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before formula one, he was just oscar. the person you knew before the fame, the cameras, and the world watching him. you loved him through every dream he chased, but sometimes loving someone means realizing you can’t keep waiting forever.
warnings : angst, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to almost lovers, emotional miscommunication, career over relationship, bittersweet ending, lots of yearning, right person wrong time, use of y/n, not proofread
word count: 4,5k , masterlist , a/n : hii first oscar fic :))
before oscar piastri became a formula one driver, he was just oscar. that was the thing you missed the most.
not because you didn’t love seeing him succeed. you did, more than anyone.
you watched him accomplish things you knew he was capable of long before anyone else did. you watched him prove people wrong. you watched him work harder than anyone around him.
you were proud. you were always proud.
but sometimes you missed the version of him that existed before the whole world knew his name. the version of oscar who wasn’t constantly rushing somewhere, the version who had time, the version who was yours.
you met oscar before everything changed. before the interviews and the cameras and the constant traveling, before people started recognizing him.
back then, racing was still just something he loved. something he talked about endlessly.
you remember sitting with him one afternoon while he explained something about a race you hadn’t even watched.
“so basically, i should’ve taken a different line into the corner because i lost time there.”
you blinked.
“i’m going to be honest, i understood maybe three words of that.”
he looked offended.
“three?”
“maybe four.”
he rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
“you’re impossible.”
“and yet you’re still explaining racing to me.”
“because you asked.”
you laughed.
“i asked what happened. i didn’t ask for a whole analysis.”
“same thing.”
“it really isn’t.”
and he laughed. a real laugh.
the kind you didn’t hear from him around everyone else.
that was the thing about oscar.
he wasn’t the loudest person in the room. he wasn’t the person trying to get attention.
but with you? he was different. he talked more. he joked more. he let himself relax.
you were the person he came to after bad days. the person he celebrated with after good ones. you were the person who knew him before he became someone everyone else cared about.
you always knew he was going to make it, everyone else saw potential but you saw determination. you saw the nights he stayed up thinking about how he could improve. you saw how badly he wanted it and maybe that was why you never questioned his dream.
even when it started taking up more and more of his life. because you loved him enough to understand. at least, you thought you did.
when he got the opportunity that would eventually lead him toward formula one, you were the first person he told.
you remember exactly where you were, you remember the way your phone lit up with his name, you remember smiling before you even answered.
because oscar didn’t call unless something happened.
“hi?”
“guess what.”
you could immediately hear it. the excitement. the nervousness.
the way he was trying not to sound too happy just in case.
“what?”
there was a pause.
“i got the opportunity.”
you sat up.
“oscar.”
he laughed quietly.
“i know.”
“wait.”
you could feel yourself smiling.
“are you serious?”
“yeah.”
“you’re actually going to do this.”
“hopefully.”
“no.”
you shook your head even though he couldn’t see you.
“you are.”
he was quiet.
“you really think that?”
and that question told you everything.
because underneath all the confidence, underneath all the talent, there was still a part of oscar that wondered if he was enough.
“i know that.”
another pause.
then,
“i wanted you to be the first person i told.”
and maybe that was the moment you started believing you would always be the person he came back to.
because at the time…
you were.
at first, the change wasn’t obvious.
he was busier.. obviously. you knew that.
you weren’t expecting him to have unlimited time anymore. you knew his schedule was crazy.
but he still tried.
he would message you when he got a chance.
sometimes it was late at night, sometimes it was only a few minutes.
but it mattered. because even a small message from oscar felt like proof that you were still important.
“landed.”
“training went well.”
“wish you were here, the food is terrible.”
you would laugh at those messages, then you would reply immediately.
because you missed him. but you didn’t want to admit that.
not even to yourself.
then formula one got closer.
and suddenly everything became bigger.
the pressure, the expectations, the amount of people watching him.
and oscar changed. not in a bad way.
that was the hardest part.
if he had become cruel, maybe it would have been easier. if he had stopped caring completely, maybe you could’ve hated him.
but he didn’t. he still cared.
he just didn’t have time. and somehow, that hurt more.
because you couldn’t even be angry.
you couldn’t say
“you’re hurting me.”
because he wasn’t trying to.
you couldn’t say
“choose me.”
because you would never ask him to give up the thing he worked his whole life for.
so you did the only thing you knew how to do.
you stayed.
the first time he missed something important to you, he apologized.
“i’m sorry.”
you looked down at your phone.
“it’s okay.”
“no, i mean it.”
you smiled sadly.
“oscar, it’s okay.”
and you meant it. at the time..
because one missed call wasn’t a big deal. one cancelled plan wasn’t a big deal, one forgotten conversation wasn’t a big deal.
but nobody tells you that relationships don’t usually fall apart because of one huge moment.
sometimes they disappear because of hundreds of tiny ones.
and you didn’t notice when you became someone who waited.
waited for texts, waited for calls, waited for him to have time.
because you were always convinced that eventually things would calm down.
eventually he would have a break. eventually you would get your best friend back.
you didn’t realize that while you were waiting for oscar to come back…
he was already moving further away.
you couldn’t remember when people started assuming the two of you were together.
maybe it was because oscar looked for you before anyone else. or maybe it was because the two of you had this habit of standing way too close together without realizing it.
whatever it was, neither of you ever corrected anyone.
because… honestly? it was easier not to.
“you know everyone thinks you’re dating, right?”
you looked up from your drink, raising an eyebrow at one of your friends.
“…what?”
she laughed.
“you and oscar.”
you nearly choked.
“no they don’t.”
“they absolutely do.”
“we’re just friends.”
“right,” she said, dragging the word out. “and i’m the queen of england.”
you rolled your eyes.
“seriously.”
she shrugged.
“have you seen the way he looks at you?”
before you could answer, someone called your name.
you turned.
oscar.
he was walking over, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.
“there you are.”
you frowned.
“were you looking for me?”
“yeah.”
“why?”
he blinked.
“…because i wanted to talk to you?”
your friend snorted beside you. you shot them a glare.
oscar looked between the two of you.
“…what?”
“nothing.”
“…why are you both looking at me like that?”
“we’re not.”
“you are.”
you laughed.
“you’re imagining things.”
he narrowed his eyes.
“…i don’t think i am.”
it was always easy with him. conversation never felt forced, silence never felt awkward. sometimes you’d sit together for hours without saying much at all.
just existing in the same space.
it was enough.
one afternoon, the two of you ended up sitting on the hood of his car, watching the sunset after he’d finished training.
he looked exhausted. you nudged his shoulder.
“you okay?”
“yeah.”
“liar.”
he sighed.
“…training sucked.”
“that bad?”
“i was off all day.”
you looked over at him.
“do you wanna know what i think?”
he hummed.
“i think you’re being way harder on yourself than anyone else is.”
he smiled a little.
“probably.”
“definitely.”
“…thanks.”
“don’t mention it.”
there was a comfortable silence.
then—
“you know…”
he looked at you.
“…what?”
“when you’re famous, don’t forget about me.”
he laughed.
“famous?”
“yeah.”
“that’s your biggest concern?”
“obviously.”
he shook his head.
“i’m serious.”
“so am i.”
he looked back at the sky.
“i could never forget you.”
the words came so naturally. like they didn’t mean anything.
except…
they meant everything.
when oscar got busier, you adjusted without complaining.
instead of seeing him three or four times a week… it became once.
then once every two weeks. then whenever your schedules somehow lined up.
still… you made it work.
because he always seemed genuinely happy to see you.
“hi.”
he smiled as soon as he spotted you.
“hey.”
he wrapped you in a quick hug before pulling away.
“sorry i’m late.”
“you’re fifteen minutes early.”
“…oh.”
you laughed.
“you’ve been hanging around race engineers too much.”
he groaned.
“don’t remind me.”
“coffee?”
“please.”
you spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing. he told you stories from training.
you complained about school. he laughed at one of your terrible jokes.
for a little while… it felt normal again.
like nothing had changed. until his phone buzzed.
he glanced at the screen. his smile disappeared.
“…i have to go.”
you nodded.
“already?”
“yeah.”
he looked genuinely disappointed.
“i’m sorry.”
“it’s okay.”
“i’ll make it up to you.”
you smiled.
“i know.”
you watched him jog back to his car.
he turned around halfway there.
“hey!”
“yeah?”
“don’t forget to text me later.”
“only if you actually answer.”
he grinned.
“rude.”
then he left.
he didn’t answer.
you sent him a picture of the sunset that night.
“look what you missed.”
he hearted the message.
nothing else.
days passed. then weeks.
you tried not to think about it.
he was busy. he was always busy.
you understood. you always understood.
the first race you managed to go to after he started getting really involved with formula one felt… different.
everything was louder, bigger. more crowded.
there were cameras everywhere, people shouting his name, team members rushing around.
for a second, you wondered how he’d ever gotten used to all of this.
then you spotted him. he was talking to someone from the team, completely focused.
he looked older somehow. not physically. just… different.
more tired. more serious. like the weight of his dream was finally sitting on his shoulders.
you waited until he looked up. his eyes scanned the crowd.
and then they landed on you.
his entire expression softened. he excused himself almost immediately and walked over.
“you came.”
you smiled.
“i said i would.”
“i wasn’t sure you’d be able to.”
“i wasn’t missing this.”
for a second, neither of you spoke.
then he pulled you into a hug. it only lasted a few seconds.
but it felt familiar.
safe.
“…i missed you,” he mumbled quietly.
your heart nearly stopped.
“i missed you too.”
he pulled away, smiling.
“after the race?”
“yeah?”
“wait for me.”
you nodded.
“always.”
he smiled one more time before someone called his name.
“oscar!”
he sighed dramatically.
“duty calls.”
“go.”
“don’t leave.”
“…i won’t.”
he pointed at you jokingly.
“promise?”
“promise.”
“okay.”
then he ran back toward the garage.
you kept your promise. you waited.
through interviews, through celebrations, through team meetings, through people slowly leaving.
you checked your phone.
8:12.
8:47.
9:31.
10:05.
he’d forgotten. again.
you stared toward the garage one last time.
then quietly turned around. and walked away.
your phone buzzes just as you’re about to fall asleep.
you don’t even have to look at the screen.
you already know it’s him.
oscar
“u awake?”
you smile to yourself.
you
“barely”
the typing bubble appears almost instantly.
oscar
“good”
you
“????”
oscar
“i was starting to think u were ignoring me”
you let out a quiet laugh.
you
“that’s rich coming from you”
there’s a pause.
long enough that you wonder if maybe you shouldn’t have said it.
then—
oscar
“yeah.”
the smile slips from your face. you hadn’t meant it like that.
or maybe… you had.
before you can think too much about it, your phone rings.
“hello?”
“hi.”
his voice is quieter than usual. tired.
you can hear people talking in the background.
“where are you?”
“hotel.”
“it’s… what, like two in the morning over there?”
“something like that.”
“why aren’t you asleep?”
he lets out a small laugh.
“can’t.”
“why?”
“…thinking.”
“that’s never a good sign.”
“probably not.”
you pull your blanket up a little higher.
“what are you thinking about?”
there’s a few seconds of silence.
“you.”
your heart does something stupid.
“…me?”
“yeah.”
“why?”
“i don’t know.”
another pause.
“i just…”
he sighs.
“…i miss hanging out with you.”
you stare at the ceiling.
“you know we can hang out whenever you want.”
“i know.”
silence.
“you’re the one who’s busy.”
he doesn’t answer. instead, you hear him exhale softly.
“…i know.”
it’s so quiet you almost don’t catch it.
“i’m trying.”
you close your eyes.
“i know you are.”
“doesn’t really seem like it lately.”
“oscar…”
“no, i mean it.”
his voice sounds frustrated now.
“every time i think i’m finally getting a break, something else comes up.”
“you don’t have to explain.”
“i do.”
“you really don’t.”
another silence.
“…are you mad at me?”
the question catches you off guard.
“what?”
“are you?“
“..no.”
he doesn’t say anything.
“i’m not mad.”
“then what are you?”
you swallow.
“…i just miss you.”
it’s barely above a whisper. the line goes quiet.
you almost think the call dropped.
then—
“…i miss you too.”
he sounds so genuine that it almost hurts. because you believe him.
that’s the problem. you believe him every single time.
two weeks later, he asks you to meet him for coffee. it’s the first time you’ve seen him in almost a month.
he’s already sitting outside when you get there, sunglasses resting on top of his head, scrolling through his phone.
he looks up the second he hears your footsteps.
and smiles.
there it is.that stupid smile. the one that still makes your chest ache.
“hey.”
“hey.”
he stands up immediately. before you can say anything, he pulls you into a hug.
it’s familiar. warm.
you can feel him relax a little.
“…hi,” you mumble into his hoodie.
“hi.”
neither of you moves for another few seconds.
finally, you pull away.
“you’re getting clingy.”
he shrugs.
“maybe.”
“that’s new.”
“don’t get used to it.”
you roll your eyes.
“there he is.”
he laughs.
“i missed you.”
“you said that on the phone.”
“i know.”
“…i still mean it.”
you look away before he notices the smile tugging at your lips.
“you’re annoying.”
“you like me.”
“…unfortunately.”
“that’s all i needed.”
after ordering your drinks, you end up sitting outside.
it’s nice. comfortable.
for the first time in weeks, it feels like nothing has changed.
he reaches over without asking and steals your drink.
you stare at him.
“…did you seriously just drink my coffee?”
he blinks.
“…yes?”
“oscar.”
“what?”
“you have your own.”
“yours is better.”
“because yours tastes like burnt dirt.”
“it’s black coffee.”
“exactly.”
he takes another sip. you shove his shoulder.
“you’re unbelievable.”
“thank you.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
“i’ll take it anyway.”
you can’t help but laugh.
god.
you missed this. you missed him.
“so,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
“how’s school?”
“boring.”
“that’s it?”
“that’s the summary.”
he nods.
“fair.”
“how’s work?”
he groans dramatically.
“don’t ask.”
“that bad?”
“i think i’ve spent more time in airports than my own apartment.”
“that’s… actually kind of sad.”
“yeah.”
“when’s the last time you slept in your own bed?”
he thinks for a second.
“…don’t know.”
“oscar.”
“what?”
“that’s not healthy.”
he shrugs.
“comes with the job.”
“doesn’t mean i have to like it.”
he looks at you. really looks at you.
“…you worry too much.”
“someone has to.”
he smiles.
“…thanks.”
before you can answer his phone starts ringing. he glances at the screen.
his shoulders immediately tense. you already know who it is.
“don’t,” you say quietly.
he looks up.
“what?”
“don’t apologize.”
“just answer it.”
he doesn’t move.
“i can ignore it.”
“no.”
“i want to stay.”
“i know.”
“but if you don’t answer, you’re just going to spend the next hour wondering why they called.”
he sighs.
“…you know me too well.”
“i do.”
he stands.
“five minutes.”
you smile.
“take your time.”
he points at you.
“don’t disappear.”
you laugh.
“where would i go?”
he grins.
“good.”
then he walks away, phone pressed to his ear. you watch him disappear around the corner.
five minutes pass. then ten. then twenty.
your coffee is cold. you check your phone.
no messages.
you look toward the corner again.
he still isn’t back.
and despite everything. despite every promise, despite every “i’ll only be a minute”…
you stay.
because maybe this time…
he really will come back.
by the time oscar hangs up the phone, the sun’s already started to set. he rubs a hand over his face before looking back toward the patio.
“…shit.”
it definitely hadn’t been five minutes. he knows that. he doesn’t even bother checking the time.
he’s already reaching for his phone, already typing.
“i’m coming back rn”
he rounds the corner with a guilty smile already on his face.
“i’m so-”
the words die in his throat.
your chair is empty. your drink is still sitting on the table.
half full. melted ice floating at the top.
he blinks.
he looks around the café.
inside, outside, by the sidewalk.
you’re nowhere.
his stomach drops. he pulls his phone out again.
no new messages.
he scrolls up. the last thing you’d sent him was almost forty minutes ago.
“don’t rush. i’ll still be here :)”
he stares at it for a long second.
then presses call. straight to voicemail.
“…come on.”
he tries again.
voicemail.
again.
voicemail.
he sits back down in the chair across from yours. the one he’d left you sitting in.
your straw wrapper is still folded into that weird little star you’d taught him how to make years ago.
he picks it up and turns it over in his hands.
“…damn it.”
you don’t answer until almost ten that night.
his phone lights up while he’s brushing his teeth.
you
“sorry i was driving”
he calls immediately. you answer after the second ring.
“…hi.”
“where’d you go?”
you lean your head back against the couch.
“home.”
“i know that.”
“then why’d you ask?”
…
“oscar?”
“you left.”
you let out a quiet laugh. not because anything was funny. because you didn’t know what else to do.
“yeah.”
“why?”
you stare at the ceiling.
“how long did you wait?”
…
you close your eyes.
“an hour. maybe a little more.. i figured you got busy.”
“i did.”
“i know.”
“i couldn’t just hang up.”
“i know.”
“then why’d you leave?”
you finally sit up. because that question annoys you more than it should.
“you asked me not to disappear?”
“yeah.”
“but you disappeared first.”
the line goes completely silent. you don’t mean for it to come out so harsh. but you can’t take it back now.
“…i’m sorry.”
“i know.”
“i really am.”
“i know.”
“y/n-”
“it’s okay.”
“it’s not.”
“it’s happened before.”
“…what?”
“it’s happened before.”
your voice stays calm. too calm.
“this wasn’t the first time.”
he doesn’t answer. because he knows.
you’ve waited outside garages, you’ve waited after races, you’ve waited through interviews. team meetings, sponsor events.
you’ve always waited and every single time he’d assumed you’d understand.
“…i didn’t think…”
“i know.”
“…i just thought.. you’d still be there.”
your chest tightens. because that’s exactly it. he thought. he never asked.
he just… expected.
you laugh quietly again. this time he hears how tired it sounds.
“i was. i always was.”
after that call, things don’t exactly change.
they just become… quieter.
you stop texting first.
every time you pick up your phone, you wonder if you’re interrupting him.
so eventually… you don’t.
oscar notices after four days. which, honestly, surprises him.
he’s sitting in the hotel after media day when he opens your chat.
nothing.
no random pictures, no stupid memes, no updates about your day.
nothing.
he scrolls up. he’s the last person who texted.
read. nothing else.
he frowns.
then types.
“u alive?”
you don’t answer for three hours.
when you do… it’s one sentence.
“sorry, i was out”
that’s it.
no smiley face, no teasing him for asking, no “how was your day?”
he stares at the message.
something feels… off.
the next race weekend arrives.
he’s nervous. he always is.
but this time.. he’s excited too.
because you told him you’d be there.
he’d even gotten you paddock passes.
he keeps checking the entrance between meetings. not yet.
he checks again after qualifying. still nothing.
“who’re you looking for?”
lando bumps his shoulder while grabbing a water bottle.
“oscar?”
“…huh?”
“you’ve looked at that gate like six times.”
“…have i?”
“yes.”
lando follows his gaze.
“waiting for someone?”
“…maybe.”
“your mystery person?”
oscar rolls his eyes.
“shut up.”
lando grins.
“they’re not coming, are they?”
“…i don’t know.”
for the first time…
he genuinely doesn’t know.
and somehow.. that thought scares him more than qualifying ever could.
you almost don’t go.
the paddock pass sits on your kitchen counter all morning.
you’d promised him. he’d promised you, too.
look how that turned out.
your phone buzzes.
oscar
“today’s the day :)”
another message comes through a few seconds later.
“don’t disappear this time”
you stare at the screen.
then type back.
“i’ll be there”
the race is good. better than good. he drives like he’s got something to prove.
every overtake is clean. every lap is faster than the last.
when the chequered flag falls, the crowd erupts. you find yourself cheering with everyone else.
because no matter how much your heart hurts… you’ll always be proud of him.
always.
you watch him climb out of the car. he pulls off his helmet, smiling wider than you’ve seen in months. his eyes immediately scan the crowd.
looking. searching. for you.
you wave. he spots you almost instantly.
even from where you’re standing, you can see him smile.
he points at you, then he disappears into the celebrations.
you wait. again.
you tell yourself it’ll be different this time.
he saw you, he asked you to stay, he won’t forget.
an interview turns into another interview.
then photos, then the team celebration, then sponsors.
you check your phone.
no messages.
thirty minutes. forty-five. an hour.
you look toward the garage. everyone’s still busy.
you sigh.
“…of course.”
you don’t cry. you don’t get angry.
you’re just… tired.
you pull your phone out.
you
“congratulations. i’m really proud of you.”
you hesitate. then add one more message.
“i have to go. i’ll see you around, okay?”
you press send and leave.
oscar doesn’t see the messages until almost two hours later.
he’s finally alone.
everyone’s gone home. the garage is quiet.
he unlocks his phone. his smile fades.
“…no.”
he calls.
once. twice. three times.
no answer.
he doesn’t think. he grabs his keys.
you hear the knock just after ten. you already know who it is.
you open the door.
he’s standing there in his team kit, hair still messy from the race.
he looks exhausted.
“…hi.”
“hi.”
neither of you moves.
finally, he speaks.
“why’d you leave?”
you let out a small laugh.
“…really?”
he frowns.
“what?”
“you’re asking me why i left?”
“…yeah.”
you look at him for a long second.
“how long did you expect me to wait this time?”
his shoulders drop.
“an hour?”
…
“two?”
…
“the whole night?”
“i got caught up.”
“i know.”
“i couldn’t leave.”
“i know.”
“i wanted to.”
“i know, oscar.”
your voice never gets louder.
if anything… it gets quieter. and somehow that hurts him more.
“i know.”
he runs a hand through his hair.
“i don’t know what you want me to say.”
you shake your head.
“nothing.”
“there has to be something.”
“there isn’t.”
“please.”
his voice cracks.
“don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“look at me like you’ve already given up.”
you swallow.
“…because i have.”
the words knock the air out of him.
“…no.”
“i’m tired.”
“i’ll do better.”
you smile sadly.
“i know you’ll try.”
“i mean it.”
“i know.”
“then why are you saying it like that?”
“because i’ve heard it before.”
silence.
you step outside, closing the door behind you.
the night is quiet.
for a while, neither of you says anything.
finally…
you speak.
“do you remember when you asked me not to forget you when you got famous?”
he laughs softly through his nose.
“…yeah.”
“you told me you never could.”
he nods.
“i meant it.”
“i know.”
“i still mean it.”
you look at him.
“that’s the problem.”
he frowns.
“what?”
“you never stopped caring.”
…
“you just stopped making time.”
his eyes fill with something you’ve never seen before.
regret. real, overwhelming regret.
“i didn’t realize…”
“i know.”
“i thought…”
he stops himself. you finish the sentence for him.
“…that i’d always be there?”
he doesn’t answer. because it’s true.
he always thought there would be another coffee.
another phone call. another race. another chance.
he’d never imagined there’d be a last one.
“i loved you.”
the words leave his mouth so quietly you almost miss them.
your heart stops.
“…what?”
he laughs bitterly.
“i’m pretty sure i’ve loved you for years.”
you close your eyes.
“…oscar.”
“i just…”
he wipes at his face, frustrated.
“i kept thinking i’d tell you when things slowed down.”
you feel tears burning your eyes.
“i know.”
“and they never did.”
“i know.”
“i’m sorry.”
you nod.
“i know.”
he lets out a shaky breath.
“…did you?”
you smile through the tears.
“yeah.”
“…yeah.”
another silence. this one hurts the most. because now everything is out in the open. and it doesn’t change anything.
after a while, you step closer. you wrap your arms around him. he hugs you back immediately.
like he’s afraid that if he lets go… he’ll lose you forever. maybe he already has.
when you pull away, you reach up and fix the collar of his jacket. just like you always do.
he smiles through watery eyes.
“still taking care of me.”
“it’s a habit.”
“…can i ask you something?”
“okay.”
“if things were different…”
you don’t let him finish.
“they’re not.”
his shoulders fall.
“…right.”
you nod.
“you got everything you ever dreamed of.”
he looks at you.
“not everything.”
your chest aches.
“maybe.”
you take one small step backwards.
“but i think we were always meant to happen before formula one.”
he doesn’t try to stop you. maybe because he knows he can’t. or maybe because, for the first time…
he understands.
“goodbye, oscar.”
“…goodbye.”
months pass. life moves on.
it has to.
sometimes you’ll catch a race on tv. sometimes you’ll see another interview. another podium. another trophy.
every time he wins, he still looks into the crowd for just a second.
old habits die hard. and every time you see it… you wonder if some part of him is still hoping.
you smile, quietly. because despite everything… you never stopped loving him. you just stopped waiting.
sometimes, love isn’t enough. sometimes, timing ruins everything.
Something Borrowed, Something Blue & Something…Broken?
PARING: KA12 x Reader
SUMMARY: Where Reader and Kimi are the Maid of Honour and Best Man at their mutual friend’s wedding but everything keeps going wrong.
WARNINGS: None! (unless everything going wrong at your wedding triggers you)
WORD COUNT: 3.1k
A/N: Once again inspired by my holidays to Italy in 2026 and Mauritius in 2025, sorry if I have the order of the wedding mixed up, I’ve only been to 3 weddings in my life and 2 of them when I was a kid😂 (also had to post something so I can post my masterlist lol)
The first sign that something was going to go wrong was just how uneventful everything was leading up to the wedding.
When Aria had invited you to her wedding, you certainly weren’t expecting to be a Maid of Honour. In the months leading up to the wedding, you’d been to all her dress fittings for her gorgeous gown, helped her pick out venues and even helped decorate on the day of.
