🩶 eat pussy. its vegan 🩶

the house was quiet in the way that made every little sound feel louder than it should.

lando was still asleep on the sofa, one arm hanging off the side, his breathing slow and uneven. he must have done something and crashed a little after midnight. you'd heard him moving around the kitchen earlier, cabinets opening and closing, the back door creaking for a cigarette. after that - silence.

you stood in the hallway for a moment, just watching him.

for a second he looked peaceful. almost like the boy who you met two years ago, the one who used to show up with messy hair and stupid jokes and takeout bags because he "forgot to eat all day." the one who promised you he'd only deal for a little while - just until he saved enough money to do something better.

that promise felt very far away now. he's in too deep.

your phone buzzed quietly in your hand.

no new messages from mick.

you stared at the last thing he'd sent the night before.

mick: And tell him to quit keeping lists. That's what got him noticed.

a cold knot twisted in your stomach again.

how did he know about the lists?

you hadn't answered him after that. you didn't even know what you would say. instead, you's stayed awake half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying ever conversation you'd ever had with lando his "side business."

just a few more months.

just until I save enough.

I'm being careful.

careful.

right.

you looked back toward the living room. lando shifted slightly but didn't wake.

you turned and walked down the toward the spare bedroom.

the door creaked when you pushed it open.

the room looked exactly how you'd left it yesterday - blankets half-pulled off the bed, hoodie thrown over the chair, the faint smell of weed clinging to the air.

your eyes drifted immediately to the bed frame.

the envelope of bail money was still taped underneath, but now that you knew it was there, it felt less like a safety net and more like proof of something else.

preparation.

expectation.

like he's always known the day he gets arrested would come.

you crouched down and peeled the tape back again, pulling the envelope free. the money inside was thick - fifties folded tightly together.

way more than what you paid for bail.

"Jesus fucking christ lando." you muttered.

you pushed it back where it was and stood up.

something about the room felt...off.

not messy - lando had always been messy. this was different. like parts of the room had been cleaned too carefully.

you walked over and slid the door open.

clothed hung in uneven rows, hoodies and jackets stuffed together. shoes piled in the corner. nothing unusual.

until you noticed the box.

it was shoved behind a stack of old trainers - plain cardboard, taped shut.

you frowned.

you'd never seen it before.

slowly, you pulled it out.

the tape peeled back with a soft ripping sound.

and when you lifted the lid, your stomach dropped.

inside were little vacuum-sealed bags, neatly stacked.

next to them were rolls of cash, a small digital scale, and a pack of empty baggies.

your breath caught.

"no..."

your mind scrambled for another explanation. maybe he was holding it for Oscar or max. maybe it was temporary. maybe..."

but the box was too organised.

too practiced.

this wasn't something he was quitting.

this was something he'd been expanding.

your hands trembled as you set the lid back down.

all those talks and promises about stopping and getting out of it soon.

lies.

the realisation hit like a bucket of cold ice water poured over you.

he never planned to stop.

a floorboard creaked behind you.

you spun around.

lando stood in the doorway.

he looked half-awake, hair messy, hoodie pulled on like he'd just thrown it over himself. but his eyes were sharp the second they landed on the box in your hands.

for a moment, neither of you spoke.

then his jaw tightened.

"where'd you find that?"

you stared at him. "where you hid it. lando...you told me you were quitting."

his gaze flicked to the box, then back to you.

"I was going to," he said quietly.

"you were?" you repeated.

the words came out sharper than you meant.

"you said that six months ago, lando. and three months ago. and last week."

his shoulders tensed.

"lower your voice."

"why?" you snapped. "worried someone might hear the truth?"

a flash of anger crossed his face but faded quickly.

"don't know why you're the one getting angry."

he closed the door behind him.

"you weren't supposed to see that."

you laughed bitterly and threw the box onto the bed with the contents spilling out.

"yeah, i'm starting to realise there's a lot I'm not supposed to see."

he rubbed his face, exhaustion creeping back into his expression.

"its not what you think."

you gestured toward the box.

"oh really? because it looked exactly like what I think."

he didn't answer.

and that silence told you that you were well and truly right.

