fellow drivers, she had taken one look at him watching her across the paddock and raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Ah,” she said, like that explained everything. “And what has she done to make you so dramatic?”

“She gave me a cereal bar.”

A long silence. Then—

“… Perdón?”

“A cereal bar! At lunch! She just—she noticed that I wasn’t eating on time and handed me one and walked away like it was nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And I know it’s stupid, but she’s never noticed me before. Not really. And now she’s—she’s just—”

“Being nice?” his mother finished dryly.

Pato groaned. “Yes. No. Maybe?”

Another sigh. “Mijo, listen to me. You have been in love with this girl for—what? A year? More? And you’ve done nothing because you convinced yourself she doesn’t care. And now that she’s proving you wrong, you’re still doing nothing?”

“I—”

“Ay, Patricio.” When she used his full name, he knew he was in trouble. “What do you want? Honestly.”

Pato sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

“I want her to see me the way I see her,” he admitted, quiet.

His mother’s voice softened. “Then haz algo, hijo. Do something. Say something. Stop standing in the background of your own story.”

Pato closed his eyes.

She made it sound so simple.

It wasn’t.

But maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be impossible, either.

Pato barely slept.

His mother’s words looped in his head all night. Do something. Say something. As if it were that easy. As if he could just shake off a year of being invisible and suddenly be someone that mattered to her.

By the time 5 a.m. rolled around and his brain still refused to shut up, he gave up on sleep entirely. He pulled on a hoodie, grabbed his keycard, and made his way downstairs to the hotel’s outdoor pool, hoping that the quiet would clear his head.

And then he saw her.

She was sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dipped in the water, arms braced behind her as she stared out at the city lights reflecting off the still surface.

Pato froze.

His body screamed at him to turn around before she noticed him. But then she shifted slightly, head tilting at the sound of footsteps. Her gaze landed on him.

Too late.

He had two options: pretend he had some other reason to be here, or…

Do something.

Taking a slow breath, he stepped forward, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a nearby lounger before sitting down a few feet away from her.

“You do realise this isn’t a race,” he said, nudging his chin towards the water. “No need to be this dedicated to aerodynamics.”

She huffed a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head. “It’s peaceful. And I couldn’t sleep.”

“Same,” he admitted, nudging his bare feet into the water. It was cool, not freezing, but enough to shock his system awake.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Not awkward, but not entirely comfortable either.

Talk, his mother’s voice nagged in his head. Say something.

“So,” Pato started, searching for anything to keep the moment from slipping away. “Since we’re stuck doing media together, I feel like I should get some information. Y’know, for survival.”

She raised a brow. “Survival?”

“Yeah. Like, what’s your go-to pre-race meal? Most important question, obviously.”

That earned him an actual smirk. “Pasta. Always.”

“Solid choice,” he mused. “Okay, follow-up: if you weren’t a driver, what would you be doing?”

She hummed, tilting her head in thought. “Something adrenaline-based. Maybe skydiving. Or stunt driving.”

Pato snorted. “I can definitely see that.”

“What about you?” she asked, glancing at him.

He blinked, caught off guard. Not just by the question—but by the fact that she was asking in the first place.

“Probably something quiet,” he admitted. “Maybe a mechanic. Or a watchmaker.”

That made her actually turn towards him, brows raised. “A watchmaker?”

He shrugged. “I like precision. Small moving parts. Everything fitting together perfectly.”

She studied him for a moment, like she was seeing him properly for the first time.

Before Pato could think too hard about that, he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, last question.”

She arched a brow. “Go on.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

She hesitated, glancing away. “Extra media obligations. All day.”

Pato nodded, swallowing the mild disappointment that settled in his chest. “Right. Of course.”

But then—she paused.

“… But I’m free after eight. Why?”

His pulse kicked up, and before he could overthink it, the words tumbled out.

“Dinner,” he said. “Just as grid mates.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Then—her lips quirked slightly.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Pato’s brain immediately short-circuited.

“N—no,” he said too quickly, scrambling to backpedal. “I mean, it’s not—obviously not—”

“That’s a shame,” she interrupted, standing up and stepping out of the pool. She grabbed a towel, casually drying off her legs. “Because I would have said yes.”