The flowers were perfect, the venue was surprisingly lenient and gave you decorations for free (when did they start charging for those?!), and Aria was looking absolutely fabulous.
So you should’ve immediately assumed something would go wrong.
On the day of September 4th, at exactly 15:00, you walked down the aisle as Aria’s Maid of Honour. All you had to do was look gorgeous all evening, successfully say your speech, not get too drunk and not break anything!
The rules were simple, right?
When you stood waiting for Aria, you looked out at the blue water and the grassy mountains surrounding Riva Del Garda. It truly was breathtaking. The aisle was littered with flowers, a white carpet and some greenery sprinkled throughout.
The guests all sat on some wicker chairs and then at the altar. The flowery arch with the scenery around to complement.
This was truly the most gorgeous wedding of your entire life.
The next bridesmaid and groomsman walked down the aisle. You could recognise him from a mile away; it was Kimi.
Kimi was the Best Man of the groom and was also your mutual friend. You obviously knew of Kimi; he was basically there every time you went to hang out with Aria. Her fiancée (husband, not yet?) and Kimi were best mates from school. They saw each other all the time, doing God knows what.
They were always fixing Aria’s fixer-upper she had bought (you told her this was a terrible financial decision), installing the latest thing Aria had made for the house, playing FIFA on the PlayStation, cooking. You’d say they’re conjoined twins by this point.
Truth be told, he looked a little nervous. He too was giving a speech today, and also just had to not get too drunk before doing the speech.
Then it was the man of the hour. Lowell. Aria and Lowell were about to get married. All the months spent planning this wedding, seeing the wedding come together piece by piece. It was finally here! The big moment!
You were admiring the scenery of Lake Garda when something cracked beneath you.
You immediately knew what it was.
Your heel was breaking. You knew this pair was too old. You try to stand on the tips of your toes so they can at least survive the ceremony, but the aches in your calves and the pain in your feet are just too much. Aria is walking down the aisle. Just a bit longer… oh, god, look beautiful! Don’t forget about the cameras!
You stand back on the heel of your shoe, and it seems fine, but you’re not sure; you try to put as little pressure as possible on them, leaving your legs burning.
You make it successfully through the entire ceremony by staying as still as a statue and just smiling. Your calves were going to be so defined after this.
The two newlyweds share their famous moment, their first kiss as a married couple. You have to shuffle out of the way when your heels crack again. Once they’re walking down the aisle, you take a moment to inspect the damage, a straight crack through the entire heel. You needed to change soon, but there were still photos, and you could probably only change them at the reception.
Kimi catches you as you walk down the aisle. “What’s wrong?” He asks, looking down at your weird walk.
“My heel is breaking, and we still have to do the damn pictures!” You whisper-shout so as not to alert anyone, especially not Aria, who was not someone to worry about today. She just needed to enjoy her day.
By the time they start calling everybody up for pictures, that’s when your heel finally gives out. Walking on the grass by some flower pots, bang. The entire heel cracks in two and sends you flying forward.
You grab onto a flower pot, luckily not ripping your dress or getting it dirty.
Kimi sends you a sly look as everybody looks at your broken heel.
You take them off and walk barefoot. You only put them on for photos and throw them in the bin when you see one.
Luckily, another friend had kept your bag. You knew something like this would happen. It’s just you had a feeling. There was a spare pair of heels inside it and-
“I haven’t actually seen your bag in ages, uh-“
Great. Now you’re barefoot. Should’ve not thrown those in the bin.
You walk up to where they’re packing away the ceremony. Everybody - literally everybody is at the reception; only the crew from the venue are around
“And you’re sure you haven’t seen a black bag?” You ask, a stressed tone evident.
“Eh, no signora…Maybe check, ehhh, the reception; look for Maria; maybe she will know.” The gentleman does not speak great English, his Italian tone evident. You thank him quickly before picking up the satin from your dress off the floor and walking to the reception hall.
You bump into Maria just as you walk in. She’s a tall, black-haired lady who has a bob and red lipstick. You can’t miss her.
“OhmygodMaria- Mybaghaveyouseenit?” You speak too quickly.
“Eh?!”
“Maria, my bag. I have no shoes. They broke.”
“Ah, okay. Er…I will call somebody. MARIO!!!” She shouts from across the hall. A man with a tray full of champagne walks up to you. He’s carrying a tray with about 20 glasses of champagne on it, all bubbling and looking extremely inviting.
“For you, signora?” He offers you a glass of champagne. You accept without much thought.
Maria waffles to him in Italian, their words mixing together in your head until she turns to speak to you. “Mario will go look at the bride’s suite for you. Just find your spot.” She orders you, as you look around; there’s not a single open seat.
What?
It was one long table, exquisitely decorated with flowers hanging over, candles running down the table, a light colour scheme and everyone sitting down.
“Maria!” You call out. She’s gone. There’s not a single seat for you.
Now you have to find a spot; you can’t just be standing like an idiot at the head of the table. You see every chair occupied (obviously not the bride and groom’s, but you definitely can’t take those!) You quickly walk up to Kimi; maybe he would know what to do.
“Did you find shoes?”
“No! I’m going to have to go barefoot. They’re going to look in Aria’s room.” You speak quickly; he looks a little confused before just nodding.
“Calm down, girl, I’ve never seen you so stressed,” Kimi says. He’s way too relaxed right now!
“Kimi! I’m going to have to do my speech without shoes! In front of everybody!” You seem to be looking stressed, as other people are glaring at you.
“Having a good time?” You ask sweetly, changing your tone.
They just nod and look away. Kimi stands up and leads you two outside.
“Come on, man, it’s not that serious; besides, I don’t think anybody is going to notice.” He tries to reassure you.
“Oh my god, and there’s not even a seat at the table; there’s got to be a mix-up- I mean, this can’t be happening. I made sure to count five times before sending the number to the venue! How could I forget to add myself?!”
“Take a breath for-“ He stops himself as he raises his voice.
“It is going to be fine, now behave and come sit down at the table.” He speaks calmly, before turning around and beckoning you to follow. You bite the inside of your cheek as you walk behind him. He holds out his hand.
You take his hand, walking back in together. It was warm and comforting, maybe like a guiding light.
Everyone is looking at you two as you return to the table hand-in-hand. They’re all staring at you and Kimi like you had something important to say to everybody. The room had gone silent.
You both share a look. Do you say something?
“Take my seat, now.” He whispers.
“But Kimi-“
“Now.”
He pushes you down into his seat and leans on the top bar of the chair. It was more forceful than you’d like to admit; he pushed you down like this was an average day in paradise.
About 5 minutes later, after Kimi had tried to distract you from whatever was clouding your head with Formula 1 talk, Mario returns.
“Miss, I have found you some shoes.” Mario has brought you a pair of white flats. Anything will do.
“Ah, thank you so much, you’re wonderful…Can you get me some more champagne?” You ask him, slipping into the shoes that were way too small for you. You could feel them pushing in on all sides of your feet, but it was better than letting everybody see your toes.
Mario obviously must’ve heard wrong, as he brings the entire unopened bottle to you and, as he uncorks it, it explodes all over you, Mario and Kimi.
And when it exploded, you got drenched.
“Oh my god!” Kimi says, looking down at his suit, covered in champagne. It looked like an expensive suit as well, one of those fancy fitted ones you pay £1000 for at a special shop down Savile Row.
“Ah- I am so sorry, please, let me get you, ehh, a napkin!”
Who needs TV anymore? We’ve got it right here at the table!
As you’re busy looking at your soaked dress, the bride and groom start to do their grand entrance. It’s a fun dance around the table; thank god everybody is watching that instead of you trying to ensure your makeup still looks good.
Kimi smells like a bottle of Prosecco, is literally breathing down your neck, and those shoes are three sizes too small.
You could feel your little hairs standing up on your neck as Kimi’s breath tickles them. Did he realise he was so close? When you look up to check, he straightens up and has a slight flush on his cheek, before Maria quickly appears again and gives him a chair next to you.
You had about an hour, which was finally uneventful; Aria’s 23-minute speech (yes, you timed it; yes, you also told her to make it shorter) temporarily distracted the entire room from your champagne mishap.
However, it was time for your speeches. Kimi was up first, who did not address why half his suit was damp and merely teased the ever-living daylight out of Lowell and Aria. Nobody seemed to notice, at least. For you, the soft baby pink satin clearly had a mark on it.
Then it was your turn.
You stood up to begin your speech. If you were going to redeem yourself, it was now.
You first opened a piece of paper and blew the dust off. So Aria and Lowell knew how long you’d been waiting to say this speech. It earned a couple of giggles from everyone.
You got through most of your speech well. There were a couple lines you felt you could’ve delivered better, but overall, the weeks of prep beforehand gave you a room full of laughter and smiles.
You walked back to your seat, finally feeling like something had gone your way.
Now the fun really starts.
After all the speeches, you had begun doing shooters, shots, and drinking any and all alcohol you could get your hands on.
All the girls gathered behind Aria for the infamous bouquet toss on the dance floor, including you. You’d been single all your life; you’d silently accepted that marriage, well, that wasn’t on your path. Were you too old now, maybe? I mean, mid-20s is a normal age to get married; it’s not like you’re late or anything.
The bouquet heads straight for you, and you didn’t even try to catch it! You just grasped it. It flew over a girl who was clearly trying too hard to catch the bouquet - you recognised it as Kaylee. Her boyfriend of 7 years still hasn’t proposed. Well, not that catching a bouquet was going to do anything to encourage him.
“Me?!” You look at Aria’s bouquet. The white roses, baby’s breath and hibiscus flowers stared back at you. Then you looked up; the first person you locked eyes with was Kimi.
He smiles a little as you smile back; maybe you were destined to catch the bouquet after all.
-
Your phone dies mid-way through taking a video of the beautiful decorations of the venue. Well, it is now as useful as a paperweight. You sigh and put your phone back in your bag. Really, it couldn’t keep getting worse, can it?
Kimi is now sitting next to you, and you’re finally getting to eat something.
After eating the mediocre food, you watch as Aria and Lowell have their first dance together. Again, tooth-rottingly sweet as everything they do tonight is.
You speak a bit with some people you hadn’t met before at the table. You can’t really remember what they were saying, the alcohol’s effects slowly taking over. The woozy feeling only got worse as Kimi continued bringing you red wine. By the time everyone was dancing, you were much smilier and friendlier.
“Come on!! We should go-“
You accidentally spilt red wine all over yourself. Now this was really the cherry on top of this day.
“We are not going dancing; you just sit right here.” Kimi sits you back down on the chair as you look up at him. He hands you a couple of napkins, and you start cleaning up the mess all over your chest.
“Why does everything keep going wrong!?” You whine drunkenly, through your eyes, everyone could probably tell you needed to stop drinking.
“First it was the shoes, and my phone, and the champagne and-“ You sigh. “Really, why today?”
“It’s okay.” He drapes his jacket over your shoulders to hide the spill of red wine over your dress. It still smelled like prosecco, cologne and Kimi.
Kimi walks off to go grab more serviettes, leaving you sitting alone at the table. Someone from the opposite side of the table speaks to you, obviously noticing it was a sore moment.
“Weren’t you the one who caught the bouquet?” It seems to be an old lady, maybe Lowell’s grandma?
“Uhm, yeah, it was me.” You nod, feeling like the upset was sobering you up a little.
“Just between you and me, I think you’re going to be just fine. That young man’s been looking at you all night.” She smiles a little.
“Kimi? Oh, I- I didn’t notice.”
“Well, I mean, he hasn’t sat still all night, dear, who was always there for you when something went wrong tonight?” She smiles a little.
You smile a little, because she was right.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” You nod, looking down and flushing a little.
Kimi comes back, handing you some serviettes. “Thanks, Kimi.” You smile a little at him, looking at the faint blush on his cheeks from all the alcohol he’s been drinking too.
He sits down next to you, taking your purse and grabbing your phone, putting it on charge with his.
The old lady just winked at you when you looked up at her again.
-
“I can’t help but feel like this night has been a disaster. I mean, everything has been going wrong…” You mutter. Kimi and you are on the dance floor, your head on his shoulder. Sure, you got proper dancing with one another too, but you’ve hit the sad stage of drinking alcohol.
“Well, you could at least say you had some fun, right?” Kimi looks down at you; you pout a little.
“Yeah…”
“Come on, admit it, you did have a little fun during the speeches and catching the bouquet…” He smiles a little; it’s contagious. You start smiling a little too.
“And for the record, I don’t think anyone thinks you’re a disaster. You’re funny, and kind and thoughtful. I mean, you’ve been planning this wedding for months, even forgot to save yourself a seat. Aria should be glad to have you.” He says, and it makes your heart contract a little.
“Awh, Kimi, that’s too sweet.” You bury your face inside of his shoulder.
“Just the truth.” He nods.
You look up; maybe you really did like Kimi, with his silly, cute brown eyes and his curly hair that he could never tame, and his sweet personality and the way he’s been running around after you.
It just came naturally, the way you wrapped your hand around his neck, teasing the curls at the bottom of his head as your lips connected. Just soft and gentle, not anything demanding, deep or passionate. It felt more like relief.
You could feel the burn intensify on your cheeks. It was tingling from the alcohol all night, but this just made it break out against your skin like wildfire. Kimi’s hand softly cups your cheek, his thumb softly brushing it away.
Your dance was slowly forgotten as you tangled up in each other. Wrapping arms around each other and becoming closer, touching shoulders, necks and each other’s hair.
Once you let go, you couldn’t hide the silly little grin on your face; maybe the old lady was right.
You were going to be just fine.
-
In the morning, you woke up feeling extremely hungover. You wished you hadn’t drunk so much. Your head was pounding as you tried to focus on the room around you. This was why you stopped drinking so much.
You were still in your pyjamas when you heard a knock on the door. You quickly walked up to it and peeked your head around the corner.
It was Kimi, holding a coffee, some pastries and a particular black backpack.
“Heard via a little birdie you were looking for this?” You couldn’t hide the smile that now graced your cheeks.
You didn’t look anything like you did last night, with dark circles under your eyes and smudged mascara, but Kimi wouldn’t have you any other way.
I like George Russell. And congratulations on P2, I mean it's home race.
But. Sincerely FUCK Russell's fans. You are fucking insufferable.
Just tell me why when George is on the podium everything is okay. Toto is THE Dad, car is a rocketship, George himself is a fucking talent and the king.
And when Kimi gets DNF or whatever it's nothing. Car is okay, just bad luck or Kimi lacks skills and so on. Nobody says A WORD about sabotage. But when Kimi wins it is just luck and Toto's favoritism.
You are creating favoritism yourself! You and not the team.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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SUMMARY: Y/N grew up believing one mistake could outweigh a hundred good intentions. She has spent so many years apologizing for taking up space that she no longer knows how to exist without feeling like a burden.
Kimi Antonelli has never heard the story everyone keeps telling about her. He only knows the girl standing in front of him—and somehow, that's enough.
WORD COUNT: 11K
masterlist
They say every family has a black sheep. The one who can never seem to do anything right. The one who always disappoints. The one who, no matter how hard they try, somehow ends up becoming the subject of conversation the moment everyone thinks they aren’t listening.
The worst part about a label like that isn’t that it stops being an opinion and becomes the only version of you that others are willing to believe. The worst part is that it survives long after the person who first received it no longer exists.
I was no longer the thirteen-year-old girl who spent hours crying, desperately trying to convince her family that she was telling the truth.
I had grown up.
I had learned three languages, moved to Switzerland to study, and discovered that the world was far kinder than I’d ever been led to believe.
And yet, all it took was walking through the doors of a villa in Italy to become that girl again.
The last thing I wanted to do with only two weeks left before classes started again was attend my cousin’s wedding.
But since I was seventeen—and in my family that meant I had absolutely no say in anything—I swallowed my complaints, rolled my eyes, and endured the long drive to the middle of nowhere.
Because nothing screams happy marriage quite like getting married in the middle of fucking nowhere.
By the time we arrived at the villa where everyone would be staying, I was ready to throw myself onto the bed and not get up until thirty minutes before the bride said I do. Unfortunately, my mother had other plans, so we headed off to meet the rest of the family instead.
“I thought we’d never get here,” my mother complained the moment she spotted my grandmother.
“Don’t even get me started. I thought I’d need another hip replacement after sitting in that car for so long,” my grandmother joked, her dry laugh echoing through the room.
A wave of disgust settled in my stomach. Anyone listening would think she was just a funny old woman enjoying the last years of her life. None of them would ever guess she’d spent years making mine miserable.
“Y/N, aren’t you going to say hello to your grandmother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
I swallowed the sigh of irritation threatening to escape.
“Hi, Grandma.” I gave her a quick, half-hearted hug.
Apparently, it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She was just about to lecture me when my cousin’s dramatic voice interrupted her.
It was only Wednesday. The wedding wasn’t until Saturday, yet according to my cousin, there were still a thousand things left to do before the groom’s family arrived the next day.
I spent the entire day running around, fulfilling every one of her demands. Every time I considered refusing, my mother shot me a look that promised my funeral would be sooner rather than later.
As far as she was concerned, I should’ve been grateful they’d even invited me. Apparently, after everything that had happened, being included in my cousin’s wedding was the greatest honor I could receive from that side of the family.
By nightfall, everyone gathered outside on the patio after dinner.
Several conversations were happening at once, but one in particular caught my attention. It was between my cousin Rose—the bride—and my cousin Angelina, who was about two years older than me.
“So… he’s really coming?” Angelina asked, lowering her voice.
Rose smiled immediately.
“Of course he is. He’s Carlo’s cousin. Why wouldn’t he come? He’s even one of the groomsmen.”
“And you said he’s single?” Angelina bit her lip, trying—and failing—to hide her smile.
“As far as I know.”
“Well… I hope he’s as handsome as you say.”
Rose laughed.
“Trust me, he is. And he’s loaded too. He’s a driver in a major racing series.”
“Seriously?”
“Mhm. His name’s Kimi.”
Angelina’s eyebrows shot up.
“Guess I’ll have to make a little extra effort this weekend.”
Rose nudged her arm.
“I don’t think you’ll have to. My mother-in-law has been saying for weeks that you’d make the perfect couple.”
They both laughed.
I shook my head to myself.
Another conversation about men. Another conversation about setting someone up with someone else.
I lost interest almost instantly and focused on the glass in my hands instead.
Nothing that happened in this family mattered enough for me to join their conversations. And years ago, I’d learned they didn’t particularly care whether I did or not.
The next morning began as soon as the sun came up.
The villa fell into complete chaos with the arrival of the groom’s family. The most affected by it all seemed to be Angelina, who looked like she was waiting for Prince Charming himself to walk through the door.
As everyone introduced themselves, I limited myself to a polite smile and a handshake. Angelina, meanwhile, kept glancing toward the entrance. Apparently, the guy still hadn’t arrived.
Rose leaned over and whispered something in her ear and Angelina answered by making the saddest puppy face imaginable.
Pathetic.
I slipped away to another part of the villa to get some fresh air. About an hour later, I went back inside to find something to drink.
I poured myself a glass of lemonade. As I took a sip, I noticed a tin of cookies sitting on top of one of the kitchen cabinets. It was far too high to reach, so I dragged over a chair and climbed onto it. I had the cookies in my hand.
Victory was only seconds away.
Then the chair apparently decided it had fulfilled its purpose in life and It snapped beneath me. I braced for the impact, but instead, a pair of hands wrapped around my waist, stopping me just before I hit the floor.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart threatened to burst out of my chest, and I was certain every trace of color had drained from my face.
My eyes met a pair of warm brown ones staring back at me with the same startled expression.
“Are you okay?” he asked, carefully studying my face for any sign that I wasn’t.
I let out a shaky breath.
“Yeah.” The word barely came out.
God, this had to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. I was standing in front of one of the most attractive guys I’d ever seen, and he’d just saved me from falling off a chair because I’d risked my life for cookies.
“You should be more careful,” he said as he let go of my waist and stepped back. “That could’ve ended a lot worse.”
“Stupid fucking chair,” I muttered, glaring at the broken pieces scattered across the floor.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
I looked down at the cookies still clutched tightly in my hand. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding them.
I lifted the tin slightly.
“At least I accomplished my mission.”
He smiled.
“All this… for cookies?”
“They weren’t just cookies.”
He frowned.
“They were the cookies.”
“I see.” He nodded with exaggerated seriousness “A completely justified near-death experience.”
“Exactly.” For the first time since arriving in Italy, I smiled without feeling like I had to fake it.
He held out his hand.
“I’m Andrea.”
“Y/N.” I shook it.
“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” There was something oddly calming about him. He didn’t seem like the type to force a conversation just to fill the silence.
His eyes drifted toward the broken chair before returning to me.
“Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Depends.”
“Next time, try not to declare war on the furniture.”
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
There was a brief silence. Not an awkward one, the kind that happens when two strangers realize they genuinely don’t mind each other’s company.
“Are you part of the groom’s family?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I’m his cousin.”
“That explains the accent.”
He smiled.
“And you?”
“I’m the bride’s cousin.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to survive this wedding together.”
“Are Italian weddings really that bad?”
“No.” He shook his head “Big families are.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” I laughed again.
For a brief moment, I found myself thinking that, under different circumstances, I’d probably like to get to know him better.
Then voices echoed down the hallway.
“Kimi! Where the hell have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
He closed his eyes for a second, like he’d known this was coming.
“Coming!” he called back before turning to me.
Kimi.
My stomach flipped.
Not Andrea.
Kimi.
The Kimi Rose and Angelina had spent half the previous night talking about.
He looked at me one last time, offering a small, almost shy smile.
“I guess I’ll see you around, Y/N.”
“I guess you will.”
I watched him disappear down the hallway. The moment he turned the corner, I heard an excited voice.
“Kimi!”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Of fucking course, it had to be him.
(…)
The rest of the day, my family put on the most painful humiliation ritual I’d ever witnessed. I barely said a word, yet I could still feel my face burning with secondhand embarrassment.
By then, everyone had found out that Kimi—whose full name was Andrea Kimi, hence the confusion—was none other than a Formula 1 driver. Apparently, that earned him a red carpet and the right to have everyone kiss the ground he walked on.
I was genuinely worried my eyes would get stuck from rolling them so much.
Angelina and her parents were by far the worst. They never outright said anything, but the way they hovered around him made it painfully obvious how desperate they were to throw Angelina at Kimi every chance they got.
I simply watched in silence.
Every now and then, I’d feel someone looking at me. Whenever I glanced up, I’d find Kimi already watching me. He’d offer me the smallest of smiles.
I never smiled back.
By sunset, the bridesmaids and groomsmen were called away for the rehearsal. That was my cue to disappear unnoticed. I wandered around the property, lost in my thoughts.
Spending time with my family always left me feeling like this.
Exhausted.
Reflective.
From the outside, we probably looked like a loving family, maybe even a healthy one. But underneath it all, we were rotten.
I ended up beneath a large tree, watching the sun disappear beyond the hills while the first stars slowly emerged overhead.
Small lanterns lined the pathways around the villa, casting enough light that the gardens remained bright despite the growing darkness.
I was staring at the horizon when a familiar voice, carrying that unmistakably Italian accent, pulled me from my thoughts.
“Mind if I sit down?”
I looked up to find Kimi smiling at me. He didn’t wait for an answer before lowering himself onto the grass beside me. He held out a can of soda.
“For you.”
“Thanks.” I accepted it, and we both took a sip.
“So…” He glanced sideways at me. “What are you doing out here by yourself? I thought you’d be at the rehearsal with us.”
“I’m getting some fresh air. My family can be… a bit much.” I smiled faintly. “And to answer your other question… I’m not part of the bridal party.”
“You’re not? I thought everyone seemed really close.” His eyebrows lifted.
“They are.” I looked down at the soda in my hands. “I just don’t get along with Rose’s side of the family. My mom and my sister do, though, that’s why they’re involved.” I shrugged again, deliberately leaving out the rest.
Confusion flickered across his face, he clearly had questions. To his credit, he didn’t ask them. Instead, he tilted his head.
“How old are you?”
I laughed.
It was such an obvious attempt to steer the conversation somewhere lighter that I couldn’t help it.
The conversation drifted naturally after that. We talked about his family, childhood stories, my classes, and what life was like at boarding school in Switzerland.
“You go to boarding school?” His eyes widened. He looked genuinely astonished.
Like children raised in boarding schools were some sort of endangered species.
I laughed. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten that reaction.
“Yeah, it was my dad’s decision before he passed away.” The smile slowly faded from my face.
Kimi noticed immediately. Without saying a word, he gently squeezed my hand.
Then, just as quietly, he changed the subject. I silently thanked him for it.
We talked until there wasn’t a drop of soda left in either can. Until my throat felt dry from talking. Until my stomach hurt from laughing. Until the night had completely settled around us.
When we finally stood up, we exchanged a warm hug and a pair of quiet smiles before heading our separate ways.
The next morning started just as early as the previous one. The only difference was that the few hours of sleep I’d managed to get had left me in an even worse mood. It wasn’t even nine in the morning, and I’d already argued with both my mother and my sister.
I escaped outside with my breakfast, hoping to eat in peace.
A moment later, Kimi appeared and sat beside me with an amused smile.
“So… How’d you sleep?” He leaned a little closer. “Did you dream about me?”
He was obviously teasing. Probably because the expression on my face made it clear I wanted the entire world to leave me alone.