"you lied to me."

his eyes flicked up.

"I didn't lie."

"you said you were done with this."

"I said I would be."

"that's the same thing!"

"no, its not," he snapped.

the sudden edge in his voice made the room feel smaller.

"I was getting there," he continued, running a hand through his hair. "I just needed a little more time."

"you've been saying that for two years."

he didn't argue.

instead, he leaned against the wall, staring at the floor like he was trying to calculate something in his head.

finally he muttered, "you think I wanted things to go like this?"

"like what?" you asked. "getting arrested?"

his eyes snapped up.

"that wasn't supposed to happen."

you crossed your arms.

"but it did."

"because someone tipped them off," he said.

the anger was back now, simmering under his voice.

"they knew exactly where I was, what I had on me and how much."

you stomach twisted.

"mick said the same thing."

lando went completely still.

"mick..?"

you immediately regretted saying it.

but it was too late.

his expression hardened.

"you talked to him?"

your heart started pounding.

"I texted the number from your list."

"are you serious?" he said sharply.

"I was trying to help!"

"you don't help by contacting people you don't know," he snapped back.

the tension in the room spikes.

for a moment you thought he might actually yell.

instead he just shook his head and looked away.

"what did he say?" he asked quietly.

you hesitated.

then you told him.

about the messages. about mick saying someone wanted lando to be noticed. about the warning.

and..."...he knew about the lists," you finished.

silence

lando's face went pale.

"repeat that."

"he said you should stop keeping the lists," you said slowly. "that it's what got you noticed."

a long heavy pause filled the room.

then lando whispered something under his breath.

"what?" you asked.

his gaze lifted to yours.

and for the first time since you'd known him...

he genuinely looked scared.

"that list never leaves the house."

your stomach dropped.

"what are you saying?"

lando looked toward the bedroom door like he expected someone to be standing there.

then he spoke quietly.

"im saying, if mick knows about it...then someones been in the house."

the words hung in the room like smoke.

you stared at him, your heart starting to hammer.

"hats not possible," you said quickly. "we would've noticed."

lando shook his head slowly, eyes scanning the room like he was seeing it differently now.

"no broken locks. no windows smashed," he murmured. "but if someone had a key... or came in while we were gone..."

a horrible thought crossed your mind.

"if the police arrested you the other day and knew about your little druggie empire...why has there been no search? they should have searched the house."

lando froze.

both of you looked around the room. closet. bed. desk. the box still turned over on the bed with god knows what in it. the house was still the same. nothing overturned. no drawers dumped out. no police tape.

"no raid," you whispered.

"no raid," he repeated.

the realisation hit. your eyes slowly widened.

"oh my fuck."

a loud car slammed outside.

both of you jumped.

then came another. and another. and a few more after that.

you both turned toward the front of the house.

through the window you could hear faint voices.

radios crackling.

boots on the tiles outside.

lando whispered. "tell me that's not..."

"POLICE," followed with heavy knocks that rattled the front door.

you both stared at each other.

your brain literally shut off.

then lando grabbed the box.

"MOVE!"

everything after that happened way to fast.

you sprinted out into the hallway while lando carried the box like it weighed nothing.

"where the fuck are you gonna put that?" you hissed.

another knock shook he door.

"OPEN THE DOOR!"

"think!" lando whispered frantically.

you spun in a circle, panic rising.

closet? no.

the garden? too far.

bathroom? too obvious.

down the toilet? 1. lando would lose a lot of money 2. would take too long

then your eyes landed on the living room carpet.

the corner near the couch.

the one that always curled up a little.

"...the floor."

lando blinked. "what?"

"the floor!"

you ran over and yanked the corner of the carpet up.

underneath it, a loose board shifted slightly.

you'd discovered it months ago when you spilled soda and tried to clean underneath so the place wouldn't stink.

you'd joked it was the worlds worst hiding spot but now it was your only one.

"Hurry up bro!"

lando gave you a weird look but dropped to his knees beside you. "never call me bro again. why didn't you tell me about this before?" he whispered.

"I don't know. maybe because I didn't know we'd need to use it just before getting raided you bellend."

the knocking only got louder

"FINAL WARNING...OPEN THE DOOR!"