Pato forgot how to breathe.By the time he managed to reboot his brain and form a response, she was already walking away, leaving him sitting there—staring after her, heart pounding, and officially, completely doomed.

the end.

You didn’t get the name “Stone Cold” for nothing. You just lived for racing, and that was it. You couldn’t care less about the other things with racing, but that’s just how you were. It’s always been this way. You came to race, and race you did. 

To anyone else, you were standoffish. You didn’t talk to anyone unless spoken to, and you were known to disappear after every session. You were only ever seen with your teammates, and even that was pretty slim. You just didn’t mesh well with them.

When you found out that you were being dropped from JR Motorsports, you decided to try your hand at open-wheel racing. IndyCar was something you had always thought about going into but never had the chance until you were dropped. Prema gave you an offer you simply couldn’t refuse.

Callum was another quiet driver, so it was easy to get along with him. He also made the promo days a lot easier to go through with, and by the start of the season, you would consider him one of your friends. Callum even took it upon himself to introduce you to a couple of other drivers, namely Marcus and Pato.

Marcus was always around because he was Callum’s best friend, so it wasn’t long until you started looking forward to hanging out with them.

Pato was another story.

You just wanted to sit in his presence, but from the brief meeting you had with him, he’s like an energetic puppy! Callum told you that’s just how Pato is. As much as you wanted to get to know him, you got overwhelmed by the short dose you had of him.

It was almost immediately that Pato noticed your cold deminer. Part of him thought you hated him, so he did the only reasonable thing he could: ignore you. 

At first, you thought Callum and Marcus had talked to Pato about toning it down around you, but then he just wouldn’t acknowledge you. At least Callum or Marcus would nod your way or gesture for you to join their conversations if you wanted to, but Pato just pretended that you didn’t exist. That’s when it became a problem.

“Did you guys tell Pato to ignore me?” You asked, approaching the two of them sitting in a random trailer. 

“Has Stone Cold finally thawed?” Callum joked as he leaned back in his chair to watch you round the couch and sit next to Marcus.

“That’s not funny,” You quipped back, glaring at Callum. “He’s completely ignoring me. I thought you guys told him to chill, no pun intended, out.”

“No, we didn’t tell him anything,” Marcus admitted, propping his foot up on his knee to face you and Callum. “At least I didn’t.”

“No way,” Callum gasped suddenly, “You have a crush! There’s no other reason you would be asking about him. I know you enough to know you wouldn’t care this much if someone wasn’t talking to you. You’d probably be happy if no one spoke to you at all.”

“You’re right about the not talking to me part,” You agreed with a small smirk before it dropped just as fast as it appeared, “But the crush part, I don’t know, man.”

“If you have a crush or if you believe him calling it out?” Marcus clarified.

“Both. I don’t know him enough to know if it’s a crush,” You cringed for a second, “That makes me sound like a child having a fucking crush.”

“Well, then why do you care if he’s ignoring you?” Callum asked, amused, and he was truly finding way too much joy in this situation.

“Because…” You trailed off as you thought about it. “I just wanna be around him, but it’s like he’s repulsed by me. I don’t know what else to say about it.”

You didn’t want to talk anymore. Not about this, not about Pato, not about anything. You got up from the couch and retreated back to the Prema hospitality and into your driver’s room.

Callum and Marcus knew they would have to pull some strings to get Pato to go to you first. They knew you, and they knew you would avoid, bury, and move on. That’s always how you were with your feelings. It also didn’t take a genius to notice this.

“Hey! Pato! My favorite short-term teammate,” Callum exclaimed as soon as he spotted Pato at the track and ran to catch up with him. “How are you, my friend?”

“Why are you kissing my ass?” 

“Am I not allowed to catch up with my closest friend on the grid?” Callum sweet-talked as he put a hand on Pato’s shoulder. From behind Callum, he heard Marcus mutter, “Ouch,” under his breath, but Callum just jabbed his elbow back into Marcus.

“You’re lying!” Pato shouted with a smile, “You’re trying to get something because everyone knows that you and Marcus are best friends.”

“Ok, you have a point,” Marcus said, coming to stand on Pato’s other side, “But we have an offer for you.”