Unfortunately for my bad mood, It worked. A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
“Thankfully, I didn’t have any nightmares.” I took a sip of my orange juice.
He clutched his chest dramatically. That made me laugh even harder.
“There you are.” Angelina’s voice made me look up.
She was wearing a white linen dress and her trademark flawless smile. The kind anyone else would’ve mistaken for kindness.
I knew better.
It was the smile she wore right before saying something that only hurt if you knew the context.
“Good morning, Kimi,” she greeted warmly before turning to me. “Your mom’s been looking for you for at least ten minutes.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I muttered.
She made no move to leave. Instead, she sat down across from us.
“I didn’t realize you two had become such good friends.”
“We met yesterday,” Kimi answered simply.
“Yes.” Angelina smiled. “Y/N has always had an easy time making friends.”
Anyone else would’ve taken it as a compliment.
I didn’t.
I knew that tone, I knew Angelina and I knew exactly what came next.
“Although…” she continued with a light laugh, “…she does have a tendency to get herself into trouble because of it.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
There it was, the first stone.
“Trouble?” Kimi frowned slightly.
“Oh, nothing serious.” Angelina waved a dismissive hand. “My cousin has just always been… intense.”
Intense.
What a convenient word.
Vague enough to spark curiosity, harmless enough that no one could accuse her of saying anything wrong.
I lowered my gaze to the table, I knew this conversation. First came the joke, then the implication, then someone would ask what she meant, and before I knew it I’d be thirteen years old all over again.
I reached for my glass of juice, ready to leave before it got any worse. Then Kimi spoke.
“That hasn’t been my impression.”
Angelina blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“We’ve only talked a couple of times,” he said calmly, “but she’s seemed like a genuinely nice person to me, maybe I just got lucky.” He shrugged.
Angelina laughed, this time, it sounded forced.
“Well… You’ll get to know her better.”
“I hope so.” He answered so naturally that, for a second, it almost sounded like he had no idea he’d just contradicted her.
But I knew.
And so did Angelina.
I saw it in the way her jaw tightened for the briefest moment before she smiled again. It happened so quickly anyone else would’ve missed it.
I didn’t.
I’d known her my entire life and she’d just realized that, for the first time, someone hadn’t accepted the version of me our family had spent years telling.
A little while later, I ran into my mother. Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t seem particularly happy to see me.
“Angelina told me you’ve been getting awfully close to that young man she likes.” Her brow was deeply furrowed.
“Mom—” I didn’t get to say another word before she cut me off.
“Don’t say a thing, Y/N. I’m only going to warn you once. I don’t ever want to go through something like this again. God help me and give me the strength to restrain myself from what I’ll do to you if it happens.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away.
My eyes burned with unshed tears.
My breathing became uneven as I hurried toward the side of the house where no one would see me. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was making a scene and giving them yet another reason to make my life miserable.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, trying to keep that familiar pressure from spreading across my chest.
“Are you alright?” A man’s voice made my eyes snap open.
A tanned man with graying hair was looking at me with unmistakable concern.
“Yes.” The smile I offered came out shaky.
“You don’t look alright. Come, sit over here.” He gestured for me to follow him.
With my legs still trembling, I followed him to a small wooden bench nearby. We sat down, and without losing the concerned expression on his face, he gently guided me through my breathing.
After a couple of minutes, my breathing finally steadied, and I could feel myself calming down again.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“It’s nothing.” He gave me a kind smile. “It breaks my heart to see someone as young as you suffering like that.”
My cheeks flushed. I lowered my head, staring at my restless hands.
“What happened to you?” he asked softly. “What could’ve caused you so much pain?”
A quiet laugh escaped me, completely devoid of humor.
“It’s nothing I haven’t been through before.” I forced my best smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”
He studied me for a long moment before letting out a sigh of quiet surrender.
“I suppose I’ll choose to believe you.” He offered me a warm smile. “What’s your name?”
“Y/N.” I held out my hand.
“Marco.” He shook it gently. “I’m Kimi’s father. I think you already know who he is.”
My eyes widened. Apparently, getting away from him wasn’t as easy as I’d thought.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Marco continued, “but I do want to tell you something.”
I looked up at him.
“Whatever it is you’re going through, you can overcome it.” His voice was calm and reassuring. “No hardship lasts forever. Keep going, and one day you’ll look back and realize you made it through everything you thought would break you.”
He gave my shoulder a couple of gentle pats before walking away without another word.
Marco’s words stayed with me for the rest of the day and the rest of the night. I didn’t exchange a single word with anyone during dinner, and unlike the previous evening, when everyone left for the rehearsal, I went straight to my room.
I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to feel socially obligated to interact with anyone else.
Finally, Saturday arrived. The day everyone had been waiting for, the wedding day.
My morning started later than everyone else’s. The bride and her bridesmaids had begun getting their hair and makeup done almost as soon as they opened their eyes.
I took my time instead. I sat down with a mug of hot chocolate while I waited for my phone to catch a signal, then slowly started getting ready.
I wasn’t excited about the wedding. If anything, I just wanted this whole circus to be over so I could finally go back to Switzerland.
Even so, I paid special attention to my appearance that morning. When I finished getting ready, even I had to stop and catch my breath.
My dark curls fell freely to the middle of my back, my sun-kissed skin glowed, contrasting beautifully with my deep green eyes, while my lips looked almost the color of a pink pomegranate.
A blue dress hugged my curves delicately, and although my sandals weren’t exactly comfortable, they were beautiful.
The ceremony took place in a small church not far from the villa where we were staying.
While my mother and sister sat near the front as part of the bridal party, I found myself several rows behind them, surrounded by relatives I barely knew.
In a way, that was exactly what my life felt like. My family together. Me, pushed to the edges of it.
I tried my best to look happy, but there were moments during the priest’s homily when something inside me shifted. It wasn’t exactly sadness, it felt more like grief.
Once the ceremony ended, everyone made their way back to the reception tent. The moment we stepped inside, the celebration truly began.
Food and drinks started flowing as the dance floor quickly filled with members of both families. At one point, I spotted Kimi laughing with some of his relatives as they danced together.
He must have felt me watching because he immediately looked back at me, flashing me a wide smile.
I simply looked away without returning it.
The music changed to a much livelier Italian song, and the entire reception seemed to come alive even more. The tables gradually emptied as couples, children, and even grandparents filled the dance floor.
I stayed where I was, absentmindedly stirring the melting ice in my drink.
“And why are you sitting here all by yourself?” I recognized the voice before I even turned around.
Marco stood beside me, a glass of wine in one hand and the same warm smile on his face.
“Because I don’t have anyone to dance with.” I shrugged.
“Well, that’s an easy problem to fix.” He extended his hand toward me. “Dance with me.”
“No.” I shook my head immediately.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll make a fool of myself.”
“And who said I wouldn’t?”
I couldn’t help smiling. Marco offered me his hand again.
I looked at the dance floor, then at his hand, finally, back at him. He wore the same calm expression he’d had when he’d found me struggling to breathe through my tears.
It was impossible to say no to him.
“Just one song.” I sighed.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He helped me to my feet, and together we walked onto the dance floor.
At first, my entire body was stiff and Marco noticed immediately.
“Relax your shoulders.”
I did.
“Now stop staring at the floor.”
I obeyed again.
“And smile a little.” He grinned. “You look like I’m forcing you to do this.”
“Because you are.” I rolled my eyes.
“Details.”
Another laugh escaped me. Little by little, the tension melted away.
Marco talked about anything and everything. How terrible his coordination was, how he always forgot the steps. About the time he had nearly dropped his wife in the middle of a dance.
Before I realized it, I wasn’t thinking about what everyone else might be saying anymore. I was simply having fun.
“That’s much better,” Marco said, sounding pleased.
“What is?”
“You don’t look like a girl waiting for the world to end anymore.”
I felt warmth creep into my cheeks.
Just then, the music changed again. It was one of those traditional songs where everyone switched partners as the dance went on.
Marco raised an eyebrow, an unreadable expression crossing his face. When it came time to change partners, he could have handed me off to anyone.
There were at least six people around us.
Instead, he turned directly toward Kimi. The two of them exchanged a brief glance that lasted barely a second.
Marco smiled.
“She’s all yours.” It wasn’t a question, nor an order. Just a simple sentence spoken with complete ease.
“My pleasure.” Kimi nodded.
Before I could process what was happening, Marco let go of my hand, and Kimi stepped into his place.
My stomach flipped.
“I think my dad just set us up,” Kimi said with a quiet laugh.
I couldn’t help laughing too.
“How embarrassing.”
“A little.”
The music continued playing. Kimi rested one hand gently against my waist, and we began moving to the rhythm of the song. It wasn’t a difficult dance, nor particularly impressive. But somehow, it felt incredibly easy when he was the one standing in front of me.
Our steps fell naturally into sync without either of us truly leading. It simply worked. Like we’d been dancing together for years.
“You look beautiful,” Kimi whispered.
“Thank you.” I smiled. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”
We danced through a couple more songs before I finally gave in to my thirst.
“I’m going to grab something to drink,” I said.
He nodded with an easy smile as I made my way toward the bar. I was drinking a glass of water when my sister appeared beside me. The expression on her face was anything but happy.
“Grandma wants to see you in the kitchen,” she said. “She needs to talk to you.” She shot me one last look—a grimace more than anything else—before walking away.
My heart tightened in my chest, I already knew what was coming. I swallowed hard before forcing my feet to follow her instructions.
When I reached the kitchen, my grandmother was waiting for me. Angelina’s mother stood beside her.
“So,” my aunt said, her raspy voice breaking the silence, “they finally managed to pry you away from that young man.”
“We were just dancing, like everyone else at the wedding,” I replied immediately.
“Such an impertinent little girl,” my grandmother snapped. “If you were half as quick and clever at doing something worthwhile with your life as you are at talking back, you might actually amount to something.”
“But—” She didn’t let me finish.
“No ‘buts.’ Your cousin Angelina is having a panic attack because, thanks to you, she’s making a fool of herself in front of everyone.”
“She’s making a fool of herself because you’re trying to parade her around like she’s a piece of meat. It has nothing to do with the fact that one guy isn’t interested in her.” The moment the last word left my mouth, I knew I’d just signed my own death warrant.
The looks on both my grandmother’s and my aunt’s faces confirmed it. For a moment, my grandmother said nothing. She simply walked toward me, slow but unwavering.
I held my breath.
“You’re an insolent little girl.” Her hand struck my cheek with enough force to snap my head to the side.
Tears immediately stung my eyes. I tried to hold them back but there were simply too many, a few escaped and rolled down my face.
“You have no right to cry,” she hissed. “For years, you’ve been the source of this family’s misery. A little whore like you belongs in hell. We tried to give you a chance, but a pig will always find its way back to the mud.”
She looked me up and down one last time. Then she turned around, took my aunt by the arm, and walked out of the kitchen.
The moment they disappeared from sight everything inside me broke. I sank onto the cold kitchen floor and cried.
I cried like this would be my last day on earth.
I cried like there was no escape from any of it.
And I cried like the thirteen-year-old girl who was still wounded somewhere deep inside me.
(…)
I had no idea how much time had passed. The only thing I knew was that wine tasted a whole lot better after you’d finished half the bottle.
At some point, I’d gotten up from the kitchen floor, stolen a bottle of wine, slipped out of the reception, kicked off my uncomfortable heels, and decided to walk the mile back to the villa barefoot.
The plan would’ve been perfectly fine If I hadn’t gotten a little too enthusiastic with the wine.
Now I was sitting on the curb somewhere between the reception and the villa, too dizzy to take another step without collapsing onto the pavement.
The only things keeping me company were the moonlight, the sound of crickets, and a swarm of moths circling the streetlamp above my head.
I knew that if anyone in my family found me like this, the lecture would be absolute hell. But the truth was that I couldn’t find a single atom in my body that gave a fuck.
Somewhere in the middle of all that chaos swirling inside me, I decided it would be a great idea to start singing.
I was so painfully off-key I couldn’t even compete with the crickets.
The thought made me laugh like an idiot.
I was so caught up trying not to die from my own laughter that I didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until they were less than a yard away.
“There you are.” Kimi’s voice instantly sobered me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I studied his face. There was worry in his eyes but there was also something about his expression that struck me as so funny I burst into laughter all over again.
He looked at me somewhere between amused and concerned. Clearly unsure of what was going on, he sat down beside me.
That was when he noticed the wine bottle.
“What are you doing drinking this?” He picked it up, inspecting the label. “You’re seventeen. You’re not supposed to be drinking.”
The concern in his voice hit me so deeply that every emotion I’d been holding back came crashing down at once. One second I was laughing. The next, I was crying.
Kimi immediately set the bottle back on the ground. Without asking questions, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tried to comfort me.
It was obvious he had no idea what had happened. All he cared about was making sure I was okay.
“Why are you so nice to me?” I asked once my sobbing had finally settled.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” His eyebrows pulled together.
“Because everyone in my family thinks I’m the Antichrist.” A ridiculous laugh escaped me.
Kimi let out a quiet chuckle.
“I think you’re more like the Second Coming of Jesus. The problem is your relatives are fake believers, so they can’t recognize the miracle when it’s standing right in front of them.” He simply shrugged.
I couldn’t stop looking at him.
It made no sense. This boy had walked into my life only two days ago, yet he’d already shown me more kindness and understanding than my own family had in years.
Without saying another word, I grabbed the wine bottle and took another long drink beneath Kimi’s disapproving gaze.
As soon as I lowered it, he gently took it from my hands. Then, to my surprise, he lifted it to his own lips and took a long sip. It felt almost symbolic, as if he was trying to tell me I wasn’t alone in this.
He set the bottle back on the ground before turning to look directly into my eyes.
“You know something?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. My heart pounded wildly as I watched him slowly lean closer.
Neither of us looked away. I barely blinked, terrified of what might happen next.
I knew that one small movement could lead to something I’d regret later. But the longer I looked into his eyes the blurrier that thought became.
Finally, I gave in.
My gaze dropped to his lips for the briefest second and that was all the invitation he needed. He closed the distance between us and kissed me.
At first, the kiss was gentle and careful. But little by little, it grew more intense. My hands found his face and his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer like he couldn’t bear the space between us. We stayed lost in that kiss for what felt like forever.
Then, without warning, my grandmother’s cold, unforgiving eyes flashed through my mind.
I pulled away abruptly.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, breathless. “I can’t do this.”
I grabbed my sandals from the ground. Adrenaline flooded my body. I jumped to my feet and ran toward the villa as fast as I could.
“Y/N!” Kimi’s voice echoed through the empty road behind me.
But I never stopped running.
(…)
I couldn’t sleep that night. The image of Kimi telling me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, followed by the kiss we had shared, replayed in my mind every time I closed my eyes.
Around four in the morning, I heard everyone returning to the villa. About half an hour later, silence settled over the place once again.
Eventually, I gave up on the idea of sleeping. I got out of bed, took a shower, and decided to go for a walk.
My body was still paying the price for my impulsive decision to drink a bottle of wine the night before, and I figured a little fresh air might help.
Hiking had never really been my thing, but I knew there were a few overlooks nearby with breathtaking views and since it was my last day there, I wanted to watch the sunrise.
At least I’d leave with one beautiful memory.
I’d been walking for a while when I started hearing footsteps behind me. I hadn’t noticed them before because the trail had only just become rocky enough for each step to echo.
When I turned around, I found a familiar face.
Kimi was about fifteen feet behind me, he looked exhausted. The moment he realized I’d noticed him, he stopped walking.
He didn’t greet me with one of his usual smiles. Instead, he wore an expression so serious that I decided not to say anything and simply continued on my way.
For nearly twenty minutes, we walked like that. He kept the same distance between us. Whenever I stopped for a moment, he stopped too.
Eventually, I reached a cliff overlooking the valley. The landscape stretched endlessly before me as the first light of dawn painted the sky in shades of gold and pink. I sat down to take it all in.
A moment later, Kimi finally closed the distance and sat beside me.
“Why did you follow me all the way out here?” I took a sip from my water bottle before handing it to him.
He accepted it gratefully.
“I couldn’t sleep.” He took a long drink before continuing. “Then I saw you leave by yourself so I followed you. I wanted to make sure you didn’t decide to throw yourself off one of these mountains.” He glanced toward the cliffs.
There wasn’t a trace of humor in his voice. I let out an offended scoff.
“Trust me, if I ever wanted to do that, it wouldn’t be here.” I shook my head with a quiet laugh. “My family would hate me even more. They’d probably say I couldn’t even stop bothering them with my dying breath. ‘Of course she’d choose to die dramatically the day after Rose’s wedding.’”
Kimi smiled for a brief second, then the seriousness returned.
“I wish I understood you.” The words came after several minutes of silence. “I know you like me and I like you too. I’ve felt this… whatever it is… ever since I caught you before you fell off that chair.”
He smiled faintly to himself.
My heart stumbled inside my chest. I held my breath.
“But for some reason, you won’t let yourself accept it. I know we’ve only known each other for three days,” he continued quietly, “but for me… that’s been enough to realize I’ve found the woman of my dreams.”
The morning sun slowly climbed over the horizon, bathing everything around us in soft golden light.
“And I know you feel at least part of it too. That’s why I couldn’t understand what happened last night.” He finally turned to look at me. “It hurt. But I know it wasn’t really about me, it was about something inside you and I really… I really want to know what it is.”
For the first time since we’d met, the emotion in his eyes didn’t match the calmness of his words.
I looked at him for a long moment, taking in every detail of his face. He was sincere and deep down I knew he was right about everything he’d just said. So, against every instinct telling me to stay silent, I decided to tell him the truth, my truth.
I turned my gaze back to the sunrise because I didn’t think I’d be able to look Kimi in the face while telling him everything I was about to confess.
“When I was thirteen, my cousin Lina—Rose's sister—and I were very close. She was sixteen, but we had a lot in common, so we spent most of our time together.” I cleared my throat before continuing. “She had a boyfriend named Alex. I got along with him too, although I always kept a respectful distance because, well… he was my cousin’s boyfriend.”
I took another long sip of water, my eyes never leaving the horizon. Kimi remained silent, listening.
“Back then, I used to spend a lot of time playing an online game where you could also meet and talk to other people. One day, a boy sent me a message, and we became friends. I spent hours on that game during school breaks, and eventually we grew close.”
“Or at least what passes for closeness when you've only ever known someone through a screen.” I let out a quiet laugh. “The point is… he started making comments that made me uncomfortable. From the very beginning, I knew they were wrong, so I asked him to stop. When he didn’t, I blocked him. It scared me, but I tried not to think too much about it.”
I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, as if trying to shield myself from the cold that came with telling a story that, despite having happened years ago, still felt painfully close.
“A few days later, I was walking home from school when I ran into Alex. I greeted him like I always did, but he didn’t look happy to see me. Instead, he immediately started demanding that I unblock him in the game. He said I couldn’t play with his feelings like that.”
I glanced at Kimi and saw the shock written all over his face.
“You can imagine what that felt like. I’d spent months talking to my cousin’s seventeen-year-old boyfriend without knowing it. I didn’t know what to say or how to react and, even now, I still catch myself wondering what was going through his mind when he grabbed my face and kissed me.” I swallowed hard as a familiar knot formed in my throat. “I pushed him away and ran home. I told my mom and my dad what had happened. My mom couldn’t believe it, and my dad called his parents, then my cousin’s family.”
“After the initial shock wore off, my cousin started telling everyone I was lying. She said I’d gotten close to him through the game on purpose, that I’d been the one making advances, and that when he rejected me, I’d gone crazy and accused him of trying to force himself on me.”
I took a shaky breath before continuing.
“The rest of my family believed her. Every single one of them turned their backs on me. They all started saying I was a little girl my parents had failed to control… that I wanted to act like a grown woman.” I shook my head as I remembered their faces. “That had been my first kiss and that bastard stole it from me in the cruelest way possible.”
I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.
“After that, he tried to contact me again. Every now and then I’d see him hanging around my school. He’d approach my friends and ask them to pass messages on to me. It was terrifying and I couldn’t tell anyone because no one believed me.” My voice dropped to almost a whisper as I said the last sentence.
“Lina and Alex stayed together for a few more months until, according to her, he confessed that he couldn't be with her anymore because he was in love with me. He told her that every day he stayed with her felt like he was being unfaithful to me. That I'd somehow cast some kind of spell on him—that he couldn't stop thinking about me, didn't care what anyone else thought anymore, and was willing to fight for us to be together.”
I lowered my legs and turned to look directly at Kimi.
“I’d like to believe any reasonable person would’ve turned against him… but my family did the exact opposite. Instead, for them that only confirmed everything they already believed about me.”
“My grandmother came to my house and slapped me across the face. Right there, in front of everyone, she said God had revealed to her that I was the instrument the Devil would use to destroy our family. That Satan had clothed me in the beauty of the serpent so I could lead others into temptation… so I could become a stumbling block, luring men away from the righteous path.”
“That sounds like psychosis,” Kimi muttered, letting out a disbelieving scoff.
“It probably was,” I admitted with a nod. “But you can imagine what hearing something like that does to the mind of a thirteen-year-old girl. After that, my mother and my sister took everyone else’s side too. My dad was the only sane one, but even for him it became impossible to deal with the rejection his daughter was facing. So he sent me to a boarding school in Switzerland. That was the only way he found to protect me from Alex’s harassment and from the rejection and abuse of his own family.”
I looked back at the landscape, mentally preparing myself for the next part.
“A few months after all of that, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. It was aggressive. He died six months later.” My eyes slowly filled with tears. “To this day, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. Nothing else has ever come close.”
I paused for a moment.
“The day of his funeral, my grandmother stood in front of everyone and said my father had died from the shame of having a daughter like me.”
The tears slipped down my cheeks, but I quickly wiped them away. I looked at him with a tired smile.
“After hearing all of that… I think you can understand why you and I can’t be together.”
“Your family is horrible.” Kimi’s expression was unlike anything I’d seen before. It wasn’t pity, it was compassion. “They made you carry the weight of something you were the victim of. I can't tell you what I would've done if I'd been in your shoes, because you survived the only way you knew how. And I'm not going to sit here and tell you that being with me will magically heal everything, because it won't. I know what happened to you left scars that run deep. I know your family changed the way you see yourself. But what I don't understand is why that means you can't be with me.”
“What don’t you understand? You know Angelina likes you, don’t you? If my family finds out there’s something between us…” I shook my head at the mere thought. “I don’t even know what they’d be capable of.”
“The fact that Angelina likes me shouldn’t mean anything. This isn’t about her seeing me first and suddenly me belonging to her. That’s not how people work, Y/N.”
“In my family, it is. And going against them would be terrible for me.” I tried to make him understand, but he remained stubbornly firm.
“I don’t give a fuck about your family.” Kimi reached for my hands and held them gently. “If things ever reach the point of no return… you can come with me.”
For a second, I couldn’t find my voice. I couldn’t believe I’d actually heard those words.
“Kimi… it’s not as simple as you’re making it sound. We just met.” I slipped my hands from his and looked anywhere but at his face.
“Y/N, look at me.” He gently turned my face back toward him. “I can’t tell you this will be worth it, because that’s something only you can decide. I’m just asking you to give me a chance.”
“Kimi…” His name escaped my lips as little more than a whisper.
“Give me that chance. We don’t have to tell the world right away. We can wait until you’re eighteen and you’re no longer dependent on your family. When that day comes, if you still think what we have is worth fighting for, we’ll figure it out together. One step at a time.”
I looked at him for several long seconds. His warm eyes searched mine almost pleadingly. They were so beautiful and made me so weak.
Finally, I let out a long breath.
“Okay.” I nodded. “Let’s try.”
Kimi let out a deep sigh of relief, and a smile spread across his face.
He kissed my cheek.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He kissed my cheek again. “I swear I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”
Despite all the wounds I carried, not for a single second did I doubt that he meant every word.
(…)
The next day, I returned to Switzerland and my life at boarding school, while Kimi headed to Brackley to take care of a few commitments before the season began.
From the very beginning, we stayed in touch.
Over the following weeks, we texted constantly and spent hours on FaceTime. Whenever I came across a video that reminded me of him, I’d send it to him, and he’d do the same.
A few days before leaving for the Australian Grand Prix, which marked the start of the season, he came to visit me in Switzerland.
I had to perform all sorts of acrobatics and come up with every excuse imaginable to sneak out during the week without anyone at the boarding school suspecting a thing.
Kimi took me around the little villages that surrounded the lake. We wandered through cobblestone streets where time seemed to move a little slower, stopped at tiny cafés to try their chocolate, and ended up sharing a carton of strawberries by the water as we watched boats glide peacefully across the lake.
Later, he drove us to a vineyard stretching across the mountainside. From there, we could see the snow-covered Alps reflected in the water below. We stood there in silence for several minutes, taking in the view, discovering that sometimes the right company made words unnecessary.
At one point, Kimi started taking candid pictures of me. The moment I realized what he was doing, I scolded him for it, but all he did was laugh.
“They’re for the memories,” he’d say, refusing to delete them.
Later, we got lost wandering through the streets of another nearby village. We stepped into a secondhand bookstore where he pretended to be interested in books written in French just so he could make me laugh by attempting to pronounce the titles with an absolutely terrible accent.
Before heading back, we sat on a bench overlooking the lake, arguing with complete conviction that neither of us was ever going to change the other’s mind about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
Time always seemed to move too fast whenever I was with him. So I found myself constantly finding excuses to delay saying goodbye for just a few more minutes.