"OH MY GOD THEY'RE GOING TO BREAK IT!" you panicked.

"LIFT THE BOARD!"

you both tugged at the wooden panel but it refused to move.

"why isn't it fucking moving!?" lando hissed.

"You're pulling the wrong pissing side."

"No I'm not!"

"YOU try then!"

you shoved him aside and yanked the other edge.

the board popped loose with a loud CRACK.

you both froze.

then another knock.

"police!"

"okay were good," you whispered quickly,

you shoved the board aside.

a shallow space opened underneath the floor.

not huge.

but enough.

"GO GO GO!"

lando dumped the contents pf the box inside.

bags. scale. baggies. everything.

you grabbed handfuls and shoved them down the side so they were underneath the next floorboard.

the stash barely fit but for now it worked.

at one point lando tried to stuff the scale in sideways and it got stuck.

"TURN IT!" you whispered urgently.

"I AM TURNING IT!"

"THE OTHER WAY DICKHEAD."

you snatched it from him and crammed it in diagonally.

"wasn't so hard was it."

you then slammed the board back into place.

then dropped the carpet back down over it hoping it won't lift up.

you both sat there breathing hard.

another knock.

"forgot they were there for a second."

"SHIT. the money!" you whispered suddenly.

"just leave it. we ain't got time. its not illegal." he said quickly.

"you literally taped it under the bed! suspicious if you ask me."

"yeah and? people hide money."

he grabbed your hand and hauled you up.

"act normal."

"HOW the fuck do you 'act' normal?!"

"just...don't look guilty."

you both rushed to the front door.

he opened it.

two uniformed officers stood on the tile porch.

three more behind them near the cars.

one woman stepped forward.

"Lando Norris?"

he nodded slowly.

"that's me."

"we're conducting a search of the property related to and investigation involving your arrest," she said.

your stomach dropped.

"do you have a warrant?" lando asked.

she held up a sheet of paper.

"yes."

fucking great. fantastic. perfect.

"alright, come in then, wouldn't want you catching a cold would we," he said sarcastically.

within seconds the house filled with officers.

drawers opened.

cabinets checked.

closets searched.

you stood in the living room trying to breathe normally while two officers looked through the kitchen.

lando stood next to you with his arms crossed.

a tall officer approached.

"we're going to need to search both of you as well."

"sure," lando said calmly.

you hoped your heartbeat wasn't audible.

the officer searched lando first.

patting down his hoodie.

checking his pockets.

phone. wallet. nothing.

then the female officer turned to you.

"arms out please."

you lifted them.

she checked your hoodie. your jeans. your shoes. nothing.

meanwhile, the rest of the officers continued searching.

one of them walked into the bedroom.

your stomach flipped.

he knelt down beside the bed.

your pulse spiked.

please don't look at the carpet. please don't look at the carpet.

instead he reached under the bed frame.

you and lando both froze. the female officer noticed. "anything you want to share?"

"nope. all good. lando said.

the officer pulled something out. the envelope. "got cash!" he called.

your heart dropped into your stomach. he then opened it and counted briefly. "somewhere between three and four grand."

he pulls a box out from under a pile of clothes.

he then looked up. "this yours?" lando nodded. "yeah."

"what's it for?"

"uhhh a couple vibrators and stuff like that. bit kinky this one." he said pointing to you.

you whacked his arm and stifled your laugh to which the female officer stood next to you went to grab something from her belt which you assumed was her taser. "please don't make any sudden movements ma'am."

"right sorry."

the officer went white. "uhh not illegal then."

he tossed it onto the mattress.

you nearly collapsed with relief.

a few minutes later another officer came in from the garden.

"found a couple half-smoked joints outside near the fence."

your heart skipped.

the female officer shook his head.

"anything else?"

the officer shook his head.

"nope."

the house slowly went quiet again as they finished checking rooms.

one by one they stepped back toward the front door.

the first officer looked at lando.

"you're still part of an ongoing investigation...and you are too ma'am," she said. "so don't leave the city."