“I’m not gonna be your third.”

“That’s not what we’re asking.”

“It’s about Stone Cold,” Callum immediately cleared up, sending Pato a side-eye.

“Ok, I’m listening,” Pato dragged as the three drivers moved into a less busy part of the paddock.

When you finished the race, you were pleased with your placing. It was your first top-five of the season, and with it being so early in the season, you only expected to get more comfortable as the season went on. 

You finished up post-race media, and you were ready to slip out of the paddock unnoticed. It was a talent you knew well, and somehow, the media could never figure out how you did it. 

You made it to the Prema trailer, ready to change out of your team kit into something more discrete and comfortable, when you saw a figure leaning against the door. It didn’t take you long to recognize the bright orange as an Arrow McLaren kit, and it took only a second longer to identify the figure as Pato. 

“Congrats on your win,” You commended as you passed him. He promptly followed behind you as you went through the trailer, stopping just outside of your driver’s room. “Can I help you?”

“Do you have plans later? The guys were planning to go bar hopping, but I want to head back to the hotel,” Pato explained quickly before looking at the plain look on your face. “You’re busy?”

“I never said that,” You replied dryly. Pato’s eye widened, but he didn’t know where to go with this, so you took it to continue. “I thought about getting takeaway and watching the Formula 1 replay.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” Pato perked up, “What kind of takeaway are you craving?”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged as your face scrunched up, “Chinese?”

“I like Chinese,” Pato agreed before deciding this was his time to shoot his shot, “Do you want to catch a ride with us and they can drop us off at the hotel?”

“I actually have a car rented,” You answered, “If you want to meet me at the hotel, I can pick up the food, and we can watch the race in my hotel room.”

“Oh my god,” You heard through the wall before someone banged against the wall. “He’s asking you out!”

Your eyes moved to meet Pato’s nervous gaze as he offered you a small smile.

“Really?” You questioned, and Pato reacted with a quick nod. “In that case, you can ride with me.”

Later that night as you watched the podium celebration for the Formula 1 race, you sat in a comfortable silence with Pato until he sighed, drawing your attention away from the screen.

“I just have a couple questions,” Pato started.

“They crossed the line first, second and third. Does that answer your question?” You responded, turning your body to face him on the bed.

“What…” Pato trailed off before chuckling to himself for a second. “Thank you for that information.”

“Anytime,” You smiled, “Proceed with your actual questions.”

“One, if Callum and Marcus didn’t tell you yet, I really like you,” Pato started, “Can we do this again?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure there’s another race next week. Maybe not Chinese again, but I liked this. It was fun.”

“Not this specifically,” Pato broke it down even more. “You and me doing something. Maybe dinner or something.”

“Oh,” Your face dropped for a second before coming back with a huge smile, “I’d like that too.”

“Cool.”

“Cool. What was your other question?”

“Why do you have your own car?” Pato couldn’t help himself. “As far as I know, each team only funds one car for the drivers, and they all have to share it.”

“I fund my own rental,” You replied as if it were common sense. “I like having escape plans, and if I wanna leave, I can leave.”

“That’s gonna come in handy,” Pato trailed off with a smirk.

“Why would you say that?”

“No reason.”

A few races later, you and Pato walked hand-in-hand into the paddock for the Indy 500. Boy, was that unexpected. Not only did the media never see you walk into the track, but this time you were walking in with someone. Someone who was very prominent for grand entrances. 

“Looks like Stone Cold has finally thawed,” Callum teased as he and Marcus met up with the two of you just before your first interviews of the day. “How do you feel?’

“Like there are too many people looking at me,” You admitted quietly, squeezing Pato’s tighter as you looked around at all of the cameras pointed at the four of you. The glasses on your nose did nothing to block who you were looking at. “I just wanna get in the car.”

“Hate to break it to you, but we don’t get in the car today,” Marcus said with a mock pout, bumping into Pato’s side. “Maybe Pato can hide you somewhere.”

“They do have their own car for a reason.”

“Quick getaways, not what you are thinking,” You immediately clarified, pointing at Callum and Marcus. “I learned that this is a sexual innuendo.”

~~~~~