Like neither of us wanted to admit that, sooner or later, I’d have to go back to boarding school, and he’d have to start preparing for Australia.
When he finally dropped me off at the entrance, neither of us made any move to say goodbye right away.
We simply stood there, looking at each other.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said with a confidence that made it sound more like a promise than a farewell.
I smiled.
“I hope so.”
I watched him drive away down the tree-lined road until his car disappeared from sight.
Only then did I walk back inside the boarding school.
The months went by, and without even realizing it, I had started to associate the word home with Kimi.
When two races were canceled in a row, Kimi invited me to spend a few days with him and his family. At first, I wasn’t sure. But if I truly wanted a future with him, I had to start getting used to being around the people who mattered most to him.
I was incredibly nervous at first, but I quickly discovered a family dynamic that was calm, loving, and nothing like my own.
Marco welcomed me with open arms, genuinely happy to see me with Kimi. His mother and little sister were just as kind. They kept dragging me along on little girls’ outings, and after a while I found myself looking forward to them.
That year passed so quickly that before I knew it, the first days of August had arrived.
Along with my graduation.
Only my mother came. I had asked her to be there more out of obligation than genuine desire.
After the ceremony, we went out for dinner, and she gave me a beautiful watch as a graduation present.
The following day, Kimi took me to Portugal as his graduation gift to me.
I had to convince my mother it was a girls’ trip so she’d sign the travel authorization.
Just like every other time I spent with Kimi, it was wonderful. We walked for hours, ate far too much, and enjoyed every second of it.
We also took countless pictures to remember the trip by.
When it was over, I returned to Switzerland to start organizing what my life would look like after graduation.
I’d told my mother that before enrolling in university, I wanted to take a preparatory course so I’d have a better idea of what my future degree would actually be like before diving into it.
That was part of the reason.
But it wasn’t the only one.
The first was that I had no intention of moving back in with the rest of my family.
They were just as unbearable as ever, and I refused to let them make my life miserable only months before I finally gained my freedom.
The second reason, was Kimi.
According to the plans we’d made together, once I turned eighteen, I’d move to San Marino and live with him.
I’d thought about it carefully. For a long time and in the end, I’d made my decision.
By then, we were officially a couple.
No one knew. For the time being, it was better that way. Kimi was having an incredible season, and we wanted to keep the focus exactly where it belonged.
My first few weeks back in Switzerland were fairly uneventful. Not much had changed about my routine. The only difference was that I was temporarily living with a friend.
It was Saturday.
Kimi was in Zandvoort, getting ready for the following day’s race.
We had just hung up after spending nearly an hour on the phone. That’s why I was surprised when I saw a message from him only a few minutes later.
When I opened it, I expected a funny video or a random picture. Instead, I found a text that immediately made my stomach drop.
KIMI ❤️: Please don’t look at social media right now.
Kimi should’ve said anything but that. He should’ve known that telling me not to do something was the fastest way to make me do exactly that.
I opened Twitter. It was the quickest way to find out what was happening in the world.
Sure enough It was the very first post on my feed.
@boxboxdaily Kimi and his alleged girlfriend 👀
Below the caption were four photos. Two of them showed the two of us together and the other two were candid pictures of me, completely unaware they were being taken.
My heart stopped for a moment. My hand flew to my mouth as a sound that could only be described as pure shock escaped me.
These weren’t pictures taken by a stranger on the street. They were photos Kimi had taken himself.
Private photos.
Which somehow made everything even worse.
How on earth had anyone gotten hold of them?
ME: Why are there pictures of us all over the internet? Aren’t those the ones you took?
KIMI ❤️: Yeah. They’re photos I posted on my private Instagram account. I have no idea how they got out. I’m guessing someone who follows me leaked them.
I sat down on the couch, trying to process what was happening.
Then I made the mistake of reading the comments. Every single one was worse than the last.
That familiar pressure began tightening in my chest again. I closed Twitter and started pacing around my room instead.
The moment my family found out I was completely screwed.
KIMI ❤️: I’m so sorry. I’m going to do everything I can to fix this. My dad and the team are already working on it. Please don’t read anything else online. I don’t want other people’s ignorance getting to you.
To be honest the comments didn’t scare me nearly as much as my family’s reaction did.
That night, I fell asleep with anxiety settling into every cell of my body.
And I had every reason to feel that way. Because the first thing I saw when I woke up the next morning was a message from my mother and a missed call from my grandmother.
MOM: Call me as soon as you wake up. I can’t believe you’re doing this again.
With trembling hands, I decided to call her and get it over with once and for all.
She answered before the second ring.
“So it was true.” She didn’t even bother to say hello.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the window.
“Hello to you too.”
“Don’t change the subject. What’s all this that’s going around on the internet?”
“Mom, it’s not what it looks like.” I let out a sigh.
“Oh, really? Because the pictures seem pretty clear to me.”
“They weren’t published by the press. They were private photos.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I stayed silent for a few seconds.
“Kimi posted them on a private Instagram account. Someone leaked them.”
“So you are dating him?”
I lowered my head.
“We’ve been seeing each other.”
“And it never crossed your mind—not even for a second—to think about everything this was going to cause?”
“I’m sorry…” The words slipped out almost automatically.
Like apologizing had become my first instinct, even when I wasn’t sure I’d done anything wrong.
“‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Y/N. Do you have any idea what kind of phone call I just got from your grandmother? She’s furious. The whole family is talking about this.”
“I figured.”
“I warned you that I didn’t want to go through something like this again.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“I know.”
“Then explain to me why you always end up doing the exact opposite.”
“Always?” I frowned.
“Yes. Always. You always find a way to get yourself into trouble.”
I felt something inside me crack. Something I’d been holding together for years.
“Get myself into trouble?”
“Don’t start.”
“No, Mom. Answer me. When exactly have I gotten myself into trouble?”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“No. I want you to say it.”
Her breathing grew heavier.
“Your cousin…”
A dry laugh escaped me. Of course, we always ended up there.
“That happened four years ago.”
“That doesn’t change—”
“What doesn’t it change?” I cut in. “That I was thirteen?” My voice trembled.
Not with fear.
With anger.
“That a boy kissed me against my will, stalked me afterward, and somehow I was the one who ended up paying the price?”
“Y/N…”
“No.” This time, I was the one who interrupted her. “I’ve spent years listening to this family talk about me as if I’d done something unforgivable.”
I felt a knot tighten in my throat.
“And do you know what the worst part was?”
She didn’t answer.
“You never defended me.”
Silence. Absolute silence.
“Not once.” I took a shaky breath, trying to hold back my tears. “Not once did you say, ‘My daughter is telling the truth.’ Not once did you ask them to stop treating me like I’d done something wrong.”
My voice broke.
“You chose to stay quiet because it was easier than standing up to the family.”
I could hear her breathing.
Slower now.
Heavier.
“It wasn’t that simple…”
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me.
“It wasn’t that simple for me either.”
Another long pause. When she finally spoke again, her voice had lost its sharp edge.
“I… I was just trying to keep things from getting worse.”
“Well, they got so much worse.” The tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. “Because while you were trying to keep the peace with them… I was learning that no one was ever going to be on my side.”
I could almost picture her sitting on the other end of the line, not knowing what to say.
“Y/N…” Her voice sounded different. Quieter and tired.
But for me It was already too late. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand.
“I have to go.”
“We can keep talking…”
“No, mom.” I slowly shook my head. “We’ve gone four years without having this conversation. A few more minutes aren’t going to change anything.”
I waited.
For some reason, a part of me still hoped she’d tell me I was wrong.
That she had defended me.
That she regretted not doing it.
But she never did, she just stayed silent. So I hung up and didn’t feel even the slightest bit guilty for doing it.
(…)
Later that same day, I found myself anxiously waiting for Kimi’s call after his race.
It came while I was sitting on the couch, staring off into space.
“I’ve got news, love,” he said the moment I answered. “Good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?”
“The bad news.” I answered without hesitation.
Kimi chuckled softly.
“I think I’ll tell you the good news first.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting back a smile.
“Just tell me already. I hate suspense.”
“Alright.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “We know who leaked the pictures.”
My mouth fell open. I immediately sat up straighter on the couch. Before I even had the chance to ask who, he answered.
“It was one of my cousins.”
“What?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t intentional, at least not according to him. After the wedding, he kept talking to your cousin Angelina. During one of their conversations, he asked about our relationship. She told him she had no idea we were together and asked if he had any proof. Like the idiot he is, he sent her the pictures.” He let out a sigh. “I’m pretty sure that after that, she contacted one of those gossip pages and gave them the photos.”
“That bitch—” Kimi cut me off before I could finish.
“Watch your language, Y/N.”
I let out an annoyed groan.
“The point is,” he continued, “it doesn’t really matter anymore. Everyone knows now, so all we can do is deal with it.”
He paused.
“The other thing is… your mom spoke to my dad.”
I shot to my feet.
“What?”
“Yeah. We were just as surprised when she called. They talked for a long time, and in the end, your mom decided to give my dad permission for you to stay with us in Italy until you turn eighteen in a couple of months.”
That shocked me more than anything else he’d said.
My mother… Doing something selfless for me?
It was almost impossible to believe. Apparently, our conversation that morning had affected her far more than I’d realized.
“So,” Kimi continued, “whenever you’re ready, my dad will come pick you up in Switzerland. You can take the course you were planning to do in Italy… if that’s still what you want.”
“It is.” I nodded instinctively, even though he couldn’t see me. “I mean, it moves our plans up a little… but that’s what we’d always planned anyway.”
“Exactly.”
“Alright.” I took a deep breath. “Now tell me the bad news.”
I was already biting my nails.
“Well…” He hesitated. “I guess it’s only bad depending on how you look at it. I had a meeting with Mercedes’ PR team, and everyone agreed that the best thing to do is not address the situation publicly.”
“Okay… and the bad part?”
“The bad part is that they also want us to keep an extremely low profile until the championship is over. No pictures of us together when we’re out, nothing like that. We’ll have to limit ourselves to seeing each other at home. And I can’t say anything to the media, no matter how awful the things they’re saying about you get.”
“Wow.” I leaned back against the couch. “That’s a little extreme… but I think I can live with it. It’s only a few more months.”
“Yeah…” His voice grew quieter. “But it doesn’t make me happy. I know there are sacrifices you have to make if you want to be with someone… but they shouldn’t feel like a punishment.”
My heart softened. Kimi was the most wonderful person I’d ever met and somehow I was lucky enough that he loved me.
So selflessly.
So sincerely.
So deeply.
A few days later, Marco got the paperwork signed by my mother and came to Switzerland to pick me up.
We flew straight to Bologna.
Maggie was by far the most excited to have me staying with them until I moved in with Kimi.
A couple of months later, my eighteenth birthday finally arrived. It was one of the most special days of my life.
Kimi and his family spoiled me with gifts and thoughtful surprises.
My mother called to wish me a happy birthday. There was still a certain awkwardness between us. Our relationship was nowhere near healed but we were taking it one step at a time.
Someone else tried to contact me too.
My grandmother. Unlike my mother, I had no interest in making peace with her. So I blocked her number and went back to celebrating.
A few days later, the season came to an end and with it the restrictions surrounding our relationship.
Our first public outing was a trip to the beach.
We spent almost the entire afternoon walking along the shoreline, competing to see who could find the prettiest seashells and laughing because Kimi insisted he could tell which ones had drifted over from Croatia.
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Of course it does.” He grinned. “Trust my talent.”
“Your imaginary talent?”
He splashed a little water at me with his foot.
“Very funny.”
I immediately splashed him back.
Five minutes later, we were both completely soaked.
When we finally got tired, we collapsed onto our towels, staring out at the sea.
Almost instinctively, Kimi reached for my hand. He laced our fingers together.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
We didn’t have to hide little gestures like that anymore. We didn’t have to look around before holding hands.
“There’s my two kids.” Marco’s voice made both of us sit up at once.
He was walking toward us carrying three ice creams, wearing an amused smile.
“I figured all that running around the beach would’ve worked up an appetite.”
“Dad…” Kimi laughed, clearly embarrassed.
“What?” Marco shrugged. “I brought one for myself too.”
He handed each of us an ice cream before sitting down a few yards away, giving us our space again.
I stared at mine for a few seconds.
“How did he know this was my favorite flavor?”
Kimi smiled.
“Because Maggie made a list.”
“A list?”
“Yeah.” He started counting on his fingers “Your favorite desserts. Your favorite pizza. Your favorite coffee…”
I looked at him in complete disbelief.
“My family’s a little intense.”
A lump formed in my throat.
Not because of the list but because it was the first time in my life someone had gone to so much effort just to make me feel like part of a family.
Without thinking, I rested my head on his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
He turned slightly to look at me.
“For what?”
“For giving me a home in you.”
A soft smile spread across his face.
“I think I’m the lucky one.”
I smiled too, my eyes never leaving the sea.
A few yards away, a couple was walking along the shore. The woman discreetly lifted her phone.
I didn’t think much of it. I assumed she was taking pictures of the scenery.
Two hours later I realized she wasn’t.
The photos first appeared on an Italian gossip page. Then another account reposted them. Then another.
Less than an hour later they were everywhere.
None of the pictures were scandalous.
None of them were compromising.
In one, we were simply walking hand in hand along the beach. In another, I was laughing while Kimi tried to brush sand out of my hair and the last one showed Marco handing each of us an ice cream while we accepted them, laughing.
The internet did the rest.
@boxdarlingbox: The Antonellis literally said, “One more for the family” 😭
@leclrfamily: I’m sorry, did you SEE the way he fixed her hair? I’M UNWELL
@antogrande: I can’t get over Marco showing up with two ice creams like this is a romantic comedy
@grmylove: My love language is officially future in-laws bringing me ice cream
@merctonelli: The real hard launch was Marco showing up with the ice creams 😭😭
That last one made me laugh the hardest.
Apparently, the internet was far more interested in the ice cream than in the fact that Kimi and I were dating.
(...)
The first few months of living together felt strangely uneventful. Not because nothing happened, because everything did.
We argued over whose turn it was to buy groceries.
He left his racing suits hanging on chairs instead of putting them away. I complained, he apologized.
Then did it again the following week.
On Sundays when he wasn't racing, we drove to his parents' house for lunch.
Maggie always hugged me before she hugged her brother. Marco kept pretending not to notice whenever Kimi stole food from my plate. And every time we left, his mom reminded us not to wait so long before coming back.
Life became a collection of things that would have sounded painfully ordinary to anyone else.
But to me… they were extraordinary.
One afternoon I was looking for one of my notebooks. Instead, I found an old box I'd never bothered to unpack. Inside were things I'd carried from one place to another for years.
A school ID.
A dried flower pressed between two pages of a book.
And, at the very bottom, a photograph. It was a photo from my first days at boarding school.
I stared at it for a long time.
I barely recognized the girl smiling back at me. Not because she looked different, but because I'd spent years trying to leave her behind, only to realize she'd been doing the best she could all along.
I wondered what she'd think if she could see me now.
Not the apartment.
Not Kimi.
Not Italy.
Me.
Would she believe that one day she’ll stop apologizing for taking up space? Would she believe that silence could stop feeling like punishment? Would she believe that people could know every version of her and choose to stay anyway?
I heard keys turning in the front door.
"I'm home."
I placed the photograph back inside the box, not because I wanted to forget her, but because I no longer needed to carry her everywhere I went.
I closed the lid, stood up and walked toward the sound of home.
Some stories end when someone finally finds love.
Mine didn't.
Mine ended the day I realized I no longer needed anyone's permission to believe I was worthy of it.
The difference between when Max is looking at Kimi and when he is not looking at Kimi!!
For God's sake, these two feed my dynamics so much where Kimi is a wolf (serious, bad temper, and doesn't care about anything) when he’s not with Max but when he's with Max, kimi is just a little lamb (smiling, emotional, kind and empathetic)
this is so funny: rob marshall is gone, adrian newey is gone, jonathan wheatley is gone, chr*stian h*rner is replaced w an excuse of tp in the person of laurent mekies, gp is holding not one but two (2) positions while simultaneously going to the rival team in a year, 3000 different mechanics who have been in the team since the vettel time is gone, they are recruiting new employees from none other place than rbr's FOOTBALL DIVISION. but max who is still sticking w this team is UNGRATEFUL BRAT.
The Maldives was supposed to be a dream honeymoon for Max and Pietra. Unfortunately, thanks to a seafood disaster and one non-refundable booking, it turned into a “nightmare” for you and Lando Norris.
pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.
warnings. romance, humor, slow burn, fake dating -ish, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, 14k words. food poisoning; mention of throwing up. profanity, pet names. inspired by book the unhoneymooners by christina lauren.
soundtrack. non-refundable!, an official playlist.
THE WEDDING WAS PERFECT.
Too perfect—the kind of perfect that practically dares the universe to ruin it out of spite. And honestly, you should’ve known something was coming the moment the string quartet hit that suspiciously angelic high note.
At first, it was subtle. A couple of guests slipped off the dance floor, one by one, like they’d suddenly remembered they left the oven on at home. Someone else excused themselves with the kind of tight smile people wear when they’re trying not to vomit in public. Another guest went pale enough to blend into the tablecloth before disappearing entirely. Nobody panicked. It was a wedding. People drink too much. People overheat. People make questionable choices.
You didn’t think twice about it.
Because why would you? Everything was beautiful. Magical. Soft and glowing and full of love.
Well—except for one glaring exception.
Lando Norris.
Max’s best friend. His best man. The human equivalent of a migraine wrapped in a tux.
He was somehow still laughing, still talking, still managing to irritate you from across the room without even opening his mouth. It was a talent, really. You thought he was smug, insufferable, and entirely too pleased with himself for someone who hadn’t contributed anything meaningful to society except chaos and a few podiums.
As for what he thought about you?
You didn’t care. Truly. Deeply. Profoundly.
(And if you repeated that enough times, maybe one day it would even feel true.)
The only downside to Pietra marrying Max was the unfortunate, unavoidable reality that Lando Norris was now a permanent fixture in your life. A recurring character. A long-term problem. A headache with a lifetime warranty.
The thought alone made your skin crawl in a way that felt almost personal.
The weirdest part wasn’t the disappearing guests or the suspiciously pale groomsman who nearly face‑planted into the cake. No, the weirdest part came when you realized you hadn’t seen Pietra in… a while.
At first, you brushed it off. She was a newlywed. Newlyweds vanish. It’s practically a wedding tradition. Maybe she was touching up her makeup. Maybe she was having a moment with Max. Maybe she was hiding from Lando, which would be completely understandable and honestly relatable.
But something felt off.
Pietra wasn’t the type to disappear without a word, especially not from her own reception—the event she’d planned down to the color of the napkin rings. And the longer you went without seeing her, the more that uneasy little knot twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t panic yet, but it was definitely panic‑adjacent.
So, for your own peace of mind, you pulled out your phone and called her.
The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then it connected.
“P? Where are you? Are you okay?”
There was a pause—the kind that immediately tells you the answer is no.
When she finally spoke, her voice was thin and shaky, nothing like the glowing, ecstatic bride you’d been celebrating with an hour ago.
“Can you come to our room?”
That was it.
No explanation. No reassurance. No “don’t freak out.”
Just those six words.
The call ended a second later, leaving you staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.
And suddenly, that uneasy feeling in your stomach sharpened into something much closer to full‑blown panic—the kind that makes your heart thump too hard and your brain start listing every possible worst‑case scenario in alphabetical order.
Because if Pietra sounded like that on her wedding night, something was very, very wrong.
You hurried through the hotel hallway, moving as fast as your heels would let you—which, unfortunately, was not very fast at all. Your phone was still in your hand, screen glowing with the last call, and you were so focused on Pietra’s shaky voice replaying in your head that you didn’t even look up when you turned the corner.
Which is exactly why you slammed straight into someone.
“Ow!”
You stumbled back, clutching your phone like it might soften the impact. And then you looked up.
Of course.
Of course it was Lando Norris.
Because why wouldn’t the universe add insult to injury.
He steadied himself, then gave you a once‑over that somehow managed to be both annoyed and judgmental, like you’d personally offended him by existing in his path.
“Watch it,” he said.
“You watch it,” you shot back, because you refused to let him have the last word. Not tonight. Not ever.
You pointed a finger at him, ready to continue the argument you two had apparently been having since the day you met—but then you both reached for the same door handle.
Pietra and Max’s room.
You froze.
He froze.
“What the fuck are you—”
Before either of you could finish, a voice croaked from inside the room. Weak. Miserable. Dramatic in a way only one person could manage.
“Stop flirting and come in! Both of you!”
Max.
Or, more accurately, whatever was left of Max.
Lando grimaced so hard it looked painful. “If he says that again, I’m going to be sick.”
He shot you a look—the kind that said this is your fault somehow—before pushing the door open.
Honestly?
You felt the same way.
Instead of dignifying him with a response, you rolled your eyes so hard it was practically a workout and followed him inside.
Whatever was happening inside the room looked like something straight out of a low‑budget horror movie—the kind where you already know half the cast won’t make it to the sequel.
The wedding? Completely forgotten. Pietra’s dress was crumpled in a sad little heap on the floor, like it had given up on life. Max’s tux jacket was draped over a chair in a way that suggested he’d either thrown it or collapsed out of it. Hard to tell.
Pietra was curled up on the bed, pale and miserable, clutching a pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. Max sat hunched over at the table with his head in his hands, breathing like someone who had seen things. Terrible things. Things he would never emotionally recover from.
“For newlyweds, you two look horrible,” Lando observed, because apparently he felt the need to narrate the obvious.
As if the scene didn’t already scream we are dying.
“You have no idea,” Pietra groaned, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Never eating seafood again,” Max muttered into his palms.
You frowned, stepping further into the room. “What happened?”
“The seafood happened,” Pietra said weakly, like the words themselves were painful.
Max lifted his head just enough to confirm it. “It was bad. Everyone’s sick.”
“Everyone?” you repeated, because surely this couldn’t be as dramatic as it sounded.
“My parents are sick. Pietra’s cousins are sick. Half the wedding is sick.” He swallowed hard, face twisting. “I think I’m gonna thr—”
“Okay, mate, we get it,” Lando cut in quickly, hands up like he was warding off a demon.
Neither of you needed the visual.
A heavy silence settled over the room—the kind that comes right before someone admits something truly stupid.
And then Lando, because he physically could not help himself, added,
“I told you seafood was a terrible idea.”
Max slowly lifted his head, eyes dead, soul gone. “Not helping.”
“Just saying.”
Of course he was.
Suddenly, a thought hit you—sharp and obvious, like the kind of realization you really should’ve had ten minutes earlier.
You turned to Lando, narrowing your eyes.
“If everyone ate the seafood… why aren’t you sick?”
He looked at you like you’d just accused him of kicking puppies for fun. His whole face twisted, offended on a spiritual level.
“I hate seafood,” he said, dripping with disgust. Like it was common knowledge. Like it was printed on his passport. Like you were personally stupid for not knowing his dietary preferences.
Before you could roll your eyes hard enough to sprain something, he pointed right back at you.
“Could ask you the same. Why aren’t you sick?”
“I’m on a diet,” you said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.
His eyebrows shot up, and he looked far too pleased with himself as he looked toward Max.
“See? This is what happens when you order seafood even though half your guests don’t even eat it.”
“You two don’t mean half the guests,” Pietra muttered from the bed, rolling her eyes so weakly it was almost impressive she managed it at all.
“Well—but that’s not why you’re here,” Max started.
The tone in his voice shifted. Instantly. Like someone had dimmed the lights and added ominous background music.
This wasn’t a joke anymore.
Even Lando went quiet—which was honestly the most alarming symptom in the room.
“We can’t go on our honeymoon,” Max said weakly. “We literally can’t even stand, let alone fly to the Maldives.”
Pietra raised a shaky hand from the bed, like she was giving sworn testimony. “Also… it’s non‑refundable.”
As if that somehow made the situation more tragic.
Which, unfortunately, it did.
“And?” you asked slowly, because you already didn’t like where this was going. “What does that have to do with us?”
Max glanced at Pietra.
Then at you.
Then at Lando.
Then back at you.
“Since you’re the only ones who are able to go…”
No.
No, no, no.
Absolutely not.
Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like missing a step on the stairs.
Did they just—
Did they seriously just—
“Absolutely not,” Lando cut in immediately, shaking his head so hard his curls bounced.
For once, you agreed with him.
Violently.
Because there was no universe—none—where you and Lando Norris should be sent on a romantic, luxury honeymoon together.
Which, of course, meant that was exactly what was about to happen.
No.
No, absolutely not.
Your stomach dropped so fast you felt it in your toes. They weren’t actually suggesting this. They couldn’t be. This had to be a fever dream caused by secondhand seafood fumes.
For once, you were perfectly aligned with him. A rare, terrifying moment of unity.
But Max wasn’t done.
“It’s a private villa,” he said, voice wobbling. “Some newlywed activities—”
You stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. “Did you hit your head while eating the seafood too?”
Because that was the only explanation. Truly. The man had lost brain function. You were going to wake up any second now. Maybe you’d fall off a chair and snap back into the correct timeline. Or maybe you should hit your head and skip straight to the part where none of this was happening.
“It’ll go to waste if you don’t go,” Pietra added, sounding both tragic and dramatic, which was impressive considering she looked like she might faint at any moment.
Lando let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Then let it go to waste. Problem solved.”
“Good thing we’re not asking you,” Max said, ignoring him completely. “We’re telling you.”