"wasn't planning to," he replied.

she gave him one last look.

then they left. the door closed. the cars drove away.

and the second they both disappeared down the street...you both collapsed onto the couch.

"holy shit."

you started laughing. not a normal laugh but the kind that came from pure panic leaving your body.

"we almost died," you said between breath.

"we almost went to prison," he corrected.

"I'm too pretty and I would have been bum fucked if I went to prison so therefore I would have died." you said.

"didn't die when we did it."

"oh my god stop. never mention that again."

he leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

"that was way too close."

you nodded.

then slowly turned your head toward the carpet. the hidden floorboard sat there innocently. untouched.

your stomach twisted again.

because now one thing was certain.

the cops were watching him.

and whoever tipped them off…was still out there.

There were plenty of reasons to hate Kimi Antonelli.

The media called him the Iceman's Heir: an Italian prodigy with too much talent, too much attitude, and too little interest in pretending to be a decent human being. Fans loved him because he was fast. Drivers hated him because he wouldn't shut up. And the press? They circled him like vultures, waiting for his next explosive quote.

But none of that prepared you for meeting him in person.

You weren't even supposed to cross paths. You were in the paddock as part of a behind the scenes media internship - just another nameless face in a team uniform carrying a clipboard and a thousand responsibilities. He was F1's newest wildfire, already famous for mouthing off to veteran drivers and once throwing a headset across the garage.

The universe however...was in a petty mood.

You rounded a corner, scanning a checklist, and slammed straight into someone solid. Hard. Something metal clattered to the ground.

"Watch it," a low voice snapped.

You looked up and realised with immediate dread that it was him. Kimi Antonelli. The blue and white streaks on his suit, the brown hair damp with sweat, and eyes like a winter storm - cold, unfriendly, and definitely sizing you up like you'd personally ruined his day.

"I'm literally carrying half the teams equipment," you shot back before common sense could stop you. "Maybe don't take up the whole hallway then."

He actually laughed - a sharp, humourless exhale.

"You think you can walk around thinking you own the place?" he said, stepping closer. "Get your head out of your ass. You're just a-"

Your stomach tightened. "Just a what?"

"A distraction," he muttered finally. "And I don't have time for distractions."

You bristled. "So don't walk into me next time."

His eyes flicked down your uniform again - insulting you without any words.

"I won't," he simply said. "Once is enough."

He moved past you like air.

You stared after him, angry heat simmering under your skin.

What an arrogant, insufferable-

"Hey!" someone called. Your teams communications lead jogged toward you, panting, "Did you bump into Antonelli?"

You groaned. "Is that going to get me fired?"

"No, no," she said quickly, though she looked uncomfortable. "Just...try not to talk to him unless you really have to. He's under a lot of pressure this weekend."

Everyone's under a shit load of pressure, you wanted to say. But you held it back. Barely.

📍 THE PRESS ROOM

Later that afternoon you were assigned by toto himself to record audio during the press conference. You sat back against the wall, fighting off boredom - until one particular driver started talking.

Kimi leaned back in his seat like he owned the building, answering questions with the energy of someone who’d been forced at gunpoint to attend.

"Are confident in your qualifying performance?" a report asked.

Kimi shrugged. "If the car doesn't explode with me in it then sure I guess."

"And your rivalry with Oscar Pastry? Another incident on track today-"

"That wasn't rivalry," Kimi said dryly. "That was him forgetting how to drive. Again."

Reporters snickered. Oscar glared. You rubbed your temples.

God, he really is the worst.

Then - because fate really hated you today - one reporter pointed directly at you.

"You there-the intern. What do you think of Kimi's driving this weekend?"

Your blood froze. The entire room turned.

Kimi raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. Waiting.

You could've said something neutral. Safe. Team-friendly.

But you were tired. And annoyed. And he was still glaring at you like you were some sort of inconvenience he hadn't asked for.

So you said:

"He's fast," you began cautiously. Then before stopping yourself, "...and maybe he would've done even better if he didn't't spend so much time shouting at his engineers."

The room went silent.

Kimi’s expression shattered from amusement into something razor-sharp.

Piastri laughed.

Someone whispered, "Holy shit."