Silence fell over the room.
Not the normal kind.
The bad kind.
The kind that meant decisions had already been made without your consent.
“I already called the resort,” Max continued, like he was ripping off a Band‑Aid. “We told them we’re sick and can’t go. But our—also freshly married—friends will go instead of us.”
You blinked.
Once.
Twice.
No.
No.
Absolutely no.
What the actual fuck.
This had to be illegal. Or a prank. Or a shared hallucination brought on by the cursed seafood poisoning half the hotel.
Max was clearly too exhausted to keep talking. Pietra, unfortunately, was not. She pushed herself up just enough to finish his sentence, her voice thin but determined.
“We just changed the names,” she said, like that explained anything at all.
You stared at her, waiting for the part where she clarified. She didn’t.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Pietra smiled—weakly, proudly, and completely out of touch with reality. She looked like she might faint at any second, yet somehow she still had the nerve to look pleased with herself.
“From now on, you’re Mr. and Mrs. Norris!”
The words hung in the air like a bomb that hadn’t decided whether to explode or not. Too cheerful. Too final. Too insane to process.
For a moment, nobody reacted. The room went still, like even the walls were trying to understand what she’d just said.
Then everything reacted at once.
“I hope you’re fucking kidding,” Lando said, voice flat and sharp.
“No,” Pietra replied immediately, not even blinking.
“I’m not going anywhere with her,” he snapped, pointing at you like you were the problem.
“I’m not going anywhere with him,” you shot back at the exact same time, because if he was pointing, you were pointing too.
Silence fell again—heavy, miserable, the kind that made you want to walk straight into the ocean.
Max didn’t even lift his head. He just groaned into the table like he’d accepted his fate and yours.
Pietra sighed, sounding far too calm for someone who had just detonated your life. “Well,” she said, “good thing it’s already done.”
And just like that, your nightmare didn’t just have a name.
It had a reservation.
A villa.
A flight to the Maldives.
And a husband you didn’t even like.
When the realization finally settled between you and your apparently new husband, all you could do was let out a long, exhausted groan—the kind that came from deep in your soul, the kind that said I did not sign up for this. It was the only reaction your brain could manage. Your thoughts were basically just static and disbelief.
Lando, on the other hand, had plenty of energy left to complain.
“Mate, I love you,” he said, turning toward Max with the dramatic flair of someone delivering a eulogy, “but right now I hate you so much.”
Max didn’t even lift his head. He didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself. He just sat there, hunched over the table like a man who had accepted every bad decision that led him to this moment.
Pietra gave a weak little wave from the bed, like she was blessing a doomed union. “You’ll thank us later,” she mumbled, which was bold for someone who looked like she might pass out mid‑sentence.
Lando exhaled sharply, then looked between you, Max, and Pietra with the expression of a man who had lost all hope in humanity. “Enjoy your free honeymoon,” he said flatly. A beat. “Lovebirds.”
You and Lando turned to each other at the exact same time.
“No.”
It came out perfectly synchronized—same tone, same disgust, same absolute refusal. If you weren’t so horrified, you might’ve been impressed.
And for the first time all night, even Max looked slightly amused. His mouth twitched, just barely, like he wanted to smile but didn’t have the physical strength to commit to it.
Which was great.
Fantastic.
Wonderful.
At least someone was enjoying the beginning of your shared nightmare.
────────────
The moment you stepped off the boat, you regretted not eating the seafood too. Honestly, at least then you’d be back at the hotel, curled up on a bathroom floor, dramatically begging for death like everyone else. Instead, you were here—in paradise—with the one person who could make even the Maldives feel like a punishment. You were at that stage of life where you would genuinely prefer food poisoning over spending any time alone with Lando Norris. And that said a lot.
The Maldives were gorgeous, of course. The water was so turquoise it looked fake, the sand was blindingly white, and the palm trees swayed like they were performing for a commercial. Everything around you was warm and soft and perfect, the kind of place people saved up for years to visit. It should have been paradise. It should have been peaceful. It should have been romantic.
But then there was the idiot standing next to you.
Lando looked around with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, somehow managing to look annoyed despite being surrounded by literal postcard scenery. His expression said he’d rather be anywhere else. You hoped he was regretting this as much as you were. Preferably more.
A pair of resort employees approached with bright, excited smiles—the kind of smiles people only have when they have no idea what kind of disaster they’re dealing with.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Norris! Congratulations on your honeymoon.”
Your eye twitched so hard you were surprised it didn’t fall out. If one more person called you that, you might actually swim back to the mainland.
“Thanks,” Lando said smoothly, flashing them one of his signature smiles like he hadn’t spent the last 48 hours insisting he wasn’t going anywhere with you.
You shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
What happened to I’m not going anywhere with her?
He caught your glare and shrugged, all innocent and useless.
Traitor.
Not wanting to be rude to the only people here who hadn’t personally ruined your life, you forced a polite smile. Before you could correct them—or scream—one of the employees picked up your suitcase with cheerful efficiency.
“Come with us,” she said brightly. “We’ll show you your villa.”
The walk to the villa was painfully, almost comically silent. Not a single word passed between you. You stared straight ahead like you were being marched to your doom. Lando did the same, jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he was being forced to attend his own funeral. The two resort employees leading the way kept glancing back at you both, probably wondering what kind of honeymooning couple walked like they were on their way to court.
Eventually, one of them cleared her throat, clearly trying to break the tension before it swallowed all four of you whole.
“I’m sorry about your friends.”
You blinked, pulled out of your internal spiral. Right. Max and Pietra. The actual newlyweds. The ones currently dying in a hotel room.
“Yeah,” you said. “It sucks.”
“They were very upset when they called,” she continued gently. “But they seemed happy that you two could still enjoy the honeymoon.”
You nearly tripped over your own feet.
Happy.
That was certainly one way to describe it. Delusional was another. Criminally optimistic was a third.
Beside you, Lando made a noise—something between a laugh and a strangled groan. Honestly, it could’ve been either. Or both.
“And how long are you two married?”
You froze.
Well.
Eh.
You didn’t exactly have a script for this. You didn’t know whether to lie, tell the truth, or throw yourself into the ocean and let the fish sort it out.
Before you could decide, Lando spoke.
“Two months.”
You whipped your head toward him so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Lando didn’t even look at you. He just kept walking beside you like he hadn’t casually invented an entire fake marriage timeline out of thin air. No hesitation. No shame. No warning. Just two months tossed into the universe like it was a normal, reasonable answer.
The employee beamed at the both of you, completely fooled.
“How lovely! Newlyweds.”
“Yeah,” Lando replied smoothly, slipping into the role like he’d been practicing in the mirror. “Still getting used to it.”
You stared at him, your brain short‑circuiting.
Still getting used to it.
Still. Getting. Used. To. It.
Was he insane? Was he actually insane? Because that was the only explanation for the confidence with which he delivered that line. You caught the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—the smallest hint of amusement, like he knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying every second of your suffering.
The bastard was enjoying this.
“Oh, absolutely,” you said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile so stiff it could’ve cracked. “Every day is a surprise.”
Lando finally glanced at you, and for a split second, you saw it—the spark of amusement in his eyes, the quiet little I’m having fun and you can’t stop me glint.
You hated it.
You hated him.
The villa was ridiculous.
Not just nice—insultingly nice. The kind of nice that made you question every choice you’d ever made in your life. The terrace stretched out over the water like it was showing off. There was a glass slide straight into the ocean, an infinity pool that blended into the horizon, an outdoor shower, two separate bathrooms (mercifully), and enough space to host three families, a wedding, and maybe a small cult.
It was paradise.
And you hated that you were seeing it with him.
The second the employees left, you spun toward Lando.
“What the hell was that?”
Lando dropped his bag onto the floor like he owned the place. “What was what?”
“‘Two months’?” you repeated, voice rising. “Where did you even get two months from?”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Sounded believable.”
“Believable?”
“What was I supposed to say?” he shot back. “‘Actually, we’ve known each other for years and can’t stand one another, but our friends got food poisoning and sent us on their honeymoon instead’?”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it. and opened it again.
“…Well, maybe not like that.”
“Exactly,” he said, like he’d just won a debate on national television.
“That doesn’t mean you get to invent an entire marriage!”
“Oh, come on,” he said, already wandering deeper into the villa like a man on vacation. “It’s harmless.”
“Harmless?”
“Yes.”
“You made me your wife.”
Lando paused mid‑step and turned, looking genuinely confused.
“You already were my wife.”
The room went still. You stared at him. He stared back.
Three long, painful seconds passed.
Then something flickered across his face—realization, horror, embarrassment, all at once.
“Oh.”
Your eye twitched. “Oh?”
“Okay,” he winced, “that sounded worse out loud.”
“You think?”
“I mean she called you Mrs. Norris first. She made you my wife,” Lando tried to defend himself.
Before you could continue tearing him apart, a knock interrupted you.
Both of you froze.
The door opened immediately—because apparently privacy was optional here—and one of the resort employees peeked in with an apologetic smile.
“Oh! Sorry, one more thing.”
You instinctively stepped away from Lando like he was radioactive. He noticed. Of course he did. The employee didn’t.
“Your first romantic dinner is at eight tonight.”
Silence.
“What?” you said.
“Romantic dinner,” she repeated cheerfully. “On the beach. Just the two of you.”
You slowly turned your head toward Lando.
He turned toward you. Then both of you turned back to her.
“We don’t need—”
“Wonderful!” she cut in. “See you at eight!”
The moment she left, you pushed open the bedroom door.
And immediately stopped. Of course.
Of course there was one bed. Not just any bed—one large, perfectly made, aggressively romantic bed positioned directly in front of the ocean like it was trying to prove a point. Rose‑petal energy without the actual petals. The kind of bed that practically whispered consummate something.
You just stared at it, frozen in place.
Lando leaned against the doorframe, peered inside, and let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard.
“Oh my god,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “There’s really only one bed in this big‑ass villa?”
“Well obviously,” you snapped. “It’s a honeymoon villa, dumbass.”
“Right,” he muttered, like the universe had personally wronged him.
Silence settled between you—thick, awkward, the kind that made everything feel ten times worse. You could practically hear the ocean outside judging both of you.
Then Lando nodded toward the bed with the seriousness of someone offering a noble sacrifice.
“I’ll happily take the floor,” he announced.
You blinked.
Once. Twice.
“Wow,” you said. “Generous of you.”
Then you turned fully toward him, crossing your arms. “I’m going to be kind and let you take the couch in the living room. You’re absolutely not sleeping in the same room as me.”
“Right,” he said slowly, glancing toward the living room. “The couch.”
He nodded like he was processing a complicated mathematical equation.
“I should’ve thought about that earlier.”
────────────
The restaurant was somehow even more ridiculous than the villa—which felt almost impossible, but here you were, living proof that the universe had a sense of humor and it wasn’t a kind one.
A table for two sat directly on the sand, candles flickering in the warm evening breeze while waves rolled onto the shore like they’d been hired for ambience. Fairy lights hung from the palm trees overhead, glowing softly against the darkening sky. Music drifted through the air, gentle and warm, the kind that made everything feel softer than it actually was.
And you…
You looked beautiful. A yellow summer dress, light and easy, catching the breeze just enough to move with you. Your hair had settled into soft waves, brushing your shoulders every time you turned your head. You definitely hadn’t taken extra time to get ready because of your “husband.” Absolutely not. That would be ridiculous.
It looked like a scene from a romance movie.
Unfortunately, you were starring in it with Lando Norris.
The hostess smiled as she pulled out your chair, glowing with the kind of joy only people who believe in love have.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Norris. We hope you have a magical first dinner as newlyweds.”
You forced a polite smile, the kind that felt like it might crack if you held it too long.
“Thank you.”
Lando matched your expression perfectly, like he’d been trained for this exact moment.
“Very kind of you.”
The hostess practically melted on the spot.
“Oh, you two are adorable.”
The second she walked away, both of your smiles dropped so fast they might’ve left dents in the sand.
“She called us adorable,” you muttered.
“She also called us married,” Lando replied, sounding personally offended.
You stared at him.
He stared at you.
And for a moment, the two of you sat there in the middle of paradise, united only by mutual suffering.
You reached for the bread basket.
At the exact same moment Lando did.
Your hands collided in the middle of the table, a sharp little smack that made you both freeze. You pulled yours back instantly, like touching him might give you a rash.
“Watch it,” you muttered.
“You watch it,” he shot back, just as fast.
Before either of you could escalate, a waiter appeared beside the table carrying what looked like a tropical explosion in a glass—flowers, fruit, colors that didn’t exist in nature.
“For the honeymoon couple!” he announced proudly.
He set it down between you.
One glass.
Two straws.
A crime.
You and Lando stared at it like it had personally insulted you.
“No,” you both said at the same time.
“Oh, it’s complimentary!” the waiter beamed, completely missing the mutual horror, and vanished before you could protest.
Silence settled over the table again, warm and heavy like the night air.
“Well?” Lando said.
“Well what?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“So am I.”
Another long stretch of stubborn quiet passed—thirty seconds that felt like a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.
Finally, you both leaned forward at the same time.
And immediately bumped foreheads.
“Ow!”
You rubbed the spot, wincing, while Lando leaned back with a glare sharp enough to cut through the candlelight.
“Could you be any more dramatic?”
“You literally ran into me.”
“You ran into me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re annoying.”
The argument fizzled out only because you both leaned in and took a sip of the drink at the same time—careful this time, no forehead injuries—and neither of you dared admit it tasted incredible. Sweet, cold, perfect. A tiny piece of heaven in the middle of your personal hell.
The appetizers arrived a few minutes later, carried by a waiter who looked like he’d been waiting his whole life to serve a honeymoon couple. Every time he or anyone else walked by, you and Lando transformed instantly into the world’s most convincing romantic pair. It was almost impressive how fast the switch flipped.
“So, darling,” Lando said with a smile so bright it could’ve powered the fairy lights above you, “would you like the lobster?”
“No, sweetheart,” you replied just as sweetly, matching his tone like you’d rehearsed it. “You know I don’t eat seafood.”
The waiter’s face lit up.
“How lovely.”
The moment he walked away, your smile dropped. You kicked Lando under the table.
“Ow!” he hissed, jerking his leg back.
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me darling.”
“You started it.”
“You kicked me.”
“Good.”
Another waiter approached, moving carefully across the sand as if he were carrying something sacred. He placed two plates in front of you with a soft smile.
Steak and fries. Finally.
Separate plates.
Thank God.
You sat up a little straighter, almost relieved enough to forget who you were sitting with.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, her smile warm and hopeful, like she genuinely wanted your night to be perfect.
You returned it, stretching your own smile so wide your cheeks started to ache. “Everything’s perfect.”
Beside you, Lando nodded with the enthusiasm of a man who had fully committed to the bit. “Best honeymoon ever.”
The waiter beamed, delighted. “We’re so happy to hear that. Enjoy your evening!”
She walked away, leaving the two of you alone again—candles flickering, waves rolling in, the whole scene soft and romantic in a way that felt almost cruel.
The second the waiter disappeared, your foot shot out under the table and connected with Lando’s shin again. Maybe you were provoking him. Maybe you weren’t. Maybe the universe was simply guiding your leg. Either way, you weren’t about to admit anything.
He jerked back, glaring at you like you’d personally ruined his life.
“Can you fucking stop?”
“Stop lying.”
“You’re the one smiling.”
“I’m being polite.”
“You look psychotic.”
“Because of you.”
Lando stabbed another fry with his fork, then looked up at you with a confidence he absolutely did not deserve.
“You know,” he said, leaning back slightly, “for someone who supposedly hates me, you’ve been looking at me all evening.”
You scoffed, loud and sharp.
“Could say the same about you.”
And that was the first time since arriving that he actually went quiet.
Because you had noticed.
The little glances he kept sneaking across the table.
The way his eyes lingered a second too long before he looked away.
The absent-minded way he wet his lips whenever he was thinking.
The way he kept shifting in his seat like he was trying not to stare at you too openly.
None of it meant anything.
Obviously.
You weren’t delusional.
Still, something flickered across his face—something quick, something he tried to hide—before he straightened again.
“You’re imagining things,” he said.
“Am I?”
He held your gaze for a beat too long.
“Trust me,” he said, voice low and annoyingly confident. “If I was staring, you’d know.”
Your heart did something incredibly inconvenient—a tiny jump, a tiny skip, the kind of reaction you immediately wanted to throw into the ocean. You grabbed your glass instead, lifting it like it could physically reset your brain.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he replied, reaching across the table to steal one of your fries like he had every right to, “you haven’t left.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That was my fry.”
He took a slow, deliberate bite. “Tastes better when it’s yours.”
You kicked him under the table. Hard.
He hissed, jerking his leg back. “Jesus—are you trying to break my leg?”
“Debatable,” you said, taking a calm sip of your drink like you hadn’t just committed violence.
Lando rubbed his shin under the table, glaring at you like you’d personally ruined his evening. “You’re a violent wife.”
Your mouth twitched before you could stop it. “You’re an annoying husband.”
A beat passed—warm, tense, too quiet.
Then he leaned back slightly, smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes glinting in the candlelight.
“You realize if you break my leg, you’d have to take care of me, sweetheart?”
You didn’t even blink.
“I’m gonna throw up.”
His smirk widened, slow and smug, like he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.
And the worst part?
Your heart did that inconvenient little jump again.
────────────
The morning started peacefully. Too peacefully. The kind of peaceful that made you suspicious, like the universe was holding its breath before dropping something heavy on your head.
You and Lando sat at the breakfast table like two people who had agreed to a temporary ceasefire. No shin‑kicking. No dramatic sighs. No sarcastic comments sharp enough to cut through the tropical air. Just quiet eating, the soft clink of cutlery, and the occasional scroll through your phones.
Almost normal.
Almost comfortable.
Then Lando opened his mouth.
“We’re going golfing,” he said casually, not even looking up, biting into a pastry like he was reading the weather report.
“No.”
That one word snapped his attention up instantly. He blinked at you, confused, like he’d never heard the word before.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I hate golf.”
“That’s not a valid reason.”
“It’s a very valid reason.”
He sighed dramatically, like you had personally ruined his entire morning, his week, and possibly his life.
“I can’t play alone.”
“You absolutely can.”
“I can’t.”
You narrowed your eyes. He was lying. Badly. A man who drove cars at terrifying speeds for a living could absolutely survive a solo round of golf.
“You race cars for a living.”
“And?”
“You can function independently.”
He ignored that completely, like you hadn’t spoken at all.
“We’re going. It’s already booked.”
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“You’re my wife,” he said flatly.
You froze.
Slowly lifted your head from your plate.
Stared at him like he’d just confessed to murder.
“I’d rather swim back than be your wife.”
“From the Maldives?”
“Especially from the Maldives.”
He opened his mouth, probably to say something smug, but you cut him off with a raised hand.
“And I’d make it.”
He snorted. “You’d get eaten by a shark.”
“Better than golfing with you.”
Twenty minutes later, you were standing in the golf club lobby anyway. You still weren’t sure how it happened. One moment you were saying no, the next you were being dragged into a shuttle like a hostage. Against your will, obviously. Completely against your will.
Lando was at the counter, talking to the staff like he owned the place, arranging equipment and carts as if this was his idea of a perfect morning. He looked relaxed, confident, annoyingly at his element.
You slipped away toward a small souvenir shop tucked beside the path.
Just for a moment. Just to breathe.
Inside, everything was glossy, overpriced, and aggressively tropical. Shelves full of shell necklaces, handmade bracelets, tiny carved wooden animals, and bright fabrics that probably cost more than your entire suitcase. The kind of things tourists bought when they were sun‑drunk and sentimental.
Then you saw it. A necklace.
A simple one—a thin cord with a small carved turtle pendant hanging from the center. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… cute.
You picked it up, letting the pendant rest in your palm. It made you smile before you could stop yourself.
You flipped the tag over and your smile died instantly.
You frowned. Hard.
“You like it?”
Lando’s voice came from behind you.
You jumped slightly, turning to see him leaning in the doorway, holding two golf clubs in one hand and the cart keys dangling from the other. He looked annoyingly casual, like he hadn’t just snuck up on you.
“It’s cute,” you said, “but the price is not cute.”
“How much?”
You held it up for him to see.
He squinted, leaned in a little, then let out a laugh—loud, surprised, real.
“Jesus Christ. That’s the price of the whole honeymoon.”
You huffed. “Exactly.”
You placed the necklace back carefully, almost gently, like it had personally betrayed you but you didn’t want to hurt its feelings. Way too expensive for something that would end up tangled in a drawer anyway.
“Be right back,” you said, already backing away from him. “Bathroom.”
“Don’t get lost,” he muttered without looking up.
“Try not to choke on your ego,” you shot back, turning before he could respond.
The bathroom was exactly what you expected from a place like this—unnecessarily fancy, spotless, and scented with something soft and expensive you’d never be able to justify buying in real life. You lingered longer than you needed to, letting the quiet settle over you. It wasn’t the bathroom you needed. It was the break from him.
When you stepped back out, the sun was brighter, the air warmer, and Lando was still near the shop.
Except… something was off.
He wasn’t doing anything dramatic. He wasn’t pacing or fidgeting or causing chaos. He was just standing there, a little too still, a little too focused on nothing. And the second he saw you, his eyes flicked up fast, scanning you like he was checking for something.
“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you walked toward him.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly.
That was worse. Lando never said nothing quickly. If anything, he usually dragged it out just to annoy you.
You frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just waiting.”
“For what?”
He shrugged, already turning away, heading toward the golf carts like the conversation bored him. “Nothing.”
You watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what that tiny shift in his expression had been. Something flickering behind his eyes. Something he clearly didn’t want you to notice.
But you decided you didn’t care enough to dig into whatever weird Lando thing this was.
Probably just him being annoying.
You followed him anyway, even though you told yourself you weren’t following him at all—you were just walking in the same direction.
Coincidentally.
Obviously.
The golf course looked like it had been designed specifically to humiliate you. Endless stretches of perfect green, artificial lakes sparkling in the sun, and way too much open space for you to miss shots in front of strangers. It was beautiful in a smug, taunting way.
Lando, unfortunately, looked right at home.
“Okay,” he said, handing you a club like he was already regretting every life choice that led him here. “Just don’t hit anyone.”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“You’re not strong enough.”
That alone made you swing harder than necessary.
The ball went approximately nowhere. It hopped. Maybe. Barely.
Silence.
Then Lando clapped once.
Slowly.
“Fantastic.”
“It moved,” you said defensively.
“Barely.”
“It moved.”
He shook his head, stepping up beside you with the confidence of someone who had been waiting all morning to show off.
“Okay, watch and learn.”
You crossed your arms. “Impress me.”
He didn’t even bother hiding the smirk. It stretched across his face, warm and smug, like he’d been born for this moment.
“One day you’re going to have to admit I’m good at something.”
“Not likely.”
He swung.
Perfect form. Perfect sound. Perfect shot.
The ball sailed clean across the course, cutting through the air like it had been personally trained by God.
Of course it did.
You hated that. You hated how easy he made it look. You hated the way his shoulders relaxed after the swing, the way he exhaled like he’d just done something casual instead of showing off in front of you.
“Show-off,” you muttered.
Lando didn’t even look at you. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“It’s not jealousy. It’s disappointment.”
“In me?”
“In the universe for letting you be this confident.”
He finally turned, leaning on his club like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t actively ruining your morning.
“You know, for someone who keeps insulting me, you’re very invested in my performance.”
You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not,” he said easily. “Just observing.”
“Stop observing. It’s creepy.”
“You started it.”
“I did not start it.”
“You literally tried to hit me ten minutes ago.”
“That was character development.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re insufferable.”
“A perfect match, then.”
You shot him a sharp look.
“Don’t get delusional. This is a forced golf situation, not a personality assessment.”
He stepped closer—not much, just enough to make the air feel warmer—lowering his voice like he was letting you in on something you didn’t want.
“Careful,” he said. “Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you enjoy my company.”
You rolled your eyes. “In what world?”
He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his mouth.
“The one where you’ve been watching my swing for the last ten minutes.”
“That’s because I’m hoping you fall into one of those lakes.”
“Sure,” he said, smirking wider. “Keep telling yourself that.”
You opened your mouth to fire back—
But he cut in, casual, careless, like he wasn’t dropping a verbal grenade at your feet:
“Relax. I promise I’m not trying to get you into bed over a golf lesson.”
You froze.
Then stared at him.
“…What is wrong with you?”
Lando blinked, like he genuinely didn’t understand the problem.
“What? I was being nice.”
“That was not nice.”
“It was honest.”
“That makes it worse.”
“Gimme the keys. I’ll drive,” you said, holding out your hand like you were doing him a favor he didn’t deserve.
“Absolutely not.”
“You race cars for a living,” you reminded him, already leaning toward the ignition with far too much confidence for someone who had never driven a golf cart before. “And you’re scared of a golf cart?”
“I’m not scared of it. I’m scared of you driving it.”
“You should be,” you said with a small, satisfied smile as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Get your ass in there or walk.”
Lando let out the kind of long, dramatic sigh that suggested he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment. “Do you even have a driving licence?”
“I do.”
You absolutely did. Unfortunately for him.
He hesitated for a beat too long before climbing in beside you, gripping the side of the seat like it might suddenly eject him into the bushes. The second you pressed the pedal, the cart lurched forward—not dangerously, not wildly, just enough to make him tense like you’d launched a rocket instead of a glorified toy car.
“You’re overreacting,” you said, steering them down the path with what you considered perfect control. The breeze was warm, the sun was bright, and the cart hummed along peacefully. “You’re sitting in a golf cart, not a missile.”
“I’m observing risk factors,” he muttered, eyes fixed ahead like he was preparing for impact.
“That’s exactly what someone driving like you would say.”
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
He was absolutely not relaxed. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched, and he kept shifting like the seat was made of spikes. You took a slightly sharper turn—not reckless, not even fast, just sharper—and the cart tilted a little to the side.
Lando jolted.
His hand shot out without thinking, grabbing your thigh to steady himself.
Both of you froze.
The warmth of his hand lingered for a second, heavy and unexpected, before he snatched it back like it had betrayed him. His face was tight, his voice too quick.
“…That was balance,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I was balancing.”
You looked down at his hand, then back at him, unimpressed and far too aware of the moment. “Put that away.”
“I didn’t mean to—it slipped.”
“Sure it did.”
“It did.”
You didn’t argue. You didn’t tease him. You didn’t even look at him again. You just kept driving, eyes on the path, pretending the moment hadn’t happened. And you definitely didn’t mind that it had.
Not that you would ever admit anything.
────────────
The boat rocked gently over the turquoise water, sunlight bouncing off the surface so brightly it almost hurt to look at. It should have been peaceful, the kind of morning people wrote postcards about. But unfortunately, part of the honeymoon package included couples snorkeling—something that would have been lovely if your “husband” wasn’t Lando Norris.
You sat beside him with your legs tucked under you, still mid‑argument from the pier, still annoyed, still refusing to let him win even a single point.
“No, I’m telling you,” you said, pointing at him like you were presenting evidence in court, “you cheated yesterday.”
“I did not cheat,” he replied flatly, not even blinking. “You just don’t understand basic physics.”
“I understand physics perfectly fine, actually.”
“Clearly not.”
“You literally aimed your ball into a bush and called it strategy.”
“It was strategy.”
Before you could continue, another couple sitting nearby—around your age, relaxed, sun‑kissed, clearly enjoying their vacation—turned toward you with amused smiles. They had that look people get when they stumble into entertainment they didn’t pay for.
“Are you two always like this?” the woman asked, still smiling.
Lando didn’t hesitate. Not even a breath.
“Yes.”
You cut in immediately, shaking your head. “No.”
That earned you a side glance from him, sharp and quick, like he couldn’t believe you’d contradict him in public.
The couple laughed, clearly delighted.
“You’re on your honeymoon, right?” the man asked.
Silence.
A very suspicious silence.
Lando nodded slowly, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. “Unfortunately.”
You kicked his foot under the seat, not gently.
The man looked between you both, still smiling, clearly enjoying the chaos you and Lando brought with you like it was part of the entertainment package. The boat rocked gently beneath you, warm wind brushing your face, but the question he asked cut straight through the easy atmosphere.
“So… why did you get married then?”
It hit a little too directly. A little too cleanly. You didn’t even think before answering.
“Because he’s rich.”
Lando’s head snapped toward you so fast you genuinely thought he might fall off the boat. His eyes were wide, offended, and a little betrayed.
“What?”
The couple laughed, assuming it was a joke—because of course they did. No one sane would say that seriously on a honeymoon boat.
You waved your hand quickly, trying to soften it. “I’m joking.”
“Mostly,” Lando muttered under his breath.
You elbowed him, but the couple didn’t seem to notice. They were still smiling, still entertained, still convinced they were witnessing some adorable newlywed banter instead of two people barely holding their fake marriage together.
“Fair enough,” the man said with a shrug, still amused. Then he leaned forward Lando slightly, curiosity bright in his eyes. “So what do you do, then?”
Your eye twitched at the word husband. It felt too heavy, too sharp, too wrong in your ears.
Lando answered before you could even inhale.
“I drive.”
The man blinked. “Like… cars?”
“Yeah.”
There was a beat—a tiny pause where the man’s face went blank, like his brain was flipping through a mental Rolodex. Then his eyes lit up all at once.
“Oh! Formula 1?”
Lando nodded once, calm on the outside, but you saw the tiny shift in his shoulders. The man’s expression changed instantly, excitement blooming across his face like someone had just handed him front‑row tickets to something huge.
“No way—Lando Norris? My brother is a huge fan! He never shuts up about you.”
Lando froze for the briefest second. It was small, barely there, but you noticed. Of course you noticed. You always noticed the little things he tried to hide.
“Oh,” the man continued, grinning even wider now, “I didn’t know you were married, mate.”
The silence that followed could’ve sunk the boat. It stretched between you and Lando like a rope pulled too tight. You both turned to look at each other at the exact same time, eyes locking in a silent, panicked conversation neither of you wanted to have out loud.
Then, without missing a beat, Lando smiled.
“It was a small wedding, y’know. Kept it private. I like keeping some things to myself.”
The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly it was almost concerning. He didn’t even blink. He didn’t hesitate. He just… said it.
The man nodded approvingly, buying every word, then turned to you with a warm smile.
“Well, you’re lucky. Having a world champion at home.”
Pardon?
Absolutely not.
You smiled sweetly, matching his tone with practiced ease. “He’s the lucky one.”
Lando glanced at you, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, amusement, maybe a hint of something softer—but you didn’t give him time to process it.
“He’d be hopeless without me,” you added, completely unfazed.
“Oh, absolutely,” Lando replied, his grin returning, though it was a little tighter this time. “I’d forget where I left my trophies.”
The couple laughed, delighted, convinced they were witnessing a charming, playful honeymoon moment.
They had no idea you were both lying through your teeth.
Five minutes later, another problem appeared—one that had nothing to do with fake marriages or curious strangers. The snorkeling mask refused to cooperate. You adjusted the strap once, then again, then a third time, each attempt somehow making it sit even more crooked against your face. The elastic kept slipping, the plastic pressed awkwardly against your cheek, and the whole thing felt like it had been designed specifically to test your patience.
“For God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath, tugging at the strap like it had personally wronged you.
Lando looked over from where he was already wearing his own gear, mask perfectly fitted, snorkel in place, looking like someone who had never struggled with anything in his life. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to make this stupid thing fit,” you snapped, still wrestling with it.
He watched you for a few seconds—long enough to be annoying, long enough to make you feel judged—before letting out an exaggerated sigh that carried across the entire boat. “C’mere.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Clearly.”
You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through the ocean breeze. “I said I can do it myself.”
“Just come here,” he said, already holding out his hand like he’d made the decision for you. “I want to look like a decent husband while I’m apparently married. The last thing I need is gossip pages saying I abandoned my wife before she even got in the water.”
“How embarrassing,” you muttered, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt.
He ignored the comment completely. Instead, he reached out, gently catching your wrist with warm fingers, pulling you the last step closer before you could protest again. The movement was soft, almost careful, and your argument died somewhere in your throat before you could shape it into words.
He reached behind your head with the confidence of someone who absolutely believed he knew what he was doing. His fingers brushed your hair as he tried to fix the loose strap, and within two seconds you felt a sharp tug at your scalp.
“Ow! Stop pulling my hair!”
“I’m not pulling your hair,” Lando said immediately, like the accusation offended him on a personal level.
“You are pulling my hair!”
“Then stop moving!”
“I’m not moving!”
“You’re literally flinching.”
“Because you’re yanking it!”
A couple of snorkelers nearby glanced over, clearly wondering if they needed to intervene. You forced a bright, strained smile, teeth clenched so tightly it almost hurt.
“Everything’s fine,” you said, voice pitched a little too high. “Totally fine.”
Lando didn’t even look up. He was still tangled in the straps, still muttering under his breath like you were the problem and not his complete lack of technique.
“It is not fine,” he grumbled. “You have the coordination of a broken GPS.”
You stared at him, offended on a spiritual level. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
He tugged again.
“Ow—Lando!”
“Relax, I’m fixing it.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“I’m literally not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He paused, leaning back just enough to look at the mask like it was a failed engineering project he’d been assigned against his will. His brows pulled together, his mouth flattening into a line that told you he was already blaming you for whatever he saw.
“…Okay, I see the problem.”
“You are the problem.”
He ignored that completely, like he’d trained himself not to hear your insults anymore. Instead, he shifted closer again, this time slower, more careful, his fingers brushing your hair aside so he could get to the strap properly. The boat rocked gently beneath you, and for a moment the world felt strangely quiet—just the warm air, the soft slap of water against the hull, and his hands working behind your head.
“Stop moving,” he said again, but his voice was quieter now, less irritated and more focused, like he was trying not to mess it up this time.
You went still.
Not because he told you to.
Definitely not.
It was just easier than arguing while he was this close, while his fingers were sorting through your hair with surprising gentleness, while the sun warmed the back of your neck and made everything feel a little too noticeable.
After a few seconds of concentrated effort—the kind where he muttered something under his breath that you pretended not to hear—he tightened the strap properly and stepped back, letting his hands fall away.
“There,” he said, sounding far too proud of himself.
You tested the mask with a small tug.
It didn’t move. Not even a little.
“…Huh.”
“Yeah,” he said, smugness blooming across his face like he’d just solved world peace. “Miracles do happen.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a smile.
“Don’t get used to it.”
He grinned, bright and unbothered, the wind catching his hair as the boat rocked again.
“No promises, wife.”
The boat slowed to a stop, the engine cutting out until all you could hear was the soft slap of waves against the hull. It rocked gently over the open water, turquoise stretching in every direction, sunlight so bright it turned everything into glitter. It should have been peaceful. It should have been romantic. It should have been the kind of moment people remembered forever.
But you were here with Lando.
A guide stepped forward with an easy smile, gesturing toward the water. “Alright everyone, this is one of the best spots. Coral reef just below, lots of fish. Stay in pairs, enjoy yourselves, and don’t wander too far.”
“Stay in pairs,” Lando repeated under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “Heard him, wife?”
You shot him a warning look. “Don’t start.”
But he was already smirking, already enjoying himself far too much for someone who’d spent the entire morning annoying you.
Before either of you could argue, the guide clapped his hands. “Okay—snorkeling time!”
You turned to adjust your mask one last time, fingers brushing the strap—
And Lando shoved you. Hard.
There was no time to react. No time to yell properly. Just a sharp gasp and the sudden, shocking drop as the world tilted.
You hit the water with a splash that swallowed the sound instantly. Cold, bright blue wrapped around you, rushing over your head, filling your ears, stealing your breath for a moment. The ocean felt huge, endless, everywhere at once.
You resurfaced seconds later, coughing, hair plastered to your face, mask askew.
“Lando—!”
He was already in the water beside you, laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. The sun caught the droplets on his face, turning him into something annoyingly golden and carefree.
“You were taking too long,” he said, still grinning.
“I hate you!” you yelled, already swimming toward him with more force than necessary.
He only laughed harder, kicking away just enough to stay out of reach, the water rippling between you.
You made it exactly two strokes before something brushed your foot again. It was light, barely there, just a soft flick against your skin—but it didn’t matter. Your entire body locked up instantly, every muscle going stiff like you’d been hit with electricity.
“Nope—nope—nope—” you sputtered, kicking upward in pure panic.
“Relax,” Lando called, still laughing, still floating like this was the easiest thing in the world. “It’s just fish.”
“I don’t care what it is!”
Another brush—this time against your ankle, quick and cold.
That was it.
You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. You didn’t even breathe. You just launched yourself forward on instinct, arms flailing, legs kicking, heart pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears—
—and you basically jumped straight into his arms.
Lando caught you automatically, the impact pushing him backward a little in the water. His hands came up around you without hesitation, steadying you, holding you up as you clung to him like the ocean was trying to drag you under.
For a second, he didn’t move. He just stood there in the water, arms half‑raised, eyes wide, like he wasn’t sure what version of reality he’d just stepped into.
Then he looked down at you.
“…Are you hugging me right now?”
“No.”
“You are literally attached to me.”
“I am stabilising myself.”
“Against my chest?”
“Shut up!”
His laugh came immediately—bright, loud, helpless—the kind that shook his shoulders and made the water ripple around you. He tilted his head back, still laughing, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.
And even though your heart was still racing, even though your legs were still wrapped around him more than you wanted to admit, even though you were absolutely not letting go yet…
You felt something warm slip into your chest.
Something you refused to name.
────────────
By the time the snorkeling trip ended, you had decided—very calmly, very rationally—that you deserved a drink. Preferably several. The kind that came in tall glasses with too much ice and not enough sense. The resort bar overlooked the ocean, the sky turning soft shades of gold and pink as the sun dipped lower. Music drifted through the warm evening air, blending with the sound of waves and the low hum of guests laughing around candlelit tables.
Lando stood a few steps away, somehow already deep in conversation with his new friend from the boat. They were talking with their hands, laughing too loudly, probably bonding over Formula 1 or golf or whatever else inflated his ego. You didn’t care enough to find out. You just wanted something cold, something strong, something that would make the memory of fish touching your legs fade into the background.
You leaned against the counter and ordered the strongest cocktail on the menu. The bartender slid it toward you with a practiced smile, the glass sweating in the warm air. You wrapped your fingers around it, grateful for the chill, ready to take the first blessed sip—
When a voice spoke from beside you.
“Try smiling a little.”
You turned your head slowly, already tired, already annoyed. A man stood there, a few years older, wearing a shirt that tried too hard and a smile that tried even harder. He looked at you like he’d just delivered the most charming line in the world, like he expected you to melt on the spot.
You looked at him. Then at your drink. Then back at him.
“Try minding your own business a little.”
“I’m just being friendly.”
“Then be friendly somewhere else.”
He laughed, the kind of laugh men use when they think you’re playing hard to get instead of trying to end the conversation. His elbow slid onto the bar, his posture loose, confident, practiced.
“That attitude won’t get you very far.”
“I’m already exactly where I want to be,” you said, lifting your drink like a shield.
“You sure?” he asked, leaning in just a little. “You look lonely.”
You opened your mouth—ready to shut him down properly this time—when a warm hand settled lightly on your waist.
Not gripping.
Not pulling.
Just… there.
“Everything okay, baby?”
Lando.
You turned so fast you nearly sloshed your drink over the rim. For what might have been the first time since this entire ridiculous honeymoon began, you felt something close to relief wash through you. His presence cut through the moment like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.
The stranger blinked, looking between the two of you, confusion flickering across his face.
“And you are…?”
Lando didn’t hesitate. Not even for a breath.
“Her husband.”
He said it smoothly, easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand stayed on your waist, warm and steady. The stranger’s expression shifted, surprise tightening his mouth before he stepped back a little.
“Oh,” the man said after a moment, blinking like he’d just been handed information he didn’t know what to do with. “Didn’t know she was married.”
Lando offered a small, polite smile—the kind he used in interviews when he was pretending to be patient.
“She is.”
The conversation should have ended there. It should have drifted off into the warm evening air and disappeared like every other awkward bar interaction on vacation.
Instead, the man chuckled and looked right back at you, like he hadn’t learned a single thing.
“You should teach her some basic manners, man.”
The easy smile vanished from Lando’s face so fast it was almost impressive.
“What?”
The stranger shrugged, casual, careless, like he was commenting on the weather. “She’s got quite the attitude.”
“And so what?” Lando shot back, voice sharper now. “She doesn’t owe you a shit.”
The man lifted a brow. “Doesn’t mean she can act like a bi—”
“Hey!” Lando stepped forward so quickly the man actually leaned back. “Don’t talk about my wife like that or I’ll beat the shit out of—”
He was too close now. Way too close. His shoulders were tight, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the guy like he’d forgotten this was supposed to be an act. You didn’t even know if he was pretending anymore.
“Lando,” you said quietly, reaching for his wrist. Your fingers brushed his skin, warm and tense. “Drop it.”
He didn’t look at you right away. He stayed there for a heartbeat longer, breathing hard, anger still simmering under the surface.
Then, slowly, he stepped back.
Not because the man deserved it. But because you asked. The irony wasn’t lost on you—the one time he actually acted like a husband was the moment you needed him to stop.
“You okay?” Lando asked.
You blinked, because the question caught you more off guard than the argument ever had. It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the way he said them, low and tight, like he’d been holding them in since the moment he stepped between you and that guy at the bar.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “I had it handled.”
Lando let out a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t even come close. “Yeah. I could tell. You were doing a great job being harassed at the bar.”
Your jaw tightened, heat rising in your chest. “I didn’t need you to save me like that.”
“Right,” he said, nodding once, sharp and clipped. “So next time I should just stand there and let him keep going?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“I didn’t ask you to play my husband.”
That one landed differently—you felt it the second it left your mouth. Lando went quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t defensive or angry, just… wounded. He exhaled through his nose, looking away toward the ocean like he needed a second to reset whatever expression had almost slipped through.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Fair.”
You took a sip of your drink, more out of habit than thirst, trying to steady yourself, trying to find the right words before the wrong ones kept spilling out.
“I can handle myself,” you added, quieter now, softer, because you meant it but you didn’t want it to sound like a wall.
“I know you can,” he replied immediately.
That made you pause.
He looked back at you then, the sharpness in his expression easing just enough that you could finally see the truth sitting underneath it—not anger, not irritation, but something quieter.
“I just didn’t like the way he was talking to you,” Lando said, voice low, steady, almost too honest.
You scoffed lightly, because that felt safer than acknowledging whatever was happening in your chest.
“Since when do you care?”
That earned you a small, humorless smile—the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, the kind that told you he’d already had this argument with himself long before you opened your mouth.
“I don’t,” he said. “Usually.”
A beat.
“But he was being a dick.”
You rolled your eyes, but it wasn’t as strong as you wanted it to be. It felt flimsy, thin, like you were trying to hold onto a version of the conversation that had already slipped away.
“And you decided that made you responsible for the entire situation?”
“I decided,” he corrected, leaning back slightly, shoulders tense, “that I didn’t want him standing there talking to you like that.”
You studied him for a second—the set of his jaw, the way he kept glancing at the ocean like it might give him an escape route, the way his fingers tapped once against his thigh before he stilled them. He wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just… telling you the truth.
“Still didn’t need to act like that,” you said, quieter now.
“Neither did he.”
Another pause—heavier this time, stretched thin between you like a wire ready to snap.
Then Lando tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he looked at you.
“You’re really going to stay mad at me for this?”
The question wasn’t defensive.
It was something else entirely—something that made your breath catch, because suddenly it felt like he wasn’t asking about the bar anymore.
He was asking about him. About you. About whatever the hell had been simmering between you long before tonight.
You opened your mouth again, still riding the leftover adrenaline from stopping him.
“I just think you don’t get to—”
“Shut up.”
You stopped. Blinking. “Excuse me?”
“I said shut up.”
“I’m literally in the middle of talking.”
“Yeah,” Lando said, stepping a fraction closer, eyes locked on yours, “I noticed.”
You frowned, heat rising in your chest. “Don’t tell me to—”
He cut you off. Not with words.
He just kissed you.
Quick. Firm. Completely unexpected. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t planned, and it definitely wasn’t something either of you had agreed to in any universe where you were still pretending to hate each other properly. It hit you like a spark—sharp, bright, over before you could even process it.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
Then he pulled back like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just short‑circuited your entire brain.
You stared at him. He stared back.
Then, very calmly, he said, “I said shut up.”
Your brain lagged, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the moment, the heat still buzzing on your lips.
“…Norris, what the fuck?”
He didn’t answer right away. His chest rose and fell once, slow, steady, like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t affected at all.
But his eyes told a different story.
A very different one.
Lando didn’t even blink. “What?”
“You just—” you gestured wildly between the two of you, your voice climbing without your permission. “You just kissed me.”
“Yeah.”
“‘Yeah’?” you repeated, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.
He frowned slightly, like you were the one being dramatic. Like you were the unreasonable one here.
“You were overthinking it,” he said, tone maddeningly calm. “Overthinking’s bad for you, baby.”
That made you pause. You hated that it made you pause. You hated the way the word baby slid under your skin like it belonged there.
“…Right,” you said slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. “Doesn’t mean you can just kiss me.”
“Pretty sure I can,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms, trying to rebuild whatever dignity you had left.
“Hm. Don’t think this means anything though.”
“I would never,” Lando said immediately.
Too immediately.
The kind of immediate that wasn’t casual at all. The kind that sounded like he’d rehearsed it. The kind that made something warm twist low in your stomach.
You studied him, searching his face for even a flicker of something he didn’t want you to see.
He held your gaze without flinching, jaw set, eyes steady, like he was daring you to call him out. “…Good,” you said finally, lifting your chin. “Because it doesn’t.”
“Of course not.”
His voice was smooth. Too smooth. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. And the worst part? You weren’t convinced either.
────────────
The villa was suspiciously quiet, the kind of quiet that made every thought in your head sound louder. You sat on the edge of the outdoor couch with your legs pulled in, staring out at the dark water. The waves moved in slow, steady lines, catching bits of moonlight and breaking them apart. It should have been calming.
It wasn’t. You were trying not to think. Which, of course, only made you think more.
About Lando. About the kiss. About the way he’d looked afterward—too calm, too steady, like he hadn’t just scrambled your ability to act normal around him. About how everything had been… different since then. Not worse. Not better. Just different in a way neither of you had dared to name.
And about how today was the last day. The last night of this ridiculous honeymoon.
Behind you, the sliding door opened.
You didn’t turn. “Go away,” you mumbled.
“I live here too,” Lando said, dropping onto the couch beside you. He didn’t look at you. He just stared out at the ocean like he’d been doing it long before he walked outside.
Silence stretched between you, warm and heavy.
Then, after a minute—
“Well.”
“Well,” Lando echoed.
You exhaled slowly, eyes still on the water. “At least tomorrow we can go back to normal.”
He finally glanced at you. “Normal?”
“You know,” you said, still refusing to look at him. “You hating me. Me hating you.”
“Right.”
But he didn’t sound convinced.
And the worst part? Neither did you.
The breeze moved through the villa again, soft and warm, brushing over your skin like it knew something you didn’t want to admit. Lando shifted beside you, just enough that you felt the movement, not enough to call it anything.
Normal. You said it like you wanted it. But the word didn’t sit right anymore.
The silence fell again, stretching out between you like a thin thread. But this time, Lando was the one who spoke first.
“This trip wasn’t that bad.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Hm.” You looked back at the water, the moonlight breaking across the waves. “At least we survived.”
A beat.
“Now we’ll just go back to avoiding each other like before.”
“Yeah,” Lando said.
Then, after a pause that felt a little too long—
“Yeah,” he repeated, quieter. “That’s the problem.”
You finally turned your head. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the horizon like he didn’t trust himself to look at you. The warm breeze moved through the villa, brushing over your skin, but it didn’t soften the moment. It only made it clearer.
For the first time all night, you couldn’t tell if he was joking.
Or if he meant it.
And the way he sat there—shoulders tense, hands still, breath a little uneven—made something in your chest shift in a way you weren’t ready for.
You swallowed, the words catching in your throat.
“…Lando?”
He didn’t look away from the ocean. But his voice was low, honest in a way that made your heart stutter.
“I don’t want to go back to that.”
You looked at him, confused.
“What?”
Lando kept staring out at the water. And for the first time since you’d known him, he looked nervous. Actually nervous. His shoulders were tight, his jaw working like he was trying to choose the right words and failing.
“I didn’t want to come here,” he said quietly.
“I noticed.”
“I thought it’d be the worst week of my life.”
You smiled faintly. “Again, noticed.”
A small laugh escaped him—soft, almost embarrassed.
Then—
“But somewhere between you nearly killing me with a golf cart…”
“You grabbed my thigh.”
“Not helping.”
You let out a quiet huff of laughter despite yourself. “Continue.”
Lando exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
A beat passed—warm, heavy, stretching between you like a held breath.
He didn’t look at you when he spoke again.
“It stopped being annoying.”
Your smile faded a little. “…When?”
Lando shrugged, like the answer wasn’t important even though it clearly was. “Dunno.”
Silence settled again. The ocean kept moving, steady and calm, like it didn’t care that something between you had just shifted in a way you couldn’t undo.
Then he finally looked at you. Really looked.
“And now I don’t really want it to end. Us.”
Your breath caught—just a tiny, sharp inhale—but you masked it quickly with a scoff, like you could pretend the moment wasn’t sitting between you, warm and terrifying.
“Somewhere between pushing you into the ocean and kissing you to shut you up…” Lando said, his voice quieter now, steadier in a way that made your stomach twist. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or smirks or that stupid confidence he wore like armor. He was just looking at you—really looking—and it stripped away every layer of distance you’d been pretending still existed.
“I think I fell in love with you.”
You stared at him.
For a moment, your brain simply refused to cooperate. The words sat there in the air, warm and heavy, like a language you almost understood but couldn’t quite translate. You blinked once. Then again. Your heart thudded in your chest, too loud, too fast, like it was trying to catch up to something your mind hadn’t processed yet.
“…That’s actually really embarrassing for you,” you managed, because your mouth was apparently determined to save you from sincerity at all costs.
Lando didn’t move. Didn’t laugh.
Didn’t roll his eyes or shove your shoulder or call you dramatic. He just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you’d said that. Like you’d knocked the air out of him.
“Are you serious?” he asked, voice flat, almost stunned.
“A little.”
“I just told you I love you.”
“I know.”
“And that’s your response?”
You exhaled softly, something nervous and warm and terrifying settling in your chest all at once. You felt it rise up, felt it push against your ribs, felt it spill into your throat before you could stop it. And then your mouth betrayed you—not with sarcasm this time, but with a smile.