Kimi leaned forward into the microphone.

"Say that again," he said softly. Too softly.

Your heartbeat thundered. "I said maybe you’d be faster if you didn’t blow up at your team every session."

The pause was deadly.

"That so?" He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "You think you know how to do my job better?"

"No," you shot back. "Just yours wouldn’t be so hard if you didn’t make everyone miserable."

Kimi stood up so suddenly his chair screeched. He didn’t lunge - he wasn’t that unprofessional - but he strode straight toward you, jaw tight, shoulders tense. Drivers and team members stepped back like he was a live threat.

He stopped inches from you.

Up close, he was even worse. Taller. Sharper. Colder.

"You don’t know a damn thing about me," he said quietly, voice low enough only you could hear. "So maybe keep your mouth shut before you embarrass yourself again."

Your throat tightened. Fear flickered - unwanted, humiliating - but anger drowned it out.

"Gladly," you whispered back. "As long as you stay out of my way."

His eyes flashed.

"Trust me," Kimi said. "I planned to."

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the whole room buzzing with electricity and disbelief.

📍 BACK IN THE GARAGE

Your supervisor dragged you aside the moment you returned.

"What happened?" she hissed. "You made Antonelli furious."

"I… answered a question."

"It sounded like you tried to start a war."

You winced. She sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"Just… avoid him," she said. "Do your job. Keep your head down. Please."

You nodded, though humiliation burned through you.

Avoid him? Fine. Perfect. You never wanted to see the bastard again.

But the universe, once again, had different ideas.

📍 SATURDAY NIGHT

You were doing inventory alone in the dim garage when you heard footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Too recognizable.

Kimi stood at the entrance, helmet bag slung over his shoulder, eyes hooded and unreadable.

You froze. "I thought you were at the sim."

"Left early."

The air felt thick, humming with something volatile.

"Why are you here?" you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared, the silence twisting tighter and tighter.

Then he said, voice low:

"You don’t get to talk about me like you know something."

Your jaw clenched. "Then stop acting like you’re better than everyone."

He stepped closer. "I am better."

"At driving," you snapped. "Not at being a person."

He flinched-very slightly, but enough that you saw it.

Seconds passed. Tense. Electric.

"People like you," he murmured, "always think you understand what pressure feels like."

"And people like you," you fired back, "use pressure as an excuse to treat everyone like trash."

His eyes darkened-hurt? anger?-you couldn’t tell.

"I could get you kicked out of this paddock with one phone call," he said quietly.

"Then do it," you said. "Go ahead."

You meant it. You were too tired to care.

Kimi’s lips parted slightly.

Not in anger.

In… surprise.

He stared at you for a long moment, then looked away.

"I’m not going to," he said eventually. "Even though you’re being a pain in the ass."

"Why not?"

He hesitated.

Then...

"…Because you were right."

The confession hit harder than the insults.

"And," Kimi added, voice dropping further, "because I don’t want you to disappear."

Your breath caught.

Before you could ask what that meant-before you could even breathe-he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with the echo of his words.

📍 RACE DAY

Race day always felt electric - vibrating beneath your skin, humming through the air - but today the energy felt wrong. The clouds hung low, heavy with humidity and something else you couldn’t name. Mechanics snapped at each other. Engineers muttered under their breath. But the worst of it radiated from one source:

Kimi Antonelli.

He was wound tight as piano wire, every muscle rigid, every step harsh and clipped. You could feel him before you saw him - like a storm rolling through the paddock.

You were organizing headset cables when he brushed past, barely missing you. He didn’t even look at you.

You swallowed. "Good morning to you too."

He froze.

Very slowly, Kimi turned his head. His eyes were bloodshot - he clearly hadn’t slept - and dark with exhaustion.

"Don’t start with me," he muttered.

"I wasn’t," you said carefully. "Just-"

"You were," he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut. "You always have something to say."

You stiffened. "Kimi, I was literally-"

"You think I need your commentary right now?" His jaw clenched. "I have a qualifying lap that was shit, a car that’s unstable, and a team that can’t give me answers. So do me a favor and don’t talk to me."

Your heart stuttered.