A real one. A soft one.
The kind you didn’t give to people you hated.
“Good thing I love you too.”
The words left you before you could second‑guess them, before you could hide them behind a joke, before you could pretend you didn’t mean them. They hung there between you, gentle and impossible to take back.
Lando’s breath caught—just barely, just enough for you to notice. His eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders loosening like he’d been holding something in for days.
Lando didn’t move for a second.
Just stared.
Like he was waiting for a punchline that didn’t come. Like he was bracing for you to laugh or shove him or turn everything into a joke the way you always did when things got too close.
Then, quietly—
“…What?”
You let out a breath, half‑laughing, half in disbelief at yourself, because you couldn’t believe you were actually saying this out loud. “I said I love you, idiot.”
His expression shifted immediately. The shock didn’t disappear, but it softened into something raw, something unguarded, something he clearly wasn’t used to showing anyone. His eyes searched your face like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you right.
“You can’t just say that like it’s—”
“What? A prank?” you cut in, shaking your head. “No. Unfortunately for both of us, it’s real.”
Silence again.
The ocean kept moving. The wind didn’t care. The whole world stayed exactly the same while your heart tried to beat its way out of your chest. You looked down at your hands, then back at him, because avoiding his eyes wasn’t helping.
“You were pissing me off the entire trip,” you admitted, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
That got a faint, incredulous laugh out of him—the kind that slipped out before he could stop it. “Cheers.”
“It’s true,” you said quickly, pointing at him like it helped your argument. “You were annoying. Arrogant. You shoved me into the ocean. You called me a violent wife.”
“I was right about that one.”
“Shut up.”
But your voice wasn’t sharp anymore. It wavered slightly, like the truth underneath it was pushing its way through.
“And I really did hate you at the beginning,” you added, quieter now. “Like, properly.”
Lando’s gaze didn’t leave you. Not for a second.
“But?”
You hesitated.
That part was the hardest one. The part that felt like stepping off a ledge and hoping he’d catch you.
“But…” you exhaled, looking away toward the water like it might make this easier. “I think it started changing when you defended me at the bar.”
He went still.
Your fingers tightened slightly in your lap, the memory hitting you harder now that you were saying it out loud.
“That guy was being an asshole,” you continued, your voice softer, steadier. “And I was handling it, or trying to. And you just… stepped in.”
A small pause.
“And I remember thinking you were so angry,” you said, almost like you were discovering it again. “Like actually angry. Not joking, not teasing. Just… protective.”
You glanced at him again.
“That confused me more than anything you did on this entire trip.”
A faint breath left Lando, like he didn’t know what to do with that. His shoulders dropped a little, the tension easing in a way that made him look younger, more open, more real.
Then he finally spoke.
“I just hated the idea of somebody talking to you like that.”
His voice was quieter than before. Not defensive. Not playful. Just honest in a way that made your chest tighten.
A beat passed.
He gave a small shrug, like he was trying to pretend it didn’t matter as much as it did.
“I don’t know,” he added. “It pissed me off.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It didn’t feel sharp or heavy or awkward. It was just… full. Like something had finally settled into place between you, something neither of you could pretend wasn’t there anymore. The air felt warmer. The night felt closer. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for the moment to break.
You swallowed slightly, still looking at him, still trying to understand the way your chest felt too tight and too light at the same time. “…Thank you,” you said quietly.
Lando gave you a small, almost confused glance, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. “For what?”
You let out a soft breath, half a laugh, half something else. “For… all of it, I guess.”
That earned you a look from him you weren’t used to—soft, steady, not trying to twist into a joke. He didn’t hide behind anything this time. He just looked at you like he was letting himself be seen.
Then he shifted slightly, reaching into his pocket. “I have something for you.”
You blinked, watching as he pulled out a small silver chain. A turtle necklace. The same one you’d stared at in the shop. The same one you’d pretended you didn’t want.
Your breath caught. “…You bought it?” you asked, taking it carefully from his hand.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You said it was cute.”
“But it was so expensive!”
“And?” he said simply, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Do I look like I care?”
Your fingers closed gently around the necklace, holding it like it might slip away if you weren’t careful. The charm felt warm against your skin, like it had been waiting in his pocket for this exact moment.
“…You didn’t have to,” you said again, quieter now, the words almost slipping out on their own.
“I know.”
A beat passed.
“But I wanted to.”
That was it. No joke. No smirk. No dramatic line to cover the truth. Just him. Just honesty. Just the kind of softness you never expected from him and didn’t know how to handle.
You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to—long enough to feel something shift in your chest, long enough to feel your breath catch again.
Then you moved before your brain could talk you out of it.
You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in.
The kiss was softer this time. Not rushed. Not defensive. Not a reaction to anything. Just real. Just warm. Just the two of you finally letting something happen that had been building all week. His hand came up to your jaw, gentle in a way that made your heart stutter, and for a moment the whole villa felt still.
When you pulled back, you were both slightly breathless, and for once neither of you pretended it meant nothing. You stayed close, your forehead almost touching his, your breath mixing with his in the warm night air.
“Thank you,” you whispered, the words brushing against his lips.
Lando let out a quiet breath of a laugh, soft and disbelieving. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. Then, after a beat—one that felt like it stretched forever—he added, “I love you.”
Your heart stuttered. For a second, you just stared at him, like you were making sure you hadn’t imagined it, like you needed to see the truth in his eyes before you let yourself believe it.
Then your mouth softened into a small smile, warm and helpless. “…You’re so annoying,” you murmured.
He frowned slightly. “That’s not an answer.”
You exhaled, still smiling, still feeling that strange, steady warmth spreading through your chest. “I know.”
A pause.
Then, quieter—completely sure this time: “I love you too.”
And this time, neither of you joked your way out of it. Neither of you looked away. Neither of you pretended it didn’t matter. It mattered. And you both knew it.
babsie radio ! had so many problems while editing this I hit the damn 1000-block limit way too soon!!! I literally wanted to write one more last scene where they come back and P and Max are so confused because they don’t hate each other anymore 😩 I’m so annoyed! I might write a short oneshot of that if you guys want. I hope you enjoy this! This story is so dear to me <3 first fic of summer 2026! 💗
syn. you thought he was just being a polite peer. the internet, however, knew better. and when a catastrophic mechanical failure cuts your race short at silverstone, kimi proves to the entire world that he’s fighting for so much more than just a podium. m! reader 𑣿 wc. 2,2k
the paddock had long since accepted that you were formula 1’s golden boy. bubbly, effortlessly charming, and armed with a blinding smile that could diffuse even the most tense post-race press conferences. you had a rare gift: everyone liked you. from the grumpy mechanics in the garage to the most cynical drivers on the grid, you were fiercely protected. moving to red bull racing had only cemented that status, especially because your teammate, max verstappen, had essentially adopted you as a younger brother. max, notorious for his ruthless, blunt demeanor, treated you like a precious commodity, constantly hovering, checking your telemetry, and throwing protective arms over your shoulders in the media pen.
but while you were busy driving your heart out, consistently planting your car in the top five, and being entirely oblivious to the social media frenzy surrounding you, formula 1 tiktok fandom was losing its collective mind.
the edits were everywhere. set to slowed-down, cute love edit audios, millions of fans analyzed every single interaction between you and mercedes’ newest prodigy, kimi antonelli. kimi was quiet, laser-focused, and carried that intense, serious italian passion that made him a formidable presence on track. yet, whenever you walked into a room, the internet noticed a shift.
there were slow-motion clips of kimi standing in the background of your interviews, his dark eyes completely fixed on you while you laughed and gestured wildly. there was the viral video from monaco where you had accidentally misplaced your driver's water bottle, and kimi, without saying a single word or even breaking eye contact with his engineer, had simply reached out and pressed his own chilled bottle into your hands before walking away. you had just assumed he was being a polite peer. the internet, however, knew better. they saw the way he lingered, the way his fingers brushed yours, and the rare, soft softening of his expression whenever you babbled excitedly during the drivers' briefings. you were completely blind to it, attributing his quiet intensity to just "kimi being kimi."
until race day in silverstone.
the atmosphere was electric. you had qualified a stellar p3, sitting right behind max in p2, while kimi had claimed a brilliant pole position. the race was a grueling, high-speed chess match, but by lap forty-two, you were holding your own, keeping the roaring red bull right on the tail of the leading pack.
then, disaster struck.
coming down the high-speed entry into copse, a sudden catastrophic mechanical failure caused the rear of your car to snap violently. you didn’t even have time to gasp over the team radio before the car spun out of control across the gravel trap, carrying immense speed until it slammed sideways into the techpro barriers with a sickening, heavy thud.
the impact rattled your teeth, the violent deceleration forcing your helmeted head to snap to the side, clipping the cockpit padding hard enough to make your vision momentarily explode into a blinding white glare.
"red flag, red flag!" the race director’s voice crackled across the global feed.
instantly, the paddock went dead silent. in the red bull garage, max’s race engineer broke into his radio. "max, red flag. big crash for your teammate at copse. looks like a rear suspension failure."
max didn’t even hesitate, his usual calm racing demeanor instantly fracturing into raw panic. "is he okay? gp, is he out of the car? tell me he’s talking," max demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding octave as he slowed his car down, straining his neck to look across the track as he passed the sector. "i'm stopping if he's not moving. someone tell me right now."
but while max was demanding answers, kimi had already reacted.
kimi had been leading the race, but the moment the flashing red lights illuminated his steering wheel dashboard and your car number flashed as the cause, his heart stopped. rounding the corner, he saw the wreckage, the shattered carbon fiber, the crumpled red bull chassis resting heavily against the barriers, and most terrifyingly, your helmeted head resting entirely still against the side of the cockpit.
kimi didn't think. he didn't ask his engineer for permission.
the moment he pulled his mercedes up near the accident site alongside the safety car deployment, kimi stomped on the brakes, unbuckled his harness with trembling, frantic hands, and killed the engine. he vaulted out of his cockpit before the track marshals could even reach the scene, his boots hitting the tarmac in a dead sprint toward your car.
"kimi, what are you doing? stay by the car," his engineer, peter bonnington, crackled anxiously over the radio, but kimi threw his earpieces out, ignoring the world.
your vision was swimming, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing right behind your eyes. you felt breathless, trapped in the heavy silence of the cockpit, trying to remember which way was up. suddenly, a pair of gloved hands gripped the edges of your halo, and a frantic, breathless voice shattered your disorientation.
"hey! hey, look at me. look at me, per favore," kimi panted, his visor up, his eyes wide and dark with a terrifying, uncharacteristic panic. he was leaning so far into your cockpit that his shadow completely covered you. "are you okay? can you hear me? speak to me, please."
"kimi...?" you mumbled, your voice sounding small and raspy inside your helmet. you blinked slowly, trying to focus on his face. "what... what happened?"
"the car broke. you hit the wall very hard," kimi explained, his voice uncharacteristically shaky as he carefully, gently reached inside to check your hans device, his fingers trembling against your shoulders. he looked you over like he was making sure you were entirely whole. "don't move your neck. the medical car is coming. just look at me, okay? keep your eyes on me."
"i'm okay," you breathed, a little bit of your usual bubbly warmth trying to fight through the daze. "just... a little dizzy, that’s all. oh god, did i ruin the race?"
kimi let out a sharp, breathless laugh that sounded incredibly close to a sob of relief. he rested his forehead against the top of your halo for a split second, closing his eyes. "you stupid boy," he whispered in a fiercely affectionate, relieved tone. "who cares about the race? you scared me to death."
by the time the medical delegates arrived, they found kimi stubbornly refusing to leave your side, holding your hand firmly until they carefully lifted you out of the chassis. even as you were placed in the back of the medical car, kimi stood on the track, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, watching the ambulance drive away with an intense, burning gaze that the television cameras caught in high-definition glory.
an hour later, the drama had settled. you had been cleared by the medical center with nothing more than a mild concussion and a few bruises, strictly ordered to rest.
you were sitting on the training table inside the private red bull motorhome, wrapped in a comfortable oversized team hoodie, sipping a juice box max had practically forced into your hands. max had already stormed into the room earlier, giving you a crushing, silent hug that nearly cracked your ribs, lecturing you about scaring him before heading off to deal with the media.
there was a soft, hesitant knock on the door.
"come in!" you called out, your voice bright despite the lingering headache.
the door slid open, and kimi stood there. he had changed into his casual mercedes team shirt and shorts, looking uncharacteristically shy. the fierce, terrifyingly protective driver from the track was gone, replaced by a quiet young man holding a small, foil-wrapped package.
"hey," kimi said softly, closing the door behind him. "max said i could come in for a minute. how is your head?"
"kimi! come here," you beamed, gesturing for him to sit on the edge of the medical table next to you. "i’m totally fine. a little bruised, but the doctors said i have a hard skull. i heard you jumped out of your car for me. that was... crazy, kimi. thank you."
kimi shrugged, a faint, lovely crimson flush creeping up his neck as he sat down close to you. he wouldn't look you directly in the eyes, suddenly fascinated by his own sneakers. "i just... i saw you weren't moving. i lost it and my heart, it completely stopped."
"you're a really good friend, you know that?" you said earnestly, tilting your head and offering him a sweet, grateful smile.
kimi let out a soft sigh, finally looking up at you. his eyes were incredibly warm, filled with a deep, unspoken emotion that had been building up for months. "friend," he repeated under his breath, a small, ironic smile touching his lips. he reached out, his fingers incredibly gentle as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from the small bandage on your forehead. "you are so smart in the car, but outside of it, you see nothing, do you?"
“oh?” you blinked, completely confused by the sudden tenderness. "what do you mean?"
kimi didn’t answer right away. he just looked at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your face with a quiet, breathtaking intensity that made the small red bull motorhome feel suddenly very, very small. the soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound between you, replacing the roaring engines and chaotic paddock chatter outside.
he reached down and placed the small, foil-wrapped package he was holding onto the table next to your juice box. "my mother, she always says that when someone you care about gets a shock, they need something sweet. it is a traditional italian hazelnut cake from home. i had my trainer get it from the motorhome."
"really? that’s so kind of you, thank y-"
"i did not jump out of my car because we are friends," kimi interrupted softly, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that made a strange, unfamiliar flutter wake up in your chest. his hand traveled from your forehead down to your cheek, his thumb lightly brushing across your cheekbone. his touch was warm, deliberate, and entirely un-peer-like.
you froze, your juice box hovering halfway to your mouth. "you... you didn't?"
"no," kimi said, a faint, breathless laugh escaping him as he shook his head. he looked down at your hands, then carefully slid his fingers between yours, intertwining them just like he had in those tiktok edits the internet loved so much, only this time, there was no engineer to distract him, and no crowd to hide behind. "when i saw your car hit the wall, i did not think about the championship. i did not think about mercedes, or toto, or what the stewards would do to me for leaving my car on the track."
he looked back up, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a raw, unfiltered vulnerability that completely disarmed you.
"i only thought about you and your pretty smile," he whispered, his accent thick and heavy with emotion. "i only thought that i cannot hold back anymore. i have spent the last six months watching you from the garage, waiting for you in the media pen, giving you my water just to have an excuse to touch your hand for one second... and you just think kimi is being polite."
your mouth opened slightly, the dots finally, catastrophically connecting in your mind. the lingering glances, the quiet presence always hovering just on the edge of your vision, the way he always seemed to find you in a crowded room, it wasn't just "kimi being kimi." suddenly, it made sense.
"oh," you breathed, a sudden, bright blush rushing to your cheeks, making your face feel incredibly hot. "do you... like me?"
kimi’s lips curved into a genuine, beautiful smile. one that the cameras rarely, if ever, managed to capture. he leaned in just a fraction closer, the scent of his post-race shower and clean team kit wrapping around you.
"i am crazy about you," kimi corrected gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand. "the whole paddock knows it, i think. max knows it, which is why he looks like he wants to kill me every time i breathe your air. the fans on the internet definitely know it. only the beautiful, brilliant, blind golden boy did not see it."
before you could process the absolute meltdown the whole formula 1 fandom community was going to have when they realized they were right, the motorhome door suddenly clicked.
kimi didn't pull his hand away, but he did turn his head slightly as max verstappen’s towering frame filled the doorway, a fresh bottle of water in hand and a dark, fiercely protective scowl immediately settling over his features the moment he saw how close kimi was sitting to you.
"okay, kimi," max said, his voice a low, warning rumble. "time’s over. his head hurts, he needs to rest."
kimi didn't flinch. he just gave your hand one last, lingering squeeze before slowly letting go and standing up, turning to face the older driver with that calm, unbothered italian confidence. "he is doing much better, max. i was just leaving."
he turned back to you, his eyes softening instantly as he gave you one last look. "rest, eat the cake. and check your phone later, yeah? i´ll text you."
with a polite nod to a glaring max, kimi slipped out of the room, leaving you sitting on the examination table, entirely breathless, with a racing heart that had absolutely nothing to do with your 150-mph crash at copse.
𐔌 ⠀⠀oh oh oh. i don’t know why i just kept thinking of how cute it would be to write this dynamic: secret feelings and lingering moments that just catch your breath and the oblivious reader character. i just LOVE this. 𓂃 ࣪ ִ⠀
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Hii I love your post of what its like dating george rusell can you do one with oscar piastri??
what it's like dating.... ♡ oscar piastri
pairing: oscar piastri x reader
Just headcanons on what dating Oscar would be like
warnings: fluff
note: hello ♡ thank you so much for the request anon! enjoy. - dean
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Oscar's love language is acts of service before anything else. Your phone somehow always being charged because he notices it dying before you do. Him silently moving you to the inside of the pavement whenever you're walking together. Your coffee order becoming permanently stored in his brain after hearing it exactly once. Pretending not to listen when you ramble, only to bring up something you mentioned three months ago. Constantly having conversations like "I told you to bring a jacket." "Sorry, babe, I forgot." "You can wear mine." Rolling his eyes while draping it over your shoulders anyway.
Oscar never being overly dramatic about his feelings. Instead of saying "i miss you" every five minutes, he'll simply text, "when are you home?" and somehow it means the exact same thing.
Oscar treating you like you put the stars up in the sky for him and him only. You don't suspect a thing, but to him, it's like you actually have. You are the only person who consistently makes him laugh loud enough that everyone nearby turns around and he will be damned if he ever does anything to upset you on purpose.
Oscar being overly affectionate and clingy, when nervous pre-race. Lando pretending to throw up every time he catches the two of you being disgustingly cute. "Mate, get a room." "Shut up." "You lot are disgusting." "Shut up."
Oscar secretly loving you stealing his hoodies, because it means he'll eventually get them back smelling like your perfume.
Oscar loves taking youlate-night drives with no destination. It's all comfortable silence. Playlists instead of conversations. Your hand resting on the centre console until he reaches over without looking and intertwines your fingers with his.
Oscar never making a big deal out of anniversaries, because he knows you don't like it, but somehow always remembering them. Getting you flowers "just because", saying they simply reminded him of you while he was walking past a florist.
Oscar being surprisingly competitive over the smallest things. Mario kart becoming a genuine threat to the relationship. "You're cheating." "I'm winning." "Same thing."
Oscar's dry humour getting progressively worse the longer you're together. You eventually becoming fluent in Oscar, recognising that a tiny smile means he's ecstatic, that "not bad" means he absolutely loves something, that "yeah, alright" is basically a declaration of affection.
summary: Y/n and Lando grew up as childhood best friends who fall in love, but his new f1 career forces himself to distance and eventually end things. Until a certain song and one annual dinner may change things…
Warnings: angst, references to heartbreak and regret, fame pressures
*no major physical violence or explicit content*
*written to ‘Less by Olivia Rodrigo’*
word count: 2.5k
They used to say it like it was already written
Not if they ended up together
but when
Y/n and Lando had grown up tangled in each others lives from back gardens becoming racetracks and imaginary concerts. School mornings waiting outside each others houses, family dinners blurred together so often that his mum stopped asking if she was “coming over for dinner” and started putting out an extra plate without thought.
She was there when he first said he wanted to race professionally
He was there when she first wrote a song she was too shy to sing properly
Neither of them ever questioned that they would be apart of each others futures until it started pulling them in the opposite directions.
—————————
They were sixteen when it started feeling different
They never had a grand confession, but somewhere between the years of friendship and growing up together, they simply fell inlove.
Lando’s mum Cisca was simply over the moon
She let out the biggest smile before pulling y/n into a tight hug. “finally,” she laughed looking between them.
“i’ve been waiting years for you two to figure it out.”
Lando groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “mum…”
“don’t mum me,” she grinned. “everyone knew you’d end up together.”
————————————————————————————
The Beginning Of The End
It didn’t happen suddenly.
It started with a phone call.
Lando was at home when it came. The late afternoon light streaming through the windows, the kind of quiet that felt too normal for something that was about to change everything.
The call didn’t last long. It didn’t need to.
By the time he hung up, everything he had been chasing since he was a child had finally reached out and said: we want you.
He didn’t even realise he was smiling until he turned and saw her in the doorway.
y/n.
Barefoot. Hair messy. Half written lyrics scribbled on her arms like she always did when she was thinking too much.
“what?” she asked softly.
He couldn’t speak at first. Just crossed the room and pulled her into him so tightly it almost hurt.
“i got it,” he said into her shoulder. “i got the seat.”
For a moment she didn’t move.
Then she laughed, small and breathless, disbelief written over her face.
“oh my god.”
And she meant it. She really did.
Because she loved him.
She loved him enough that his dreams always felt like hers too.
But even then something in the air had started shifting.
————————————————————————————
Leaving Home
The weeks after were a blur.
Suitcases being packed and unpacked. Family dinners that felt too loud. Conversations that always ended in we’ll figure it out later.
But “later” kept moving further away.
The first time someone from the team said it out loud, it didn’t sound like advice.
It sounded like an instruction.
“you’ve got to be careful now,” one of them told him.
“you’re stepping into something big, distractions, relationships, it complicates things.”
Lando didn’t answer.
Because when he looked at y/n across the room too busy writing in her notebook, he didn’t see a distraction.
He saw home.
But then he started noticing the small things.
How cameras lingered too long on anything personal, how interviews twisted small details into headlines, and how quickly people decided what a driver’s life should look like.
And suddenly love didn’t feel simple anymore.
It felt exposed.
Dangerous.
One night, after a long silence between them, he finally said it.
“i think we need to… be careful.”
y/n looked up from her notebook. “careful how?”
He hesitated.
That was the moment everything cracked, even if none of them admitted it yet.
“just.. less visible,” he said “for now”
Less.
————————————————————————————
The choice
It happened in her bedroom.
Suitcases half opened again. Another departure.
Another “temporary”
She was sitting on the edge of her bed when he said it properly this time.
“i think it might be better if we don’t.. do this right now.”
Silence.
Not shock, or confusion just an understanding arriving too fast.
She let out a low breath like she’d been holding in it months without realising.
“you mean us,” she spoke
He shook his head immediately. “no i don’t mean us,
i just- “
“you do,” she interrupted.
He ran a hand through his hair. “i just can’t afford to mess this up, not now, i need to focus.
There it was.
Focus.
As if she had been something pulling him away from his life instead of part of it.
Her voice didn’t rise. It barely shook.
“so i’m distracting you?”
“no,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
But he didn’t say anything after that.
The silence answered for him.
She nodded once, like she’d just confirmed something she already knew but had been hoping it wasnt.
“okay,” she said quietly.
The word barely reached him.
She looked down, blinking hard, composing herself to keep it together but no matter how many times she tried to swallow the lump in her throat, a tear escaped slowly tracing it’s way down her cheek.
She was quick to wipe it away, turning her face ever so slightly, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
He did.
Lando’s chest tightened.
Every instinct told him to cross the room and pull her into his arms. Take everything he said back.
“please don’t..” he whispered, voice cracking slightly.
She looked at him, tears glistening her eyes
“don’t cry”
He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head.
“i can’t do this if you cry.”
She frowned, her voice barely above a whisper.
“why?”
He let out a shaky breath.
“because if i come over there…” His eyes met hers again, already full of regret. “i’ll stay.”
Silence filled the room
“and if i stay,” he continued quietly, “If i stay i won’t leave. I’ll convince myself it would work out and it can’t.. not right now.”
Another year rolled down her cheek
She nodded slowly, even if though every part of her wanted to beg him to stay.
“then go,” she whispered
He stood there for a second longer, as if trying to remember every detail of her before turning towards the door.
Neither of them realised it would be the last time they’d look at each other as the people they used to be.
————————————————————————————
The distance
The days after didn’t feel like heartbreak at first but absence. Like forgetting something you couldn’t name.
He texted.
She replied less.
He called.
She stopped answering.
Not because she hated him, but every time she heard his voice, she remembered what it used to feel like when he chose her without thinking.
And now he had to think.
—————————
So she started writing instead.
At first it was fragments, lines that didn’t make sense together, melodie’s she’d hummed into voice notes at 2am.
Then one night, sat at her piano she wrote something and it became something else entirely.
Not as revenge.
Just as the truth.
She titled it: Less.
————————————————————————————
A year later
The world didn’t know it was about him, his family never asked but they knew.
She hadn’t planned to release it, but songs have a way of refusing to stay private when they’re honest enough.
It went up quietly.
No announcement or explanation.
And it spread.
Fast. Too fast.
Clips of it appeared everywhere. People using it for edits, relatable videos, captions like “i’m sobbing, who broke her”
And somewhere in that noise, it stopped being hers alone.
——————————
Lando heard it in the garage first.