"That’s not fair-"

"Neither is life," he said flatly. "Welcome to F1."

He turned away.

You blinked, heat prickling in your eyes.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry in the paddock. Don’t give him that.

But Kimi kept going.

"And honestly?" he said, tossing his gloves onto the table. "I don’t have time to babysit someone who doesn’t belong here."

The world stopped.

Your breath caught like you’d been struck.

Kimi froze, the words hanging between you like poison.

He realised instantly what he’d said - but the damage was already done.

You forced out a whisper. "I… don’t belong here?"

His face twisted - guilt flickering beneath the anger - but he didn’t take it back. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

"Kimi," you said shakily, “you never had to like me, but you didn’t have to be cruel.”

“I’m not being cruel,” he said, voice low, defensive. "I’m being honest."

That broke something.

You felt it crack.

"Right," you whispered. "Well. Thank you for the honesty."

You set the headset down with trembling hands and stepped back.

Kimi’s expression faltered. "Wait-"

But you didn’t.

You turned and walked away, swallowing hard, heart hammering painfully against your ribs.

You didn’t go far at first - just out of the garage, down the service road, past the crowds and the noise - but the hurt followed you like a shadow.

Babysit.

Doesn’t belong here.

The words replayed over and over.

Your chest burned. Your throat tightened.

You kept walking.

By the time you reached the far edge of the paddock, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The tears came - hot, humiliating, unstoppable. You ducked behind a stack of freight containers, trying to hide from any passing cameras or fans.

You hated crying. Hated losing control. Hated that it was him who broke you.

You pressed your palms to your face, breathing fast, trying to steady yourself. But the pressure, the exhaustion, the constant stress - it all crashed down at once.

You needed escape. Not fresh air. Not a five-minute break. You needed  distance. From the track. From the noise. From Kimi.

You pulled out your phone, hands shaking, and texted your supervisor:

"I’m not well. I need to leave the paddock. I’ll update you later."

A beat later:

"Approved. Go home. Take the whole day if you need."

You didn’t respond.

You were already walking.

Through the staff exit. Across the parking lot. Away from the screaming engines, the burning rubber, the suffocating intensity.

You didn’t stop until you reached the bus station outside the track gates - far enough from everything to breathe again.

You sank into a plastic seat and stared blankly ahead, numb.

You didn’t want to quit. But you couldn’t stay. Not like this.

Not with him.

📍 BACK IN THE GARAGE

Kimi didn’t notice you were gone at first.

His mind was chaos - engine failures, strategy changes, the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He paced the garage, chewing on his glove, snapping at engineers, barely hearing anyone.

But then...

He turned to ask you for something. Some stupid cable you always organized. Something trivial he’d grown used to you having ready.

You weren’t there.

He frowned. "Where’s...where is she?"

No one answered.

Kimi scanned the garage again, irritation building. "Where the hell is she? I need-"

"She left," someone finally said. "Took the day."

Kimi blinked.

"Left?" he repeated. "Left where?"

They shrugged. "Said she wasn’t feeling well."

Something cold slid down Kimi’s spine.

Not feeling well.

He replayed his own words in his head.

Every ugly, sharp syllable.

Babysit.

Doesn’t belong here.

Kimi swore violently under his breath and shoved past a mechanic, storming out of the garage.

He checked catering. Then the loading bay. Then the service corridor by the media pen.

Nothing. No sign of you.

His heartbeat climbed. His chest tightened.

It wasn’t just guilt anymore. It was fear.

Because he wanted to apologise - needed to - but you were gone. Because he hurt you. Because he didn’t know how badly. Because he’d crossed a line he didn’t even see until it was too late.

He ran a hand through his hair, breath unsteady.

"What did I do?" he muttered to himself.

He punched the nearest wall - not hard enough to injure his hand, but hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make the engineers flinch when the sound echoed.

He didn’t care.

He needed to find you. He needed to fix this. He needed you to know he didn’t mean it - Not the cruel part. Not the part that broke you.

He checked his phone - nothing from you. He checked the team’s private group chat - nothing. He checked your locker - empty.

You were gone.

And for the first time all weekend, Kimi felt something other than anger.

He felt panic.

Kimi was not good at panic. He was good at speed and pressure. At threading a car through corners at 300KPH while the world blurred around him.

but standing in the paddock with his phone in his hand, realising you were completely gone, was something else entirely.

his chest felt tight. his thoughts moved too fast.

"has anyone seen y/n?" he demanded, grabbing the sleeve of one of the media coordinators.

"no," she said, startled. "she left a while ago."

"how long?"

"I don't know. maybe an...hour ago?"

an hour.

Kimi felt something sharply twist in his stomach.

you'd left because of him. because he couldn't keep his mouth shut for thirty seconds. because he'd decided the easiest way to handle pressure was to shove it onto someone else.

he started walking toward the Mercedes hospitality.

find them.

that was the only thought that mattered.

📍OUTSIDE THE CIRCUIT

the sun had climbed higher, the heat heavy against the asphalt. fans crowded the gates, the roar of practice sessions echoing faintly from inside the track.

Kimi didn't notice any of it.

he moved through the outer areas of the circuit like someone chasing a ghost - checking the staff parking, the quiet service roads, the small bus stop by the outer fence.

and then he saw you.

you were sitting on the bench near the bus shelter, surely forward like you were trying to disappear into yourself.

at first he though you were just crying.

then he realised you weren't breathing normally.

your shoulders shook violently. your hands were clutched in your hair, fingers trembling.

"kimi," you gasped.

no.

you weren't saying his name.

you were gasping for air.

his stomach dropped.

he approached slowly, unsure, every instinct suddenly clumsy.

"hey," he said, voice low.

you didn't respond.

your breathing was fast - too fast. sharp, shallow gasps that sounded painful.

"kimi," you whispered again, but it wasn't directed at him. your voice cracked, frantic.

your eyes were wide but unfocused.

panic attack.

kimi didn't know much about them, but he'd seen enough to recognise the signs.

his chest tight with guilt.

this was hosted fault.

"hey," he tried again, crouching in front of you. "look at me."

your gaze flicked toward him - and immediately broke.

your breathing sped up even more.

"no, no, no," you stammered, shaking your head violently.

the reaction hit him like a punch.

you weren't just overwhelmed.

you were overwhelmed because of him.

"kimi," you choked again.

your phone slipped from your hand and clattered onto the pavement.

the screen lit up.

a contact was open.

CALL: JAMIE

kimi grabbed your phone without thinking and pressed the call button.

it rang twice.

"hey," a voice answered casually. "everything okay?"

"I need you out by the bus stop," Kimi said quickly.

"why do you have her phone?" Jamie said.

"she's having a panic attack," Kimi said, the words coming out rough. "I don't know what to do."

the line went dead.

the next few minutes stretched painfully.

you were still struggling to breathe, your chest rising and falling too quickly. Kimi sat on the pavement across from you, feeling completely useless.

he didn't know where to put his hands.

did he touch you? did he stay back?

he settled for speaking softly.

"you're okay," he said awkwardly.

your breathing didn't slow.

"I'm here."

still nothing.

his throat tightened.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, the words sounding strange in his mouth. "I shouldn't have said that stuff."

your eyes squeezed shut.

"don't..." you struggled to say.

the word sounded like it hurt.

Kimi fell silent.

footsteps pounded toward them.

Jamie appeared around the corner moment later - your best friend on the team and one of the team strategists. she looked from Kimi to you instantly, their expression shifting from confusion to concern.

"oh hey," she said kneeling gently beside you. "I've got you."

your breathing hitched again.

jamie place a calm hand on your shoulder.

"hay, look at me and follow me breathing okay?"

you began to attempt to follow her breathing. again. and again.

gradually - painfully slowly - your breathing began to match theirs.

Kimi stayed very still a few feel away, watching.

the relief when your gasps started evening out was almost dizzying.

after several minutes, your shoulders finally relaxed slightly.

you looked exhausted.

jamie glanced ever at Kimi.

"what happened?”

the question wasn’t angry.

just tired.

kimi rubbed the back of his neck.

"I… said some things," he admitted.

Jamie sighed.