Someone’s phone playing low through speakers. A chorus drifting through tools and conversation.
He freezes before he even processes why.
Then he hears it.
“i wish you loved me less..”
His stomach drops.
Her voice.
He’d know it anywhere.
The voice of his childhood, the voice he spent years falling asleep to, laughing with, the voice who cheered louder than anyone from the sidelines, his first love, the one he’d spent the last year trying not to think about.
That night, he searches for the song himself.
And he listens.
Once.
Then again.
Because the first time doesn’t feel real.
But the second time ruins him.
“i feel it again, edge of the bed
body and head protesting..”
He stops breathing properly somewhere in the first verse.
Because it doesn’t feel like a song it feels like sitting in a room he used to live in.
A room he left without realising it would linger with that memory.
Then the chorus hits.
“if loving me means letting go and wishing me
the best”
“then i guess”
“i wish, i wish, i wish you loved me less”
He pauses the song.
Stares at his phone.
He thought leaving was the right choice, that it was responsibility.
He thought love meant stepping back so nothing broke.
But she didn’t write it like that.
She wrote it like she broke anyway.
———————————
Big Sur becomes a road trip they once took when everything still felt easy.
LAX becomes the airport goodbye he convinced himself was temporary.
The bed edge becomes where the song haunts him the most.
And suddenly it isn’t just a song but a timeline of everything he didn’t notice slipping away while he was too focused on becoming someone else.
He wanted to reach out.
He doesn’t at first. Not because he doesn’t want to but because he doesn’t know what to say that doesn’t sound like it’s too late
But the silence gets heavier.
And heavier.
Until it feels louder than any race he’s ever driven.
He types messages and deletes them, opens her contact and closes it.
Because what can he say?
That he thought he was doing the right thing?
————————————————————————————
The Annual Christmas Dinner At The Norris Household
The house still looked the same.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Snow clung to her coat, melting into her hair as she stood outside. Inside laughter echoed, familiar voices layered over familiar music, the kind of comfort she used to belong to without thinking.
Y/n stood at the front door for longer than she meant to.
She almost didn’t come.
Not because she wasn’t invited though she tried avoiding this dinner at all costs.
But because she didn’t know what she was anymore inside this place.
Then the door opened.
His mum.
Cisca.
“oh, sweetheart,” she said immediately like no time had passed at all, pulling her into a hug that was warm, so achingly familiar.
“you made it,” she added softly, like she was almost scared you wouldn’t.
“i said i would,” y/n replied, but her voice didn’t quite match like it used to.
Nothing about her did anymore.
——————————
The house was louder than she remembered.
Or maybe she was just quieter now. She recognised everything in pieces.
The staircase she used to sit at while scrolling through race updates, the kitchen where she used to steal midnight snacks while he laughed at her, the living room where she once fell asleep on the sofa waiting for him to come home from karting.
Now all of it felt like someone else’s memory she had been invited to witness, not live.
His family greeted her like she still fit. As if the distance hadn’t made a difference, like she still belonged in the gaps between their conversations.
——————————
She saw him before he saw her.
Of course she did.
He was standing near the kitchen counter, half-turned away, talking on the phone.
Older in the face in a way that wasn’t just time, it was pressure. Responsibility. Everything he had wanted finally sitting heavy on his shoulders.
He laughed at something someone said.
It was automatic.
But it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Y/n didn’t move.
Neither did he.
Not yet.
It was like the room itself had to decide whether to let this moment happen.
Then someone said her name behind him.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
And everything stopped.
—————————
He turned.
And there she was.
Not a memory. Not a thought he could ignore later.
Real.
For a second, he forgot how to breathe properly because his brain still knew her instantly even if his life didn’t know where to place her anymore.
“hey,” she said first.
Simple.
Careful.
Like stepping onto ice she wasn’t sure would hold her weight.
His mouth opened slightly before closing again. He ended the call, placing his phone on the counter.
“hi,” he managed back.
Silence stretched between them.
Not awkward in the usual sense but worse. The kind that used to be full of comfort but now it just exposed everything that wasn’t there anymore.
“i didn’t know you were coming,” his voice was softer than she expected.
“it was last minute,” she replied.
A pause.
“i wasn’t sure i should”
He nodded once.
Like he understood exactly what she meant.
Or maybe like he didn’t want to pretend otherwise.
“you look…” he started, then stopped.
She waited. He tried again, quieter.
“different.”
A small, sad smile touched her mouth.
“i am.”
That was all she said.
No explanation needed.
Because they both knew what she meant.
For a moment neither of them moved but the house around them kept going. glasses clinking, people laughing, christmas chaos unfolding in every corner but here between them, everything stopped.
“i listened to it,” he said eventually.
Her eyes flickered.
She probably figured it would reach him of course she did.
“yeah?” she replied softly.
He nodded.
A beat.
“i didn’t realise it felt like that for you.”
There it was. The thing he’d been carrying since the song came out.
She looked at him for a long moment.
Really looked.
And when she spoke, her voice wasn’t sharp.
It was tired.
“that’s the thing,” she said. “it didn’t feel like that for a while, it felt like that slowly until it was the only thing left.”
He swallowed. Hard.
Because that was worse than anything else she could’ve said.
“i thought i was doing the right thing,” he said quietly.
“i know,” she answered immediately.
No hesitation.
And that almost broke him
Because she didn’t argue with him, she understood him too well to need to.
A silence settled again.
Different this time.
Heavier.
“i miss you.” he admitted.
It wasn’t planned.
It just slipped out like something that had been sitting in his chest for too long.
She didn’t react immediately she just nodded slowly.
“i know.”
A pause.
“the us that grew up together…” she exhaled softly. “I think we left them behind.”
His eyes dropped for a second like he knew that.
Someone called her name from the living room.
She turned slightly but she didn’t leave yet.
Not immediately.
There was one more thing sitting between them.
Unfinished.
“i didn’t hate you for leaving,” she said quietly.
His eyes lifted again.
“i hated that you didn’t realise i was already losing you before you even walked away.”
That hit differently because it wasn’t accusation it was clarity.
He nodded once.
“i think i understand now,” he said.
She gave a small, almost bittersweet smile.
“i think you do.”
A pause.
Then, softer:
“it just came too late.”
She finally stepped back.
Not abruptly.
Just moving forward because there wasn’t anywhere else for this moment to go.
“i hope you win this season,” she said gently.
He let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“always the same,” he murmured.
She tilted her head slightly.
“what?”
“even now,” he said, “you still wish me the best.”
Her smile faded a little.
“yeah,” she replied. “i always did.”
Then she walked away back into the house, leaving him standing exactly where he was.
Surrounded by noise.
But completely alone in the silence she left behind.
————————————————————————————
Authors note: this was my first ever fic i’ve written i hope it was okay! don’t know if im happy with it at all 😞😞
if you would like a part 2 let me know in the comments. Requests are now open too🤍
"Their title fight would be generational" when we know well enough he would dogwalked that driver from the first race 😭😭😭 theres nothing generational, no they wouldnt be any title fight at all
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okay, no one is obligated to like kimi, but there's a limit to everything.
once again, i was on that hell app (twitter), and it's honestly ridiculous how far some people will go to twist everything. i've even started liking george a little less because of some of his fans. i know, i know it isn't his fault, and he has nothing to do with what they say. but i've genuinely reached my limit. i can't even interact with content about him anymore because every other post is people with 63 in their display names saying the most disgusting things about kimi.
i've seen people wishing kimi the same fate as his idol, ayrton senna. i've seen people making fake team radios with AI to make him look bad. they're desperate to paint him as arrogant, entitled and fake, when that's simply not who he is. i've seen people mocking his mum's appearance and even attacking his little sister... a child.
and now they're using arvid lindblad as a token just to hate on kimi. the funny thing is, i haven't even seen arvid fans doing that. it was fans of other drivers (mostly the 63 crowd, obviously) using arvid's name as an excuse. arvid is such a lovely guy, and these idiots are only bringing unnecessary hate towards him too.
it should never be normal to wish death on someone over a sport.
what makes me even sadder is that i had several friends who were simply george fans, and now they've become genuinely cruel towards kimi. that's heartbreaking to see.
anyway... i just needed to get this off my chest because today completely drained me. i'm exhausted. i genuinely feel like i've been hit by a lorry. i think i might be coming down with something.
let's just keep sending kimi our love. he's so, so loved, and we'll always be here supporting him. 🤍
pairing oscar piastri x fem!reader
theme angst (very heavy angst so buckle up) ; high school lovers
from iris ◡̈ When this request came into my inbox, I was really quick to drop everything. I'd been frustrated with the other stories I was editing because I just can't seem to be satisfied with how I want them to end. This one came to me in an instant. I am a big fan of movies and books in this genre: TFIOS, Five Feet Apart, A Walk To Remember, you name it, I've probably watched or read it. So now that I was given the chance to write one of my own, I jumped! So thank you, dear anon, for requesting this. You have cured my writer's block for this week. Hope you like it!
warnings mentions of death and grief
The afternoon sun cast long, amber shadows across the park, but Oscar didn’t mind the chill. He settled comfortably into his usual spot, crossing his legs and leaning back. He stared at her with a soft smile on his face.
"You always did have the best timing, you know," he said, his voice a quiet murmur against the breeze. He looked straight ahead, a fond, tired smile touching his lips. "I was just thinking about that May afternoon. You remember that day? It was junior year. The way you walked right up to my porch with your hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets, shivering even though it was practically summer."
For an entire hour, she had been pacing her bedroom floor, trying to manufacture a bravery she didn't feel. The goal was simple, yet entirely terrifying: ask out Oscar Piastri. He was the high school's star cricket player, the heartthrob, the smartest boy in school, her neighbor, and her long-time crush.
It’s now, or never, she told herself, but every time she took a step toward her front door, her knees gave a traitorous tremble.
Frustrated, she walked over to the window and looked out. Down in the yard next door, Oscar was taking out the trash. She watched as he threw a bright, effortless smile over his shoulder when his mother called out a thank-you from the house. Then he jogged over to the perimeter fence, checking the latch to make sure it was locked tight, just in case Basil, his dog, tried to escape and follow him. Everything about Oscar was entirely calm, completely collected, and oddly enough, just watching his quiet routine made the static in her mind clear up. Her worries began to fade.
Just do it.
She coached herself, stepping away from the glass. She grabbed her favorite perfume, spraying it on for the hundredth time, then quickly ran a comb through her hair. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it down to straighten it out, and took one last deep breath to steady her racing heart. She practically flew down her front steps, driven entirely by the adrenaline of her own countdown. By the time she crossed the driveway and reached Oscar’s porch, her lungs felt tight from the sheer audacity of what she was about to do, but when was she going to do it? What was she going to wait for?
Oscar was just sitting on the steps, wiping down his cricket bat with an old cloth. When the shadow fell over him, he looked up, his dark eyes blinking in surprise. "Oh hey," he said, offering that same easy, effortless smile she had just seen from her window. "You okay? You're shivering." She didn't answer his question. She couldn't. If she let him speak, if she let herself think, she would lose her nerve and run back inside to die in a quiet room. She planted her feet, looked him dead in the eye, and let the words rush out in a single, breathless burst.
"Do you want to get coffee with me? Like a date. Tomorrow."
Oscar froze, the cloth hovering over his bat. For a second, the silence between them stretched so long she thought she might actually faint. Then, a small, amused chuckle escaped him. "Whoa, okay, no 'hi, Oscar'? No 'how was your game'?"
"Hi Oscar, How was your Game? Do you want to get coffee with me? Like a date. Tomorrow," she said again, her voice dropping, stripped of all bravado. She didn't smile like she usually did. Her eyes were wide, urgent, staring at him with a raw intensity that made his laughter die in his throat. She looked like someone trying to outrun the whole world. Oscar slowly set the bat down on the porch step. The easygoing, golden-boy demeanor softened into something entirely focused on her. "Yeah," Oscar said softly, standing up to meet her eye level. The calm aura that always surrounded him seemed to wrap around her, stilling her shaking knees. "Yeah, I'd love to."
A tiny, breathless sigh of relief escaped her lips, the first real breath she felt like she’d taken all day. "Okay. Great. It's a date." She turned on her heel and practically marched back to her house before he could change his mind, leaving Oscar standing on the porch, looking after her with a fiercely intrigued smile.
He thought he was the luckiest guy on the block.
"You’d always been the girl with the quietest voice, but always had a smile on her face; that day you were so different, though; your eyes were wide and urgent. I said yes, of course. I’d been wanting you to look my way for years, but you always kept the world at arm's length. I just assumed you were guarded."
In the quiet hush of the afternoon, he could hear her melodic laugh echoing in his ears, pulling a soft smile from his lips. Reaching over into his canvas bag, he pulled out a small carton of strawberry milk. With practiced ease, he popped the straw from its plastic wrapper and poked it neatly through the foil opening, setting it down gently beside her. Then, he took out a chocolate milk box for himself, puncturing the top. "Cheers," he murmured, lightly clinking his carton against hers.
"Our very first date, you confessed that you’d never done any of this before," he continued, his voice dropping a pitch. "No boyfriends, no hands held in the dark at the back of movie theaters, no late-night phone calls that accidentally lasted until dawn, and not even a first kiss. I remember teasing you about it, asking how a girl as beautiful as you had managed to avoid love for so long."
"I think I was just waiting for the right person," she had said, looking across the small diner table at him. The admission had made Oscar blush right down to his collar. In that exact moment, he wanted nothing more than to be that person for her.
They stayed glued to each other's side for the rest of the day. After coffee, Oscar took her to the arcade downtown, where they lost track of time playing games for hours. She went along with absolutely everything he suggested, laughing and radiant, but whenever Oscar turned his back to change tokens or check a high score, she would slip away to hide behind a tall arcade machine. Clutching her chest, she would desperately try to catch her breath, silently begging her lungs to just be lungs for a moment because she needed them to hold on despite the physical ache because this was the best day of her life.
Oscar eventually found her leaning against one of the games. "Hey, you good?" he asked, stepping closer. She flashed him a bright smile. "Never better," she lied. Oscar smiled right back, the exact smile that had made her fall so deeply in love with him. "Okay, let’s go. One last thing." He took her hand, their fingers quick to intertwine, fitting together so perfectly it felt like they had been custom-made to hold each other.
He pulled her over to a faded vintage photobooth tucked away in the corner of the arcade. The curtained space was so small and compact that Oscar had to guide her in and let her sit right on his lap, his arms draping naturally around her waist as if they were always meant to be there. They laughed and posed for the first few flashes, but the last photo caught her completely by surprise. Oscar placed a gentle hand on her cheek, turning her face to meet his. At the very last second, as the camera shutter clicked, he closed the distance and sealed the day with a soft, lingering kiss.
"I know I shouldn't have kissed you without asking," Oscar said, a low, nostalgic chuckle vibrating in his chest. "But every single time I looked over at you, saw your smile, looked into your eyes... I just couldn't help myself. I knew right then and there that you were it for me. It was crazy how fast it happened."
He laughed out loud, the sound rich and warm, echoing into the open space.
Above him, the sky was changing, bleeding into a deep, brilliant orange compared to the pale gold it had been when they first started talking.
"Seriously, love," Oscar whispered, his voice softening as he looked down at the faded picture in his hands. "If you hadn't taken that leap and asked me out all those years ago, we never would have found out that we were made for each other."
The months that followed were a beautiful whirlwind. She constantly tried to slow the world down, insisting on sitting in the park for hours just to watch the leaves shift in the breeze, or memorizing the exact, fleeting shade of the sky at dusk. She'd convince Oscar to take the longer route home, or linger when they hugged, scared it'd be the last time.
They spent every single day of that summer wrapped up in each other. By the time senior year rolled around, everyone at school was stunned to see them walking down the hallways with their fingers tightly intertwined, or sharing a table at lunch. It was a surprise to the rest of the world, but to them, it made perfect sense.
"Hey," Oscar had said, pulling out a chair for her as she approached their usual table. "I brought you lunch," she replied with a bright smile, unzipping her bag as she sat down. Oscar leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "You didn't have to do that, baby, but thank you." As she pulled out the food, Oscar’s eyes drifted to the bottom of her bag. Lying there was a clear Ziploc pouch filled with a dozen different colored pills. He frowned slightly. "Oh? What are all those pills for? Are you feeling okay?"
She didn't even flinch. She just offered him that same reassuring smile. "They're just vitamins, Osc. You know how my mom is. She’s a total health nut." And Oscar, completely blinded by how much he loved her, believed every single word.
But the truth had a cruel way of tearing through even the most perfect illusions.
It happened on a rainy Friday night in late October. She had fallen asleep on Oscar's living room couch, her head resting in his lap, looking entirely fragile and peaceful under the dim lamplight. Oscar had been gently stroking her hair, listening to the rhythmic, slightly shallow sound of her breathing, when her phone buzzed sharply on the coffee table.
It was a notification for an upcoming specialist appointment, followed by a preview of an urgent patient portal message.
Oscar didn't mean to pry. He truly didn't, but a sudden, terrifying instinct seized his chest, a cold dread that he couldn't shake off. He quietly slipped out from under her, cushioning her head with a pillow, and walked over to her backpack resting by the door. His hands shook as he unzipped it, his fingers brushing until they hit a thick, white folder. Inside were hospital letterheads from a clinic. There were diagnostic sheets, test results, and a highlighted term that made his breath catch in his throat: Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension.
Beneath it, in merciless black ink, was a palliative care timeline. An aggressive, terminal prognosis. She wasn't taking vitamins; she was taking experimental vasodilators and other medications just to keep her lungs functioning. She had known the whole time.
When she finally stirred and opened her eyes, seeing Oscar standing under the kitchen light with the medical papers in his hands, she didn’t cry. She just looked incredibly, profoundly tired. Oscar didn't yell. He couldn't. The shock was too heavy, wrapping around his throat and stealing the air right out of his chest. Instead, a quiet, desperate ache bled into the kitchen. "Why didn't you tell me?" Oscar asked, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking on the words as he looked down at the documents in his trembling hands.
"Why... why didn't you let me know?" Tears were streaming down his face now, hot and silent, blurring the harsh text on the pages. He took a slow, unsteady step toward her, the betrayal hurting far less than the sudden realization of what she had been carrying all on her own. "You were suffering alone... why didn't you let me help you?"
She just sat by the edge of the couch, accepting every ounce of his heartbreak. She didn't offer a defensive excuse, and she didn't try to minimize his pain. She just watched him softly, her eyes reflecting a deep, sorrowful understanding, as if she had been waiting for this exact storm to break. Her silence was entirely surrendered, gentle and still, holding space for his tears. When his shoulders finally slumped, a ragged sob breaking through his chest, she didn't hesitate. She finally found the strength to walk over to him, her legs visibly trembling, and stepped right into his space. She reached out, took his face in her small, ice-cold hands, and rested her forehead gently against his. Her breath was faint against his lips, but her voice was entirely steady.
"Because for once in my life," she had whispered, a single tear finally escaping her eye, "I wanted someone to look at me and see a future, not an expiration date. I wanted to be loved for who I am, Osc, not pitied for how I'm leaving." The grief nearly crushed him, but he stayed. "I look at you, Oscar Piastri, and I selfishly hope for a forever even with numbered days, and that alone gives me all the reason to fight to be able to stay."
From then on, Oscar was careful. Not in a way that suffocated her or made her feel like a patient, but in a way that sheltered her while letting her run free. He was woven into every part of her reality now. He sat beside her at doctors' appointments, held her hair through the sleepless nights, and learned the exact schedule of her medications, but that didn’t mean it didn’t tear him apart. Some nights, while she slept peacefully beside him, Oscar would pull the blanket up over his face to muffle the sound of his sobs. He would watch her frail silhouette in the dark, tears burning his eyes, silently begging the universe, Why? Why her? Why bring her into my life just to tear her away? But the moment her eyes fluttered open, he would swallow the lump in his throat and force a smile. He had to be strong. He had to be her anchor.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her breathy laugh cutting through the quiet afternoon air. Months had passed since that rainy night. She was visibly thinner now, her skin a fragile and pale shade, but she was still the most breathtaking sight Oscar had ever seen. "Just trust me, okay?" Oscar smiled, his fingers snugly intertwined with hers, gently guiding her up a steady incline. When they reached the crest of the hill, the city below faded into the background.
Before them stretched a hidden sanctuary, a vast field dancing with thousands of tiny, colorful wildflowers. "Oh, wow," she breathed, her eyes lighting up with a spark that made Oscar’s chest swell. "Do you love it?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest. She turned her head slightly, her gaze locking onto his. "I love you." Oscar had laid out a small blanket, setting up a picnic filled entirely with her favorites: two cartons of strawberry milk and a perfect slice of tiramisu from the bakery downtown.
She nudged his side playfully. "Are you seriously missing cricket practice for a piece of cake?"
"I’m missing practice to be with you, silly," Oscar chuckled, bopping her nose. "The team will manage without me. Besides, we graduate in a few weeks. They need to get used to life without their captain anyway." She laughed, the sound bright but fading quickly into a comfortable silence as they ate. After a few minutes, Oscar cleared his throat, the lightheartedness leaving his voice. "Baby."
"Hmm?" She looked up, a stray crumb of tiramisu on her lip.
"I, uh... I’ve been planning this for a while," Oscar started, his hands growing suddenly clammy. "I actually went and talked to your mom a few months ago." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. Opening it, a simple silver band with a diamond that caught the afternoon light beautifully. "I know our time has a different rhythm than everyone else's, but I don't care about the length of it. I want to spend every single second of the rest of your life as your husband. Will you marry me?"
The tears spilled over her lashes instantly. "Oscar," she sobbed, her voice trembling. Oscar knew she was doubting, but he didn't hesitate. He leaned forward, cupping her face gently in both of his palms, using his thumbs to wipe away her tears. " I don't want to waste another day. I want to love you fully, officially, completely, for every moment we have left."
Through her tears, she finally nodded, whispering a breathless, "Yes." They closed the distance, sealing the promise with a kiss, staying on that hill until the stars began to twinkle above them.
Everything that followed felt like a beautiful, accelerated blip in time. The day after graduation, they got married in a quiet courtyard, surrounded by a handful of close friends and their families. Then came the montage of their final months: the lazy mornings tangled in bedsheets, the small victories when she had enough energy to cook breakfast, the quiet afternoons spent listening to music, and the way Oscar would carry her up the stairs when she simply couldn't manage.
Five months after their wedding day, she passed away quietly in her sleep, resting against the chest of the love of her life.
Later, the doctors told a hollow, grief-stricken Oscar that they were looking at a medical miracle. From the day she had walked up to his porch to ask him out, she only had eight months left. She had known her prognosis, which was exactly why she took the leap. Yet, she had fought and lived for twenty-nine months more.
At the funeral, Oscar sat by her open casket longer than anyone else. He leaned his forehead against the glass that protected her face, whispering his final, private goodbyes to the beautiful girl who had changed his world. When the service ended and the casket was lowered into the earth, her mother gently insisted that Oscar ride back in her car. They sat in heavy silence for a while until her mother spoke, tears streaming freely down her face. "Thank you, Oscar."
"Mom, you don't have to thank me." Oscar swallowed hard. He had started calling her that after the wedding. "I do," she wept, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "When you came into her life... she started to fight again. The doctors gave her months, Oscar, but you gave her years. You were her miracle. Thank you for giving my baby a reason to live longer."
That night, back in their apartment, Oscar couldn't sleep. He was so incredibly used to the warmth of her body beside him, the rhythmic, shallow sound of her breathing against his bare skin, that the empty mattress felt entirely foreign. It felt like a freezing expanse of nothingness. He wanted to scream. He wanted to be angry at the world. He wanted to close his eyes and pray that he would just fade away to follow her, but as he stared into the dark ceiling, her mother's words echoed in his mind.
You gave her a reason to live.
As tears slipped down Oscar's face, soaking into the pillowcase, he realized then that even though she was gone, she hadn't left him empty-handed. She had shown him what it meant to love fiercely against all odds, to make every single second count. He had given her a reason to stay a little longer, and now, the memory of her love was giving him a reason to keep going.
Oscar pulled his mind back to the present, blinking against the sharp, brilliant orange sunset fading into darkness, tracing the edges where they had been molded together in that tiny booth. The wind picked up, scattering a few loose leaves across the grass and swallowing the leftover heat of the day. It was getting late, and the long shadows were stretching dark across the beautifully manicured lawns of the cemetery. Oscar slowly reached out, his fingers tracing the smooth, polished gray granite, following the carved curves of her name etched deep into the tombstone. He carefully leaned the faded photo against the base of the rock, right next to the untouched carton of strawberry milk he had opened for her.
The stone was freezing, completely unyielding under his palm. "The granite is freezing today," Oscar whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Just like your hands used to be."
He lingered for a moment, the silence of the cemetery wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. A soft, bittersweet smile touched his lips. "Thanks for spending your forever with me." He stood there a while longer, just looking at her name, until the gentle, distant sound of Lando’s car horn cut through the quiet afternoon. Oscar took a slow, deep breath, adjusting his jacket.
"I miss you, baby. I love you," he whispered to the breeze.
Before he turned away, his eyes drifted down to his own hand, catching the dull gleam of his wedding ring. It was a bit faded now, scratched from the years passing by, but it remained a constant, unbreakable reminder of her love. He looked back at the stone one final time, a fierce, quiet certainty settling into his chest. "See you in the next lifetime, okay? I'll come find you in every single one."
With that last promise left against the granite, Oscar turned around and finally started walking away.
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