"yeah," you said quietly. "yeah some things."

kimi winced.

you looked up at him eventually.

your eyes were red. Your voice hoarse.

"What do you want, Kimi?"

the question wasn’t hostile.

just drained.

ee hesitated.

apologies didn’t come naturally to him. Words tangled up in his throat.

"I shouldn’t have said you don’t belong," he said finally.

you watched him silently.

"and the babysitting thing," he added. "That was… stupid."

Still silence.

Kimi shifted awkwardly.

"I was stressed," he muttered.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "not a great excuse."

"yeah, I know," he said quickly.

he looked back at you.

"I didn’t mean it," he said quietly. "you do belong. everyone in the garage knows that. I was just..."

he stopped.

struggling.

"...being an asshole," Jamie finished helpfully.

Kimi exhaled.

"yeah," he said. "that."

your lips twitched faintly despite yourself.

the tension cracked just a little.

"your apology sucks," you said weakly.

"I know."

"But… thank you for calling Jamie."

He nodded.

relief loosened something tight in his chest.

⌛️OVER THE SEASON

things didn't magically become easy after that.

kimi still snapped sometimes but you still rolled your eyes at his attitude.

but something changed.

he started bringing your coffee to you every morning - pretending it was "extra." you started helping him organise his chaotic pre-race routine.

arguments became debates.

debates become jokes.

somewhere along the season - between late night flights and chaotic race weekends - you stopped being enemies.

then you stopped being just coworkers.

by the end of the championship, most of the team referred to you two as a pair.

kimi denied it every time.

but he never stopped sitting next to you at team dinners.

⌛️ SEVERAL YEARS LATER

the garage was quieter then usual that evening.

kimi sat on the pit wall beside you.

you had something in your hands.

a contract.

"you're staring at that like it's going to bite you," he said.

"it might."

he glanced at it.

then at you.

"what is it?"

you inhaled slowly.

"I got offered a new position...with another team."

Kimi frowned. "which one?"

"McLaren."

he blinked.

"they want me to work with their race engineers," you continued carefully. "specifically...with Oscar's side of the garage."

silence fell.

for a moment Kimi just stared ahead at the wall monitors.

"you're leaving," early said flatly.

"it's a promotion."

"I know what it is."

you looked down at your hands, "I wanted to tell you first."

another long pause.

finally, he sighed, rubbing his face.

"well," he muttered, "that sucks."

you laughed softly.

"that's your reaction?"

then he added quieter, "but the garage is going to be boring as hell without you."

you smiled.

and for the first time since getting the offer, the decision didn't fell quite so terrifying.

no one expected Clown in a Cornfield to blow up the way it did.

It started with whispers - festival buzz, critics calling the kills "brutal but smart," the final girl "terrifyingly real." then opening weekend hit, and suddenly everyone knew your name.

you didn't play the final girl like she was fearless. you played her shaking, furious, stubborn. bloody hands gripping a rusted pipe. voice cracking when you screamed - not pretty, not polished. Real.

that's what did it.

by Monday morning, edits were going viral.

clips of you running through the cornfield to bass-boosted audios. slow-motion shots of your expression when you realised the clown was behind you. freeze-frames of your final stare into the camera, eyes wide, jaw set - text over it reading:

"THIS is how you make a scream queen."

someone compared you to Neve Campbell.

someone else said you were better.

tiktok crowned you in less than 48 hours.

the cast GC went feral.

Malachi was the first to send you one.

Malachi: "WHY ARE YOU ACTUALLY TERRIFYING 🔥😭"

then screenshots.

edits.

fanart.

a tweet with 200K likes calling you "the moment, the movement, the cornfield menace."

at the next press event, you tried to play it cool, but the interviewer smiled like she already knew.

"so, how does it feel being called this generations scream queen?"

you laughed, a little stunned, "I think the internet decided that without asking me."

behind the cameras were all smiles. someone squeezed your shoulder and Malachi leaned in and whispered, "you earned it."

that night you reposted an edit for the first time. just one.

a simple caption: "still processing this. thank you 🖤🌽"

it became your most-liked post ever.

and just like that, horror fans knew - the crown had passed.